Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Zane Boodram, Wyatt Hayes, Hayden Pike, J.J. Boiziau, Jackie Pike, Luca Haas, Svetlana Vetrova, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Anya | Ilya Rozanov's Dog

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Forced Proximity, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Blow Jobs, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Anal Sex, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Begging, Rimming, Felching, i probably missed something there sorry, Barebacking, Multiple Orgasms

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-02 Updated: 2026-05-21 Words: 83,944 Chapters: 12/15

arms length, small talk, and then some company

Summary

Ilya hesitated, staring at the number. He was captain of Hollander’s new team. It would have been completely normal, if not expected, that he would reach out to him soon. But his hand had turned to lead, his finger hovering over the “Call” button. What would he even say?

“Hey Hollander. Sorry your team dumped you out of nowhere after building them a dynasty and you’re being shipped back to your hometown to play on an historically shitty team, captained by me, the guy who you’ve been pitted against your whole career and built up a decade’s worth of resentment towards, not to mention the fact that we sucked each other’s dicks that one time years ago and then pretended that it never happened. Haha, yeah, good times. Anyways. See you at practice.”

—————

In June 2010, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov hook up for the first and last time.

In July 2021, Shane Hollander is abruptly traded to the Ottawa Centaurs.

Notes

I literally haven’t written fanfiction in ten years. There’s a privated, abandoned Stucky fic (full circle!) still collecting dust on this account that was last updated in 2016. But Heated Rivalry has made me feel insane in a way I haven’t since I was a teenager so here we fucking are! Last time I posted fic, I was 19 and depressed as hell in my college dorm room. Now I’m plucking away at this on my couch, snuggling my dog while my husband is asleep upstairs.

Some notes:

-This was born out of me being a Friends to Lovers FIEND and not finding enough Hollanov AUs with the trope

-This is a mixture of book and show canon. I consumed both the books and the show so quickly they’re kind of jumbled together, plus I can’t imagine them as anyone other than Connor and Hudson. My bad

-In this universe, Shane has one additional year on his contract, hence being traded and not signing elsewhere in free agency. He waived his no trade clause obviously. I doubt he would’ve signed willingly with Ottawa in this case.

-Related to that, I can’t imagine a world in which Montreal, or any team for that matter, would trade their star center and captain to a divisional rival. Unless he literally killed a guy. And even then, it’s the NHL *shrug* Hence the double trade and flip from LA. I can suspend some disbelief, but I’m too much of a hockey fan to let some stuff slide and this way makes sense to me. In the real world there might have been a clause that says LA can’t flip him to an Atlantic rival, but this is the fake world. Work with me!

-I made a new twitter account just so I could promote this and not have it be on my main LOL idk how active I'll be there but come hang out with me anyways! @rozanovas_

-Title from Arms Length by Sam Fender

Chapter 1

July 2021 - Ottawa

This is not how Shane Hollander expected his off-season to go. 

By early July, he expected to be camped out at the cottage, maybe fielding calls from Farah to discuss his extension with Montreal. 

Instead, he was shaking hands with the Ottawa Centaurs general manager, together holding up a black and red jersey with his name and number plastered on the back, trying not to embarrass himself by blinking too hard at the press pool’s camera flashes. 

“Shane! How excited are you to be playing for your hometown team?”

A boring, softball question. Shane was grateful for it. 

“I mean, that’s every kid’s dream growing up. When you picture yourself making it to the NHL, you picture yourself in the team you cheer for’s sweater. This,” he gestures to the jersey he has since pulled over his head, “This is very cool for 10-year-old Shane.” His eyes scanned the row of people at the back of the room and found his parents, who both gave him encouraging smiles. “I’m excited to be home and to get to work.”

“I’m sure it’s been a bit of a roller coaster the last few days, what with Montreal trading you to Los Angeles, only to be flipped to Ottawa two days later. Do you have any parting words for your former team? Or, er, teams?”

Shane let out a huffy laugh. “Yeah, it’s been a lot of emotions this week. But at the end of the day, this is a business. Everyone I talked to in LA was great and upfront with me that they’re in rebuild mode and they’re on the hunt for picks and prospects, so I knew anything was on the table. As for Montreal…” 

Shane felt a sharp jolt in his stomach like he was about to be sick. He schooled his face as best he could and hoped he was projecting Grade A Deadpan Hockey Player™. “I loved my time there. I gave them everything I have. A couple of guys there are friends for life. But it was time for a fresh start.” Shane nodded as he spoke, punctuated by a tight smile. 

“The Centaurs surprised everyone last year with their performance, and not long after the acquisition of Troy Barrett things seemed to really click for the group. With Rozanov out to begin the season, you’re likely going to be seeing a lot of time in that top line center spot. What about this team sticks out to you that you think can give them another playoff run?”

Shane felt another stomach jolt at the mention of the Ottawa captain. 

“Just the camaraderie. I talked to Rozanov right after the trade, he was one of the first guys to call me, and he was telling me how close these guys are. They want to win for each other. They have the skill to back it up. I think we’re gonna go far.” 

The Centaurs GM smiled smugly at Shane, then the mass of reporters. “That’s gonna do it for now. We gotta help this guy get settled in.” He clapped Shane hard on the back. “We’ll see everyone at training camp. Thanks guys.”

Shane gave one more lame smile to the crowd before following the man out of the room.

* * *

“So we’ve got the players lounge down this way, then further down the training room…”

Shane was doing his best to keep up with the bubbly man giving him the tour of the Centaurs’ facility. After bidding goodbye to his parents with a promise of dinner the following night, he was entrusted into the care of the Centaurs’  Senior Director of Communications. Harris had a bright smile, and seemingly bounced with every step he took that caused Shane to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from outright giggling at the man. 

Harris thankfully had the decency to ask before shoving a camera in Shane’s face to record some content of their new star returning home. “People love this behind the scenes stuff. It’ll be great to get your face out here as much as possible, let the fans know the vibes are good. Is that okay with you?” 

Shane had the sense that he was genuinely asking if it was okay, and if not Harris wouldn’t be offended by him saying no or branding him as difficult. It made him all the more okay with saying yes.

It had nothing to do with the collection of Pride pins on his lapel that made Shane feel slightly lightheaded. 

They had stopped to admire a long mural outside the locker room chronicling the organization’s history when they heard a gruff, accented voice call out down the hall.

“So the rumors are true, then!”

Shane turned and saw Ilya Rozanov with his signature cocky smile plastered on his face striding towards them. 

Well, striding may be a stretch. The brace wrapped around his left knee gave him a slight limp. 

“Oh, hey Ilya!” Harris waved cheerfully. “What are you doing here?”

“Barrett told me you are in charge of showing the new guy around today. I had to come say hello. Even wounded, I am still captain, yes?” Rozanov reached them and gave Shane a once over with a smirk. “Hollander,” he said much more softly but not without confidence. Rozanov stuck his hand out to him. “It’s good to have you here. Welcome.” 

Shane stared at Rozanov for what felt like a millennium, sure he was playing a trick on him, and was suddenly very aware of the camera three feet away from them. He hoped his gulp wasn’t visible as he clasped Rozanov’s hand firmly in his and gave it a small shake. “Thanks. I’m happy to be here.”

Rozanov softened his eyes slightly but said much more firmly, “Montreal are idiots.” 

Shane felt his stomach start doing backflips. 

Rozanov dropped his hand and clapped Harris on the back. “You’re in good hands with Harris here. Perfect welcoming committee.”

Harris smiled warmly at Rozanov. “It’s just my job, man. Nothing crazy.”

“Ah, but you make it crazy fun! Seriously, everyone loves Harris. Smartest, best person here. People try to hate him and they just fall in love with him instead!” 

Harris barked a laugh, but Shane could see color rising to the tips of Harris’ cheeks. As if on cue, the phone in Harris’ hand started ringing. “Sorry guys, gotta take this, just one sec…” 

Rozanov merely beamed as Harris wandered a few yards down the hall to take the call. The cameraman, assuming everyone was taking a pause, lowered his camera and began fidgeting with his equipment.

Rozanov turned his attention back to Shane. “So,” he said lowly, just loud enough for Shane to hear. “You happy to be home?”

Shane felt heavy under Rozanov’s gaze, the urge to run pulsing through his body but as if he would only run as fast as molasses. “Yeah, I, um…” He shook his head as if to sort his thoughts. “It’s weird, I’m not gonna lie. I never thought I would play anywhere else. But there are worse places to end up, I guess.”

Rozanov, with his hands on his hips, simply nodded and made a small sound of agreement. “LA would’ve been nice, though?”

Shane couldn’t help but laugh. “I couldn’t believe it when I got the first call. Thankfully things played out the way they did, I don’t think I’m cut out for that place.”

“Hm. Guess not,” Rozanov gave him a cheeky grin in return. “I heard the Montreal front office is pissed you ended up back in the division.”

Shane’s face hardened without him realizing. “Good. They should be.” 

Rozanov bit his lip, clearly trying to suppress a wide smile from taking over his face. Shane avoided eye contact, instead his gaze landing on the pink flesh pulled between his teeth. He must have let his eyes linger too long, however, because when he chanced looking at Rozanov again he was met by his heady glare. 

The first time he had been on the receiving end of that look over a decade ago, in a dingy locker room shower in Toronto, it had made him terrified. Later, against the door of his hotel room, it had emboldened him. Now, a mixture of the two swirled in his gut. 

As they stared at one another, Shane wondered if they were having the same memory. 

“I, ah, am sorry you are no longer captain. You will get an A, surely, especially with my bum knee,” Rozanov softly kicked his leg out and let it swing between them for emphasis, thankfully breaking the tension. 

“How long are you out for?”

“At least the first few weeks of the season. Can’t start skating until October. Maybe November, I will be back. You can tell your friend Comeau I’m coming for him next time we meet.” 

“He’s not my friend,” Shane stated as neutrally as he could. But by the glimmer in Rozanov’s eye, the quip still reeked of bitterness. He quickly tried to change the subject. “Well, don’t worry. If your C gets usurped, I’ll do it fair and square.”

Rozanov choked back a laugh. “Ah, you think it will be so easy? First you get my ice time, then you get my C? Just like that?” He snapped his fingers in Shane’s face. 

“I didn’t say it would be easy,” Shane grinned. “Just that if it happens, it would be rightfully earned.”

“You are piece of work, Hollander,” Rozanov shook his head. 

“It’s my first day, cut me some slack.”

“Mm, yes, first day and already coming for my job. Maybe we can’t be friends after all.” 

“Is that what this is? You trying to be friends?”

Rozanov held his gaze and looked at Shane very seriously. “Friendly,” he corrected himself. “We don’t have to be friends, necessarily…” 

Rozanov’s eyes drifted down to Shane’s mouth, where they lingered for just a moment too long before returning to hold Shane’s gaze.

Shane felt his heart fall to his ass. 

“Okay! Sorry about that, Shane. We should probably keep it moving. Ilya, do you wanna tag along?”

Shane whipped his head around to face Harris, having completely forgotten where he was and why. He was getting a tour of his new team’s facility, he reminded himself, because he had been traded, twice, and was chatting with his new captain. 

Who just happened to be Ilya fucking Rozanov. 

Ice suddenly flooded his veins, and Shane swore he felt the Earth under his feet move, but miraculously stayed standing and no one noticed his panic beginning to set in. 

“Ah, no, I should leave you two to it.” Rozanov reached out to shake Shane’s hand once more. “Hollander, it really is good that you are here. I meant what I told you before. This is a good group of guys. And you will make us better, surely.”

Shane’s throat suddenly felt a little tighter. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Rozanov tightened his grip on Shane’s hand. “Call me if you need anything.”

Then the fucker winked. 

Shane definitely felt like he was going to be faint. 

“Harris! I’ll see you later, my friend.” Rozanov finally let go of Shane’s hand and patted Harris on the arm as he walked away. “Welcome home, Hollander!” He called over his shoulder. 

Shane took a steadying breath before turning back to Harris. “Where to next?”

* * *

June 2010 - Toronto

The moment Shane heard the door close behind Rozanov, he thought he was going to be sick. Blood rushed to his head as anxiety coursed through his veins, setting him on fire from the inside out. He found himself kneeling on the floor next to the bed, head between his knees, still completely naked. This can’t happen again, he thought to himself, trying not to replay the evening’s events on a loop in his mind. It won’t happen again.

And, not from lack of want, it never happened again. 

Their first All-Star game as rookies, six months after their rendezvous, Rozanov had slipped Shane his room number. Shane sat in his own hotel room for hours, agonizing over every possible outcome if he went ahead and knocked on Rozanov’s door. In the end, he couldn’t go through with it. What happened at the commercial shoot… it was a one time thing. It simply had to be. Shane had far too much on the line, and surely so did Rozanov. They never needed to acknowledge it had ever happened. 

And credit to Rozanov, he never acknowledged it. 

The next time they ran into each other at that year’s NHL Awards, Rozanov drunkenly stumbled into Shane’s shoulder to congratulate him on his Rookie of the Year Award, flashed him a cocky grin that could have been interpreted as flirty if Shane wanted to, but he ignored it in favor of shaking his hand before they quickly parted ways. And that was that. 

So time passed. They chirped each other in the face-off circle, threw out digs in the press, were cordial at league wide events where they had to play nice. They continued to let the media play up their rivalry. And when Rozanov took a record breaking pay day and left Boston for Ottawa in free agency, Shane thought that maybe the narrative would die out. Ottawa wasn’t nearly as big of a rival to Montreal as Boston was. 

The fans, however, didn’t forgive and forget. Voyageurs fans and players alike hated Ilya Rozanov’s guts no matter which sweater he was wearing. And so it continued. Chirps, digs, cordial when needed. They knew how to play this game, so why stop now?

But no matter how hard Shane tried, he could never erase the memories of the night that echoed in him every time they bent their heads over the puck. Every cheeky smirk Rozanov flashed at him, he saw the same one he gave Shane from between his legs. Every handshake they gave each other in greeting burned Shane’s palm, as if his skin remembered the way those same hands had danced across his body, as if it was calling out to him. Every time he watched his lips stretch around his name, “Hollander,” in his thick accent, he remembered the way those lips had felt on his own, the way they had looked wrapped around his cock. 

So when the call came early last week that Los Angeles had flipped him to Ottawa in exchange for a decent defenseman, one of their top prospects, and a handful of draft picks, of course the first thing he thought of was Ilya Rozanov. 

Not his family, not his hometown, not the exciting team they’re building. Shane only thought of eyes the color of the sea, his hand pulling on dark blond curls, and the sound of a Russian accent moaning his name that rang out in his mind more often than not when he jerked off. 

This is fine, he thought. I can do this. I can be his teammate and be normal. 

But one look from Rozanov, his remark about them not having to be friends… 

It was going to be an uphill battle. And a very, very long season.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Thank you to those who have already left such lovely comments on the first chapter. This is quickly turning into a beast, so I hope you'll stick with me through this!

Ilya Rozanov was not panicking. 

Really, he wasn’t. He is not someone who panics. He is typically calm and cool if not bullheaded and strengthened under pressure. He brushes shit off his shoulder constantly without it affecting him, something that has become much easier since his father passed. 

But now, watching the clips of today’s press conference with Shane Hollander wearing a fucking Ottawa Centaurs jersey…

Forgive him if he started to panic. 

The one thing Ilya had always been sure of with Hollander is that, for better or worse, they would never have to spend an extended period of time with each other. Nothing more than passing remarks, a quick hello, goodbye, see you next time. Ilya happily ribbed him for being the second-best player in the league, just to see the furrow of Hollander’s brow and the set of his jaw. Hollander, on the other hand, never engaged. He was clearly content weaseling his way out of every conversation the pair had found themselves in over the last ten years. 

Ilya couldn’t help but wonder if, in another universe, things would be different. He often imagined the tentative camaraderie they might have shared with one another like they do with other players across the league, what with them being the best of the best and from the same draft class no less, had Ilya not made a move on him at the commercial shoot mere months before their league debuts. Or even if he hadn’t grossly misread their situation at the All-Star game in 2011. Ilya had enjoyed himself that night in Toronto and he thought he had every indication that Hollander did as well, but evidently not enough to warrant a repeat performance. Ilya had sat anxiously in his hotel room that night, waiting for a knock that never came. He swallowed any hint of embarrassment and disappointment and took the hint from Hollander: Nothing else could happen here. Ever.

Ilya absolutely refused to let himself imagine a world in which Hollander had knocked on his door that night. If he had been able to take Hollander the way he wanted. The sweet noises he would have made under him as Ilya took him apart. The flex of Hollander’s body under his fingers, begging for more, more, more…

Ilya tossed the iPad to the other side of the couch and wiped his hands over his face. Get a fucking grip.

Ilya tried desperately to ignore the way his ego and anxiety were both roaring in frustration. The truth was, this was an incredible move for the Centaurs. Even without his injury, the team was seriously lacking in center depth. The fact that management was willing to take a chance on them now, giving away picks and prospects like candy, gave the team a welcome confidence boost. They didn’t want to wait for Ilya to be back in the lineup to make a statement. They had faith the guys on the ice could do this, so let’s make it happen. Now. 

Which is why when Wyatt had dropped a link to the trade announcement in the team group chat last week, Ilya was asking if anyone had Hollander’s number before he could even process what Ottawa’s acquisition meant. Chouinard had come through for him almost immediately, saying that Hollander’s Montreal teammate - former teammate, Ilya corrected himself - J.J. Boiziau was a buddy of his. 

Ilya had hesitated, staring at the number. He was captain of Hollander’s new team. It would have been completely normal, if not expected, that he would reach out to him soon. But his hand had turned to lead, his finger hovering over the “Call” button. What would he even say? 

“Hey Hollander. Sorry your team dumped you out of nowhere after building them a dynasty and you’re being shipped back to your hometown to play on an historically shitty team, captained by me, the guy who you’ve been pitted against your whole career and built up a decade’s worth of resentment towards, not to mention the fact that we sucked each other’s dicks that one time years ago and then pretended that it never happened. Haha, yeah, good times. Anyways. See you at practice.”

Ilya had groaned and tossed his phone on the kitchen island, turning in favor of grabbing a bottle of vodka out of the freezer. He’d unscrewed and flicked the cap away before taking a pull, took a deep breath, then grabbed his phone and hit “Call” before he could chicken out.

The line rang four times, and Ilya almost thought he was in the clear to leave a message. It wasn’t his lucky day, however, and he finally heard Hollander’s voice. “Hello?”

“Hollander. It’s Ilya.” He grimaced. “Rozanov,” he clarified lamely.

Silence.

Ilya pulled the phone back to make sure the line was still connected. “Hollander? You there?”

Hollander coughed on the other end. “Yeah, uh, hi. Sorry. Um. Sorry. I, uh… hi.”

Ilya bit his lip to hold in his laugh. “Hello,” he said with barely concealed amusement. “I got your number from Nick Chouinard. He got it from god knows where. Hope that is okay.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course. That’s.. that’s fine,” Ilya heard another distant cough, as if Hollander had pulled the phone away to clear his throat again. 

“So. You are coming to Ottawa.”

“…Yeah, I guess I am.”

“So much for our big rivalry.”

Hollander let out a nervous laugh. “So much for that, huh?”

“Mm. Listen,” Ilya wanted to tread lightly here. When he had heard the news a couple days earlier of Montreal sending Hollander to Los Angeles for what was, in Ilya’s opinion, a bucket of scraps even a stray dog wouldn’t touch, Ilya knew immediately something was up. No contending team ships off their star player for next to nothing without a whiff of off-ice drama. “I don’t know what happened. Why you left Montreal. None of my business. But… it was your choice, yes?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Hollander answered, “Yeah. It was.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Ilya plowed on. “Whatever the reason, you should know… this is a great team. Coaches too. Maybe not everyone can see it from the outside, but I have never played with guys who want to win for each other more than they want to win for themselves.” Ilya looked down at his injured knee and slowly flexed the joint, stretching out the stiff muscles. 

There had been another long pause. When Hollander finally responded, his voice sounded scratchy and muffled. “That’s… that’s good to hear.”

“What I am trying to say is,” Ilya gripped his phone tightly and focused on the brace hiding his scarred skin underneath. He didn’t want there to be any confusion here for Hollander. He had correctly assumed that he had been the one to request a trade, but didn’t want to push his luck in any additional speculations he may or may not have. “There is so much love here. I love being their captain,” he said softly. “We have each other’s backs. On and off ice. And I have no doubt that if you play hard for them, they’ll play hard for you. We all take care of each other. No matter what. Okay?”

“Okay,” Hollander responded softly, then cleared his throat. “Okay. Yes. I’m happy to hear that. Really.”

“Good,” Ilya sighed. “Ah, I’m sure it has been a long day for you and it’s not over yet, so I will not keep you. I just wanted to tell you welcome, and, uh. We are happy to have you. You will be great here. We need a new star center, anyway.” He grumbled and finally made himself tear away his gaze from his leg.

Ilya ignored the goosebumps that raised on his arms when Hollander laughed in response. “I suppose that’s true,” Hollander’s voice softened. “Um. I appreciate the call, Rozanov. Thank you.”

“Let me know if I can help with anything. I have lots of free time for a few months still,” Ilya took a deep breath before saying, “I’m looking forward to playing with you. Nice change of pace.” A beat of silence, then Ilya said softly, “It will be fun, yes?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’ll be fun.” Ilya imagined he could hear a small smile in Hollander’s voice, but quickly sent the thought out of his mind. “Um. Thanks again for reaching out,” Hollander continued. “I’ll see you soon, I suppose?”

“See you soon, Hollander.”

As the line went dead, Ilya puffed out his cheeks and released a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and took another long pull and swore under his breath in Russian.

So now, here he was, replaying their conversation over the phone and their interaction at the rink earlier today over and over in his mind. Ilya stretched out across his couch and glanced at the muted television playing a random action movie he abandoned in favor of spiraling. He heard a small shuffling in the corner to see Anya standing from her bed and stretching her front and back legs, giving a small full-body shake before she padded over to inspect Ilya.

“Ooh, big stretch,” Ilya smiled at her and patted the empty spot on the couch next to him. She took the cue, hopping up to snuggle into his side, letting out a sigh as she made herself comfortable and curled her nose back in towards her body. “Me too, printsessa,” Ilya said to her, bringing his hand down to pet the top of her head. Now trapped between the back of the couch and his dog, the television remote just out of reach, Ilya closed his eyes and conceded that there was no point in trying to avoid thinking about Shane Hollander, or what his arrival in Ottawa might mean for him.

Ilya was a great player. He never doubted himself about that. He was a generational talent. He could skate circles around virtually any player in the league any day of the week… But so could Hollander. He was, Ilya suspected, the only person who could match his level of talent and competitiveness. And now, with the press running rampant with speculation about why Hollander moved on from Montreal, it seemed like he had something to prove now more than ever.

Ilya glared at his injured knee for the millionth time, his stomach tying itself into knots. The surgery to repair the torn ligament wasn’t a career killer, but it had caused a fresh bout of anxiety over the last two months. Ilya knew at his age that if he didn’t focus, if he didn’t do everything in his power to get his body back to the level it had been at before the playoffs, everything could come crashing down around him. Which meant he couldn’t let Hollander, with his impeccable instinct on the ice and constellations dotting his face that plagued Ilya’s dreams, get in the way of things.

As if reading his anxiety, Anya opened her eyes and hopped off the couch with a huff, and walked towards the stairs. She stopped at the bottom step and looked back at Ilya with a demand on her face: Bed time, old man.

Ilya forced himself off the couch. “Okay, okay…” he mumbled. Once Anya saw he was on his feet, she raced up the stairs to surely hop up on his bed and settle in for the night. Ilya followed, reminding himself to call Galina’s office to make an appointment in the morning. 

* * *

September 2021 - Ottawa

The first week of training camp was a blur. 

Ilya had never not participated in the first team workouts. He technically didn’t even have to attend, but he couldn’t imagine not at least being there. If he was one of the guys on a two-way deal fighting for a spot on the Centaurs’ depth chart he wasn’t sure he would care if the injured captain didn’t even bother to make an appearance. But if he was Hollander… 

Ilya made sure to be at every workout. 

From halfway up the lower bowl he watched the way Hollander ran the drills, flying up and down the ice, literally skating circles around everybody else. He watched him chitchat with their teammates, leaning over the boards to make small talk. 

He heard a loud “boof” from behind him and suddenly found himself with a lap full of a large, slobbering black dog, both of the dog’s front paws propped up on Ilya’s thigh to reach eye-level.

“Chiron! My best buddy, how are you?” Ilya rubbed behind the dog’s ears while Chiron panted in his face.

“Chiron, get off of him, you goof,” Harris followed his dog down the aisle and dropped into the seat next to Ilya.

“No, don’t listen to him. You are perfect where you are,” Ilya squished Chiron’s furry face in his hands and brought them nose to nose. Chiron gave him a wet kiss before hopping off his lap and bounding further down the aisle, looking for popcorn crumbs under the seats.

“How’s the knee doing?” Harris nodded towards Ilya’s leg propped up between the two seats in front of him.

“Ready to cut it off, I think,” Ilya grumbled, turning his attention back to the ice. He saw Barrett leaning on his stick talking with Hollander while Luca Haas led a group running drills on the other end of the ice.

“Fuck, he’s hot,” he heard Harris mumble next to him.

Ilya snorted. “Yes, congrats on having the hottest and gayest boyfriend on the team.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean Troy. I mean, him too, obviously. But I was talking about Shane.”

Hollander had removed his helmet and casually ran a hand back and forth through his hair while talking to Barrett. Ilya didn’t miss the way Troy ever so slightly lost his balance on his stick but quickly recovered. “You think Troy is thinking the same thing as you right now?” Ilya asked with a grin.

“Oh, one hundred percent he is, are you joking?” Harris laughed and leaned closer to Ilya, who was stifling a laugh deep in his chest. “Did you see him just almost fucking fall over?” 

Ilya’s body was now shaking trying not to lose it, nodding while covering his face with one hand. He heard Harris let out a loud cackle next to him, doubling over to try to control himself, but Harris had let the domino fall and now Ilya was leaned over with him as they both let their laughs echo throughout the rink, feeding off each other. Chiron happily bounded back over to them, wiggling in between them to see what all the fuss was about.

“The fuck is going on over there?” Ilya heard Barrett call out, gliding across the ice to get closer to them. Hollander remained where he was, but Ilya could see the hint of a smile on his face.

The two men in the stands schooled their faces into ones of faux innocence, and Harris held up his hands in surrender. “Nothing is going on here, Barrett,” Ilya called. 

Barrett furrowed his eyebrows. “Quit flirting with my man, Roz,” he winked at the pair of them before skating back over to Hollander.

“Never,” he yelled. “I will be such a good step-father to Chiron!” He gave the dog another good scratch on the top of his head. He heard Harris mumble, “Oh good lord,” next to him.

Barrett didn’t respond and simply flipped Ilya off without turning around. Ilya could see Hollander clearly trying to bite back a grin, holding Ilya’s gaze for just a moment. He couldn’t hear what Hollander said to Barrett as he returned next to him, but he definitely heard the choked laughter from Barrett ring out across the ice.

“Hollander is doing it on purpose,” he murmured to Harris. 

“What? No way. Shane Hollander is the kind of hot where he doesn’t even know how hot he is. He has the boy next door thing going on.”

Ilya shook his head. “Nah. He knows.”

* * *

“Shoot the damn puck!”

Most of the Ottawa Centaurs starting lineup was spread across the section attached to their box at the first preseason game, save for Haas who was down on the ice. As the early preseason games were typically a prospect showcase, Ilya had suggested a bunch of the veterans should try to get to as many games as they could if they weren’t lacing up. Truthfully, the leadership display was a cover for the fact that Ilya was sick of watching his team play all by himself. More so, after a summer of guys dispersing to their home cities and countries, he simply missed hanging out with his team. 

“SHOOT IT!”

“Bood, I think they’ve got it covered man. You’re blocking my view,” Barrett yanked the back of Boodram’s shirt to get him to sit down in front of him. 

“Then why are we getting our ass beat by what’s essentially Toronto’s AHL team’s fourth line,” Boodram argued. 

“Because they are against our AHL team’s fourth line. Pipe the fuck down,” Ilya laughed. 

Hayes wandered down to Ilya’s row, two hot dogs in his hands. “If I can hear you out on the concourse, they can definitely hear you down on the ice,” he said, handing Ilya one of the hot dogs. 

“You could not hear me, man.”

“No, I definitely heard you from the bathroom just now.” Ilya turned and saw Hollander hopping onto a stool at the bar behind the seats. 

Bood waved a hand in the air and laughed to himself. “Whatever, guys.”

They watched as play continued for a few minutes. When Ottawa drew a penalty late in the second period, Ilya called over his shoulder, “Alright Hollander. What does your big hockey brain tell you about Toronto’s chances this year?” He took a bite of his hot dog and looked over his shoulder expectantly. 

Hollander fidgeted with the pop tab on his can of ginger ale. “They’re a fucking mess,” he said. “They need to carve out an identity without Dallas Kent, except they don’t know what that is. The only player who would’ve stepped up to lead them is now sitting here,” he gestured to Barrett. “If there’s no leadership, there’s no heart, and they’re going to be floundering for a while to start the season.”

Ilya looked over at Barrett, who froze while bringing his beer to his mouth when Hollander mentioned him. Ilya saw the blood rush to his face, and quickly tried to gather himself. Barrett downed half his beer in one gulp. 

“Damn fucking right,” Bood said, turning around to clap Barrett on his knee. Ilya grinned as Barrett aggressively tried not to make eye contact with anyone. 

“Alright, what about Boston? We play them in two days.” 

Hollander shrugged. “They’re gonna be sneaky. They might have the best defense in the division, but that can only take them so far,” he locked eyes with Ilya. “They’re lacking up front these days.”

Ilya couldn’t help but wink at him, and was rewarded with a small flush on Hollander’s cheeks. Nothing like Barrett’s tomato red situation, but he would take what he could get. “Who else has a team? This is a fun game.”

Hayes raised his hand. “Pick me. Call on me, please, Mr. Hollander.”

Hollander couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, Mr. Hayes?”

“What are your thoughts on the Cens’ upcoming season, Mr. Hollander, sir?” 

Hollander grinned but didn’t reply. Instead, the goal horn went off to signal a successful Ottawa power play. 

All the guys stood up to cheer for their teammates down below (“See? I told them they just have to shoot it!” he heard Bood exclaim), and Ilya took the chance to stretch his leg. He collected the bits of trash from him and Hayes and snuck up to the garbage can in the box. Instead of returning to his seat, however, he wandered over to lean on the bartop next to Hollander. “And, uh,” Ilya began, quiet enough so the rest of the guys couldn’t hear. “What about Montreal this year? Any insider secrets we should know?” 

Ilya watched Hollander clench his jaw. “Anything I knew is pointless now, so.” He took a swig of his ginger ale. 

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe there are some kneecaps I need to take out to make sure they’re out of contention. Just returning the favor, is all,” Ilya said innocently. 

Hollander made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and turned his attention back to the game. 

Ilya leaned closer to Hollander and ignored the way he stiffened next to him. “You should know… Barrett has a crush on you.”

Hollander snorted and Ilya sensed his body relaxing a tiny bit. “What?” he asked incredulously. “Doesn’t he have a boyfriend?”

“Don’t worry, Harris has a crush on you, too. But Troy almost tripped over air talking to you on the ice. It is what we were giggling about the other day,” Ilya smirked. “But look at him! He is still beat red from you complimenting him.”

Hollander shook his head and grinned. “Whatever man,” he said, glancing over at Troy, whose face had in fact not yet returned to its natural shade. “…There are worse things, I suppose.” 

As if summoned, Harris opened the door to the box and held up his large team issued camera. “Alright, boys. Everyone smile for the gram real quick!” Harris positioned himself so he could get everyone’s faces in the shot before snapping a couple photos. “Beautiful, thank you!”

Barrett hopped up to greet his boyfriend properly. Ilya watched as he casually walked over and gave Harris a quick peck on the lips, bending their heads together to discuss their dinner plans for after the game. Hollander, he noticed, was trying to hide that he was watching them closely as well. 

Ilya didn’t realize he was leaning further and further into Hollander’s space until the brush of their shoulders caused Hollander to turn his attention back to the ice and found his face inches from Ilya’s. 

Ilya instinctively reoriented himself back in his personal bubble. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Bad leg, bad balance.”

Hollander was giving Ilya an unreadable expression before he flashed a quick awkward smile and focused once again on the game. Ilya hoisted himself onto the stool next to Hollander to ensure he remained a full foot away from him at all times. 

Later, when Ilya was in bed with Anya tucked at his side while scrolling Instagram, he found the carousel Harris had posted of the game. It was mostly full of the young players’ faces and action shots, but ended on the photo he took of the vets up in the box. He looked at Bood’s wide, cheesy grin, Hazy’s arms stretched out in a grand Are you not entertained? gesture, Barrett’s eyes crinkling the way they do whenever he sees Harris. 

He looked at Hollander’s genuine smile, and his own face caught mid-laugh at Harris’ impeccable timing, seemingly showing up just to embarrass Hollander more. 

Ilya liked the post, tapped on Hollander’s tag to bring him to his profile, hit the blue Follow button, and closed the app and locked his phone before he would spend the night scrolling through Hollander’s profile. 

He was asleep twenty minutes later when the notification came through:

@ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer followed you back!

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

October 2021 - Ottawa

“Which do you like better? The red or the blue?” 

Yuna held up two fabric samples over the FaceTime call. She had spent an absurd amount of time over the last month helping Shane settle into his new home, and it seemed was out shopping for decor every other day. 

Shane glanced at the color options. “I like the red,” he said. “What is this for? More throw pillows?”

Yuna hummed in confirmation. “Oh, they also have this pretty sea foam green color…” 

Shane sighed. He tried not to be ungrateful, and it was, truly, super nice to have his parents much closer. But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling the tiniest bit smothered these days. “Mom, I’m starting to have decision fatigue,” he teased her. “You don’t have to be doing all of this, you know. I usually hire someone to  take care of this kind of thing.” 

Yuna sighed. “I know, sweetie. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable and your home feels like you. You’ve had so many changes. I can’t help but mother you a bit,” she smiled at him. “I’ll let you go. I’ll bring this stuff over later this week.” 

“Thanks, Mom. Love you.” 

“Love youuu!” Yuna ended the call, and Shane was sure she’d be in the department store for at least another hour browsing for inspiration. 

He sighed and let his phone fall on the counter, but the second it hit the stone countertop it started ringing again. He sighed, assuming his mom had one more quick question, but was relieved to see it was just Hayden. Shane brought the phone to his ear and started pacing around his kitchen. “Hey man,” he said. 

“What’s up, bro? I’m just checking in. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk lately,” Hayden said. 

“Yeah, it’s uh. It’s been crazy, I’m not gonna lie.”

“I’ll bet. Sooo…” Hayden said, drawing out the last syllable. “Tell me everything.”

Shane huffed and his feet led him to his couch, where he plopped down and threw his legs over the arm. He absently thought that he actually could really use a throw pillow under his head right now. “I mean, there’s not much to tell yet. Everyone is cool here. I moved into the new place a few weeks ago. Not really much to say until the season gets going, y’know?” Shane told him.  “How’s, uh,” he hesitated. “How are things there?”

A beat of silence, then: “You really want to know?”

Shane sighed. “I guess. No. I don’t even know.”

“It’s weird as fuck, dude,” Hayden told him. “The locker room has basically been split into two factions, y’know? And the fans that will bother to show up will only come to burn shit outside the arena. If we don’t come flying out of the gate this year, we’re toast. It won’t do any good to gloat, but J.J. and I are kinda walking around like… we fucking told you, fuckers!” Hayden sighed and Shane could picture him running a hand over his face in frustration. “You really were the glue, man. It’s so… demoralizing.”

Shane swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Hayden,” he replied softly.

“No, god no, don’t fucking apologize. You gotta do what you gotta do. It’s just a fucking killer that things went down the way they did. But I mean, from what I’ve heard about Ottawa… I can’t imagine a better place for a fresh start. And with Rozanov out?” Hayden let out a low whistle. “You’re gonna fucking kill it, dude. Speaking of, is he giving you shit?”

“Um,” Shane turned over their few interactions in his mind. “Not really, no. If anything, he’s been borderline… I don’t know. Pleasant?

Hayden scoffed. “Now that I would have to see to believe.”

“I don’t know, man. He’s captain for a reason. These guys all really seem to gel, and, like, give a shit about each other. They really look up to Rozanov. I think he would take a puck to the face for them any day.”

Hayden hummed in response, still not quite buying it. “Y’know, Barrett… is Rozanov, like. Cool? With him?”

Shane bristled. Troy Barrett was the only active NHL player other than Scott Hunter who was publicly out. He appreciated Hayden’s heart being in the right place, but the implication that Rozanov would have an issue with Troy Barrett and therefore an issue with Shane made his stomach roll. “As far as I can tell, they’re actually pretty tight. Barrett’s boyfriend works for the team, and he’s much more… flamboyant than him?” Shane shrugged and recalled their giggle fest during practice the other day. “They really seem like good friends. Rozanov is even, like, weirdly obsessed with their dog? So. I think I’m in the clear.”

Hayden grunted. “Well. I guess that’s one less thing I have to worry about.”

Shane grinned. “Aw, you’re worried about me, honey? That’s sweet,” he teased.

“Fuck you, dude,” Hayden quipped, but Shane could hear the smile in his voice. “I just miss you, is all. And I want you to, like, be okay.”

Shane’s heart swelled. He had tried not to dwell on what he left behind in Montreal over the last few months, but with the new season dawning he couldn’t help but let himself focus on the good that was still there. “I miss you, too, Hayds.” 

* * *

“You’re coming to Bood’s tonight, right?”

Shane looked over to Troy Barrett as he pulled his shirt over his head following their morning skate and nodded. He almost didn’t hear him over the god awful ballpark country artist Dykstra had put on in the locker room. “I’ll probably come for a little bit, yeah,” Shane told him.

“What do you mean ‘for a little bit,’ Hollsy!?” Boodram called from across the room. “These are not dip in and out, affairs, bro! You gotta give us enough time to pick your brain, at least.”

Shane laughed. “Pick my brain? What are you hoping to find, exactly?”

“Hollander is right,” Rozanov chimed in. Despite not dressing for practice, he had still dutifully watched the guys run drills and was now parked on the bench, arms crossed over his chest and leaning his head against the divider between his and Bood’s stalls. “There’s nothing in there except dead plays and ancient, boring stats from before Hunter was born.”

Shane dipped his head so no one would see the flush rising in his cheeks. “Wow. You just have me all figured out, don’t you Rozanov?” He shot a look over to him, and ignored the swoop in his belly at the way one side of Rozanov’s mouth turned upwards.

“Ignore him. Look, I do this every year right before the season for team bonding. Let me show off and be a grill master for one night. The one time there are no wives, girlfriends, or kids. Except Harris. Harris is basically part of the team so he gets a pass,” Bood explained. 

Barrett leaned over to Shane and murmured, “I joked that it was homophobic to not let Harris come. Bood didn’t catch that I was kidding and totally panicked, and now I think will cancel the whole thing if he doesn’t show up.”

Shane folded his lips together to keep from laughing. “How does Harris feel about being ‘the chosen one?’”

“Confused but willing to go along with it. He’ll try to dip out early at least twice before anyone lets him leave.” Barrett smiled fondly. “So you’ll be there?”

Shane looked from Barrett, to Boodram, to Rozanov, who was practically daring him to say no. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

The evening started out way more painless than Shane expected. Although he was still nervous about being welcomed into the fold, he understood that he was never going to get anywhere if he shut out any effort the guys put into getting to know him. He even found himself locked in a delightful conversation with Luca Haas for nearly half an hour, once Shane was able to pull more than three words out of the starstruck kid. 

And, Shane had to admit, Bood wasn’t kidding about his cooking abilities. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to eat much because of his strict performance diet, but there was plenty of smoked salmon whipped up that would have kept Shane going for days. 

I can do this, he thought. I can maybe be happy here. 

From across the deck, Shane had been keeping tabs on Rozanov all night. He greeted Shane with nothing more than a bro-ish slap on the shoulder and a gruff, “Hollander,” when he arrived, before making the rounds and eventually settling around the large fire pit with Barrett and Hayes. Shane watched as he effortlessly conversed and laughed with their teammates, a Centaurs branded sweatshirt stretched across his chest, his eyes twinkling from the flames dancing in front of him. Shane excused himself from his conversation with Luca, saying he was going to find a restroom.

Secretly, Shane thought as he meandered between bodies into the house and found the restroom down the hall, he envied how easy it must be for Rozanov. The ability to so effortlessly turn on the charm when he wanted never came natural to Shane. He always earned respect from his teammates with his performance on the ice, and then they wouldn’t care how stiff or awkward he was in the locker room or at team gatherings. Shane would always warm up to people, sure, but if Rozanov wanted someone to like him, he would make sure they liked him within their first conversation. And if he wanted someone to hate him, well. That was even easier for him. 

Shane glanced at himself in the bathroom mirror as he washed his hands. He was suddenly struck by the memory of something Rozanov had told him on the phone after his trade had been announced: I have no doubt that if you play hard for them, they’ll play hard for you. We all take care of each other. 

Shane splashed some cold water on his face and took a steadying breath. You are Shane fucking Hollander, he told himself. You can fucking mingle with some strangers for a little while longer so they don’t think you’re a freak.

Shane forced himself out of the bathroom and headed back towards the deck, and when he bent to open the cooler by the sliding glass doors, he opted for a can of beer instead of his usual ginger ale.

Drink in hand, Shane surveyed his options. He headed for the large firepit where Rozanov, Barrett, and Hayes had been parked most of the night, except now Bood, Chouinard, Dykstra, and Harris had also joined the circle, Bood and Chouinard dwarfing their adirondack chairs, Dykstra lounging next to Ilya on a couch, and Harris squeezed in between his boyfriend and the arm of the loveseat they were sharing. He plopped himself down into one of the few empty chairs, directly across from Rozanov.

“Ah! There he is!” Harris welcomed him as he sat down.

Bood reached over and lightly slapped Shane’s leg. “You having a good time? You get enough to eat?”

Shane nodded and cracked open his beer. “Yeah, man. Thanks for doing all this.”

“Zane will literally fucking explode if he goes too long without cooking a feast for the entire city,” Chouinard chirped from the other side of Bood. “Don’t tell him you’re having too much fun, otherwise you’ll be invited over twice a week for the rest of the season.”

Shane let out what he hoped came across as an easy chuckle. “Noted,” he said, taking a sip from his beer. “What are we talking about?”

“We’re talking about you, Hollander, of course,” Rozanov said easily from across the fire pit. He was almost sinking into this half of a couch, injured leg propped up on an ottoman in front of him. Shane quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well. Kind of,” Rozanov conceded. “This year’s playoffs.”

“Ah,” Shane nodded once. “I see.”

There was a slight tension around the pit, and Shane hoped the ground would simply swallow him whole, the pep talk he had given himself in the bathroom completely evaporating from his mind. 

Hayes was the one to finally break the silence. “Look, Shane, you don’t know us well, and you obviously don’t have to tell us shit. But if there is anything you wanna talk about, it goes without saying that that all stays between us.”

Shane gave him a relenting smile. “You guys wanna know why I didn’t extend with Montreal,” he said. The sun had almost completely set, and it was harder to make out everyone’s faces with only the fire to light them, but he could see the expectant looks everyone had. 

“You don’t have to tell us,” Rozanov said surprisingly gently. “It is your business.”

Shane held his gaze. The truth was that NHL players loved to gossip, and the rumor mill around the league ran quicker than one might expect. It didn’t surprise him that Rozanov might have put some pieces together, knowing what he knows about Shane. “It’s fine,” he said softly and tried to give a reassuring smile. “Um,” Shane started, readjusting in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with everyone’s gazes locked on him. “The short answer is… uh. A couple of guys… well, one guy in particular found out that…” He took a deep breath, and spoke slowly, as if he had to dig out the words out one at a time from the deepest depths of his brain. “He found out that I am, uh. That I’m… gay…” Shane swallowed. “And it very quickly became a problem for him. And so he decided to make it everyone else’s problem, too.”

Shane was staring intently at the fire, not ready to see the reactions the guys surrounding him might be having. He knew, logically, with Barrett and Harris literally cuddling five feet away from him, no one would have a problem with him being gay. He knew that, despite playing with them for only a few weeks, he could trust these guys with this part of himself. But still, that logic couldn’t completely tamper down the fear that he’d been trained to feel at this point still rose in him.

Rozanov was the first to speak. “Who was it?” 

Shane finally lifted his eyes to meet Rozanov’s. His jaw was set tight, and even in the dim light he could see the narrowing of his eyes. Shane dropped his gaze to Rozanov’s knee and nearly laughed. Meeting Rozanov’s gaze once again, the corner of Shane’s mouth pulled upwards ever so slightly. “Gilbert Comeau,” he told him. He didn’t miss the way Rozanov’s lips parted in a small, inaudible Oh.

“Fuck off,” Dykstra exclaimed next to him. He looked between Rozanov and Shane. “The same prick who sidelined Roz also ran you out of your own fucking barn?”

“I mean,” Shane scratched his jaw uncomfortably. “It was a little more complicated than that, but… yeah.”

“Doesn’t sound that complicated to me,” Barrett said. His entire body was tense, and Harris draped his legs across his boyfriend’s lap, as if to say, Down, boy. Barrett let one hand rest on top of Harris’ legs, his thumb swiping back and forth over the side seam of his jeans self-soothingly. “And just… no one stood up for you?” 

Shane’s chest started to feel a little tighter. “Hayden Pike and J.J. Boiziau were… are two of my closest friends. They had already known that I was gay for a while, and when shit went down they absolutely went to bat for me. But in the end…” Shane fiddled with the pop tab on his beer can and sighed. He’s come this far, he might as well tell them everything. 

“Pike and Boiziau may have warned me against coming out to the whole team. We all knew how a lot of the guys in that locker room think. I knew it was risky. But at the same time, I was just so tired,” Shane explained. “I didn’t want to make a big statement, necessarily, but I wanted to stop hiding. Like, I’ve never dated anyone seriously, y’know? And it might have been naive of me to think that, because I was their captain, people would have thought twice before saying something. I figured that if I was quiet about it and played well… no one would care that much.”

“Virtually any other team in the league would not have cared,” Chouinard said. “Boiziau and I were in Juniors together and he’s still a buddy. He’s told me some shit about a couple of those guys over the years,” he offered Shane sympathetically.

Shane nodded. “Yeah. I know there was so much shit that was said when I wasn’t in the room for years. Not about me, necessarily, but just horrid, bigoted shit. They knew better than to be dicks in front of me. But at some point that stopped mattering,” Shane looked down. “Last season, I kind of… I just finally had enough. I stopped hiding. I started going out more, started seeing a couple guys. I never, like, willingly offered up the fact that I was gay to anyone I wasn’t close to, but I was prepared to, like. Not deny it if anyone asked.

“Um. In April, I went out with a guy. We were just at a bar. And we weren’t in anybody’s face about it, just being a little touchy, and I guess it was obvious enough that we were on a date. And then Comeau of all people walks in. I didn’t see him at first, but he definitely saw me,” Out of the corner of his eye, Shane saw Rozanov crossing his arms over his chest, listening intently. Absurdly, he had a fleeting thought about what Rozanov might have to say about him going out with a random, handsome Quebecois man.

Shane pushed the thought aside and continued his story. “He came over to us, and asked to talk to me outside. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be anything good, but I didn’t know what else to do. We went around to the alley and he just started screaming at me. Calling me a faggot, saying that it made the whole team look bad, everyone will think we’re a bunch of fairies, shit like that. I could tell he wanted to hit me, but he never did. But I just stood there like a fucking idiot. Like, I couldn’t believe how fucking ridiculous it was. I told him to fuck off and went back inside, and I thought that was that.”

“Did you at least get laid that night?” Bood tried to lighten the mood, and Shane couldn’t help but laugh.

“No! He fucking killed the mood so badly, I just finished my drink and went home alone,” Shane heard a couple of the other guys chuckle, but pointedly ignored the grin that quickly took up residence on Rozanov’s face. “The next few weeks were weird. It was like Comeau was staging a mutiny. More and more guys stopped listening to me. They started making snide comments. Even Hayden and J.J. were getting shit just for being close to me. Coach kept telling me that it was my responsibility to pull the team together, but I couldn’t get more than a handful of guys to even listen to anything I had to say anymore. I tried to ignore it, like nothing had changed. I tried yelling. I tried bag skating them. But I had lost the room completely,” Shane rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. “I mean, I don’t need to explain to you guys that by the time the playoffs rolled around, Montreal was fucked.”

Everyone around the fire pit was silent, remembering the brutal first round between Montreal and Ottawa. Except, it wasn’t brutal for Ottawa. It was a fucking walk in the park for them, humiliating the Voyageurs four games in a row with an easy sweep. “We couldn’t connect at all. We were so fucking disjointed, and we were all blaming each other for every dumb mistake. And Game 4 was such a fucking disaster…” Shane remembered Comeau’s huge hit on Rozanov that silenced the arena early in the first period, and the sickening 7-1 final score the Centaurs put up in retaliation.

Shane leaned his head back in his seat and focused on the few stars peaking out in the night sky. “I thought I was going to murder him,” Shane told the group. “The second we stepped off the ice, Comeau was in my fucking face. Telling me it was all my fault. Calling me a faggot over and over. And keep in mind, he’s towering over me. He’s like, 6’6” and built like a brick shit house.” 

When Shane didn’t continue, he heard Harris ask gently, “So what did you do?”

Shane waited a moment before answering. “I decked him,” he told them. “I kneed him in the balls, and when he doubled over I punched him square in the face.”

“Atta boy,” he heard Dykstra say quietly.

“I would have kept going,” Shane told them honestly. “But I just blacked out. I remember someone pulling me off of him before I could hit him again, I remember Hayden getting me home that night, and I remember the call with management the next morning where I told them I wouldn’t be re-signing with them under any circumstances. Not that they would have let me re-sign there, anyway,” he grimaced. “We came to an agreement that if I didn’t come out against Comeau and go public about him harassing me, then the league would let my misconduct slide. Apparently, me losing my shit is bad for business.” Shane rolled his eyes. “I waived my no-trade clause and told them to ship me off literally anywhere else the second free-agency hit. So now,” Shane gestured to himself in his seat. “Here I am.”

The circle was silent, taking in Shane’s admission. “I’m glad you’re out of there, man,” Hayes finally spoke up, sounding heartbreakingly earnest. “We are not that kind of team. We’ve got you.”

Shane gave a small smile and nodded at the guys affirming Hayes’ words. “Thanks, guys,” he said and hoped no one noticed his quick sniffle. He’d spent so much time mulling over the end of his time in Montreal, he could almost keep his emotions completely in check. Soon, Shane thought, he might be able to recite the story as if it was far removed from himself and had nothing to do with him. 

“Well, I suppose everything comes with a price, though,” Barrett said. He smirked at Shane and nodded his head towards Rozanov. “Sucks you gotta play with this guy now.”

Shane laughed, thankful for the change in topic. “Yeah, it’s weird as fuck, I’m not gonna lie,” he smirked at Rozanov, whose own eyes were dancing with amusement. “But I’m not moving from center if Wiebe wants to juggle lines,” Shane teased him and gestured towards Rozanov with his beer.

Rozanov scoffed. “Oh, what the fuck ever, Hollander,” he replied. “You could not center me if your life depended on it.” 

Shane raised an eyebrow. They both knew that was a fucking lie. “You think you could center me?” 

“I can do literally anything I want. I was the first overall pick. Did you forget?”

