Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Hayden Pike, Rose Landry, Jackie Pike, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Autistic Shane Hollander, Disabled Shane Hollander, Deaf Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander Has Fibromyalgia, Shane Hollander Uses a Cane, Shane Hollander Uses Mobility Aids, Sub Shane Hollander, Dom Ilya Rozanov, Dom/sub Undertones, undertones for now we will see how it goes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Hockey, Ilya Rozanov Uses Sign Language, LATER, he speaks first but eventually i promise, Oral Sex, Sex, Anal Sex, Ableism, Ableist Language, Marijuana, Smoking, Medical use of marijuana, Shane hollander smokes marijuana, how is that not a tag hes so autistic let him have a joint, Shane Hollander Uses A Wheelchair, Wheelchairs, Walking Canes, Wheelchair Sex, briefly in chapter three usually the sex and the wheelchair are seperate

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-06 Completed: 2026-02-11 Words: 42,588 Chapters: 5/5

the things that aid us

Summary

“I’m glad it’s us, at the top.” Ilya admitted, letting his legs spread a bit as he visibly relaxed. “All that noise, about me not being able to hear and your-”

He motioned vaguely, and Shane finished for him, “Chronic pain?”

“Yes, that.” he hummed, “Was all nonsense. You’re good at what you do.”

Shane smiles, then. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Not as good as me, obviously.” Ilya added, and Shane rolled his eyes. “Can’t be too nice to you, can I?”

“Guess not.”

Or,

Shane Hollander has a chronic pain condition and Ilya Rozanov is deaf. This inevitably means that they're going to be compared to one another, and this is only made worse when they're drafted to rival teams The Montreal Metros and The Boston Bears as first and second pick.

It was rare enough that mainstream sports received one disabled player but two? Drafted during the same season and always one-upping each other?

Well, it was unheard of.

Notes

OKAY hi i'm here with the start of what i hope will be my next main project. there's a lot of warnings to get into before we dive into this so strap in ok?

firstly, I've watched the show a million times and at the time of writing this first chapter, I have read the first book and part of the second. this fan fiction will be following the plot and timeline of the show with some adjustments for this alternate universe, but I may take things I like from the book and throw them in here. I usually would want to read the whole book series, and write the whole fic independently before i start posting but i am too excited so you get the first chapter NOW

secondly, i am disabled myself and will be drawing on my own experiences for this fic. I have a chronic pain condition like shane does in this fic, so I would say his experiences are as accurate as they can be but i am not deaf. I have taken three semesters of American Sign Language and I've learned a lot about deaf culture and the aids Deaf individuals can use (such as a cochlear implant, which is what Ilya uses in this fic) but that does not make up for me being less experienced with his sort of disability. I did a lot of research and am well educated but if any Deaf or hard-of-hearing readers find something wrong with my portrayal, please let me know so I can educate myself further if necessary.

thirdly, this fic will contain ableist language and ideas because we are picking up in the late 2000s and this is ATHLETICS!!! Ilya also struggles with a lot of internalized ableism, especially in these first few chapters. I am disabled myself and have a lot of disabled friends, and all of the things that are said/happen are real things that are said and happen to disabled people all the time. it sucks but it is true and i would not be writing this alternate universe well if i didn't explore these struggles

fourthly. this fic is planned to be five chapters, each chapter covering one episode of the show-ish and skipping skip's episode. they will still get their lovely coming out scene, but most of their story isn't relevant to the one i am trying to tell. Early on, this fic will follow the show almost exactly with changes for the au, and later on, it should diverge more. no idea if this will be a plan I stick to, but that's the plan!

lastly, enjoy! any other warnings are outlined in the tags pretty well, which will be updated as I post new chapters. thanks for clicking on this fic!!

Chapter 1: rookies and cripples

December, 2008. International Prospect Cup.

“How do you feel about the doubt about you successfully being drafted next year due to your health issues?” 

Shane Hollander blinked as he considered this question, pushing past the inherent ableism baked into the idea that he would be a worse player than anyone else by default. Despite his numbers, despite how well he did on his junior team. 

He took in a breath, looking directly into the camera pointed at him, “It’s like you all say, right? I’m one of the most valued prospects in the world. I don’t think I’ll have a hard time being placed on a team. Look at the stats.”

The journalist his mother had arranged for him to speak to before the International Prospect Cup Final didn’t seem to be satisfied by this answer. He glanced down at his notepad, “How about the comments surrounding your relatively recent debut into the world of ice hockey? Most players your age have years on them, dating back to when they were children.” 

“Slight correction.” Shane sighed, “I played sled hockey for a long time before accepting a place on the Voyageurs Junior League Team. Sled hockey is just like normal hockey, except we sit on sleds- it’s a bit easier for players like me. There aren’t many sled hockey teams, though, so I would sometimes be a stand-in for the Voyageurs, a local mainstream junior hockey team, who took me in full-time a few years ago after I decided I wanted to pursue this as a career.” 

“Right.” The journalist nodded, just slightly, “What is stopping you from pursuing a career in ‘sled hockey,’ if you’re better at it?” 

He put air quotes around sled hockey, obviously so for the running cameras, implying that it wasn’t a real sport. 

“I already said- there aren’t many junior league sled hockey teams. There’s even less professional ones. I can’t go to the Paralympics, either.” Shane explained, just like he did whenever he was asked this same list of questions by anyone else. “I can stand and skate perfectly fine, as you can see in any of my play videos. It made sense to switch to mainstream hockey.” 

“And why is it that you can’t go to the Paralympics? Isn’t that the biggest sport competition for-” 

“Disabled athletes ever?” Shane finished, and the journalist nods. “It is, but a chronic pain condition like mine isn’t enough to qualify you for them, and the Olympics hardly have a sled hockey competition. There’s a reason I’m aiming for the main leagues- and I have a right to be here.” 

Sometimes, Shane wished that his history of playing sled hockey wasn’t publicized. Back then, though, when it was just a hobby he did with other disabled children in his area, there was no reason why a photo of him on his hockey sled couldn’t be posted to Facebook. 

Part of him wished that he could do what plenty of other athletes and celebrities with invisible disabilities did and pretend it wasn’t there. He wished he could just play the game and be good at it and be treated like everyone else was. 

He was proud of representing his community, of being able to go further than people expected him to, but he hated having to justify himself at every turn. He stood up, then, using the arms of the chair he had been begrudgingly given upon his mother’s request to push himself up.

“We still have more questions, Mr. Hollander!” The journalist called after him as he left the room. 

“If you’re just going to question my skills, pull up one of my games. Watch me win. That should be enough.” he answered. 

His mother was going to give him a lecture about that footage being out there, about his attitude and seeming approachable as he entered his professional career, but he didn’t particularly care about that at the moment. She would be able to see why he had gotten worked up, anyways. 

Shane Hollander was going to be drafted onto a mainstream hockey team, and he was going to do well, there. 

That’s what he told himself, anyway. 

--

Ilya Rozanov hadn’t known that wind made a sound as it brushed against clothes and pushed against buildings until recently, and he kind of wished he had never learned that piece of information. It made sneaking away from his teammates to smoke a cigarette a far less peaceful, solemn experience. 

He could remove the outer part of his cochlear implant, but his teammates and coaches weren’t good at waving to get his attention and would just call out to him and expect him to keep up with whatever was going on. He was still adjusting to it, anyways, which meant that he was supposed to keep it on as much as possible so that his brain adjusted to “hearing” words and noises- all the words and noises that Ilya didn’t particularly like, just then. 

He leaned against the concrete wall, fiddling with his lighter as he tried to get it to click. As he did so, a voice approached from around the corner of the building, “Ilya Rozanov?” 

He looked over with a questioning gaze, and he takes in the sight of a player he had only ever seen in interview clips and photos. Usually, they were being compared to each other. 

It wasn’t often that mainstream hockey received serious and high-ranked disabled prospects. 

Two of them, lined up to be drafted during the same year? 

That was shocking in it’s own right. 

“Shane Hollander. I wanted to introduce myself.” The dark-haired and freckle-faced teenager waits until he’s close to Ilya to start speaking, close enough that the russian can read his lips and use that information in combination with what his cochlear implant gave him. 

It was tiring enough decoding Russian speech, and now he had to translate from English, too. 

He didn’t mind having an excuse to stare at Shane Hollander’s lips, though. 

Ilya almost doesn’t notice him holding his hand out to shake, but he does- and he shakes it, just before returning his cigarette to his mouth and trying to light it again. 

“I’m not sure you’re supposed to smoke here.” Shane Hollander made a motion to his mouth, like holding a cigarette or joint, just as he manages to light it and tuck the lighter away. 

Ilya blowed the smoke from his mouth after a deep inhale. “Ok.” 

He sort of expects the other hockey player to leave, then, but the freckle-faced kid was insistent. “You’re an awesome player to watch.” 

Ilya nods, “Yes.” 

Shane chuckles, then, somewhat awkwardly. Ilya doesn’t mind the invasive feeling of a cochlear implant if it means he gets to hear that sound, but he doesn’t say any of those thoughts outloud. Instead, he watches as Shane momentarily leans against the wall beside him, reaching his hand into his pocket to fiddle with something. 

Maybe he had cigarettes of his own, or something else he wanted to smoke. Either way, he didn’t bother, pushing himself off of the wall before, “I should go. They’re waiting for me. Good luck in the tournament.” 

He held his hand out again, and Ilya seriously considers the idea that maybe, this was a weird Canadian cultural norm that no one filled him in on. He liked to think that maybe, Shane Hollander was just a bit odd. 

He smiled, shaking his hand again, and before Shane could walk too far away, he called out after him: 

“You will not be so nice when we beat you.” 

Shane turns to reply with something, and Ilya can’t quite make out what it is between the slight increase in distance and the wind around them, but he’s sure it’s something along the lines of “Yeah, right.” or “We’re going to beat you.” 

“See you in the final, Hollander.” 

--

The playback of the broadcast of the Canada-Russia final is almost just as upsetting as losing the game was. 

“...showcasing the two most talked-about prospects in the world: Canada’s Shane Hollander and Russia’s Ilya Rozanov. First, you’ve got Ottawa’s own Shane Hollander. From everything we’ve seen and heard, he may not be the most sociable, but this is the kid with the highest hockey IQ out there.” 

If the voice-over commentary about him ended there, stating opinions on how he played and introducing him before moving on, it would have been fine. The commentary overlays clips of the players from each respective team stretching and talking to one another. 

“Incredibly smart, incredibly dedicated to the game, and incredibly fast, despite mobility-inhibiting chronic pain issues off the ice. Shane Hollander got his start in sled hockey as a child, and only transitioned into mainstream hockey in the last few years- will be prove himself to be worthy of a spot in the league despite this struggling transition, or will be lose to Ilya Rozanov?” 

“You shouldn’t be watching that.” his mother poked her head into the room, “It’s just going to bother you more. Second in the world is not something to scoff at, and you’re still going to get drafted to an amazing team in a few months.” 

“I know that, mom. It’s just…” he trailed off, still staring at the television screen in front of him, “They focus so much on my health issues, on the fact that I started in sled hockey first like they aren’t basically the same sport anyways. It’s annoying.” 

Before Yuna can respond to him, the commentary shifts to talking about Rozanov. 

“Strong on the puck and a strong skater. And from everything we’ve heard- no pun intended, folks, he really gets under other players’ skins. Good in his own room and not liked in his opponent’s- my kind of player, and Boston’s kind of player, too. Both Rozanov and Hollander are notable for being two disabled prospects, set to be drafted at the same time and share a rookie season- assuming at least two teams will want to take the risk of a player who can’t stand for too long or one who can’t keep up with a conversation.” 

“See?” Shane motioned to the television with an exasperated expression. “I’m the second top prospect in the world, and I’m still not good enough to not be labeled a ‘risk.’ It’s bullshit.” 

“It’s unfair to Rozanov, too.” she agreed, and Shane gave her a look. “Not the point. Note taken.” 

“I’m going to be picked for a good team. I have to be.” Shane told his mother, and his voice is unwavering, “And I’m going to play well with them.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Yuna gave him a fond smile, and if there’s more she wants to say on the topic, she doesn’t bother. “That’s what we should be focusing on. Preparing you for your upcoming career.” 

Shane grabs for the remote and powers off the tv. He gathers all his enthusiasm to respond: “Yeah, right.” 

He should focus on training and improving himself until the draft, not on the ableism directed at him despite the talent he worked hard for. 

He should focus on doing well in his last few games with his junior league team, not on the way Ilya Rozanov leaned in to whisper “see you at the draft” when they shook hands after Canada lost the Prospect Cup Final. 

--

Six Months Later. Los Angeles. Major League Hockey Draft. 

Shane sort of wished he had listened to his mother about potentially getting a cane or wheelchair before he had to attend events like these- ones where he would have to walk around and stand without much of a break for hours on end. He should be celebrating his new spot on the Montreal Metros, not shifting his weight between one foot and the other as he tried to keep a smile on his face and not let anyone know how much pain he was in. 

As much as interviewers loved to ask him whether or not playing in games flared up his fibromyalgia, it was actually everything else that did. Skating across the ice was nothing at all. Standing for interviews and pictures and small talk, though? 

That was painful. Not just because interacting with people was already hard enough for him, either. 

“Oh, and uh, just to be clear, we are thrilled that Shane is Asian-Canadian and you know, disabled. We’re breaking barriers, here.” 

Shane wasn’t paying a lot of attention as his mother entertained a conversation with an upper-manager of his new team, instead scanning the room for an empty chair. By then, photos had been taken and he had answered a million questions, so it didn’t seem unreasonable to find a seat and take a moment. 

He didn’t want to ask for one, either, because that proved the ever-repeated point about him not being able to stand for too long. 

Instead, he makes eye contact with Ilya Rozanov from across the room, who was undoubtedly hearing something very similar from someone in a similar position for the Boston Raiders. 

As much as he hated being compared to him, it was hard to deny the fact that their experiences were probably pretty similar. 

He said something polite when cued about being excited to play for his team, about representing his communities, before promptly whispering something to his father and sneaking off to his hotel room as soon as physically possible. 

And later that night, once he tries to lay in bed and can’t get himself to sleep for the life of him, he sneaks off again to the hotel gym. 

Shane Hollander was an expert at dealing with his pain, by now. Or rather, he was an expert at executing the stretches and exercises recommended to him by his physical therapist until he was tired enough to pass out either way. 

He had medical access to marijuana at that point- something that was supported by his parents and doctors and even by his hockey coaches, as long as he wasn’t high during any of his games. However, smoking in a hotel room or in public was still against all sorts of rules Shane didn’t feel comfortable breaking, yet. 

Besides, he had no idea if he could sneak anything past airport security, and he could hardly go buy something at an American dispensary at the age of 18 without copies of the documents stating that he had a perfectly good reason to smoke, actually. 

So, he threw himself over the seat of a machine bike in the gym of some hotel, hoping that he’d get some relief from the music blasting through his black-wired earbuds and the repetitive motion of pedalling the bike. 

His physical therapist had explained why exercises like biking or swimming helped him at one point or another. The movement and stretching of the joints connecting his legs to his pelvis, the way his spine had to shift to allow for it- it was supposed to help him. It only sort of worked. 

Once he’s comfortable in the motion, head leans forward to rest his head in his arms, where they were positioned from holding the handles of the stationary machine. The next time he sits up a bit to let his spine stretch, Ilya Rozanov is on the bike next to him, dressed in athletic shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt that made Shane all too aware of his muscles. 

And Shane wasn’t sure when it became more about going faster than the other athlete instead of trying to undo the knot in his mid-back, but the distraction was welcome. By the time they’re climbing off of their machines to sit on the ground, he was more focused on Ilya and his body this his own and it’s pain, anyway. 

“What a fucking day, huh?” Rozanov was more talkative than Shane had expected him to be, leaning back against the bike behind him and all but glistening under the fluorescent gym lights. 

It was sweat, Shane reminded himself. He should have found it gross. 

“Yeah, totally.” He responded, letting out a breath. He was probably just as, if not more, worked up physically than the other man. He’d shower when he got back to his hotel room, he thinks distantly. 

“Is everything you dreamed of?” Rozanov had an interesting accent, something layered with Russian. It clicks for him, then, that it was the result of deafness and the ensuing speech therapy he had heard about through some interview or another. 

It was less prominent than it had been when they first met in the not-smoking area outside of the practice rink at the International Prospect Cup. Someone who wasn’t paying attention would probably chalk it up to him being Russian and not speaking much English, but Shane noticed. 

“Almost.” he shrugged. 

“Sorry.” Ilya’s tone was light. Playful, maybe, but that was a guess. 

“No, you’re not.” Shane shook his head, and he’s smiling dumbly. Too widely. There’s some back and forth about their teams, about where they would be living, then. 

Eventually, “We will be seeing each other a lot.” the other man lifted his pop-top water bottle to his lips and took a long drink. 

“Yeah, Boston and Montreal play against each other often.” Shane noted how Ilya’s eyes always stayed trailed on his face, on his lips. He just needed to lip read, probably, between the cochlear implant and English being his second language, but he still feels weird under his gaze. 

“I’m glad it’s us, at the top.” Ilya admitted, letting his legs spread a bit as he visibly relaxed. “All that noise, about me not being able to hear and your-” 

He motioned vaguely, and Shane finished for him, “Chronic pain?” 

“Yes, that.” he hummed, “Was all nonsense. You’re good at what you do.” 

Shane smiles, then. “I’m glad you think so.” 

“Not as good as me, obviously.” Ilya added, and Shane rolled his eyes. “Can’t be too nice to you, can I?” 

“Guess not.” 

They eye contact shared between them is intense. Shane’s feelings about Ilya’s muscles and the way he looked, tilting back his head to drain the water bottle-

Those were intense, too, and that’s confusing for a million reasons. 

Before he has a chance to think this through, Ilya was holding out his water bottle to him. He shakes his head, waving it off, but the other man shakes it in the air between them. 

He was insistent, and Shane was obedient. And he was obedient, still, when Ilya whispers “more.”

The shower he takes when he gets back to his hotel room is incredibly cold even though hot water was better for his body pain, and he definitely does not spend it thinking about Ilya’s smile or muscles or the way his hand lingered on his when he took the water bottle back. 

He definitely doesn’t think about that wink, when Ilya brought the bottle back to his own lips to drain the remaining liquid from it, or their shared panting throughout the whole interaction.

--

One Year Later. Toronto. 

Ilya Rozanov wasn’t sure why he suggested them doing the commercial together, but he doesn’t regret it. Especially not when the producers motion to the outer-part of his cochlear implant and ask him if he can take it off for the shoot.

Especially not when Shane Hollander asks to sit down between takes and they tell him that resetting everything would be a hassle. It gives him someone to complain to while Shane’s mother- Yuna Hollander, Ilya thinks her name is, gives the producers a piece of her mind.

“I mean, they know that I can’t just stand there, like that.” Shane’s nostrils flared as he deposited himself on a bench as far away from Ilya as he could without falling off of the edge. “And asking you to take your implant off? That’s so, so stupid.” 

“Is idiotic.” Ilya emphasized, motioning around the arena they were filming in. “Can’t even lip read in the lighting, is impossible.” 

“I get embarrassed when my mom does this.” Shane admitted quietly, “But it’s nice to have someone to advocate for me, I guess.” 

Ilya wondered what it felt like to be able to rely on that, to rely on someone in that way. He had been in speech therapy and forced to lip-read since they figured out that he was deaf as a toddler, and his disability was never spoken of in a positive way. 

His father or brother would never cut in to ask for accommodations for him in the way Shane’s mother was doing for both of them. Ilya’s mother would have, though, and that’s a bittersweet thought. 

“You’re pretty. Like a doll.” Ilya commented instead of thinking through this. 

“You’re wearing makeup, too.” Shane argued. 

“Yes, but I’m not pretty.” 

When they go back to filming again, Ilya is allowed to wear is cochlear implant, but the producers reposition them in a way that ensures that the camera will not see it. 

They didn’t stop long enough for Shane to have a chance to sit down, either, shooting and resetting again and again until they called it ‘good enough.’ Shane seemed to prefer it this way, only staring at him with the intensity the producers wanted for a few seconds before glancing away each and every time. 

“When they tell you do commercial with me and not just alone?” 

Ilya was off of the ice now, tilting forward slightly to speak to Shane, who was leaning against the boards as he waited for the producers to say that the shot of him skating on his own was fine and set him free, too. 

“Like, two days ago?” Shane shrugged before answering, and Ilya nodded. “Why? When did they tell you?” 

“No, they told me nothing. Was my idea.” Ilya told him, keeping his tone even and casual. Or at least, he hoped he sounded even and casual to a Canadian, hearing ear. 

He wasn’t sure why he was telling him until he saw the split-second look of shock on his face before he was called away to film something again. And Shane, ever the obedient, was quick to abandon him on the side of the rink. 

--

“A lot of kids are going to be looking up to you. Kids that don’t see themselves here a lot.” 

Shane’s mother was talking to him as they were sat in the audience seats opposite to where Ilya was busy filming, quiet enough that they weren’t interrupting the work being done on the ice but loudly enough that Shane couldn’t get lost in his thoughts. 

“I get it, Mom.” he told her, “It’s just hard to feel like I’m representing anyone when I’m not really allowed to talk about my health issues, and all my success is done ‘in spite’ of them.” 

“You are allowed to talk about your disabilities, Shane.” Yuna corrected him, “It’s just snapping at interviewers that your sponsors don’t like.” 

“I guess so.” Shane hummed, letting his eyes drift to where Ilya was still skating around. 

Maybe he’s better at it then he is, without the ‘mobility-inhibiting’ chronic pain that he possessed. 

“I guess…it sort of feels like that even though everyone knows about my disabilities, I still have to pretend that they never impact me to avoid risking not being taken seriously as an athlete.” he told her, “Like, if I did decide to start using a cane full time, like you and my doctors suggest- would my coaches ask me to leave it in the locker room during interviews? Would they ask me not to have it on me during on-camera appearances even though I rely on it, like these producers just did with Rozanov’s cochlear?” 

His mother lets him ramble on and get his feelings out, wrapping an arm around him before answering honestly, “I don’t know, honey. But I would support you, no matter what happened.” 

--

By the time Ilya is able to go to the locker room to shower, Shane was already in there- undressed and sat on a white plastic chair as water ran over his body and through his hair. 

He moves to stand when he sees him enter the room, but Ilya waves him off. Shane stays seated, shifting slightly to allow the water to run down his back as Ilya turns on a showerhead a few spaces away from him. He closes his legs slightly, too, but it doesn’t hide much. 

Ilya could feel Shane’s eyes on him as he started to rinse off, could feel every unsubtle glance in his direction. He could feel his gaze following him as he turned around to hit parts of his body better, as he tilted his head back to ensure the water soaked through his curls- all while Shane Hollander remained seated, facing the wall. 

If the outer piece of Ilya’s cochlear implant was water proof, maybe he’d ask Shane about the chair. If he used one at home, too, or if his team travelled with one to keep in the locker room so that he didn’t have to stand after playing games. Maybe he’d ask about how he went about receiving accommodations like that, because Ilya wasn’t particularly good at asking for any himself. 

He’s kind of glad he can’t hear himself or anything Shane might say, because it leaves him to admire the other player’s body instead. 

When Shane stares at him for a moment too long, Ilya glances down to his crotch, where the beginnings of an erection was noticeably sticking up from between his legs. The russian doesn’t hear his reaction, the words that were undoubtedly some string of curses, but he sees the way he jumps to his feet and shoves the chair backwards. 

He sees the way he turns away from him but cant help but to glance over his shoulder and watch as Ilya begins to jerk himself off, softly, slowly, carefully. Shane makes direct eye contact with him again, and he says words that take Ilya a second to decode through lip reading and mental translation alone: 

“Not here.” 

--

Shane waits until Ilya steps out with a towel around his waist and opens the locker to grab for his cochlear implant and put it back in place to speak to the other man again, not entirely sure how much he could understand without it. 

“Look, we can forget what happened in there- okay?” He focused on tying up his shoes as he waits for Rozanov’s response. 

“Is what you want?” the russian asked, and Shane responds almost automatically: 

“Yeah, for sure.” 

The laugh that follows is a soft, barely there sort of sound. When Shane glances over, he sees that there’s more movement in Ilya’s body then there is any noise, and he wonders if it’s always that way. 

“Wow. You are a really bad liar.” he glanced over to him from his spot at the locker where he had grabbed the outer cochlear implant piece, and he walked over in this deliberate, careful way. “What is your room number?”

When he’s standing just there, in front of where Shane fumbled with his shoe laces, he cant help but notice how the hair on his stomach disappeared under the towel. He can’t help but notice how his chain dangled, how good his hair looked when it was all wet and slicked back. 

He can’t help but look up at him and obediently answer, “Fourteen-ten.” 

“Well, if I come to fourteen-ten tonight at…ten o’clock?” he didn’t finish his question, adjusting his towel as he spoke, which caught Shane’s eye. 

“I might open.” 

Ilya leaned in, just slightly, voice playful, “I might knock.” 

Shane all but tears his room apart and puts it back together while trying to mentally prepare himself for Rozanov’s arrival. He hides his edibles in the bedside drawer after seriously considering taking one to rid of the anxiety in his stomach and any pain in his body before deciding not to. 

He shouldn’t be intoxicated for this, he told himself. 

He changes, and then he changes again. And again, before putting all the spare clothes away. 

He thinks about hiding the cane he used sometimes, the one he brought with him on trips just in case. He always got nervous about being photographed with it and what that could mean for his career, for upcoming interviews, so he almost never used it. 

Just when walking around in his hometown, only on his worst body pain days. 

He ended up moving it away from where it was propped up by the door and placing it by his bedside table, so that it’s more or less out of the way, but he doesn’t shove it into the closet or fold it up to tuck into his suitcase. 

It would be silly to do so, he told himself. Ilya Rozanov was also disabled and didn’t have the choice of not using his aid most of the time. So the cane stayed out. 

Shane turns the television off and on and off again. He adjusts the blankets on the bed as if they had been displaced in the slightest. He turns the lamp on and fidgets too much with his hands until eventually, there’s a sharp and almost-jarring knock on his door. 

“I thought you might chicken out.” Ilya said once he was inside, and Shane looked down to his feet, 

“I’m not a chicken. But I thought we should talk.” He turned to face Ilya again as he glanced around the room, “Do you want to sit?” 

Ilya was walking towards him, then, sending him backward until his back was against the wall. His hands were at his waist when he asks, just softly, “Do you need to sit?” 

Shane considered it, glancing over his shoulder towards the bed. He liked being pinned against the wall, though. He shifted so that his weight was against the wall and not on himself, shaking his head, “No, I’m good here.” 

“Good.” Ilya smiled at him, and Shane mirrors it. 

“This is such a bad idea.” 

The russian athlete placed his hand on the side of Shane’s neck, using his thumb to tilt his chin up, “What is?” 

He kisses him before he gets a chance to answer, and Shane realizes that maybe, he wasn’t supposed to anyway. Ilya’s jacket comes off and is disposed of on the floor, and there’s a hand at the back of Shane’s head as they just seem to click into each other. 

Kissing Ilya feels better than any high he’s had in an attempt to ease his pain. It’s even better once their shirts are off and he’s sinking down to his knees to wrap his mouth around his cock like he had any idea what he was doing. 

Sitting feels better than standing does, but the ground is rough on his knees. He was a little busy to be noticing details like that, though. 

“Stop, stop, stop.” Ilya got his attention, keeping a hand tangled in his hair as Shane pulled off of him. He glanced up through lidded eyes, and the other man’s breath hitched at the sight, 

“Was that bad?” Shane questioned, and maybe he feels a little silly staying on his knees when he wasn’t doing anything down there. Ilya didn’t seem to mind it, though. 

“Ah, no, opposite. Is too much, too good.” he reassurance him quickly, removing the hand from his hair to graze the side of his face. He guided his gaze up again so that they’re making eye contact, “Is your first time with a man?” 

Shane nodded. And even though he thinks he knows the answer, he still asks, “You?”

“No.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

“Who? Another player?” 

“No, my coach’s son back in Russia. I like trouble.” 

“Weren’t you scared of getting caught?” Shane considers standing, again, but he’s comfortable there. He liked Ilya looking down on him, towering over him. 

“No. It was nothing serious and we had same secret so it was just…” Ilya takes a second to decide on the right word. Shane offers one, instead, leaning into the touch of his hand, 

“Curious?” 

“Curious.” Ilya repeated with a nod. “And you make me curious.” 

He lowered himself, too, then. When Ilya’s on his knees, it doesn’t feel like submission but rather grace- joining Shane at his level, where he was comfortable. He tilted his head to place kisses on his jaw, his neck, and Shane stayed very still as he did so. 

Obedience, he thought distantly. It felt nice to be obedient. 

“Do I make you curious?” Ilya whispered against his skin, and Shane chuckled, 

“Obviously.” 

“Did you like sucking my cock?” He was talking against his skin, again, and the feeling is nice. Shane waited until he pulled back, until he could read his lips if he needed to, before responding, 

“Wow. Those English words just roll off your tongue.” 

“Yes?” Ilya tried instead of responding to his teasing, running his hands over his shoulders and chest. 

“Yes.” Shane confirmed, and there’s something soft about it- about being there, on their knees, on the floor of some hotel room. 

“You want ne to lie on the bed and let you do it some more?” Ilya offered, “It will be more comfortable that way, yes?” 

“Yes, but- let me?” Shane scoffed, already moving to stand up and pull the other man with him. Ilya follows along easily but again- it’s not obedience when he does it. 

Shane knows that if he had waited a few moments longer to stand, the russian would’ve been the one pulling him up to stumble over to the bed. He pushes Ilya back, and it’s playful. The other man set to work taking off his shoes and pants all the way, motioning to him and his still mostly-clothed body, 

“Not fair. Come on, I want to see you.” 

“You saw me in the showers.” 

“Yeah, I want more.” 

And so, Shane removes the rest of his clothes, taking the time to fold them and place them in a neat pile on the dresser the television sat on. There was that mostly-soundless laughter, and when he looks over, he sees the way the man’s body moved when he thought something was funny yet again. 

Ilya Rozanov was so physical in everything he did. Shane wondered if it was because he was deaf and it was easier to express himself that way or if that was just the type of guy he was- someone that took up space in an unapologetic and attractive way. 

He doesn’t ask. Instead, he moves to climb in bed next to him and inevitably knocks his horribly placed cane over. Ilya flinches, “I’m still not used to things making noise when they fall.” 

“I’m still not used to having a cane that I can knock over. I don’t even use it, most of the time.” Shane admitted, “I’m supposed to, but- you know.” 

“I know.” Ilya mused. “I got my cochlear a bit before the International Prospect Cup where we met. My father wanted me to fit in easier, to be able to hear my own voice and get rid of the odd accent. I hated it, then.” 

“You don’t like hearing?” Shane asked, and the conversation is straying away from the kissing and arousal from moments before but it’s honest. 

It’s honest and kind of nice. 

“I like hearing boys moan when I kiss them.” Ilya shrugged, and the forward flirtation of the answer shocks Shane, who flushes lightly, “I don’t like hearing my coaches yell, or the wind outside when I’m trying to take smoke break.” 

“You shouldn’t smoke nicotine. It’s bad for you.” Shane told him, and Ilya sits up a little to lean over him. 

“You specify nicotine.” Ilya pointed out, “Is there some magical thing you smoke that’s not bad for you?” 

“The pros outweigh the cons with the magical thing I smoke.” he joked lightly, and Ilya seemed to realize what he was referring to. Shane poked his chest, “It’s just pain management. You, though, are damaging your lungs for no reason.” 

“Mm. I’m starting to think I’m here for no reason- talking about smoking and sounds when I should be getting sounds out of you and then smoking.” 

And Shane liked the idea of that, so he leans back when Ilya wraps his hand around his erection and jerks him off. The feeling gets overwhelming quickly, though, and he knows from his unconventional attempts at pain management that once he came, he would be useless- so, he pushed Ilya back and positioned himself so that he was half-laying on him and could take his cock in his mouth again. 

His hands end up in Shane’s hair again as he guides him through the bobbing motion before eventually pulling him off, letting him fall back into a laying position and leaning over to kiss him once he jerked himself through the rest of his orgasm. 

“Not bad for first time.” Ilya told him, and Shane rolled his eyes, 

“Fuck off, Rozanov.” 

And then, the other man moves to stand up, “Ok. It was fun.” 

“Are you serious?” Shane’s eyes followed him wildly as he sat up and started to wipe himself down with napkins, annoyance flaring up in his chest as he realized he had put his body through strain without receiving anything in return. 