“Mm. Still holding a spot in your trophy case for that Rookie of the Year award?”

“I’m the highest paid player in the fucking league!”

“For now,” Shane smirked, raising his beer to his lips. He held Rozanov’s gaze, daring him to look away. He surprised Shane by conceding, instead dipping his eyes to Shane’s throat as he swallowed. 

“This is exactly how I thought this was gonna go,” Hayes said, waving a finger between the two of them. 

Bood laughed and addressed the rest of the circle. “Do you guys remember that fucking commercial that was on constantly when they debuted? The one where you were staring each other down at center ice? I swear to god, it aired every commercial break during every single game that season. I was so sick of you two before I ever even met either of you.”

Barrett leaned his head back and laughed as Harris gasped. “Oh my god, I forgot about that! With that fucking dumb ass dramatic song? Like they were marching off to war?”

Bood continued laughing. “Yes! It was stuck in my head the whole year - oh god don’t pull it up, Chouinard!”

Shane’s eyes once again found Rozanov’s across the fire, his expression unreadable. Every single moment of the day that they shot the commercial in question was etched into Shane’s memory, and he wondered if it was the same for him. His gut turned over as he tuned out the chatter of their teammates finding the commercial on YouTube, the overzealous instrumental song Harris had mocked playing from Chouinard’s tinny phone speakers, the laughter as the phone was passed around the circle. Finally, without breaking eye contact with Shane, Rozanov said, “I don’t know what you guys are laughing at. It was a great commercial.”

Shane smirked. “You’re only saying that because it was your idea.” 

“The fuck do you mean it was your idea, Roz!?” Bood doubled over in laughter. 

“They originally pitched it to me as two separate commercials,” Shane said. “Two days before the shoot, they said they were going to have us do one commercial together. Come to find out, he was the one who suggested that we do it together.”

Rozanov shrugged and smirked at Shane. “And here we are, talking about it ten years later! It was clearly a great idea. Besides,” Rozanov’s eyes flashed dangerously. “We didn’t know each other. And I was curious about you, Hollander.”

Shane didn’t waver his gaze, but he couldn’t help but let the smirk on his face falter just a little. 

“Oh my god, you guys were babies,” Harris handed the phone off to Barrett, the commercial playing on a loop at this point, clearly oblivious to the silent staring contest happening between the two men across the fire pit. “We have to recreate that once Ilya’s back.”

Rozanov finally broke their contest. He shifted in his seat and gave Harris a tight lipped smile. “Great idea,” he said, then pushed himself up. “Excuse me,” he murmured, walking towards the house, presumably to get another drink. 

Shane watched him, then turned to Harris. “We should definitely recreate it,” he told him, although he didn’t think he sounded convincing. 

Barrett tapped his boyfriend’s legs in a warning that he was standing up, and Harris lifted his legs. “Anybody need anything?” He asked as he stood. 

Everyone passed, and Barrett headed towards the house as well. Shane settled in his seat, and looked at Hayes who was still watching the commercial on repeat. “I think we’re good with that, man,” Shane told him with a grin. 

Hayes held his hands up in surrender and passed the phone back to Chouinard, who shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Fucking funny, dude,” Hayes mumbled with a laugh.

* * *

Shane found Rozanov a little while later on the far end of the deck, away from the rest of the team, smoking a cigarette. “Hey,” he said.

Rozanov looked over his shoulder, seemingly unsurprised to see him. “Hi.”

Shane stood next to him and leaned over the railing, staring out into the night. Bood lived in a secluded, upscale neighborhood, his house butting up against a manmade pond that should really be classified as a lake. Shane couldn’t help but compare it to the view at his cottage, a pang of longing in his chest. With the roller coaster of emotions and changes he’d endured the last few months, he ached for something familiar. 

He nodded to the cigarette in Rozanov’s hand. “Smoking kills, y’know.”

Rozanov slowly turned his head to glare at him. “Thank you for the information, Hollander.” Shane laughed. Rozanov brought the cigarette back up to his lips.

“I, uh. I wanted to thank you,” Shane said.

That got Rozanov’s attention, and he stared at Shane incredulously. “Are you drunk?”

Shane ignored him. “You definitely don’t have to be as nice to me as you have been,” he said matter of factly. “I know if it was the other way around, I don’t think I would have been as welcoming.”

Rozanov hummed. “Yes, you would have,” he said, stamping the cigarette out on a paper plate he had balanced on the railing. He moved it to a side table near him so it wouldn’t tip over the edge and leaned over the railing himself, mimicking Shane’s body language. “You were a great captain. It’s just what captains do,” he told him. 

“Well, turns out I wasn’t that great,” Shane replied. 

They said nothing for a full minute, staring out into Bood’s backyard. “It’s not fair what happened to you,” Rozanov finally said. “I’m sorry.”

Shane shook his head. “That’s just how it goes in this league sometimes,” he said. “Just because it’s not fair doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t have expected it.”

He could feel Rozanov’s stare practically burning a hole in the side of his face. “We don’t play Montreal until November,” he said. “I might be back by then. Will be hard not to fucking kill Comeau the second I see him.”

Shane huffed out a small laugh. “Get in line,” he told him. “Besides, you might not be back. Or maybe I’ll be the new permanent top line center and we won’t need you anymore,” he jokingly jabbed.

Rozanov stared at him incredulously before scoffing and shaking his head. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? I’m gonna stop being nice to you, I think.”

“Thank god,” Shane laughed, and Rozanov joined in. “It’s too weird for me.”

“Noted,” Rozanov replied. “From now on you are nothing more than the dirt on my shoe, I promise.”

“I appreciate it,” Shane grinned.

Rozanov chuckled and looked down. “No, no,” he conceded. “Look. It’s like I said. We don’t have to be friends. But we are on the same team. And I don’t want to hate you.”

Shane’s mouth parted slightly. “I’ve never hated you,” he said softly. 

Rozanov cocked his head slightly. “No?” he asked, not quite believing it. 

Shane shook his head. 

Rozanov hummed. “Well,” he said, looking back towards the yard. “I suppose I never hated you, either.” Rozanov tilted his head left and right, left and right, as if mulling something over in his mind. “Fucking annoying, sometimes, though.” 

Shane smiled and dropped his head to rest on his forearms. “Yeah, you too.”

They stood there, side by side, staring into the night for what could have been seconds or an hour, Shane couldn’t really tell. 

Finally, Shane was the one to break the silence. “Do you think Wiebe will put us on the power play together?”

“God, I hope so,” Rozanov sighed. He turned his head to look at Shane, and the two men burst out laughing. Shane slapped a hand on the railing and stood up straight, and Rozanov playfully shoved him as they turned to return to the large group. 

I can do this, Shane thought. I can be happy here.

Chapter End Notes

my apologies to gilbert comeau. you just didn't stick out to me, so you are my scapegoat.

once again, thanks for all the kind words! my goal is to update this 1-2x a week. thanks for sticking with me!

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

October 2021 - Ottawa

Ilya felt sick to his stomach when the puck dropped at Ottawa’s season opener. 

He had plastered on a smile when he entered the locker room before the game, clapping his hands and riling up the team’s energy. Harris recorded him reading the lineup card and handing out fistbumps as the guys headed down the tunnel. Ilya played it up for him, even impulsively grabbing Hollander by the collar and bonking their heads together for luck despite Ilya not wearing a helmet, and was rewarded with a shy smile and thump on the chest from Hollander. He was sure that clip was being played over and over during the broadcast.

Now, watching from a box high in the stands as Hollander won the very first face-off of the season, the tie around his neck felt like it was suffocating him. 

Hollander dropped the puck back to Barrett who barreled down the ice, and with Haas in tow the three forwards played aggressively in front of Vancouver’s net, Boodram and Dykstra holding the zone. Barrett passed to Haas, who quickly passed to Hollander, and with some spinorama Hollander shook off from the rival defenseman and managed to get the puck back on Haas’ stick, who buried it top shelf. Less than a minute into the game, the Centaurs were up 1-0. 

Fans banged hard on the glass behind the five players as they piled on top of each other, grinning and patting Haas’ head, Bood clearly screaming “Let’s fucking go!” in Hollander’s face. Ilya clapped and watched as they skated in formation down the bench and accepted fist bumps before making a line change. The arena’s jumbotron showed Hollander squished between Haas and Barrett on the bench, the three of them with huge smiles plastered on their faces while talking to each other. The camera lingered on them and Ilya caught himself staring at Hollander’s giddy face, deciding to promptly ignore the way his heart skipped a fucking beat. 

The rest of the game passed rather uneventfully. Vancouver had trouble generating any semblance of offense, but still managed to lock up most chances for Ottawa. Hollander had a couple good looks, but ultimately came up empty. The Centaurs won the first game of the season 1-0, the lone goal from Luca Haas.

Ilya met the guys downstairs as they headed off the ice, wrapping Hayes up in a big hug and slapping his back as the goalie pulled up the rear. “Nice fucking shut out, Hazy, huh!?” Hayes laughed and let Ilya manhandle him as they walked into the locker room.

Coach Wiebe clapped over everyone’s hooting and hollering to get the team’s attention. “Nice fucking work tonight, boys. Still got some work to do, but all in all great effort everyone.” Wiebe gestured towards Ilya. “Cap! Floor is yours.”

Ilya strode to the middle of the room. “Gentlemen! Beautiful work tonight. I must admit, I was very jealous sitting high up in the sky watching you all. But! It gave me the perfect view to pick out the first Player of the Game for the season!” A bunch of the guys whooped, and Ilya turned to receive the gladiator helmet Wiebe had been hiding in his office since Ilya impulsively ordered it online a few weeks ago. “Quick honorable mentions! Hazy! First shutout of the season of many. Highest save percentage in the league right now, I’m sure. Best goalie ever.” 

A round of cheers erupted from the guys before Ilya moved on. “Hollander!”

Hollander sat upright at being called to attention, and Ilya smirked at him and narrowed his eyes. “You did okay,” he told him, making a so-so gesture with his hand. A few of the guys chuckled, including Hollander, who followed it up with a large eye roll. “No, nicely done. Great assist on that goal. You are like a figure skater out there with all those spins,” he chirped, making a twirling motion with his hand. Hollander simply smirked at Ilya, taking it on the chin.

“But of course! Player of the Game has to go to the lonely goal scorer tonight: our sweet baby boy Haasy,” Ilya announced, and every man in the team whooped and clapped for the young Swiss player. Haas stood and ducked his head, trying not to grin too widely. Ilya gave him a standard bro-hug, then promptly plopped the cartoonish helmet over his head. “Fits perfect!” Ilya declared with a light thump on his head, and led the room in another round of applause. “Let’s go make it 82-0, boys!”

The men all turned back to their locker stalls, having a few minutes to change out of their gear before the post-game media scrum. Ilya passed Barrett and patted him on the back, giving him a “Nice job,” over his shoulder. Barrett looked up and grinned, and when he saw the direction Ilya was heading he shot him a wink. 

Ilya ignored it and kept moving. “So,” he said, stopping at Hollander’s stall. “First official game in the Ottawa sweater. How do you feel?”

Hollander looked up at Ilya, then at the new red and black jersey hanging in his locker. “Going to take some getting used to, still,” he said. “But it’s going to be fun, right?” 

Ilya’s eyes softened and held out his hand for a fist bump. “Good game, Hollander.”

Hollander grinned and returned the gesture, holding their knuckles together for an extra moment. “Thanks, Cap,” he replied with a smirk. 

Ilya felt the heat rushing through his body. All he could do was wink at Hollander, and walked away before he did anything stupid. 

* * *

A week and a half into the season, Shane almost felt ready to give up on hockey altogether. 

Not that he was being dramatic about anything.

He wasn’t playing badly, necessarily. He wasn’t even playing mediocre. Being on a line with Barrett and Haas actually felt great; they were generating plenty of chances, and Shane had six assists in five games for them. By all metrics, he was playing well.

But still. Five games deep into the season and he had yet to score a goal himself. 

“I’m feeling good about our chances out there. We’re getting a lot of movement in front of their net and getting good looks. Just unlucky so far,” he shrugged it off to the reporters following their second loss of the season. Shane desperately just wanted to take a long, hot shower and hide under the covers for the rest of the night. He had never experienced a scoring drought like this. In the grand scheme of things, five games without a goal wasn’t absurd for most players, especially when they were leading the teams in assists. But for Shane, this was unheard of.

“You have a crazy look in your eye,” Barrett said to him at practice the next day. “Like. Downright psychotic.” 

Shane shot a puck directly into the boards. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Since the barbecue at Boodram’s house a few weeks ago, Shane found himself gravitating towards Troy Barrett more often than not. He had never played with another openly gay guy before, and he couldn’t resist finding a kindred spirit in Barrett. “We gotta stick together,” Barrett had told him the morning following the barbecue. He had slipped Shane a small pin; a rainbow colored Ottawa Centaurs logo. “Harris has a bunch of these lying around,” he’d explained. “Obviously you don’t have to wear it. But if you ever want to…” he shrugged and patted Shane on the arm. 

Shane clutched the pin in his hand and tried to hide the way his throat felt a little tighter. “Thanks, man,” was all he could say in return, slipping the pin into his pocket.

Barrett slid another puck towards Shane, who sent it flying over the net. “Bro,” he said. “It’s wide open. At least pretend like you’re aiming.”

Shane leaned his head back and rolled his shoulders, trying to get his mind right. “Okay,” he said. “Quick ones.” 

Barrett dragged some nearby pucks into a small cluster near him, and positioned himself to pass them. Five pucks in quick succession went flying towards Shane, who sent them all flying into the back of the net. 

“See?” Barrett said. “Easy peasy.”

Shane rolled his eyes, both of them knowing it wasn’t that simple. 

* * *

“He’s a game and a half away from developing the yips.”

Ilya whipped his head around to see Barrett had suddenly appeared over his shoulder in the parking lot after practice. “The fuck are you talking about, Barrett? Who is yapping?”

“The yips,” Barrett said again. “It’s like, when an athlete all of a sudden can’t perform the basic functions of their sport. Hollaner is completely psyching himself out because he hasn’t scored yet. If he doesn’t score soon, he’s going to forget how to fuckin’ skate.”

Ilya scoffed. “Why all the dramatics? You think Hollander will really step onto the ice and turn into a baby deer?”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t be completely charmed by that. You’re literally blushing just imagining how adorable Hollander would look as a little woodland creature.”

Ilya turned on his heel. “Goodbye, Barrett,” he called over his shoulder.

But Hollander came up empty once again at their following game. He continued to brush it off to their teammates and the media, but it was becoming painfully obvious that it was unnerving for him to have a goal drought like this. Ilya couldn’t blame him - he himself had never gone longer than two or three games without a goal. If he was in Hollander’s situation and already had a chip on his shoulder, he would be close to being institutionalized. 

The following day was an optional skate, and to no one’s surprise, Hollander was the only one who showed. Ilya wandered down the tunnel, planning on parking himself on the bench only to see Hollander skating laps around the ice, dribbling pucks and firing them at the nets aimlessly. It was more aggressive than strategic, clearly needing some kind of release.

Ilya leaned over the boards and watched him for a few minutes before Hollander finally noticed him. “You come to gloat?”

Ilya turned his hands out in an exasperated the fuck did I do? gesture. “What the fuck is there to gloat about?”

Hollander fired another puck towards the net that went wide and slammed into the boards, the loud bang! echoing through the rink. “We have the same number of goals this year, don’t we?”

Ilya hung his head and sighed. “Jesus fucking christ, Hollander,” he mumbled. Ilya pushed himself upright and grabbed a random spare stick that was propped up nearby. “Center ice. Now,” he ordered, and promptly walked out onto the ice in his street shoes. 

Hollander raised an eyebrow at him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Ilya shrugged. “What does it look like I’m doing?” He carefully waddled across the slick surface, then crouched over center ice. “Get the fuck over here and take a face-off.”

Hollander shook his head slightly, clearly annoyed by Ilya’s game, but glided over anyway. He crouched down across from him, just as he had hundreds of times before. 

“You remember the first goal you ever scored on me?” Ilya asked. Hollander’s eyes darted to his and Ilya smirked. “Of course you do. Right off of the puck drop. It was fucking insane,” Ilya continued. “If it wasn’t against me, it would’ve been the sexiest goal I have ever seen. But of course it was against me, so I wanted to wring your neck.”

Hollander cracked the tiniest smile. “What’s your point, Rozanov?”

“My point is that you have been scoring dumb, stupid, crazy goals like that since you were a little baby. You’ve been the league leader in goals more often than not, and when you’re not, you’re right behind me,” Ilya winked. “Who gives a fuck if you haven’t scored yet this year? It does not matter. You are still leading the league in assists. You have scored more goals than half of the guys on this team combined. You are still the same player you were in Montreal. Except now you are better, because this team is full of people who aren’t fucking asswipes,” Ilya adjusted his stance. “Now. Score a fucking goal from here.”

“It’s just us, there’s not even a goalie in net, you’re not even on skates-”

Ilya slammed the puck down between them, and Hollander’s instincts took over. He quickly won the puck battle against Ilya and sent the puck flying into the net behind him. 

“Good,” Ilya said. “Again.”

Ilya pulled a puck out of his sweatshirt pocket and dropped it between them. Hollander once again won the draw and sent the puck sailing behind Ilya between the posts. “Again!”

They repeated this dozens of times, moving up and down the ice and from different angles. Ilya distantly thought that he could do this for hours; just him and Hollander alone on the ice, running drills and chirping each other, downright giggling between friendly shoves. Ilya desperately wished he could be in his skates right now, but he thought if one of the trainers even saw him out here in his street shoes they would lose their shit.

When they’d finally had enough, Ilya gave Hollander’s shins a friendly tap with his stick. “Get the fuck out of your head. Nothing else matters when you’re out here,” Ilya told him. “You are Shane fucking Hollander. Don’t let anyone else forget that.”

Hollander stared at him, and Ilya almost felt the need to cower under his intense gaze. “Thanks, Rozanov,” he finally said.

Later, when Ilya was out with Anya on their evening walk, he received a text from Harris. I want to post this on socials so badly, but I know that Terry will blow a gasket if he sees you were out on the ice. Great picture though.

It was a photo of him and Hollander bent over at center ice this morning. Harris must have been lurking in the stands, and Ilya had been so deep in his own world with Hollander he wouldn’t have noticed Harris even if he had tripped and went clattering down the stairs. The photo was angled so Ilya was facing away from the camera, but he could see that Hollander had a wide grin across his face with his head bent low close to Ilya’s.

Ilya caught himself pinching and zooming in on the photo, staring at Hollander’s face, memorizing the crinkles near his eyes and the freckles dotting his nose. He tried to tamper down the white hot fire roaring inside of him, but he knew it was no use. 

It is a great picture, he replied to Harris. Post it when I am back. Terry can’t get mad then.

Harris responded with a simple Haha reaction, and before Ilya could second guess it, he saved the photo to his camera roll.

* * *

Shane wasn’t much of a music guy, but tonight it was blaring throughout his house. It was some seventies rock playlist that Rose had made for him. “I just think you need some Stevie Nicks in your life,” she had told him with a shrug. 

He washed his lettuce and chopped some veggies and tried to focus on Stevie wailing throughout his kitchen instead of Ilya goddamn Rozanov. The way his curls stuck out from under his Centaurs branded baseball cap, the way he was able to hold Shane’s gaze and and get him out of his head and listen, the way today had been the most fun he has had on the ice Shane could remember. 

So it didn’t help when Shane’s phone dinged on the counter and he saw he had a text from the man himself. 

We had a stalker today

Shane furrowed his brow before opening the message to see a photo of them on the ice this morning. They were both crouched low ready to take the draw, except Shane had the biggest, goofiest smile plastered across his face clear as day. He looked like a love sick puppy, grinning at Rozanov and leaning close into his space. 

Shane groaned. He didn’t know how anyone could look at this photo and not see just how badly he wanted Rozanov. 

Another text came through: Harris won’t post it because I shouldn’t be on the ice lol

Thank god, Shane thought to himself.

One more text from Rozanov: I like this picture. 

Shane froze. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

It’s a great photo, Shane finally settled on. Thanks for sending it.

Rozanov reacted to his text with a thumbs up, and Shane went back to his dinner prep. 

The message was still open on his phone, the photo taunting him from over the cutting board. Why would Rozanov send it to him in the first place? Was this some kind of sick mind game?

Before Shane could think twice, he was picking up his phone and sending: Reminds me of our commercial.

If Rozanov was playing tricks on him, he could do the same. And if he wasn’t trying to fuck with Shane’s head, then, well…

At least he was being honest. It did remind Shane of their decade old commercial. He’d probably had that same stupid grin on his face when he and Rozanov wouldn’t stop laughing during takes. 

Three dots appeared, then vanished. Shane smirked victoriously. 

They quickly reappeared, and Shane’s smirk dropped off his face. That’s why I like it, Rozanov replied. 

* * *

The following evening, Ottawa beat Nashville 6-2, with Hollander opening the scoring three minutes into the game. 

Ilya was sitting in a box with Harris and some other team staff members. When the goal horn sounded for Hollander, he jumped out of his seat and cheered like they had just won the Cup. He grabbed Harris around his waist and lifted him in the air, screaming “He fucking did it!” directly into the poor man’s ear. 

What Ilya didn’t know is one of the broadcast cameras had been positioned right at their box when Shane scored, capturing Ilya’s reaction. During a TV timeout before the second intermission, the clip was aired to the entire arena on the jumbotron. Harris was cackling next to him and Ilya had never wished more for the ground to swallow him whole, but refused to hide his face in case there was a camera still trained on him. Instead, the camera cut to Hollander, who was looking up at the big screen laughing hysterically. When he registered that the camera was now focused on him, he smiled and shook his head, turning to say something to Barrett. 

With a minute and thirty seconds left in the period, their line got on the ice and Barrett promptly sauced the puck to Hollander who made it 4-1.

Ilya still let out a roar of celebration, but this time kept Harris’ feet planted on the ground. 

“Look at this,” Harris said, turning his phone towards Ilya. “You’re going fucking viral.” 

Sure enough, Harris’ phone was full of tweets sharing the clip of Ilya losing his goddamn mind at Hollander’s first goal. 

Ilya grinned. “Good,” he said. “Everybody should see how great a captain I am, hm?”

Harris barked out a laugh. “Whatever you say, bud,” sideeyeing him. 

* * *

Two weeks later, Ilya was cleared to start skating again. 

Ilya almost cried when he got the OK from the team’s medical staff. He couldn’t practice with the team just yet and he still would have another couple weeks readjusting before he would be game ready, but the end was in sight. 

He was on the ice early next morning, under the watchful eyes of the Centaurs training staff and Coach Wiebe. “How’s it feel?” he asked Ilya as they wrapped up. 

“It feels great. Honestly,” Ilya replied. 

“Good. We’re happy to have you back. Now look, Rozanov,” Wiebe started. “I’m not making any final decisions about lines until I see you practice with the rest of the guys. But I am hesitant to break up that top line right now. I want you to be prepared to earn your top spot back, okay?” Wiebe patted him on the arm and Ilya swallowed the lump rising in his throat. 

Ilya nodded his head. “Understood, Coach,” he told him. He really did understand. Hollander, Barrett, and Haas have been point production machines to start off the season, with Haas even leading the league in goals. 

But it was still early, Ilya knew. It wouldn’t be sustainable. He’d be back on the top line before he knew it. He had to be. 

“I am definitely trying out you and Hollander together on the first power play unit, though,” Wiebe grinned. “You guys will be fucking monsters.”

Ilya smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sounds good, Coach.”

Suddenly, they heard whoops and cheers coming down the tunnel. “He lives!” Ilya heard someone, probably Bood, call. 

The Centaurs started flooding the ice for their practice, handing out fist bumps and pats on the helmet to their captain as they passed by. Ilya grinned and accepted the welcome back’s. He desperately missed playing with these guys, and it was harder than he thought it would be to leave the ice. 

Ilya did eventually take his leave and headed down the tunnel to the locker room. Hollander and Barrett were heading the opposite direction to join their team. “You’re in!?” Barrett called, an excited grin forming on this face. 

“Almost,” Ilya told him. “Maybe next week I get to join you guys.”

Barrett slapped him on the back. “Let’s fucking go, dude,” he said, then kept walking towards the ice. Hollander, on the other hand, hesitated. 

Ilya gave him a once over. “Don’t worry, you’re still on the top line. For now,” Ilya winked, but it felt performative even to him. 

“Oh, um, I didn’t…” Hollander started. “I’m not… worried about that. Just. It’s good to see you on skates again, y’know?”

Ilya scoffed. “You think we are so old that a little boo boo would bring me down forever?”

“No. Just… I’m excited to play with you. Like. Actually play with you,” Hollander said, his face ridiculously earnest. 

Ilya gulped, then nodded. “Me too,” he said quietly. Then jerked his head towards the ice. “Go, before Bood yells at you.” As Ilya’s alternate captain, he had been leading the team drills in Ilya’s absence. 

Hollander grinned. “Yes, Cap,” he said before hustling onto the ice. 

Chapter End Notes

If you’re not familiar with the NHL Player of the Game momentos, I highly recommend doing a deep dive. Sometimes they’re fun and cool (see the Buffalo Sabres actual sword that was taken away due to safety concerns), sometimes they’re really dumb (see my beloved Minnesota Wild’s HARD chain from last season 🙄).

FWIW, my Coach Wiebe fancast is former Minnesota Twins manager Rocco Baldelli. Please google him and see my vision (Rocco baby the kids miss you, please come home).

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

Happy Valentine's Day 💘

November 2021

The first weekend in November, Ilya made his return to the team. 

The home game against Dallas wasn’t quite a given win, but it was close enough that the energy reverberating throughout the arena as Ilya led the team out for warmups was electrifying. He skated around the rink, raising his stick in acknowledgment to the roar the early bird fans gave him, and flicked some pucks over the glass to a couple kids. It was routine stuff, but god, Ilya had missed it. 

Hollander skated by and shot him a grin, falling in line next to Ilya. “How’s it feel?”

Ilya returned his easy smile. “Fucking sweet.”

“Don’t upstage me too much tonight,” Hollander told him, with a light punch to the arm. 

Ilya raised his eyebrow and huffed a laugh. “Like you would want it any other way.”

Hollander grinned. “Fuck you, asshole.” He glanced back over his shoulder as he skated away, and Ilya shot him a wink. 

Dykstra drew a tripping call seventeen minutes into the first period, and the Centaurs top power play unit was off to the races. Hollander, much to Ilya’s chagrin, centered him and Haas. “It means you’re more versatile,” Barrett had chided him on his first day back at practice. Ilya had pulled a face and mockingly mimicked his words before blowing a raspberry in his face. 

But Ilya had to admit, they were fucking magic. 

Hollander won the draw and passed the puck to Ilya, who lured in the Dallas defender before dropping it back for Haas. A quick tic-tac-toe, Haas sped it back to Hollander who set up Ilya perfectly and sent the puck sliding right in the five-hole. 

His first goal since May set Ilya’s heart on fire, the adrenaline pumping through his veins in a way that made him feel invincible. He was sure it had nothing to do with the way Hollander flung himself straight into his arms in celebration and felt his smile pressing against Ilya’s helmet.

* * *

Shane was almost half asleep when he felt someone plop into the seat next to him. He peaked one eye open and turned his head to see Rozanov staring at him with a sly smile on his face. “Hi,” he said simply.

Shane shuffled and straightened up in his seat. The private plane’s seats were technically larger than any commercial flight’s, but still felt cramped for any professional hockey player. “What do you want?” he grumbled.

“I can hear you thinking from all the way up there,” Rozanov said, gesturing to the front of the plane where most of the players had gathered. After their big win in Toronto, most of the guys opted to keep the good vibes rolling. Shane, however, opted for a seat towards the back of the plane, his anxiety spiking in preparation for their first game against Montreal in less than 48 hours. “I have to make sure you do not open the emergency exit doors while we’re in the air.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.” Rozanov raised an eyebrow, causing Shane to sink further into his seat. “Seriously. I’m not some bumbling rookie you need to look after here.” 

“Hey, don’t get pissy with me,” Rozanov told him. “I know you you are a big boy and can handle yourself, Hollander. But what is sitting back here with just you and your brain going to do, huh?”

Shane leaned his head back against the seat and rolled his head to the side to stare at him. “I’m really not in the mood, Rozanov,” he said tiredly.

Rozanov pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “We are going to win on Sunday. Not for you, of course. But for my busted knee. Ottawa would have made it past the second round if I had been there.”

Shane couldn’t help but crack a small, tired grin. “Of course. I will make sure to avenge your knee, Rozanov.”

“Thank you, Hollander. That’s very big of you,” Rozanov said before schooling his face into a very serious one. “Give me one good reason we shouldn’t fucking kill that guy tomorrow,” he asked softly. 

Shane smiled softly. “That’s not very big of you,” he told him. Rozanov shrugged, and Shane just shook his head. “Not worth you getting suspended over. You just got back.”

“Okay, so we send Andersson after him,” he said, nodding towards one of their hulking third pair defensemen. “He is a goon, yes? Old school. He could take him easily.”

“I think this is technically illegal,” Shane told him. 

“Should be illegal to be that fucking ugly, and yet Comeau is a free man!”

Shane laughed, unable to hide just how utterly charmed he was by Rozanov at this moment. “If Sonny, or any one else for that matter, sees his chance, then yes, we should obviously go for it.” He furrows his brow at Rozanov and gestures at his leg. “For your knee, of course.”

Rozanov matched his expression and nodded. “Yes, yes obviously get revenge for my knee and nothing else,” he confirmed, causing both men to chuckle. 

Shane turned back to stare out the window. Without looking, he gently knocked his knee into Rozanov’s. A silent thank you. 

Rozanov patted his leg twice in acknowledgment. Then, so subtly Shane wasn’t sure that he didn’t imagine it, he felt the hand trail ever so slightly up his thigh, higher than would be considered an appropriate friendly touch between teammates. Then, the sensation vanished as quickly as it came.

Shane didn’t dare look over, eyes locked on the city light below, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. 

* * *

Shane never knew it was possible to feel so comfortable in utter chaos until he was sitting in the Pikes’ living room for the first time in five months. 

He was sitting on the floor, watching Amber toddle after her big sisters who were running around, slaying the dragon (played by their little brother Arthur) that was holding their Uncle Shane captive in the tallest tower in the land. He had a thick layer of glitter and eyeshadow caked on his face from the makeover the girls had given him, and his fingers were sporting a fresh, sloppy coat of purple nail polish that he messed up further when he adjusted the tiara Jade had perched precariously on his head. 

Ruby tackled her brother into a pile of pillows they had set up on the floor and pointed the pool noodle in her hand at Arthur. “Begone, fowl beast!” she declared, before turning to face Shane. “You’re free, Uncle Shane!”

Shane raised his hands in celebration. “My heroes!” he cheered. 

“Ruby, Jade, Arthur. If you don’t start getting ready for your skating lessons in the next ten seconds then you’re not going at all,” Jackie warned as she walked in the room, sending the girls tearing off as their brother clumsily stumbled out of the pile of pillows and tried to catch up with them. Jackie took in Shane’s appearance. “Ottawa has changed you, Shane,” she teased.

Shane gestured to the tiara tangled in his hair. “I think it’s a good look.” 

Jackie smiled and collected Amber in her arms. “Nap time for you my girl,” she said, kissing her cheek just as Hayden walked back in the room. 

He took one look at Shane. “I swear I was gone for five minutes,” he said.

“That was a long five minutes, Hayd.”

Hayden ignored Shane and turned to Jackie, taking Amber from her arms. “I’ve got her. You take the demons.”

“Only because Uncle Shane is here,” Jackie rolled her eyes. “I’ll go find you some makeup wipes,” she told Shane before walking out of the room.

“I’m gonna put her down for a nap and be right back,” Hayden told him, then turned to Amber who was already falling asleep on his shoulder. “Can you say goodbye to Uncle Shane?” he asked his youngest daughter, holding her hand up to wave to Shane.

“Bye, Unca Shane,” Amber said sleepily.

Shane’s heart completely melted. “Bye, Amber! Sleep well,” he said softly, giving her a wave of his own as Hayden carried her out of the room. Jackie and the other three Pike kids came barreling back in the room, the three of them launching themselves at Shane.

“Bye Uncle Shane!” Jade said, one of her arms tight around his neck. Ruby mirrored her on Shane’s other side, with Arthur squeezed in between his sisters, shoved into Shane’s abdomen.

Shane’s arms snaked out to wrap around all three of them as best he could and gave the kids a squeeze. “Bye guys. I’ll see you soon. Go kick butt at your lessons, okay?”

“We will!” Ruby said, her and Jade untangling themselves and running out presumably towards the car. Arthur lingered for a moment, giving Shane a real hug now that his sisters weren’t hogging all the space. “Bye Uncle Shane,” he said, squeezing tight around Shane’s neck.

Shane squeezed the boy back and smacked a kiss on the side of his head. “Bye, bud,” he told him. Arthur finally untangled himself and ran out the door after his sisters. He looked up at Jackie, who was tapping away at her phone with a soft smile on her face. “I miss you guys. A lot,” he told her, standing up to give her a hug. 

“We miss you too,” she told him, squeezing him tight just like her son had, and Shane swallowed the lump in his throat. “Don’t tell Hayden, but I’m rooting for you tomorrow. I got a jersey and everything,” she told him as she pulled away, tapping her pointer finger on his chest. 

Shane smiled. “You are a woman of taste, after all,” he told her. 

Jackie smiled and handed him the pack of makeup wipes in her hand. “Grandma and Grandpa are gracious enough to take the kids tomorrow night, so I’ll see you at the game,” she told him, straightening out the tiara still perched on his head with a wink before following her kids out the door.

Shane turned and flopped onto the couch, leaning his head against the arm and reveling in the silence. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to see a surprising number of text notifications, mostly from the Centaurs group chat. However, he tapped on the top one from Jackie. He opened it to see a photo she had just snuck of the three older Pike children piled on top of Shane, his own glittery face peaking out in between their heads. He felt his heart clench in his chest and saved the photo to his camera roll before opening the Centaurs group chat. 

Zane Boodram

where tf is everyone at

Zane Boodram

anyone wanna get lunch 

Troy Barrett 

yes chef 

Evan Dykstra

Yeah

Wyatt Hayes

Meeee

Ilya Rozanov

Where

Zane Boodram

idk

Zane Boodram

hollsy wanna come? or any recs?

Troy Barrett

he’s busy hanging out with pike he’s not gonna respond lol

[Ilya Rozanov disliked Troy Barrett’s message]

Ilya Rozanov

Lame

Zane Boodram

oooohh that’s right i forgot

Wyatt Hayes

Meet in the lobby in 10 we’ll figure it out

The most recent message was sent forty-five minutes ago, so certainly the guys had managed to find a place without his local expertise. Not that Shane had gone out that much most of the time he had lived in Montreal, anyway. 

Shane opened the camera and took a selfie, deadpan face full of glitter and tiara adorning his head, and sent it along with the photo of him and the Pike children to the team group chat. 

Shane Hollander 

[two photo attachments]

Shane Hollander

Sorry, busy. 

Shane saw a quick Haha reaction from Dykstra come through before locking his phone and opening the pack of Jackie’s makeup wipes. He was scrubbing his eyelids with his third wipe when Hayden wandered back into the living room and sank into the couch next to him with a sigh. “Alright man, give it to me straight.” 

Shane snorted and crumpled up the wipe in his hand, hoping he had gotten all the makeup off his face. “Not really my thing, Hayden, that’s how we got into this mess in the first place, remember?”

Hayden rolled his eyes at his lame joke and adjusted so he was leaning against the other arm of the couch, facing Shane with his arms crossed. “I mean tell me how great and wonderful your new team is and how you’re all bestest best friends and that you don’t need me anymore,” he pouted. 

Shane gave the man across from him a stern expression. “Hayden,” he said firmly. “You will always be my bestest best friend.”

Hayden hummed. “You’re making fun of me, but this is serious.”

“I’m being serious!” Shane laughed. “I wouldn’t let just any kids climb all over me and rescue me from a four foot tall dragon.”

Hayden chuckled. “Thank you for being so good with them. They miss hanging out with you.”

Shane smiled sadly. “I miss them too,” he nudged his socked foot into Hayden’s shin. “All of you.”

“When you have kids, I’m moving in next door. This is bullshit,” Hayden said. 

“Good thing you’ll be long since retired by that point,” Shane scoffed. 

“No way your love life is that bleak.”

“Hayden, I’m a closeted NHL player in my hometown where everyone knows my fucking face. It was risky enough going out when I lived here. Not a chance I’m entering the dating scene in Ottawa.”

“You and Barrett seem close,” Hayden raised an eyebrow. 

Shane barked out a laugh. “Not my type. Not to mention him and his boyfriend are obsessed with each other.” 

“So what is your type, then?”

Shane hoped his face didn’t give away any hint of the memory of Rozanov’s face between his thighs that immediately flashed in his mind at Hayden’s question. He shook his head and picked a piece of lint off his pants. “Not my teammates,” he lied. 

Hayden rolled his eyes. “Whatever man.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, with the NHL Network playing softly in the background showing highlights from last night’s Minnesota versus Chicago game. 

After a few minutes, Shane finally gathered the courage to ask: “How bad is it going to be tomorrow?”

Hayden looked at him sadly. “I wish I knew,” he told him sympathetically. “J.J. and I will step in if we can, but… it’s not going to be pretty.”

“Comeau’s all fired up, I take it?” 

Hayden rolled his eyes. “Dude, he makes me fucking sick. I don’t know how much longer I can go without strangling him,” he said as he sank farther into his seat. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope Rozanov goes after him. I’ll bet he’s pissed about his leg.”

Shane hummed in agreement. “Yeah, he’s definitely pissed,” he said quietly. “I, uh. I also told him and a couple of the other guys… well. Everything.”

Hayden’s eyes widened slightly. “Wow. And they were all cool about it?”

Shane thought about the night sitting around Boodram’s fire pit, spilling his guts to the guys. “Yeah,” he nodded and gave Hayden a small smile. “They were super supportive.” 

“Even Rozanov?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “You know, he’s really not that bad when you’re on the same team,” he found himself defending Rozanov. Shane understood that Rozanov was a menace to anyone outside his own locker room, but he couldn’t help but want Hayden to understand that it’s mostly an act. “He was very supportive.”

Hayden narrowed his eyes at Shane, but didn’t say anything right away. After a moment, he said “I won’t tell Comeau to watch his back, then.”

They fell back into their comfortable silence, each of them taking out their phones to scroll. The Centaurs group chat had lit up in response to Shane’s photos. 

[Nick Chouinard, Luca Haas, and three others laughed at Shane Hollander’s photo]

[Zane Boodram, Troy Barrett, and two others loved Shane Hollander’s photo]

Wyatt Hayes

Slay king

Troy Barrett

👑👑👑

Ilya Rozanov

You are the prettiest man in the league

[Wyatt Hayes emphasized Ilya Rozanov’s message]

[Evan Dykstra, Zane Boodram, and two others laughed at Ilya Rozanov’s message]

Troy Barrett

Roz bro I can’t 😭

Shane gulped and stared at the message from Rozanov. He knew he was just being a shit, nothing that would be considered anything more than harmless chirping by the rest of the team. If it was from anyone else Shane would have embraced it, and felt nothing but the camaraderie that goes along with lightheartedly ragging your teammates. 

But at the end of the day, joking or not, Ilya Rozanov just called Shane pretty. And a win is a win. 

He held down the message from Rozanov and replied to him directly: Don’t you forget it.

Bood and Barrett both quickly emphasized Shane’s reply before another text came through. 

Ilya Rozanov

Never. 

* * *

Shane’s only desire for the game was to not play like shit, and to not throw up on the ice. Either way, it was going to be touch and go. 

He skated out for warmups with the rest of the team, trying to blend in with their sea of white, red, and black. He shot some pucks at the net before meeting Hayden and J.J. at center ice to say hi, and ignored both the light cheers from some of the fans at their interaction as well as the death glares from some of the Voyageurs down the ice. 

The teams headed back into the locker rooms before puck drop, where there was no rousing speech from Rozanov to get them fired up, only a firm demand: “We’re fucking winning this game.” 

As the team collected themselves to head back out to the ice, Rozanov walked over to Shane. He not unkindly grabbed Shane’s collar and bumped their helmets together, and repeated himself, this time much quieter, just for the two of them. “We’re fucking winning this game, yes?” 

Shane nodded against Rozanov’s helmet and thumped his hand on his chest. “Yes,” he responded firmly. 

They skated back out, and Shane fidgeted throughout the national anthem. He caught Hayden’s eye across the ice from him, and felt some of his nerves melt away when Hayden winked at him. 

The lights came up, and Shane skated forward and crouched across from Schwartz to take the opening draw. They had never been close when Shane was in Montreal, but he hadn’t been one of Comeau’s lackeys, either.  

“Hollander,” he said as they bent over center ice. “Ottawa treating you well?”

“So far, so good,” Shane replied, not in the mood for small talk.

“Good to hear,” Schwartz said. “Sorry in advance for tonight.”

Shane smirked, and won the draw. 

It was a brutal, chippy game. Shane was getting knocked around left and right, but he had fully expected that. Seven minutes into the first period, Chouinard caught an edge and went down, his stick flinging outwards and taking a Montreal forward down with him, and somehow got a tripping call for it. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!? Are you fucking blind?” Rozanov was in the ref’s face, mad as all hell. 

“Go to your bench, Rozanov, before I put you in the box with him.”

Rozanov was dumbstruck, and Shane heard him murmuring to himself angrily in Russian as he went to the bench and Shane was sent out for the kill. 

They had almost completed the penalty kill when Barrett attempted to dump the puck out of the zone and it was intercepted by fucking Hayden, who had a lucky angle and sent the puck flying behind Hayes, putting Montreal up 1-0. 

“Fuck!” Shane heard Barrett yell across the ice, slapping his stick into the boards next to him. 

“Fucking hate that guy,” Rozanov grumbled next to Shane when they returned to the bench. “Him? That’s your fucking bestie?”

Shane clenched his jaw. “Not right now, he isn’t.”

Rozanov shook his head and squirted water into his mouth. 

Ottawa remained scoreless well into the second, struggling to get out of their own zone. They eventually managed it, and Haas sent Shane a long pass through the neutral zone. He hustled towards the opposite end of the ice when he felt a sharp thwack on his hands and lost control of the puck. 

The refs blew the whistle and quickly called Comeau for slashing, who rolled his eyes and headed towards the box. The refs then signaled for a TV time-out, and Shane skated over to the bench, one glove removed and stretching his hand. He still had a layer of crusty nail polish on his fingers from Ruby and Jade. 

“You good, Hollander?” one of the trainers called to him. Shane nodded. 

“Uh oh. Here’s your moment, man,” Barrett said as he climbed over the boards to the bench, and when Shane looked over quizzically he motioned to the jumbotron. Rozanov climbed over the boards beside him, ready to take the ice for the power play as Shane craned his head back to see what Barrett was referring to. 

His heart sank. It was the traditional dedication video teams always put together when a former long-time player returns, showcasing highlights from their time with their previous team. The last thing Shane wanted to do right now was re-live every goal and cup run he had with Montreal.

The video started with Shane’s selection at the draft, an 18-year-old version of himself holding up a Voyageurs jersey. It cut to his first NHL game against Boston, him and Rozanov skating toward each other on center ice, and Shane’s goal right off the draw. Rozanov elbowed him and smirked. 

The video continued, showing some of Shane’s greatest goals, lifting the cup over his head twice, and some of his off the ice work with the team, like the times they visited the local children’s hospital or when they acted as waiters at the team’s annual gala for major donors. The video ended with a clip of Shane talking to one of the team’s rinkside reporters, saying how much he loved the fans and energy in Montreal’s home arena, and that there’s nothing else like it in the world, then faded to a graphic of Shane in his Montreal jersey, C displayed prominently on his chest. Thank you, Cap! the graphic said.

The image then faded to a live shot of Shane, squinting up at the screen and giving what, to him, was a face full of obvious discomfort. He gave a tightlipped smile and raised his stick to the fans who were on their feet cheering for him, then turned his back toward the bench where the Centaurs players were banging their sticks against the boards in acknowledgement. 

Barrett reached around and clapped him on the back. Rozanov leaned over and put a gloved hand on Shane’s chest. “See? Even they don’t forget that you’re Shane fucking Hollander,” he told him, patting his chest. “Go remind them some more, huh?”

Shane gave Rozanov a small smile and a tight nod, and together they skated back out onto the ice as the time-out wrapped up. 

Fifteen seconds left in the power play, Shane, Rozanov, and Haas were holding the zone, passing back and forth trying to find an opening. Montreal’s defense wasn’t giving them an inch. Rozanov wrapped around the net and attempted to shove the puck through, Shane skating forward to join him, as the end of the power play was signaled and Comeau came barrelling out of the penalty box. He shoved his way into the commotion in front of the net, and Drapeau must have covered the puck at some point because the play was blown dead. 

Comeau gave Rozanov a hard shove. “Get the fuck out of my goalie’s face, Roz,” Comeau snapped at him.

Rozanov smirked. “Why should I? It’s a nice face. Pretty boy in net. Unlike your ugly fucking mug.”

Comeau rolled his eyes. “Fucking faggot,” he said, turning to take his position so the centermen could take the face-off. 

“Mm. In your dreams, Comeau!” Rozanov called after him. 

Shane kept his head down and tried ignoring the extracurriculars. Shane won the puck battle easily and passed it to Rozanov, who carried it to the corner. He passed it back to Shane as Comeau closed in on him, and Shane swerved around Hayden, saw his opening, and sent the puck soaring just over Drapeau’s glove and into the back of the net. The game was tied at 1-1.

The third period was pure gridlock, and both teams were getting fed up. With ten minutes left to go, Barrett successfully sent Shane a pass to move the puck out of their zone and Shane went flying, not seeing that Comeau was right after him. The hit was clean, but Shane might as well have ran head first into a brick wall the way he completely collapsed like a ragdoll. 

Haas skated over to check on Shane, and he was vaguely aware of whistles blowing and fans screaming as he collected his bearings. “Are you okay, Shane?” Haas asked.

Shane took stock of his body. He could wiggle his fingers and toes, he could turn his neck from side to side, and he knew where he was. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he told Haas, accepting his hand to help him stand up. “Just sore and winded.” 

Haas nodded and they skated back to the bench. As the medical staff looked Shane over to verify that he was okay, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Rozanov talking to Andersson down the bench, Andersson nodding and quirking one side of his lips up before hopping the bench. 

Shane pretended to be surprised when he saw Andersson getting in Comeau’s face during the next play. He pretended to be surprised when they dropped the gloves. He did, however, happily stand up and cheer and bang his stick hard against the boards when Anderrson got a few good licks in that sent Comeau crashing down onto the ice. 

Rozanov climbed over the boards as his line was sent out for the four-on-four. “Fucking finish this,” Shane told him as he skated past him. Rozanov clenched his jaw and tapped his stick on the ledge in front of Shane. 

There is a lot of shit to be said about Ilya Rozanov, but Shane will give him this: he is a good listener. 

Forty seconds later, Rozanov took a beautiful slap shot from the corner and put Ottawa up 2-1. 

His line came over to the bench for high-fives, then he climbed over and plopped right next to Shane. Shane smacked his leg in appreciation. “Nicely done,” he told him. 

Rozanov looked at him, breathing heavily from his shift with sweat dripping off his face, and gave Shane a wide smile that set his insides ablaze. 

* * *

That night, the Ottawa Centaurs were packed into the hotel bar, taking a load off after their ugly win against Montreal. Most of the guys were crammed around a select few tables, but Ilya found himself at a spot in the corner with just Troy, giving himself a clear view of the entrance.

“Roz. Rozanov,” Troy kicked him under the table. 

“Ow!” Ilya swung his head to glare at Troy. “The fuck, Barrett?”

Troy shook his head. “You need to stop looking at the door every ten seconds waiting for him.”

Ilya shrugged. “I do not know what you’re talking about,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Switch spots with me or stop staring at the door. You can’t wait all night for Hollander to get back.” 

“Huh? Sorry, I don’t speak English.”

“Ilya.”

“What is your fucking deal? We won. You are hanging out with me, your best friend. You are waiting for your boyfriend to call so you can go have phone sex. Have a fucking beer and leave me alone.”

Troy pulled a face, reaching for his own drink. “Oh god, are you really my best friend?”

“I know. Terrible news for me,” Ilya grimaced and clanked his glass against Troy’s before taking another long dredge from his beer. 

Finally, Hollander came walking through the door. He first noticed the large group of their teammates crowded together, but when he caught Ilya’s eye he gave him a smile and headed directly for their table. 

“Ah, he finally felt like joining the party, I see,” Ilya teased as Hollander slid into an empty chair. He gestured to the pitcher of beer between himself and Troy in offering, but Hollander shook his head. “How are the losers?”

Hollander huffed out a small laugh. “J.J. and Hayden may be sore losers, but Hayden’s wife was wearing my Centaurs jersey at the game so I think he was more annoyed by that than anything.”

Ilya barked out a laugh. “I like this woman. What’s the point in being married to Pike if you can not bully him?”

Hollander smiled. “Did I miss anything exciting here?”

Troy shook his head. “Nah. I’m heading up to bed soon, anyways.” On cue, his phone started vibrating on the table and Harris’ face lit up the screen. “And on that note!” Troy stood up and clapped Ilya, then Shane on the back. “Night, guys.”

“Enjoy phone sex!” Ilya called after him. Hollander snorted. “I’m surprised you are here,” he told him once Troy was completely out of sight.

Hollander raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Ilya shrugged. “Your old home, you know. Big win tonight. Surely you have somebody you can go celebrate with?” Ilya hid the bottom half of his face behind his beer, avoiding eye contact with Hollander. 

He just simply stared at Ilya. “What are you talking about?”

Ilya finally emptied his glass and began pouring himself another from the pitcher, hoping Hollander didn’t notice the way his hand shook slightly. “What do the kids call it? A roster?” 

“What do you mean a rost-oh…” Hollander’s blush creeped up from his neck to the tips of his ears. “Uh. No. Nothing like that. That… isn’t really my style.”

Ilya pressed his lips together. “So, there’s no special someone waiting for you here?”

Hollander’s blush didn’t let up, but he slightly narrowed his eyes at Ilya. There’s no way he wasn’t on to him, Ilya thought. “No. No special someone,” Hollander finally replied softly. 

Ilya had to bite down hard on his inner cheek to keep a smile from forming. This hadn’t been his intention when he had been watching the door all night like a sad puppy waiting for Hollander to show, but a few drinks had loosened him up just enough to give him a small boost of unearned confidence. He knew, logically, that flirting with Hollander was a dangerous, slippery slope. But Ilya couldn’t help it. The way Hollander’s eyes had lit up slightly just now when he saw Ilya, his joggers and blue hoodie making him look cozy as hell. Ilya wanted to drown in him. 

So yeah, Ilya decided, fuck it. Why not crack open this door just a tiny bit. 

Hollander was still staring at him, slightly unnerving Ilya. He couldn’t help but ask, “What? Something on my face?”

Hollander remained silent for a beat, then, softly: “Are we ever going to talk about it?”

Oh, okay. If Ilya was cracking the door, Hollander was fully opening it and stepping through like he owned the place.

Ilya felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped down his back, but maintained Hollander’s gaze. “What do you mean? We are talking right now, aren’t we?” Ilya took another sip of his beer and gazed at the other man over the top of his glass expectantly.

Hollander leveled his gaze, seemingly making a decision. “...Ilya…”

Ilya’s heart stopped. 

Never, not once had either of them referred to the other by their first name. They didn’t even use nicknames like the rest of the guys did. They had always, always strictly been Hollander and Rozanov. Hollander wasn’t just opening the door, he was busting this bitch wide open. 