“What? You need something?” 

Shane scoffed, then, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. He felt a bit stupid, laying there naked. Felt taken advantage of, maybe. 

Ilya came back, though, positioning himself on top of him. “You think I am asshole?” 

“I know you’re an asshole.” he looked up at him, and he tries to stay annoyed but it’s hard to when his hands were enjoying the feeling of Ilya’s muscles and his chain was dangling over his face. 

“I would not leave you like that.” Ilya reassured. 

“No?” Shane asked, just to be sure. 

“No.” Ilya confirmed. “Let me show you how to do this, kid.” 

He does just that, too, letting Shane lay back while he did the work of sucking him off and it’s a beautiful feeling. Shane wants to tangle his hands in Ilya’s curls, but he doesn’t know if he could knock the outer-part of his cochlear implant out of place, so he instead places his hands on his shoulders to orient himself. 

When he’s close to finishing, he tries to warn him to pull off, but he doesn’t, swallowing his come up like he knew what he was doing- and he definitely did. 

“I didn’t think-”

“What? That you would come so quick?” 

“Fuck you.” he took in a deep breath, “You didn’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” Ilya said as Shane sat up, and then they’re both chucking- the russian’s breathless, more movement-than-sound laugh and the canadian’s broken, absurd thing as he tries to understand what just happened. 

“I want a cigarette.” the russian stated, and Shane replied, 

“Smoking nicotine is bad for you.” 

“Oh, is it, mister ‘pain management?’” His tone is sarcastic and playful. Shane enjoys the softness of it, just for a moment, before reality crashes over him. He glanced back at Ilya, so his lips can be read and every bit of his words could be understood, 

“You’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?” 

“Me? Yes, Hollander, I’m going to tell everyone.” Ilya sounded vaguely annoyed with him, but Shane still pushes, 

“‘Cause no one can know.” 

Ilya says something in Russian, then, probably a phrase similar to “fucking obviously” or “yes, I know.” 

“Hollander, look, I’m not going to tell anyone. Ok?” 

“Ok.” Shane agreed, and he feels a bit better. His body feels good, from the rush of endorphins post-orgasm. Jerking off lazily to get the pain in his back to ease was one of his last-ditch tricks, something that worked well enough to get him to fall asleep, but this was it’s own thing entirely. 

It felt like the first few times he tried weed- every muscle relaxed and his body full of relief. 

Ilya leaves, after that, pulling his clothes back on as Shane sinks into the bed. 

“Good night.” 

“Night.”

And that’s the end of it. 

Shane doesn’t know about Ilya, but he intended to get smoke as soon as he could pull himself from the bed. 

--

Three Months Later. Montreal

Ilya Rozanov wasn’t done processing Shane Hollander’s perfect French interview after beating the Raiders when an advertisement interrupts the sports broadcast. The only place where the canadian player faltered is when the interviewer lists off some disabled athletes from recent history in an effort to draw a comparison, and even then, he diverted to talking about how happy he was to play for the Metros. 

It was progress from him storming out of an interview a few years ago just before the International Prospect Cup, rambling about how they could “watch him win” if they doubted his skills. Ilya preferred the pre-media trained version of the man, honestly. 

The advert started with a shot of Shane Hollander on the ice, zipping around in his uniform in a way that read as effortless. 

Then, it cut to him walking down a sidewalk, and this motion doesn’t come off as effortless at all. He shifts his weight so that he’s carrying it more on one side of his body, which causes a slight limp while he walks. He places a hand in the small of his back, as if to hold himself up or push himself forward. 

“You’re supposed to use cane, Hollander.” Ilya mused to himself, as if Shane Hollander could hear him through the television and time. 

The commercial cuts between these two shots- Shane skating and him walking, until the skating version of him leaves the ice and goes into the locker room. His uniform is swapped for the casual, athletic wear he had on in the walking shot, and he goes to leave the locker room before back tracking. 

Commercial Shane Hollander pulls a folded-up cane out of his locker, extending it before planting the foot on the ground and taking a few steps. When the ad cuts back to the previous shot of him on the sidewalk, he starts from the beginning, this time using the blue and white cane all the way through. 

He looks more comfortable, this time, stepping forward with one foot and then placing the foot of the cane down in unison with the other. 

Ilya’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward. While there hadn’t been any speaking in the commercial so far, Shane Hollander’s voice cuts in with text on the screen: 

“You should be comfortable, on and off the ice. Affordable and stylish mobility aids available on the Canadian Access Resources website today. Proudly partnered with Shane Hollander of the Montreal Metros.” 

The screen had a website link across the bottom of the page, and it lingers for a moment before switching to the next commercial. 

It was a wild switch from his previous attitude of barely using the cane, of seeming frustrated that his disabilities were always brought up in relation to his hockey career. Now, he seemed to be showing it off- using a cane in his team colors and bringing it along to prop against the table during their next shared interview. 

Ilya was jealous, maybe, at the way he pushed through and asked for what he needed at every turn. For a chair, for his cane. And he was always given whatever it was, seemingly supported by his team and coaches and mother in these efforts. 

Meanwhile, Ilya’s coaches still encouraged him to try covering his cochlear implant with his hair before games. 

Maybe Ilya Rozanov was jealous, but he had a reason to be. 

--

Shane Hollander felt pretty good about himself, honestly. It’s hard not to- having broken the record that Ilya Rozanov set just moments before him, shooting all four targets just a second faster than the russian man could. 

His mobility-inhibiting chronic pain could suck it. At least until he got back to his hotel room later. 

“Good job!” Ilya Rozanov called out from where he was sitting with his team. 

Shane looked his way, “Thanks.”

“You have fun last night?” the russian continued the interaction when he hadn’t expected him to. 

“Last night?” he echoed. 

“With your team. Get dinner, get drunk?” 

It felt casual, all things considered. 

“Oh, yeah. I had fun, but I didn’t get drunk.” 

“And that magical thing you smoke?” Ilya prodded, and Shane scoffed. He had gotten high the night prior because they were somewhere where it was legal to do so, but that wasn’t any of his business. 

“Fuck off, Rozanov.” He said instead of answering his question. The other man blew a raspberry, and if he hadn’t been annoyed, it would’ve been cute. 

“Think I’m going to bed early tonight.” Ilya offered after a moment passed between them as he steps out onto the rink. 

“Oh, yeah?” Shane furrowed his eyebrows. He wondered if this meant what he thought it might. As the russian player passed by, he leaned in to tell him, 

“One-two-two-one.” 

Like a secret code, of sorts. His room number. 

Scott Hunter starts talking to him after that, which he tries to focus on instead of what could ensue later that night. 

And later that night, things would ensue, because he found himself in the hallway, knocking at the door of Ilya’s hotel room. Knocking again, because he didn’t answer the first time. Or the second. 

Or the third. 

Just when he is seriously considering running off because it wouldn’t be long before some other player poked their head out to see what the ruckus was, Ilya finally opened the door. He pushed past him with his cane to get inside, shutting the door behind him firmly. 

He all but glared at Ilya, who gave him an incredulous look, “Is someone chasing you?” 

“I’m standing in the hallway like an idiot, knocking away and getting everyone else in the hotel wondering who got locked out of their room. Scott Hunter is next door.” Shane felt rightful in his annoyance, considering the fact that this was a semi-planned sort of thing. 

Ilya should have been waiting for him, just like he had waited for him a few months ago in another hotel. The russian laughed, “I took my implant off after I got back earlier- to get break from noise. I meant to put it back on but I forgot. I didn’t know you were out there.” 

“Oh.” Shane blinked, then, feeling a bit bad about getting upset with him for a disability-related mistake. He fumbled with the handle of his cane, “Sorry, then.” 

“No, no, I’m still the sorry one.” Ilya waved him off, “Though, you running into the room was funny.” 

Shane should have protested, should have said that the possibility of them getting caught because he was standing in the hallway wasn’t funny. Instead, he lazily props his cane against the wall by the door to close in on Ilya for a kiss, and it’s not a shock to either of them when it falls over. 

“I saw your cane ad.” Ilya said when he pulled back a bit, “You’d think that the Canadian Access Resources would give you something to keep your cane upright- always dropping it in interviews and in hotel rooms.” 

“Fuck you, Rozanov.” Shane kissed him again instead of entertaining his nonsense. It frustrated him because he was right- he should’ve thought to invest in a cane foot that made the thing self-standing instead of having to prop it up all the time. 

Him being right made him decidedly worse. Worse as in hotter, or more infuriating. Shane couldn’t decide. 

“Get on your knees.” 

He does. Obedience came easy with Ilya. 

He’s not down there for long before Ilya is all but scooping him up, forcing him to wrap his legs around the other man’s waist as he’s carried to the bed. He pulled back, “You know I can walk, right?” 

“Mm. This is more fun though, isn’t it?” 

Ilya dropped him on the bed, then, and they’re both stripped down to nothing at all in what feels like one, fluid motion. Shane is allowed to lay back and enjoy the sensations as the russian leaves kisses on his chest, trailing down until he wraps his lips around his cock in a confident, satisfying movement. 

Shane threw his head back, “Fuck, Rozanov.” 

Then, Ilya’s climbing back up to kiss him and tapping on his chest, “Get on your stomach.” 

He pressed his own chest against Shane’s back once he takes the order, craning his neck so that he can still see his face in their position, “Have you ever?” 

Shane doesn’t answer. 

“Do you want to?” 

He doesn’t answer, again. 

“You’re scared.”

He answers this time, just to deny it, “I’m not scared.” 

“No, it’s ok.” Ilya was being reassuring, but Shane still felt a bit stupid, pinned underneath him- heart beating too fast for him to deny his anxiety. He sucks in a breath when Ilya’s hand grazed the skin around his hole, “Do you ever touch yourself here?” 

“Jesus.” 

“What? Does touching your ass make you gay?” he mused, and Shane tries to protest but his voice comes out breathless and soft and barely-there and he’d be shocked if Ilya’s implant picked it up. “‘Cause you know what else makes you gay is sucking my dick.” 

“Oh my god. Shut up. Fuck.” Shane pressed his eyes shut, maybe too tightly. “I have a thing, okay?” 

“What thing?” Ilya sounded genuinely confused, and that’s worse than him playing dumb. 

“A dildo.” he answered, and the other man’s playful voice pushed him, 

“What was that? I don’t think my implant-” Ilya started, and Shane pushed against him so that he could flip around to be on his back, with the russian lingering over him. “I was joking, Hollander. I could make it out, was just giving you shit.” 

“I know, but this is more comfortable.” Shane admitted, reaching up to press a hand against his chest. “And you can see me. It’s easier for you when you can read lips, right?” 

“Yes, it is.” Ilya seemed impressed that he knew that for just a moment before promptly turning his attention back to more important matters. “What color?” 

“Fuck off.” 

“It’s big?” 

“I’m leaving.” Shane isn’t sure if he means it as he goes to scramble out from beneath him, but he’s sort of relieved when Ilya settles his weight on top of him, 

“No, no, Hollander. I want to fuck you.” 

And that gets Shane’s attention again immediately. He hesitated for a moment too long, getting lost in Ilya’s eyes and the way his curls fell over his forehead before responding, “Not here. Not with fucking Scott Hunter next door.” 

“He’s hot. And his ears work. We should let him listen like mating call.” Ilya hummed. “If he says we are too loud, we can blame it on me not being able to hear. Then it’s ableist for him to complain, yes?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Someone listening?” Shane took the chance to tease him, but it doesn’t work well because Ilya immediately turns it around, 

“You probably would, too.” he said. He pauses, and then he seems to make a decision, “So, next time.”

Shane was so startled that he turned away when Ilya tried to kiss him, “Next time?” 

“Yes. We play Montreal in two weeks.” 

“I mean, yeah, but where would we…”

“Where would we what?” 

“Meet?” 

Ilya furrowed his eyebrows, “You are homeless?” 

“No.”

“Then we meet at your house.” 

The idea of that is a bit mortifying, if Shane was honest. He had collected different canes to go with his formal outfits, and they were hung on hooks on the wall neatly in a row- and his weed paraphernalia was everywhere since he didn’t live with his parents anymore and there wasn’t much of a reason to tuck it away. 

He had picked a place with a bathtub, because that was easier than buying a shower chair. It was very much catered to him and what he needed and he never really let anyone visit. 

Instead of saying any of this, though, he corrects Ilya: “It’s an apartment.” 

“Hollander, you are having panic attack.”

Shane let out a breath and found himself chuckling, and Ilya leaned in. 

“It’s just a plan to fuck.” 

Shane nodded, and Ilya nodded back, and the silent understanding was nice. 

Afterwards, as Shane pulled his shirt back over his head, he turned to face where Ilya was sat on the bed, “I know we talked about Montreal in two weeks, but…” 

Ilya stared at him for a moment, and it makes him wonder if he remembered to put the outer part of his implant back on after he hopped in the shower. Then, he rolled his eyes, “Oh my god, Hollander. You are so boring. Give me your phone.” 

He stood up, then, letting the towel around his waist hang low. Shane blinked at him as he held his hand out. “You have phone. Give.” 

As much as Shane hated it sometimes, he was still obedient. He pulled it out of his back pocket and placed it in his hand, watching closely as he put his number into it and changed the contact name. He laughed when he saw it, “So, what’s my name gonna be?” 

“Jane.” Ilya answered without missing a beat, and it was a simple exchange. 

Everything with them was simple when you stripped away all the complicated parts. 

They were two people who could understand each other better than other people could, and they had sex when it was convenient. 

That was ignoring a million glaring issues, but it’s what Shane told himself as he grabbed his cane and headed back to his own hotel room for his own sanity. 

--

Four Months Later. Los Angeles 

Shane Hollander won Rookie of the Year, and it shocks absolutely no one. The crowd still erupts into applause as he makes his way to the stage to accept it and make a brief speech. 

He takes his cane with him, and the camera broadcast spent too long focused on it instead of his beautiful freckled face or his well-tailored suit. 

“I am very, very thrilled to be able to win this award. I was happy to hear that I had even been nominated, honestly. I would like to thank my parents, my coaches, and my team, obviously.” Shane smiled politely at the cameras, at the crowd. Ilya tilted his head, just slightly, from his spot in the audience. “Back when I was a prospect, I was…frustrated by how much my disabilities were brought up in interviews. I hated the fact that everything came back to my experience in sled hockey, but I realize now that this is something I should be talking about. 

“I started on a sled hockey team with a bunch of really talented and yes- disabled, players. Most of them don’t have the option of playing mainstream hockey like I do, and they abandoned the sport once they aged out of our junior team.” Shane explained, “Even for the ones that can walk and skate, the athletic world is not always an accessible place for us. So, no, my disabilities don’t make me a worse athlete, but they do make it harder to navigate this space as a disabled player. 

“I’ve gotten past that, in a way, by asking for what I need at every turn. By demanding a chair when I need one, by insisting I use a cane when I’m not on the ice no matter how much it makes me stand out in group photos with other hockey players. It’s not easy, but every time I do it, I make things a little easier for the next person who needs that same adjustment.” 

Shane Hollander had definitely gone over the time limit of a ‘polite, brief acceptance speech’ but no one seemed to care. The crowd was silent and attentive as he continued on, 

“If you’re able bodied, in the hockey world or literally anywhere else, you can make things easier too. When designing that building you want to construct, make sure the button to automatically open the door actually works.” 

Some people laugh, then, and Shane smiles. 

“When someone says they need a seat or a moment to slow down, just believe them. Give them what they need. Don’t look at someone sideways because they’re in a wheelchair or use a cane. If a disabled person enters a world you’re not used to seeing disabled people in, evaluate them on their skill and not their health issues.” he nodded to himself, “What I’m trying to say is that there’s a long way to go, still, but that I think I’ve come far in my career already. Here’s too many more opportunities like these given to the people who don’t always get them.” 

He held up the trophy before making his way off stage, and the whole show seems to hold for a moment to allow for the ensuing applause. 

And it’s weird for Ilya Rozanov to see someone be openly celebrated, in part, for being different in the way he was. He tugged the outer-part of his cochlear implant off after a beat too many of applause, abruptly coming to his feet to leave the room. 

He finds himself on the roof, and he’s not sure how much time passes before Shane Hollander was at his side. He says something, but it’s dark and his implant isn’t connected and he doesn’t really try to figure out what it is. 

He put out his cigarette before reaching into his pocket to replace his device. “Sorry, is loud in there.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” Shane’s voice came through as he shook his head clumsily, leaning against the railing a few feet away from him. “I needed air, too.” 