He set his glass down, crossed his arms and leaned across the table closer to the other man. Fine. Let’s do this. “Shane…” he replied daringly. 

Hollander gulped, but still didn’t say anything. The look in his eye was pleading. They held each other’s gaze, silently begging for the other to break first. 

Ilya was the one to finally take pity. “Mingle with the guys for a few minutes, they want to celebrate with you. Then come to room 743,” he said, nodding to the large group crowded at the tables near them before downing the rest of his beer and standing to make his way to the elevators. 

* * *

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock at Ilya’s door.

He briefly considered not answering it, feigning exhaustion and one too many drinks. He could tell Hollander the next day that he had passed out while waiting for him. He knew deep down, however, that that would only prolong his anxiety.

So, he opened the door to see Hollander fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, his eyes wide and full of nerves. Ilya pushed down the urge to pull him straight to his chest and drop small kisses over his face until the crease between his brow relaxed and he sank into Ilya’s arms. 

Instead, Ilya said nothing and opened the door wider for Hollander to walk in. 

Hollander hesitated for a moment, and Ilya nearly said to him “This was your idea!” But Hollander did finally cross the threshold and perch himself at the edge of Ilya’s bed. Ilya locked the door before crossing his arms and leaning in the doorway. 

Neither of them said a word. 

Ilya looked at Hollander, pulled a face and raised one shoulder as if to say, Well? Hollander sighed and finally spoke. 

“I want us to be friends,” is what he finally said. Nothing more. 

Ilya’s eyes shifted from side to side. “Okay? Is there… a problem with that?”

“No. Well, yeah… kinda!” Hollander sighed. “I feel like… there’s this… thing hanging over us. And I don’t think we can actually be friends until we hash it out.”

Ilya didn’t want to do… whatever this was all night, and realized he had to take the reins if they were going to get anywhere. “Mm. Okay. And this thing is that we sucked each other’s dicks one time many years ago and was your first time with a man and it was so good that I turned you gay?”

“You did not turn me gay-” Hollander immediately began protesting. 

“No! It’s okay, I understand, I have that effect on people,” Ilya waggled his eyebrows at him. 

“Rozanov…” he pleaded. 

“Ilya,” Ilya corrected firmly. 

“…Ilya.” Hollan-Shane repeated. “I just want us to, like. Acknowledge it. And make sure that… we’re okay.”

Ilya pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay,” he said, coming to sit next to Shane on the bed. Ilya’s mind was reeling, not knowing where to begin. Finally, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Ilya looked at him. “The All-Star game. Our rookie year,” he said softly.

Shane’s eyes widened slightly, then sighed and looked at his hands in his lap. “Yeah.”

Ilya shrugged. “Did I… misunderstand? Because I had enjoyed what happened in Toronto. And I thought you had too, but perhaps I was wrong.”

Shane shook his head. “No. No, I definitely enjoyed it too. And I did want… for it to happen again,” he smiled sadly, and Ilya felt an old ache reignite in his chest. “But I was so fucking scared, Ilya.” 

Ilya nodded and studied the ground, eyes locked on an odd stain on the carpet. “I thought I had maybe offended you,” he told Shane.

“Not even a little,” he said. “I remember sitting in my room going over every possibility in my head. Like, maybe I go, and then that’s it forever. Or maybe I go, and then next time we see each other it happens again, and then we call it good. Or maybe. Maybe I go and then we just… don’t stop,” Shane held Ilya’s gaze. “And then what? We just secretly hook up our entire careers until one of us settles down?”

Ilya shook his head. “No, of course not. We secretly hook up until you fall in love with me and marry me to give me Canadian green card.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Shane dropped his head into his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes. 

Okay. Maybe Ilya shouldn’t have slammed that last beer. He bit back a laugh. “Sorry, bad joke.”

“Is it though!?” Shane looked at him in bewilderment. “Maybe that happens! And then what! We’re just two secretly married closeted NHL players? That’s insane.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t want to hook up again because you were afraid of falling in love with me? That’s very understandable and all you had to say, Hollander.”

“I swear to fucking god-”

“But none of that happened, so take a fucking breath.”

Shane rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Sorry, I just…”

“Look,” Ilya said. “I enjoyed that night. And yes, I may have been… a little embarrassed that you ignored me at the All-Star game. But it was so long ago. And we are here now. And I think, given the chance, we can be good friends.” 

Shane looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry I ghosted you,” he said, genuinely apologetic. “I should’ve said something afterwards.”

Ilya shrugged. “What would you have said? I would have been an asshole about it. It would not have mattered.”

Shane nodded his head towards him, as if to say you got me there. 

“Shane…” Ilya began, noticing the way Shane’s shoulders tightened just slightly before relaxing again. “We are good here if we want to be. And I want to be.”

Shane smiled at him. “Me too,” he said gently. 

“Then okay,” Ilya replied even softer. They looked at each other for a few moments, and Shane finally gave him one more small smile. 

And fuck, did Ilya want to kiss him. 

“Can I ask you something now?” Shane broke their spell, and Ilya could only nod, not trusting his voice to come out steady right now. “Have you ever… told anyone? About what happened?”

“No,” Ilya replied, barely even considering the question. Why would he ever willingly give up the fact that he had hooked up with then been blown off by Shane Hollander? “Why? Have you?”

Shane grimaced. “My ex-girlfriend,” he responded, laughing when Ilya’s eyebrows shot upwards. “I didn’t tell her it was you, god no. But I told her about… my first time with a guy.”

“And this girlfriend knew you were gay and she was cool with it?”

“We broke up because I’m gay, Ilya. We’re still good friends, though.”

Ilya wasn’t sure what to do with this information. He tucked it away in his brain, something to unpack later. Then, a memory suddenly burst through his slightly alcohol hazed mind, and pieces began clicking into place. “Oh, fuck.”

Shane furrowed his brows. “What?”

“I, uh,” Ilya began. “It is possible that Troy has already figured it out.” 

Shane stared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Ilya sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Last season, Troy came out to me before anyone else on the team. It was obvious he had a huge crush on Harris, and I told him to make a move or get over it,” he said. “He said I would not understand, so I had to tell him that I did actually understand.”

Shane was still as a statue next to him, holding his breath. “What exactly did you tell him?”

“I felt bad for him, and wanted him to know he wasn’t as alone as he thought. I told him that I like men and women, and that… fuck. I forgot that I told him this. That there may have been an… incident with another player before I went to the NHL,” Ilya held Shane’s gaze firmly. “I did not give any details and I never said your name, I promise. But then we were at Bood’s house, and you told everyone that you are gay, and they brought up the commercial…” 

Shame grimaced and hung his head. “I remember him following you inside,” he said. 

“He did not say anything, only just asked how long we had known each other. I told him the truth, that we met at the World Juniors before we were drafted. I didn’t understand the look on his face, then. I just thought he was drunk. Fuck. I am sorry.” 

Shane flopped back on the bed. “It’s okay,” he told the ceiling. “I guess if there’s anyone else I trust here, it’s him.” 

Ilya nodded. “Me too. Don’t give him any hints that he’s right, though. He will keep a secret but will never let us live it down.”

Shane chuckled, and suddenly Ilya felt Shane’s hand touching his back. He didn’t dare move lest he scare him off. “Does anyone else know about you? Like… you liking… both?”

Ilya sighed. “Troy is the only player who knows I am bisexual. My best friend from Russia knows, but she lives in Boston and I don’t see her much unless I’m in town. But otherwise…” he look at Shane. “No one else.”

“Do you think you’ll ever tell more people?”

Ilya considered the question, then fell back against the bed next to Shane, Shane moving his hand to avoid being squished. “If I had a good reason to, I would. Being Russian makes it hard. Not that I want to go home, necessarily, I don’t have any family to go home to…” he turned his head to look at Shane. “But unless I am in love with a man, I don’t see a reason to make things harder than they have to be. Might as well just stick with women until I can become a Canadian citizen.” He winked at Shane. “Or I find a nice Canadian man to marry me and speed things up.”

Shane snorted. “You wish,” he replied. 

Yes, I do wish, that’s why I’m asking. Ilya swallowed the words down before they could escape. He didn’t even know how true they were, but he knew better than to push his luck with the jokes tonight. Ilya just smiled at him and turned to face the ceiling. 

They lay there in silence for what must have only been a few moments, but they weighed heavily on Ilya’s chest. 

“Ilya?” He heard Shane say gently next to him. 

“Hm?” He turned his head to face him. Shane’s eyes were large, incredibly earnest, and just slightly glassy.

“I’m really glad I’m here. In Ottawa, I mean.” Shane said. 

Ilya smiled at him, his heart about to beat out of his chest. 

“Me too.” 

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

Sorry this one took a little longer, I was distracted by Olympic hockey. hey siri play free bird

November 2021 

“And… action!”

Shane skated towards Ilya on center ice, the Centaurs logo blazing underneath them. They crouched low as if they were about to take a face-off, looked up at each other and made eye contact, then promptly burst out laughing.

“Cut!” Harris called. “You guys have to hold it for a little bit longer. Just like, five more seconds.”

“He made a face at me,” Ilya said. 

“I made a face at you?!”

“Yes. Funny face. I laughed.”

Shane shook his head and skated back to his first mark. “Get it together, asshole.” 

“Me!? Don’t be so funny looking and maybe I won’t laugh!”

“If you two don’t shut the fuck up, I’m gonna start photoshopping every picture that’s posted of you so that you’re bald,” Harris warned. 

Ilya gaped at Harris. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t test me, Rozanov.” 

Ilya rolled his eyes and skated back to his position. When Harris called action again, the pair repeated the sequence: skating forward, crouching low, eye contact, then… laughing far too quickly. 

“Cut! Come on guys…”

“We can do it, I promise,” Shane told him, already skating back to his starting position.

“Hm… Okay. Try this: what’s the most embarrassing thing you have ever done on the ice?” Harris asked them. 

“Oh jesus,” Shane mumbled, shoulders dropping and tilting his head back in exasperation. 

“Nothing. I have never been embarrassed, ever,” Ilya responded. 

“You know how many fucking times you’ve been on the ice when I’ve scored? I’m sure you can think of one time,” Shane told him. 

Ilya pointed his stick across the ice at Shane. “That’s enough out of you,” he warned. 

“Just think of something embarrassing and miserable so you don’t burst out laughing immediately, please,” Harris begged. 

Shane grimaced as he remembered the time during his third season when he caught an edge during a game, went down hard at an awkward angle and was out with a groin strain for two weeks. It seemed to do the trick, getting him out of his head as he and Ilya skated towards each other again, but suddenly he was thinking only about Ilya… and his groin. 

Well, at least he wasn’t laughing. 

“Okay… now!” 

Shane and Ilya looked up at each other. Shane could only force out an obviously fake laugh, and turns out, so could Ilya. 

“Cut!” Harris sighed. “You guys have gotta be kidding me. How the hell did you get through this the first time?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Ilya mumbled just for Shane to hear, tossing him a grin. Shane choked on his spit and felt the heat rising up the back of his neck. Ilya straightened up. “You can’t force it, Harris. You’re getting the real thing or nothing at all.” 

“Fine! Fine,” Harris relented. “One more time, but please, please contain the giggles for a few seconds.”

“Anything for you,” Ilya said, getting into position. “Be a good boy, Hollander. Angry Harris is scary.” 

Shane’s mouth dropped for half a second then shut it before the embarrassing noise rising in his throat escaped. He scratched the back of his head and returned to his starting point, decidedly ignoring that Ilya had just told him to be a good boy holy-

“Action!” 

Shane and Ilya once again skated to the center, crouched low, locked eyes, and miraculously didn’t burst into giggles immediately. Shane felt the corners of his lips threatening to pull up, but kept his composure as he counted up to five in his head.

When he hit five, Ilya leaned over and blew a raspberry in his face, causing Shane to finally break. “All right,” he straightened up, a smile pulling on his face. He turned away from the camera and slowly glided away, hooking his stick over his shoulder.

“Ha! I got you,” Ilya chided, following him.

“You didn’t get me-hey!” He felt Ilya’s stick gently smack against his shins, and when he heard the other man laughing he brought his own stick down, faking out like he was going to slash him. 

Ilya leaned back to avoid the hit that was never coming, but Shane had already taken off down the ice. “Hey!” Ilya called after him and chased him down to the other end, both of their laughs echoing throughout the empty arena. 

“Absolute children,” Shane heard Harris admonish them. “All right! We’re done here!”

Shane slowed down as if he was going to let Ilya catch him, but when he was just within arms reach he raced for the bench to head down to the locker room, Ilya’s giggling ringing out behind him.

* * *

Being friends with Ilya Rozanov was, shockingly, incredibly easy. After spending more than a decade tampering down any sort of fondness Shane may have secretly carried for the man, having permission to express anything other than irritation, indifference, or basic camaraderie between teammates should have felt wrong to Shane, but it came so naturally. 

For starters, it turned out that they were fucking neighbors. 

On an unseasonably warm off-day following the Montreal game, Shane was out for a run early in the morning. He was slowing down just a couple blocks from home when he felt the hard thud of something hitting him in the ear. 

“Ow! What the-” Shane ripped one headphone out of his ear and looked up, expecting to see a squirrel in a tree high above him dropping walnuts or something on his head, but instead, he saw Ilya standing in the driveway he was passing by, one hand holding onto a medium sized, fluffy dog’s leash, the other wiping tears out of his eyes as his laughter echoed throughout the neighborhood. Shane looked down and saw it was a Nerf branded foam dog bone that had hit him in the head. He looked between the toy on the ground and back up at Ilya. “What the fuck!?”

Ilya was wheezing, bent over with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath, and the baseball cap he was wearing toppled to the ground off his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he called as Shane picked up the toy and walked through the driveway’s open gates and towards Ilya. The dog standing next to Ilya barked twice at Shane, and he stopped in his tracks. “Sh, Anya, he’s a friend,” he scolded the dog, still trying to control his laughter, and picked up his hat.

Shane whipped the toy at Ilya’s torso, and the dog leaped up to catch it as he flinched away. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, walking closer again now that the dog was distracted chomping on the toy. 

“I was aiming for your legs,” Ilya grinned at him, putting his hat on backwards. Shane had a better view of his face, his wide grin and bright eyes sparking with amusement. “Besides, you are the one stalking me. The fuck are you doing here?”

Shane raised an eyebrow. “Your aim is shit,” he told him, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of his house. “I live, like, two blocks down,” he said, the adrenaline from his run and having nearly been knocked out by Ilya wearing off. He breathed heavily and looked down at the dog who was now more interested in sniffing Shane’s shoelaces than anything else. “Who’s this?” he panted, nodding down at her. 

“This is Anya. She’s very vicious," Ilya said, and Shane snorted when in response she raised her head to sniff Shane’s leg and give it a tentative lick. “We just got back from a walk, so. Give her a minute and she’ll rip your head off.”

Anya sat down at Shane’s feet, looking up at him with her tongue rolling out of her mouth. He gently reached a hand out for her to sniff, and after a brief inspection she nudged his hand to get him to pet her behind her ears. “Ferocious,” Shane said, honoring her request and smirking at Ilya. 

“Mm. Traitor,” he said to Anya, who leaned her head back at the sound of Ilya’s voice, looking up at him with a goofy, panting face. Ilya looked at Shane. “I did not mean to hit you in the head, really,” he told him, clearly still trying to hold back a smile. “Are you okay?”

Shane sighed dramatically. “I’ll live, I suppose.”

Ilya nodded his head towards the open garage door. “Come in, I’ll make you breakfast as apology.”

Before Shane could protest, Ilya and Anya turned their backs on him and headed towards the house, giving him no choice but to follow them inside.

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting at Ilya’s kitchen island with a plate loaded with egg whites and toast, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him. “How did we not know we lived so close to each other?”

Ilya shrugged, shoveling his own eggs into his mouth. “You didn’t ask,” he responded around a mouth full of food. 

Shane waved his fork towards Ilya. “Neither did you,” he said. Shane looked over at the living room, where Anya was happily squeaking the toy Ilya had thrown at him earlier. “I never took you for a dog person.”

“As opposed to what? You think I’d have like. A fucking lizard?” 

Ilya smiled at Shane's snort. “Now that you mention it, yeah, I did actually. Cold blooded and all that.”

“I’ve only had her since the spring. Harris’ family takes in lots of dogs and helps find them homes,” he explained, then smiled wistfully at the dog. “I think we both needed a friend.”

Shane smiled warmly at Ilya. He had never seen him… soft, like this; comfortable in his gym shorts and sweatshirt, curls escaping from underneath his hat, purely relaxed with his dog in his own home. Shane felt his heart swelling, and forced himself to turn back to his food, shoving the last couple bites into his mouth. “What do you do with her during road trips?”

“She is the most popular princess at the dog hotel, obviously.”

“Obviously. I should have figured.”

Ilya smiled at him, then stood to clear their plates. Anya, seeing Ilya was on the move, grabbed her toy and scampered over, then decidedly pressed her toy into Shane’s shin. “Oh thank you,” he said, reaching down to take the toy from Anya’s mouth. She sat and patiently watched him as he raised his hand to throw it, scampering away on the hardwood floor after he tossed it back towards the living room.

“You break anything, you pay for it,” Ilya warned him from the sink.

“I think you’re fucking good for it, man,” Shane looked at him incredulously, then reached down to throw the toy for Anya again when she brought it back, squeaking it at his feet.

Ilya leaned back against the counter. “She likes you,” he said.

“Don’t dogs like everyone?”

Ilya shook his head. “No. Dogs only like good people. You are good people, Shane Hollander.”

Shane’s stomach fluttered, and for a brief moment he thought he was about to start levitating. 

Three days later, Shane looked at the mountain of food he had accidentally made himself for dinner and groaned. He took out his phone and snapped a picture, then opened a text to Ilya.

Shane Hollander

[one photo attachment]

Shane Hollander

You hungry? Made too much.

Shane Hollander

[sent his location]

Ilya Rozanov

Omw

And so Shane spent the night watching the Boston Bears trounce the Montreal Voyageurs on his couch next to Ilya, their empty plates left forgotten on his coffee table. 

Ilya shook his head as Montreal turned over the puck for the third time that night, Cliff Marleau breaking away and scoring for Boston to make it 5-2. “They’re a fucking mess out there.”

Shane nodded. As the second period ended, he turned to Ilya. “Can I ask you something?”

Ilya turned to him. “Depends. Is it dumb?”

Shane huffed out a laugh. “Maybe. I don’t know. Just…”

Ilya poked his socked foot at Shane’s. “Say it.”

Shane shrugged. “When does it… stop being weird? Not playing for the team that drafted you.”

Ilya sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it is different for everyone,” he said. “And different if you get to choose to leave or not. I chose to leave Boston for Ottawa. Your situation was… a little different.”

Shane knocked his head back against the couch. “Yeah. I guess,” he said softly, then furrowed his brow at Ilya. “Why did you leave Boston, anyway? Was it just the money?”

Ilya barked out a laugh. “It was, ah. A bit more complicated than that,” he said.

“How so?”

Ilya squinted his eyes at Shane. “You are asking many questions tonight.”

“Sorry,” Shane said, an embarrassed flush rising in his cheeks. “I’ll stop.”

Ilya smirked at him slightly. “It’s okay. Money was part of it, yes,” he sighed. “But it was also… I don’t know. I didn’t dislike Boston. But I did not love it. I felt a lot of… nothing, there. Teammates were fine. City was fine,” Ilya shrugged. “But the idea of staying there for another decade was… not what I wanted.”

Shane watched him closely, biting down more questions and letting Ilya speak.

“My life in Russia is… complicated. I have not been back in years, and I have no desire to return. And when it came down to if I wanted to try for American or Canadian citizenship, well. I think I’d rather be Canadian than American.” Ilya winked at Shane. “Ottawa made the best offer, so I figured why not? Would be fun to build another team from the ground up like I did in Boston. And maybe prove to myself that I could do it again.”

Shane smiled. “Do you ever miss Boston?” he asked softly. 

Ilya shook his head. “No. I like this team. I like this city. I like Canada,” he turned to Shane. “Do you miss Montreal?”  

Shane considered the question before answering, “No. I don’t think I do,” he said honestly, turning back to the TV. “I miss the familiarity of it. I thought I would spend my whole career there. I thought my number would be hanging from their rafters someday. But I guess it’s like you said. There was nothing left for me there.” 

Ilya hummed in response. “Your contract is up at the end of the year.”

Shane nodded. “It is.”

“Do you think there’s anything for you here? That will make you want to stay?”

Shane looked at Ilya, who was gazing at him with something unreadable on his face. Shane smiled softly at him. “There might be.”

Later that evening, after shutting the front door behind Ilya, Shane sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Get it together,” he muttered to himself.

And so they fell into an easy rhythm. Shane began running into Ilya and Anya on their walks now that he knew to look for them in the neighborhood, but Shane might suspect that they had changed their usual route to pass by his house more often than not. Every now and then, Shane would return home from a run to see a text from Ilya: a blurry, zoomed in photo of Shane running past his house. Once or twice a week, they would text each other that they had leftovers to share, and they would brave the early winter cold for two whole blocks and spend an evening eating dinner on the other’s couch while watching that night’s NHL primetime game. 

If Shane was being honest with himself, it was one of the easiest friendships he has ever had. Hayden had forced Shane out of his shell and earned the steady companionship they found over the years. With Ilya, however, everything came naturally to them. Conversations flowed naturally, harmless chirps flew. After a few weeks, Anya was even curling up at Shane’s feet rather than Ilya’s more often than not, much to Ilya’s annoyance. The level of comfort Shane felt at Ilya’s house in such a short amount of time was, frankly, absurd to him.

So yes. Shane found it very easy to let himself openly enjoy Ilya’s company. The problem he found, however, was not letting it show just exactly how much he liked hanging out with Ilya.

He caught himself daydreaming about what it would be like to let their friendly touches linger. If he let their steady gazes hold just a little too long. What it would feel like to push Ilya into the couch cushions, run his hands over his firm chest, their breath mingling together. If Ilya let him inside his home, pushed Shane against the door, and allowed their hands and lips roam wherever they pleased. 

He kept these thoughts sequestered, only allowing himself to delve into them in the comfort of his dark, quiet bedroom at night, hoping he would wake up in the morning with any and all non-platonic feelings towards Ilya Rozanov eviscerated from his mind. 

That has yet to happen.

* * *

December 2021

Ilya returned to the top line the first game of December. 

“Just switching things up and seeing how it shakes out,” Coach Wiebe had pulled both him and Shane aside before their scrimmage to let them know. Ilya refused to make eye contact with Shane, but he only gave Ilya a smile and friendly clap on the back before skating off to join Knight and Dillon on their line. 

Ilya knew at the end of the day, they could be interchangeable in the top line spot and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. However, taking the first face-off at puck drop for the first time that season sent a rush of adrenaline down his spine. Troy assisting on his goal in the first period and Ilya assisting on Haas’ two goals in the third set his heart on fire. 

And if Shane was forcing a smile at him, then he should look into a career in acting. 

In the media scrum after Ottawa’s 4-2 win over Anaheim, Ilya watched as Shane was asked about playing with his new linemates. “I think it’s just business as always,” Shane told them. He had assisted on Dillon’s goal in the second period. “I’ve gotten to know these guys well, so it feels natural to just slot in wherever I’m needed.”

“Rozanov didn’t give you too much trouble for swapping places?”

Shane looked up and saw Ilya watching him from across the locker room and laughed. “Not at all. And he’s worked hard to get back to where he was before his injury, so it was good to see him up there succeeding tonight,” Shane smirked at Ilya before gesturing to the cameras. “You guys can’t see it, but he’s just off-camera holding a gun to my head making sure I say nice things about him.”

Ilya chucked a dirty sock over the reporters’ heads and hit Shane square in the face, making everyone laugh. Shane crinkled his nose and grinned at Ilya as they turned and made their way to him. 

“Aw jeez, my turn already?” He jokingly whined to the reporters. They asked him the same questions they had asked Shane about the switch up. “Yeah, it feels good to be back with Barrett and Haasy,” he told them. “I had to earn it back, that’s for sure, but Hollander held down the fort nicely for me. It’s big shoes to fill.” 

“You guys have really been on a roll here lately. What do you think has been the secret to you guys finding and maintaining success early in the season?”

“I think it all comes down to the locker room. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, that we all get along great. It’s so easy to play with these guys. And bringing Shane in during the off-season, it feels like he was the missing piece, you know? I am having the most fun I’ve ever had playing hockey.”

Ilya looked across the room at Shane, who was still listening to him. Shane bit his lip and ducked his head before heading towards the showers, and Ilya could see the pink flush creeping up his neck. 

* * *

“Everyone, listen the fuck up!”

Ilya clapped his hands to get the locker room’s attention, practice jersey haphazardly thrown over his shoulder. “Before we go out there, I have an announcement.”

The guys settled down their chatter and turned their attention to their captain. Ilya gazed upon the room, making sure he was holding everyone’s attention. His eyes landed on Shane perched at the edge of the bench in front of his locker and let himself linger for just a moment, admiring Shane’s slightly mussed hair from pulling on his compression shirt. “Very important. I have an early Christmas present for one of you,” he said, looking directly at Shane. 

“First of all, I want you all to know that I am very proud of us so far this season. Watching you all play without me for the first month was torture. I wanted to be out there so badly with you all. I believe this is the most special group I have played with. Ever.”

There was a smattering of small cheers, and Bood gave out a “Whoop!” and Ilya turned to eye him with a grin. “Second! I need to recognize our alternate captain,” A louder wave of hoots and hollers came from the room, Dykstra leaning over to clap Bood on the back. “He did a great job babysitting you all after I was injured in battle.”

“Fuckin’ right I did,” Bood said, eyeing some of the younger players in the room, Haas even taking a sudden keen interest in the ground. 

“It’s tiring, isn’t it, Bood?”

“Exhausting,” Bood replied with a grin. “I need some goddamn help.” 

“Oh, you do?” Ilya cackled as Coach Wiebe stepped forward to hand Ilya a folded red jersey, and the rest of the room caught on. “So! After many discussions and a very long deliberation that lasted,” Ilya tilted his head and squinted his eyes, pretending to think about it, “I don’t know, ten whole minutes-” Ilya smiled easily as some of the guys chuckled. He began unfolding the jersey, carefully holding the sleeves so the numbers on the side didn’t show and holding the back of it close to his chest. A white A was prominent over the chest. 

Ilya turned his eyes back to Shane, who was watching him with a completely neutral expression, clearly trying his best not to read into anything or get his hopes up. Ilya grinned widely at him. 

“Bood and I are happy to announce our second alternate captain for the Ottawa Centaurs…” Ilya turned the jersey around to reveal Shane’s name and number. “...is Mr. Shane Hollander.”

The room erupted into cheers and applause, Troy slapping Shane on the back. Shane was biting his lip to keep from grinning as he stood to take the jersey from Ilya. Ilya held out his hand and pulled him into one of those ridiculous bro hugs, whispering in his ear, “Congrats, Cap.”

Shane finally won the battle against his smile and lit up as he pulled the jersey over his head. “Wow, uh,” Shane started. “Thank you guys. Thanks for trusting me, and, uh,” he smirked. “Let’s keep it rolling, yeah?”

Ilya loudly whooped next to him along with the rest of the team and squeezed Shane’s shoulder. “You earned it, Hollander. Now go lead them in the stretches, yeah?”

* * *

“Did you guys see the email from Harris?”

Ilya, Troy, and Shane were walking out to the parking garage together after practice a week later, Troy scrolling his phone between them. “No. What’s it say?” Ilya adjusted his gear bag on his shoulder to look over at Troy’s phone. 

“He finally got around to editing that commercial recreation you guys did,” Troy said, tapping the attachment and holding out his phone as the video loaded. 

Ilya had been antsy waiting for this. Last week, Harris had posted the original commercial with the caption, “wonder whatever happened to these guys.” Ilya had tagged Shane in his comment simply saying, “Fuck we’re old.” Shane, who is rarely online, had even responded, “Speak for yourself.” Harris said the post and their comments had gotten more interactions than anything he had ever posted. 

The video started out exactly as the original, except this time they were in their matching Centaurs jerseys. Epic, dramatic music played similar to the original, and the camera cut back and forth between Ilya and Shane’s faces as the music built. The camera pushed in on the two of them over center ice, and the music suddenly cut out as Ilya blew a raspberry in Shane’s face. 

Harris had used the entirety of their last take, the camera panning out as Shane laughed and let Ilya chase him down the ice, their laughter echoing through the arena. The video ended with the corporate text overlay saying that Hockey is better with a friend, and that Ottawa Centaurs tickets make a perfect holiday gift!

Troy shook his head as the video faded to black. “Wow,” he said, and Ilya could tell he was biting down a laugh as he tucked his phone into his pocket. 

Ilya ignored him, as Shane was looking over Troy’s shoulder grinning at him. “I like this one better than the old one,” he said. 

“Me too,” Ilya responded, a soft smile on his lips. 

Troy looked back and forth between the two of them, neither sparing him a glance, and Ilya heard him mumble, “Unbelievable,” under his breath before walking towards his car, leaving Shane and Ilya standing alone in the parking garage. 

“Hey, um,” Shane said, fidgeting with the strap of his own gear bag. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Ilya turned his body to face him directly. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Um. You can obviously tell me to fuck off if this is weird or anything. And like, there is no pressure to say yes, and like if you have other plans that’s totally cool and I get that-”

Ilya couldn’t help but laugh a little bit at Shane going on and on. “Spit it out, Hollander.”

Shane took a deep breath, not making eye contact with Ilya. “Right. Um. I was wondering if… I was wondering if you have plans for Christmas? And if not if you… wanted to come with me to my parents house? I’ve heard that Christmas Day isn’t a big deal in Russia so if this is weird and you just want the day off to do whatever I completely understand-”

“Shane,” Ilya said gently, heart lurching. He couldn’t help but smile fondly at the other man. “You are rambling.”

Shane finally looked at Ilya, and his shoulders settled a tiny bit. “Sorry, I… sorry. If it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Ilya told him genuinely. “It’s nice. Thank you for the invitation.”

Shane nodded, but Ilya couldn’t tell if it was more in response to him, or if it was Shane trying to calm himself down. “You can think about it, too. You don’t have to answer right now.”

Ilya took a deep breath of his own, considering the offer. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to be a, um,” Ilya searched for the word, slightly overwhelmed. “An imposition?”

Shane shook his head. “Not an imposition at all,” Shane told him, smiling. “It’s usually just the three of us, and we’re super low-key. We don’t do gifts or anything. And I, uh. I did check with my mom before asking you,” he admitted. “My parents would love to have you. They know you’ve been a big help with me, um. Settling here, I guess.” Shane’s eyes crinkled slightly, freckles dancing across his nose. “There is one condition, though.”

Ilya huffed out a laugh. “Oh? What’s that?”

“You have to bring Anya,” Shane said, smiling softly at him. 

Ilya let the wide grin that had been threatening to make its presence known finally take over his face. “Anya and I would love to come,” he finally said. 

Shane’s face lit up in what seemed to be relief at not making a complete ass out of himself. “Yeah? That’s… that’s great.”

Ilya smiled warmly at Shane before he started walking backwards in the direction of his car. “Tell your parents thank you for letting me come, too.”

Shane nodded and grinned. “I will, I promise.” 

Ilya ducked his head, hoping the heat he felt rising in his own face wasn’t visible. It wasn’t cold enough yet to blame any pink cheeks on the weather. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Shane,” he called over his shoulder. 

Ilya reached his car and threw his bag in the trunk, and when he climbed in the driver’s seat and shut the door, he released a deep sigh. He closed his eyes and let his head roll back against the seat. “Blyat,” he muttered into the silent car. 

Shane was impossible to say no to. Ilya thought he would do literally anything Shane asked of him, as long as he maintained that scarily earnest look on his face, his deep brown eyes begging him to say yes. 

The thought of spending the holiday with the Hollanders scared the ever-loving shit out of Ilya. After spending so long in the media frenzy that was their rivalry, he couldn’t imagine Shane’s parents having overwhelmingly positive feelings towards him going into this. But Shane had said they were okay with it, and the two of them had fallen into such an easy routine that the thought of breaking that for even a couple days made Ilya’s stomach clench. 

Ilya took a deep breath, then finally started the car and clicked his seatbelt into place. As he pulled out of the garage and headed towards his therapy appointment, Ilya’s mind raced at where to start with Galina today.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

I'm sorry this one took a million years. This chapter fully kicked my ass, had a couple breakdowns, but here we are. We'll do better next time I swear 🫡

For simplicity’s sake, I didn’t want to translate Ilya and Svetlana’s conversations into Russian. That’s wayyyy too much of a hassle for you guys to read and disrupts the flow. Just imagine that any convo with just them is in Russian, and when there’s someone else they’re speaking in English. ok ty

December 2021

Ilya was greeted walking into practice by Chiron bounding up to him in the hall outside the locker room. He immediately gasped and fell to his knees to give him a proper hello. “How are you, my friend? Have you been a good boy?”

Harris and Troy were standing a few feet away clearly in the middle of a conversation, Harris looking over and smiling fondly at Ilya and his dog. “I don’t understand how you’re still the favorite, Ilya.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “I don’t appreciate you implying that your dog should hate me, Harris.” Harris rolled his eyes and Troy simply snorted. Ilya nodded to the two of them as Chiron adjusted himself to sit right in between Ilya’s legs, the optimal position for pets. “What is this meeting of the minds?”

“We’re just coordinating Christmas plans. My mom is flying in and joining in on the Drover family celebrations.”

“You’re welcome to join us, Ilya. The more the merrier!” Harris said. 

“Thank you, Harris, but, uh. I have plans,” Ilya told them, finally standing up but firmly avoiding eye contact with either of them. 

Troy whipped his head over to look at him. “Oh you do,” he said, squinting his eyes at Ilya. 

Ilya nodded. “I do, Troy, thank you very much.”

Troy and Harris exchanged a look that Ilya ignored, not in the mood for their Lovers Telepathy. “And… what are these plans?” Harris asked, leaning forward. 

Ilya sighed and looked between the two men. “I’m spending Christmas with the Hollanders,” he relented. 

Harris bit his lip and nodded slowly. “Right. Right…”

Troy opened his mouth and closed it before speaking. “I swear to god, Rozanov,” he muttered, closing his fist and tapping it on Ilya’s chest, punctuating each of his words. “You need to lock that shit down.” 

Harris barked out a laugh and Ilya shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, swatting Troy’s fist away. 

“I’m not doing a full season of you pining after him. I won’t fucking do it. I swear to fucking god. I’ll quit hockey tomorrow if it means I don’t have to watch you making googly eyes at him all day every day.”

“Congrats on your retirement, Barrett.” Ilya clapped him on the shoulder, wishing this conversation would end already. 

“Troy, you’re being a little dramatic,” Harris laughed at his boyfriend. 

But Troy shook his head. “Guys, I’m not fucking kidding. Rozanov. You thought I was down bad for Harris after only knowing him for a couple months? You should see your face after knowing this guy for, what? Thirteen fucking years at this point!?” Troy had an absolutely crazed look in his eye at this point that Ilya had never seen before. “Lock. That. Down.” 

“You’re talking nonsense and I am leaving now,” Ilya said, leaning down to give Chiron a parting head scratch and leaving Troy huffing behind him. 

* * *

Driving to Shane’s parents house on Christmas morning, Ilya realized that he might actually, for real, throw up.

The anxiety swirling in his belly had set in the previous evening, when he had fidgeted with his phone thinking of any and every excuse he could possibly give Shane to cancel at the last minute. 

Sorry, I am sick. No, they had a game the day after next, and he didn’t want to have to fake the remnants of illness. 

Anya is sick. No, that will just worry Shane. 

Anya got out, I have to find her. Fuck no. If that ever actually happened, Ilya would be such an emotional wreck that he couldn’t possibly fake that. Plus, Ilya had a hunch that he would cancel his own Christmas plans to help him track down his lost dog. It wouldn't be a good look if he walked in his house to see her sleeping soundly in her bed. 

I haven’t had family who I wanted to celebrate holidays with in many, many years, and the idea of potentially infringing on your picture-perfect Christmas makes me want to die. 

Yeah, that one wasn’t happening, either. 

So, Shane picked up him and Anya late morning on Christmas Day, Anya bounding happily up to Shane as he got out of the car. 

Shane smiled down at her. “Merry Christmas, Anya,” he said, leaning over to scratch behind her ears. Ilya watched as he popped open the backseat and helped the pup hop in the car, window already rolled down for her to sniff the air. 

Finally, Shane turned to Ilya. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly. “I’m really glad you’re coming with me today.” 

Ilya’s stomach swooped at Shane’s bright eyes and nervous smile, bundled up in his toque and winter coat. “Thank you for inviting me,” he told him, holding up a small gift bag. “I’m not really a wine drinker. Do your parents like vodka?”

Shane grinned and nodded. “They’ll love it. Get in,” he told Ilya, jerking his head towards the car. 

The drive was only twenty minutes, but each second felt like a ticking time bomb weighing on Ilya’s chest. He fiddled with the sleeve of his coat and continuously readjusted in his seat until Shane finally said something. “Ilya,” he said bluntly. “I promise my parents are nice, normal people.” 

“Well, I didn’t doubt that until you said something.”

Shane laughed softly and shook his head as they pulled to a stop light. “If you need to tuck and roll out of the car, do it now.” 

Ilya shook his head. “No, none of that,” he said, pulling on his coat sleeve one more time. Ilya’s eyes landed on Shane’s hand resting on the gear stick, and imagined himself slipping his hand over Shane’s, intertwining their fingers together. Even the thought of the physical contact, how easy the small intimacy would feel, grounded Ilya just slightly.

Ten minutes later, he was following Shane up the front porch as he let them into the Hollander residence. “Hellooo,” Shane called out, holding the door open for Ilya and Anya while toeing off his shoes.

Shane’s mother came around the corner. “Hi honey! Merry Christmas,” she said, giving Shane a brief hug before turning her eyes to Ilya. “I’m Yuna,” she introduces herself, sticking a hand out to Ilya. “Nice to officially meet you, Ilya. We’re so happy you could join us.”

“Nice to meet you. Thank you for having me,” Ilya said, accepting the firm handshake. He jerked his head down to Anya, who was busy sniffing the shoe rack by the front door. “And this is Anya.”

Yuna bent down to greet the dog, who trotted over happily to inspect her. “Well, hello, beautiful. Are you going to clean up after David in the kitchen?”

Shane gave Ilya an affirming touch on the elbow and steered him further into the house, following Yuna and Anya who had clearly smelled the aroma wafting from the kitchen.

Ilya took in the holiday splendor as he followed Shane, the large Christmas tree propped up in the corner of the living room, string lights and garland hanging from every elevated surface. It reminded Ilya of something out of the old American sitcoms his mother had been a fan of, the memory of curling up on the couch to watch alongside her tugged at his chest. The crucifix around his neck suddenly felt heavy.

Hiding under all the Christmas cheer, however, were countless photos and mementos dedicated to Shane. His peewee hockey jersey was framed on the wall, hanging next to a Timbits team photo. Ilya lingered at another picture of Shane on skates, no more than seven-years-old, with a wide, toothless grin. “You were so cute, Hollander,” Ilya told him, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “What the hell happened?”

Shane smirked. “Now I’m just voted the Hottest Player in the NHL by Cosmopolitan.” 

Ilya snorted and winked at him. “Well if Cosmopolitan says it’s true…”

Shane’s smirk softened into a grin as he nudged Ilya towards the kitchen. “Come on.”

Shane’s father stood over the stove, an apron tied around his waist and a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder. He grinned at Shane when the pair walked in, pulling his son into a tight hug. “Merry Christmas, Shane.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Shane said, pulling away and gesturing to Ilya. “This is Ilya.”

“Ilya!” Shane’s dad stuck his hand out and gave him a wide grin. “David. Nice to finally meet you. Shane’s told us a lot about you.”

Ilya grinned like a shark out for blood. “Oh, really?” He turned towards Shane, who was pointedly not making eye contact with either of them and took the bottle of vodka from Ilya’s hands. “Only terrible things, I’m sure.”

“Well, for a long time, yes,” David laughed, turning back to the stove. He heard a snort from Yuna as she busied herself looking for something in the refrigerator. “But only great things as of late.”

Ilya hummed in acknowledgement, accepting a glass of vodka from Shane and clinked it against his own. He felt his teasing grin grow wider and wider across his face as Shane still refused to meet his eyes.

“Uh, I’m gonna give Ilya a quick tour,” Shane announced, taking a quick swig of his drink before dragging Ilya out of the kitchen by the elbow. Ilya followed him happily. 

“I like them already,” Ilya whispered as Shane dragged him towards the staircase.

“I’m quickly realizing my mistake,” Shane replied, warmth blooming in Ilya’s chest when he saw the flush creeping up the side of Shane’s face as he followed him up the stairs.

Shane gestured halfheartedly in the hallway upstairs. “Bathroom on the left, there’s another one downstairs near the back door,” he said. He pushed open the door on the right that was left ajar. “And this was my room growing up.”

Ilya’s heart sang as he stepped into Shane Hollander’s childhood bedroom and muttered in Russian, “Oh, my god.”

Shane’s parents must not have touched a thing since their son had moved out, despite him having left over a decade ago. The room might as well have been considered a shrine, an altar for worshippers to pray to the hockey gods of their youth. Photos of former players and gold medal winning Team Canada rosters were scattered across the room, alongside medals and trophies that Shane must have won himself growing up. Ilya sat at the end of the bed, on top of a well-worn fleece Ottawa Centaurs throw blanket, and took in the youth hockey awards and posters of former NHL stars covering the walls. “Surprised there isn’t a Scott Hunter poster up here,” Ilya teased. 

Shane rolled his eyes. “He’s not that much older than us, Ilya,” he said, sitting next to him on the bed.

“Mm, no, but he is hot,” Ilya replied, taking a sip of his vodka. He used his glass to point at the poster right above the headboard as he swallowed. It was of the former Centaurs player Viktor Yurov, who was Ottawa captain when they were pre-teens. “Russians seem to be your thing, anyway.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Shane mumbled, downing the rest of his vodka with a grimace.

Ilya laughed and bumped their shoulders together. “I am only teasing,” he said. “You’re too good for him, anyway.”

“Who? Hunter? Or the Russians?”

“Yes.”

Shane held Ilya’s gaze as he quickly downed the rest of his own drink. “Come,” Ilya said as he stood. “I want to hear embarrassing stories from your parents.” 

* * *

It only took a couple hours for Yuna and David Hollander to become some of Ilya’s favorite people in the world. 

David gladly accepted Ilya’s help preparing their Christmas dinner chopping veggies and stirring sauces as directed as long as Ilya kept his and David’s vodkas topped off, while Yuna chatted away from her seat at the kitchen island with a glass of wine in hand, regaling tales of Shane’s youth. Shane sat next to her with a permanent flush and scowl on his face, leaning down to scratch Anya behind the ears and occasionally sneaking her a peanut from the snacking bowl in front of them. 

Ilya zeroed all his focus onto the diced onion in front of him so he wouldn’t do something ridiculous, like leaning in to kiss the embarrassed look right off of Shane’s face. 

“How old were you when you started skating, Ilya?” Yuna asked. Ilya distantly wondered if she liked to talk about anything other than hockey or her son. Knowing Shane, Ilya thought that more than likely the answer was no. 

He grinned. “Three-years-old,” he said. “My mother was a figure skater. She put both me and my older brother on skates as soon as she could, but my brother didn’t take to it.” Ilya passed off the onion to David. “I loved it immediately. My mother came to every practice and every game. It was our ‘thing’ for a long time.”

Yuna smiled and looked over at Shane. “That sounds familiar,” she said, leaning her shoulder towards him. Shane softly smiled, but kept his eyes on Ilya. He had mentioned to Shane in passing that his mother had died when he was young, but Ilya intentionally didn’t speak about her more than that, and Ilya had been glad Shane never pushed it. 

He wondered if Shane had mentioned it to his parents as well, because David pivoted the conversation. "Is it true that Christmas isn't much of a thing in Russia?"

"Sort of. We're more New Year's people," he said, reaching for a small handful of nuts. 

"Any big New Year's plans, then?"

"My best friend from childhood is flying in, and we will have a couple days together. She lives in Boston for work, so we don’t get to see each other much anymore.”

Yuna tilted her head. “Did she move to Boston for you when you played there?”

Ilya shook his head. “No, not necessarily. Her father was goalie for Boston in the nineties, so she was born there. Sergei Vetrov. More like happy coincidence when I was drafted.”

“Your best friend’s dad is Sergei Vetrov!?” Yuna gaped, and Shane snorted. 

“Please excuse her, my mom cares a little too much about hockey,” Shane said. 

“Mm, yes, I see where you get it from,” Ilya grinned, and David laughed next to him. Shane chucked a peanut at Ilya’s head in retaliation. 

* * *

Yuna sidled up to Shane while he washed up after dinner, the faint sounds of Ilya and David playing with Anya carrying in from the living room. His mom grabbed the kitchen towel and began drying what Shane had loaded into the rack. Almost conspiratorially, she leaned over and stage whispered, “I like him.”

Shane barely glanced up from where he was scrubbing a frying pan. “Do you?” he deadpanned. 

She grinned. “I can’t believe the first person you bring home is Ilya Rozanov, and I can’t believe how much I like him!”

“It’s not like that, Mom, and you know it,” Shane grumbled. 

“Well, I don’t know if he knows it,” she muttered, smirking when Shane whipped his head to the side to look at her. 

“Mom,” Shane pleaded. “Don’t start.”

Yuna sighed. “Fine,” she relented. “All I’m saying is that if it were to ever be like that, you would have our full support.”

“Well, it’s not.” Shane let the last of the dishes clang in the drying rack and turned away from his mom to pull a beer out of the fridge. “I’ve known him a long time, and we are just friends,” Shane reiterated as he popped the top off the bottle. 

He finally met his mom’s gaze as Yuna opened her mouth to say something, then seemingly thought better of it and closed it. She pursed her lips and nodded once. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Shane repeated and made for the door, before doubling back to give his mom a kiss on the cheek. He tried to ignore the sad smile Yuna gave him in return.

When he walked into the living room, Ilya was tucked into one corner of the couch, and his dad was sitting on the floor in front of the arm chair playing tug of war with a rope toy that seemed to have magically appeared. “Where’d that come from?” Shane asked as he sat down next to Ilya.

“Santa Claus brought it for her, apparently,” Ilya said, nodding to Shane’s dad, who paid them no mind as he gently jerked Anya around, trying to take the toy from her. Shane felt Ilya’s gaze on the side of his face and turned to look at him. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Shane gulped and stiffly nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. He ignored the way Ilya looked at him as he reached for the remote, flipping through channels to find any generic Christmas movie on cable. 

Yuna joined them, a glass of wine in each hand for her and David, and the four of them chatted through Home Alone. Shane felt his eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion from the food and activity of the day taking over, and leaned his head back against the couch for a few moments while he let the soothing voices of his parents and Ilya relax him.

Those few moments must have turned into much longer, because when Shane finally opened his eyes, he was sandwiched between Ilya’s shoulder and his own head. He shifted and blearily tried to gather his bearings. He saw his dad also fast asleep in the armchair with Anya snoozing in his lap, and heard his mom puttering around in the kitchen.

“Good nap?” Ilya muttered into Shane’s hair. 

Shane fully sat up and stretched the kink in his neck. When his eyes met Ilya’s, he saw him smirking down at Shane. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “How long was I out for?” 

“Half hour, maybe. Nothing crazy.”

“I didn’t drool on you, did I?”

Ilya made a noise, affirming that Shane did not. “Even sleeping you are very composed.”

Shane snorted. “Whatever you say.” His eyes flicked over to his dad and Anya. “I think your dog has a new best friend.”

Ilya smiled at the pair, still asleep in the armchair. “He can babysit her anytime.”

“That’s a dangerous offer. He might not ever give her back.” Shane leaned forward to stretch his arms and let out a loud yawn, waking Anya who promptly hopped up to see what all the fuss was about, which in turn woke his dad. “We should probably go.”

Ilya hummed in agreement, his hand absentmindedly landing on the small of Shane’s back. The tiny, intimate gesture sent a shiver down his spine, but if Ilya noticed, he ignored it. 

They gathered their things and said their goodbyes. Shane watched as Ilya reached a hand out for David to shake, who easily ignored it and pulled him into a hug instead. He saw the brief flash of panic on Ilya’s face quickly melt away and returned the hug. Yuna then pulled Ilya into a hug of her own, firmly telling him, “You are welcome here anytime, Ilya. Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for having me,” he responded, his voice a little gruff. Yuna pulled away, but not before landing a kiss on his cheek. 

Shane choked down the emotion rising in his throat watching his parents dote on Ilya. He gave them tight hugs of his own, avoiding eye contact with his mother but hugging her a few seconds longer than he normally would, hoping he gets the message across. 

Yuna and David stood in the doorway and waved them off as Shane pulled out of their driveway, Anya already settled and fast asleep in the back seat. 

Ilya was silent until they hit their first red light. The red glow settled over the car and he looked over at Shane and said so softly he almost missed it: “Thank you for inviting me. I had a very nice time.” 

Shane smiled at him. “They really liked you,” he said just as softly. “A lot.”

Ilya huffed out a small laugh. “I liked them a lot, too.”

The light turned green and silence settled in the car once more. 

Shane didn’t speak again until they were pulling into their neighborhood. “So,” he said, clearing his voice when it cracked just slightly. “Svetlana’s coming here for New Year’s.”

For as little as Ilya talked about his life in Russia, he had spoken at length about Svetlana. Shane knew everything there seemed to know about her; she’s gorgeous, she’s smart, she’s funny, she knows everything about Ilya. She’s even hooked up with Ilya on numerous occasions. 

As a general rule Shane tried not to hate someone he had never met, especially someone Ilya loved so dearly, but he worried that this might be a losing battle. 

Ilya hummed in affirmation. “Yes, she is. She's eager to meet you, actually," 

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Why would she want to meet me?"

"She's the biggest hockey fan I know. Reminds me of your mother, actually. And to her, I am old news. You, however, are still shiny and interesting. And, ah,” Ilya said as Shane pulled into his driveway and put the car in park. “I’ve told her a lot about you.”

Shane kept his voice as steady as possible. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Ilya shrugged and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Nothing good, obviously,” he said with a wink.

Shane rolled his eyes and unbuckled his own seatbelt, hopping out to let Anya out of the backseat. She hopped out and trotted up to the front door, turning back to look at Ilya, waiting for him to open it.

Ilya turned to Shane. “Wanna come inside?”

“I, uh,” Shane cleared his throat. “I should probably get home, actually. Long day.”

Ilya nodded. “Okay,” he said. 

Shane smiled shyly and ducked his head to climb back in the driver’s seat, but before he knew it he was being enveloped in Ilya’s arms. Shane’s eyes widened, then quickly raised his arms to hug Ilya back tightly.

“Today meant a lot to me,” Ilya told him. “Thank you.”

Shane closed his eyes and breathed deep, taking in the scent of Ilya’s cologne. “I’m really glad you came,” he said into Ilya’s shoulder. 

“I hope I get invited back,” Ilya said, finally pulling out of Shane’s grasp. 

“Of course you will,” Shane said. “You’ll probably be invited over more than me.”

Ilya chuckled, and Shane couldn’t even blink before Ilya leaned over and kissed him square on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Shane."

It took every single neuron in Shane’s brain to remember how to breathe, let alone how to form sentences. “Merry Christmas, Ilya,” he breathed. 