“You are drunk.” Ilya commented. The flush-faced canadian player wasn’t even a little bit convincing as he replied, 

“I’m not.” 

“Good for you. Big night for you.” Ilya kept his tone even as he stared out at the city below them, not knowing what to say or even how he was feeling. 

Jealous, probably, but that seemed too simple. Too childish. 

He couldn’t take pride in his deafness in the same way Shane could with his disabilities. His father would disown him. His brother wouldn’t be happy, either. 

He was barely acceptable with a cochlear implant and his advanced lip-reading skills, and even then, they called the device stupid. Called him stupid, when he needed something repeated. 

“It could have gone to either one of us.” 

“It went to you.” 

“So what?” Shane stood up straight, again, and Ilya distantly realizes that his cane was nowhere to be seen. He wondered if he had lost the thing somewhere in the party downstairs, between one shot and the next. “You’re just up here sulking because you couldn’t take another victory lap around me? All you do is beat me! I win one stupid fucking thing, and you can’t even show your face down there.” 

He was yelling, angrier and full of more fury than Ilya had ever seen him hold. Even after losing a game, even when something was inaccessible to him. It was such a clash to how poised and careful he had been on stage, how grateful and well-spoken he had been in his speech. 

“Not everything is about you, Hollander!” Ilya’s voice felt too loud, uneven and cracking. 

“So, what is it, then?” Shane asked, and he looks hurt. Really, truly hurt. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He was worked up, now, too, and the whole thing was stupid.

The canadian player had made an undeniably beautiful speech that could make a real different in the hockey world, for both of them, and they were yelling at each other instead of celebrating it. It was so fucking stupid. 

“Nothing. I just wanted to see the view and get some air.” He made a motion around them, towards the city below. 

“And what? Here is the fucking view, Hollander. Check it out. Fuck!” He was being unnecessarily mean and he knew it. Taking out frustrations on someone who didn’t deserve it. He sighed, “I go home in three days.” 

“Okay? Must be nice.” Shane sounded confused. He took in a breath, “And I guess I thought that maybe, we’d…” 

He trailed off, shaking his head, “Nevermind.” 

The other player finally goes to leave, but he holds out his hand like he did the first time they met. “I guess I’ll, uh, see you next season.” 

Ilya stepped down to take his hand, and he knows that he’s being unfair and ridiculous when he pushes him back to kiss him against the building. He knows it, still, when Shane pushes him back with wide, angry eyes, 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked him, “We’re both in tuxedos out in public.” 

Ilya tried to defend himself, “No one is looking-” 

“You don’t know that.” Shane cut him off firmly, and he flips them around in a fluid motion to push him against the wall before leaving him there. 

Ilya tries to call out to no avail. 

There was no way around it- his jealousy for Shane Hollander, not now. There was no way around his attraction to him, either, but that was an easier thing to accept. 

Jealousy, though, was an ugly thing. It was uglier when it was surrounding the piece of himself that made him different, the thing he couldn’t hide in the same way he could with his queerness. 

Shane Hollander was breaking barriers and he would continue to do so, with his mobility aid ad campaigns and award acceptance speeches advocating for accessibility. 

Ilya Rozanov, though, would stay just where he was:

Covering his cochlear implant with his hair and nodding along during conversations he couldn’t keep up with.

Chapter 2: para-/deaf-/olympics

Chapter Summary

He looked pretty in the warm lighting of the room, with his freckles and deep green hoodie.

“I can smell the cigarettes from here.”

He groaned, “I had one. And your whole apartment smells like weed badly covered by vanilla air freshener, so.”

“You shouldn’t be smoking.” Shane argued even as he flushes, and they’ve done this a million times before.

“And you shouldn’t be talking. You are hypocrite.” Ilya told him.

Chapter Notes

okay i'm back with chapter two. i didn't think i would get it out today because i was dealing with body pain but if i'm laying in bed anyways i can project my experiences onto fictional character

for here on out for the rest of the fic, italics without quotations is texting and italics IN quotations is english translated from another language because i do not know french or russian at all. when ASL comes into the mix later, that will appear as bolded text, but don't worry about that for now

also you will see shane actively smoke weed here and there for the rest of the fic, which is tagged but i thought i would warn that it's not just a thing that's talked about. this chapter really starts to diverge a bit more from the canon plot with differences in conversations and how they go about things so! i'm excited to share

warning for more specific instances of shane and ilya experiencing ableism directly, not just within being taken less seriously as athletes. they are both kind of minor comments and things to show the subtle ways it happens, but it's a little more present than it was in the first chapter so I thought I would warn for it.

okay enjoy!!

Montreal. Summer, 2011. 

Shane was back in his home rink- not the one for the Metros, but for his old sled hockey team, and he couldn’t be more excited. They were doing a sled hockey match with a combination of Major League Hockey players from various teams and disabled athletes who wanted in, with all of the ticket and ad-revenue going towards funding the establishment of more sled hockey teams across North America. 

Shane was actively helping to make athletics more accessible. 

He was making a difference, and it felt good. 

“They let me do a practice run with one of the sleds earlier and bro- it was so fun.” Hayden was excitedly chattering away as they were getting ready in the locker room, “I can see why you liked it, even past it just being easier for you.” 

“Zooming around on the sled is twice as fun as normal skating.” Shane agreed, smiling lightly. “I’m excited to beat everyone. I loose my normal mobility-inhibiting disadvantage and I gain advantage because I’m the only one of us that is used to the sleds.” 

“I thought this was about charity?” Scott Hunter joined their conversation, and Hayden laughed, 

“No, no. It’s about showing us all up.” 

Shane and his mother had done most of the planning for this event, partnering with disability-focused organizations in Canada and America and inviting top-name players from all over the league. It contributed to the cause and made them all look good, regardless of what team they were on or any usual rivalries. 

There was one noticeable absence, though. 

“Think of it as reparations.” Shane joked, running a hand through his hair. He had more to say about this, another piece of the joke, but his phone buzzed. He grabbed for it to turn his notifications off, glancing at the screen. “Hm.” 

“It’s weird that Rozanov didn’t sign on.” Scott commented, “Not because he’s also disabled, just because this is a win-win situation for everybody. They would’ve put him on the other team so that your guy’s rivalry could’ve been a selling point. Even more tickets sold, more equipment for disabled kids wanting to get into athletics.” 

“He refused to answer a question about why he didn’t want to come during an interview, I heard. My wife was talking about it.” Hayden responded immediately, feeding into the gossip-like energy of the conversation. He added, for Scott’s sake, “My kid has multiple sclerosis- she’s in a wheelchair. She looks up to Shane a lot and she’s definitely watching this game from home.” 

“Oh, that’s sweet.” Scott hummed, smiling, “What’s her name?” 

They keep talking, after that, but Shane was busy staring at the message on his screen from “Lily.”

sorry i can not be there. what you’re doing is good.

do well. 

Shane bit at his lip. He was frustrated with him for a million reasons. 

For the rooftop argument in Los Angeles. 

For not joining them in this endeavor for a very, very good cause. 

But he knew that Ilya Rozanov’s relationship with his own disability was complicated. He knew that coming to terms with it and inserting yourself into predominantly-disabled spaces for the first time was a terrifying thing because he had to do it as a child, and he still hid behind his mom for a while before coming out of his shell. 

He knew that he didn’t want to completely cut himself off from the only person in the mainstream hockey world that sort of understood him. He knew that he didn’t want to cut himself off from Ilya, who still hadn’t fucked him after their previous plans fell through due to a game cancellation.

He knew that he didn’t want to cut himself off from Ilya Rozanov at all, because that meant saying goodbye to kisses that felt better than most joints did on his body. 

And so, he answers: 

you telling me to do well in a hockey game? never thought i would see the day 

He was almost able to set his phone down and try to catch up on what he missed in the locker-room gossip session turned Hayden gushing about his family, but another message appeared on the screen. 

is only because i am not playing against you, hollander. 

would also be nice to see you beat all the not disabled assholes in our league 

Shane wanted to argue that half of them were on his team, that they had mixed the disabled athletes and the usual hockey players up on purpose to avoid things feeling too divided. Instead, he types out: 

no worries. i will win

--

Ilya watched as Shane Hollander propelled himself on the ice using his short hockey stick, the sled sliding across the rink as he passed the puck to Hayden Pike- a player from the Metros that was most notable for sticking by Shane’s side on and off the ice. 

If he wasn’t married with a child, maybe Ilya would be jealous. 

The broadcast showed that the audience was full of hockey fans there for the famous players on the rink and disabled children alike, the accessible seating area being the most full. 

Whenever Shane would pass by that seating section between periods or during brief lulls in the game, he’d wave with a wide smile to them. The broadcast showed him chatting with some of them, shouting through the glass, but it didn’t catch what he was saying. In the corner of the television screen, there was a count that showed how much the donations, ticket sale profits, and ad revenue added up to. 

There were active bets on the game, on which of the two temporary sled hockey teams were going to win, and they obviously favored the Sled Kings, led by Shane Hollander. Usually, the rules about sports betting would be a little stricter, but all of the proceeds were going to charity regardless. The winners of the bet got bragging rights and nothing more. 

If Ilya Rozanov had the courage to sign on, to be there, he would call the team name stupid or ask if it was rigged to have one of the event organizers on one of the teams during a faceoff against him. 

If Ilya had the courage, there would be more of a mystery behind which team was going to win the pop-up charity game.

Ilya hadn’t had the courage, though, so he just sat back and watched as Shane Hollander and the Sled Kings very predictably ended the game with a higher score. The canadian player seemed more comfortable on the ice, the little wrinkle that existed while he was trying to concentrate during mainstream hockey games nowhere to be seen. 

He was confident in his movements, fully aware of the fact that he was one of the only ones there who actually knew what he was doing on the sled. 

Ilya pulled out his phone to text “Jane.” 

good game, hollander

--

Fall, 2013. 

How many times can you cum in 1 hour? 

Shane blinked at his phone screen once, then twice, as he tried to reel himself in. He looked around to make sure his teammates weren’t paying any attention to him. He tried typing out a few different responses before settling on: 

I don’t know. Maybe twice? 

Shane had been continuing to hook up with Ilya over the last two or so years, and the arrangement mostly worked for them. Shane would always make sure to face Ilya when he spoke, especially if he didn’t have his cochlear implant on, and Ilya would always drag them to the couch or bed of whatever hotel room they were in to make sure he was comfortable. 

They joked about beating each other during games. They had stupid arguments about if smoking weed was as bad as smoking nicotine. 

They kissed. They texted. 

You suck at sexting.

Ilya would offer his support from afar whenever Shane did something related to disability rights. 

The Summertime Sled Hockey Fundraiser was now a once-annual event, and there was an ordeal made out of announcing the roster for the teams leading up to it. There was an air of competitiveness in the sense of always aiming to raise more money than they had the year prior, and there was always an attempt to break Shane’s win streak that never got very far. 

Who taught you that word?

The money successfully led to the establishment of more junior sled hockey teams to bring accessible athletics to disabled children and teenagers all over the states and Canada. Whenever Shane could find the time, whenever he happened to be in the same town as a sled hockey game, he would make an appearance and take photos with the kids. 

Shane was proud of the whole thing, really. 

He wished Ilya Rozanov would agree to be a part of it, but he denied the invitation every year without ever giving a real reason. Shane always chalked it up to him not wanting his career to be boiled down to being disabled, to being deaf, but it was one of those things they didn’t talk about. 

The public chalked it up to his dislike for Shane Hollander. 

Your mother. 

Shane rolled his eyes. 

Not funny. 

There was a lot of things they didn’t talk about, or that they didn’t talk about directly. At the same time, though, it felt that they understood each other more than anyone else could. 

There was a look they shared whenever some journalist said something stupid about them being disabled during shared interviews, or whenever another player said something implicitly ableist on the rink. 

Where are we meeting? 

There were the texts they’d send each other when they saw the other get that sort of treatment on television. The ‘that interviewer is an idiot’-s or the ‘he doesn’t know what he’s talking about’-s. 

We’re not. Fuck you. 

Sometimes, Shane wondered if anyone ever caught onto those shared glances or the way he’d pull his phone from his pocket when the sports network him and his friends were watching aired an Ilya Rozanov interview. 

: (

And other times, Shane wondered if sex with someone else would ever feel as good as it did with Rozanov. He wondered if being fucked felt the way he imagined, if it was like his dildo at all. 

If you get lucky, I’ll text you after the game. 

--

Are you as hard as I am right now? 

Maybe Ilya was messing around more than he should’ve, but it was all in good fun. He liked to keep things lighthearted, anyways- to avoid talking about why he didn’t feel comfortable joining in on the Summertime Sled Hockey Fundraiser or why he styled his hair in a way that covered his cochlear implant, still. 

Another player from Ilya’s team said something surely stupid and idiotic while he was putting his phone away and adjusting the outer part of his cochlear, “Shut your idiot face, Marly. I don’t even know what you said, but I’m sure it was stupid.” 

“The guys forget you’re deaf, sometimes.” he said, “I forget, sometimes.” 

Ilya sighed, deciding not to respond to that. 

“Anyways, you’re straight up blushing, Roz.” 

“Uh, no. Never in life have I blushed. Russians do not do this.” 

--

Even though Shane had years to prepare for it, having Ilya en route to his apartment to fuck him is nothing less than terrifying. 

As he’s looking around for something to do with his hands or something to straighten up, his phone buzzes. 

Here?

He exited his apartment into the hallway that led to the side door of the building, pulling it open to take in the sight of Ilya Rozanov. He was going down the hall and back, so he didn’t bother with any of his canes.

“You will murder me.” the russian player said, and he sounds genuinely concerned by the matter. Shane couldn’t help himself, 

“Maybe. Get in.” he stepped to the side so that he could do so, ushering the two of them inside where there weren’t any cameras. Then, once they were inside, he shoved Ilya against the wall, “Why the fuck did you think it was okay to sext me before the game? What the fuck?” 

“You were hard, weren’t you?” Ilya took a moment to process his words, glancing between his lips and his eyes and seemingly enjoying the annoyed look that existed there. “For how long? The whole game?” 

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” he started to walk down the hallway back to the entrance of his apartment, bypassing the stairs. The other player follows along, 

“Aw, you missed me, didn’t you?” 

“I fucking didn’t. And I still beat your ass.” 

“Oh, barely.” 

Ilya catches up to him in a swift movement, and Shane thinks that if the hallway were longer or he wasn’t in a disabled body, they would break out into a race to his front door. It’s the sort of competitive thing that would make sense, in another world. 

He opens the door for them, and the first thing Ilya says is, “Oh, nice place.” 

Shane shuts the door behind them, too, “Thanks. I bought one of the apartments a few floors up a few years ago, but stairs got harder and there’s no elevator here, so I bought the ground apartment when it became available.” 

“Why didn’t you just move to a building with an elevator?” Ilya questioned, “You talk of accommodation and accessibility. Apartments with elevators can not be much more expensive than those without, yes?” 

“They aren’t.” Shane laughed because he was right and perfectly reasonable in his call-out. Yuna had asked him the same thing. He leaned backwards against the counter. “I just didn’t want to change much. This apartment is the same as the one I had upstairs except for the view out the windows.” 

“View is not very pretty.” Ilya joked as he took a sweeping look around. When his eyes landed back on Shane, he cracked a smile, “Just joking. A view is not worth pain.”

“I didn’t think so, either.” Shane hummed, “I um- my disabilities are progressive. They get worse over time, with movement and over-exertation and everything. So stairs used to be okay, and now they’re not.” 

“Is that why you have wheelchair now?” the russian motioned over by the door, where Shane’s canes were organized neatly on hooks on the wall near his shoe rack. Next to them in a corner by the door was a simple wheelchair, not decorated or decked-out like his canes were. “If I can ask that, I mean.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Shane shrugged, “Sometimes, after playing too many games in a row, my mobility gets really bad. Like, can’t-get-out-of-bed bad. My doctor said I should have one on standby, for my worse days. But that’s what I was told about the cane at first, and now I use it all the time.” 

Ilya let him ramble even though that wasn’t what he was there for, and it’s kind of nice. He nodded, “Sounds like maybe you should listen to your doctor, hope for best.” 

“Hoping for the best, preparing for the worst. Chronic pain management motto.” Shane sighed,  and he pushes it further experimentally, “What about you? Was your hearing better when you were smaller? If I can ask that, I mean.” 

“You can.” Ilya hummed before shaking his head, “Kind of. I had partial hearing to begin with, so no one really noticed anything was wrong until I started speaking and it came out odd. Then you know the rest, yes? Speech therapy and lip reading until I got my cochlear and gave up the residual hearing.” 

“I know the rest.” Shane nodded, tapping his fingers on the counter behind him. “I um- I would complain a lot as a kid. I had a hard time keeping up with others and slept abnormal amounts and had unexplainable pain. They thought it was growing pain for like, ever. If it wasn’t for my mother, I probably would’ve gone into my young adult years thinking I never grew out of the growing pains, never getting accommodations or playing sled hockey.” 

“Do you think you would’ve ended up in hockey, if you didn’t do sled hockey first?” Ilya questioned, “It was mostly so you could meet other disabled kids, right? You said that in interview once.” 

“You watch my interviews?” Shane teased. 

“You watch mine.” Ilya answered, unwavering. 

“That was a big part of it, but my dad played hockey, too.” he explained, “I think it would have happened either way.” 

The russian player didn’t seem to know what to say. He glanced upwards before bringing his eyes down to look at Shane again, “What happened to the upstairs apartment?” 

“I rent it out.” he smiled, “I might buy out the building, turn it into a disabled living complex or something. Add in an elevator and ramps. For now though-” 

“You’re Mr. Businessman.” Ilya joked, and Shane rolled his eyes, 

“Shut up.” 

“Mr. Landlord.” he continued to tease him, and the conversation shifts away from honesty and into their usual playfulness. 

“You asked.” 

“I guess I did.” Ilya stepped forward, then, kissing him where he stood, pressed up against the counter. He pulled back a bit, “Are you going to show me your bedroom, or are we doing this on the floor? That can’t be good for your body, can it?” 

“Fuck you, Rozanov.” he shoved him lightly his both of his hands so that he could get past him, leading him through the dining room and small living room to the short hallway. 

--

“Did your mom buy all these pillows?” 

Ilya walked into the bedroom ahead of Shane, and he jumped into teasing him again without missing a beat. Shane waits for him to get to the end of the bed and turn around to respond, 

“No. I hired someone. A designer.”

“You think there is enough?” he asked sarcastically, and Shane’s response is predictable: 

“I can make the bed a like, nest on bad body pain days. You’re such an asshole.” 

“I had no way of knowing that, Hollander. And I think maybe you like it.” Ilya suggested, and the other hockey player is smiling like an idiot. He looked pretty in the warm lighting of the room, with his freckles and deep green hoodie. 

“I can smell the cigarettes from here.” 

He groaned, “I had one. And your whole apartment smells like weed badly covered by vanilla air freshener, so.” 

“You shouldn’t be smoking.” Shane argued even as he flushes, and they’ve done this a million times before. 

“And you shouldn’t be talking. You are hypocrite.” Ilya told him. Then, “Come here. Sit on bed.” 

“No, you come here.” Shane steps towards him, towards the bed. Ilya positioned himself in front of him once he sat down, leaning down to kiss him and just before he does, he whispered against his lips, 

“No, you come here.” 

Undressing themselves and each other is an easy ordeal at this point. And Shane ends up just where he normally does, laid out beneath Ilya as he kissed his neck. He pulled back, 

“You still want?” 

Shane is eager, looking up with him with those eyes, that helpless, begging expression- “I still want.” 

Ilya kisses him again, and when Shane looks nervous by the sight of his dick, he jokes, 

“Don’t worry, it will fit. We’ll do whatever is comfortable for you, okay?” 

Shane nodded, grateful. “Okay.” 

He adjusted himself to reach for the bedside table, pulling open a drawer. Ilya followed him with his eyes, and he could see that there were various prepackaged snacks in the drawer along with the sort of things you’d usually find- condoms, chapstick. There were pill bottles, too, labelled with generic brands, and pre-rolled joints in plastic tubes and edibles in colorful packages. 

Shane had a too-clean ashtray and lighter on his bedside table, along with a metal waterbottle.

“You prepare for war?” he asked, and Shane chuckled, 

“It’s so I can stay in bed and rest on my days off. And deal with my pain before I move in the morning, if I have to.” he explained, “It’s not good to take pills on an empty stomach, you know.” 

He grasped the condoms, then, and Ilya immediately takes them, “Wow. You think this will be enough?” 

“Fuck off.” 

They’re kissing again, then, and Ilya is making his way down Shane’s body in an expert matter. His mouth is on his cock, and then he pulls off, tapping on the inside of his thigh, “Can you put your knees to your chest?” 

Shane tries it and winces, and Ilya waved it off. “Just spread your legs, then.” 

“Sorry.” Shane does it, adjusting himself easily so that Ilya can access his hole. Ilya kissed his ass cheek, just close enough to build tension but not enough to give him satisfaction, 

“Don’t be. If you start hurting, stop me, yes?” Ilya pressed his lips to his inner thigh, moving inwards, “I need to hear you say it before I do anything, Hollander.” 

“Fuck, Rozanov.” he tilted his head back, sounding frustrated, “I’m always hurting. Please just fuck me.” 

“I mean if you hurt more than usual. If you could be more comfortable.” Ilya took his time clarifying, and it’s part of the fun. Shane looked all sorts of pent up from his spot above him, which satisfied the russian’s need to tease him as much as it did the need to take care of him. 

“You’re an asshole.” he placed his hands on Ilya’s shoulders, and the other man laughs. 

“I’m an asshole for being accommodating? Thoughtful?” 

“Oh my god, yes. Yes, I’ll tell you if I’m hurting.” Shane started gripping against him, then, pulling him in and scratching at his back as if that would get things to move any quicker. 

It works, in his defense. Ilya keeps checking in on him, and Shane responds in pretty moans and whimpers as he works his way in and out and in again. 

“I can try- try all fours.” he offers, and Ilya pauses for a moment to consider. 

“You only say that because you think you’re supposed to.” he decided on his words, “I don’t mind doing all the work, no? Is fun to fuck you.” 

Shane seemed relieved by the offer, letting his eyes flutter shut as he leaned back into the pillow again. He melted, there, it seemed. 

“Holy fuck, Rozy.” 

And when they’re done and Ilya pulls out, he’s left sprawled on the mattress, completely spent and blissed out. Ilya laid down next to him, placing kisses on his chest and running his hand up and down the sides of his body. 

“Now the bed’s all dirty.” Shane sounded upset by the realization.

“What?” Ilya lifted his head, furrowing his eyebrows like he did when he wasn’t sure he heard something right. And then he remembers that it’s Shane under him, and he shakes his head, “Shut up.” 

Shane busied himself playing with the hair at the back of Ilya’s neck, avoiding touching his cochlear with a casual adjustment. It felt nice, but Ilya still knew he should shower. He pushed himself forward to kiss him, 

“I will shower now, okay?” 

Shane nodded, and he doesn’t complain as Ilya leaves him. 

--

Shane eventually reached over to pull the plastic tubes from his bedside drawer, popping them open to set them by his ash tray to smoke after Ilya left. The russian comes back around then, collapsing onto the bed and leaning against Shane, “You have killed me, Hollander. I am dead.” 

“That was so fucking hot.” he hummed in agreement. Ilya started to run his hand up and down the arm Shane had wrapped around him, turning his head to ask, 

“Worth the wait?” 

Shane leaned in to kiss him instead of answering with words, pressing his lips to his and then moving up to his forehead, letting his free hand linger on the side of his face. They communicated better in silence, anyways. 

Ilya hesitated, not knowing how to react to the gentle affection. Instead, he glanced over Shane’s shoulder, “You’re plotting what you’re doing once I’m gone?” 

“You’re welcome to join me.” Shane told him, “If you’re not driving, anyways. Responsible use is important.” 

“You are so boring, Hollander.” Ilya shook his head before clarifying, “I will take taxi back to hotel. I can smoke, just a little bit.” 

--

Ilya makes the quick discovery that Shane Hollander had a much higher tolerance to weed than he did. The canadian player lit them each a joint, but he ends up finishing his own and the second half of Ilya’s after the russian has to tap out in order to remain a functioning person upon returning to his own hotel. 

“You smoke more than I thought.” Ilya accused him as they made their way into the hallway not much longer later. Shane seemed lighter, now, moving in a less-constrained way. 

“Maybe too much.” Shane shrugged, “I’ve never been high during a game, though, or been high somewhere it’s illegal.” 

“I don’t judge.” Ilya assured, “Just unexpected. You are like…goody two-shoes.” 

“Where did you even get that phrase?” Shane lowered himself onto the stairs once they were by the door, and he settles against the railing, “My doctor recommended it when I was almost eighteen, and my mom had been talking to the moms of other players from my sled hockey team about how it helped some of them with their pain when there was nothing else that worked. It works for me.” 

“I’m glad.” Ilya took the chance to re-tie his shoes, “You deserve relief. Is like how I take my cochlear off when sound is bad. Too much.” 

“Takes the edge off.” Shane hummed. “We won’t see each other during the Olympics, right?” 

“Right.” Ilya responded. 

“Your family must be happy they’re in Russia.” he was trying to keep the conversation going, to stall him going outside to climb into his taxi, and Ilya was going to let it happen. 

“Mm. Yes.” 

“My parents are pretty psyched for me. They’re pissed they can’t come, but my mom’s threatening to wake up at 4 a.m. to watch every game.” he told him, “I bet your parents will be there, right?” 

“My father, yes. Maybe my brother, but who knows?” Ilya shrugged as he finished with his shoes. 

“Anyways, I’m psyched. I’ve been dreaming of this my whole life.” Shane was opening up in a way he didn’t usually, “Me and my sled hockey team would talk about going to the Paralympics back in the day, but I don’t qualify, so I set a different goal than the rest of them.”

“Why not?” Ilya questioned, “You are disabled. Paralympics is like the Olympics but for disabled people, like the deaflympics are for deaf athletes, yes?” 

“Yes, but chronic pain conditions aren’t enough to get you in.” Shane explained, “You have to have total or major loss of body control in some way for mobility issues to count. There’s other categories for visual impairment and intellectual disabilities, but my autism is too high functioning to get me in, there.” 

Ilya blinked, “You have autism?” 

“Oh.” Shane tilted his head, covering his mouth as if he didn’t mean to say this, “Yes, technically. They figured that out because they tried to convince my mom my pain was just mental, at one point.” 

“That’s stupid.” Ilya furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, but understanding my brain a little more growing up was nice.” Shane shrugged, “Happy accident. Anyways, how come you don’t go for the deaflympics?” 

“I don’t want to be a deaf athlete. I want to be talented athlete who happens to be deaf.” he shrugged, and then he’s a little more honest. “I never learned sign language or joined any groups for deaf children. I went to hearing school and never had interpreter. I don’t know how to exist like that. I know how to lip read and meet everyone else’s level.” 

“It doesn’t have to be like that now, though.” Shane told him. “You can try making deaf friends. It might be nice. I wouldn’t be here without my friends from sled hockey. They don’t get what it’s like to be the only disabled people in our world, though.” 

“Maybe one day.” Ilya answered instead of shutting it down or encouraging him to keep going. “It’s nice to beat everyone else. Prove them wrong, yes?” 

“Yes.” Shane smiled, then. He knew what Ilya was doing, trying to shut down the serious conversation with a joke, and he was letting him get away with it because they were on a time crunch. He watched as the other man positioned himself on the stairs in front of him, leaning in, “Your cab is definitely here.” 

That doesn’t stop Ilya from kissing him, and it’s sweet and soft before he pulls back to say, 

“Bye.” 

Ilya doesn’t have to hear anything to know that Shane watched him as he left. 

--

Winter, 2014. 

Shane knew that Ilya’s team wasn’t doing well in the Olympics, but he felt like that wasn’t  a reason to ignore him. 

He made some excuse about finding the accessible bathroom to Scott Hunter and Carter Vaughn, two people he had become closer friends with as they always agreed to join in on the Summertime Sled Hockey Fundraiser and would help on the organizational end of it all when they had the time. Their own sizable donations to the cause didn’t hurt, either. 

He had seen Ilya watching from above the rink, looking down to watch as Shane’s old friend from sled hockey, Joe, figure skated on the ice. He was someone like Shane, with health issues that made mainstream sports harder but didn’t qualify him for the Paralympics. Instead of switching into major league hockey, he settled on figure skating with carefully crafted choreography. 

Shane hoped that this building had an elevator somewhere, but he would probably climb a set of stairs to try and talk to Ilya if it came down to it. 

“Hey.” he opens with, but Ilya shook his head and stared out onto the ice. 

“Not here.” 

“I saw you up here. I wanted to see how you were doing.” he tried. 

“Fine. Go sit down.” Ilya seemed annoyed, and not the playful kind of annoyance they shared in their arguments about smoking. “Is there even elevator here, Hollander? Should you be going up stairs during Olympics?” 

“I am perfectly capable, thank you.” Shane bit at the bait designed to frustrate him. “I came up here because I’m worried. You didn’t answer my text.” 

“No, I did not answer your boring text.” Ilya reached to the back of his head, then, pushing some curls out of place to yank the outer part of his cochlear implant out of place. He put it into his pocket, and Shane waits a moment for him to look at him so that he could read his lips while they were talking, instead. 

He doesn’t, though, and Shane is left without a way to communicate with him. He leaned forward, shifting his weight off of his cane and onto his body to try and catch his eye, but Ilya doesn’t look. 

“Fine. Fuck.” 

--

Ilya was happy to have Svetlana drag him away from his father at the too-fancy event he didn’t really care for, but he wasn’t having much fun with his old flame, Sasha. 

“Oh my god, nothing?” Sasha adjusted his position in the bathtub to stand up and climb out. Svetlana was good at looking at him when he spoke, but Sasha wasn’t. “You don’t do coke, you don’t make jokes, you don’t flirt back..” 

He walked until he was standing right in front of Ilya, “I thought you’d be easier to talk to after you were cured of your deafness.” 

An anger flared up in Ilya’s chest, and this was usually the sort of comment he would let pass but he doesn’t. He can’t. “I was not cured. I have an implant- there’s a difference. Deafness doesn’t need to be cured, anyways.” 

Instead of addressing that, Sasha leaned in a bit, placing a hand on the counter next to him, 

“You used to be fun, Ilya.” 

He leans in to whisper something that the russian player can’t catch, and before he could be kissed against his will, he pushed him back by the chest because everything about this felt wrong. 

Not being able to understand what was happening felt wrong. The idea of fucking someone that judged him for his disability felt even worse. 

He didn’t appreciate Shane Hollander enough, he thought distantly. 

“We’re not kids anymore, Sasha. Grow up.” 

He pushed his way out of the bathroom, then, fully intending to find Svetlana and get out of there. 

--

Montreal

Shane waited on the Pike family porch in his wheelchair, mostly because Hayden’s house was designed for one anyways and he was trying to get used to the idea of using it part-time. 

It would make things easier if there came a time that he didn’t get a choice in the matter. 

Jackie Pike opened the door and gave him a smile, stepping aside so that he could push himself up the ramp into the house. Shane lifted the bottle of wine he held in his lap up once she was done announcing his presence. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked. 

“I don’t know. My mom told me to get wine.” 

Jackie shook her head and leaned down to hug him, “Do you want me to push you to the kitchen? There’s ginger ale in the fridge.” 

“You push your child around all the time.” he waved her off, “I’ll take ginger ale, though.” 

The guys from the team argued about beards and cursing in front of the children as Shane grabbed a ginger ale and transferred himself to the couch, where he tuned into the Playoff Finals to see whether or not Ilya would pull off winning the thing.

He still hadn’t been answering his texts, but it would be nice to see another disabled player pull it off- make history in the world of disabled athletics.

“I can’t believe that asshole’s about to win the Cup. Shane hates him the most.” 

“What?” he asked. 

“You hate Rozanov.” 

“Of course.” 

“But, he’s very good at hockey.” 

Shane kept his eyes trailed on him on the screen, “The best, probably.” 

He wants to say something about how he was rooting for him, despite everything, for the greater good that him doing well would achieve for disabled athletes. For the deaf children, watching the captioned version of the broadcast from home. 

He knew that Hayden and Jackie would back him up, but that would turn into a conversation about disabilities everyone was avoiding having by decidedly not commenting on Shane’s wheelchair beyond Jackie parking it somewhere out of the way until he needed it again. 

“Ah, no. You’re the fucking best, Hollander.” J.J pointed at him, and he smiles. 