Ilya gave him one more smile before turning towards the house and letting himself and Anya inside, leaving Shane still slightly gobsmacked in the driveway. He forced his legs into the car and didn’t even bother buckling his seatbelt for the two block drive, not trusting his body to perform any additional movement, the ghost of Ilya’s lips still tingling on his cheek. 

* * *

Waiting in the airport arrivals line the day before New Year’s Eve, Ilya shoved down any and all anxiety threatening to bubble up in his system. He had no reason to be nervous to see Svetlana. She was his closest, oldest friend. That did, however, translate to her being able to read Ilya like a book. And Ilya knew she would sniff out that something was up within minutes, if not seconds. 

As special as Christmas with Shane and his family was, Ilya would be stupid to admit that it did anything other than reiterate just how absolutely fucked he is. Yuna and David had welcomed him into their family so easily, treated him so warmly and lovingly, Ilya could almost pretend he was Shane’s partner meeting the family for the first time. 

But of course, he wasn’t. It didn’t matter how gone for him Ilya was at this point. He and Shane were just friends. And Ilya had to ignore the pit in his stomach that it gave him at all times. 

Ilya drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, dipping his head to scan the crowd for Svetlana’s dark, bouncing curls. He finally spotted her pushing her way through the crowd, and Ilya flung his door open. “Sveta!” 

She turned her head towards Ilya and shrieked gleefully, running as quick as she could with her luggage trailing behind her. “Ilyusha!” She flung her arms around Ilya’s neck and he lifted her off the ground, immediately feeling more at ease at having her here. 

“Thank you for coming,” he said in Russian, eventually setting her back on her feet. 

Svetlana quirked an eyebrow. ‘You’re welcome for gracing you with my presence,” she said, handing off her suitcase to Ilya, who grinned and obediently loaded it into his car while she hopped in the front seat.

They chatted easily as Ilya drove home, Svetlana catching Ilya up on all the goings on in Boston and Russia alike. Halfway through the drive, Svetlana leaned back in her seat and let her eyes trail up and down Ilya. “There’s something different.”

Ilya shook his head. “No, there isn’t.”

Svetlana hummed and narrowed her eyes at him. “How was Christmas with Shane?”

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, regretting telling her about the invite in the first place. He shrugged. “Fine,” he said, thankful to have driving as an excuse to avoid her gaze.

Svetlana continued studying him, and Ilya’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “When do I get to meet him?”

Ilya scoffed. “What makes you think you get to meet him?”

“You will not keep me from this man. If nothing else, I am a fan. But you also have feelings for him. It is obvious.”

“Svetlana-” 

“Do not lie to me, Ilya,” she scolded.

Ilya sighed. “Sveta, it’s nothing like that,” he promptly lied.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, settling back in her seat.

* * *

The Centaurs lost their game 4-2 to the Seattle Sirens on New Year’s Eve. It was a chippy game that had no reason to be as rough as it was, and the team was drained as they filed back into the locker room following the final horn. 

“I don’t even have the energy to go out tonight anymore,” Dykstra said from across the locker room, chucking his helmet haphazardly into his locker. 

Troy murmured in agreement. “You think I can convince Harris to stay in and go to sleep by nine?”

“Wah, wah, wah,” Ilya mocked them. “Is just one bad game, and it is New Year’s Eve. Everyone get your shit together and forget about it, because we are going out.” 

There were a few whoops mixed in with more groans that Ilya ignored. His eyes found Shane across the locker room. He had already stripped his gear off and kept his head down as he headed towards the showers, pointedly staying out of the conversation. Shane had already declined going out with the team for New Year’s Eve, and Ilya had decided to ignore that completely. He hurriedly stripped and headed towards the showers himself, determined to be out of there quick enough to corner Shane before he left the building. 

Ten minutes later, Ilya was shoving his shit into his bag as Shane mumbled a, “See you guys later,” and headed out the door. Ilya heard a few chuckles from the guys as he raced after Shane, throwing the bird up behind him. 

“Ah ah ah!” Ilya called, jogging to catch up with Shane. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Shane looked back as Ilya fell into step beside him, but kept it moving. “Uh. Home?”

“So what time should I pick you up?”

“I already told you I’m not coming tonight, Ilya.”

Ilya hooked his pointer and middle fingers around the strap of Shane’s gear bag in the hopes of slowing him down. “You cannot be serious, Hollander,” he said as Shane finally stopped walking.

Shane shrugged. “I’m just not a New Year’s guy,” he said, exasperated. 

“Yes, but I am!” Ilya said, giving Shane his best puppy dog eyes. “Please? For me?” 

Shane sighed. “Ilya, I-”

“Ilyusha!”

Ilya turned down the hall and saw Svetlana walking towards them. He grinned. “If I can’t convince you, then maybe she will,” Ilya told Shane. 

Shane shook his head. “I don’t-”

“You played like shit,” Svetlana said as she reached them, smacking Ilya on the arm. 

Ilya grimaced. “Ow! What the fu-”

“I dragged my ass up here and that’s the best performance you can give me?” Svetlana turned her attention towards Shane. “You didn’t do much better, Hollander, but you at least had a couple good looks.” She stuck her hand out towards him. “Svetlana Vetrova. Nice to finally meet you. Ilya does not ever shut up about you.”

Ilya couldn’t tell from the look on his face if Shane was offended or in love. Regardless, he shook Svetlana’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Svetlana.”

Svetlana dropped his hand and looked behind them. “Where is your goalie? I better see him coming out in a wheelchair, that is the only excuse for that performance.”

“You will not harass my goalie, Sveta,” Ilya chastised, though he knew Hazy desperately wanted a couple of those goals back. “We all played like shit.”

“Mm. Whatever. So,” Svetlana turned to Shane. “We have much to discuss. Where are we going tonight?”

“Oh, uh…” Shane floundered, looking helplessly at Ilya.

Ilya smirked. “Shane is insisting that he is not coming out tonight. Wants to go to bed early because he is an old man.”

“What?” Svetlana stared at Shane quizzically. “No, that’s not happening. You owe me a drink for making me watch such a terrible game.” 

“New Year’s Eve isn’t really my thing…” Shane started, then trailed off at the look in Svetlana’s eye. 

“And bad hockey isn’t mine. And yet, I persisted,” Svetlana said. “You must come for one drink. I came all this way to meet you, Shane Hollander. Do not disappoint me.”

It took everything in Ilya not to burst out laughing at the flabbergasted look on Shane’s face, and he didn’t think he could ever love Svetlana more until Shane said, “One drink.”

Svetlana grinned. “Of course. Just one drink,” she winked at Ilya. “I’ll be in the car.”

Ilya smiled victoriously as she walked away and turned to Shane. “What the fuck just happened?” Shane asked Ilya. 

“You were chosen by Svetlana Vetrova,” Ilya said. “She will not let you go so easily.” Ilya reached up to squeeze Shane’s arm gently. “Take a fat nap and be at my house by eight. I will buy you all the ginger ale in the world, I promise.”

Shane sighed. “Fine,” he said, and Ilya could see he was fighting a small smile, which for Ilya was victory enough. 

* * *

Shane truly did not understand how the night had taken such a turn from what he had imagined his New Year’s Eve would be. 

The club was dark, crowded, and overwhelmingly loud. Shane watched as his teammates danced with their wives, girlfriends, or random women they’ve known for five minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Troy and Harris were tucked into a dark corner making out. And miraculously, Shane wasn’t miserable. 

He was huddled around a table in between Ilya and Svetlana, all three of their heads bowed together so they could hear each other. 

“Colorado does not stand a chance this year-” Svetlana groaned.

“Then why did they whoop our ass this season?”

“Because I was still injured!” Ilya bent his head closer to Shane’s. “If I was there it would have been a blow out.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “You know who your lowest faceoff percentage is against? Colorado. You can’t blow them out if you can’t even control the puck.”

Ilya made a noncommittal noise and finished his drink. “I need another,” he said standing.

“Me too, please,” Svetlana batted her eyes at Ilya.

“Mm. Shane?”

“I’m all set, thanks though.”

Ilya gathered their empty glasses and made his way towards the bar, leaving Shane alone with Svetlana. 

“Horrible game tonight aside,” she said to Shane, “I think Ottawa will have another great run this year.”

“Don’t jinx anything,” Shane smirked at her. Ottawa was sitting comfortably in third place in their division, just behind Toronto and Boston, but Montreal was creeping up from their wild card spot after a slow start.

“Not jinxing, only telling the truth. It is still early, but I fully believe you can make it out of the East. And the West is god awful this year. So if you’re up against Colorado?” She blew a raspberry. “You and Ilyusha will dog walk them. I’m counting on it.”

Shane smiled. “I appreciate you having faith in us.”

She smiled, a flash of something Shane couldn’t place dancing across her face. “I have full faith in the two of you.” Svetlana’s eyes glanced over to where Ilya was waiting at the bar. “You know, he’s been different this season.”

Shane’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Svetlana shrugged. “I mean, he was miserable when he got injured and would have to miss the first part of the year. I thought I was going to have to fly up to keep him from strangling someone. But then suddenly, the season started and he seemed… fine. Yes, disappointed and going stir-crazy with not being able to play, but his overall mood had improved.” Svetlana gave Shane a serious look. “Drastically.”

Shane shrugged. “Isn’t he in therapy? Maybe he had a breakthrough or something.”

Svetlana barked out a laugh. “I love Ilya and am very proud of him for seeking help when he needs it, but all the therapy in the world could not help him alone.” She leaned back in her seat and gave Shane a once over that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You have been good for him.”

Shane shook his head. “I don’t know about that.”

“Why not?”

“I mean, he’s still an asshole. Now he’s just an asshole that I can have a conversation with and not want to tear my hair out.” Shane was deflecting, and poorly at that. “I don’t think us becoming, like, friends or whatever could have that much impact.”

“Hollander, do not be stupid. And do not act like I am stupid,” Svetlana scolded, leaning forwards on the table. “I have known Ilya my entire life. He is lighter. Softer. I think…” she trailed off, searching for the right words. “I think he is trying to be better. For you.”

Shane gulped. “Why would he do that?”

Svetlana didn’t respond, only lowered her head to give him an Are you fucking kidding me? look.

And suddenly Ilya reappeared, two vodkas in hand for himself and Svetlana, and a fizzy something balanced precariously between them. “They are out of ginger ale, Shane, so I got you ginger beer. Hope that is okay.”

Shane watched him set the ginger beer in front of him and pass the vodka to Svetlana, feeling her eyes on the side of his face. Ilya sat down and casually threw his arm around the back of Shane’s seat so he could lean closer to him and Svetlana. “What horrible things is she saying about me?”

Shane looked at Ilya, their faces startlingly close, and watched Ilya’s eyes soften and a small smile tug at the corner of his lips.”You don’t wanna know,” Shane told him. He forced himself to look away from Ilya’s face and reached for his ginger beer, dropping the lime wedge into his drink. “Thank you,” he said, nodding to the beverage.

“You’re welcome,” Ilya said. 

“I was only telling him that I have always thought he was a better skater than you,” Svetlana said, smirking over the rim of her glass. 

Ilya wadded up a cocktail napkin left on the table and threw it at Svetlana’s face. “After everything we’ve been through, this is what I get? Such disrespect?”

“Real friendship is honesty,” Shane said, taking a sip of his drink. Svetlana let out a light chuckle next to him. 

Ilya’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “I can’t stand either of you.”

Svetlana grinned and downed her drink. “You two are boring,” she said, standing up and making her way to the dance floor, disappearing amongst the sweaty, dancing bodies. 

“So,” Shane said, turning his body towards Ilya. “Any New Year’s resolutions?”

Ilya shrugged. “Other than be better player, win the cup, no. Not really my thing.” He lifted his glass to his mouth. “You?”

Shane thought for a moment, then said simply, “Be more honest.”

He watched Ilya swallow his vodka before pursing his lips and giving Shane a small nod. “That is a good one, I guess.”

Later, after bidding his teammates, Ilya, and Svetlana farewell (“I will see you again soon, I am sure,” she whispered in his ear as he hugged her goodbye), Shane sat in the back of his Uber when the clock struck midnight. Within seconds, his phone vibrated with a text.

Ilya Rozanov

Happy New Year, Shane

Ilya Rozanov

I think it’s going to be a good one.

Chapter 8

January 2022

“Have you ever driven under the speed limit in your life?” 

“Shane, I’m going five kilometers over,” Ilya said as he turned down the music in the car. He shot Shane a quick quirk of the eyebrow before turning back to the road. “What is your problem today?” he asked, though not unkindly.

“Sorry,” Shane sighed and leaned his head back against the leather seat and closed his eyes. 

In the days following New Year’s, Shane had felt the world slowly closing in on him. Between his mother and Svetlana getting into his head, it had become impossible for him to think about anything except Ilya. They were wrapping up a jam packed homestand following the holidays before they left for a Midwest road trip, so Shane couldn’t afford to lose any sleep. Yet, he found himself laying awake at night replaying seemingly every conversation he and Ilya had ever had in his mind, wondering if there was any truth to Yuna and Svetlana’s speculations. He was questioning every look, every friendly touch, every bit of banter they’d ever exchanged. 

He knew he was attracted to Ilya. Fuck, Ilya knew that Shane was attracted to him, or at least had been at one point, and vice versa. But their newfound friendship had quickly become a lifeline for Shane. He tried to imagine a life playing in Ottawa without Ilya, and the thought alone made him nauseous. 

He didn't trust his own mind to distinguish physical attraction and friendship from actual feelings - that was partially how he got into trouble with Rose years ago before admitting to himself that he was gay. And if Shane couldn’t be trusted to sort out his feelings for himself, then he certainly didn’t trust outsiders to try to determine the same on behalf of Ilya. 

So the thought of going for it and being wrong? Sending this friendship right into the ground as quickly as it began? Shane was going to pass.

He lay awake at night, going over what he knew to be true:

1. He and Ilya hooked up one singular time, nearly twelve years ago at this point. Aside from the occasional ribbing (almost always from Ilya) they had seemingly completely moved past it, seeing as they were only kids when it happened. 
2. Shane had not gotten laid since moving to Ottawa. He had only dipped his toe into casually seeing people before leaving Montreal, but the hassle of discretion seemed too overwhelming to continue once he was traded. 
3. Somehow, someway, Ilya had become one of his best friends virtually overnight. They stuck together at practices and games, they spent a good chunk of their free time together playing video games, watching bad TV, working out, etc. They had even started carpooling to work together last week, when Shane had called him in a panic because his car’s battery had died. Even after it was fixed, it had seemed silly not to continue catching a ride together seeing as they lived a whopping thirty seconds away from each other.
4. Ilya Rozanov might be the most beautiful man Shane had ever seen. Shane didn’t know if the fact that he had once felt the man’s cock in his mouth made this fact more or less apparent to him. If he hadn’t ever known the way Ilya felt, or the way he tasted, would he even notice just how attractive he is?

The fourth point is where Shane usually got sidetracked, turning his face into his pillow with a grown and willed for his cock to soften, but always ended up losing the battle and shoving his hand down his briefs to take care of it with thoughts of Russian expletives breathed against his neck. 

Deep down, he knew the answer to the fourth point’s question, anyway. 

“Are you still in there?” Ilya asked, reaching over to flick Shane in the kneecap.

Shane jerked his leg back. “Don’t injure me right before the game, asshole,” he said with a smirk. 

Ilya scoffed. “A tiny bruise on the knee will take down the great Shane Hollander? You are not a football player.”

“I’m getting up there, Rozanov,” he said as they pulled into the arena’s parking garage. “I’ve got old, fragile bones.”

Ilya laughed as he pulled into a parking spot. “You will be on your deathbed and could still outskate half of the league.”

“Quit inflating my ego.”

“I’ll inflate something,” Ilya mumbled as he climbed out of the car, narrowly avoiding a hit on the arm from Shane. “Hey! Old bones!” Ilya laughed. 

As he climbed out of the car himself, Shane added casual innuendos to his mental Things Ilya Rozanov Says to Overthink at a Later Date list.

They entered the arena and turned the corner to see Harris standing in the hallway, clearly on walk-in photo duty today. “Evening, fellas,” Harris said, raising the camera to take some quick pictures to post online before puck drop.

“Ah ah, no photographs, please,” Ilya joked, stretching an arm out to block the camera and moving to hide Shane behind him. “We have old, cranky bones today.”

“Give us a smile, doll!” Harris threw back in a corny transatlantic accent. 

Shane played along, hiding directly behind Ilya, who gently grabbed his upper arm to drag him away from Harris. “You’ll never catch us, Drover!” Shane called behind them, laughing as he and Ilya ran straight to the locker room.

* * *

The photos of them running away were a hit on Instagram, according to Harris. He cornered Shane and Ilya in the locker room after their 1-0 win against Edmonton to show them. “People are kind of obsessed with you two,” he said with a grin. 

“I’m obsessed with us, too,” Ilya deadpanned, clapping Shane on the shoulder before moving to take off his gear. 

Another one to add to Shane’s mental checklist. 

“Alright everybody, listen up!” Coach Wiebe got the room’s attention. “Great job getting it done tonight, boys. Before Troy passes on the helm, I’ve gotta make an announcement real quick. As you are all aware, the All-Star game is coming up here in a few weeks, which for most of you means a nice long weekend.”

A couple whoops echoed through the locker room, and Shane smiled to himself. He had only ever skipped the All-Star game once in his career and that was due to injury, and frankly, he wouldn’t mind a few days off right about now. Normally he would be chomping at the bit to be once again recognized as the best of the best, but between the trade and Ilya taking the top line spot, he didn’t think he was necessarily deserving this year. He glanced up and noticed Ilya looking at him from across the room, worrying his gold chain over his bottom lip. His initial thought was that surely, Ilya would be the Centaurs representative as usual. But then again, everyone seemed to be having a killer year, and with Ilya’s own injury to start the season, it really could be anyone’s game.

Shane shot him a wink, hoping it came across as confident and competitive, but just about melted when a grin slowly formed on Ilya’s face in response. 

“The initial rosters have been released to teams, and then there will be a fan vote to nominate those who don’t originally make the teams but are still deserving. I gotta say, there’s a lot of great talent in here this year, guys, so I don’t doubt there’ll be more than one Centaur there this year. However, it is my pleasure to announce that the first Ottawa Centaur named to the All-Star game this year is…” Wiebe paused for dramatic effect, and Bood banged his hands against his legs in a makeshift drumroll. “Luca Haas.” 

The entire room went up in cheers, and Shane tried not to laugh at the way Luca looked like he had seen a ghost. Ilya, who was sitting right next to him, yelped in absolute glee and threw his arm around his shoulder, shaking him hard enough that Shane thought Luca’s head was going to fall off his shoulders. 

“Alright, Barrett, pass on the helm,” Wiebe said as the cheers died down, with a wide smile splitting across his face.

“Oh, well this is an easy one,” Troy said with a grin, striding over to Luca to plop the helmet over his eyes for what, Shane realized, was probably the dozenth time this season. “Only goal of the night, first time All-Star, all hail Haasy!”

The room leapt up in another round of cheers, everyone piling on Luca. The poor guy looked ridiculously overwhelmed, Shane thought, but he knew Luca was more than deserving. 

“I want the captains to think about who we should be submitting for the fan vote, so let me know by tomorrow what you want to do,” Wiebe said, eyeing Ilya, Shane, and Bood.

Bood removed himself from the huddle around Luca with a grin and gestured between Shane and Ilya. “You two gonna battle it out?” 

“No. Barrett,” Ilya said simply, but low enough so that just the three of them could hear. 

Bood’s eyebrows shot up. “You guys don’t want to put yourselves up? You never miss the All-Star game,” he said. 

“No, he’s right. Troy has been generating a shit ton of offense this year. He’s assisted on, like, half of Luca’s goals, hasn’t he?” Shane said.

“Mm. And I want a week off like the rest of you fucks,” Ilya smiled sardonically. 

Bood scoffed. “Whatever, dude. Just don’t go soft on us now.” 

“You wound me, Bood,” Ilya said, holding his hand up to his heart. Bood simply ignored him in favor of slapping Shane on the back and walked away.

Shane and Ilya didn’t say anything until they were secluded back in Ilya’s car driving home. “We really are old bones, aren’t we, Hollander?” llya said.

Shane snorted. “Put us in the home. It’s time to hang it up.” 

He did his best not to stare when Ilya cracked a wide grin, illuminated only by the streetlights. His hair, still damp from his post-game shower, curled over his ears, his eyes shining bright. Shane knew that he had never seen anyone more beautiful than when Ilya Rozanov smiled because of him.

They pulled up to a red light and Ilya looked over, startled to see Shane already looking at him. “You okay?”

Shane snapped back to himself and gave a tight nod, turning away. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Later, Shane was lying in bed scrolling through his phone. He saw the photos Harris had already shown him of Shane and Ilya walking into the arena before the game, which was just a sequence of photos of the two of them running away, and dared to open the comment section. Shane almost always tried to stay out of the comments, but Harris had said people were into it earlier, so he chanced it.

@centaurus: Lowkey living for this duo tbh

@evanflk72: Rozanov bringing a personality out of Hollander? someone alert the press

@hollzy24: Need more content like this @ centsmin 

@barrettssss: hm. listening. observing. taking notes. 

Shane wasn’t sure what that last one was supposed to mean, but he moved on. He then saw Harris had posted a video of the locker room when Wiebe announced Luca to the All-Stars game. He had seen Harris lurking in the corner, but his ability to just blend in with the rest of the team was uncanny.

He couldn’t see himself in the video, seeing as he was across the locker room from Luca, but Ilya was featured clear as day. Wiebe could be heard in the video leading up to Luca’s name being announced, but Ilya was intensely staring across the room with his chain caught in his mouth. Shane watched as Ilya’s eyes didn’t waver, but saw the same slow grin creep up on his face that he had given Shane earlier.

His breath stuttered in his throat. Had Ilya been staring at Shane the entire time? 

The video continued, Wiebe announced Luca’s name and the entire team piled on him, Shane coming into frame from the side.

The comments on this one were mostly filled with excitement for Luca, plus a handful pointing out just how hot Ilya looked. Shane made sure to scroll carefully so as to not accidentally like any of those comments, despite agreeing wholeheartedly.

@matszuc: who is roz glaring at lmfao bro who hurt you 

@attowo: Was Rozanov giving Hollander daggers from across the room only for neither of them to be named

     ↳ @andycents: my brother in christ those aren’t daggers those are the most obvious heart eyes lmfao

          ↳@barrettsss: literally staring at hollzy like he’s a full on meal

          ↳@brettmatic21: ? Tf? Stop being weird

Shane groaned and dropped his phone on the bed, turned his face into the pillow and let out a muffled scream.

* * *

“If we hit turbulence, I automatically win.”

“Shut the hell up and shuffle the deck, Hazy.”

Hayes flipped off Bood before shuffling the deck of cards, dealt Bood, Shane, and Ilya their hands, then precariously balanced the remaining cards on the armrest between himself and Bood so Shane and Ilya could reach from their seats behind them. Hayes cleared his throat and looked at his own hand and asked, “Got any three’s?”

“Go fish,” Shane said.

As if on cue, the plane did, in fact, hit a bit of turbulence and bounced just slightly, enough to send the deck of cards sprawling over the floor. 

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Great game, guys.”

“I’m undefeated,” Hayes said.

Shane snorted, taking Ilya’s cards out of his hands so he could lean into the aisle and pick up the strewn cards. He settled back in his seat and slid open his window, the Minneapolis skyline coming into view. “We’re landing soon, anyway,” Shane told them. “Your fraudulent win streak survives another day, Hazy.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

“If the player insists on only playing the game on a plane, I’m gonna hate the player a little bit,” Bood bemoaned. 

Ilya straightened up in his seat and handed Hayes the cards. “It’s witchcraft. Same shit you do in the net. There was no reason for some of those shots from Chicago to not go in tonight.”

“Sorry, Roz, you want me to start letting in more goals? Duly noted. Congrats on the 30-0 win tomorrow, Minnesota.”

“Shut your mouth, Hayes,” Ilya scolded. 

Shane tapped Ilya on the arm. “Let me out. I’ve gotta pee.”

“We’re landing in like ten minutes, Hollander,” Ilya rolled his eyes.

“Let me out or the next time your dog tries following me to my car, I’m taking her home with me.”

“Ah, she likes sleepovers, anyway. Take her," Ilya said, standing to let Shane into the aisle.

Shane flipped Ilya off for good measure and headed to the restroom in the back of the plane. A couple minutes later he was making his way towards his seat next to Ilya, but stopped halfway down the aisle. Luca was sitting alone in a row, gaze locked out the window, bouncing his leg up and down so fast Shane wondered if he himself was about to take flight. “Hey,” Shane said. “You okay?”

Luca whipped his head around to look at Shane, startled by his presence. “Yeah. Yes. I’m fine,” he said unconvincingly.

Shane hummed and gestured to the empty seat next to him. “May I?”

Luca hesitated before nodding. Shane plopped down and buckled his seatbelt, then looked at Luca’s knee which was still shaking seemingly uncontrollably. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“No! No. No, I, uh…” Luca trailed off and shook his head. “Nothing to talk about.”

Luca was a good kid. An even better player, if Shane could believe it. Quiet, kept his head down, and got to work. Frankly, he reminded Shane of himself a little bit when he was a young guy in the league. And with that, Shane knew exactly the pressure he must be feeling at this moment. 

Shane nodded, not wanting to push him. They sat there in silence for a full minute, Shane leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

Finally, he heard the small voice next to him say, “Can I ask you something?”

Shane smiled gently and opened his eyes. “Yeah, of course.”

Luca hesitated for a moment. “What was your first All-Star game like?”

Shane thought for a moment, then answered honestly: “Well, I threw up when they told me I was going.”

Luca huffed out a laugh. “For real?”

Shane laughed to himself. “For real. I was a mess. The pressure was suffocating.” He thought back to that time, and while it had some to do with the high-profile weekend itself, his nerves at the time went beyond that. “They were also going super hard on the rivalry between me and Ilya at the time,” he explained. “They restructured the entire event to pit us against each other. Neither of us could go anywhere without being asked about the other. Mix that in with being a rookie playing with a bunch of my heroes?” Shane scoffed. “Forget it. I was a fucking wreck.”

Luca listened, hanging off of every word he said. “I guess I won’t have it that bad,” he said softly.

“It doesn’t matter if you have it better or worse, Luca. It’s okay to be freaking out,” Shane said gently. “It feels awesome to be recognized like that, but the whole thing is just supposed to be for fun. And I forgot to have fun the first couple years.”

Shane thought about the parties he skipped, the veterans whose eyes he avoided. The invites to hotel rooms he ignored. 

Luca nodded, not fully convinced but his leg had stopped bouncing, so Shane will be taking this one as a win. “Thanks, Shane.”

Shane patted his knee and settled back in his seat as they started their descent. He saw Ilya across the aisle and a few rows ahead looking back at him, giving him a questioning look. Shane just smiled at him.

He caught up with Ilya after they landed. “Everything okay?” Ilya asked as they crossed the tarmac to the bus waiting to take them to their hotel.

Shane nodded. “Everything is fine. Luca is freaking out about the All-Star Game, so he was just asking me about my first time going. Well, our first time going,” he corrected.  

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “What did you tell him?”

Shane waggled his eyebrows. “Told him to watch out for flirty Russians.”

Ilya clicked his tongue and shoved Shane’s shoulder, forcing Shane ahead of him on the bus. 

* * *

Ilya was usually thankful that as a veteran player, he almost always got a room to himself on road trips. Tonight, however, he was slowly but surely losing his mind.

Their game against Minnesota had been a tough loss, losing 2-1 in overtime thanks to a turnover that was completely Ilya’s fault. Hazy never even stood a chance, witchcraft or not. After the game, they were informed that due to the blizzard raging outside, they wouldn’t be able to travel home until the following afternoon at the earliest, so they were stranded in St. Paul with nothing to do. 

Ilya opened and closed the same three apps on his phone over and over again in the span of about five minutes before throwing his phone down on the bed. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and let out a loud groan, before hopping up off the bed and peaking out the window. There was a foot and a half of snow already on the ground with fat flakes still falling, but the wind seemed to have died down drastically. Ilya briefly wondered if it was necessary to stay here an extra night, but didn’t dwell on it to prevent himself from blowing his lid.

Instead, he crossed the room to rifle through his suitcase, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, his coat, and headed out the door. 

He took the back staircase and found a door leading out of the hotel, leaning against the wall to block the wind in order to light up. Their hotel was right on the river, with a little walking trail winding around the edge. Ilya took a drag of the cigarette and wandered further out into the open, thankful that someone must have plowed the sidewalk a few hours earlier, as the path only had a couple inches of snow covering it. Ilya leaned his head back, letting the cool air and snowflakes kiss his skin, mixing with the nicotine to help calm his nervous system. 

He startled when he heard the door open behind him, then immediately relaxed when he saw who was stepping out. Shane was completely bundled up, his jacket zipped up to his chin and a beanie pulled low over his ears. His eyes scanned the area in front of him and jumped when he saw Ilya. “Oh! Uh. Sorry. I didn’t know you were out here.”

Ilya smiled, his heart warming at the sight of him. “Cig?” he simply said, holding out the lit cigarette between two fingers. 

Shane huffed out a laugh. “Not today, thanks. Sorry. I’ll uh,” he gestured towards the door he had just come through. “I’ll leave you be.”

“If you leave me out here alone, I might jump into the river.”

Shane stopped in his tracks. “Glad we’re not being dramatic about anything tonight,” he deadpanned, walking towards him when Ilya beckoned him closer.

“Let me wallow for a few minutes,” Ilya said before taking another drag. He blew the smoke away from Shane. “What are you doing out here? Escaping from something?”

“Myself, mostly,” Shane said. “Just needed some air.”

Ilya hummed in acknowledgement. “Me too,” he said. He took another drag and started walking further down the path, hoping that Shane would follow him. There was a bench just up ahead facing the river with only a light layer of snow covering it.

Shane did indeed follow, mirroring Ilya as they brushed the snow easily off the seats. “You’ve got about two minutes of wallowing before I am legally obligated to smack you out of it.”

Ilya gave him a stern look. “You say the sweetest things to me, Hollander.”

Shane ignored him. “Who hasn’t given up a bad goal before? I think you’ll survive, Rozanov.”

Ilya blew a raspberry in his direction and took another drag.

Shane rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat. “Is Anya going to be okay at the dog hotel for an extra day?” he asked. 

Ilya was, begrudgingly, grateful he didn’t push him on his piss poor performance tonight. He grimaced then shrugged. “Fine, yes. Pissed at me when I pick her up, probably.” 

Shane shifted awkwardly next to him. “I, um. I could ask my parents to pick her up for you? If you want?”

Ilya smiled. “No, no. I don’t want to bother them. She will be fine, just a little grumpy with me.”

Shane continued. “I mean, you saw the way my dad was with her,” he said. “I think you would be doing him a favor, actually.”

Ilya took another long drag of his cigarette, considering the offer. “Would they really do that? It wouldn’t be a bother?”

Shane nodded. “I think they would love to help you out,” he said earnestly. “I’ll call them in the morning.”

Something tugged at Ilya’s heart deep in his chest and he nodded. “Anya would appreciate it. And me, obviously,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

Shane bumped his shoulder into Ilya’s, his hands burrowed deep into his pockets to keep warm. They sat in comfortable silence, snow falling around them, the distant sound of the river flowing soothing Ilya even further. “It’s not even a fucking blizzard,” Shane grumbled quietly next to him. Ilya couldn’t help but let out a snort before comfortable silence blanketed them once again.

After a few minutes, Ilya was the one to finally speak. “You are a very good captain.”

Shane raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry?”

“With Luca yesterday,” Ilya explained with a wave of his hand. “You know how to calm him. He was very relaxed today, the only one of us who pulled his weight in that game.”

Shane merely shrugged and shook his head. “He just asked me a question, and I answered honestly.” 

“Take a fucking compliment, Hollander, jesus.” 

Shane gave a small, embarrassed smile. “Sorry.” 

Ilya gave an exasperated laugh. “So,” he said as he tapped some ash off the cigarette. “How do you feel not being an All-Star?”

Shane smirked, leaning against the bench and turning his body to face Ilya. “I’ve done my time. I need a year off.”

Ilya pursed his lips. “That’s very brave and mature of you.”

“It’s true!” Shane laughed. “I don’t know, man. Like, okay, yes, it is… strange to not be the young and exciting stars anymore. But Luca has fucking earned this, and I don’t doubt that Troy will get in, too.” 

“...You really feel nothing about the children coming in and stealing your thunder?” Ilya teased.

“Come on, man,” Shane shook his head before taking a deep breath. “Look. I… I came into this season with a chip on my shoulder, right? I was so angry about what happened in Montreal that I felt that I needed to prove something to them, that they were wrong for letting me walk away, y'know? But nothing about this season has gone how I expected,” he said softly. “For the first time in my career, I feel almost… I don’t know,” Shane suddenly had a faraway look in his eyes. “Lighter, I guess. Like, I know that I’m a great player. I know that I have a lot more to give. I know I’m going to win more cups.” He nudged Ilya’s shin with his foot, and Ilya ignored the way the contact nearly set his skin on fire. “The All-Star game is corporate bullshit, anyway. Give me a few days off to relax so then we can actually get to work.” 

Ilya listened to Shane speak, a kind of satisfied joy stirring in his chest. Fearing he would give himself away if he said anything else, he just raised his eyebrows and smirked. “This is a new outlook for you.”

Shane shrugged. “I’m Shane fucking Hollander, remember?” 

Ilya’s smirk softened and he burst out laughing. “You are, indeed, Shane fucking Hollander.”

Shane brought his elbow up to the back of the bench and propped his head up with his fist. “What about you? Does Ilya fucking Rozanov care about being an All-Star these days?” 

Ilya took a final drag of his cigarette and stamped it out with his foot.  “I don’t know. I guess not,” he said honestly as he reached down to pick up the butt and gave Shane a small smile. “I only ever wanted to go because I wanted to play with you, you know.”

Well, so much for not giving himself away.

Shane let out a small, surprised laugh. “What?"

Ilya shrugged. “They didn’t let us play together for so many years. I almost ditched the whole thing in, what was it, 2017? Before I knew they were changing the format and we would actually have a chance to be on the same team.” Ilya shifted in his seat, avoiding eye contact with Shane. “Now I get to do that everyday. I have no need for a silly weekend game that means nothing anymore.”

Ilya finally chanced a look at Shane, who was opening and closing his mouth like a dead fish. Ilya took pity on him and kept talking. “Besides, it gets old after a while, doesn’t it? I get jealous of everyone on beach vacations while I’m stuck in a stuffy hotel room in Florida or Vegas.”

Shane finally found his voice, albeit a little gruff when he spoke. “You think you’ll go anywhere during the break?”

Ilya shook his head. “I need a visa to go most places everyone else goes, it’s too much of a hassle for just a couple days. I will relax at home with Anya. But,” he shrugged. “I will miss the attention, you know.”

Shane smiled, loosening up again. “Who? You?” He stared at him as Ilya rolled his eyes and adjusted to mirror Shane’s position, elbow on the bench and head propped up by his hand. “You can get any kind of attention you want at any time,” Shane told him. 

Ilya bit back the words before they escaped his mouth. Not yours, he thought almost bitterly. “Not true,” he said instead. “I have to demand it. A lifetime of daddy issues has taught me this. Or so my therapist says.”

Shane hummed in acknowledgment. “What else does your therapist say about you?”

Ilya grinned cheekily. “That I will be the first ever therapy patient to be fully cured.”

Shane put on a face of faux shock and awe. “Wow. That’s awesome, man. Congratulations.”

Ilya laughed. “Thank you, thank you. I’m a medical marvel.”

“I look forward to meeting the fully reformed version of Ilya Rozanov.”

Without even meaning to, Ilya shifted closer to Shane, their knees bumping. “What, the current version isn’t good enough?” He tried giving Shane a teasing smile, but he knew that it wasn’t fully meeting his eyes.

Shane furrowed his brow slightly, an unreadable expression dancing across his face. He stilled for a moment before moving closer, fully pressing their legs together now. “I think the current version is perfect,” he said, so softly Ilya had to strain to hear him.

Ilya’s breath caught in his throat. He dropped the hand that had been holding his head up and let it hang in the air between them. He absentmindedly ran his thumb over the rest of his finger nails as he leaned his head forward slightly. “I thought your New Year’s resolution was to be more honest?”

“I am being honest.” 

“Mm. And how is that working out for you so far?” Ilya challenged him.

“I’m getting there, I think.”

Shane was staring at Ilya, essentially daring him to be the first to break eye contact. Shane sat up, his knee intentionally pressing into Ilya’s leg. Intentionally trying to be closer, Ilya realized. 

Shane’s hand then dropped and hung in the air right next to Ilya’s. Ilya let his eyes flicker down to their hands, their pinkies just a hair’s breadth apart. Ilya watched as, as if it had a mind of its own, his pinky reached out and brushed Shane’s. He heard a small intake of breath from Shane, before Shane slowly, tentatively pressed his hand closer to Ilya’s. Their fingers overlapped, lightly dancing over each other’s, never intertwining but simply exploring.

Ilya finally looked up at Shane, who was watching their hands closely with his lips slightly parted. Ilya took a deep breath. “Shane…” he said softly, and Shane’s eyes immediately darted to Ilya’s face. “I-”

“Are you two fucking stupid!?”

The spell was broken, both jumping in their seats to see Troy standing under a lamppost a few feet away from the hotel’s back door. They snapped their hands and legs back to their own bodies, putting a full foot of space between them. Ilya noticed that the wind had picked up again, snow beginning to pelt the side of his face like tiny knives, no longer the gentle flutter from before.

“How fucking long have you guys been out here!?” Troy yelled, moving in closer. “If you get sick, I’ll fucking strangle you both.”

Shane looked full startled, as if he hadn’t been in his own body and was just snapped back to reality. He stood up without looking at Ilya to head back towards the door. “We’re coming,” he said, his voice strained.

Ilya remained sitting for a few moments, trying to wrap his head around what the fuck had just happened. He looked at Troy, who must have realized his grave error based on the looks on their faces, as he had the decency to look surprised and at least a little embarrassed. 

Shane went back inside as Ilya finally stood up, striding over to Troy. He gave him a scolding look. “Lock that down, quit pining after him,” Ilya mocked him, reminding him of their conversation from before Christmas. “What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do, Barrett?” Ilya grimaced and punched him in the arm hard enough that Troy stumbled backwards a few steps. 

Troy held his hands up in surrender, a bit caught off guard by Ilya’s openness. “Dude, you have, like, an inch of snow sitting on top of your hat,” he said as they walked to the door together. “I don’t think a Minnesota blizzard is the most romantic place to confess your undying love for the guy if you two get buried alive.”

Ilya scrubbed his hands over his face, the motion causing a chunk of snow to fall off his head, unfortunately proving Troy’s point. “I can’t stand you,” he said, pulling open the door to head back up to his room. 

* * *

When Ilya came down for breakfast the next morning, it was as if nothing had happened the night before. 

He had planned on coming down for some coffee and maybe a few pieces of bacon, with not much appetite to work with, but instead he quite literally ran into Shane as he was exiting the elevator.

“Sorry,” Shane mumbled, stepping out of Ilya’s path before looking up and realizing who it was. “Oh! Hey, I was just about to text you. It sounds like we aren’t getting out of here until late tonight, but my parents said they would be happy to pick up Anya for you if you still want? I’ll give my parents your number?”

Ilya gaped at Shane, then quickly schooled his face and nodded. “Yeah. Yes, that would be great. I, um. I’ll call the kennel and let them know.”

Shane smiled, completely normal, and patted Ilya on the arm as he got on the elevator. Ilya took a few steps down the hall, looked back as the elevator doors closed, then stood there in stunned silence for a few moments. What the fuck was that?

* * *

A few hours later, Yuna texted both Shane and Ilya a photo of David asleep on the couch with Anya happily curled up beside him, her head resting in his lap. Ilya, respectfully, didn’t know if the feeling of wanting to scream and cry that was bubbling up inside him was from overwhelming warmth and bliss or frustration and despair. 

He had been so close. Getting a read on where Shane’s head was felt nearly impossible most of the time, but there were moments that gave Ilya a twinge of hope. A spark of something telling Ilya that Shane thought about him in the same way, that he also replayed the night they spent together a lifetime ago over and over in his head just as often as Ilya did. 

Ilya wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t stupid. If it was anyone else, he would have said with one hundred percent certainty that Shane was signaling that to him last night. Calling Ilya perfect, the intentional brush of their hands… they exchanged friendly touches from time to time, absolutely, but they were not the kind of friends that were overly tactile with each other. Not the kind of friends that held hands while staring deep into each other’s eyes. 

But he had shot up so quickly, seemingly desperate to leave the situation, and with no air of awkwardness following Shane this morning Ilya had to assume that he wanted it forgotten. Maybe there was something more between them, maybe they even both felt it and acknowledged it internally, but it needed to stay buried in their past alongside their rivalry. If Shane wanted nothing more, then Ilya would fight like hell to keep their friendship.

So Ilya followed Shane’s lead. He pretended he hadn’t nearly spilled his entire soul to Shane the night before and hadn’t been seconds away from crossing the threshold, pulling Shane’s mouth desperately to his and showing him exactly how he felt. 

They spent most of the day between the hotel gym and a conference room set up for the Centaurs just shooting the shit with the rest of their teammates, waiting for the green light to head for the airport. When it was time they filed onto the shuttle together, then sat next to each other on the plane in comfortable silence. No one would have been the wiser to Ilya’s inner turmoil. 

It was nearly midnight by the time they landed in Ottawa, but Yuna had insisted on staying up so Ilya could collect Anya. It had felt unnecessary at the time, but as Shane directed Ilya to his parents house he felt an unwavering sense of gratitude. All he wanted was to crawl into his own bed and snuggle his dog all night. 

Shane let themselves into the house just like he had on Christmas, and they were immediately greeted by the sound of Anya’s pattering feet running to the door. Ilya quietly gasped and fell to his knees so Anya could properly jump excitedly over him and try to lick his face. “Moya printsessa,” Ilya greeted her with a wide smile. 

Yuna made her way over to the entryway with Anya’s belongings. “She was a perfect angel,” she told him. 

Ilya looked up and smiled warmly at her. “Thank you for picking her up. I know she was much more comfortable here,” he said as he finally stood up when Anya moved on to greet Shane, who gladly leaned down to say hello. 

“She is welcome here anytime. As are you,” Yuna reminded him and gave Ilya a tight hug. “Sorry you had a tough game yesterday.”

Ilya plastered on a faux smile. “We’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” he said simply. 

Yuna leaned over to give Shane a brief hug and kiss on the cheek. “You guys better go get some rest.”

Ilya saw Shane give his mom a small smile. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, grabbing Anya’s stuff while Ilya hooked her to her leash. 

They were silent on the drive home, exhaustion from the late travel day catching up to them, the only sound being Anya’s excited panting in the back seat. Shane pulled into Ilya’s driveway, getting out of the car to again help with Anya’s stuff. Ilya let him despite it only being a small tote bag with her food and some of her favorite toys. An extra minute with Shane was a minute well spent. 

Ilya let them into his house, Anya running ahead of them as Ilya dropped his own duffle bag near the shoe rack. Tomorrow’s problem, he thought. 

“Thank you,” he said, taking Anya’s bag from Shane. “And thank your parents for being Anya’s new best friends.”

Shane stood in the doorway and smiled. “Anytime,” he said. 

Ilya kicked his shoes off, then looked to see Shane still standing there on the threshold, a distant look on his face. Ilya gave him a questioning look. “What’s up?”

Shane opened and closed his mouth, hesitating. “I, uh…” He held Ilya’s gaze for a few seconds before giving him a tight smile. “Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ilya’s heart sank, but nodded and returned the smile. “Goodnight, Shane.”

Ilya watched as Shane got back in his car and drove away, willing the ache in his chest to dull as quickly as possible. 

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

Quick note - if you have been following along with the Hollanov fanfic drama recently, then you know that many authors are experiencing harassment and bullying in their comment sections, and understandably are deleting their fics altogether. Authors who have been on AO3 for over a decade are receiving a mountain of bullshit from readers who feel entitled to the authors' time, work, and more. Frankly, it's horrifying.

I have existed in fandom spaces for almost 20 years, and I have never seen some of the vitriol towards fanfic writers like we're seeing in the Heated Rivalry fandom, and it's ridiculous. I am doing this for fun and mainly for myself, not because I think I am a perfect, prolific writer and certainly not to please one random asshole. I hope I never feel the need to delete this, but if you're coming in here to criticize or give me a zero star rating, or if you're going to screenshot a passage you think is cringey and post it on Twitter, you're a fucking loser. That's not what this is for. Keep that shit in the group chat.

I feel very fortunate that I haven't received any of that bullshit on this fic, and I want to thank you all for reading and being so kind. The kind words and kudos really are what keeps me going with this baby. And please know that if you are going to come into my comment section and be a dickhead, I am not the one to fuck with. When you go low, I will always go lower.

Also, I think it goes without saying but obviously there is no AI usage here! Get a grip!

All that being said, I struggled a lot with this one, but I hope you enjoy it. As always, thank you for sticking with me. ❤️

January 2022

Shane was avoiding Ilya. 

Well, he was avoiding him as much as he could, considering they were still carpooling to the rink every day and played for the same team. But in the days following their return from Minnesota, their conversations grew more and more sparse with Shane eventually only responding to Ilya in clipped, one word answers. When Ilya picked him up for practice a week later, Shane barely said a word and didn’t look him in the eye. He didn’t make a peep during practice, either, but Ilya wrote it off as him being tired or something. 

He tried not to take it personally.

However, the cycle continued the next day. Shane climbed into his car with nothing more than a nod, and again was silent during practice.

“Is Hollander okay?” Troy skated over as they wrapped up for the day. 

Ilya shrugged. “He hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Well, did you ask?”

Ilya gave Troy an annoyed look. “Just because you’re an All-Star now means you get to be an idiot?”

“Don’t be an asshole just because your boyfriend has taken a vow of silence,” Troy said, moving ahead of Ilya. 

Ilya threw his hands out, exasperated. “He’s not my-! Oh, forget it,” he grumbled as Troy disappeared down the tunnel. 

They were halfway through the drive home when Ilya spoke up. “What’s going on with you?”

Shane quickly shrugged from the passenger seat. “Nothing.”

Ilya scoffed, decidedly not in the mood to push it. “Yeah, okay,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shane close his eyes and turn his head, but Ilya shut up for the rest of the drive. 

* * *

“Dude, you look like death warmed over.”

Shane ignored Rose’s concern. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

“I can see those eye bags from here. Are you sick? You don’t sound sick.”

Shane shook his head. “Just trouble sleeping lately, that’s all.”

“Shane.”

Shane exhaled a deep breath, and before he knew it he was asking her: “How do you know when your guy friends like you?”

Rose furrowed her eyebrows at Shane over their FaceTime call, clearly not the question she was expecting. “Um, usually they start looking at my boobs a lot more and start telling me how cool they think I am,” she said with a grimace.

Shane keeled over and let his forehead thud against the cool granite of his kitchen island. 

“Something you wanna share with the class?”

Shane begrudgingly sat up with a sigh and rubbed his eyes over his hands. “I’m in trouble,” he groaned. 

Rose widened her eyes and gave Shane her full attention. “You have to tell me everything,” she demanded. 

Shane stuck his tongue between his teeth, weighing his options. He had been miserable since the Centaurs returned from Minnesota a couple weeks ago, his head full of racing thoughts that were impossible to sift through, all in regards to Ilya, keeping him up at all hours of the night. Shane had tried his best to keep things normal between them, but that quickly became unsustainable. Lately, it was becoming harder and harder to push his feelings down and he found himself drifting further away from Ilya. He kept their text conversations short, and most of their shared rides to the rink were filled with silence that Ilya stopped trying to fill after a couple days. 

He didn’t want to inadvertently out Ilya to a stranger, so Shane hadn’t told Rose anything about having feelings for him. However, if he didn’t speak to anyone about this soon, surely his brain would actually, literally explode. 

“What I’m about to tell you stays strictly between us. You cannot tell anyone else, or even allude to this in any shape or form.”

For a split second Rose looked slightly alarmed at his seriousness, but immediately nodded. “Of course.”

Shane sighed. “Do you remember when I told you about my first ever hook up with a guy?”

“The ten second hotel blow job guy?”

“Yeah, uh…” Shane hesitated, avoiding looking at his phone, instead focusing on the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. “That guy was, uh. Ilya. Rozanov, obviously,” he trailed off lamely.

“What!?”

Shane looked back at his phone to see Rose impossibly closer to her camera, gaping at him in amazement. It would be comical if he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up. He cleared his throat. “We, um, filmed a commercial together after we were drafted, and it just sort of… happened.”

“You’re kidding.”

Shane scratched absentmindedly at his jaw. “It was just the one time thing. Although, it could’ve happened again, I guess, but it never did.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“...At our first All-Star game, he, um.. He invited me back to his hotel room one night, but I didn’t go.”

“Why the fuck not!?”

“Because I was terrified, Rose! I hadn’t even admitted to myself that I was gay, I wasn’t about to start regularly hooking up with the guy being propped up as my archrival.”

“So you just ignored him for a decade.”

Shane’s eyes focused on the corner of his phone screen. “Yes.”

“Hm. But now you guys are friends, right?”

“Yeah, we’re. Like. Best friends. We’ve hashed it out and we can even joke about it now and it’s fine, but…”

“But you’re not actually just friends, are you.” Rose didn’t phrase it as a question, but as a simple fact. 

“I mean, strictly speaking we are just friends, but like…” Shane sighed. “I have spent so long thinking about the what if’s, y’know? Like, what if I had gone to his room that night? What if I had reached out to him afterwards? Not that I think anything would have happened, but like, who knows, right?

“And we spent our entire careers just avoiding each other, but I swear to god, Rose, once we actually started talking, it’s like he’s been in my life forever. Like, overnight he became one of my favorite people. He’s the only one who, y’know, gets it… we could have been friends this entire time, and the last thing I want is to jeopardize that,” Shane sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “But I can’t stop thinking about him like that, and now I’m essentially ignoring him because I can’t get my head straight.”

“Shane, you can’t ignore this and hope it goes away.”

“No, I know that, but just…” Shane sighed, frustration rising. He felt his fingernails digging into his palms from clenching his fists so hard. “I don’t know. I can’t tell if he’s just my friend that I think is hot, or if it’s, y’know, more than that.”

“What, like, you think you’re in love with him?”

“No! No. No… I…” Shane trailed off.  

“Oh, Shane,” Rose said softly.

“...I don’t know, Rose. I’m so concerned about not ruining this, there’s no room for anything else.”

“Okay, but you can’t just ignore him until you think you’re over it. That will ruin your friendship quicker than anything else.” When Shane didn’t respond, Rose kept talking. “It’s going to boil over at some point. Especially if there’s already a history between you two.”

Shane hesitated. “There was… a moment, recently. On our last road trip.”

Rose leaned forward. “Go on,” she said.

“We were just sitting outside talking, and we just… I can’t explain it. It’s silly.”

“Clearly it’s not! What the hell happened?”

“...We were just sitting on a bench, talking about nothing really, but all of a sudden we were like. Super close? And kind of, like, almost holding hands?”

Rose furrowed her brow. “What the hell do you mean almost holding hands?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know how to explain it. But then I accidentally called him perfect, and then he was just looking at me, and our hands were touching and I literally felt like my skin was on fire and that my heart was about to explode, and he was about to say something but then Troy interrupted us and it felt so real and… I panicked! I fully fucking panicked!” 

Shane sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to just disappear at this point.

“What do you mean you panicked?” Rose asked gently.