He smiles a bit wider when the timer for the 3rd period ran out and Ilya Rozanov managed to lead the Boston Raiders to victory. Ilya was sweat-covered and joy-filled as he hoisted the trophy over his head to shout something Shane didn’t understand in russian to the camera. 

He kisses it, too, and Shane sticks around to watch it longer than everyone else, who left him behind to go start the grill. Hayden stuck by in his spot next to him while Jackie wheeled his chair back over, though, and it was nice to have a friend who stuck around for him. 

It makes it harder to hide as he tears up slightly, though. 

--

Summer, Las Vegas. Major League Hockey Awards

Shane shifted his weight between his body and his cane as he uneasily waited for Ilya to make an appearance. It was the black one with the white handle that he usually paired with formal wear, and he knew he looked about as put-together as he could, considering the stress. 

“Wow, nice watch. They give this to you for free, or what?” Ilya questioned as he adjusted his cochlear and his hair while walking up, doing way more than Shane could do it one fluid movement. Instead of entertaining his teasing, 

“Where the fuck were you? We’re on in 5 seconds.” 

“25 seconds.” Ilya corrected. 

“What were you even doing?” Shane glanced back to ask, but Ilya pretended not to hear him as they were ushered out onto the stage. 

He shifted focus to climbing onto the stool the producers had placed for him, letting his cane stand on it’s own because he had gotten a self-standing foot at some point after Ilya suggested it a few years ago. 

They do the whole pre-scripted bit about getting a selfie and trading phone numbers, and it feels over preformed and masked. Shane was made uneasy by his gentle, deliberate touches to the nape of his neck and the small of his back. It was no wonder why he stormed off to the accessible bathroom too many hallways and turns away from the auditorium, but Ilya still found him. 

He leaned against the paper towel dispenser while doing that more-movement-than-sound laugh he always did, “Well?” 

“What the fuck do you want, Rozanov?” Shane is careful to face Ilya as he speaks, wanting him to fully understand every word. 

“You haven’t answered a text from me in, like, six months, and when I try to talk to you, you make it impossible. You won’t even acknowledge I exist unless there’s a fucking camera pointed at us and then it’s for some fucking clown show. So yeah, what the fuck do you actually want from me? Well?” 

“I want you to suck my dick.” Ilya answered. 

“Oh, fuck you. You are unbelieveable.” he scoffed, turning away from him slightly but not before saying, “You suck my dick.” 

“I don’t think that would be very comfortable.” Ilya stepped towards him, and Shane found himself getting more annoyed, 

“You can stop deciding what’s comfortable for me right now. I am capable of making those choices.” he said, “If I choose to do something that pushes my body, that’s my own right and you get no say over that. Not when you don’t answer my texts for six months. Not when you ignore me.” 

Ilya blinked, “I’m only trying to be thoughtful.” 

“Ignoring me isn’t thoughtful.” 

“Point taken.” Ilya tilted his head with a hum. “I don’t mean to hurt you or make you feel uncapable.” 

“Incapable.” Shane corrected, and Ilya grasps his face by his chin, tilting his gaze upwards to look at him. “I know you’re trying to be accommodating. It doesn’t feel great to have every choice I make questioned, though.” 

“I know.” Ilya sounded sympathetic, “And I’m sorry about not texting. It’s been complicated, recently.” 

And that’s all Shane needed to hear, really. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ to tie up loose ends.

“You can suck my dick in a hotel room. After this show and the stupid after party.” 

“When you’ve been waiting all night.” Ilya sounded delighted by the idea, and maybe relieved by the forgiveness. “I will maybe do a lot more than sucking your dick.” 

“When did your English get so good?” Shane was gazing up at him with eyes that were too invested, too eager and soft for him. 

“I, uh, I read the New Yorker now.” 

Shane smiled, “Really?” 

“No, The New Yorker is boring.” 

“My dad loves it.” Shane admitted, and they’re moving on from his annoyance rather quickly. It was hard to stay upset when Ilya was thoughtful and flirtatious and close like this, though. 

“Ah. So being boring is- it’s genetic.” Ilya teased.

“Wow. Genetic.” Shane repeated in a whisper that he wasn’t sure Ilya’s cochlear would pick up. Ilya was busy staring at his lips, though, so he knew what was going on. 

“Well, then, let’s make a deal.” Ilya offered. “If you win MVP tonight I will blow you, fuck you, whatever you want.” 

“And if you win?” 

Ilya leaned in to kiss him instead of answering, because they did better with silent communication, anyways. 

“Good luck tonight.” 

Shane wiped the tears from around his eyes before grabbing his cane to find his way back to his seat. 

--

Ilya saved the trouble of him potentially not hearing Shane’s knocking by texting him the door code, and he’s happy to see Shane shuffle in and place his cane by the door, dressed in a partially-unbuttoned shirt his his bowtie left undone. 

Ilya raised his arms after taking a sip of vodka, watching for Shane to give the obligatory: 

“Congratulations.” 

“Thank you. Now take off your clothes.” 

“You’re such as asshole.” Shane shook his head, but he still moves to do it- ever the obedient. 

Ilya watches as he meticulously placed everything in a pile, folding his pants over his arm and undoing the rest of his buttons before untucking it from his shirt. He had read somewhere that this ritual, this routine he did every time they hooked up unless Ilya did the work of undressing him, could be it’s own sign of autism. 

He had done a lot of research on the matter, actually, thinking about his rival player even as he got caught up in leading his team to victory. He wanted to understand him. He had looked into fibromyalgia and the other related terms Shane would use to describe his health sometime after the first time they hooked up, translating “mobility limitations” and “fatigue” into russian and studying the subjects. 

“What?” Ilya asked, watching as Shane adjusted his boxers and glanced around the room. 

“Just a lot of windows.” 

He nodded towards the bedroom and led the way, dragging a chair with him to position it at the end of the bed, wincing at the dragging sound the legs made against the flooring. 

“Good. Now get on the bed.” he sat in the chair as Shane climbed onto the bed, “This is good hotel. Nice vodka.” 

“Okay?” Shane sounded a bit confused, folding up his hands in his lap awkwardly. 

“Touch yourself.” Ilya ordered next.

“What?” 

“Show off for me. I want to watch you.” 

Shane chuckled like this idea was absurd, “You what?” 

“It’s my special day, Hollander. I want to watch.” 

“I’ve never…” he trailed off.

“No shit.” 

“Fuck off.” Shane bit at him, “Give me some vodka, at least. Or let me smoke. I have something in my pocket, in there.” 

“You were carrying weed on you all night?” Ilya’s lips quirked up, “Maybe you’re not goody two-shoes.” 

“It’s just a pen, and I grabbed it from my room.” Shane corrected. 

“A pen? Are you writing with the marijuana, Hollander?” 

“It’s like, a vaporizer.” Shane explained, waving him off even as he smiled.

“That has to be worse than cigarettes.” Ilya pointed out. 

“It’s convenient.” Shane shrugged. 

“You can have some after, as reward.” 

The canadian player spreads his legs slightly as he leaned back against the headboard. Once he starts touching himself, running his hands down his chest,

“Do you want to know how it feels?” 

“How what feels?” 

“Holding the Cup.” he smiled. 

“You fucking asshole.” his eyes widened in the playful way they did sometimes, and he made quick work of taking off his underwear to toss them at the other hockey player. 

“I can barely describe it. Oh my god, Hollander.” Ilya caught them and brought them to his nose, just momentarily, and this causes Shane to flush. “Have to use other senses. My ears do not work.” 

He dropped them to the side, then, and the fun really begins. 

And everything about it feels so, so right. 

--

“Press the button and inhale.” Shane told him before deciding to just show him, “Like this.” 

When he exhaled, the cloud of flavored cannabis vape filled the air around them. He offered it to Ilya, then, who shook his head while scrunching up his nose, “I prefer my smoke to smell like smoke. Not green apple fog.” 

“Your loss.” Shane shrugged. “So, Russian this year was something else. It’s intense, there. Are you heading back soon?” 

“Back?” Ilya inhaled his much-preferred cigarette smoke, and Shane clarified, 

“Back to Russia, for the summer.” 

Ilya nodded. “Oh, yes.” 

“Why?” Shane questioned. “Is there even a Russian sign language? Much of a deaf-disabled community there?” 

“It’s home, Hollander.” Ilya answered, “And yes, we have a sign language. Not state sponsored, but people use it. My mother tried to teach me in secret when I was young, but it’s all gone now.” 

Shane knew better than to push too hard about his mother by the tone of voice. Instead, he asks, “Is it safe? Do you even like it, there? Is it accessible?” 

“What difference does it make?” Ilya sounded frustrated, now. 

“A pretty big one, I think.” Shane told him. “Canada mostly uses American Sign Language, and between the two, there’s a big community here. You could, I don’t know- get connected, or something.” 

Ilya closed his eyes for a moment, sighing. “I need to sleep.” he decided. 

“Oh.” Shane nodded, moving to get up. “Yeah, me too.” 

He calls out for Ilya once he’s dressed and getting ready to leave, but he doesn’t get a response beyond “Goodbye, Hollander.” so they just grabs his cane and makes his way to the elevator. 

He feels incredibly stupid as he leans against the wall and types out various texts to Ilya, only to not send any of them. 

The one that sticks the most is we didn’t even kiss.

Chapter End Notes

do you know how hard it was to figure out when weed pens/carts were popularized to figure out when i could have shane use one. did you know that i only got a vague answer and decided to just do it anyways.

oh also i haven't finished reading the books yet and could not find info online about when Hayden is supposed to be married and having kids exactly so idk if he could have a daughter in a wheelchair in 2011 but i decided that he does for the purposes of this fic. i'm a big fan of the whole sled hockey game fundraiser and getting to see shane in his element there. i promise that will come back and not just be something he does for a few years and drops

ilya joking about shane's apartment smelling like weed u r hilarious and i love you forever and ever. also shane being so autistic that he waits to get the first floor apartment in the building he's in rather than taking his money to a building with an elevator. u r adored shane hollander so deeply

also fun little shift that shane knows about his autism due to being medically examined a lot. when you look for one issue or answers you find a lot of other ones along the way, typically, and a lot of disabilities are more happen to happen together. in the process of getting my chronic pain diagnosed, i ended up finding out i had a cyst in my nose. like it just happens i fear hjsiaksja

i hope you guys liked my version of the bathroom argument. i know i cut shane begging to have his dick sucked and that's sad, but i think the conversation they do have is more fitting for these versions of the characters. this chapter also explores the importance of having community with other disabled people if you can, which will continue to be explored as we continue on. the summertime sled hockey subplot is NOT over.

it's been nice seeing comments from disabled readers who are enjoying the representation, and also just seeing all of the support in general. you guys are great, and i hope these chapters continue to fulfill that need for disability representation. please comment any thoughts you have on this chapter, requests, moments you liked- it all encourages me <3

oh also i have a tumblr for this fic/heated rivalry in general. sunshineshanehollander if you want to follow. i also have twitter, ramblingfanboy. i will be posting whenever new chapters go up and maybe later sneak peeks of chapters before they come out 🫡

Chapter 3: back massage/tuna melt/pretty girl distractions

Chapter Summary

“I never hear about you with girls.” Ilya pointed out.

“I mean, it’s private.”

“Right, private.”

“I keep a lot of things private, obviously.” Shane explained, “Besides you, Hayden, and my coaches, no one knows about me smoking weed. It’s also incredibly hard to find girls who want to…”

“Want to what?” Ilya pushed.

“Do all the work.” Shane’s voice was a bit quieter, then, but he wasn’t whispering.

“You don’t think you could find a girl who likes being on top in all of Montreal? All of Canada, even?” Ilya laughed lightly.

Chapter Notes

boomshackalacka i got another one

i start classes again in the next few days and worry that i won't be able to release another one for a bit, so i figured i would lock in with the free time i do have to get you guys at least one more before i get caught up with everything

warnings for more ableism and talk of it. you see a bit of signing through a side character but it's from shane's point of view and he can't really follow along with it, so it isn't translated in-text but rather through other character's dialogue. when (SPOILER ALERT) Shane and Ilya learn sign and start using it, it will be translated into written english in bold text. probably will start in the next chapter if i follow the plan.

also warnings for pretty women being treated as distractions a bit, but it's nothing more egregious than what the show does at the end of episode 4 i don't think

okay i think that's all. enjoy the chapter !!

Summer, 2014. 

Ilya typed out a message to Shane. 

you do wheelchair ad? 

Shane’s response came quickly, 

yes. it helped people get used to me using a cane before i started using it all the time. thought maybe i could do the same here

The russian hummed, tapping his finger on the side of his phone as he came up with a response, 

I didn’t think you cared what public think

His next response came even quicker. 

i don’t but i’m not looking forward to people questioning me on if my health issues are getting worse

Ilya took a beat, slowing down a bit in his jogging pace, 

are they? 

Shane doesn’t answer as quickly, this time. 

nothing i can’t manage.

--

“You use wheelchair full-time, now?” Ilya stepped aside to let Shane roll into his hotel room, and the canadian player sighed, 

“It saves my energy for the ice.” he explained, “It’s been hard, recently. I guess.” 

“Are you good for sex? We don’t have to.” Ilya shut the hotel room door behind him. 

“And what? I just leave?” Shane asked sarcastically, “I want to get off. It helps.” 

“Helps with what?” Ilya questioned, and Shane flushed, sinking back in his chair. 

“The hormones from orgasming. They like, help with pain. A bit.” he explained, and Ilya smiled, 

“Oh, so you’re using me.” he concluded, pushing Shane’s chair further into the room. 

“I’m not using you anymore than you’re using me.” he argued, and Ilya came around his chair to stand in front of him. 

“You use me as medicine. Is different.” He challenged, and then he’s getting down on his knees to undo Shane’s belt. He lifted up a bit when instructed to pull his pants and boxers away, and then Shane can’t argue. 

Shane can’t argue because Ilya was his medicine, just then. 

--

“For the first time in sixteen years, the Montreal Metros have won the MLH cup.” the voice over announced as Shane posed next to the trophy. Shane tried to lift it, then, struggling for a moment before ultimately leaving it on the table it was presented on. “Captain Shane Hollander must be excited, but should the captain be someone who can’t even lift the trophy on his own?” 

Ilya’s jaw dropped as he read the live caption. He already felt bad for Shane not being able to lift the cup, but he was polite enough not to comment on it. Most sane people would be. 

The following footage showed Hayden Pike coming over to give him a smile and nod as he grasped one side of the trophy, giving him a signal that promised he’d help Shane carry it. They do so, together, and it’s a nice moment- but the broadcast announcer continues on about Hayden’s disabled child and Shane using a wheelchair off of the ice instead of covering the stats or switching to an interview segment. 

He pulled out his phone to message the other man. 

congratulations, hollander. sorry broadcaster is idiot

--

One Year Later

Shane Hollander had been determined to win the cup again, and this time, he wasn’t going to make the mistake of trying and failing to lift it up in front of everyone. Instead, Hayden takes it from the table and places it directly on the ice, and he lays himself out next to it while giving a cocky grin to the camera and his teammates crowd around him.

His mobility inhibiting chronic pain could suck it. 

And this time, when he watched the broadcast back, it’s more focused on his talent than his disabilities. There’s still a comment or two made about how he didn’t let his health issues stop him, but there’s no question of his ability to lead a team to victory, and that feels good. 

In the interviews after the games, when he rolls out of the locker room in his chair, he makes a point of calling this out. 

“I can do more as a part-time wheelchair user than most people can do out of one.” he allowed himself to be confident for a moment, because it was nice to beat the able-bodied assholes who talked shit about him and doubted his ability off the ice and in the locker rooms. 

He shifted slightly, leaning into the microphone held out to him in an attempt to promote himself, “Keep an eye out for the roster for this year’s Summertime Sled Hockey Fundraiser and be sure to donate if you can.”

He winked at the camera, then, and he had a feeling there’d be more money going towards the cause then last year. 

--

October, 2016

“So, when you gonna join me in this nightmare?” Hayden bounced the baby in his arms playfully while his other kids wheeled and ran through the museum. Shane looked up at him, 

“You want to get me pregnant, too? I don’t think my body would handle that very well.” he joked. “I think I still have some good hockey left in me. A few more seasons, at least.” 

“Do you think you’ll retire early?” Hayden asked, “Or switch back to sled hockey, at some point? I know there’s not that many professional sled hockey teams, but I don’t think you’d have any trouble finding a place on one.” 

“It feels like giving in if I do.” Shane admitted. 