“I mean we were interrupted, and I ran inside, and the next day I acted like everything was fine and normal. Because it has to be fine and normal, Rose.”

Rose sighed. “Shane. Is there any possibility that he feels the same way? Like even the tiniest, most minute chance?”

Shane thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said softly. “I mean. Maybe. Like, sometimes he just gives me that look, y’know? Like he can see right through me. Or, like, he’s daring me to make a move.”

Rose grimaced. “Look, Shane,” she said. “You are clearly overwhelmed by all this. You need to talk to him.”

Shane looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Now why the hell would I do that?” he deadpanned. 

Rose’s eye twitched, causing Shane to snort out a laugh. 

“I think you should just lay one on him and see what happens,” she finally said matter of factly. “You are going to explode if you keep this from him, and you will never know what he’s feeling unless one of you makes a move. So make a fucking move, Shane.”

Shane groaned, dropping his head back to the countertop again, thinking he might just stay there for the foreseeable future.

* * *

Their final game before the All-Star break was a matinee against Carolina. This time Shane was the one picking Ilya up, but nothing about Shane’s mood had seemingly improved. And it showed, because they played like absolute dogshit that afternoon. Shane was on the ice for two of Carolina’s three goals, and Ilya was on the ice for the other. Troy snuck in one goal himself for Ottawa to avoid a shutout, but there was little celebration to be had. 

Ilya said a couple words of encouragement as the locker room packed up after the game, wishing Luca and Troy well at the All-Star game and encouraging the rest of the team to come back with a fight in them. He then followed Shane to his car and, once again, the silence lingered between them. It wasn’t even the comfortable silence Ilya had grown used to between them; it was tense, strange, and exhausting. 

When Shane pulled into his driveway, Ilya stayed put. He stared at Shane from the passenger seat. Shane side-eyed him before fully turning his head to face him. “What?”

“I’m sick of this,” Ilya said, gesturing vaguely. “This attitude, or whatever.”

Shane closed his eyes. “Ilya, please…”

“No. Come inside and talk to me. Please. Otherwise I’m blocking your number until the break is over.”

Ilya didn’t mean for it to be funny, but he did feel a small thrill when Shane quirked up one corner of his mouth. “You’ll block me?”

“Yes. And you better get your shit together by the time I unblock you, because this,” he gestured again to Shane’s general being, “...is bullshit.”

Shane worried his bottom lip with his teeth for a few moments before sighing and turning the car off. Ilya nodded to himself victoriously as they both unbuckled their seatbelts and headed inside.

They were greeted by Anya’s typical excited tail wags and sniffs. Ilya led Anya to the back door to let her out, then immediately rounded on Shane who was leaning against the kitchen counter looking utterly defeated. 

Ilya slowly walked closer, positioning himself across from Shane and leaning against his kitchen island with his arms crossed over his chest. “Talk to me,” he demanded. 

Shane shook his head. “I’m sorry I’ve been an ass. I’m just tired,” he mumbled.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true.”

“We’ve been exhausted our whole careers. You thrive on it. What’s different?”

Shane threw a hand up, clearly already sick of this conversation. “I don’t know, Ilya, it just is!”

Ilya furrowed his brow and studied Shane. Up close, he could see the dark bags under his eyes and a paler twinge to his skin. “You aren’t sleeping,” he said simply.

Shane shook his head. “No. Not really,” he relented. 

Ilya’s face remained stuck in concern, and moved closer to Shane. Slowly, as if not to spook him, Ilya hooked his fingers under Shane’s chin and titled it up so Ilya could get a better view. “You look like shit,” he mumbled.

Shane snorted. “Wow. Thanks, man.” Their eyes met, and Ilya searched his deep brown eyes, looking for any kind of answer to this puzzle. 

“It’s affecting your game.” Shane didn’t say anything, but his face hardened a little, his walls building back up. Ilya dropped his hand from Shane’s chin. “Go sit down. I’ll make you dinner.”

“You don’t have to-”

Ilya stepped towards the fridge to begin pulling out ingredients and gave him a scolding look. Outside, Anya wandered back to the door and let out a bark to be let inside. “Be useful and let the dog in. Then go sit down and let me fucking feed you before you pass out standing here in my kitchen.”

Shane glared at him but did as he was told, letting Anya back inside before plopping down in a seat at the kitchen island. If Ilya noticed a small smile tugging at Shane’s mouth as he prepped some simple chicken breasts and asparagus, he ignored it for Shane’s sake. Instead, he propped open the fridge and slid a ginger ale towards him.

Shane accepted the can, albeit warily, and watched Ilya prepare their dinner. The routine had become familiar to them over the last couple months, one of them cooking while the other chirped from the sidelines until they were bullied into helping, but tonight Shane watched him move in silence, and Ilya didn’t try to find something for him to assist with. 

They were silent through dinner, Ilya not sure how to break the tension between them. It’s not like they were fighting, was it? Had Ilya done something to upset him? Or had Shane realized just how deeply Ilya felt about him, and was slowly freezing him out?

That seemed like the most likely option, Ilya thought. His throat tightened and tried to focus on the sound of Anya squeaking a toy gleefully from the living room to keep his emotions at bay.

Ilya wordlessly cleared his plate to the sink and began washing up. Shane appeared beside him with his own empty plate, which Ilya took with a quiet thanks. 

“Thank you for dinner,” he said in a small voice, then leaned against the counter next to him. 

“You’re welcome,” Ilya said. “There’s salmon in the fridge for tomorrow if you want to come over,” before he could stop himself. Ilya internally flinched.

Shane gave him an appraising look. “You know, you don’t always have to feed me. I don’t want to steal your food.”

Ilya sighed. “I buy extra now. Don’t want it to go to waste,” he insisted.

Shane furrowed his brow at Ilya. “What do you mean you buy extra?” 

Ilya shrugged. “I figure we eat dinner together more often than not, so I just always buy enough for two.”

Shane didn’t move, didn’t breathe as far as Ilya was concerned, then abruptly said, “Um. I have to go,” before rushing to the entryway for his coat and shoes. 

Ilya shook his head, angry at himself for fucking this up even further. He couldn’t help but wear his heart on his sleeve when it came to Shane, but he clearly was harming them more than he was helping. “Shane,” he called, dropping the dishes in the sink and following him. Shane was in the entryway struggling to get his shoes on, trying to do so quickly with little finesse. “Shane, wait, I’m sorry-”

Shane ignored him. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Ilya froze, then threw his hands up, irritated more than anything now. If Shane wanted to act like this, then that was his problem, not Ilya’s. “Fine. Whatever. Go,” he told him, perhaps louder and sharper than necessary, then turned to head back to the kitchen.

His tone must have cut through to something in Shane, however, because he stopped trying to shove his feet in his sneakers and glared at Ilya. “Don’t get fucking pissed at me, Ilya.”

Ilya barked out a laugh as he wheeled around to face Shane. “Why not? You were right. You want to act weird, then you can go do that somewhere else. Do not shut me out and then act like I’m the asshole for being worried.”

Shane raised his own voice in response. “There’s nothing to be concerned about, I’m fine-”

“If you do not want to tell me what’s wrong, whatever. We don’t have to talk about it. But just admit that something is up. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. You are not a hero for pushing people away.”

“There is nothing you can do, Ilya, so just drop it, please-”

“I thought we were friends, Shane! Forgive me for being fucking annoyed that you have barely even looked at me all week without telling me why. Why is it so hard to just be honest with me?”

“Because it’s your fucking fault!”

Ilya stopped, his face washing over with shock and anger. So this was about Ilya and his feelings for Shane, but that didn’t give Shane the right to be angry at Ilya, did it? “Excuse me?”

Shane stood in Ilya’s entryway, breathing heavily. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, and Ilya saw tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck,” Shane muttered. 

“What did you just say to me?” Ilya’s hackles rose, his own anger bubbling up inside him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Ilya. I have go-“

Ilya quickly crossed the space between them and planted himself between Shane and the door, blocking his exit. “I’m so fucking sick of this, Shane,” he begged. 

Shane took a deep breath, some of the fight leaving him. Ilya saw his mouth moving, struggling to form words, before eventually landing on: “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His voice was so soft, Ilya had to strain to hear him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded, confusion taking over his anger.

Shane gulped. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about that night in Toronto.”

Ilya froze, his mouth dropping open to form a small oh. He said nothing and stared at Shane.

Shane shook his head, but his voice grew more confident “I can’t stop thinking about the hotel room in Toronto. I can’t stop thinking about what could have happened at the All-Star game if I had just been a little bit braver. I can’t stop thinking about sitting on that fucking bench in Minnesota, Ilya…” he trailed off, and Ilya saw a couple tears trail down his cheeks and pushed down the instinct to move closer and wipe them away. 

Ilya felt his own throat tightening up, but willed his voice to remain steady. “Why have you been ignoring me, then?”

“Because I just needed it to go away!” Shane exclaimed. “I can’t ruin this,” he gestured between the two of them. “Just because I’m imagining there’s something else here and I can’t get my shit together. We wasted so much fucking time pretending to hate each other, and I can’t stand the thought of that actually being true.”

Ilya wrinkled his nose. “And your solution to that was to ignore me?” Ilya scoffed.

Shane looked at him like he had been slapped in the face. “I-”

“I thought there was something here, too, Shane,” he said, willing the tears forming in his own eyes not to fall. They can’t both lose it. “I was so close to telling you in Minnesota, but the next day you acted like everything was normal, so I figured that was what you wanted. I told myself I would respect that and not push it. But now you’ve been ignoring me, ignoring everyone, so I thought I had ruined it. I thought maybe you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Shane shook his head. “That’s not what I want,” he said.

Ilya threw his hands up in exasperation. “So what do you want!?”

They stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Ilya willed for the ground to swallow him, just to end the agony.

But then Shane was kissing him. 

Shane’s hands were cradling Ilya’s face, mouth working over Ilya’s, begging him to open up. Ilya’s brain struggled to catch up to the situation at hand, but eventually he let his fists curl into the front of Shane’s sweatshirt, drawing them impossibly closer. Ilya’s mouth finally opened up to meet Shane’s, licking into his mouth, drawing out a deep moan from Shane. One of Ilya’s hands creeped behind Shane’s neck to burrow his fingers into the cropped dark hair, maneuvering him to change the angle. 

Ilya slowed the pace of the kiss before finally pulling away, tilting his head back just enough to meet Shane’s face. His eyes were closed, and Ilya moved a hand to cup the side of his face, thumb brushing over the dried tear tracks on his cheek. Shane’s eyes fluttered open to look at him. Shane held his gaze, before saying softly, simply, definitively: “I just want you, Ilya.”

Ilya felt the air leave his lungs and willed his legs to remain standing. He gave Shane a small nod, then crashed their mouths back together. 

Ilya had thought about kissing Shane almost constantly over the years. He had desperately reached into the depths of his mind, trying to remember the feeling of Shane’s lips on his, the way he tasted, the firmness of his body pressed against his.

Everything about Shane Hollander was lightyears beyond what Ilya remembered. 

He guided Shane to walk backwards until he was pressed against the wall, Shane’s mouth falling open with a small gasp as Ilya pushed his hips into Shane’s. Ilya worked his mouth to kiss along Shane’s jaw and down his neck, relishing in the loud moan Shane let out when Ilya sucked at the pressure point just below his ear. 

Ilya felt Shane’s hands trail under his shirt, running his fingers along his abs and up his chest, before moving back to let Shane yank the shirt over his head. Ilya did the same, removing Shane’s shirt and sweatshirt in one fell swoop, digging his fingers into Shane’s hips while Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck, pressing their bare chests together. 

They breathed together for a moment, breath intermingling, before Ilya bent down slightly to drag his fingers down Shane’s hips and behind his thighs, then lifted Shane against the wall with his legs wrapping around Ilya’s waist. 

Shane let out a small gasp then leaned down to kiss him. “Fuck, Ilya…” he whispered against his lips. Ilya hummed, letting Shane’s mouth explore his as he carried him towards the staircase. 

He took one step upwards and Shane pulled away at the movement, taking in his environment. “Don’t fucking drop me, asshole,” he grumbled. 

Ilya grinned as he climbed the stairs carefully. “I’ve got you,” he whispered in Shane’s neck, moaning when he felt Shane’s smile melt into the side of his throat, lips laying small, exploring kisses across him. 

Ilya navigated them expertly up the stairs, which seemed an impossible feat with Shane mouthing at his neck, then latched his mouth back onto Shane’s as he carried him to his room and dropped him on the bed.  

Ilya gave Shane a quick, bruising kiss before stepping back to unbutton his pants, watching hungrily as Shane did the same for himself. Shane kicked his pants away when he was in just his briefs and yanked Ilya on top of him, one of Ilya’s legs still stuck in his jeans. He tried kicking his leg out to get denim to budge while he kissed Shane, but Shane started laughing softly at the movement. “The fuck are you doing?” He asked with a grin, looking behind Ilya. 

“My leg is stuck,” Ilya grumbled, looking behind him to sort himself out, surely not giving off the effortlessly sexy vibe he usually tried to project. 

Shane snorted and guided Ilya’s mouth back to his, a smile nearly splitting Shane’s face open that made it difficult for Ilya to properly kiss him, then opened his legs wide enough for Ilya to settle between them. 

They quickly set a frantic pace, teeth clashing and tongues sliding, Ilya never feeling like it was close enough. He rolled his hips and ground down against Shane, pulling a sweet moan out of him. 

“I need you,” Ilya panted into Shane’s mouth. 

Shane’s hands trailed down to Ilya’s hips, pushing his groin up into his, their clothed cocks dragging together. Shane pushed Ilya’s briefs down just enough to wrap a hand around him, eliciting a loud groan from him. 

“Fuck,” Ilya dropped his head onto Shane’s shoulder as he worked his wrist over his cock, collecting the pre-cum at Ilya’s tip to ease the roughness of his hand. He used one hand to manhandle Shane by the jaw, tipping their mouths back together, the other clumsily reaching down to pull at Shane’s own underwear. “Off, off,” Ilya mumbled into Shane’s mouth.

Shane lifted his hips, allowing Ilya to lean back and remove the briefs entirely. Ilya took the opportunity to scoot down the bed, bending right over Shane’s lap and began pressing open-mouthed kisses along his hipbones, sucking and biting his way down his inner thighs, then landing a small kiss at the base of his dick before taking Shane into his mouth. 

“Oh, fuck, Ilya,” Shane gasped, leaning his head back onto the pillow and throwing one hand over his eyes. He arched up into Ilya’s mouth as he worked Shane over, circling his tongue around the head. “Shit, Ilya, I’m not going to last.”

Ilya hummed around Shane’s cock before popping it out of his mouth. He reached for Shane’s free hand on the bed and guided it to his head, softly telling him, “Let me take care of you.” 

Ilya took Shane back into his mouth, watching as he removed the arm covering his face and locked eyes with Ilya. The hand that was curled around the back of Ilya’s head ran through his hair, moving to push the curls out of his face. Ilya was rutting against the mattress at this point, spurred on the noises Shane was making and the weight of him on his tongue. He wrapped his arms around the back of Shane’s thighs, pulling him even closer in his mouth as he took Shane as deep as possible, nose brushing the patch of hair at Shane’s base.

“Oh my god, fuck,” Shane heaved, his breathing becoming hard and unsteady. “Fuck, Ilya, I’m going to come-”

Ilya doubled his efforts, dragging his tongue across the shaft as he hollowed his cheeks, desperate to make Shane come, desperate to taste him.

Shane’s body arched with a gasp, fingers pulling hard on Ilya’s hair as he shot down Ilya’s throat. Ilya hummed around him, guiding him through it, taking everything Shane gave him. 

Shane’s breathing evened out and Ilya finally removed his mouth, panting hard as he watched Shane above him. He pressed a firm kiss to Shane’s hip, then his stomach, up his chest, his neck, finally giving him a small peck on his lips. Shane chased his mouth, reaching for the back of Ilya’s neck to pull him into a deep kiss, tasting himself on Ilya’s tongue. Without breaking their kiss, Shane moved his leg to wedge between Ilya’s, grinding his thigh up into his crotch and causing Ilya to groan into Shane’s mouth. 

Wordlessly, Shane pushed Ilya over so he could lay back on the bed and Shane could climb into his lap. He settled his legs over Ilya’s thighs and brought Ilya’s hands around to cup his ass as he kissed him, moaning into Ilya’s mouth as he massaged his cheeks. Shane pulled away from Ilya’s mouth to spit into the palm of his own hand and brought it down to Ilya’s cock, making Ilya throw his head back with a moan. 

“Fucking hell, Shane,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as Shane leaned into his throat, kissing and nipping his way down his neck and chest, before returning the favor and taking Ilya into his mouth. “Oh my god.”

Shane used his hand to jack Ilya off while he suckled on the head, reaching a perfect rhythm that had Ilya seeing stars. He looked down and met Shane’s eyes, twinkling with determination and self-satisfaction. Ilya ran a hand through Shane’s hair and gave it a firm tug, causing Shane to moan around his cock. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” Ilya praised.

Shane hummed and closed his eyes, dropping his hand to take Ilya deeper. He felt his cock nudge the back of Shane’s throat and nearly wailed. “Shane, please…” he gasped. 

Shane replaced his mouth with his hand just long enough to catch his breath, sticking his tongue out to lick the head while he worked Ilya with his hand. “I want you to come for me,” he panted before taking Ilya back into his mouth. 

Ilya encouraged Shane, gaps of yes, so good, just like that falling from his lips as Shane brought him to the edge. Ilya used both hands to cup the sides of Shane’s face, making Shane look up at him. A silent agreement passed between them before Ilya began to pitch his hips up and fuck Shane’s face. Within seconds, Ilya was spilling into Shane’s mouth with a loud moan of his name.

Ilya closed his eyes and gasped for breath, blindly reaching out for Shane to bring his mouth to his. They made out lazily, tasting and exploring each other as Ilya came down. Shane finally pulled away and pressed his forehead to Ilya’s, lingering there for a moment. 

Ilya gently scratched his fingers along the back of Shane’s scalp, smiling when Shane melted into the touch with a nearly inaudible groan. Ilya licked his lips before finally speaking. “So,” he said, his voice gruff. “Better or worse than last time?”

Shane pulled away to look at Ilya, eyes dancing in amusement, and gave him a small smile. “Better,” he said softly, earnestly. “So much better.”

Ilya rolled his lips together to keep the shit-eating grin threatening to spread across his face at bay and nodded in agreement. “I do not want to wait twelve years before doing that again.”

Shane’s eyes lit up, visibly trying to tamper down his own large smile. “Buddy, I don’t want to wait twelve minutes before doing that again,” he said with a small laugh.

Ilya exposed his grin and bumped his nose gently against Shane’s. “Don’t call me ‘buddy’ and I’ll see what I can do,” he teased. 

Shane nodded. “Deal,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Ilya again. 

Ilya enjoyed the feeling of Shane’s weight on top of him, their mouths slowly moving together, the smooth skin of Shane’s arms under his fingertips as he traced his hands up and down his biceps. He could honestly say that he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming, so he tried his best to take stock of every sensation of having Shane Hollander naked on top of him. 

Shane eventually pulled away to ask, “Come shower with me?”

Ilya nodded, allowing Shane to pull him off the bed, their fingers tangled together as Ilya led them into the en suite. He leaned around the glass shower door to turn the water on, then turned to see Shane staring in the mirror, poking at marks Ilya left behind across hips and thighs. Ilya came behind him and wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist and met his eyes in the mirror, causing a small smile to light up Shane’s face. “You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said teasingly. 

Ilya buried a loud, smacking kiss in the crook of Shane’s neck, not breaking their eye contact. He gently traced some of the love bites he left on Shane with his own hand, fingers dancing across the skin and causing goosebumps to raise in his wake. “You have not seen anything yet,” Ilya told him. 

Shane grinned and leaned his head back against Ilya’s shoulder, covering Ilya’s arms with his own, tracing small circles with his thumb over the backs of Ilya’s hands. 

They rinsed off together, rubbing shampoo and shower gel over each other and making out lazily under the water spray, not daring to separate for even a moment. When they finished, Ilya wrapped Shane up in a clean, fluffy towel, rubbing it over his hair like he would for Anya after a bath, causing Shane to laugh and gently push him away. “Stop,” he complained with a grin, popping his head out from the fabric, looking so adorable Ilya couldn’t help but give him a lingering kiss. He dug a spare toothbrush out of the bathroom drawer for Shane, his heart warming at how wonderfully domestic it all felt. 

They climbed under the covers and faced each other, Shane throwing an arm around Ilya’s waist and pulling him close. Ilya cupped the side of Shane’s face, his thumb gently stroking across his cheek bone. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane said softly after a few minutes of stillness. “For being an asshole. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Ilya hummed in acknowledgement. “I suppose we can figure out a way for you to make it up to me,” Ilya said, dropping a soft kiss to the corner of Shane’s mouth. “Just don’t do it again,” he complained.

Shane gave a small smile and brought his hand up to hold Ilya’s wrist. “I won’t,” he promised, then leaned in for a tender kiss. Ilya happily deepened it, pressing their bodies close together, and Shane trailed his hand down Ilya’s arm to rest again on his waist. 

Just as Ilya opened his mouth to let Shane’s tongue dip inside, there was the telltale jingling of a collar and they felt the end of the mattress dip. Ilya and Shane pulled away to see Anya standing at the end of the bed and staring at them curiously, her tail wagging behind her. “Can I fucking help you?” Ilya asked her, causing Shane to snort and bury his face in Ilya’s neck. 

Anya huffed and climbed over Ilya’s legs, forcing her way in between them and circling the spot before plopping down and curling up in a ball with a sigh. 

Shane laughed as Ilya groaned. “She’s not used to the extra body in here,” Ilya grumbled. 

“What are you gonna do, tell her no?” Shane smirked. “You’re a giant softie.”

Ilya sighed. It wasn’t the most comfortable sleeping position; he would’ve much preferred to have Shane pressed against him all night, keeping him close as a reminder that this is real. But as he strained his neck to kiss Shane once more before settling back into his pillow, their fingers locked together between them with Anya already snoring at their feet, Ilya couldn’t recall a time he had ever felt more at peace. 

Chapter End Notes

Wow I wonder what they’re gonna do all week

Again, a big fat thank you to everyone who has left kind and supportive comments, left kudos, and followed along with this fic. The next one is going to be fun 🫶

Chapter 10: The All-Star Break

Chapter Notes

Hi. So. Um. Funny story-

I am so sorry. I thought this chapter would top out at around 10k, but your email notification really did say that this chapter is over 19k words long. My google doc says it is 19,534 words. Like. I'm so sorry LMAO

I did not mean for this chapter to be so fucking long. It spiraled out of control, but it didn’t make sense to split it up into two chapters. And like. More than a third of this is straight up porn (peep the updated tags). Sorry. I hope I’ve earned that eventual smut tag. It’s kinda self-indulgent but I hope you guys are cool with that.

Apologies for a little bit of a wait, here’s a chapter 3x my usual length to make up for it. We will return to our regularly scheduled word counts next time.

Day 1 of the All-Star Break

When Shane awoke to an empty bed in an unfamiliar room, he was sure that everything had been a dream. 

He squinted at the sun peaking through the curtains, blearily trying to collect himself. He sat up and looked around the empty room, trying to reorient himself. He noticed a pair of sweatpants and Centaurs branded shirt laid out neatly on the bed next to him, and like a freight train, everything came back to him. 

Shane’s heart was about to beat out of his chest recalling the night before. He heard movement coming from the kitchen downstairs, and couldn’t get himself dressed and his teeth brushed fast enough. 

Shane wandered down the stairs to see Ilya standing shirtless over the stove, cracking eggs into a pan and bacon frying on the back burner. The bottom step creaked as he stepped on it causing Ilya to look up at him, and Shane watched a wide smile spread across his face. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Shane mumbled, walking over to him. He rested his hand gently on the small of Ilya’s back, smirking slightly at the shiver he felt shoot through Ilya’s body. 

“Are you hungry?” Ilya asked him. 

Shane’s smirk softened to a genuine smile, overwhelming emotion bubbling up inside of him. He only nodded, not trusting his voice to speak, then cradled Ilya’s face with both hands and guided his mouth to his. 

He felt Ilya smiling against his mouth and his hands came to grip Shane’s waist, fully melting into Shane’s touch. The kiss wasn’t frantic or urgent, but firm. Warming. 

Home, Shane thought distantly. 

Their mouths separated, but Ilya snaked his arms around Shane’s waist and nosed at his jawline. “Your eggs are overcooking,” he mumbled into Shane’s skin, punctuating it with a kiss. 

Shane reluctantly let go, allowing Ilya to return to his cooking. “Do you want help with anything?”

Ilya shook his head. “Just stay here and look pretty, please.”

Shane hoisted himself on top of the kitchen island and watched as Ilya prepared them breakfast, shuddering himself when their fingers brushed as Ilya handed him a cup of coffee.

Shane ate his breakfast from his perch on the island with Ilya standing between his legs, his own plate sat on the counter next to Shane as they stole kisses between bites of toast and sips of coffee. If Shane was an outsider, he would surely want to be sick watching them, but there was nothing in the world that could have possibly torn Shane away from Ilya at this moment. 

Ilya cleared their plates, leaving them in the sink to be dealt with later, then threaded his arms around Shane’s waist and fit his head under his chin. Shane wrapped one arm around Ilya’s shoulders while the other carded through his hair, burying his face into Ilya’s curls. “Thank you for breakfast,” he said before planting a kiss on top of his head. 

Ilya hummed and turned his head, kissing Shane square in the chest. He tilted his head up to look at Shane. “Do you have any plans for today?”

Shane shook his head. “No,” he said with a grin. “Do you?” 

Ilya sighed dramatically. “Well, someone needs to go for a walk…” he said, raising his voice loud enough to be heard across the house, and sure enough the scattering of paws could be heard rushing down the hall. 

Shane grinned as Anya appeared in the kitchen, head tilted and ears perked. Ilya smiled up at Shane. “Come with us?”

They took a leisurely stroll through their neighborhood despite the frigid late-January temperatures, letting Anya take her time sniffing every snow drift she wanted. They conveniently walked by Shane’s house allowing him to grab his phone charger and a fresh pair of clothes (“You might need more than one set,” Ilya told him while waggling his eyebrows), then walked back to Ilya’s, exchanging giddy smiles each time their shoulders brushed. 

They stomped the snow off their shoes and Ilya unhooked Anya’s leash so she could run off to her own bed for a nap. The door was barely shut behind them before Ilya was pinning Shane against it, kissing him hard and eliciting a deep moan from Shane. Wordlessly they shed their coats and shoes, tugging at each other’s clothes as they stumbled their way to the stairs. A trail of clothing followed them up the steps and into Ilya’s bedroom as they laughed against each other’s mouths. 

They were completely naked by the time Ilya sat on the end of the bed with Shane climbing into his lap, hard cocks pressed against one another as their tongues tangled together. Ilya’s hands dragged from Shane’s waist down to his ass, spreading his cheeks as Shane ground his cock down into Ilya’s. 

“Fuck, Ilya, I need…” Shane gasped against his mouth, every atom of his being feeling like it had been set on fire.. 

“Tell me,” Ilya demanded, dragging his lips down Shane’s throat. Shane felt one of his fingers reach between his cheeks, brushing against the rim of his hole.

Shane moaned and rocked back into his hand. “Need you to fuck me, please.” 

Ilya wasted no time in turning them and pinning Shane to the bed, kissing him hard before leaning over to dig through his nightstand for lube and a condom. Ilya settled back between Shane’s legs, his thighs dropping open easily for him and breathing hard as he watched Ilya coat his fingers in lube.

Ilya used his free hand to prop himself up over Shane, kissing him as his fingers trailed down to his opening. Shane felt a single finger prod at him and he reached up to tug at Ilya’s hair as it slipped inside of him.

“Fuck,” he gasped, closing his eyes in pleasure. Ilya slowly worked the finger in and out of Shane as he tenderly kissed his way down his jaw and neck. Begging for more, Shane arched his hips up searching for any kind of relief for his cock. Ilya took pity on him and let him grind their dicks together, and a second finger soon joined the first. Shane’s eyes flew open as they crooked inside of him and brushed against his prostate. 

Ilya was hovering over him, watching his face closely, pupils completely blown out. Shane guided Ilya’s mouth to his own and ground down against Ilya’s hand. “More,” he moaned into his mouth.

“Shane, fuck,” Ilya panted. He alternated between fucking him with his fingers and slowly spreading them, scissoring him open. When Ilya pushed a third finger inside, Shane arched off the bed with a loud moan. 

“Ilya, I need you inside me now,” he begged, feeling like he could never, ever get enough.

Ilya grinned as he continued working Shane open with one hand and reached for the condom with the other. Shane watched as he tore the foil wrapper open with his teeth and groaned at the loss of Ilya’s fingers when he pulled out to slip the condom on. Ilya dragged one hand over Shane’s thigh before pushing his legs up, bending him in half to give himself easy access to Shane’s opening, then began slowly pressing inside. 

They both let out loud moans as Ilya’s cock entered Shane, stretching him impossibly wider. Shane’s breath caught in his chest, the feeling of Ilya entering him for the first time unlike anything he had ever felt before. No toy, no man, nothing had ever set him ablaze the way Ilya had. 

Shane watched as Ilya stared unblinking at the sight of himself sinking inside of him inch by inch, freezing when he was fully situated inside of him. Ilya looked up and met Shane’s gaze; he was absolutely wrecked, curls askew and mouth open in a round oh as he struggled to catch his own breath. He leaned over to kiss Shane hard, the slightest movement causing Shane to moan.

“Move, please,” Shane begged, before latching his mouth back onto Ilya’s.

Ilya repositioned Shane’s legs so they were wrapped around his waist, one hand holding himself up over Shane and the other gripping his thigh. Ilya slowly pulled back, nearly removing his cock entirely, before slamming hard back into Shane. Shane threw his head back in pleasure as Ilya began fucking him slowly. They rocked together, enjoying having each other for the first time, every little motion sending Shane straight to the fucking moon.

“You look so fucking good like this,” Ilya breathed against his mouth, finally setting a steady rhythm. “Fuck, Shane, you look fucking perfect.”

Shane reached up to cradle Ilya’s face in his hands and slammed their lips together, licking deep into Ilya’s mouth. “Harder,” he panted. “Need you.”

Ilya moaned and sped up his movements, but it wasn’t enough. Shane groaned in frustration and tried rocking his hips down to meet Ilya’s, causing Ilya to grin against his mouth. “I’ve waited so long for this,” Ilya told him, and Shane distantly wondered how his voice was coming out as steady and even as it was. “I want to make this last.”

Shane gasped and arched his hips into Ilya’s thrusts and gripped Ilya’s bicep with one hand and pulled at his hair with the other, hoping he would get his message across. Me too.

“You have no idea, Shane,” Ilya continued, meeting his eyes as they panted against each other's mouths. “I have thought about having you like this for years.”

“Oh, god,” Shane moaned at the admission, unable to form words. The thought of Ilya wanting Shane just as badly as Shane had wanted him for so long was, frankly, overwhelming. The idea that Ilya ever laid awake at night and thought about Shane as he jerked off, even before Shane came to Ottawa, was far too much to process with his dick buried inside of him.

Ilya began fucking him harder, faster. “You feel so fucking good, Ilya, fuck,” Shane whined.

“Bozhe moy, Shane, yebat,” Ilya cursed, the Russian pushing Shane right to the brink. He angled his hips just right and began slamming his cock directly into Shane’s prostate, causing Shane to scream. 

“Ilya, please, fuck-”

Ilya fucked him impossibly harder. “Fuck, Shane,” he moaned, reaching down to start working Shane’s cock in his hand. “Come for me. I want to see you.”

Shane surprised even himself by obeying easily, throwing his head back with a loud moan as he spurted all over his chest. He heard Ilya moan, speeding up his thrusts nearly to the point of oversensitivity for Shane before stilling, burying himself deep inside of him. 

They lay there catching their breath, and Shane couldn’t help a wide, toothy grin from forming across his face. Ilya matched it and leaned down to leave small kisses anywhere he could reach before leaning in for a lingering kiss on his lips. He pulled out of Shane and murmured “Stay here,” against his cheek, then disappeared into the bathroom. 

Shane closed his eyes and sank into the pillows, his breathing finally beginning to even out. He felt the bed dip next to him and opened his eyes to see Ilya with a wet cloth to wipe Shane down. He smiled at Ilya leaning over him and reached out to touch whatever part of him he could touch, his hand finding Ilya’s outer thigh and gently trailed his fingers up and down as he cleaned him off. 

Ilya dropped the cloth over the side of the bed and laid down next to Shane, pulling his body close. Shane gladly let himself be manhandled, settling into the crook of Ilya’s arm and resting his head on his chest. Ilya’s fingers trailed up and down his arm, his shoulder, his hair, and felt the gentle press of lips to his forehead. 

Shane sighed in contentment as Ilya nosed at the side of Shane’s face, pressing small kisses to whatever part of him that he could reach. Shane settled back to look at Ilya properly. “Hi,” he said, with a shy smile.

Ilya bit his lip. “Hi,” he said, his own smile widening. 

Shane shuffled closer, pressing his face into Ilya’s neck. “I’m never leaving this bed,” he said. 

Ilya brought a hand up to run through his hair. “You don’t have to,” he told Shane, pressing another kiss to his hairline. 

* * *

They spent the day drifting in and out of sleep, pushing and pulling each other to the brink over and over until the setting sun washed the room in a golden glow. Shane pulled Ilya into the shower where he dropped to his knees for him, and impossibly brought him over the edge with his mouth for the Nth time that day. He used Shane to steady himself under the water, not trusting his own balance.

“You’re going to fucking kill me, Hollander,” he muttered into Shane’s shoulder.

Ilya felt more than heard Shane’s shoulders shake with laughter, who then batted Ilya’s hands away when he tried to return the favor. “I need a break,” Shane told him with a smirk. 

Ilya raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you need a break,” he said. “I cannot feel anything from the waist down.”

Shane wrapped his arms tight around Ilya’s middle. “I’ve got you,” he said with a soft smile. 

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too widely, ultimately giving in and pressing the side of his face into Shane’s own to hide the absolute unbridled joy that took over him.

Ilya dug out a clean pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt for Shane after their shower and ignored the swoop in his chest at the sight of Shane in his clothes, with the sweatshirt hanging off his frame but the pants tight around his thighs. “Too bad I don’t have a jersey on hand,” Ilya told him with a wink.

Shane scoffed. “In your dreams, Rozanov.”

“Mm, yes, exactly.”

Shane followed him downstairs, finally emerging from their love nest to see Anya on the couch, watching them closely as they came down the steps like a parent ready to scold their children for missing curfew. “Someone is upset with you,” Shane teased while wandering towards the fridge.

Ilya sighed and went to Anya, grinning as her tail started wagging the closer he came. Ilya scooped her up in his arms and planted a kiss on her head. “I am sorry we did not play with you all day, sweet girl, but you cannot blame me,” he told her, lightly bouncing her in his arms. Anya looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Look at him. You would do the same if you were me, da?”

Shane pulled a ginger ale out of the fridge with a bark of laughter as Ilya angled Anya towards him, giving Shane a perfect view of her puppy dog eyes. He reached for the cabinet where he knew Ilya kept her treats, smirking as Anya started flailing, begging to be released from Ilya’s arms.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Ilya said exasperatedly and set her down, glaring at Shane when he pulled out a large piece of jerky for her. Anya took it and happily trotted to her own bed, seemingly all having been forgiven. “You have to stop making her like you more than me.”

Shane shrugged innocently as he cracked the can of ginger ale. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hm,” Ilya grunted, padding towards the kitchen himself. He casually brushed his hand across Shane’s back as he peered into the fridge himself, sending a shiver up his spine. “We are ordering dinner,” he said definitively. “I have no energy left to cook. You took it all from me.”

“Oh, it’s all my fault, huh?” Shane teased as Ilya let the fridge door swing shut and turned to face him, bracketing his arms around Shane and trapping him between Ilya and the counter. 

“Yes,” Ilya said simply, leaning in to give Shane a quick peck. “I am a big, strong, mean, scary Russian. But with you, I am a puddle. Just…” He blew a raspberry. “Melted on the ground.”

Shane’s hands found Ilya’s biceps and brushed his thumbs soothingly over the muscles. “Yeah?” he asked, his eyes softening.

Ilya leaned in again. “Yeah,” he said, giving Shane another kiss, this time slow and languid. 

An hour later they were sitting in the living room, takeout spread on the coffee table in front of them, with Shane sat on the couch and Ilya on the floor directly in front of him playing with Anya. Ilya had found one of the Fast & Furious movies playing on cable, but neither of them were paying much attention. 

Ilya wrestled a toy away from Anya and launched it across the house, leaning his head back into Shane’s lap. “I have a very important question to ask you.”

Shane’s hand mindlessly started fiddling with Ilya’s hair. “Yes, I will help you work on your edge control. I saw that wipeout during the Carolina game.”

Ilya snorted, pushing his head further into Shane’s hand. “Close,” he said. “Would you like to sleepover tonight?”

Shane grinned. “Slow your roll, there, Rozanov,” he teased. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”

“A very beautiful one who I want back in my bed ASAP,” he answered seriously, staring up at Shane upside down. 

Shane snorted and curled his body over Ilya’s, kissing his forehead, his temple, down his cheek, then landed on his lips. “You’re gonna have to let me go home at some point, you know.”

Ilya hummed. “I will just follow you to your bed, then.”

“Please do.”

* * *

Day 2 of the All-Star Break

Shane awoke to a shifting bed, roaming hands, and Ilya’s mouth on his dick. 

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and looked down only to see Ilya’s form under the covers. Shane pulled the sheet up and exposed him to the daylight. Ilya smirked and licked a stripe from Shane’s balls to his tip. “Good morning,” he said, before engulfing Shane in his mouth. 

“Jesus fuck,” Shane mumbled, dropping the sheet and arching into Ilya’s touch. 

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for Ilya to skillfully bring Shane over the edge, one hand fondling Shane’s balls and tongue swirling his head, then swallowing his come with a grin. Ilya dropped small kisses along Shane’s hipbone as he came back down to Earth.

“You don’t have to look so satisfied with yourself, y’know,” Shane groaned at the cheery look Ilya was giving him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ilya replied, moving up the bed to give Shane a proper kiss. No point in worrying about morning breath when Ilya tasted like him, Shane thought. 

Shane snuck a hand in between them, expecting to find Ilya hard and waiting, but instead only found a damp patch on his briefs. Shane raised his eyebrows at him, his own grin taking over his face. “Did you actually-?"

“Okay, you don’t have to look so satisfied with yourself, either, Hollander. Take it as a compliment,” Ilya grumbled into his neck. 

Shane snorted and maneuvered Ilya off of him and guided them to the shower. 

* * *

“There is nothing crazy about teammates getting coffee together on a day off,” Ilya told Shane, tossing a clean shirt at him. 

“People will probably notice me wearing your shirt, however,” Shane replied, holding up the Centaurs shirt with ROZANOV 81 stamped across the back. 

Ilya pouted. “Humor me? It’ll look better on you anyway.”

Shane scoffed. “Not a chance.”

“Fine,” he said, crossing the room and draping his arms around Shane’s neck, one hand gently scratching the hair at the base of his neck. “Then I have a proposition for you.”

“And what’s that?” Shane snaked his arms around Ilya’s waist, holding him close.

“We take Anya for a walk. We stop at your house and we pack you a bag. We go get coffee, then we go get some groceries. And then,” Ilya planted a slew of kisses along Shane’s jaw. “You stay here for the rest of the week.”

Shane’s mouth dropped open in a small oh. They had joked last night about Shane never leaving, but hearing it laid out so simply like that made his heart race. “You really want me to stay?”

Ilya nodded. “When else are we going to get time like this in the middle of the season?” he said softly. “We can go back to reality after the break. But for now…” Ilya leaned in to give Shane a soft, tender kiss. “I want to make up for lost time. I want you to stay.”

Shane’s breath hitched and his fingers inadvertently squeezed Ilya’s hips. He hadn’t really thought about what this meant for them, as he was so focused on every minute spent with Ilya in this way feeling like a gift. So to hear Ilya put it so plainly, hearing the words “I want you to stay,” as if he was stating that the sky was blue or that they were professional hockey players, was a comfort that Shane didn’t know he was missing. 

Ilya, however, must have misread his reaction as hesitancy. “I mean, you do not have to, if it is too much-” he said, trying to bring his arms down from around Shane’s neck.

Shane rushed to silence him, pulling him in tight at the hips and slamming his mouth onto Ilya’s. He felt Ilya relax under his touch and grinned when one hand reached up to grip Shane’s jaw. Shane eagerly licked into his mouth, expressing as best as he could that he would stay here in this moment forever if Ilya let him. 

He eventually pulled away, leaving one small peck on Ilya’s lips. “I would love to stay,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to Ilya’s.

Ilya’s face flooded with relief and nodded before pulling Shane into another deep kiss. 

An hour later Shane, Ilya, and Anya all stood in Shane’s bedroom, the latter two watching Shane throw clothes into a duffle bag. 

“You don’t need this many clothes, you know,” Ilya winked at Shane. “I kind of just meant that you needed a stack of underwear.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “I’m getting lunch with my mom tomorrow. I don’t think I can show up wearing your sweatpants,” he said, stuffing a pair of jeans in his bag. He looked up at Ilya. “Do you want to come with me?”

Ilya balked at him. “I like your mother very much, Shane, but I cannot in good faith look her in the eye for a while.”

Shane snorted. “She would sniff us out right away, anyway,” he said, tossing his toiletry bag in the duffle and zipping it shut.

Ilya held Shane’s gaze. “Would that be terrible? If she knew?” he asked softly.

Shane shouldered the bag and shrugged, coming to stand in Ilya’s space. “Not necessarily, I guess,” he said. “She was on to me at Christmas.”

Ilya smirked. “Oh?”

“Not just me, though. Apparently you weren’t very subtle, either,” Shane told him, matching his expression. 

“Subtle enough that you didn’t notice,” Ilya grumbled, one hand reaching up to fiddle with the strap of Shane’s bag. 

“Yeah, well, my mom is definitely smarter than both of us put together.” 

“Hm. That’s probably true,” Ilya said, tugging on the strap to bring Shane closer to give him a brief kiss. 

* * *

If you had told Ilya a year ago that he would be spending this All-Star Game Weekend sitting in a Tim Hoton’s parking lot with Shane Hollander in his passenger seat, sipping their coffees while putting together a shared grocery list for the week and trying hard not to reach for each other so they could make out over the center console, he would have demanded you share whatever drugs you were on because he wanted in on that insane hallucination. 

“I’m not fucking making quinoa and salmon three days in a row, Hollander, I will fucking shoot myself-”

The bickering, however, Ilya would have probably believed. 

“Half of your list is frozen, pre-packaged garbage. And you wonder why you didn’t make the All-Star game this year?”

Ilya gaped at him. “Yeah? Then what’s your excuse, huh?”

Shane shrugged. “Someone got me demoted to the second line.”

Ilya let out a loud, mocking “Ha ha,” then turned back to the list he was compiling on his phone. “That doesn’t help your case. Okay, salmon twice this week, that’s it. And I’m buying the cookie dough and you can’t stop me.”

Shane grumbled and sank lower in his seat. “Whatever,” he said, taking a sip of his black coffee. 

Ilya looked up from his phone briefly and furrowed his brow. “What the fuck is your problem now?”

Shane tilted his head to look at Ilya. “I think… I think arguing with you kinda turns me on.”

Ilya’s head shot up, a wide smirk plastered on his face. “Only kinda?”

Shane shrugged. “You won’t let me meal prep the way I want, so yes. Only kinda.” 

Ilya let out a bark of laughter. “You’re a brat,” he teased, slapping Shane’s upper arm when the other man began laughing. “I’m trying this new thing called compromise,” Ilya waved a hand in the air. “Must be a Russian thing. Has not been invented in Canada yet.” Shane shook his head as Ilya pocketed his phone and clicked his seatbelt back on. “Next time we hide out at your house for a week, we can eat as much bird food as you want.”

Shane sat up straight and grinned, a plan clearly formulating behind his eyes. Ilya's fingers twitched, begging to reach out and touch him, interlace their fingers, pull him in for a kiss, get Shane to spill his secrets. The enclosed space of his car felt private, but his windows weren’t tinted nearly enough for that in this parking lot, and the guy working the Tim Horton’s drive through had nearly dropped their drinks all over the side of Ilya’s car when he realized who they were. 

So Ilya settled with a shy smile, then pulled out of the parking lot to head to the store. The sooner they went, the sooner they could get back home. 

They sped through the grocery store while Ilya pointedly ignored the handful of looks they received. He felt Shane shift uncomfortably next to him when out of the corner of their eyes they saw a teenager with a Centaurs hat whip out his phone for a sneaky photo, and Ilya nearly broke to rest a steadying hand on Shane’s back. He caught himself midair, quickly scratching his temple instead before clenching his fist around the shopping cart. 

Ilya knew, logically, that he was correct in believing that it’s not a big deal to see the two of them together out in public. Local fans knew they were friends, that whatever rivalry the media had hyped up for years was over. People were just doing double takes because seeing them together was a novelty. Nothing more. 

And yet. 

Ilya couldn’t help but notice the bit of paranoia creeping in. It wasn’t a dissimilar feeling to the last time he smoked too much with Hazy before one of Bood’s barbecues, and they both had to sit in the corner silently for an hour. They totally know how high we are right now, he remembered thinking, like a mantra being chanted over and over in his brain. 

Ilya thought that everyone in this grocery store could absolutely tell just how high he was on sleeping with Shane Hollander right now.

Ilya could see that Shane was having a similar thought process. He noticed Shane looking over his shoulder three times in one aisle and the way he fidgeted with his fingers, his nails leaving tiny crescents in his palm. They quickly checked out and loaded their groceries in Ilya’s trunk and drove home without a word.

It wasn’t until they were a couple miles from Ilya’s house that Ilya allowed himself to let his hand drift over to Shane’s thigh in the passenger seat and give it a comforting squeeze. He felt Shane relax under his touch, as did Ilya when Shane threaded their fingers together and let their hands rest in his lap the rest of the drive home. 

* * *

Day 3 of the All-Star Break

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Shane looked up at his mother to see her peering over her menu at him. She had one eyebrow cocked, then gave a pointed look to Shane’s knee that was bouncing uncontrollably under the table.

Shane shifted in his seat and forced his leg to still. “Sorry. Just… antsy.”

Yuna closed her menu and gave him a comforting smile. “Shane. You know you couldn’t actually be in every All-Star game for your entire career, right?”

Oh. It was an easy out that Shane hadn’t been expecting, chalking his anxiety up to having a week off in the middle of the season. It, of course, had nothing to do with the whirlwind that was the last couple days living in Ilya’s pocket, and the fact that stepping out of their specialty crafted bubble into reality was nervewracking. 

At the grocery store last night, despite carefully keeping a perfectly platonic distance between the two, Shane’s paranoia made him sure that he and Ilya might as well have been walking around with a giant flashing sign over their heads announcing WE ARE FUCKING. And that was just strangers passing by. Shane was trying very carefully to act normal with his mother. At least his dad wasn’t here, he was out of town on a work trip, he couldn’t handle both of them staring him down asking about-

“So how’s Ilya?”

Shane’s fingers tightened on his menu, and gave his mom a tight, phoney smile. “He’s good,” he said. Simple. Effective.

“I saw photos of you guys at the supermarket last night going around online.”

Shane’s head shot up, finally looking away from his menu. “What?”

Yuna sipped her water, clearly trying to conceal her own grin. “It’s my job to keep an eye on these things, Shane,” she said. “There were just a couple photos of you two going around. Nothing crazy, just regular local celebrity sightings.”

Shane gulped and nodded, focusing his attention back on his menu.

“You guys been hanging out a lot with your time off?” 

“Mom,” Shane scolded, knowing where she was trying to push this. He just wasn’t quite ready to admit to her that she was right. Shane and Ilya had only been… whatever they were for a whopping fourty-eight hours. As much as he loved and trusted his mom, he didn’t need anyone else dissecting them. Shane sighed and put his menu down, giving a cursory look around to ensure no one was listening. “Look, I… I understand what you’re getting at. Okay? But even if there was something there, it would be… complicated, right? For a million different reasons. And definitely not something I would be blabbing about out in public, if at all.” Shane held his mother’s gaze, begging her to understand what he was saying. “Okay? Please?”

Yuna gave Shane a small, sad smile. “Okay,” she relented. “I understand.”

Shane nodded and settled back into his seat. He felt Yuna’s foot tap his shin under the table, a small comforting gesture.

“So, I was talking to the team over at Speedo the other day…”

Later, Shane let himself back into Ilya’s house, heart warming when Anya ran over to say hello and saw Ilya’s curls pop up from where he was lounging on the couch. Shane grinned and toed off his shoes, patting Anya hello and striding over to Ilya.

“How’s your mother?” Ilya asked. He dropped his phone onto his chest from where he was scrolling, his other arm thrown back over his head.

Shane promptly climbed into his lap and let his mouth find Ilya’s in lieu of responding, letting the neediness he felt in his bones ooze out of him and kissed Ilya deeply. Ilya happily obliged, his hands finding Shane’s waist and bringing him closer, his tongue pushing into Shane’s mouth and causing him to moan and involuntarily grind his hips down into Ilya’s.

Shane broke the kiss, smirking when Ilya let out a small whine and chased his mouth but to no avail. He reached up to brush the curls out of Ilya’s face, his thumb landing on his cheek. “Um,” Shane said, his voice coming out a bit rough. “My mom invited us over for dinner? She didn’t say when, just. Um.”

Ilya squeezed Shane’s hips lightly, urging Shane to continue.

Shane took a deep breath. “She said that it doesn’t even have to be anytime soon, necessarily. Just… whenever we’re ready.”

Ilya’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh,” he said softly. 

Shane’s heart pounded in his chest, searching Ilya’s eyes for any sort of hint as to how he was feeling, if he understood what he was saying. After a long moment, Ilya brought his hand up to cradle the side of Shane’s face. He couldn’t help but lean into the touch, his eyes falling shut as he nuzzled into Ilya’s palm. 

“Okay,” Ilya said softly. Shane’s eyes darted back to his, unsure if he misheard him. But Ilya gave him a small, comforting smile and a tiny nod. “I would love that. When we’re ready.”

A rush of relief spread through Shane, and he quickly brought his mouth back to Ilya’s, pressing their lips together in a firm, promising kiss. 

* * *

Day 4 of the All-Star Break

Ilya woke at three A.M. to the light under the bathroom door peaking out and Anya nowhere to be seen. Probably hogging the couch downstairs, Ilya thought. Ilya shuffled back into his sheets, reaching out to trace the empty spot next to him where Shane should be, willing him to come back to bed sooner rather than later. 

His wish was granted, the room once again falling into mostly darkness save for the moonlight, and Shane padding back to bed, clearly trying to crawl under the covers without disturbing Ilya. Once he was in, however, Ilya quickly scooped him up from behind and pulled Shane close to his chest.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, sorry,” Shane grumbled.

Ilya tightened his hold on Shane’s waist and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “I don’t mind,” he said truthfully. 

Shane turned over to face Ilya, a shy smile pulling at his face. “Hi,” he said gently, reaching up to cup Ilya’s jaw. 

“Hi,” Ilya replied, leaning over to capture Shane’s lips with his. It was a soft, sweet kiss that quickly turned dirty, with Shane pulling Ilya closer to him and Ilya guiding Shane to his back. He straddled Shane and easily pinned him to the bed, Shane feeling absolutely boneless beneath him as their mouths worked together, pushing and pulling. 

Ilya felt his cock stiffen in his briefs and reached down to palm Shane through his, happy to find Shane already hard for him. Ilya grinned into his mouth and kissed his way down his neck. He couldn’t help but nip and suck along the skin, spurred on by Shane’s moans, and allowed himself to suck hard at the crook of Shane’s neck. He gasped underneath Ilya, instinctively flinching away but quickly submitting to him, and his hand found the back of Ilya’s neck to keep him there. Ilya kissed and licked the spot soothingly, and in the lowlight he could faintly see a bruise quickly blooming under his mouth. “That will heal before the break is over, yes?”

Shane groaned. “Not that you care, asshole.”

Ilya grinned and placed another soft kiss over the hickey. “I think you like it.”

Shane directed Ilya’s mouth back up to his, nipping at Ilya’s bottom lip. “I’d like it better if you made an effort to get inside me.”

“You are so bossy. In all the times I’ve ever imagined fucking you, I don’t know why I didn’t think you would be this bossy.”

Shane ignored him, silencing him with a kiss and reached down to shimmy out of his underwear. Ilya followed suit, letting Shane guide his hand to his hole. Ilya circled the rim with his pointer finger and dipped the tip inside, marveling at how loose Shane still was from their activities before bed. Ilya heard him whine at the feeling of the intrusion and quickly pressed a loud, smacking kiss to his hip before reaching for the lube still sitting on the nightstand. He slicked up one finger and slid home easily, causing Shane to moan and writhe happily underneath him. 

“Hurry up,” Shane told him, planting his feet flat on the bed and pushing back onto Ilya’s hand.

Ilya shook his head and smiled. “You are unbelievable,” he told Shane, turning his head to kiss the inside of his knee. 

“No, you,” Shane bit back lamely, too needy to come up with any kind of clever quip. Ilya quickly drizzled lube on the rest of his fingers and pressed a second finger inside of him. “Oh, fuck,” Shane moaned, leaning his head back into the pillow.

Ilya continued dropping small kisses along the inside of Shane’s leg. “Look at me,” he said softly. 

Shane tilted his head up and made eye contact with Ilya. Ilya gently kissed down Shane’s leg, his inner thigh, to his hipbone while keeping his eyes locked on Shane. Shane’s breathing was becoming unsteady, sending a thrill through Ilya. Without dropping his gaze, Ilya slowly took the tip of Shane’s cock into his mouth while inserting a third finger. 

“Jesus fucking christ-” 

Ilya hummed around Shane and gently smacked the side of his ass when his head tipped backwards again. He dropped Shane’s cock from his mouth as Shane looked back up at him. “Eyes on me,” Ilya reminded him.

“Fuck… Who’s bossy now?” Shane panted.

Ilya grinned and crooked his fingers inside of Shane just right. Shane, without so much as blinking at Ilya, let out a primal cry. Ilya wasn’t sure how he didn’t come right there, even without being touched. 

Unable to wait any longer, Ilya pulled his hand from Shane. “On your knees,” he told Shane as he reached over to grab a condom from the drawer. Shane quickly obeyed, turning over on all fours to present his ass to Ilya. Ilya rolled the condom on and lubed himself up before taking two handfuls of Shane’s cheeks, spreading them wide to see his red, puffy hole. “Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groaned at the sight, and quickly lined himself up and began pressing into him. 

Shane’s head dropped down with a groan, pushing his ass back into Ilya to force him in deeper, faster. Ilya let him, mesmerized by the sight of Shane trying to fuck himself on his cock. Shane took Ilya inside of him completely and Ilya felt his ass squeeze around him and had to take deep, steadying breaths so as to not lose it immediately. His hands found their way to Shane’s ass again, massaging the cheeks as Shane adjusted to the feeling of Ilya’s cock.

“Please fuck me,” Ilya heard Shane whine, his head lifting up to peak at Ilya over his shoulder. 

Ilya groaned, not in the mood to tease Shane for much longer. He felt as if his own cock was going to fucking implode if he didn’t start fucking Shane in earnest immediately. 

Ilya took hold of Shane’s hips and started pounding into him, as hard and deep as he thought Shane could take. Shane screamed, a litany of “Yes, fuck, just like that, fuck, please Ilya please please please-” falling from his lips.

“So fucking good for me,” Ilya panted, not even sure if Shane could hear him over his own cries. “Like your ass was made for my cock, huh?” He let one hand travel up the expanse of Shane’s muscular back, pushing him down square between the shoulders to hold his upper half against the mattress. Shane buried his face into the pillow, muffling his sounds. 

Ilya felt Shane adjust his stance slightly, his legs opening wider for Ilya and arching his back perfectly, causing Ilya to fuck right into Shane’s prostate. Shane let out another wail underneath him, legs trembling from the sensation. The sight of Shane’s ass popping out that much more made Ilya feel insane, the way his sculpted body hugged Ilya’s cock so nicely as he pounded Shane. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, mostly to himself. 

Shane must have heard him, though, because he turned his head to the side so Ilya could hear his noises, holding the pillow underneath him in a death grip. “Fuck, Ilya, please…”

“Please what?”

“Please let me come,” Shane begged. 

Ilya moaned. “Yeah? You want to come on my cock?”

Ilya saw tears leaking out of the corners of Shane’s eyes as he nodded. “Fuck, it feels so good. You feel so good, Ilya, please…”

“Shane, fuck, come for me…”

Shane let out a piercing cry and came untouched underneath them, making a mess of the sheets they had just changed a couple hours earlier. Ilya fucked him through it, stilling moments later as Shane squeezed around him and let his own orgasm take over. He cursed the condom in that moment, wanting nothing more than to fill Shane to the brim with all of him. 

They each panted in the suddenly too quiet room, and Ilya dropped his forehead to the spot between Shane’s shoulders where there was now a red mark in the shape of Ilya’s hand. He dotted his shoulder blades with small kisses, soothingly rubbing a hand up and down Shane’s side. Shane propped himself up and turned his head over his shoulder to look at Ilya, and Ilya could have sworn his dick gave another interested twitch. Shane’s hair was a mess, face flushed and pupils blown wide, and was looking at Ilya with the softest, most caring look he had ever seen. Ilya leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Shane’s lips, his heart beating out of his chest at this point as he pulled out of Shane. They collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs, brushing and kissing any part of each other they could reach. 

As Ilya pulled the condom off and tossed it over the bed haphazardly, he thought that they should clean up before Shane started to complain about the wet patch on the bed underneath them. But Shane was like jelly next to him, eyes closed as his fingers gently played with Ilya’s hair with his leg splayed over his hip, locking Ilya in place. Ilya pulled him in closer by the waist and settled in under Shane’s chin, letting them have a couple minutes of peace before they would have to get up. 

* * *

“Can I ask you something?”

A few hours later the sunlight was streaming into Ilya’s bedroom, casting the bed in a warm glow. The sheets were pooled at their waist as if they were in a bad 2000’s rom-com, Shane with an arm thrown around Ilya’s shoulders. Ilya was playing with Shane’s fingers from where his arm draped over him while they chatted, chirped, and lazily made out before they got up.

Ilya shifted from his spot under the crook of Shane’s arm at his question, flopping over on his stomach with his chin resting on Shane’s pecs. “What is it?”

Shane swallowed, seemingly struggling to find the words. “Are you… seeing anyone?”

Ilya’s eyebrows shot up. Whatever he had been expecting Shane to ask, that wasn’t it. He supposed they had never talked much, or at all, about their individual love lives, but that had always been self-preservation on Ilya’s end. If Shane had been with anyone while Ilya quietly pined for him, it was probably for the best that he didn’t know in the moment.

“You mean, am I sleeping with anyone other than the Greek god I’ve had locked in my bedroom for four days?” Ilya dipped his head and pressed a kiss right in the center of Shane’s chest. “No,” he said simply. “No, I am not. Have not for a while, even.” He gave a small head tilt as if to say don’t rub it in.

Shane bit down his smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Ilya confirmed. “I have not been with anyone else since I was injured last year. It’s hard to find a date when you cannot even walk.”

Ilya could tell that Shane was staring at the mole on Ilya’s cheek, avoiding eye contact. “And once you could walk again?”

Ilya reached a hand up and brushed Shane’s cheek with his thumb, swiping back and forth over his freckles. “I was distracted, I suppose,” he said softly. Shane met his eyes again, and Ilya recognized the flow of relief spreading through him. “What about you?” Ilya asked, retreating his hand from Shane’s face. 

Shane reached up to grasp the hand before it traveled too far, holding it over his chest. “There is no one else. Not since I moved here.”

Ilya tangled his fingers with Shane’s. “But… do you want to? See others?”

“No,” Shane said immediately. “I’m not interested.”

Ilya exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding and brought their joint hands to his mouth, giving Shane’s fingers a small kiss. “I am not interested, either,” he said with a squeeze. 

Shane gave him a shaky nod before they drew in closer to give each other a firm, sealing kiss. 

* * *

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen these movies.”

“I grew up in Soviet Union. We didn’t have many things.”

Shane barked out a laugh and nudged Ilya’s shin where their legs were tangled in the middle of the couch. “You were literally an infant when the Soviet Union fell.”

Ilya waved a hand in the air to brush him off, turning back to the television currently playing the first Lord of the Rings movie. 

They woke up that morning to a fresh foot of snow on the ground with more coming down, so they decided to hunker down for the day. Ilya had been channel surfing when Shane told him to stop at Return of the King playing on cable, only to be told that Ilya had never seen any of the Lord of the Rings movies, and promptly grabbed the remote out of his hand and purchased the extended edition of Fellowship of the Ring on the first streaming service he saw. 

“I’ll Venmo you if you hate it,” Shane told Ilya when he protested him hitting Buy without a second thought. “But you won’t hate it.”

To Ilya’s credit, he did pay attention for the first ninety minutes or so of the movie before he made any comment. “You didn’t say how fucking long this thing is.”

Shane smirked. “Shush. It’s a generational masterpiece.”

Ilya rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, and before Shane knew it he had a lapful of Ilya Rozanov.

Shane huffed out a laugh. “Can I help you?”

Ilya braced himself over Shane’s head and bent down to capture his mouth in a kiss. “I just missed you.”

“I’ve been right next to you the whole time!”

“Mm. Too far away,” Ilya said, pressing his full body weight into Shane and kissing along his face. “You like this, anyway.”

“Says who?”

“Says you.”

“No I don’t,” but Shane couldn’t help but smile softly at him.

Ilya hummed and pressed gentle, soothing kisses to his neck. “Okay. Then what do you like?”

Shane’s smile turned embarrassed more than anything, grateful that Ilya wasn’t looking at his face at this moment. “I think you’ve figured out a lot of it for yourself pretty quickly,” Shane said, squirming a little under Ilya’s touch. 

“But I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me what makes you feel good, solnyshko,” Ilya told him, the sound of his soft, raspy voice going straight to Shane’s dick. 

Ilya lifted his head up to look at him, a teasing grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Shane reached up to brush a stray curl off his forehead. “I like you,” he told Ilya, hoping he could trade one kind of vulnerability for another. 

Ilya’s face softened. “I like you, too, Shane,” he said, but the mischievous look in his eye didn’t disappear. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Shane huffed and closed his eyes, leaning back into the throw pillows behind him and the arm of the couch. He inadvertently opened his legs wider, allowing Ilya to adjust his position, and accidentally brushed their clothed cocks together. Shane groaned a little at the feeling, but made no move to separate them. 

“What if I go first?” Ilya asked, his mouth moving to suck at the point just below Shane’s ear that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “I like talking. I like telling my partner exactly how they are making me feel.” Ilya trailed his mouth across Shane’s throat to press open-mouthed kisses to the other side of his neck. “I prefer topping, but every now and then I like it when my ass gets some attention,” he said, now intentionally slowly grinding his crotch down into Shane’s. Shane moaned and stretched his neck to give Ilya more room to explore, but Ilya only moved back to look him in the eyes. “Your turn.”

Shane guided Ilya’s mouth to his, surprised when Ilya let him lick into his mouth for a few moments before parting. Ilya panted into his mouth as he kept up his slow roll, the layers of their briefs and sweatpants between them not nearly giving them enough relief, but it felt far too good to stop. Shane swallowed. “I almost always prefer bottoming,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “I, um. I like… being given directions.”

He heard Ilya hum in the back of his throat before leaning down to give Shane a soft, lingering kiss. “What else?”

Shane’s head was buzzing, his senses completely overwhelmed by Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. Ilya’s body pressed on top of his, the smell of his body wash, the taste of his mouthwash. It was all too much, and yet he needed more. “I like giving up control,” he admitted, his voice almost a little too soft and vulnerable for how fucking turned on he was. He closed his eyes and gripped Ilya’s waist to push his own hips up into Ilya’s. “I like making you feel good, and being told I’m doing it well. Doing it right.”

Ilya groaned and crashed his mouth to Shane’s and rolled his crotch against Shane’s harder, searching for any and every bit of friction they could find for their cocks. Shane happily let him, reaching around to grab Ilya’s ass and pull him even closer. Ilya pulled away from the kiss and panted against his mouth. “So fucking perfect, Shane. You’re better than I ever imagined.”

Shane groaned, again thinking it would be so much better if they just took off their fucking pants, but he couldn’t stop. “What exactly did you imagine?” Shane couldn’t help smiling up at Ilya. 

Ilya groaned. “Remember that very first time? The way you dropped to your knees so quickly for me?” Ilya pressed a hard kiss to Shane’s mouth before continuing. “I always imagined you would be that eager for everything. I would let you suck me, you would let me fuck you, whatever I wanted… I pictured you taking it and loving it.” Their hips started speeding up, setting a steady rhythm that mixed with Ilya’s words against Shane’s mouth made his head spin. “God, Shane, for years you were all I thought about. Wishing other people were you. Wondering what kind of sounds you would make underneath me. It was fucked up. I had a tiny taste of you, and it was never, ever enough.”

Shane brought his hands up to Ilya’s face and dragged him into a bruising kiss, moaning and licking into his mouth as they chased their orgasms. “Me too, fuck, Ilya… whenever I jerked off and pictured you I thought I was fucking crazy. Wanted your hands on me. Wanted your voice in my ear… I’ve wanted this the whole fucking time.”

Ilya’s brow was furrowed in concentration, and Shane absurdly thought in the moment that he looked adorable, but the pressure building up was quickly becoming too much to ignore. Their movements were uncoordinated and desperate, as if they were still those two terrified teenagers all those years ago.

“Don’t stop, Ilya, god…”

“Fuck, Shane-”

The warm sensation of Ilya coming in his pants against him was just what Shane needed to push himself over the edge, a guttural cry escaping his throat. Shane let his head fall back against the throw pillow, and Ilya moved in to kiss his cheek before dropping his head onto his shoulder to catch his breath. He quickly became aware of how gross and sticky he felt from the waist down, not to mention the embarrassment and absurdity of two grown men dry humping like out of control, hormonal teens, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He felt Ilya’s shoulders shake from laughter as well, and nudged him upwards to look at him. “Hey,” he said, with a dumb smile on his face. Ilya looked completely fucked out, his hair a mess and face flushed, and happily leaned in to kiss Shane. “That was ridiculous.”

“You liked it,” Ilya said with a smirk, lifting himself up on his forearms to hover over Shane. His attention briefly turned back to the TV, then did a quick double take and furrowed his brows. “Is that the fucking meme!?” he exclaimed. 

Shane, who had completely forgotten they had been watching a movie, and oh god dry humping to completion during the Council of Elrond added a whole other layer of embarrassment to this situation, turned to see what Ilya was talking about just as Boromir on screen said, “One does not simply walk into Mordor.”

Shane groaned and pushed Ilya away. “Get off of me, we’re gross.”

“How many fucking memes are from this movie?!”

Shane sighed. “You’re not ready for the second one.”

* * *

Day 5 of the All-Star Break

Ilya sat in the waiting room of Galina’s office, waiting to be called in. When he had made the appointment, he thought having a meeting with Galina would help to keep him from spiraling during the break, clearly not anticipating Shane basically moving in for the week and keeping him plenty busy. Ilya had debated canceling his appointment, not wanting to miss out on any time that could be better spent with him, but Shane had insisted that he still go.

“It’s important, isn’t it? And I’ll be right here when you get back? Unless… unless you want to be alone after, I can head home-”

Ilya shook his head. “No. I want you here after. Please?” he had said, and reached out to pull Shane close to him.

“Of course,” Shane told him, pressing a kiss to his hairline. Then, just to be a shit, asked, “Are you going to talk about me?”

Ilya snorted. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Ilya?”

He popped his head up when his name was called, giving Galina a quick smile before following her to her office and having a seat.

“So, how have you been?” Galina asked in Russian as they settled into their seats.

“Um, good, I think,” Ilya said, not really knowing where to begin.

Galina raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

Ilya tilted his head back and forth in thought, before settling on, “Yes. I think.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly. “How has your break been?”

Ilya couldn’t help the small smile from forming on his face. “Good. Very good. Relaxing.”

“You seem to be in a good mood,” Galina observed. 

“Yes, um… when I made this appointment, I thought I would be much more upset at not being at the All-Star game than I actually am.”

“You are not bothered by it now?”

Ilya shook his head. “Not as much as I thought, no.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Ilya shrugged. “Just… nice to have some time off, I guess.”

Galina hummed. “What have you been doing with your free time?”

Ilya sighed, sure that he can no longer avoid this. “Everything I say here remains confidential, right? Unless it’s something, like, really terrible.”

Galina gave him an odd look. “Of course. You know it does.”

Ilya nodded. “I told you how Shane Hollander and I have become good friends, yes? Since he came to Ottawa?”

“You have,” Galina confirmed. “Along with… other feelings, you’ve mentioned.”

“Right. So. Um. It’s… evolved, I guess.”

Galina tilted her head, but didn't let any surprise show on her face. “Oh?”

Ilya nodded shakily. “Turns out some of those other feelings were mutual. I think.”

Galina blinked at him. “You sure are doing a lot of thinking today.”

Ilya scoffed. “No, I mean… we’re sleeping together. And he’s been staying with me during the break. And it’s… I think it really could be something.” He outwardly cringed at himself using that phrase again, and he saw Galina give him a small smile.

“So this is a good thing?”

Ilya nodded. “Yes. It’s literally only been a few days, but. I’m happy,” he said. 

“And you think this can be a serious relationship?”

Ilya hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I know I want it to be, but. There’s a lot of factors at play. We can’t come out any time soon. I’m still a Russian citizen, and like. There are no rules against dating your teammate, I’m sure, but only because no one in the NHL thought that would ever be a possibility. So whatever it is, we have to keep it a secret,” he finished softly, eyes focusing on the leg of the chair Galina was sitting in. 

“Do you think you would be able to keep it a secret? If it does become serious?”

Ilya considered the question, then slowly nodded. “For him, yes.”

Galina hummed, considering him. “Would you want to?”

Ilya bit his lip. “No,” he said. “But I don’t see any other option we have right now.”

“What do you think would happen? Best case scenario, the public finds out you’re in a relationship with Shane Hollander.”

“Best case scenario?” Ilya huffed out a laugh. “Nothing. Best case scenario is that nothing happens. Nothing changes, we can keep playing, ideally together, and no one gives a shit.”

Galina braced herself. “And the worst case scenario?”

“The league kicks us out, I’m deported and sent to a prison camp in Siberia, while Shane realizes that I was never worth the trouble and finds a nicer, hotter man who can love him publicly.”

Galina sighed. “Ilya.”

Ilya threw his hands up. “You said the worst case scenario!”

“And what does Shane think about this?”

Ilya looked down at his lap and picked at his finger nail. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

“Why not?”

“Like I said, it’s only been a few days. And the few days have been fucking perfect, I don’t want to break the spell. Not yet, at least.”

Galina was silent for a moment, then said: “I saw photos of you two at the grocery store the other day.”

Ilya groaned and let his head thump against the back of the couch. “Fucking idiots. Can’t two men grocery shop anymore without it being gay?”

Galina smiled, clearly amused. “I didn’t see anyone calling it gay, Ilya.”

Ilya ignored her. “Of course not. A couple of single, thirty-year-old, multi-millionaire men with perfect physiques grocery shopping together on a Monday afternoon. That’s gay as shit. What was I thinking?” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “This is the problem with today’s youth. No sense of privacy or decorum.”

“You both seemed tense in those photos.”

Ilya looked at her, then back in his lap. “We’ve gone out in public plenty of times before,” he said. “But that was the first time since we started… whatever it is we’re doing. I think we were both a little paranoid.”

Galina shrugged. “It will get easier,” she advised. “People know that you two are friends, they’ll stop caring eventually.”

Ilya wondered if that was true. “I just… I’m scared that I’m not worth it for him,” he said softly. “I know that he’s already tired of hiding that he’s gay. He says he’s gotten less careful about hiding it, especially when he was still in Montreal. I don’t want to ask him to take a step back just for me.”

“If the roles were reversed, would you take a step back for him? If his safety was potentially at risk?”

Ilya glared at her. “I don’t like these what-if’s,” he said. Galina held his glare, waiting for him to answer the question. He sighed. “Without a doubt, I would,” he said. “And if he feels even a fraction for me what I feel for him, I know that he would do it, too.”

Galina nodded. “You two are in a tough situation.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.”

She ignored him. “Do you plan on talking to him?”

Ilya shrugged. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Probably.” Galina sighed, causing Ilya to again throw a hand up in frustration. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I know we’ve only been sleeping together since Saturday, but by chance are you in love with me? And if so, do you love me enough to either hide me and our relationship from the Russian authorities and the entire world, or marry me and make me a permanent resident?’” He gave Galina an exasperated look. 

“You know, I work with a lot of Russians, but you might be the most dramatic one who comes to see me.”

“Thank you.”

“Ilya,” she sighed. “All I’m saying is that you have a tendency to act like things are fine when you are not. You are very good at putting on a mask for the people you care about. But sometimes in doing that, you can take away other people’s agencies. I understand that it’s complicated, but hiding from it takes away Shane’s chance to choose what is best for him as well. You can’t decide that you’re not worth it for him. Only he gets to decide if he wants to be with you, no matter the circumstances.”

Ilya swallowed and bit down on the inside of his cheek. “You piss me off sometimes, do you know that?”

Galina shrugged. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Ilya returned home an hour later to see Shane sitting on the living room floor playing tug-of-war with Anya, both of their heads popping up happily when they heard the door open. “Hey!” Shane grinned at him. Anya ran over to him, and Ilya couldn’t help but scoop her up in his arms and press his face into her fur and kiss her hello, the familiarity of it comforting, and smiled when he felt her licking his face in her own greeting. Ilya kicked off his shoes and wandered into the living room, where Shane was still on the floor with an easy smile on his face. “How’d it go?”

Ilya squeezed Anya once more before setting her on the ground, watching her run back to her toy. Ilya sighed and moved over to Shane, stepping over his legs and unceremoniously plopping himself in his lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Oof,” Shane chuckled, then easily wrapped his arms around Ilya’s waist, hugging him close. Ilya felt one hand gently rub up and down the small of his back, causing him to melt into the touch and bury his face in Shane’s neck. “Are you okay?” Ilya nodded, still not responding verbally. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ilya pulled away to look at Shane, cradling his face in his hands. His eyes lingered on the fading purple bruise he had sucked into Shane’s neck and let his finger trace the outline. He leaned down to press a firm, promising kiss to his lips. “Later, maybe,” he said. “Right now I am just happy that you are here.”

Shane gave him a small smile and squeezed his waist, bringing his mouth back to Ilya’s.

* * *

Day 6 of the All-Star Break

Shane was still asleep when Ilya bent over him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Morning,” he whispered. Shane stirred and looked up at Ilya, freshly showered and dressed. “I’m taking Anya for a walk. Back soon, okay?”

Shane blinked, slowly registering the words while still half-asleep, then reached a hand out searching for Ilya. His hand landed in the middle of Ilya’s chest and grasped his shirt, tugging him down so they could be at eye level. Shane leaned up and pressed his mouth to Ilya’s, sighing contentedly. He pulled away when he felt Ilya smile against his lips. “Don’t keep the princess waiting.”

Ilya snorted and pressed another kiss to Shane’s cheek before he slinked back under the covers.

Shane forced himself out of bed a few minutes later after hearing the front door close, brushing his teeth and hopping in the shower, then stumbling down the stairs in only a pair of briefs. He went ahead and filled up Anya’s bowl with her breakfast then started a pot of coffee. He braced over the counter, staring at the machine as if the sight alone could magically power some alertness into him. 

He was still staring at the machine when he heard the front door open. Anya ran in the room, tail wagging when she saw he was awake, then beelined for her food bowl without a second thought. He heard Ilya stomp the snow off his shoes in the entryway before emerging flushed from the cold, his hair a mess of curls from hiding under his winter hat. He gave Shane an easy grin when he saw he was awake, and Shane found himself gripping the edge of the counter, physically restraining himself against the wave of emotions that flooded through him at the sight of Ilya.

Ilya noticed Anya munching away at her food bowl. “Did you feed her?” 

Shane nodded, not trusting himself to speak, worried that the only words he could produce right now would be drastic and dropped far, far too soon.

Ilya reached for Shane’s waist, his fingers icy from the cold, but Shane didn’t mind. “Thank you,” Ilya said, kissing Shane on the cheek.

Shane smiled at him and cleared his throat while turning to the cabinet to grab two mugs. “How bad is it out there?” Shane asked, finally finding his voice.

“What’s the point of living in a big, fancy neighborhood with all these rich fucks if no one shovels their fucking sidewalks? I know they can all afford to hire someone to do it, so just fucking do it! Poor Anya’s legs are too short to even poop properly in these conditions.”

Shane chuckled as he poured Ilya his coffee. “Poor thing,” he teased, handing the mug to Ilya.

Ilya raised the mug to his lips to take a sip. “Are you hungry?” he asked, looking at Shane over the rim.

Shane stared at him for a beat, before shaking his head. “No,” he said, then moved in to kiss Ilya deeply. 

Ilya inhaled, slightly surprised, but Shane heard him set the mug on the counter behind him and pulled him in tight, not letting up on Ilya’s mouth. Ilya’s hands moved up to cradle Shane’s jaw, angling their mouths so Ilya’s tongue could find his. Shane furrowed his brow and moaned into Ilya’s mouth, pulling away only to nip at his bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” Ilya gasped, pulling back to look at Shane’s face. Ilya’s hand was steady on his jaw, stabilizing him in a way Shane didn’t realize he needed.

Shane gulped and tightened his grip on Ilya’s waist. “I need you,” he whispered. 

Ilya stared at him for a beat before nodding and slamming his mouth back on Shane’s, giving him a quick, dirty kiss. “Come on,” Ilya said. “Bed. Now.”

Ilya dragged Shane up the stairs in a daze, nearly tripping over his feet twice in their rush, and before he knew it Ilya was throwing him on the bed and climbing on top of him and crushing their mouths together. Ilya pulled away once again to look at Shane, causing him to whine and chase Ilya’s mouth. “Are you okay?”

Shane nodded vigorously. “I’m good, I promise,” he told Ilya. “I just really, really need you.”

Ilya nodded once and gave Shane a deep, sweet kiss before whispering against his mouth, “I’ve got you, solnyshko. Let me take care of you.”

Shane sighed as Ilya’s mouth trailed down his jaw to his neck, relishing in the feeling of Ilya’s teeth and tongue laving against his skin. Today was likely the last day they would be able to leave marks on each other so they would fade before they returned to practice early next week, and Shane expected that they were both going to take full advantage of that.

Sure enough, Ilya’s lips traveled down to his chest and quickly sucked a mark right above Shane’s nipple. He moved down to pull the nipple into his mouth, holding it between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. Shane writhed underneath Ilya and looked down at him, absolutely transfixed as Ilya left a trail of small hickeys across his chest to do the same to his other nipple. “Jesus fucking christ…”

Ilya lifted his head and stared at Shane very seriously. “How many times can you come in an hour?” 

Shane guffawed and squirmed a little under Ilya’s gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe twice?”

Ilya sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. “Let’s test that.”

Shane gulped. He didn’t think he had ever been more turned on in his entire life. 

Ilya pushed his own sweatpants and underwear off and crawled back over Shane, nosing at the outline of his cock in his underwear before moving to suck another hickey into Shane’s skin right above the waistband. He could feel the burn of each mark Ilya had left on him, searing his skin as a brand claiming him as Ilya’s. He distantly imagined a world in which they would walk into the Centaurs locker room, covered head to toe in marks left behind by each other, a proud sigil of the other. The thought made another rush of emotion bubble up in Shane’s throat, and he quickly arched his hips up into Ilya’s face to wash them away. 

Ilya, unaware of the conflict raging in Shane’s chest, merely smirked and tugged Shane’s underwear down to free his cock. It was entirely possible that a strong breeze would send Shane over the edge at that point, and he gasped at just the feeling of Ilya’s breath hovering over his cock. 

“Listen to me, Shane,” Ilya said gently. “I’m going to suck your dick, and you’re going to come for me. Whenever you want, okay? I’m going to make you feel so good, and I want you to let go. But then I’m going to flip you over and take you apart so slowly, you’re going to fucking hate me. You’re going to curse and cry and beg me to let you come again. And maybe I’ll let you. Or maybe it’ll be my turn. We will see. And then I’m going to fuck you so hard into this mattress, and you’re going to come screaming my name so loudly that I want the neighbors to hear. I want them to know that I’m the one making you feel this way.” Ilya hoisted himself up to bring him eye level with Shane again, giving him a soft kiss. “Is that okay?”

Correction: this was the most turned on Shane had ever been in his life. 

Shane roughly grabbed Ilya’s face and crashed their mouths together, teeth clacking and tongues sliding. “Yes, please Ilya, I want that, fuck…”

Ilya wasted no time in moving back down Shane’s body and sucking his cock into his mouth, taking him as deep as he could and hollowing his cheeks as he licked at the shaft and the head. Shane was moaning above him, chanting Ilya’s name like a mantra. “I’m going to fucking come, fuck, Ilya-”

Shane pushed his hand into Ilya’s hair as he came down Ilya’s throat, holding eye contact as he pulsed inside his mouth. The second Ilya popped his mouth off of Shane, Shane was hauling him up by the hair to crash their mouths together, desperately tasting himself on Ilya’s tongue. Ilya let him, Shane realized, because this was the last bit of control he was going to have for a while. “Still good?” Ilya asked him when he pulled away. 

Shane nodded. “Still good,” he smiled. 

“Good. On your stomach.”

Shane slowly turned over, lifting his hips for Ilya to shove a pillow underneath him, groaning at the small twitch his sensitive dick gave at the feeling of it brushing the fabric. Ilya straddled Shane’s thighs, bending down to kiss the back of his neck, down his spine, then biting hard into the muscle of Shane’s ass cheek. Shane could practically see the smirk on Ilya’s face at the moan he let out. 

Ilya spread his cheeks, exposing his hole to the cool air, and nearly jumped off the bed when Ilya kicked a wide stripe from his balls, up and over his hole, and to the base of his spine. “God, Ilya…”

Shane buried his face into the pillows and felt the bed shift, then the telltale sound of the lube cap being popped open. He expected to soon feel the cool glide of Ilya’s slick fingers against him, but they never came. Instead, he felt a hand spread one of his cheeks, and heard the wet thwap thwap of Ilya jerking off. 

He lifted his head and peaked over his shoulder, moaning embarrassingly loud at the sight of Ilya leaning over him, dick in hand, staring at Shane’s asshole as he touched himself. Ilya looked up and smirked. “I decided it is my turn first,” he said, his breath coming out unevenly. 

Shane wiggled his ass as much as he could while trapped under Ilya. “You gonna come on me?”

“Fuck, yes, Shane,” Ilya groaned, his hand speeding up. 

Shane had to ignore the way he felt his cock stirring, trapped between him and the pillow. He didn’t dare look away from Ilya, with his pupils blown out and a layer of sweat forming on his chest. “You are so fucking hot, Ilya, shit-” Shane wiggled his ass again, the movement bringing some relief to his own cock. “Want you to come all over me. Please.”

Ilya looked up at him, his hand moving impossibly fast. “Shane,” he cried, and Shane felt Ilya’s orgasm explode across his lower back, his ass, and drip down his crack. 

“Fucking hell,” Shane dropped his head back into the pillows, the sight of Ilya fucked out and the sensation of him dripping over his body too much to bear. He was trying to get his own breathing under control when he felt a slick finger prod at his rim, swiping some of Ilya’s come and pushing it inside of him. “Oh my god…”

“You are so beautiful, solnyshko,” Ilya said, his voice rough from his own orgasm. “You look perfect with me spread all over you like this.”

Ilya slowly dipped his finger in and out of Shane, pressing further in each time he re-entered his body. He felt Ilya use a finger gather up more of his come across his ass and fuck it back into his hole. Shane was moaning wildly, arching his ass back into Ilya’s hand. 

Ilya inserted a second finger, then asked, “Have you ever used any toys on yourself?” 

Shane lifted his head up and peaked behind him. He gave Ilya a shaky nod. 

Ilya growled. “Tell me.”

Shane dropped his head as Ilya crooked his fingers inside of him, searching for his prostate. “I have, fuck, I have. Um,” he panted as Ilya found that spot and pressed against it perfectly. “I have a dildo,” he gasped. 

Any other time, Shane probably would have missed the way Ilya’s hand faltered just slightly inside of him. But with how sensitive he was, the way he felt like every atom of his body was screaming with oversensitivity, he felt Ilya pause for just a moment, and the twitch of his fingers readjusting inside of him. “You use it often?” 

Shane nodded. 

Ilya grabbed a handful of Shane’s ass, then leaned over his back to murmur in his ear. “You like to fuck yourself with it? Imagining it was a real cock pounding into you?”

Shane knew what he was asking, and who was he to deny him. He gulped, stealing a moment to catch his breath. “I imagine it’s you fucking me, yeah.” 

Ilya groaned and dropped his head between Shane’s shoulder blades and whispered something in Russian that he couldn’t catch. Ilya lifted his head up and pressed a kiss to the back of Shane’s neck. “I should make you go get it right now.”

“Oh, fuck,” Shane moaned, burying his face in the pillow. 

“That’s the beauty of being neighbors, right? You’ll be back in no time. I wouldn’t even have time to jerk off again while you were gone.”

“Ilya, please-”

“Would you like that? Coming back here and showing me exactly how you fuck yourself with your toy?” Ilya slipped a third finger inside of Shane, beginning to fuck his hole in earnest. Shane gasped, grinding back against Ilya as deep as he could. “Spreading yourself open for me, showing me how sweetly you’ve been moaning my name without me even knowing, fucking yourself with it, not knowing that you could have had the real thing whenever you wanted, you just had to ask, Shane…”

“Fucking christ!” Shane cried, slamming his ass back to meet the thrust of Ilya’s fingers. 

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Shane. I promise. I’ll watch you fuck yourself, get yourself all nice and open for me, then I’ll slide in and never fucking leave if that’s what you want. Anything. You just have to ask.”

“Please, please Ilya…”

“Please what?”

“I’m so close, I’m going to come, please let me come-”

Ilya shushed him. “I’ve got you. Let go for me. Be good and come for me.”

“Jesus fuck-!” Shane clenched and spilled into the pillow underneath him, a startling amount of come spurting out of him considering he had just come not long ago. Ilya’s hand stilled within him as he came down, leaving kisses all across the back of Shane’s shoulders. He slowly removed his fingers from his ass and gently turned Shane over on his back. Between Ilya’s dried come on his back and Shane’s own on his stomach, he felt crusty, gross, and so fucking good. 

Ilya braced himself over Shane and bent to give him a sweet, slow kiss. “You are so good for me,” he said. “Do you have one more in you? Be honest.”

Shane’s brain felt like absolute goo. He slowly processed Ilya’s question, then remembered his earlier promise of fucking him into the mattress, and impossibly the fire in his chest still simmered. He looked up at Ilya and nodded. “Yes. But I need a minute.”

“Holy shit, Shane,” Ilya whispered, pressing his face into Shane’s neck. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

Shane brought a hand up to Ilya’s hair, slowly scratching at his scalp. He could feel Ilya fully erect once again pressing into his leg while Ilya peppered sweet kisses all along his face, neck, and chest. 

Shane shifted them so they were laying on their sides facing each other, and Shane bent down to kiss along Ilya’s pecs, kissing and nipping at the skin. He gave Ilya his own matching hickeys, relishing in the sounds he was pulling out of Ilya. 

Ilya hooked a finger under Shane’s chin and brought their mouths back together. “Are you ready?”

Shane nodded. While he wasn’t hard again just yet, he knew he would get there as soon as Ilya pushed into him. But when Ilya reached around him for a condom, Shane stopped him. “I just want to feel you,” he said. “Is that okay?”

Ilya’s mouth dropped open, and Shane had to fight the urge to kiss it close. He grinned when Ilya nodded enthusiastically. “Very, very okay.”

Ilya maneuvered Shane back on his back before reaching again for the bottle of lube and slicking his cock up again. He positioned himself between Shane’s legs and shoved the ruined pillow from earlier underneath his ass, bending his legs back enough to access his hole. Ilya gave Shane one more questioning look, and Shane nodded. “Please fuck me,” he said gently. 

Ilya slowly pressed inside of him with a sigh. “Oh my god, Shane…” Ilya’s head dropped, his chin meeting his chest, his crucifix necklace bouncing against his skin. “I’m not going to last very long. Fuck, you are incredible.”

Shane felt like he was going to explode. His body was so sensitive, and the feeling of Ilya bare inside of him was indescribable. He took deep, steadying breaths as Ilya bottomed out, who himself looked like he was about thirty seconds away from losing his shit. “Ilya…” he moaned. 

Ilya looked at him and bent down, their foreheads resting together. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Shane mumbled. “I’m so fucking good, Ilya, shut the fuck up.”

Ilya’s eyes crinkled with a wide smile. “Okay, okay,” he laughed. He pressed his lips to Shane’s as he slowly began pulling out, almost removing himself entirely before pushing back in again, torturously slowly. 

Shane wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist, locking him tighter to his body. “I thought you said you were going to fuck me,” he teased. 

“That was before I knew you were going to let me in raw,” Ilya laughed. “Give me a fucking minute here.”

Shane chuckled, and clenched his ass around Ilya’s dick just to be mean. He felt his cock filling out at the groan Ilya let out in response. 

After a few minutes, Ilya began rocking his hips, building up a steady rhythm inside of Shane. Shane had never been so simultaneously horny and in pain in his life, with every nerve ending from the waist down feeling like it had been cut open and set ablaze. But the feeling of Ilya’s cock hitting his prostate perfectly on every thrust was overpowering all of his senses. 

“How the fuck are you hard again?” Ilya asked him. 

“You told me to,” Shane panted. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”

Ilya groaned, and began speeding up his thrusts. “You really have no idea how hot you are,” Ilya told him. “You were made for this. Made for me.”

Shane moaned in response, his legs clutching tighter around Ilya’s waist. Ilya was jackhammering his hips inside of Shane, pushing him further up the bed. Shane reached an arm up to brace himself against the headboard.

“Shane, fuck, I’m not going to last, where-”

“Inside,” Shane rushed to say. “Come inside me, Ilya, please…”

That’s all it took, Shane begging for it, before Ilya stilled and Shane felt warmth flooding inside him. Ilya was breathing heavily above him, his eyes locked on Shane. Shane couldn’t help but reach to brush away a bead of sweat dripping down Ilya’s temple, letting his hand linger on his face. Ilya turned his head and pressed a kiss to the center of Shane’s palm, then slowly slid out of him. 

Shane whined at the emptiness, the sensation of Ilya trickling out of him deeply erotic and making his cock twitch. Ilya took notice and, despite looking so fucked out he might as well be on a different planet right now, slowly slid down his body, hooked Shane’s legs over his shoulders, and went to work tasting himself inside of Shane’s ass. 

Shane let out a loud cry as Ilya worked his tongue in and out, shoveling his own come out of Shane and into his mouth. Shane gripped the sheets tightly beneath him as Ilya inserted two fingers in his hole, scissoring them and stretching him open to shove his tongue in alongside the digits. 

“Holy fucking shit, Ilya.”

Ilya hummed against him, then removed his tongue to better angle his fingers to fuck against Shane’s prostate. “You’re doing so good, Shane. I know you’ve got one more in you. Can you give me one more? Come for me one more time?” 

Shane gasped as a final tidal wave crashed over him, his dick twitching untouched and spurting out a few weak streaks, but it was by far one of the most intense orgasms Shane had ever had. 

Ilya pressed a final kiss to the curve of Shane’s ass before climbing next to Shane and pulling him tight against his body. Shane let himself be manhandled and allowed Ilya to direct their mouths together in a deep, comforting kiss. Shane melted into the touch, blissed out to oblivion. “Are you okay?” Ilya asked softly.

Shane smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Very okay.”

“I am sorry if that was too… intense.”

Shane shook his head. “No. No, I mean, yes, it was intense, but… not ‘too’ anything.” He groped around for Ilya’s hand and brought it to his lips, leaving a soft kiss on his knuckles.

Ilya smiled softly at him, pressing one final kiss to Shane’s lips before tightening his hold on Shane. They settled into comfortable silence, the overwhelming noise in Shane’s head dulled as his eyes fluttered shut and quickly fell asleep in Ilya’s arms. 

* * *

Later that evening they were tucked in on the couch, Anya snuggling with them, as they tuned in for the Skills Competition of the All-Star game. 

“If Luca breaks our accuracy records, I’m killing myself.” 

Shane snorted and looked down at where Ilya’s head was resting in his lap. “You’re such a good mentor,” he said, his fingers aimlessly playing with his hair. Ilya merely hummed and leaned into the touch. 

They watched as the players competed in their events, Ilya audibly sighing in relief when Luca didn’t break Shane’s or his accuracy records that they still held from years prior, but they couldn’t help but cheer when Troy had a nice look during the breakaway competition that earned him the top spot. 

It was odd, Shane realized, watching this with Ilya. They had sat down and watched games and highlights together a million times before, but this was the first time in nearly a week that Shane had spared even a second thought for the sport itself. He’d been so lost in IlyaIlyaIlya that he nearly fucking forgot that they were professional hockey players. They don’t actually get to play house like this full time. They don’t get to fuck all day, they don’t get to cook dinner and walk the dog and snuggle up on the couch like this every day. 

This isn’t reality, Shane distantly thought. 

“Hey,” Ilya said, reaching a hand up to poke at Shane’s cheek. Shane startled, looking down at Ilya, realizing that he had stopped playing with Ilya’s hair. “You have that look on your face.”

Shane’s brow furrowed. “What look?”

“Your Thinking Big Thoughts look.” Ilya then pulled a face, his brow furrowed and jaw set. “This one.”

Shane snorted and reached above himself to stretch his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. He draped one arm along the back of the couch and let his other return to Ilya’s curls and turned his attention back to the TV, but Ilya kept looking at him expectantly. “What?”

“Don’t think big thoughts alone, Shane.”

“Is that another one from your therapist?”

Ilya leaned up to flick Shane in the ear, Shane trying and failing to bat his hand away. Ilya grunted and turned back to the television, leaving Shane with his Big Thoughts. 

They had two full days left before they had to return to practice. Two days of this perfect bubble they’d created together. It’s not like they couldn’t have moments like this one, Shane supposed, but come Monday morning they would walk back into the Centaurs locker room as nothing more than teammates, as if their entire world hadn’t been beautifully, wonderfully, perfectly flipped upside down this week. 

If they only had a couple days left of this, Shane wanted to make the most of it. 

* * *

Day 7 of the All-Star Break

“So, I was thinking…”

Ilya looked up from where he was scrolling on his phone at the kitchen island while Shane finished the dishes from their breakfast this morning. “Big Thoughts?”

Shane smiled, dropping a frying pan in the dish rack and drying his hands in the nearby kitchen towel. He turned and came around the island to stand close to Ilya. Ilya sat up and pivoted on his stool, opening his stance wide enough for Shane to stand between his legs. 

Shane rested his hands on Ilya’s shoulders, and avoided his eyes. Shane did this often when he was nervous, Ilya had noticed. He brought one hand to rest what he hoped was comfortingly on his bare waist. “What is it?” Ilya asked softly. 

Shane took a deep breath. “This is probably a stupid idea,” he began. “And obviously it goes without saying that you can say no, if it makes you uncomfortable we can forget I ever even said anything-”

Ilya firmly gripped Shane’s waist in an attempt to steady him. “Shane,” he said. “Your Big Thoughts are spiraling.”

Shane sighed and dropped his head briefly. “I was wondering if…” Ilya felt one of Shane’s fingernails scratch gently across his skin, Shane anxiously fidgeting. “Do you wanna go out with me?”

Ilya cocked his head in confusion. They had all but become a codependent married couple in the last few days. They were beyond the ‘asking out’ stage, weren’t they?  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, would you…like to get dinner with me? Tonight?” 

Ilya’s breath stuttered in his chest. “Shane Hollander,” he grinned. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Shut up,” Shane ducked his head. “Look, I… I know it seems risky. But there’s a couple places downtown that NHL players always go to, and the staff are always discreet, and it’s not like anyone but us would know it’s a date…”

“Mm, they might know when they see me trying not to climb into your lap all night.”

“Ilya…” Shane sighed, and Ilya tugged him closer to his body, trying to dip his head under Shane’s face to get him to meet his eyes. Shane blinked at him, letting the eye contact linger for a moment before his eyelids slid shut. “I’m not ready for this week to be over,” Shane said softly. “And, selfishly, I would like to experience something normal like that with you before we have to… I don’t know. Adjust, I guess.”

Ilya’s heart melted. “Something normal like… a date.”

Shane nodded, finally meeting Ilya’s eyes again. 

Ilya’s gut told him no. It’s far too risky; the two of them dressed up nicely, sitting in a private corner of a dark restaurant, their feet bumping under the table, the way Ilya can’t help but look at Shane like a lovesick puppy. He didn’t see how it wouldn’t be obvious to the rest of the world exactly what this was. And yet, with Shane staring at him, almost pleading… “Shane Hollander is asking me on a date.”

Shane gave a slight nod of his head. “Yeah, I am,” he said softly. 

Ilya rolled his lips together, then after a beat of hesitation, he nodded as well. “Okay,” he whispered.

* * *

“So what brings you gentlemen in tonight?” The host looked over his shoulder as he led them to their table. 

“Captains meeting,” Shane said easily. Ilya saw the way the corner of his mouth ticked upwards. 

“Ah. Boodram skipping out on you guys?” The host gave a playful smirk. A hockey fan, then. 

“He fucked off to Cabo for the break. Dinner is on him tonight,” Ilya said easily, sliding into his seat. 

The host laughed. “As it should be. Your server will be with you guys shortly,” he said before walking away. 

“Smooth,” Ilya told Shane. 

Shane puffed out his cheeks in an exhale and picked up the menu. “You too,” he said. Ilya gently nudged Shane under the table with his foot.

If their server recognized them or even cared, she showed no sign of it as she took their drink orders. Ilya glanced around; there were a few other tables occupied, but no one in their immediate vicinity. “Sooo…” Ilya said, turning his body towards Shane. He rested his chin on his fist and gave Shane a flirty smile. “What’s your name, where are you from, what’s your star sign…”

Shane huffed out a laugh and shook his head, leaning forward in his seat and crossing his arms over the table. “Stop.”

Ilya smirked. “What? Standard first date questions, no?” He said softly, then dropped his arm and rapped his knuckles against the table.

“I think that only applies when you don’t know the person.”

“Mm. And you think we know everything about each other? Is that what you’re saying?”

Shane smiled and shook his head. “Not at all. But I think we’ve got each other’s names covered, at least.”

“But do you know my star sign?” Ilya teased.

“I don’t think I even know my own star sign.”

“You’re a Taurus. I’m a Gemini.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because I know everything about you, apparently.”

Shane kicked him under the table.

“Ow!” Ilya laughed. “Okay. I may have looked up our… compatibility. At one point.”

Shane raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” He was grinning like a kid on Christmas. “And when was this?”

Ilya shook his head. “Does not matter. Only matters that we are, in fact, compatible. According to the stars. And the internet people who read them, I guess.”

Shane bit his lip. “Well, if the stars and the internet say it’s true…”

They fell into their easy rhythm, chatting away over drinks. They were both extremely cognizant of their surroundings, each of them constantly flitting their eyes around to check if they were being watched or if anyone was listening in on their conversation. If anyone gave a shit that two NHLers were having dinner alone just a few feet away, it seemed that they had chosen to be respectful of their privacy today. Not that anyone would see them and immediately assume they were on a date, or like they could read Ilya’s mind and know exactly what he was planning on doing to Shane as soon as they got back home, but still. People kept their distance, and it gave the two of them some breathing room.

“Okay,” Shane said, halfway through their entrees. “We each get one freebie question. We can ask anything, and the other person has to answer honestly, no matter what. Deal?”

Ilya groaned internally. “Fine. Me first,” he said, swallowing his bite of food. He leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed, appraising him, figuring out what exactly he wanted to ask. He gave another quick glance around, then leaned forward again. “When did you know you were gay? Like, not just bi, but, like, super gay.”

Shane scoffed. “That’s what you want to use your one question on?”

“Unless you have something embarrassing that you are itching to tell me, Hollander…”

Shane hesitated, then leaned forward himself. “This stays between us, I swear to god.”

Ilya raised his hands up. “I promise.”

Shane sighed. “2016. The first time I had sex with Rose Landry.”

Ilya blinked at him. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Look, if I couldn’t force myself to be attracted to her, then I had to admit that women just weren’t for me.”

Ilya gaped at him, then sputtered out an hysterical laugh. He covered his hands over his face to get himself together, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. He peeked out between his fingers to look at Shane, who was looking incredibly unamused. “Did you say… the first time you had sex with her? As in…”

Shane gave him a sardonic smile. “Yes, Rozanov, as in I knew the first time and then did it again.”

Ilya rubbed his hands over his face. “You are my favorite person, Hollander, holy shit.”

Shane rubbed at his temple. “I’m glad you’re amused by this.”

“So when was the first time you were attracted to a man? Like, how fucking long did it take for you to put it together?”

Shane stiffened. “That’s more than one question,” he murmured, fidgeting with his water glass. 

Ilya shrugged. “Come on, who cares? I’ll tell you mine: it was Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible.”

Shane grimaced. “Really?”

“Really. So who was it? A hockey player, I bet. Or was it the coach in The Mighty Ducks? Or was it something embarrassing, like, Bugs Bunny or whatever.”

Shane’s gaze was focused on the table and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” Ilya didn’t respond verbally but comically pouted, waiting for Shane to look up at him again. When he did, instead of the small laugh or kick to the shin he was expecting, Shane just sighed. “The first time I ever realized that I found a man hot was in a hotel gym in the middle of the night the day I was drafted.”

Ilya felt like he had just been smacked over the head with a two by four. He was sure his face was dropped in some horrible, unattractive, surprised face gaping at Shane, but his mind was reeling. He slowly shook his head. “No,” he said gently. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. I’m being dead serious,” Shane held his gaze, and Ilya knew he was telling the truth.

Ilya opened and closed his mouth once more, then shifted in his seat and looked around for their server. “I think we need to get the check,” he muttered to Shane. If he didn’t get Shane alone in the next thirty seconds, surely he was going to explode. And that doesn’t seem like a good move on a first date.

“Nuh-uh, not yet,” Shane scolded, a smirk creeping up his face now and leaning closer to Ilya. “I still have my question for you.”

Ilya whipped his head around to Shane and muttered very seriously under his breath, “If the question isn’t ‘how many flat surfaces are you going to bend me over when we get home?’ then I think it can wait.”

“Ilya,” Shane warned with a grin.

Ilya sighed and leaned back in his seat. “Fine. Ask your question.”