“You got further than people expected you to already. We won the cup twice in a row, man.” Hayden waved him off, “We know people like to see you playing on the sled. How many millions of dollars have we put into junior sled hockey, at this point?” 

“Many.” Shane smiled, “I was thinking about shifting focus to establishing more adult sled hockey teams. The first rounds of kids who got into the junior league after I started the fundraiser are aging out and don’t have much of a chance on the few professional teams.”

“I think that’s a good goal.” Hayden hummed, “But if you’re in charge of establishing a larger sled hockey league, can you also play on one of the teams?” 

“I would hand the money off to someone else who knows what they’re doing.” Shane said, “Leave the option open, I guess.” 

Hayden’s newest baby started fussing in his arms, but Shane knew there was another one coming soon enough. Shane knew the deal, holding out his arms to take the baby. 

“Let’s go see Uncle Shane.” Hayden mused, and it’s sweet. “Do you date able bodied people? There’s this friend of Jackie’s-” 

“I don’t know.” Shane sighed, “Hayd.” 

“Dude, she’s fucking hot!” Hayden defended, “And she teaches this accessible dance class that we wanted to sign Ruby up for. She’s seriously fucking hot, and she’s funny.” 

“Swear jar, two times.” Shane smiled. 

“Oh, fuck.” Hayden turned his head away. 

“Three.” he corrected. 

“Come on, man. Why not?” Hayden unlocked his phone, “It’s not the same as dating a generic able-bodied person. She works in accessibility. Can I just show you her insta?” 

“Fine.” Shane nodded. 

“Yes! Okay, good.” Hayden set to work, “Jackie will be happy.” 

“We both have to make your wife happy now?” Shane questioned.

“Damn right, we do. If you want her to keep making your gross food and keeping our house stocked with ginger ale.” 

Hayden has to run off after his older kids, then, and Shane is left with a baby in his lap. 

“Tell your dad to leave me alone.” he told her, very seriously as if she could understand him in the slightest. 

“Um, excuse me?” a smaller voice cut into the conversation, then, and Shane used one hand to rotate his chair. “Are you Shane Hollander?” 

He took in the sight of two teenagers, one girl in a motorized wheelchair and another pushing it with colorful hearing aids on both ears. The girl in the wheelchair made motions with her hands- American Sign Language, Shane recognized- after she finished speaking, seemingly translating her words after saying them. 

He recognized some of the signs from interacting with deaf kids at his old school, but he doesn’t know enough to fully understand what was being communicated. 

The deaf girl moved to stand next to her as Shane replied, “Yeah.” 

The deaf teenager signed something, and the one in the wheelchair nodded before translating, “She’s wondering if we could have a photo.” 

“Oh. Um.” Shane looked down at his lap, “My hands are kind of full at the moment.” 

When Hayden came back to his side, the girl in the wheelchair immediately asked, “Could you hold his baby for him so that we could get a picture, please? We’re big fans of him and Ilyz Rozanov- our classmates will be so jealous.” 

Hayden scoffed but nodded along, taking the baby as Shane directed his attention to the girls,

“Do you go to a special needs school?” he asked, and after the girl in the wheelchair translate, they both nodded. “That’s great. I did, too, when I was younger. I mostly took normal classes, but it was nice to be around other disabled kids.” 

“That’s how it is for us.” the girl in the wheelchair hummed as they lined up for a photo. Once they do a few poses, Shane wheeled himself away slightly, 

“Tell your classmates I say hi, okay?”

The moment is gentle and sweet in a way that Shane held close to his heart, but the second him and Hayden are in the parking lot, the other man was complaining. 

“They didn’t even fucking recognize me.”

“They’re probably not that into hockey.” Shane told him, “I remember idolizing disabled athletes, celebrities, historical figures- whatever. We were encouraged to learn about them in history class. That’s what me and Ilya are for them, people to look up to.” 

“Ilya?” Hayden repeated. Shane bit at his lip, 

“Rozanov.” he corrected, “The kid said ‘Ilya.’” 

Hayden looks suspicious, but he drops it. Shane diverted the topic, “I think that’s five times. For the swear jar. I’m supposed to text Jackie.” 

“I’m telling on you, Daddy!” Ruby shouted from her wheelchair further ahead in the parking lot. 

“Narc!” Hayden called after her. Then, “I’m getting a vasectomy.” 

“Way too late.” 

--

Boston

“It’s my favorite place on earth. And my parents cottage, the one I grew up spending my summers at, is ten minutes away.” Shane was sat comfortably on a chair in the documentary shot, “And it’s designed for me and my wheelchair. Lower cabinets, ramps, bathtubs- all of it.” 

As he listed the accessibility features, the footage shifted to show them in the house tour.

“I’m ready. Unless you’ve decided to stay in and watch…whatever this is.” Svetlana walked into the room, glancing at the screen. 

“Sorry. It’s so fucking boring I almost fell into a coma.” Ilya responded easily. 

“Mm. He’s fucking hot, though.” 

Ilya took that as a cue to turn off the television. 

--

Ilya’s house was big and had too many doors, but Shane was able to find the doorbell easily enough. He pressed it and waited at the door, able to make out lights flashing through the front window. 

Ilya opened the door shirtless, stepping aside to let him in. He tilted his head, “No wheelchair?” 

“I didn’t know if I’d be able to get inside.” Shane admitted, but the path to the side door Ilya had directed him to hadn’t had any steps. “I should’ve asked, I guess. Do I take my shoes off?” 

“No, you’re good.” Ilya waved him off, shutting the door behind him as Shane left his cane there and pushed himself further inside. 

“What was up with the flashing lights?” Shane turned around to face him again, taking in the open-concept floor plan and bright, overhead light fixtures. They weren’t bright in an overwhelming way, though, just illuminating. 

“They trigger when someone rings the doorbell, and red ones go when the smoke alarm is set off.” Ilya explained, “So I don’t need to wear my cochlear all the time. I know what’s going on.” 

“That’s really cool, actually.” Shane hummed, leaning against the counter, “Wow, this place is great. Did you get this built, or do you know who did?” 

“Mr. Real Estate.” Ilya teased, stepping closer to him. 

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just hard to find accessible living spaces, I guess.” he let Ilya close in on him, “Do you think we need to talk?” 

“No, after.” Ilya decided, and then they’re kissing. Ilya lifted him up onto the counter, and the position is more comfortable. 

Their position on the bed after that is comfortable, too. 

--

Ilya patted the spot next to him on the bed when Shane lingered in the doorway, leaning over to kiss his shoulder once he’s sitting down. 

“I should go.” he said, as Ilya pressed a kiss to his neck. The russian pulled back, 

“Are you in bad pain?” he asked. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Shane questioned, and Ilya clicked his tongue. 

“Sorry. I want you to stay.” Ilya admitted. 

“Stay?” Shane echoed. 

“Here, tonight.” Ilya explained. “I’m not done with you. And we have afternoon game tomorrow so, no morning practice.” 

“I told Hayden…” Shane trailed off. 

“Is Hayden your mother?” Ilya joked. 

“No.” 

“No, he’s not?” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Who cares what you told Hayden?” Ilya argued, leaning in to kiss him and whisper against his lips, “Stay. If there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, just say.” 

“Okay.” Shane nodded, “I’m not in any more pain than usual, I guess, but a back massage wouldn’t hurt.” 

And he’s clearly joking as he says it, asking for more than he expects, for more than what was offered. But Ilya hummed decisively seriously, tapping his shoulder to get him to reposition himself. Shane moved, seeming confused until strong hands were on his shoulders and moving to massage the muscles there. 

He loosened up, melting into the touch and taking a few beats to say, “I was joking, Rozanov.” 

“I know, but I can do back massage.” Ilya told him. “Lay down. On your stomach, so I can get full back.” 

“You can’t read my lips that way.” Shane pointed out, and Ilya shrugged, 

“I have cochlear, and I don’t think we’ll need to talk much.” 

Shane fell asleep soon after that, his head buried in his arms and a pillow with a blanket covering his lower body while Ilya worked his way through the top, pushing against muscles and running his hands up and down and up again. 

Once the canadian’s breathing slows, Ilya laid himself out next to him and fell asleep, too.

--

“You like tuna melt?” 

Ilya and Shane were in his kitchen, now. Ilya smiled at Shane’s confusion, “You want to make me a tuna melt?” 

“I was gonna make one for me. I can make two.” Ilya shrugged, turning around to grab ingredients from the fridge. Shane was already sipping on a can of ginger ale. “You head to Florida after this, right?” 

“Yeah, right after the game.” Shane responded once he turned around, “Tampa, then Sunrise- then we go to Dallas and St. Louis. Wheelchairs are kind of hell to travel with on planes, but I can’t roadtrip the whole time.” 

“Do you usually drive?” Ilya questioned, and Shane hummed, 

“If the distance is reasonable, I prefer it. I had my first wheelchair damaged in airport transit.” Shane explained, “I have a label for it, with my name. Usually they’re more careful when they know it belongs to a disabled celebrity and not a plain old disabled person.” 

“That’s stupid.” Ilya placed the ingredients on the counter. “I’m glad my cochlear is attached to my head, then.” 

Shane laughed, because it’s the sort of disability humor he would share with his old sled hockey teammates. Ilya set to work, and after a beat, 

“I started taking sign language classes.” It’s a quiet admission. Shane knew to tread carefully as he sipped from his can. 

“Yeah?” he smiled, just softly. 

“Yeah.” Ilya nodded, “Just online ones. I don’t practice with anyone, just put together sentences and record myself. But I’m thinking about teaching my teammates signals so that I don’t miss their shouting on the ice. And maybe eventually asking for an interpreter at public events.” 

“Is it easier than talking, for you?” Shane questioned. 

“It would be nice to not have to wear my cochlear all the time.” he admitted. His voice is quiet, like this is hard to talk about openly and casually for him. “Decoding speech can be really hard, especially translating english. I’ve gotten good at it, but it’s…” 

“Tiring?” Shane offered.

“I can do it, but it’s tiring, like walking for you.” Ilya nodded, “Sign is all visual. I’ve learned new languages before with and without some semblance of hearing, and this one has been the easiest to pick up.” 

“I met a deaf fan of us with Hayden, once. A girl in a wheelchair and her deaf friend, both so excited to meet me and they talked about you, too.” Shane told him, “You don’t talk about your disabilities as much, but deaf kids still look up to you.” 

“That’s sweet.” Ilya’s voice sounded a bit distant, hesitating in his motions of putting ingredients onto the bread. “I wish I was better role model for them.” 

Shane reached across the counter to grab one of his hands. When Ilya let him take it and glanced up at him, “I think you’re a perfectly good role model.” 

“Not like you, though. You talk about your issues and fundraise and shine light on accessibility problems.” Ilya shook his head, “I don’t do any of that. I let my teammates forget I’m deaf, let the world forget, but they won’t. I cover my implant.” 

“Those are all things that can change if you want them too.” Shane tried his best to be comforting, to be aware of Ilya’s emotions. “They don’t have to, though, either. It’s fair to not want everything to come back to your disability.” 

“I think I want it to change.” Ilya admitted, “But my father thinks deaf means ‘deaf and dumb.’ My brother, too. They would judge me if I did an advertisement for a hearing aid or cochlear implant company, or if I had an interpreter during an event. They don’t know that I’m learning how to sign.” 

“Your father and brother sound like assholes.” Shane said, “I’m sorry you have to deal with a family like that. I’m lucky to have supportive parents who signed me up for sled hockey and sent me to a special needs academy.” 

“What’s that like?” Ilya squeezed his hand before letting go of it, “A disabled school? Or the hockey- being around other people like us, all the time?” 

“Really, really nice.” Shane smiled fondly at the memories, “I miss it a lot, sometimes. Having people who understood, in an environment designed for us. We had signing interpreters in most of our classes, actually, because of the population of deaf students- and it was an option for your language credit, but I took french instead. I was used to being the most able-bodied person in the room, still able to walk without any aids, and then suddenly…” 

“You were the least able-bodied one?” Ilya finished, and Shane nodded. 

“I knew what I was signing up for by switching to a mainstream hockey team full time, by deciding to make it a career, but I thought it would be easier, I guess.” Shane shrugged, “I guess it’s the opposite for you, right?” 

“Right.” Ilya nodded, “There’s deaf nights out here in Boston, sometimes. I see the posts online. Groups of deaf people go out and only sign, leave the hearing aids and cochlear at home. I would go, but I am famous deaf person- don’t know if I could just exist, there.” 

“They would probably love to meet you.” Shane told him, “But yes, it would probably get leaked to the press that you showed up. Showing your support for the local deaf community could be a good thing, but it would also be…” 

He trailed off, trying to find the right words. 

“A big deal. Which I do not want.” 

“Right.” Shane echoed, bringing his can to his lips again. 

The conversation fell quiet, after that, but it was nice to coexist while Ilya cooked for both of them. It felt normal, almost. 

--

“What’s your, uh, favorite city to play in?” Shane continued to try an make conversation once they’re sitting on the couch with a hockey game playing on the television. “On the road?” 

“I like New York ‘cause is New York.” Ilya answered, “They fucking hate me there.” 

“They hate you everywhere.” Shane pointed out.

“No, no- not Florida. It’s full of Boston people.” the russian corrected, and it’s light. Normal, almost, which was weird when shared between them. “And you?”

“Uh, I like Ottawa ‘cause it’s my hometown. Toronto, Winnipeg- I’m happy they have a team again.” Shane answered, and Ilya chuckled. “What? Are those boring answers?”

“Yes.” Ilya confirmed with a nod. 

“Well, I like the hot places, too.” Shane offered before immediately adding, “Hot like weather hot.”

“Ah, okay.” Ilya hummed, “LA is hot. Hot women.” 

“Yeah, sure. I mean, there are hot women everywhere.” Shane shifted like he was a bit uncomfortable, and Ilya doesn’t know how to get to the point he’s trying to make. 

“There is a girl I like here very much, Svetlana.” he told him. “She looks at me when she speaks, like you do. Makes sure I have my cochlear on, grabs my attention. She’s nice.” 

“Oh?” 

“She’s old friend, from Russia. Her father was famous goaltender of soviet team, and she was the only girl around who took the time to talk to me back when my deaf-cent was more…” he waved his hand in front of him, “More. She knows everything about hockey.” 

“Cool.” Shane kept to his one word responses. 

“And she likes you very much.” Ilya added. 

“Oh. That’s nice?” there was a silent question in Shane’s tone, “So she’s, like, your girlfriend?” 

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Ilya assured, “She’s old friend. Sometimes we fuck, but she’s busy these days, you know- new business selling fancy cars.” 

“Sounds perfect for you.” Shane sounded like he was trying not to seem upset. 

“Yes, it’s close to that, but..” 

“But what?” Shane pushed. 

“But it’s nothing more than that for either of us. But it’s nice to have regular woman like that around, someone accommodating.” he admitted. 

“You think she’s the only person in Boston who wants to fuck you enough to make those accommodations?” Shane challenged, and Ilya shook his head, 

“I think I will find someone else.” Ilya decided, shrugging lightly, “But you know me, I’m lazy, so…”

“I don’t know that side of you at all.” Shane was being honest with his next words, but then he moves to get up when the microwave beeped from the kitchen. Lights placed in the kitchen and living room flashed in unison with it, and Ilya waved him off, 

“No, stay, stay.” he moved to stand up, instead. “I’ll get it.”

When he’s back and they’re both eating, “You like them?” 

“Yeah.” Shane nodded, wiping under his mouth. 

“Girls.” Ilya clarified. 

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” the darker haired man picked up his can of ginger ale, “Of course I do.”

“I never hear about you with girls.” Ilya pointed out. 

“I mean, it’s private.” 

“Right, private.” 

“I keep a lot of things private, obviously.” Shane explained, “Besides you, Hayden, and my coaches, no one knows about me smoking weed. It’s also incredibly hard to find girls who want to…” 

“Want to what?” Ilya pushed. 

“Do all the work.” Shane’s voice was a bit quieter, then, but he wasn’t whispering.

“You don’t think you could find a girl who likes being on top in all of Montreal? All of Canada, even?” Ilya laughed lightly. 

“Fuck off.” He flushed. 

“I like girls.” Ilya offered. 

“Yeah, no shit.” Shane snapped, and Ilya leaned in, 

“But I also like you.” 

Shane smiled, then, “Lucky me.” 

“Not as person, of course.” Ilya added. 