Shane smiled warmly at him for a beat, then: “What was your mother’s name?”

Well, fuck. “I don’t know who is the bigger asshole: me, for trying to rush you out of your game and not let you ask sweet question, or you, for making me the horniest I have ever been in my life only to ask me sweet, innocent question like that.”

Shane laughed. “I am a better person than you, thank you for noticing.”

Ilya stared at Shane for a long beat. “Irina,” he finally said, the chain around his neck suddenly weighing on him. “Her name was Irina.”

Shane nodded. “Will you tell me something about her?”

Ilya pursed his lips. He avoided thinking about his mother, usually, unless he was sitting in Galina’s office. Thinking about her too much typically turned into a doom spiral, sometimes putting him down for the count for days on end. But sitting next to Shane now, in this dimly lit restaurant, the two of them hidden in plain sight… it made him want to be brave. 

“She was so funny,” he said softly. “The funniest, smartest, kindest person I have ever known. Would stop and talk to every neighbor, every child, fuck, even every stray cat in the road.” Ilya shook his head. “She taught me how to skate. She would chase me around on the ice, we would race each other and she would let me win, but eventually, as I got older, she didn’t have to let me win and she became such a sore loser,” he laughed at the memory. “She would demand a rematch every time, over and over until she beat me fair and square.” Ilya could feel Shane’s eyes on him, hanging on his every word, but he focused on the table cloth in front of him. He pulled the crucifix out from under his shirt, letting it hang over his collar. “This was hers,” he said, ignoring the tears welling behind his eyes. “It is the only thing I have of hers. My father got rid of her stuff so quickly, it was like she never even existed.” He let his fingers rest on the pendent, the silence stretching between them at the table. 

Finally, Ilya sniffed, breaking the moment. “You are the asshole,” he said, looking up at Shane. “You made me cry and my boner is gone.”

Shane gave him a small smile and ignored his final comment. “She sounds a lot like you.”

Ilya gave Shane a sad smile. It was a very sweet thing to say, he thought. Shane didn’t need to know just what being like his mother meant, and how terrified it made Ilya feel. 

* * *

“Fuck,” Shane muttered from the passenger seat as Ilya drove them home after dinner, eyes locked on his phone.

Ilya looked over at him. “What? What is it?”

“Troy got hurt during the game.”

Ilya did a double take. “What!? How the fuck do you get hurt during the fucking All-Star game, people are barely even playing!”

“A Florida defender tied him up, he went down at a weird angle. Looks like it was his ankle, maybe?”

“Fucking dirty rats. What a shit fucking team from a shit fucking state.” Ilya sighed. “How bad is it?”

Shane shook his head. “Hard to say. Could just be a weird strain. He skated off the ice himself.”

Ilya shrugged. “I’ve skated off the ice fully concussed, so.”

Shane sighed and locked his phone, dropping it into his lap. “Well. I hope Harris enjoyed his free vacation to the All-Star game, because now he’s going to be dealing with whiney, crabby Barrett for god knows how long.”

Ilya laughed. “He’s going to be insufferable.” He glanced over at where Shane was looking out the window. “So there’s an opening on my line now.”

Shane barked out a laugh. “Top power play unit is one thing. What sense would it make to put us on a line together full time?”

Ilya shrugged. “Same way it makes sense to put Luca and Troy on the same line. We generate a fuck ton of offense. Besides,” Ilya reached across the center console and took Shane’s hand to tangle their fingers together. “We would be the prettiest line in the league.”

Shane smiled and shook his head. “Luca is doing a lot of heavy lifting there.”

Ilya laughed and raised their hands to his mouth, dropping loud, smacking kisses on the backs of Shane’s knuckles. 

* * *

Day 8 of the All-Star Break

When Ilya pushed into him, Shane had to choke back the cry in his throat, worried that it would be far closer to a sob than a sound of pleasure. 

The early morning sun was peaking through the window, and Shane had been awake for all of ten minutes, and Ilya was touching him and looking at him like he was something precious, something he was desperate to hold on to, and it very quickly became too much. 

He rocked back into Ilya’s hips, trying to take him impossibly deeper as Ilya’s body settled over his, completely enveloping Shane. Shane buried his face into his neck, desperately inhaling the scent of Ilya as his hands tugged at the curls at the base of his skull, and Ilya laid wet, open-mouthed kisses along his throat. 

Ilya fucked into him slowly, taking his time, letting Shane linger on every sensation of his cock sliding in and out of him. His own dick was trapped between them, the friction from Ilya’s abs just enough to keep him sane but not nearly enough to bring him over the edge anytime soon. 

Shane tugged at Ilya’s hair and directed their mouths together, slowly exploring each other, letting every word Shane nearly slipped out pass between them unspoken. Ilya groaned into his mouth and let his hips snap harder against Shane’s ass, and reached between them to wrap a hand around Shane’s cock. 

Shane gasped against Ilya’s mouth, breaking their kiss and letting Ilya press their foreheads together, their breath mingling between them. He felt Ilya’s eyes boring into him, studying him as he flicked his wrist expertly over his cock. Shane’s hands trailed down to cradle Ilya’s jaw, holding him firmly in place. 

Shane knew then, unequivocally, that he was in love with Ilya Rozanov. The thought buried itself deep inside his chest, nestling in comfortably right next to his heart. He waited for the wave of terror to overtake him, the rush of anxiety to send his heart pounding, but it never came. Instead, a peaceful warmth overtook him, as if a piece of himself that he never realized he was missing was coming home for the first time and clicking itself into place. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed himself when he couldn’t stop the tears from sneaking out from under his eyelids. He felt Ilya’s hand on his face, holding him steady to keep Shane from hiding his face in Ilya’s neck. “Look at me, solnyshko,” he whispered. 

He gulped and slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the wetness clouding his vision. He saw Ilya’s face wound tight not in concern like he expected, but understanding. Shane opened his mouth to say something, anything, but words escaped him entirely. He saw a single tear spill down Ilya’s own face, and caught it with his thumb before it could trail any further down his cheek. 

Ilya just held his gaze, then nodded. “Fuck, Shane,” he muttered before burying his face in Shane’s neck. He wrapped his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and held him tight as he felt more than heard Ilya’s whispers of, “I know, I know,” against his skin. 

Ilya’s thrusts quickly became erratic, and all it took was the feeling of Ilya filling him to push Shane over the edge with a small gasp, holding each other tight, a silent promise to not ever let go. 

* * *

It was nearly mid-afternoon before they finally broached the topic. 

They had fallen back into bed, this time in comfy sweatpants and sweatshirts, limbs splayed over each other as they basked in the comfortable silence, showing each other stupid posts on their timelines that they thought the other would find funny, and fell in and out of sleep. Anya was curled up with them, her head in Shane’s lap and snoring softly. 

Ilya, mercifully, was the one to break the silence. “I did tell my therapist about you,” he said softly, eyes focused on his hand petting Anya’s back. “About us.”

Shane turned to look at Ilya, pushing down the small wave of anxiety that came with someone knowing about them. “How romantic,” he said instead. 

Ilya ignored the snark. “I hope that is okay,” he whispered. 

“Of course it is,” Shane responded just as softly

“I think she goes to jail if she tells anyone my business, so.”

Shane let out a small laugh. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“I am,” Ilya grunted. 

Shane softly laid a hand on Ilya’s arm that was outstretched towards Anya. He wasn’t entirely sure what was appropriate to ask as far as the contents of Ilya’s therapy sessions, so he sat patiently, hoping Ilya would continue. 

Ilya turned to look at Shane, shifting his body so he was laying on his side. Anya lifted her head at the movement, glaring at him before plopping her head back down. “I just…” Ilya sighed, closing his eyes for a few seconds. Then looked up at Shane, a serious expression falling over his face. “Shane, I need you to know how badly I want this,” he said softly. 

Shane swallowed the lump in his throat and bit his lip. He adjusted his body to mirror Ilya’s with a small apology to Anya, who huffed and stood up to readjust her position before plopping back down behind Shane with a groan. Shane reached out to take Ilya’s hand, squeezing tight when Ilya intertwined their fingers. 

“This is all I want,” Ilya continued. “And I’ll do what I can to make it work, I promise you. I just… I can’t come out. Not for a while.”

Shane nodded, hoping to quickly reassure him. “I’m not ready for that yet either, Ilya,” he said softly. 

“It’s not that I’m not ready,” Ilya said. “Although, I’m not sure that I necessarily am. I am just scared of what could happen. I don’t think the league would take too kindly to two players being together. And hockey is the only thing legally keeping me here.” He squeezed Shane’s hand. “I can’t go back to Russia, Shane. And once I’m out, I do not know what would happen to me if I had to go back.”

Shane felt ridiculous. He had been so worried about himself, the optics and pressure of being the only Asian and Gay Hockey Player™, and here Ilya was literally fearing for his life. He sighed. “Ilya,” Shane said softly and moved his arm to wrap around Ilya’s waist, bringing him closer. He pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. “We’re not gonna let that happen. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that, Shane,” he said, pushing his face into Shane’s chest. 

“There are ways,” he told Ilya, rubbing small circles along his back. “For starters, my mom would never let that happen.”

Ilya let out a surprised laugh, making Shane turn his head and smile into Ilya’s hair. “Yuna would be very persuasive, I suppose,” Ilya said.

“Swat Putin on the nose with a newspaper and he might fall in line.”

“Why didn’t we think of that years ago? Just deploy Yuna Hollander.”

Shane laughed. “There are ways to speed up the immigration process, if that’s what you want. Hate to break it to you, but as a rich, white man, it’s going to be a lot easier for you than for a lot of other people.” 

Or, you can find a nice Canadian man to marry you, just like you told me months ago.

Shane didn’t say that part out loud. Distantly, he thought that someday they might get there, anyway. While he’d prefer to do it right, he hoped Ilya knew that he would do it in a heartbeat if it meant keeping him here in his arms. 

“We have options,” is all he said instead. “Let me help you.”

Shane heard Ilya sniffle against his chest, and moved a hand to Ilya’s cheek to direct his face to look up at him. “I feel guilty,” Ilya whispered. 

Shane’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

Ilya shook his head. “You said that you left Montreal because you were tired of hiding. I feel like I am asking you to hide more, just for me.” Ilya closed his eyes. “I don’t want you to regret this, is all.”

Shane’s heart shattered in his chest. He inadvertently tightened his hold on Ilya’s cheek, causing him to open his eyes and look up at Shane. The fear and uncertainty in Ilya’s eyes was devastating. “You’re not the only one who wants this, Ilya,” he said firmly. “Okay? I mean… this week has been a fucking gift from the universe. If anything, it showed me what is possible here.”

“Shane…” Ilya said softly, and grasped the front of Shane’s sweatshirt in a tight fist. 

“I mean it, Ilya. I’m not saying that I don’t expect it to be difficult, but… whatever it takes. I want to give this a real shot, y’know? I’m not in any rush to come out.” Shane leaned in to press a firm kiss to Ilya’s lips. “I just want you.”

Ilya slammed his mouth to Shane’s, his fist gripping Shane’s sweatshirt so tightly he was afraid it might rip. Shane threaded his fingers through Ilya’s hair, both of them desperate to be as close to the other as possible. Shane pulled away when he felt moisture hit his cheek, and moved to brush away Ilya’s tears.

“Sorry,” Ilya said roughly.

Shane shook his head. “Don’t apologize.”

They laid there silently, simply breathing each other in, leaving small kisses along each other’s faces and tracing patterns against each other’s skin absentmindedly with their fingers. “I don’t think I want to tell the team yet, either,” Shane said eventually. “I want to keep this to ourselves, just for a little while.”

Ilya nodded. “Yes. Definitely. They mean well, but they will be obnoxious about it,” Ilya agreed. “Do you know how much Barrett has been on my ass about this? I want him to suffer for a little longer.”

Shane snorted. “Plus they’re the biggest bunch of gossips I’ve ever met. It’s not that I don’t trust them, just…” Shane sighed.

Ilya kissed his cheek. “I know. There are many open secrets in the league. I don’t want to be one of them yet,” Ilya said and leaned back to look at Shane fully. “I want to protect this for as long as we can.”

Shane gave a small smile and nodded. “Me too.”

“That being said, Svetlana will take one look at me and know something is up. She’s a witch, I think.”

Shane laughed. “You trust her, right?”

Ilya nodded. “With my life.”

“Then I do too,” Shane said softly. “But if you’re telling your best friend you have a sexual history with, then I’m telling mine, too.”

Ilya pulled a face. “You slept with Pike?”

“What? No!” Ilya laughed at the disgusted look Shane made. “I mean Rose, asshole.”

“Oh yes. Rose who made you gay.”

Shane groaned and shoved his face in Ilya’s neck. “I regret telling you that. I can’t stand you.”

Ilya chuckled. “It’s okay, solnyshko. I should send her a fruit basket as a thank you.”

“Jesus christ, dude,” Shane sighed. “My parents basically already know.”

Ilya smiled. “I think I would like to schedule that dinner with them.”

Shane removed his face from Ilya’s neck to look at him. “Yeah?”

Ilya nodded. “Yes, please,” he said softly. 

Shane bit his lip, then nodded in agreement. “We can do that,” then pulled Ilya in for a long, lingering kiss.

* * *

Shane tried to ignore the way he felt his heart breaking while getting ready for bed that night. Tomorrow he would go home, and despite it being literal seconds away from Ilya, his house might as well be in Timbuktu. 

“I can’t just move in with you full time, Ilya. I don’t think that’s healthy,” Shane had argued with him over dinner. 

“You basically already lived here, now you are just spending the night, too. What’s the harm in that?”

“Codependency, for starters,” Shane smiled. 

Ilya waved a hand in the air. “Made up bullshit, did the internet teach you that?”

“Ilya,” Shane warned. “I will still stay over a couple nights a week if you want me to,” he said, leaning over to peck Ilya on the lips. 

“Yes, okay. Seven nights a week.”

“Two, max.”

“Five,” Ilya compromised. 

“Two.”

“Three.”

“...Three.”

Ilya grinned victoriously and pulled him in for another kiss. 

Now, as he climbed under the covers with Ilya, Shane thought that maybe he should’ve settled on five nights instead of three. 

“What are you going to tell people you did all break?” Ilya asked, wrapping an arm around Shane’s waist. 

Shane shrugged. “I don’t know. Tell them I caught up on my reading or something.”

Ilya smirked. “And that’s code for bouncing on m-”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Shane laughed and let Ilya pull him close, nestling his head against his chest. “What are you gonna tell them, then?”

Shane felt Ilya kiss the top of his head. “What is the phrase? A little R&R?”

Shane hummed. “And R&R stands for rimming and-”

Shane was cut off by Ilya flipping him over and pinning him to the bed and crushing their smiling mouths together, silencing each other’s laughter.

Chapter End Notes

inspired by hudson williams saying return of the king would be in shane’s top 4 on letterboxd, and as millennials it is their god given right to make out and dry hump with their crush on the couch while watching LOTR. i don’t make the rules, but i do follow them. also i absolutely believe that ilya would eventually have that almost-hostile “i’m mad that you’re right” rapport with galina the longer he sees her.

i'm trying to be more active on twitter and crashed out over this chapter a little bit over the last couple days, so feel free to follow me there if that's your jam. @rozanovas_

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

February 2022 

Maybe it was bad form for the captain and his second alternate to be running late to practice the first day back after a long break, but Ilya really didn’t give a shit. 

“We still have to swing by my house and get my gear bag, we don’t have time-”

Ilya grinned against Shane’s mouth and shut him up with a deep kiss. He felt Shane laugh into his mouth before he cupped Ilya’s face, pulling him even closer for just a moment before forcing himself away. “We have to go,” Shane said regretfully, letting his head rest against the wall. 

They were standing in Ilya’s entryway, so close to making it out of the house if it weren’t for the fact that they kept pinning each other against the nearest surface every ten feet to steal “one more kiss for good luck.” Ilya had counted about a dozen good luck kisses in the last ten minutes. 

Ilya exhaled slowly as his thumb rubbed soothing circles into Shane’s hipbone, leveling Shane with a ridiculous lovesick gaze. “Will you come back after?” 

“I thought we agreed on me not shacking up here anymore,” Shane joked. 

“Yes, we did, but have you considered that I’m always going to want you here?” Ilya leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of Shane’s throat, smiling when he heard Shane all but purr. “We are going to be good and keep our hands to ourselves for two whole hours. Don’t we deserve a treat after that?” Ilya trailed his lips back up to hover over Shane’s mouth, their flirty smiles just ghosting over each other. 

Shane sighed. “Maybe,” he smirked, then pushed Ilya off of him. “We really do have to go. Now.”

They were another five minutes late to practice.

* * *

“Look who decided to fuckin' show up,” Bood yelled, pulling his practice jersey on over his pads. “Dads are home, guys, hide the bong.”

“Oh, whatever. Not my fault Hollander is slow poke,” Ilya yelled back, dropping his bag on the floor and quickly began changing.

“Don’t fucking blame me, asshole,” Shane called across the room from his own stall. “This guy misses one All-Star game, he thinks it’s an excuse to start slacking.” 

Ilya pulled his shirt off over his head and grinned at Shane, fighting the urge to whip the article of clothing across the locker room at him. 

“You guys know that you don’t have to carpool together everyday, right?” Luca said, tucking his helmet under his arm, ready to head out to the ice. 

“Not true. We need Roz on the buddy system. We haven’t drunkenly lost him once this season, probably because of Hollsy,” said Bood. “I mean, I saw those pics going around Instagram of them at the grocery store.”

“I don’t know how much of that is the buddy system. I think the term ‘codependent besties’ works better in this case,” Hazy said.

Ilya’s blood ran cold and avoided looking at Shane, thinking that whatever expressions they exchanged would be too revealing. But surprisingly, Shane’s voice was the one to ring out. “I was just trying to teach him how to grocery shop instead of living on plain chicken breast and Hot Pockets, but he’s a lost cause.”

Ilya meant to smirk at Shane, but he’s sure the grin came across much more soft and genuine, mirroring the one Shane gave him in return. “This is probably true. Speaking of, Bood, you owe me two hundred dollars.”

Bood gave him an exasperated look. “The fuck I do. What the hell are you talking about?”

Ilya nodded his head towards Shane as he situated his breezers. “We had a captains meeting. Went out to dinner. I had a nice steak. He had boring fish, so I had to order an expensive bottle of wine to jack up the tab and make it worthwhile.” Ilya clicked his tongue and jerked his thumb upwards. “You missed it, so you pay for it.”

A bunch of the guys in the room laughed as Bood looked gobsmacked. “Get fucked, Rozanov, I’m not paying you shit when Cassie and I were half naked and drunk on a beach.”

“Don’t listen to him, Bood,” Shane said. Bood looked grateful to have backup for a moment, but then Shane continued. “I’m the one who paid for dinner. You owe me two hundred bucks.”

The room erupted in laughter as Shane clapped Bood on the back. Out of the corner of his eye, Ilya watched Shane pull the rest of his gear on as the room fell into its familiar, easy camaraderie, and players began filing out of the room to head to the ice. “Hurry up, grandpas,” Hazy said, waddling out of the room in his goalie pads, and suddenly it was just Ilya and Shane in the locker room. 

Ilya stared at Shane as his head popped out of his practice jersey, quickly earning him a glare. “Eyes to yourself, Rozanov,” he teased quietly. 

“I do not remember that being a rule,” Ilya replied.

“It is if you’re going to look at me like you want to eat me.” Shane grabbed his helmet and walked towards  the exit. “Get on the ice, Cap,” he teased, bumping his shoulder with Ilya’s.

Ilya gave him a flirty eyebrow raise. “Bossy,” he muttered with a smirk, relishing in the flush he could see creeping up Shane’s neck. 

Wiebe and the rest of the coaching staff went a little easy on them that day, letting everyone’s bodies readjust after a well needed week off. Towards the end of their skate, Wiebe waved over Ilya, Shane, and Luca.

“Do you guys mind me trying you three together? With Troy out, we have some cap space to call up a couple guys from Belleville, and we just signed a kid who can center the fourth line for now. Bump Hollander to the top, Roz on the wing?”

“Yes, Coach,” Ilya said, turning to Shane with a grin. “Told you,” he muttered before skating off for their scrimmage. 

If there was anything Ilya learned in the last couple months, it was that playing with Shane Hollander was the closest he had ever come to straight up believing in magic. He swore that they could read each other’s minds flying down the ice, every single pass connecting without even blinking and they pelted in puck after puck behind Hazy with smug grins. Luca, though not quite able to cash in on their telepathy, was speedy enough to keep up with them and held his own just fine. 

Ilya couldn’t help but skate directly into Shane’s personal space as they wrapped up their skate for the day, bumping his chest into Shane’s shoulder as they moved to get off the ice. “This is going to be fun, yes?” Ilya whispered huskily. 

Shane leaned out of Ilya’s space and gave him a small shove, but clearly was trying to fight a smile from overtaking him. “Are you always this obnoxious with Luca and Troy?”

“Yes, he is,” Troy deadpanned from where he was sitting on the bench. Harris was standing next to him, having been taking photos and recording clips for the Centaurs socials during practice, and had begun packing up his equipment.

Ilya blew Troy a kiss and skated closer to lean over the boards. He gestured to Troy’s leg propped up on the seat next to him. “The fuck happened? What kind of idiot gets hurt at the All-Star game, huh?”

Troy glared daggers at Ilya. “Hughes fell on top of me. Out with an ankle sprain for a week or two.”

Ilya’s nose twitched at the thought of the defenseman from Florida. “Fucking gremlin,” he muttered. 

Troy’s eyes moved back and forth between Ilya and where Shane was hovering next to him. “You guys look good together out there,” he said, almost conspiratorally. Harris finished packing his things and sat next to Troy on the bench, and Ilya’s heart twinged at the way Troy subconsciously leaned into the man next to him. Shane’s own presence to his left suddenly felt heavy, like he could feel every inch of Shane and the gravitational pull between them.

“Thanks,” Shane said, sniffing and leaning over the boards next to Ilya. “Did you guys have fun in Florida, at least? Before you got hurt?”

“Ugh, it was great,” Harris said, closing his eyes wistfully. “I can still feel the sun on my face and the margarita in my hand.” 

Troy snorted next to him and smiled softly at his boyfriend. Ilya swallowed and looked away. 

“So what did you guys do with your week off?” Harris asked.

Ilya glanced over at Shane and shrugged. “Not much,” he lied. “Hung out with Anya all week.”

Shane gave a similar shrug of his shoulders. “Yeah, I mean, just. I caught up on some reading, watched movies. Just. Relaxed.”

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, ignoring the waves of affection and want taking over him as Shane told half-truths, their secret crackling between them so wildly that Ilya leaned his body towards him just slightly.

“So what’d you guys get at the supermarket?” Troy asked a little too loudly, his face a little too smug.

Ilya whipped one of his gloves at Troy’s head before pushing Shane down the tunnel, ignoring Troy’s cackle behind them. 

* * *

Ilya thought that he knew desire. He had been with countless people throughout his life. He observed Shane from afar for years, the ghost of his mouth lingering on his skin for a decade. He lived the last week never feeling like Shane was close enough, his fingers constantly itching to touch, to take, to keep.

But as him and Shane tried to nonchalantly hurry through their post-skate showers and hustle out of the building without drawing attention to themselves, as they all but speed-walked out of the building to Ilya’s car and climbed inside, as Ilya looked around the dark parking garage and, when he didn’t see a soul, pulled Shane in for a quick, dirty kiss, as Shane drew him in closer with a tug of his hair before they jumped apart just as quickly as they came together, Ilya knew he had never wanted anything like he wants Shane Hollander. 

Ilya’s body was turned towards Shane in the passenger seat, and he let his head drop between them with a loud groan while he gripped the leather of the center console like a petulant child. Shane laughed, and after a second Ilya felt Shane’s hand grip his thigh and murmur into his hair, “I know, baby.”

The endearment slipped out so easily and went straight to Ilya’s dick. Baby, Ilya thought, and groaned again even louder. Ilya sat up straight again with a pout just to see Shane smirking at him. “Drive,” he demanded, squeezing Ilya’s thigh. 

Ilya sped home and pulled into his driveway in record time, the two of them laughing as they ungracefully unbuckled their seatbelts and ran in the house. Shane was pushing Ilya up against the wall before the front door had even shut behind them, fisting his knuckles in the front of Ilya’s sweatshirt, pinning him with his mouth. 

Ilya opened up under him gladly, tugging at Shane’s hair to pull him closer. Shane quickly moved his mouth to sloppily kiss along his jaw and neck before dropping to his knees and unbuttoning Ilya’s pants.

At that exact moment Anya scampered her way over, excited that her humans were back, and jumped up on Shane where he knelt on the ground with her front paws digging into his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Anya, hi, da, so happy to see you, go get a fucking toy, idti,” Ilya rushed out as his head hit the wall behind him. He heard Shane chuckling below him, somehow convincing Anya that she absolutely needed to go find her bone at that exact moment and leave them be.

“How the fuck do you do that?” Ilya asked as she ran off. “You can not be the favorite father. I was here first.”

“A little soon to be asking me to adopt your kid, isn’t it?” Shane asked with a smirk as he yanked down Ilya’s pants and happily went to work. 

* * *

The sound of his own front door closing behind him felt like a gunshot. 

Shane dropped his bag in the entryway with a sigh and shuffled inside, looking around his home. Everything was as he left it, even grimacing at the couple dishes left in the sink from his breakfast before their game against Carolina over a week ago. He quickly got to work washing up and, after a few deep breaths, cleaned the fridge out of the spoiled produce and meat that he abandoned in the last week.

He plopped onto his couch and tried to settle into the silence of the house. Shane had always preferred the quiet, but sitting alone in his home for the first time in days made him unsure if that was still the case. He had grown so accustomed to Ilya’s presence or the pattering of Anya’s feet that the complete solitude made him feel a little uneasy.

Shane’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he grinned, expecting a message from Ilya, but instead saw a slew of texts from Hayden. Shane felt a twinge of guilt at the disappointment that settled in his chest. 

Hayden Pike

Hey man are you alive lol

Radio silence isn’t usually your schtick

Are you gonna be around after our game in a couple weeks? 

Also Jackie is asking if you would be interested in meeting one of her friends she met at yoga 👀

Dude looks like Henry Cavill (google him I promise)

Shane groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. The guilt he felt grew into something heavier, like a ball of lead in his stomach. He hadn’t even considered Hayden’s reaction if he found out about him and Ilya. He had a hard enough time wrapping his head around the two of them being friendly as is, and if Shane was being honest with himself, he had really skimped on the details of their friendship whenever talking to Hayden over the last few months. Hayden didn’t like the guy, so Shane figured it was fine to keep those friendships separate. 

Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

His parents had come around to Ilya almost immediately, Shane thought, but they had also never been on the receiving end of Ilya’s assholery on the ice. Ilya had a knack for getting under his opponents’ skin, and Hayden was, unfortunately, incredibly easy to rile up. The thought of sitting in a room with the two of them was enough to give Shane a headache; he couldn’t even imagine telling Hayden that they were together. 

Shane sighed and fired off a quick text confirming they could hang out after their next game and a promise to call next week, decidedly ignoring Jackie’s request to set him up. He swiped away from his messages before Hayden could reply, and before he knew it he was FaceTiming Rose.

“Hi, babe,” she answered almost immediately. 

“Hey,” Shane said, adjusting his body to lay flat on the couch with his phone propped up on his chest. He subconsciously took one of the strings of his hoodie and popped it between his teeth. “How’s shooting going?”

“Ugh,” Rose sighed, and Shane watched her get comfortable in her own seat. “I can’t even discuss it. How are they making an eighth one of these movies? I’ve died and come back to life twice. I’m so fucking sick of this franchise.”

“You’re not sick of the paycheck, though,” he teased. 

Rose rolled her eyes. “Whatever. How was your break? I’m so stressed and annoyed, give me some gossip as a treat.”

Shane bit back a grin. “Uh, I don’t have much to tell.”

Rose narrowed her eyes through the screen, and Shane could tell she sat up straight in her seat. “Oh my god, you actually do have gossip, don’t you?”

Shane played innocent and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, you bitch.”

Shane bit his lip. “...Okay, fine, maybe I do have gossip.”

“Shane Hollander, spill,” she demanded, then after a beat, she gasped. “You got laid, didn’t you?”

“How on earth could you possibly know that?”

Rose waved him off. “I know you better than you think. Did you and Ilya…?” 

After a beat, Shane nodded. He closed his eyes in embarrassment at the delighted squeal that came through his phone, his own grin spreading over his face along with a deep flush on his cheeks. 

“Shane! Holy fuck, what happened!?”

“Um, well… after the last game before the break, I went over to his house, and we ended up hooking up, and then I just… didn’t leave his bed the whole week.”

Rose’s mouth dropped. “Shutthefuckup. Shut the fuck up!” she squeaked. “You’re seriously telling me the two best players in the NHL spent the last week dicking each other down?”

“Not exactly how I would phrase it, but, yeah, sure.”

“Was it good? Oh my god, of course it was good, look at your face!”

“You can’t tell just from my face, Rose.”

“Yes I can! You’re fucking glowing!”

“Rose…” Shane warned. 

“Wait! So like. Is it just sex? Or is it sex and more? Did you tell him you’re deeply, madly in love with him and want to have his babies?”

“Rose!”

“Do you have a fucking boyfriend or not, Hollander!?”

Shane bit his lip. “I mean, neither of us used that word, I guess,”

“But…?”

Shane shrugged and thought back to their conversation yesterday, tangled up in each other, promising to each other just how much they want this to work out. “It’s possible that I have a boyfriend, yeah,” he grinned. 

Rose screamed so loudly, Shane had to hold his phone three feet in the air away from him.

“Good lord, woman,” he said. Rose started talking again (more like squealing), but Shane was distracted by a text message coming through at the top of the screen. 

Ilya Rozanov

This is ridiculous

What have you done to me

I miss you so much it is stupid

Shane’s chest bloomed with warmth and he smiled widely.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying. He just fucking texted you, didn’t he.”

“And so what if he did?” Shane said, swiping over to respond to Ilya while still on the phone with Rose. 

Shane Hollander

It’s been like an hour tops

I miss you too

A lot

Rose says hi

Ask her how she feels about edible arrangements 

I was serious about fruit basket

Not doing that

So mean((

Want to thank her properly

Nothing to thank her for, asshole

Incorrect

Beautiful movie star couldn’t even tempt you

Her bloodline will be blessed

I will make sure of it

Have you heard of Etsy witches?

“Okay, guess I’ll go fuck myself,” Rose finally chimed in after a minute of silence.

“Sorry, sorry,” Shane said, swiping back to the call to see Rose’s smug face looking back at him.

“Wow. That must be some incredible dick you’re getting,” she teased.

Shane groaned and leaned his head back into the throw pillow. “The sex is so good, Rose, holy shit.”

Rose threw her head back and cackled. “You have to tell me everything. I want details, Shane. Very, very explicit details.”

“In your dreams, Landry.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “So like. Who else knows? I mean, Ilya being Russian is a bit of a problem, isn’t it? Does anyone else know?”

“Um,” Shane’s mind wandered back to the unanswered texts from Hayden. “I’ll tell my parents. They already want to adopt Ilya, so I doubt there will be any issues there.” Shane’s gaze focused on a stray thread sticking out of the couch cushion. “Ilya will tell his childhood best friend, I’m sure. But otherwise… it’s probably best to keep this quiet, y’know?”

Rose stared at him for a moment. “So no teammates or anything?”

Shane hesitated for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Not now, at least. I think… I think if any locker room would be fine with it, it would be this one. But I don’t want shit spreading around the league,” Shane sighed. “Just keep it professional. It’s not that I’m concerned about making people uncomfortable, I guess, but the fact that it’s, you know, us.”

Rose hummed. “You mean the decade long rivalry that has historically been a pillar of a failing league can’t just evaporate overnight simply because the two players fell in love?”

“I mean, it has gotten better since I came to Ottawa, but I just… I don’t want to hear how other people feel about Ilya and I being together. They don’t know us,” Shane sighed. “Hayden texted me asking to set me up with one of Jackie’s friends. Like. What the hell am I supposed to tell him? I’m not interested because I’m fucking the hot Russian who I supposedly hated for years and has been tormenting you and everyone else on the ice your whole career?”

“I mean, I would definitely mention the fact that you’re not just sleeping with him. I think the fact that he might damn well end up being the love of your life is a crucial detail to getting people to understand the situation fully.”

“That’s not…” Shane shook his head. “It’s only been a week, Rose,” he said softly. 

“And you’ve been pining after him for months, if not years, Shane. It’s okay to admit that this is serious.”

“Hayden is going to flip. He’s not going to understand it at all,” he said.

Rose shrugged. “He might surprise you.”

* * *

The Centaurs were on an incredible run.

Ilya, frankly, couldn’t believe that it took Wiebe this long to put him on Shane’s wing full time. In the week following the All-Star break, their line put up a combined eighteen points in just four games and notched a W in the Cents’ stat sheet with no sign of stopping. The energy in the locker room was a party every night, and the electricity in their barn was causing Ilya to maybe play the best hockey of his entire life. 

“I think maybe we were meant to play together,” he said one night as he was laying in bed with Shane. 

Shane tilted his head up from where it was resting on Ilya’s chest to look at him. “I think maybe we were meant to do a lot of things together,” he said softly. 

Ilya swallowed the lump that was rising in his throat. He squeezed Shane’s shoulders and leaned down to press their lips together, sighing when Shane licked across the seam to dip inside his mouth. 

They lazily kissed with no urgency to take it further, just enjoying the feeling of the other pressed against his body. They parted, Ilya sighing contentedly as Shane settled back against his chest. 

“Are you going to let me in your room during road trips?” Ilya asked as he gently scratched at the back of Shane’s scalp.

Shane snorted. “Not a chance,” he said. “Too risky. Bad showing for a captain to get caught out past curfew.”

“Oh, who cares. I will be so sneaky. No one will know what we were up to if someone sees, anyway.”

“Ilya,” Shane deadpanned. “We haven’t exactly been quiet.”

“Well, then let’s practice,” he grinned, flipping Shane over on the mattress.

Ilya really had no plans on actually sneaking into Shane’s room during road trips, and it would have been so far out of the ordinary for the two of them to suddenly request rooming together after having their own rooms all season. So Ilya had to laugh when the universe smiled upon him during their first road trip following the break.

Ilya was standing in the Los Angeles hotel lobby waiting for their room assignments while chatting idly with Shane, Hayes, and Bood, when their travel coordinator Melissa walked up to them with irritation written all over her face.

“Hi guys,” she sighed. “I’m sorry about this. The hotel screwed up our reservation, so we have a couple less rooms available than normal. Some of the vets are going to have to bunk up for the night. Is that alright?”

Ilya nearly pumped his fist in celebration, a wave of giddiness rising up in him. 

Instead, he smiled understandingly at Melissa and spoke calmly. “Do not even worry about it. Shane and I will share a room, Bood and Hazy will share. Not a big deal at all.”

Melissa looked relieved at the nonchalance the guys gave her. She was new to the Centaurs this year after leaving her position in Toronto, and Ilya didn’t want to think about the hell that team might have given her for this situation despite it being out of her control. “Thanks guys,” she sighed, handing them all their room keys.

“Appreciate you, Melissa,” Bood said with a smile, gently bumping his fist into her shoulder as he and Hayes headed towards the elevators.

Ilya turned to face Shane as Melissa walked away, who was staring at him with a smirk. “I don’t know how you could have possibly had anything to do with this, but there’s no way you are this lucky,” he said low enough for just them to hear.

Ilya grinned, bumping his shoulder into Shane’s. “I’m very, very lucky,” he told Shane while nudging him towards the elevators. 

They only had a couple minutes before the team had to meet back downstairs to head to the arena, but that didn’t stop Ilya from pinning Shane to one of the double beds in their room the second the door shut behind them. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Shane said while grinning against his mouth, making no move to pull away.

Ilya only smiled and nodded as he caught Shane’s lips with his own, moaning softly when Shane tugged at his hair and pulled him closer. 

Shane played dirty, tugging Ilya’s bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away. “We don’t have time for this,” he said, gently nudging at Ilya’s shoulders. “Get off me, Cap,”

Ilya groaned. “No, nonono, nooooooo,” he protested, pushing his face into Shane’s and letting their noses bump. “You do not get to call me that then make us leave.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Shane said, giving Ilya a quick peck before extracting himself from underneath Ilya. 

Ilya sighed as Shane opened the door and gestured for him to get a move on. “You will make it up to me, yes?” he asked as he walked into the hall.

“Make what up to you?” 

Their heads snapped to the side and saw Bood and Hayes exiting their own room next door. Ilya and Shane exchanged a mildly panicked glance. “Um…” Shane started.

“Hollander is loud snorer,” Ilya said. “Very embarrassing for him. I told him he will keep me up all night.”

Shane glared at him. “I don’t fucking snore, asshole,” he said, smaking Ilya on the arm.

“Damn. It’s thin walls here, Hollsy. Don’t keep us up, either, otherwise you’ll have to make it up to us, too,” Bood said with a laugh.

Ilya snorted at the exasperated look on Shane’s face, but quelled it at the thought of Shane making things up to Bood and Hazy the same way he would for Ilya. There was nothing funny about that image.

Ottawa easily trounced Los Angeles that night, including two goals from Shane with Ilya assisting on both, extending the Centaurs’ win streak to five games. Ilya couldn’t help but laugh at the handful of LA fans with Hollander jerseys, fans who must have splurged during the forty-eight hours he was technically under contract with the team.

“I kinda feel bad for them,” Shane told him as they headed to the dressing room post-game, one particular fan on the glass wearing a black and white jersey with his name on the back looking absolutely despondent.

“I don’t,” Ilya said with an easy grin and bumped their shoulders together. “Everything has worked out well so far, no?”

Ilya relished in the shy smile Shane gave him.

“We going out tonight?” Dykstra called out in the dressing room. “I mean, we’ve gotta let Hollander pay his respects to his old turf!” he teased. 

“It was never my turf to begin with, man,” Shane said with a shake of his head as he tossed his helmet into his stall. 

“Come on, Hollsy. One drink?”

Shane sighed and met Ilya’s eyes. There really was nothing more that Ilya wanted than to head straight back to their room, especially with the knowledge that most if not all of the team would be gone for a couple hours, but he could tell that Shane was afraid of making anything too obvious. Not that anyone in this room would notice, considering Troy didn’t make the road trip due to his injury.

Shane blinked at Ilya from across the room then grimaced. “Next time, guys. Early flight tomorrow.”

The locker room descended into a chorus of boos while Ilya was trying to tamper down the smile on his face, his heart pounding in excitement.

“Roz is definitely in though, right?” Dykstra slung his arm over Ilya’s shoulders.

But Ilya just scoffed in his face and shrugged his arm away. “And barge in drunk at 2am to disturb Hollander’s beauty sleep? He will kill me.”

“Maybe that was my plan all along, Rozanov,” Shane smirked at him. 

Ilya pointed a finger at him. “Watch it. I’m not risking anything.”

Another round of boos filled the locker room. Not that either of them gave a shit. 

* * *

“Jesus fuck, Ilya-”

Shane yanked at the hair at the base of Ilya’s skull and tilted his head back to kiss him while grinding down onto the cock buried inside him. Ilya groaned into his mouth and slowed the thrust of his hips, letting Shane work his body over him.

Shane relinquished his grasp on Ilya’s curls and leaned back, balancing himself on Ilya’s thighs behind him. Ilya looked absolutely drunk from where he was propped up against the hotel bed’s headboard, his hair a mess with a deep red flush painting his cheeks, and his tongue damn near hanging out of his mouth like a panting dog. Shane moaned as Ilya’s fingers dug into his hips as Ilya watched Shane fuck himself on his cock. 

“Fuck, Shane…” Ilya murmured. “You feel so fucking good. Fucking perfect.”

Shane felt a rush of blood go straight to his dick at Ilya’s words. He could feel a bead of sweat drip down his temple and the burn of his thighs from the exertion, but the stretch of Ilya inside him and filling him so perfectly overrode any discomfort he might be feeling. Ilya reached out to jerk his cock from where it was bouncing between them. “Please, Ilya…”

With Shane still in hand, Ilya maneuvered them so Ilya was lying flat on the bed so he could direct Shane to bend over him. Shane propped himself up with his arms on either side of Ilya’s head and crashed their mouths together. 

Ilya caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he rocked his hips up into Shane. “Is this what you imagined when you were traded?” Ilya growled as he pulled away. “Did you think about this? Sneaking around the team hotel, getting fucked by your new captain?”

Shane moaned and buried his face in Ilya’s neck. “And what if… what if I say yes?”

Ilya smacked Shane’s ass cheek before gripping his hips tightly and jackhammered his cock into Shane. “I thought about it too,” Ilya panted in Shane’s ear. “I’ve wanted to be doing this the whole time. We should have been doing this the whole fucking time…”

Shane cried out as Ilya nailed his prostate over and over. “I’m gonna come, fuck, Ilya-!”

Ilya groaned deeply and Shane felt his teeth biting into the crook of his neck. The sharp sensation sent Shane over the edge and came untouched between them, spurting all over Ilya’s stomach and chest. Seconds later he felt Ilya follow, filling him with a sharp cry. 

Shane’s arms gave out and he collapsed on Ilya’s chest with a soft “oof,” his eyes sliding shut at the feeling of Ilya’s fingers tracing up and down his back as they caught their breath. Shane turned his head and dropped a kiss to Ilya’s collarbone under him. He sighed as he felt Ilya slip out of him and pushed himself up, leaning back to rest on Ilya’s thighs. He couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of a fucked-out Ilya beneath him. “The whole time, huh?”

Ilya scoffed and before Shane knew it, he was being flipped over and his arms were pinned to the bed above his head. Ilya grinned wickedly as Shane laughed, their noses bumping each other softly. “You are a pain in my ass, Hollander.”

“I thought you weren’t a bottom?” Shane teased. Ilya’s grip tightened on Shane’s wrists as he laughed, but Ilya quickly shut him up with a firm kiss. 

“Brat,” Ilya murmured against Shane’s mouth. He pressed two quick pecks to Shane’s lips (then after a second a third for good measure), before sitting up and pulling both of them off the bed. Shane let himself be guided to the bathroom and into the shower, happily falling into Ilya’s arms under the hot spray. 

The two of them stood there, content to simply hold each other as the water pounded against their bodies. Shane’s arms were wrapped around Ilya’s waist, his fingers tracing small patterns right above the curve of Ilya’s ass, while Ilya held Shane firmly to his chest by his shoulders, nosing the side of his head and dropping small kisses wherever he could reach. 

Shane was the first to speak after a few minutes of warm silence. “How do we rig the system so the hotel reservations are always screwed up?” Shane asked into the side of Ilya’s neck.

He felt more than heard Ilya chuckle. “I thought you were the one worried about codependency.”

“Bullshit the internet made up,” Shane muttered. Ilya snorted and pulled away to look at him. Shane took in Ilya’s blissful grin, the same one Shane was sure he was also sporting. 

Ilya’s eyes flickered down to the side of Shane’s neck and his smile faltered. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Shane furrowed his brow. 

Ilya grimaced and raised his fingers to trace a spot on the base of Shane’s neck. “I’m sorry, solnyshko, I, ah. I may have gotten carried away.”

Shane’s hand whipped up to cup the side of his neck, slightly wincing at the tender spot. “How bad is it?”

Ilya tilted his head back and forth. “Not great. Not horrible.”

Shane sighed and dropped his hand and pulled Ilya in by the hips. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Ilya hummed. “Give me matching one. Tell the team we got into a fist fight.”

“And our punches landed on the exact same spot on the side of our necks? Not sure how well that is going to fly.”

“They will be too confused over why we were fighting in the first place. We are besties, are we not?” 

Shane snorted and reached for the shower gel to finally clean the dried come off his body, the pair of them lathering each other while exchanging slow kisses until their fingers were pruney. It wasn’t until they were drying off and Shane caught sight of the bruise blooming in the crook of his neck that he felt a wave of panic flow through him. “Oh, that’s bad, Ilya,” he said, looking at Ilya with wide, worried eyes. 

Ilya looked immensely guilty. “I am sorry. A sweatshirt will cover it?”

“Can’t really wear a hoodie over my jersey,” Shane grumbled, walking into the bedroom to grab his phone. He quickly pulled up his text thread with Rose. How do you cover a hickey?, he texted her. 

He was surprised she texted back almost immediately. 

Rose Landry

You morons

Color corrector and concealer. Green corrector to neutralize the purple bruising, then concealer on top of that. Lots of setting powder in between layers to make it last.

Shane looked up from his phone to see Ilya leaning in the doorway of the bathroom watching him. “Is there a drugstore open nearby?”

Ilya quirked an eyebrow, but Shane was distracted by his phone buzzing in his hand again.

Rose Landry

Where are you staying? Are you at the hotel?

I wrapped early today. I will bring you supplies!!

Shane felt a rush of affection for Rose flow through him. They always tried to meet up when Shane was playing in LA and Rose was in town, but they had planned on calling this trip a bust due to Rose’s intense filming schedule. 

“Shane?”

He lifted his head up again and saw Ilya looking at him expectantly. Shane couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. “You’re going to love this,” he grumbled.

An hour later, Shane and Ilya were standing in the hotel lobby waiting for Rose to arrive with her makeup haul. Shane was wearing a Centaurs branded hoodie slightly askew to help ensure the hickey stayed covered. Next to him, Ilya bounced on the balls of his feet with a giddy smile on his face. 

“You really should wait upstairs,” Shane told him.

“And miss the chance to meet my hero? Not a chance, Hollander.”

Shane sighed and closed his eyes. He was happy to see Rose, albeit briefly, but he didn’t exactly imagine Rose meeting Ilya in a hotel lobby like they were in the middle of a drug deal. He said a little prayer to literally anyone who may have been listening to ensure Ilya behaved himself. 

Just then, Rose came sweeping into the hotel lobby, looking Hollywood-incognito in sweatpants and a baseball cap with a tote bag tucked under her arm. She quickly spotted them and Shane heard her squeal, catching her when she all but threw herself into his arms for a tight hug. 

“Ugh, I’m so happy to see you!” Rose said, her voice muffled by the bunched fabric of Shane’s sweatshirt. Shane squeezed her tight around her waist before she pulled away and turned her attention to Ilya. “And you,” she said with a smirk. “I’m very happy to finally meet you, Ilya Rozanov.”

Ilya grinned. “Likewise, Rose Landry,” he said, shaking her extended hand. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“Frankly, I don’t think I’ve heard enough about you,” she said as she dropped his hand. “Although, you should maybe keep your mouth to yourself?” Rose quietly teased and began digging in her bag. 

Ilya gave a small shake of his head. “Unlikely,” he said with a wink. 

Shane leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. This is fine, he thought. 

“Okay, I got you a few options. You might have to mix a couple concealers together to get the right shade for your skin tone. Again, powder in between each layer, and do thin layers. Do not go overboard, it will look cakey and you’ll sweat it off right away,” Rose instructed as she pulled out a small plastic bag and handed it to Shane.

“Thank you,” Shane murmured as he took the bag from her and pulled her in for another side hug. “I’m sorry we only got to see one another under these circumstances.”

“Are you kidding? I’d fly across the continent to help you cover a hickey if it means you’re getting laid.”

Ilya snorted and Shane shot him a glare. “Don’t get any ideas,” he scolded Ilya. He sighed and gave Rose’s waist a squeeze. “We’ll hang out properly next time, I promise,” he told her. “But we should probably go back upstairs before the team comes ba-”

Ilya’s head snapped towards the hotel’s front door and Shane felt the words die in his throat. Bood and Hazy were guiding an off kilter Luca in the lobby with exhausted looks on their faces. “Guys, I’m fine,” Luca slurred, batting away Bood’s hand from his upper arm, but nearly face planted when Bood and Hayes stopped in their tracks at the trio standing in the lobby. 

“Holy shit, that’s Rose Landry,” Shane heard Hazy gasp. 

Shane’s whole body tensed, and nearly missed the way Ilya’s brow furrowed at the three of them. “The fuck happened to Haasy?”

Bood and Hazy looked at each other, then at Luca, back at each other, then finally at Ilya. Bood sighed. “Long story,” he said. 

“We only looked away for two seconds, I swear,” Hazy told their captain. His eyes then darted to Rose and stuck a hand out. “Wyatt Hayes. Goalie. Big fan.”

Rose smiled politely and shook his hand. “Great to meet you, Wyatt,” she said, and turned to shake Bood’s hand as well. Luca had collapsed into a chair nearby, and Shane swore he heard a small snore come from him upon impact. “I’m Rose, I’m Shane’s ex-girlfriend.”

Shane groaned and Ilya threw his head back with a bark of laughter. “They know I’m gay, Rose, it’s fine,” he whispered. 

Rose shrugged. “It’s not untrue.” 

Ilya looked over at Luca. “Get him to bed,” he told Bood and Hazy. “I am not babysitting him on the flight tomorrow.”

Shane smiled knowingly. “Yes you will, you’re soft as hell with him.”

Ilya gave Shane an affectionate look. “Yes, but you are his favorite. He follows you like a baby duck.” He turned back to Bood and Hazy. Hazy had wandered over and was crouched over Luca, gently slapping him on the cheek to get him to wake up. 

“Wake up, Haasy, Mystique from the X-Squad movies is here and you won’t even remember it in the morning. I’m going to tell you you dreamt this.”

Bood rolled his eyes. “What are you two still doing up, anyway? I thought this would have been long past your bedtime, Hollsy.”

Shane opened his mouth to quip back, but Rose spoke up before he could. “My fault, I kept the old man up just so I could give him a hug. I just wanted to swing by to say hello before you boys head out of town.”

“Well, maybe next time you can drag this guy out with us. If his work-boyfriend can’t bring him out, maybe his ex-girlfriend can,” Bood laughed. 

Shane felt a wave of panic rise up in his throat at the word boyfriend. “My what-?”

“Shane, your sweatshirt fits you weird,” Luca groggily interrupted. Hazy had dragged him out of his chair and was propping him up by the waist, guiding him in the direction of the elevators. 

Bood glanced at the positioning of Shane’s sweatshirt, still awkwardly sitting on his shoulders off center and exposing the opposite collar bone from the side with the offending hickey. Shane braced himself for a comment, but Bood only shrugged. “I should go help Hazy before he starts speaking German. Don’t keep me up tonight, Hollsy, remember?” 

Shane grimaced and gave him a sharp nod. “Go the fuck to bed, Bood.”

Bood grinned and headed towards the elevator, calling out a good night over his shoulder.

Rose looked between Shane and Ilya once the elevator doors closed behind the three men. “Are they fucking dumb?”

“Yes,” Ilya said automatically with a grin, then pulled out his phone. “Rose, send me your address. I have gifts to send you as thank you.”

Rose’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean as a thank you?”

“Okay!” Shane rushed out. “It was really great to see you, Rose, and thank you for the…” Shane held up the bag of makeup. “...supplies, but we should really get to bed.”

Rose smiled warmly and pulled Shane in for another tight hug. “I love you,” she said. “Call me when you can.”

“I will,” Shane promised, then pulled away and watched Rose pull Ilya into a hug, startling him slightly.

“I’m rooting for you,” Rose told him, and Shane saw Ilya’s shoulders relax. A swell of affection rose up in him as he watched Ilya properly return the hug and mumble a quiet thank you into Rose’s hair. 

They sent Rose off with a wave as they walked over to the elevators, watching her disappear from the lobby as the doors closed behind them. Shane sighed and his body sagged against the wall.

Ilya bumped his shoulder into Shane’s. “She’s good for you,” he said. “She’s your Sveta.”

Shane smiled and gave him a small nod. “Yeah, she is,” he confirmed. 

“Do you know if she likes women? She is very much Svetlana’s type…” Ilya waggled his eyebrows at him. 

Shane barked out a laugh. “Those two would be far too powerful together,” Shane said as he busied himself with the bag from Rose, examining the materials she passed on to him. “I don’t know if we should be encouraging that.”

Ilya shrugged. “We should always be encouraging true love, should we not?”

Shane’s eyes darted to meet Ilya’s. Ilya was giving him such a warm, careful smile that Shane could feel the effects of it down to his bones, heating his body from the inside out. “I suppose we should,” Shane said quietly, matching Ilya with a loving grin of his own.

Chapter End Notes

i appreciate everyone who has been patiently waiting for this next chapter. cannot stress enough how hard life has been Lifeing lately. i don't like the way this one turned out, kind of a filler chapter, but we keep it moving otherwise we would be stuck here for another month.

note we now have a chapter total! that is subject to change, but the end is in sight (maybe)

thank you to everyone who has commented, kudo'd, shared, and just been so overwhelmingly kind and supportive. every comment really, truly makes my day. love you 🫶

ps: go wild 🌲💫

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

Mid-February 2022

Ilya had every reason not to be nervous as they pulled into the Yuna and David’s driveway. He knows them, they know him, they know about him and Shane, and they like him. They want him here.

And yet, he had never met someone’s parents before as a Partner™.   

Ilya blew out a breath as Shane shut off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. He looked over at Ilya. “Ready?”

Ilya gave him a tight smile and nodded, relaxing when Shane leaned over to kiss him.

“They already love you,” Shane reminded Ilya, their mouths brushing against each other as he spoke, and Shane cradled Ilya’s jaw in one hand. “It’s just one dinner.”

“Right,” Ilya said, leaning into the touch. He gave Shane another lingering kiss, then straightened in his seat to unbuckle his seatbelt. He turned to the backseat. “Ready to see your friends?”

Anya panted excitedly and let out a single, impatient bark. 

Ilya followed Shane into the house, laughing when Anya ran ahead of them straight into the Hollanders’ kitchen and he heard a delighted greeting from David. Shane smiled at him and squeezed Ilya’s bicep reassuringly before kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat, with Ilya following suit. 

“Hi boys,” Yuna said as the pair wandered into the kitchen, leaning over to give each of them a hug. Ilya wasn’t sure if he imagined her squeezing him extra tightly. 

David quickly straightened up from where he was crouched on the floor petting Anya. “Oh, you guys are here, too!” He joked. Ilya laughed politely and stuck his hand out, which David easily ignored and pulled him into a hug as well. He patted David on the back, albeit a bit awkwardly, but he didn’t seem to notice as he pulled away to hug Shane as well.

Ilya caught Shane’s eye over David’s shoulder, melting at the lovesick look Shane gave him. 

“Go sit down, food will be out in a couple minutes,” David said, shooing the pair of them towards the table with Anya trotting happily behind them. 

Ilya felt Shane’s hand land on his lower back. “You good?” He asked softly.

Ilya gave him a stiff nod, but a genuine smile. “I’m good.”

Shane returned the smile, rubbing a few small circles into Ilya’s back before dropping his arm.

To her credit, Yuna waited a whopping three whole minutes before broaching the topic that was the elephant in the room. “So, I have to ask…” she began.

“Mom,” Shane scolded, spearing a grape tomato in his salad bowl with his fork.

“I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page!” Yuna straightened up in her seat and took a sip of her wine before glancing between them. “So this is serious, yes? The two of you?”

Ilya and Shane shared a look, and Ilya bit the inside of his cheek to keep the dumb, dopey smile off his face. He definitely failed. “Yes,” Ilya told her, and let his hand drift to gently squeeze Shane’s thigh. He saw Shane press his lips together, trying to keep his own smile down as he covered Ilya’s hand with his own. “Very serious.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yuna and David exchange a look that he hoped he was reading correctly as one of joy, maybe even relief. “Good,” David said, draping his arm across the back of Yuna’s chair. “We’re happy for you boys.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Shane said softly, finally tearing his own eyes away from Ilya and glancing bashfully down at their hands before returning to look at his parents. 

“So. What’s your plan?” Yuna asked. 

“Plan?” Ilya asked.

Yuna gave a small shrug. “I mean, are you two going to come out?”

Shane stiffened beside him, and Ilya felt a ball of nerves fluttering in his own stomach. He folded his palm over to tangle his fingers with Shane’s, grateful when he squeezed Ilya’s hand comfortingly. “Not for a while,” Shane said, soft but firm. “We don’t want the team to know yet, and with Ilya being Russian…” he trailed off. 

“We, ah,” Ilya began, wincing at the crack in his voice. He cleared his throat. “We do not know what the, um. Effects would be? If we came out?” He looked at Shane questioningly, searching for the right word in English.

“Repercussions?” Shane filled in. Ilya nodded.

“Yes, that,” he agreed. “I am on Canadian work visa, and if the league finds out about us, gets upset, and takes that away…” He swallowed thickly and squeezed Shane’s hand again. “I need to find a way to stay in Canada before anything else can happen.”

Yuna nodded understandingly. “So we need to get you permanent residency.”

“At least, yes,” Ilya nodded. “I have looked into it before, but the whole process is very complicated. I get frustrated before even beginning,” he admitted. 

Yuna smiled sadly. “My parents went through the same thing,” she told him. “I would like to think things have changed since then, but maybe not as much as we would hope,” she said with a sigh and took a sip of her wine. “And you’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” Ilya said without hesitation. “There is nothing for me in Russia. My future is here.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shane’s head whip around to face him. Ilya avoided looking at him, sure that if he looked at Shane’s face now it would send him over the emotional ledge he wasn’t ready to fall over in front of Shane’s parents. Instead, his eyes dropped down and focused on their hands tangled together, still resting on Shane’s thigh. Ilya bumped his knee into Shane’s gently in acknowledgement. 

He heard a small sniffle from across the table, and Ilya looked up to see David adjusting himself in his seat and rubbing the corner of his eye with his index finger. “Something in my eye, sorry,” he muttered, pointedly ignoring looking at any of them. 

Yuna huffed out a small laugh. “Well, then,” she said, her own voice coming out a bit thick when she spoke. “Let us help you get this figured out then, okay?”

Ilya’s mouth opened and closed before finally turning to look at Shane. Shane was staring at him with a warm smile, eyes dancing as if to say I told you so. 

Ilya turned back to Yuna and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

They promptly moved on to lighter topics, such as the Centaurs’ current hot streak and other stories from around the league. Shane dropped Ilya’s hand, and he mourned the touch for only a moment before Shane leaned back and draped his arm across the back of Ilya’s chair, unintentionally mirroring the way David was positioned. Ilya’s heart soared. 

“A writer from The Athletic reached out, by the way,” Yuna told Shane. “They want to do a feature on you and your move to Ottawa.”

Shane frowned. “I’m not sure now is a good time for that.”

“Oh, I think it’s a great time for that,” Yuna said. “You guys are on a great run, you’re putting up incredible numbers, Shane. Why not control the narrative a little bit? There’s still speculation about what happened in Montreal, it would be nice to affirm that you’re not only happy here, but thriving.”

Shane exchanged a look with Ilya. The hesitation was written all over his face, but Ilya could see the gears turning in his brain as well. 

“These profiles usually come with sexy photoshoots as well, do they not?” Ilya smirked. “I think it’s a great idea.”

Yuna and David laughed. Shane snorted. “Thank you for your input, Ilya,” he said, gently kicking his foot under the table. 

“And…” David said tentatively, looking between the two of them. “It’s also not a bad opportunity to reiterate that you two are friends. That the rivalry is dead, you know? Which… could help in the long run."

Shane bit his lip. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Yuna seemed satisfied with that answer for now and let the subject drop. 

The evening remained uneventful after that. Like on Christmas, Ilya found himself easing more and more into the Hollander family dynamic, slotting himself in with the three of them almost too effortlessly. He chirped Shane’s parents when appropriate and took it on the chin when they gave it back to him. He cleared the table and helped Yuna with the dishes following dinner, only to walk into the living room to see David and Shane on the ground playing with Anya with a New York Admirals game on mute. He sunk into the couch, watching the three of them on the floor, and let himself relax and his chest be filled with warmth. 

This time when Yuna and David hugged him goodbye, he squeezed them back just as tightly.  “Thank you for having me,” he told Yuna.

“We’re always so glad to see you, Ilya,” she told him, giving him a small pat on the cheek as they pulled away. 

Shane didn’t argue when Ilya asked him to stay over that night, happily trailing Ilya inside his house and following him up the stairs while pressing small kisses to the back of his neck, only parting to let themselves get ready for bed.

“You really think the feature is a good idea?” Shane asked him. He was leaning in the doorway of Ilya’s bathroom with his arms crossed over his chest while watching Ilya brush his teeth. 

Ilya spit out the toothpaste before answering. “I do,” he said honestly. “I think your parents are right. You are very good with media, always giving the “correct” answer,” Ilya said, throwing up air quotes around correct. “But it would not hurt to control your story yourself. Remind Montreal that they fucked up. I know how petty you can be.”

Shane hummed. “But you’re more vindictive than I am.”

“So maybe learn something from me,” Ilya smirked, reaching out to pull Shane in by his hips. 

“Fuck off,” Shane replied with his own easy grin. 

Ilya huffed out a laugh. “You have hot, rich, vengeful boyfriend. But you just are two for three.”

Shane bit his lip, and his eyes somehow sparkled under the harsh bathroom lighting. “I like when you say that,” he said softly.

“What? That I am hot? Or that you are hot?”

Shane’s smile softened and shook his head. “No. When you call yourself my boyfriend.”

Ilya’s fingers tightened on his hips. “It is what we are, yes?” Ilya asked, a sudden small wave of anxiety flowing through him. 

Shane nodded, and firmly pressed his lips to Ilya’s. “Yes,” he promised. “You’re my boyfriend.”

Ilya nodded, brushing their noses together gently. “And you are my boyfriend,” he confirmed, dropping a sweet kiss to Shane’s lips. 

Shane deepened the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle Ilya’s face with one reaching back to card through Ilya’s hair. Ilya melted into the touch and let out an involuntary moan. “You gonna take your boyfriend to bed?” Shane asked him breathily against his mouth. 

Ilya grinned and bent down to grip behind Shane’s thighs, hoisting his legs up around his waist and carrying him straight to his bedroom. 

* * *

An except from

The Return of Ottawa’s Prodigal Son

By Jessi Kasper

The first time I meet Shane Hollander, I’m sitting at a coffee shop in southwestern Ottawa, not far from the Canadian Tire Centre. He walks in wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans under a Canada Goose parka and orders himself a plain black coffee. He shakes my hand and introduces himself as just “Shane,” ignoring the looks we’re receiving from across the cafe. He carries himself in a way that, if it weren’t for the stares of our fellow patrons, no one would ever suspect he was the most famous athlete in the country just by looking at him. 

Do you ever get used to this?

HOLLANDER: Not really, I guess. I’m definitely having to get used to it all over again. It settled down after a while in Montreal, but people here are usually cool about giving me and my other teammates’ our space in public other than a rogue picture here and there.

Shane Hollander is still the shiny new object in town. The NHL was rocked last summer when the Montreal Voyageurs announced the trade of their long-time captain and one of their all-time franchise leaders in scoring to Los Angeles. For forty-eight hours, pundits scratched their heads, trying every which way to figure out how on Earth this made sense for either team. Los Angeles was seemingly on the precipice of a complete down-to-the-studs rebuild, and, well. Many had expected Shane Hollander to be a lifer in Montreal.

Two days later, Hollander was flipped again, this time to Montreal divisional rival and Hollander’s hometown team, the Ottawa Centaurs. 

Were you surprised when you got the call?

HOLLANDER: I was surprised that it was Los Angeles. Their GM immediately gave me a call and was very upfront about what they were going for. They are in full rebuild mode. They were on the hunt for picks and prospects, and I guess I was as good of a currency as any. 

But you weren’t surprised over being traded in general?

HOLLANDER: No, I was not. 

Why’s that?

HOLLANDER: [SHRUGS] I knew what Montreal wanted their future to look like, and I knew that I didn’t fit into it. Simple as that. 

And what kind of future is that?

HOLLANDER: Probably also a rebuild, at this rate. 

There have been rumours swirling for a while now about locker room issues in Montreal. In your experience, was there any truth to those rumours?

HOLLANDER: That depends, I guess. What are the rumors? 

Specifically, there were reports of tensions between a few select players. An anonymous source from inside the organization claimed that there were allegations of discrimination within the locker room, and even at one point a physical altercation between players.

HOLLANDER: No comment. 

Do you have anything you want to say to your former teammates? Or to Montreal fans?

HOLLANDER: I feel bad for the fans. Montreal fans are really some of the best sports fans in North America, and it was hard to walk away from that energy. I hope they know that I never wanted my time there to end the way it did. As for the other guys… Hayden (Pike) and J.J. (Boiziau) are some of my closest friends, and will be forever as far as I’m concerned. They know exactly how I feel, and I love them. The rest of the players, management… [HOLLANDER SHAKES HIS HEAD] I’ve got nothing to say. That chapter is over. 

What was your reaction when you heard you were heading to Ottawa?

HOLLANDER: Yeah, that was… that was a strange one. It’s definitely cool to come home, but watching the way this team has developed in the last couple years, especially since Ilya (Rozanov) came here, it’s absolutely a good group to come into.

Right, the Centaurs are a team that has been on the up and up and has made some big swings the last few years, first with the acquisition of Ilya Rozanov, last year’s trade for Troy Barrett that ended up looking like a steal for Ottawa, and now the hometown hero has come home. Did you feel any sense of urgency in what they wanted from you?

HOLLANDER: Definitely. This city wants to win, and they want to win badly. The fact that management has such strong faith in the bones of the team that they’re willing to go hard and get impact players to support that is awesome. It feels great to be wanted like that.

The following day, Hollander invites me to watch the Centaurs’ morning skate at their practice facility. I watch from the bench as Hollander takes the ice to run drills alongside his teammates, face full of intensity even in practice. Since joining the Centaurs, Hollander has put up 37 goals and 51 assists at the time of publication, with more than six weeks still to go in the season, his best season since 2019. He’s the highest point producer on their power play, with young Swiss superstar Luca Haas not far behind him. 

And then, there’s the Ilya Rozanov of it all. 

Since coming into the league together in 2010, Hollander and Rozanov have been two sides of the same coin. Rozanov was drafted first overall in 2009 by the Boston Bears, while Hollander was sent second to the Montreal Voyageurs. They have consistently been neck and neck in the standings, stat leaders, award nominations, and so on and so forth. Naturally, as top prospects playing within one of the most storied rivalries in North American sports, they were sworn enemies; always digging at each other in the press, understandable considering how often they are compared to each other. Of course they naturally got under each other’s skin. Their rivalry is the stuff of legend.

Or so we thought. Eleven years after their debut, they became teammates. And now, they are seemingly unstoppable together. 

Talk to me about Ilya Rozanov. What’s it like playing with him after being propped up against each other for so long?

HOLLANDER: I wasn’t sure what to expect, especially with Ilya starting the season off injured. I’d only ever played with him at the All-Star games over the years, and that’s obviously completely different from a regular season game. But, really, playing with him has been incredible. I don’t mean this as an offense to everyone else I’ve ever played with, but I’ve never played alongside someone where it felt so easy. We know where the other is on the ice without looking, passes connect like it’s nothing. It’s almost like there’s a string tying us together at times, just tugging the other alongside him. And then to have guys like Haasy and Barrett up front there with us, it’s a different kind of energy. It feels special. I think Ilya has said the same already, but this is like, genuinely, the most fun hockey has been for me in a long, long time.

How about off the ice? Has that on-ice chemistry with Rozanov translated into the locker room at all?

HOLLANDER: [LAUGHS] It’s funny. We spent so many years being told by the media, by the league, random fans, that the other person hated us, so we never made an effort to find out if that was actually true or not. I genuinely didn’t know the guy well at all when the trade happened. Turns out, him being the only one who understands the pressure we’ve had on us our whole careers makes it easy to get along. No one else gets it. It’s kind of a bummer we waited this long to be friends. Like, why haven’t we been there for each other the whole time? I think we could’ve used each other when we were younger. At least, I know I could have used Ilya.

So you guys have been able to form a real friendship? We saw the grocery shopping trip from the All-Star Break making the rounds on social media.

HOLLANDER: [LAUGHS] Right, that got a little out of hand. But I mean, I definitely consider him to be one of my best friends now. We’re some of the only guys our age who aren’t married, and we’re actually neighbors, so we just kind of naturally end up at each other’s places constantly, showing up on the other’s doorstep when we’re bored. He spent Christmas with my family this year. His dog likes me more than she likes him. We just became very close very quickly. 

Wow. That’s… kind of incredible, considering your guys’ history. 

HOLLANDER: We never actually hated each other, you know? We’ve always had respect for the other guy’s game, and no matter who it is, it’s always exciting to play with guys who are just so fucking talented. So, the rest of it just came naturally to us, like we’ve always been friends. I just… yeah. I don’t know any other way of putting it. It felt inevitable. 

Wow. What a love story!

HOLLANDER: [LAUGHS] 

While watching practice, Rozanov skates over to the bench where I’m parked to grab a water bottle. He notices me and asks if I’m the “reporter here for Hollander.” I tell him yes, and he gives me a wide, toothy grin before removing his glove to shake my hand. 

“He is not being too boring for you?” Rozanov asks me. His Russian accent has lightened slightly from his years in North America. “People think he is boring, but he is an asshole. In good way,” he quickly clarifies with a smile. “Hollander knows how good he is and he lives up to it. I like assholes like him.” 

I know I only have approximately thirty seconds before Rozanov skates back to his team, so I quickly ask him what it’s been like for him since Hollander came to town (“Better than I could have ever imagined”), if the rivalry really only existed in the media (“Yes. I always admired him. Always knew he was a good guy”), if there’s anything he thinks people should know about Hollander that he wouldn’t own up to himself (“He loves those fucking, ah, fantasy movies, the ones with the short hairy guys and the weird slimy man and the ring?” Shane Hollander is a Lord of the Rings fan? “Yes! Those ones. He forced me to watch them over All-Star break.” Rozanov then gives a loud, exaggerated snore.)

I later ask Hollander about his Lord of the Rings fandom and allegedly making Rozanov watch the films, and he seemingly blushes at being outed as a secret nerd. “Don’t listen to him, Ilya loved watching those.”

Your contract is up at the end of the season. Do you see yourself staying here?

HOLLANDER: I would love to. It’s not up to me, necessarily, but I hope it works out. It took a while for me to feel at home in Montreal and I was prepared for that here, having to start over and all, but it has been a really seamless transition for me. I feel like I belong here. I love this team, I love this group of guys, and I love this city. And I know that we can win. I see my future here for sure. If it works out that I can stay here long term, with these people, I would gladly do it in a heartbeat. 

* * *

March 2022

The article, in Shane’s opinion, was a whole lot of nothing. Maybe a couple digs at Montreal, and, yeah, okay, a decent chunk dedicated to Ilya, but that wasn’t his fault. He answered the questions that were asked of him, and he didn’t know the writer would seek out Ilya at practice (or, more likely, that Ilya sought them out). His dad’s voice lingered in the back of his mind as he happily confirmed that his and Ilya’s rivalry was dead, that they were good. He even participated in a thirst-trappy photoshoot involving a Zamboni, much to Ilya’s delight. But ultimately, he walked away from it feeling like there wasn’t much to be said about it. 

The internet had a different plan. 

* * *

@bonvoyageurs: mfw they more or less asked “hey are the voyageurs bigots” and hollander said yes ma’am (PRETENDS TO BE SHOCKED.GIF)

@hunterskip21: discrimination? In MY hockey?? It’s more likely than you think

@voyaboyas: idgi was someone being fucking racist in the montreal room?? What other kind of discrimination is there

     ↳@hollywood24: babe you’re gonna want to sit down for this

@hollywood24: hollander the second someone called him a c**** (explosion gif)

@centsnotkents: outfit for my wedding vs outfit for the downfall of the montreal voyageurs organization etc. etc. 

@rozanova81: so much montreal talk on the tl when a good chunk of that was every rpfer’s DREAM

     ↳ @shollanderrrrrs: deadass like what do you MEAN Rozanov spent Christmas with the Hollanders?? Hello????????

@thegirlaquarium: very fair to assume the discrimination allegations are in regards to racism towards shane. however, have we considered THIS (gestures wildly to every reference to ilya in this piece)

     ↳@mppmvp: why not both honestly 

          ↳@thegirlaquarium: the most likely answer lbr!

@rickytortarella: mom come pick me up they're trying to make hollander and rozanov gay

     ↳@barrettssss: not necessarily!! they could be gay or bi, etc.

     ↳@boodramsmoodram: trying?? we are just following orders here sir

@rozollander: everyone hop aboard the hollanov rpf bus. don’t forget to thank your driver *checks notes* shane hollander?????

@caphollzy: [photo from the article of Shane half naked sitting in the Zamboni drivers seat] congrats to whoever is bouncing on it

     ↳@centaurus: [image of Ilya Rozanov smiling widely]

@hollanovtruther8124: vindication.

* * *

“Shane, it is fine. Just a couple people online who read too much into anything either of us say,” Ilya told Shane the day the feature dropped. Shane had largely stayed offline, but Ilya sat next to him on the couch and couldn’t help but giggle as he showed Shane some of the more wild reactions, especially to the photoshoot.

“You’re not worried about the people who are correctly assuming that we’re dating?” Shane asked him incredulously.

Ilya shrugged. “They don’t even believe it is real, solnyshko. Is just a bit of fun for them. No one really suspects anything. Plus, they are funny. I also want to watch us make out and make jokes about it,” Ilya grinned and pushed his face into Shane’s neck to press a few smacking kisses to his throat. “You did say some very nice things about me, however.”

“I just answered the questions as honestly as I could,” Shane smiled softly, letting his head fall back to give Ilya more room to work his mouth along his neck.

“Mm, still. I like hearing you say such sweet things about me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Ilya blew a raspberry into Shane’s neck, causing him to squeal and flinch away. “However, I do not think you were following proper safety protocol on the Zamboni. Bet the ice would feel like shit after you are done with it.”

Shane snorted and tried shoving Ilya off of him, only for Ilya to grab his wrists and climb into Shane’s lap, adjusting them so Ilya could pin him to the couch. Shane happily obliged as Ilya’s mouth met his.

* * *

The feature conveniently dropped two days before the Voyageurs rolled into town. Hayden called him the day before the game, letting him know that most of his team was pissed.

“I mean, selfishly I appreciate you mentioning that you and me and J.J. are all cool so we’re not getting any flack online, but the rest of the team…” Hayden trailed off.

Shane shrugged, and leaned over the kitchen island. He really didn’t want to waste any more time thinking about the fallout of him leaving Montreal. He had replayed the situation over and over and over in his head in the near year since, and at this point there was nothing left for him to process. 

He focused his eyes on Ilya next to him cooking dinner. “All I did was answer their questions, Hayden. I didn’t name names, I didn’t give any specifics. But at this point, I have no problem making it clear that the team thought I was more trouble than I was worth.” 

Ilya looked up at Shane, not making any effort to hide the fact that he was very interested in his conversation with Hayden. Shane gave him a tight, fake smile and looked away. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Ilya moved to stand next to him and rest a hand on his lower back. Shane straightened up and leaned into the touch. 

“Hey man, I get it. It’s their own fucking fault. I just wanted to give you a head’s up. Their comment sections are getting flooded. It’s pretty easy from that article to pick up on the fact that they’re all raging assholes. They’re going to be extra pissy tomorrow.”

Shane sighed. “Right. Okay. Thanks, man.” Shane’s eyes closed as Ilya’s hand slipped under his t-shirt and slowly rubbed small circles into his skin.

“We still on for drinks tomorrow after the game? You, me, and J.J.?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?” They said their goodbyes and Shane more or less tossed the phone onto the counter with a clack. He didn’t make eye contact with Ilya, instead opting to let his forehead drop onto his boyfriend’s shoulder and wrap his arms around him with a groan.

“You okay?” Ilya asked gently, still tracing soothing patterns along Shane’s back. 

Shane turned his head into Ilya’s neck and nodded. “Fine,” he said, muffled by Ilya’s skin. He sighed and pulled back to look at him. “Help me score a hatty tomorrow?”

Ilya grinned and gave Shane a sweet peck on his lips. “My vengeful solnyshko.”

* * *

Shane got his hat trick halfway through the second period against Montreal. Ilya assisted on two of them. He jumped straight into Shane’s arms after his third goal, shaking the top of his helmet in excitement and pride, grinning into the side of Shane’s helmet.

The Voyageurs were, indeed, playing angry, but they were also playing sloppy as fuck, and Ottawa was more than happy to take advantage of their emotional game. It was unsurprising, Ilya thought, between Shane’s profile and the way Montreal had slipped back into the second wild card spot in recent weeks, while Ottawa was neck-and-neck with Toronto for the top spot in the conference. The skill disparity was clearly on display tonight. Ilya had forced at least three turnovers alone so far, and by the second intermission the Centaurs were up 5-0, causing the team to even exchange confused looks in the locker room before heading out for the third.

“It’s like they’re not even trying,” Luca said next to Ilya, his brow furrowed in confusion as he adjusted the laces on his skates. 

“Very embarrassing for them,” Ilya said with a smirk. He looked across the room at Shane, who was focused on re-taping one of his sticks. Ilya’s smirk softened as he watched, the set of Shane’s jaw and the concentration in his face making him look, frankly, hot as hell. 

“Did you hear what Comeau said after Shane’s third goal?” Troy leaned over and asked Ilya, quiet enough that only they could hear. He was back in the lineup tonight, but they weren’t playing on the same line again yet. Wiebe continued to tinker with his lineup, leaving Shane and Ilya together for the Montreal game. Distantly, Ilya wondered how intentional that choice was.

Ilya shook his head. “Do I want to know?”

Troy shrugged. “Like. I know I have my own issues and have said some fucked up shit on the ice,” he said. Ilya quirked an eyebrow, because that was a bit of an understatement. “I would have never said some of the slurs that are coming out of that guy’s mouth tonight.”

Ilya hummed and turned away, the waves of anger licking up his chest. He watched Shane finish taping his stick and throw his helmet back on, ready to head to the ice to finish the job. 

Later, he would say it was only a coincidence that he hooked Comeau three times in the final period, all three of which went undetected by the refs and therefore without penalty. He wasn’t trying to egg him on, he promised. He definitely was not trying to goad the neanderthal into dropping the gloves, otherwise he would’ve sent Jakob Andersson after him again. That’s just how the game is played, he said to the media following the game, after he landed a few good punches on Comeau’s nose and cheek before the fucker hit the ice. There were only two minutes remaining in the game, they were about to get Hayes the shutout, so he had no problem taking the game ejection. The guys would have no trouble wrapping up this game without him. No one asked, but he made sure to mention to the media that it was, in fact, odd that Comeau got into another fight against Montreal this season. 

He definitely did not say that the roar of the crowd in his ears mixed with the look on Shane’s face when he headed down the tunnel, his helmet long gone and sweaty curls dangling over his eyes, made him half-hard under his pads.

“I thought you were meeting Pike and Boiziau?” Ilya asked after the game when he saw Shane leaning against his car, following his release from the media and last minute touches by the medical staff to his bruised knuckles, ensuring nothing was structurally damaged.

“I told them I’m going to be late,” Shane said. “Need to take care of something at home, first.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Shane looked around. There were a couple guys heading to their own cars, but no one was close enough to hear them. “Some idiot got into a fight tonight, and I suspect he may have been defending my honor. And if I’m right, I want to be annoyed,” Shane said slyly. “But not as much as I want him to take me home and fucking rail me half to death because it was so hot.”

Ilya all but growled. “Get in the car. Now.”

Shane smirked and followed orders. 

* * *

If Hayden and J.J. noticed Shane walking a little funny when he finally met up with them, neither of them mentioned it. Shane (lovingly) suspected they were too dense to notice in general anyway, not to mention the way the Centaurs blew them out that night was probably hanging over their heads. 

“Capitaine!” J.J. called as he stood to give Shane the standard bro hug. “Took you long enough! Big night for you, huh?”

Shane laughed. “Yeah, it was a good one, definitely,” he said awkwardly, turning to give Hayden a proper hug.

“How are you doing, bud?” Hayden asked softly. 

“I’m good, man,” Shane told him while pulling away. “I promise, I’m good.”

“Good,” Hayden said, slapping him on the bicep before they all sat down. 

“I’m surprised to see you with this many clothes on!” J.J. laughed.

Shane grimaced. “So you saw that article, huh, J.J.?” He sat up as the server came over with a ginger ale and a round of shots that Hayden and J.J. must have ordered before he arrived. 

Hayden laughed as he and J.J. slammed their shots. Shane left his untouched in front of him. “I can’t fucking avoid it, dude. Those photos will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Shane smirked and shook his head. “Whatever.”

“I mean, someone must have enjoyed them, right?” J.J. ribbed him. “Come on. You seeing anyone?”

Shane forced a small laugh. “Uh, no, not right now. Not exactly as easy for me as it is for you guys.”

“Ouais, Capitaine, but I figured once you settled here you would start putting yourself out there, no?”

Shane shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint,” he said. He watched J.J. and Hayden exchange a look that he couldn’t quite translate. “What?” he asked, huffing out another forced laugh. 

Hayden sighed. “Listen, okay, J.J. has this theory… and for the record, I disagree with it! I’m offended on your behalf that he would even come up with this-”

“Come on, man, it’s not that insane,” J.J. defended himself. 

“And what is your theory, J.J.?” Shane asked. He had no idea where this could possibly be going, but he already knew he didn’t like it. 

J.J. sighed. “It’s just… that profile was kind of a lot, Capitaine.”

Shane furrowed his brows. “About Montreal? I barely even said anything-”

“No, not about Montreal! About…” J.J. looked around quickly for any eavesdroppers. “About Rozanov.”

Shane’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Hayden slapped the table in response, and glared at J.J. next to him. “See! I told you it’s a fucking insane idea, man, Shane would never-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Shane asked incredulously, ignoring Hayden’s ranting.

“I just… look. As your friend, as someone who knows you and knows how tough last season was for you…” J.J. began. “He’s a handsome dude, and you guys have clearly become close. I can see how one might, you know, latch on to somebody, especially him.”

“Latch on,” Shane deadpanned.

“Having a crush on your straight buddy is no good, Capitaine,” J.J. said quietly, in such a sympathetic tone of voice that made Shane want to fly off the handle. 

Shane could feel the ground shifting beneath his seat, and he struggled to breathe deeply in and out through his nose without bringing attention to how much his anxiety was spiking. “You think, just, based on that article, that I’m secretly in love with Ilya?”

“Bro! Shane does not have fucking feelings for that dude, that’s such an insult-”

Shane buried his face in his hands, trying to process what was going on. Apparently, his feelings for Ilya were that obvious in the article, as long as you knew Shane was gay, and you weren’t in denial like Hayden, who was currently chewing J.J. out on Shane’s behalf. He only heard every fourth word out of Hayden’s mouth between the blood rushing through his ears, but he caught bastard and bullshit and insanity. As if the mere thought of Shane being with Ilya was so out of this world disgusting to his best friend that he was willing to scream at their other friend in a very public bar in Ottawa over it.

“Stop!” Shane cut off Hayden. “Both of you, shut the fuck up.” 

Hayden dropped his hand that had been waving a pointer finger in J.J.’s face and sighed. “I told you, man,” he whispered to J.J. as if Shane wasn’t sitting right there. “I told you even bringing it up would be useless and just upset him.”

“Hayden,” Shane scolded, channeling his inner Jackie Pike. Hayden had the decency to cower in his seat just a bit. Shane sighed and turned to J.J. “I do not have an unrequited crush on Ilya,” Shane told him, telling him the honest truth. “And you,” he said, turning to Hayden. “Lay the fuck off, Pike.”

Hayden gaped at him. “Shane, I just mean-”

“You don’t fucking know him. Neither of you do,” Shane sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Look, I didn’t expect Ilya and I to become as close as we have. I get that he’s an asshole on the ice, trust me, I do. But he isn’t like that off the ice at all. And just because I’m not harboring a big fat unrequited gay crush on him,” he said, eyeing J.J., making sure to slip in the unrequited again so he could later have plausible deniability if needed. “Doesn’t mean that he hasn’t become one of my closest friends and that you can talk shit like that, dude,” Shane said, turning back to Hayden. “I’m sorry I moved away and made a new friend, guys, but there’s no need for this bullshit,” he snapped, gesturing wildly between the two of them.

Hayden held up a hand in defense. “Shane, that’s not what I’m saying, of course you’re allowed to have other friends. I just…” he sighed. “We’ve all hated him for years. The entire league has hated him for years. I just find it hard to believe that he’s anything except a Grade-A Asshole.”

“I never said he wasn’t an asshole,” Shane couldn’t help but grin maniacally, not believing they were even having this discussion. “But it wouldn’t be deeply offensive for me to have feelings for him. I could do a lot worse.”

Hayden and J.J. gaped at Shane as he slammed the shot he had been ignoring on the table. 

“I appreciate you guys trying to look out for me,” Shane said, ignoring the burn of the alcohol in his throat. “But I can take care of myself just fine, thanks.”

Later, after staying for an appropriate amount of time but earlier than he normally would have begged off from a get together with his friends, Shane got in his car and let his head thunk against the steering wheel, the horn letting out a small beep. 

Shane was fully aware of Ilya’s reputation throughout the league, having himself been on the receiving end of his chirps for a decade (although, Shane always suspected Ilya went a little easy on him, given their Clandestine Hotel Blowjob And Subsequent Ghosting history). However, he was maybe naive to just how seriously everyone else took it. To him, Ilya’s trash talk was nothing but irritating and sometimes annoyingly accurate chirps. If Ilya really hated someone, he would simply not waste his breath, or maybe try to break their nose (see: Gilbert Comeau tonight). And hearing Hayden go on about him, how he’s not worthy of Shane’s attention, all the while J.J. had completely clocked Shane’s feelings for Ilya but the thought of Ilya reciprocating any of those feelings was so ridiculous that Shane must be a pathetic, pining loser…

He sighed and pulled out his phone, only to see a recent missed text from Ilya. 

Ilya Rozanov

How are pike and boiziau?

Shane Hollander

Fine. 

Are you still awake?

Yes

Can I come over?

Of course

Everything ok?

Shane didn’t respond and peeled out of his parking spot, driving home with a white knuckle grip on the wheel. They hadn’t planned on Shane coming over after meeting up with Hayden and J.J., with Shane expecting to stick around with them for much longer and not wanting to wake Ilya. However, the rage and anxiety and frustration that built up in his chest after such a short conversation was threatening to swallow him whole.

He let himself into Ilya’s house and headed straight for his bedroom, stopping to pet Anya who had scattered to the top of the stairs at the sound of the door opening and waited for him with her tail wagging. He dropped a kiss between her eyes, the feeling of her fur against his face providing a small but welcome comfort, and made his way down the hall. Ilya was propped up against the headboard, lit by the single bedside lamp while scrolling through his phone. Shane wasted no time before he climbed across the bed and into Ilya’s lap and captured his mouth in a searing kiss without either of them saying hello. 

Ilya only hesitated for a moment before he happily reached up to grip Shane’s waist and pull him closer. Shane cradled the sides of Ilya’s face, his fingers scratching into his scalp while Ilya licked into his mouth, giving just as much back to Shane as he gave to Ilya.

Finally Shane pulled away, his breathing slightly uneven as he pressed his forehead to Ilya’s. 

Ilya was laughing. “Solnyshko, what-”

“I love you,” Shane interrupted. 

Ilya stared up at him slackjawed, his grip on Shane’s hips tightening. 

Shane ducked his head in slight embarrassment, swallowing and letting out a small exhale. “You don’t have to say it, I know it’s still probably way too soon, but I just… want you to know. I think you already do know, but… I need you to know.”

Ilya crashed his mouth back to Shane’s, pulling away only to murmur against Shane’s lips in Russian. His own hands moved up to hold Shane’s head, firmly pulling their faces as close together as possible. 

“Shane,” Ilya gasped. “I love you, too. Of course I love you,” he told Shane before pressing another sweet kiss to his mouth. 

Shane furrowed his brow, trying his damnedest to not let the tears pooling in his eyes slip over his waterline. He broke the kiss and buried his face in Ilya’s neck before he could see. 

“I take it drinks did not go well?” Ilya asked softly, his hands gently rubbing up and down Shane’s back, his hipbones, his legs, any part Ilya could reach. 

Shane focused on the sensation of Ilya’s fingertips tracing through his clothing and steadied his breathing as best he could. “It was fine,” he eventually said, finally pulling back to look at Ilya. “I mean… yeah. It was fine. Doesn’t matter.”

Ilya pulled back to look Shane in the eye. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, fixing Shane with an Are you fucking for real right now? stare.

Shane inhaled deeply. “Hayden and J.J. read the profile, obviously,” he said. Ilya’s right hand was now swirling circles on the top of his thigh. “Um. Apparently, just based on that interview, J.J. thinks that I have a crush on you, my straight, platonic friend.”

Ilya’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Ahhh,” he said, drawing out the syllable. 

Shane avoided eye contact. “And…” He squeezed his eyes shut, debating whether or not to even tell Ilya about Hayden. It was humiliating hearing his friend talk about his partner like that, even without Hayden knowing they were together, based on nothing but assumptions and only wanting to see Ilya in an unfavorable light. “Hayden acted repulsed by it. As if the thought of me having feelings for you was something, I don’t even know… embarrassing, I guess. Unfathomable.”

Ilya’s mouth snapped shut and Shane watched the bob of his throat as he gulped. “Ah,” he repeated shortly. 

Shane shook his head. “I just… I don’t know. People don’t even actually know that we’re together and they already have a million bullshit opinions of us. Strangers online is one thing, but my own fucking friends?”

Ilya said nothing, only listened and continued dragging his hand up and down Shane’s leg to soothe him. 

“They don’t fucking know you,” Shane continued softly. “They don’t know us.”

Ilya pressed his forehead to Shane’s and nodded slightly, letting their noses bump gently together. “None of it matters, Shane,” he said. “Is just… noise.”

“I fucking hate noise,” Shane grumbled. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when Ilya snorted in response and dipped his head to bury it in Shane’s chest. Ilya’s arm wrapped around Shane once again and scooched them closer together. Shane draped his arms around Ilya’s neck and held him tight, their breathing falling into sync. Shane let his eyes drift close, focusing on the feeling of their chests rising together and the smell of Ilya’s shampoo wafting through his nose. 

He eventually felt Ilya turn his face and press a smattering of kisses right in the center of Shane’s chest. “This is all that matters,” he reiterated to Shane, tilting his head up to look at him. “Good or bad. As long as you are here and are happy, I am here and happy. Okay?”

Shane held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Okay,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya told him.

Shane grinned. “Wait, how do you say it?” Ilya matched his smile. 

“Ya…” he began, kissing the side of Shane’s jaw. 

“Tebya…” Ilya kissed the apple of his cheek. 

“Lyublyu,” he finished, murmuring against Shane’s mouth.

“Ya teebya lubloo,” Shane repeated back, knowing he wasn’t quite hitting the right accent.

Ilya didn’t seem to care. “Close enough,” he said and smiled widely before leaning up to let Shane plant a long, lingering kiss on Ilya’s lips.

* * *

A late-March heat wave marked the first team barbecue at Bood’s house in the new year. 

“Is it too obvious that we’re arriving together?” Shane asked, glancing over to look at Ilya in the passenger seat.

“Mm, no,” Ilya said. “It’s part of our brand now, no? Codependent besties, as Hazy calls us? I think it might be strange if we didn’t show up together at this point.”

“Right,” Shane said softly, turning to look out the window.

Ilya looked over at him briefly before turning back to the road. He blindly reached over in search of Shane’s hand, humming victoriously when he found it and Shane let him thread their fingers together. Ilya brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed Shane’s knuckles, his heart lurching when Shane squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. “It is okay, moya lyubov,” he said softly, bringing their hands to rest over the center console. 

“What does that one mean? You keep saying it.”

Ilya smirked. “It means pain in my ass.”

Shane scoffed and dropped Ilya’s hand, but Ilya could hear Shane laughing under his breath. 

Ilya was not wrong about it looking strange if they didn’t show up together. They entered Bood’s house to a litany of There they are!’s, and The dads are here!’s. After almost a full season, Ilya and Shane were very much considered a package deal on the team. Ilya turned to look at Shane, trying to discreetly send him a See? Totally fine look, but Shane had already ducked ahead to the kitchen to find a drink. 

They found themselves orbiting around each other throughout the evening, each of them drifting from conversation to conversation without the other, but never straying too far. Ilya kept glancing up from his conversation with Bood’s wife Cassie, Hazy, and Hazy’s wife Lisa to watch Shane across the room chat to Harris and Dykstra. He was nodding at something Harris was saying and lifted his can of ginger ale to his mouth, his own eyes finding Ilya’s in the process. Ilya bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to avoid a stupid grin taking over his face at the wink Shane gave him while sipping his drink.

An hour later, after teammates with young children that needed to be put to bed and partners who needed to be up early for work the morning had left, a small group of guys found themselves outside gathered around the fire pit. Troy and Harris were snuggled up on the couch, with Hazy and Bood sitting in two arm chairs across from them. Ilya lounged across one side of the loveseat, arm spread across the back of the furniture and his feet propped up on the ottoman in front of him. 

“No fucking way you can tie a cherry stem with your mouth, Bood-”

“Get me a goddamn cherry right now, Barrett, I swear-”

Ilya ignored them and watched Shane move inside the house through the sliding glass doors. He shuffled along the kitchen with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head, grabbing two cans from the fridge. He turned and headed for the doors leading out to the deck, meeting Ilya’s eyes through the glass and giving him a warm smile. He slipped one of the cans into the front pocket of his sweatshirt in order to slide the door open and step outside.

“Hollsy! Grab those fucking cherries behind you, would you!?”

Shane backtracked into the house and grabbed the jar of maraschino cherries sitting on the kitchen island, then brought them back out into Bood’s waiting hand. “Are you doing the tongue thing?”

“The tongue thing?” Ilya asked incredulously. “Do not call it that, Hollander, please.”

Shane laughed softly. Ilya saw Troy roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision, then Harris promptly elbowing him in the ribs.

Shane plopped down in the empty space next to Ilya and handed him the can of Coke in his hand. Ilya smiled and took it with a quiet thanks, and couldn’t help but grip the back of the couch tightly when Shane settled into his seat and let his head drop back to casually rest on Ilya’s arm while pulling out his can of ginger ale from his pocket. There was nearly a full foot of space between them on the cushions, but the small contact on his forearm sent a thrill through Ilya. He lifted his feet and pushed the ottoman closer to Shane with his right foot, allowing both of them to stretch their legs in front of them. Shane glanced at him and smiled, giving him his own silent thank you.

Across the fire, Bood pulled a cherry stem out of his mouth tied into a neat little knot. “Ha! You owe me ten bucks.”

“I didn’t fucking bet anything, you moron,” Troy scolded, not moving his head from where it rested on Harris’ shoulder. 

Bood craned his neck to look inside the house. “Where’s Cassie? She can do it too, she’s the one who taught me how to do it…”

“Good for her,” Ilya muttered, just loud enough for Shane and Hazy to hear. Hazy snorted, not looking up from where he was scrolling on his phone. Shane bit down a laugh and pressed his head gently against Ilya’s arm under the guise of readjusting in his spot.

“Toronto just got took belt to ass against Seattle, in case anyone was curious,” Hazy announced, still looking down at his phone. “Final score of 8-1. Which officially puts the Ottawa Centaurs in not only the top spot in the division, but the top spot in the East.”

Ilya lifted his can of Coke in the air. “To Seattle.”

The rest of the group raised their own drinks in the air and toasted to the Seattle Sirens, and the Centaurs’ number one position. 

“If the season ended today, we would play, can you believe it! The Montreal Voyageurs in the first round,” Hazy continued sardonically. “God, I can’t do that again, guys. It’s going to be a fucking brawl on the ice every night.”

“Don’t act like a goalie fight isn’t on your career bucket list, Hayes,” Troy said.

Ilya felt Shane tense next to him slightly and watched as he fiddled with the pop tab of his can. He shifted his feet slightly to the left and let his foot gently tap Shane’s next to him. Shane waited a moment before returning the gesture.

“Swept ‘em once, we’ll sweep ‘em again,” Bood said as he leaned his head back in his chair and closed his eyes. “We even have their best player this time. Taking them on again is nothing.”

“Don’t get complacent,” Ilya said. 

“Big word for you, Roz,” Bood bit back without even looking up. 

“The league will definitely try to drum it up, though,” Harris said. “I’ll be honest, we’ve already had marketing meetings about potential playoff matchups. We definitely won’t lean into the Shane of it all, and honestly I doubt Montreal will because that would be even more fucking embarrassing for them,” he explained with an eye roll. “But it will be all the national media will want to talk about, I’m sure.” Harris shot Shane an apologetic look from across the fire pit. 

Shane gave him a tight smile. “Can’t wait,” he deadpanned. 

Ilya bumped his foot once again against Shane’s, this time letting it stay pressed against his shoe. “Just once, can we sit around this fire without talking about Hollander and his shitty time in Montreal?” Ilya demanded.

Bood finally glanced up and casually scratched at the side of his scalp. Ilya could tell from the way his head tilted forward, as if he was balancing a bowling ball on his shoulders, that he was by far the drunkest person sitting around this circle. “Hollsy, are you happy here?”

Ilya watched as Shane tried to tamper down the amused, charmed smile from his face. “I am happy here, thanks for asking.”

“No, I mean like, here. In Ottawa.”

Shane nodded. “I am very happy here in Ottawa, Bood.”

“And like? You trust us?”

Ilya watched as Shane’s brow furrowed. “I do trust you guys.”

“Then why the fuck,” Bood said, pointing an accusatory finger at Shane. “Haven’t you brought a guy around to meet us yet?”

Ilya barked out loud, single laugh before he could help himself. He heard Troy sputtering and blowing a raspberry, trying to keep his own giggles together. Harris and Hazy’s shoulders were both shaking, each trying to contain their laughter. 

Shane, meanwhile, clearly realized how drunk Bood was and simply gaped at him and let out his own small laugh. “I haven’t really been dating since I moved here, man. It’s nothing personal.”

Ilya made eye contact with Troy, who was watching him with such a giddy expression on his face, obviously waiting for him to break. Ilya gripped his drink tight to avoid giving him the satisfaction. 

“But like… there’s been no one? We can set you up with somebody, Hollsy, Cassie has tooooons of gay friends-”

“Oh my god,” Troy muttered, burying his face in Harris’ shoulder. “Thank god he never did this with me.”

“Speak for yourself. He definitely did this with me before you showed up,” Harris told him, patting him on the leg. 

“I think I’m gonna go find Lisa…” Hazy said, standing from his seat. “I have no part in this, guys. Hollsy, it’s your god-given right to be single forever and take a vow of celibacy, if that’s what you want. I’ll support you in that.” He raised a hand to rest over his heart.

Shane stared at him for a moment before shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Thanks, man, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hazy nodded and headed inside. 

“I will not support you in that!” Bood declared, sitting up straight. “It’s also your god-given right as a multimillionaire sexy ass motherfucker to get fucking laid, if that’s what you want.”

Ilya couldn’t help himself and turned to look at Shane. “He’s right, Hollander,” he said with a wide grin. 

Shane ignored him. “I don’t need or want help finding a date, Bood, I’ve got it.”

Bood waved him off, leaning back in his seat. “Too bad you can’t just fucking date Rozy,” he said as his eyes slid closed once again. “I mean, you two are basically already married.”

“Oh, my god,” Shane whispered, turning to look at Ilya in exasperation. Ilya was staring wide-eyed into the fire crackling in front of them, his lips rolled together in a tight line to keep any noise from escaping. 

Harris was rubbing his face in his hands while Troy looked between Shane and Ilya and then Bood, making sure his eyes were still shut before giving them a bright, amused face. “Guys…” he mouthed at them, the smugness settling into his expression. 

Shane threw his hands up and glared at Troy, then at Ilya, a face silently asking What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Ilya sighed and moved to stand up, letting his hand brush against the nape of Shane’s neck as he did so. He was certain that he didn’t imagine Shane leaning into the touch. “Let’s get you to bed, Bood,” Ilya said, stepping around Shane’s feet to walk over to Bood and clap him on the shoulder. “Where’s your wife?”

Bood stood and let Ilya gently guide him back in the house. “You know what I’m saying, though, right?” he continued arguing as he reached to open the sliding glass door. 

Ilya nodded along. “I know. Hollander is great, I should be so lucky,” he told him, all but pushing him into the house. He smiled at Shane before stepping inside as well, sliding the door closed behind him. 

Later, when Shane and Ilya were walking down the street with Troy and Harris towards their cars, Shane spoke up. “Is it that obvious?”

Ilya’s head snapped up to look at Shane, but his eyes were focused on Troy and Harris. Ilya’s heartbeat settled, realizing it was probably useless to even try hiding this from them. 

The other couple didn’t even miss a beat. “To us, yes,” Troy said, giving them a slightly apologetic look. “But then again, we’re also gay, and we’re the only ones who know that Ilya is bi.”

Harris nodded. “I think they’re only going to get as far as Bood, y’know? Like, wow, if only Rozanov liked men… but they, respectfully, would never assume you aren’t straight,” he said, looking at Ilya. “‘Gay or European’, and all that.”

Ilya fidgeted where he stood and sighed. “Right. Okay.”

“Guys, we’re obviously not going to tell anyone,” Troy said firmly. “As long as I don’t have to watch Rozanov make sad, yearning eyes across the ice at you anymore, Hollander.”

Shane snickered and leaned his body against Ilya’s, who instinctively raised his arm to steady Shane at the small of his back. “Well, at least now they’ll be happy yearning eyes, Barrett,” Ilya said, pressing a quick kiss to Shane’s temple. They were cloaked in the dark, the nearest street lamp some thirty yards away. Even if a nosey neighbor peaked out their window and saw the four of them talking, they wouldn’t be able to make out anything specific between Ilya and Shane. 

“How about just normal eyes?” Shane asked. “No visible yearning.”

Ilya shrugged. “Stop making me yearn for you, then, Hollander.”

“Gross,” Troy said. 

Shane sighed and rubbed the corner of his eye. “Come on, Romeo, take me home,” he said, reaching up to guide Ilya towards the car by his forearm.

Ilya grinned flirtatiously. “Yes, sir,” he said. He waved a hand behind him as they stumbled towards the car. “Night Barrett, night Harris, thank you for keeping our secrets,” he called over his shoulder. 

“Shhh,” Shane hissed, but in the dark Ilya could make out the small smile pulling at his lips. “Give me the keys, asshole.”

Ilya plopped the keys in Shane’s hand but protested. “I’m not even drunk, moya lyubov.”

Shane grinned and climbed into the driver’s seat. Ilya followed and hopped in the passenger side door. “Troy and Harris are never letting us live that down, are they?”

Ilya shook his head, then reached over to tangle his fingers with Shane once he had pulled out of their parking spot, their hands settling comfortably between the two of them. “Never. We are fucked,” he told him with a gentle squeeze.

Chapter End Notes

"who are you rooting for in the western conference final now that the wild are out" bro I'm rooting for colorado and vegas to be thanos snapped and turned to dust

in another universe i would have learned how to use html for the tweets here. this is not that universe, but maybe next time.

thanks for the nice comments on the last chapter. this one feels much better to me and i hope you enjoy <3