“Of course not. I’m boring.” Shane joked back. 

“But you have good mouth.” he amended, and before he could continue flirting or riling the other man up, his phone started buzzing in his back pocket. He handed Shane the remote, “Sorry. Here.” 

He accepted the call as he walked away, and the automatic transcript of what his father was saying typed itself onto his phone screen. 

--

Shane could hear the muffled tone of whoever Ilya was talking to on speaker, and the russian player always took a moment to process what was being said before he replied. When Ilya returned, after he thanked him for the food, 

“How is your father?” 

Ilya looked at him with slightly widened eyes, “Ah, you speak russian now?” 

“I know the word for father.” Shane offered. Ilya sat back and grabbed the remote before promptly pulling the other player back with him, guiding him into a comfortable position curled up at his side as he ran his hands through his hair. 

Shane thinks that the volume on the television is turned down, but he’s not really paying attention to it anymore. He wasn’t sure if he ever was, really. 

Shane let his eyes flutter shut as Ilya kissed the top of his head, running his hands up and down the other man’s thigh and working his way inwards as his breathing deepened, slowed. He turned his head to press kisses on his chest, stomach, working down the happy trail that disappeared into the waistband of his pants until he’s mouthing his erection through his jeans. 

Ilya made slow, careful work of massaging his back and shoulder muscles as he does this, working his way under his shirt and there’s no words shared until Shane moved to staddle his lap and removed his shirt. 

“Is this okay?” he whispered. Shane grabbed his hands and placed them at his waist, 

“Hold up my weight, if it makes you feel better.” Shane told him, and he does it. It doesn’t feel like obedience when Ilya took his order, but rather a request granted. 

Then, they’re kissing and pulling their erections from their pants and panting, face to face in this way that’s incredibly intimate. Ilya kept his hands on his hips, back, ass the whole time, melting him from the inside out with the implication of care, of affection that existed there. 

Ilya didn’t moan as much as Shane did, but there’s little sounds that escape his throat like whispers. “Oh, fuck, Hollander!” 

“Are you gonna cum for me, Rozanov?” Shane asked, and it’s cocky. 

“Fucking make me.” Ilya spit in the offered hand, “Oh!” 

Nothing else they say, none of their sounds or noises, make sense until-

“Oh, fuck, Shane!” 

Reality came crashing down, just like it always did. “Ilya.” he kissed him, long and soft and soaking-it-all-in before moving to get off of him. “I should…I should go.” 

“Go?” Ilya repeated, like he hadn’t understood him properly. 

“I should stay. I can’t. Team meeting in the morning. I forgot, so…” Shane was lying, and he knew that Ilya knew that. He knew that he wasn’t even a little bit convincing, but he couldn’t help himself. 

He couldn’t help the panic, building up in his chest. 

“Okay. You forgot team meeting.” Ilya motioned to him, and Shane looks away, 

“Thank you for the tuna melt. And the…back massage.” his voice is almost breathless, then, and he looks at Ilya directly again, “I’m sorry. This…I can’t.” 

“Hollander.” Ilya sounded desperate. 

“I just- I can’t, uh, do this.” Shane didn’t know how to explain anything going through his head, grasping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. 

“Hollander.” Ilya tried again, and Shane wants to give in- wants to stay and let this build. 

If only he had the courage. He didn’t, though, so he offers another apology before rushing towards the hallway the led to the door he came through,  

“I’m sorry.” 

--

“He’s having an after-hours thing at his restaurant. There’s ramps and stuff.” J.J’s voice came through on the other end of Shane’s phone, trying to talk him into a night out, “And get this- the cast of the X Squad movie they’re filming in town is here.” 

Shane’s eyes widened, “All of them?” 

“I don’t fucking know. Get down here!” 

And he does, because it was rare that he got an easily-accessible chance to go out with the guys from his team. The bartender telling him that Rose Landry was there didn’t hurt, either. 

At some point later in the night, when he’s a bit drunk and overwhelmed by the chatter shared amongst the guys who gave into J.J’s pestering, he snuck off to go find a quiet place to park his chair. Instead, he ends up by the table the aforementioned actress was sat in. 

“Are you here to help me finish these fries?” she asked, and he thinks her tone is somewhere between playful and flirtatious. “The chef gave them to me, and they are really good. I’m not going to fit in my costume if I eat them all.” 

Rose Landry was a legend in online disabled spaces, a legally blind actress who ended up with a prosthetic eye after a surgery. She changed her prosthetic depending on whatever role she was casted in at the time, but just then, she had a green one that was pretty paired with her real, blue eye. 

“Jesus christ, these are so good.” she held her hand out, “I’m Rose, by the way.” 

“I’m Shane.” he leaned forward to shake it, “I’m…wow, I’m a big fan.” 

“Shane like- Hollander, Shane? The hockey player?” she questioned, and he hummed, 

“Yes.” 

“Would you be surprised to know that I’m a fan of yours?” she asked. 

“Really?” 

“Mhm. I’m a Michigan girl with three brothers.” she confirmed, “Have a fry, Shane Hollander. Detroit’s not gonna go easy on you tomorrow night.” 

Conversation with Rose came easy, flowing like they had already known each other for years. They talk about her old movies, about her being kidnapped in fictional universes and how she came to fame. 

And then, “Shane Hollander, eight years old. Paint me a picture.” 

“Well, I was just starting sled hockey at that point, but there’s no question of if I wanted it to be my career yet. So, I’m probably just having fun.” he answered, “Finally making friends I could keep up with.” 

“Did it stop being fun?” Rose asked. 

“No. Well, I mean, kind of.” Shane answered, “I love it, but it got more intense and I’m no longer surrounded by other disabled people. It feels kind of isolating, sometimes, that shift.” 

“I was usually surrounded by able-bodied people growing up, and my blindness was a topic of conversation since the beginning of my career as a child.” Rose hummed, “It’s isolating, but it’s all I’ve ever known.” 

“That’s how it usually goes, I hear. I was one of the lucky ones.” Shane mused, and he can’t stop himself from thinking about Ilya. “Sled hockey is more diverse, too- since they hand down the equipment and let basically anyone who wants in on the team. At least, they did back then. I had more asian teammates on my sled hockey team than I do now.” 

“You have zero now, right?” Rose asked, and Shane nodded with a laugh, 

“Yes. I had at least two during my time in sled hockey.” 

And the conversation keeps flowing, after that, and they talk about the worst of Rose’s movies as they make their way through a few more drinks. 

“So, are you going to be in town a little while, this time?” 

--

Two Weeks Later

Ilya was starting to regret exploring online disabled spaces, because the pair of Rose Landry and Shane Hollander was the talk of the town on that particular space of the internet. It was the talk of the town everywhere else, too, in the hockey and film worlds and Ilya Rozanov was starting to feel emotions burn in his chest that he had believed to be long dealt with. 

Jealousy. An ugly thing. 

It was the first game of theirs in years without a plan or implication of one to meet afterwards, and none arise as they play a boring game with only a single goal scored. 

“We’re in Montreal. We’ll find a fucking club. Tell people!” 

Clubs were useful only for hookups and a night of intoxication for Ilya. His cochlear couldn’t process the sounds of talking and loud music separately, so it ended up being not much more than gibberish as he focused on the beat and found a pretty girl to dance with. 

A pretty girl would be a nice distraction, though. 

--

Shane thought that dating another disabled person would come easy, but clubs didn’t usually come with wheelchair ramps and Rose didn’t need one when she had her guiding cane, so he used one of his canes, instead- which didn’t feel like enough support right after a game. It didn’t feel like enough support after spending most of his off-the-ice time in a wheelchair.

He doesn’t say any of this, though. He doesn’t say a word about his body pain, and she never asks if he’s okay, tilting her head to give him a convincing smile as she questions if he’s up for dancing. 

Shane doesn’t want to disappoint her, so he nods, feeling around in his pocket for his pen. He thought about how Ilya would definitely say something about the vapor being bad for him, but it’s not enough to get him not to hit it a few times before letting himself be dragged to the dance floor. 

--

Ilya shouted over the counter to the bartender, and he’s probably speaking louder than he realizes. And then, he spots one of Rose Landry’s actor friends. 

It’s not long until he spots Shane and the woman in question, too, dancing closely together as she sipped on a drink and he hit that horrible vapor device he always seemed to have in his pocket, nowadays. 

A distant part of his mind thinks that there’s no way Shane really had that much energy right after a game- not only to be dancing, but to be standing at all. Shane could make his own choices, though, and so could he.

Ilya chooses to turn to take his drink from the bartender and sets out to find a pretty girl of his own. 

--

Shane hadn’t had enough hits to completely get rid of the pain building in his back, but he had enough to feel woozy and over-emotional when he spots Ilya on the dance floor dancing too-closely with a blonde woman. 

Ilya stared right as he ran his hands over the woman’s body. 

Whenever him and Rose sneak back off to his apartment and he leads her to his bedroom and she feels for parts of his body with her hands, he winces, “I don’t think I can- not after tonight. After the game. After dancing.” 

The words came rushing out in a rambled panic, and she pulled back, standing up, “I thought the weed helped you.” 

“It does, but it only does so much. I would have to smoke a lot more to feel okay, and then I wouldn’t be aware enough to do much of anything.” He’s a little relieved to have an excuse to not have sex with her, but he doesn’t say that part out loud. “I need to..” 

She motioned for him to sit on the bed and took the spot next to him, “Tonight was too much for you. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You want a boyfriend who can dance with you. And I can, but that’s the limit for one day.” he explained. 

“So, next time, we won’t dance.” she offered, and he nodded. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” she took his hand, “I’ll still sleep over, okay?”

It’s nice to know that she wasn’t going to leave over this, that it wasn’t another thing he had to worry about in addition to his pain or Ilya Rozanov or anything else. 

“Okay.” he whispered, falling back onto the bed and letting out a breath. He motioned backwards, towards the headboard, “Do you want to smoke actual weed? I have joints, in the bedside table.” 

The next words she says, as she stands up and goes to break into his weed stash, are light-hearted enough to distract him, “I can pack a bowl. Michigan, remember?”

Chapter End Notes

i had planned for rose to not be disabled and decided it was more interesting if she was, actually. show how even when you experience the need for accommodations, you don't automatically understand what others may need. ilya and shane just happen to understand and work with each other really well and that takes work. i also think ilya's dynamic with svetlana shows that accommodation isn't the only reason the two of them work, because she accommodates for him well too.

i had a lot of fun exploring shane's dynamic with hayden in this world, who isn't disabled but has a disabled child understands the culture a little more than the average person. he's thoughtful enough to suggest someone experienced in accessibility but not enough to notice that shane is preoccupied. love that for him

i liked exploring shane's particular experience of being very much accommodated for and supported in his experiences. i think knowing that he wasn't used to being "the disabled one" pre-going pro in hockey adds context to why he was so annoyed in the first chapter during his early career, and it contrasts against the experiences of other characters. I had something in between these two choices, going to a school with more disabled kids than the average amount but still falling within the minority, so it's interesting to explore both sides

ilya giving shane a back massage u r my love. my heart. light of my life.

i think my favorite scene in this chapter is them talking in ilya's kitchen after the tuna melt conversation. it's just so honest, i guess. and my interpretation of the sex scene after <3

and sorry i couldn't pass up the opportunity to make a stoner michigan joke with rose. please comment any thoughts you have, favorite scenes, whatever- it's been so nice to read the ones on the first two chapters

Chapter 4: all-stars and accommodations

Chapter Summary

Shane hits his head. Ilya’s world stops.

Other players start to fight each other and the refs start pulling everyone apart, but he wasn’t focused on that as he watched the medics lift Shane onto a gurney. There’s hushed conversation as they get him off of the ice that Ilya can’t make out.

“Is he okay? Fucking tell me!” he tried to get the attention of one of them, but a referee tries to get him to sit on his bench like Shane wasn’t in danger. He watched as he leaves, and Ilya shouts to no one in particular, “Someone needs to take his wheelchair to the hospital. He won’t be able to walk when he wakes up.”

Hayden Pike shouts at him from across the rink, “I’ll get it to him!”

Ilya nodded, and they hold eye contact for a moment too long.

He’d deal with that later, he decided.

Chapter Notes

hey guys welcome back!! sorry there was a bit of a gap for this one- it's been mostly done for a while, but the start of a new semester for me means i'm busy and zapped of energy. i locked in and got my schoolwork done and finished this chapter for you guys, though.

this chapter is the first to include the regular use of sign language. as i said in previous notes, this will be indicated through bold text. I debated between writing the asl lines in sign language word order to be more accurate, kind of stringing signs together to create sentences, but that would get really confusing for readers who don't know ASL so so quick so I instead translated sentences into written english. The word choices/changes I make are specific though so if a sentence seems awkwardly phrased it's probably me trying to stick to how you would communicate that idea in sign language if that makes sense.

i think that's the only note for before the chapter i have. have fun!

Turns out, conserving his energy didn’t help when it came to having sex with Rose. Not even when she promised to stay on top and let him lay there. 

It just didn’t work. The actress was a sweetheart about it, though, always diverting attention by offering to cook for them or pack a bowl for them to smoke together. And then, they would watch stupid cartoons and youtube videos until they fell asleep, piled in each other’s arms. Shane preferred that to trying to fuck her, honestly. 

Shane liked being around her, and she was more careful about making sure he was up for things before asking him to do them. She was more careful about finding places with wheelchair ramps. She had made a mistake once and she wouldn’t do it again. 

Rose Landry was an objectively good girlfriend. 

It left Shane feeling like an objectively bad boyfriend, honestly. That, and the russian hockey player he couldn’t get out of his head. There was the upcoming opportunity for them to be on the same team during the All-Star game, and there was no doubt the coaches would put them on the ice at the same time. 

Maybe that’s why he’s so nervous as he transfers into his wheelchair and makes his way into the restaurant Rose picked out for them.

“You’re so cute.” Rose told him, “I know I can’t see much, but you’re sweet. Have I told you that before? How sweet you are?” 

She leaned forward, tilting her head, and Shane responds, “No. I mean, maybe.” 

“Well, you are.” Rose assured. “Miles is extremely jealous.” 

“Of me?” Shane questioned. Rose furrowed her eyebrows, seemingly finding the misunderstanding humorous, 

“No, of me.” 

It takes Shane a moment to realize what she meant by that. “Did you not notice that Miles is gay?” 

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it, so…” he trailed off.

“Well, he is, and he’s lowkey in love with you.” she told him. 

“Oh.” he smiled, because the reminder that people were attracted to him was overwhelming, sometimes. 

“Does it surprise you that Miles is gay?” 

“No, I mean- of course not. No.” he answered decisively. 

“Well, a lot of actors are. They’re just not all out.” she explained, “Are there any like, gay hockey players? I mean, yes, obviously there are. But are there any openly gay players?” 

“Yeah, uh. No.” he took a moment too long to answer. “I mean, yeah, there are probably gay players or whatever, but none that have said it publicly. One league having two disabled players at the same time, one of them being asian and the other being an immigrant, is already pushing the limits of diversity.” 

“Huh.” Rose glanced behind Shane, where there was a light fixture. She could see lights and shadows and shapes, and would often drift to them in conversation when she was thinking. 

“What?” Shane asked. She sighed, blinking, 

“Sorry, I don’t think I’m going about this the right way.” She admitted, scratching her arm with her nails. She was nervous. 

“Going about what?” Shane was starting to click the pieces together, but he didn’t want to see the whole puzzle. 

Or maybe he did, and he was too scared to look. Rose leaned forward either way, taking his hand, 

“I really like you, Shane.”

“I like you too.” he told her, squeezing her hand in the way she liked. He tried not to think about how Ilya did it to him, sometimes. 

“But I have a feeling that maybe I’m not…doing it, for you?” Rose suggested.

“Yes, you are.” Shane denied. 

“I know you like talking to me. Smoking with me. Cooking and watching cartoons.” she said, and he nodded honestly because he loved all of those things, 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you like kissing me?” she asked, and Shane responds before his brain has a moment to catch up, 

“Sure.” 

She tilted her head slightly, “Wow.” 

“No, of course I do. Sorry.” He covered his face with his free hand, not knowing what to do with himself just then. 

“No, hey, don’t apologize.” she corrected him. “I just- I have a feeling, and maybe I’m completely off base here, but I don’t know. I feel like maybe you’d rather be kissing…Miles?” 

Shane tries to open his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out for a moment, and he pulls his hand back. He avoided eye contact as if that mattered to her, and she reached out to place on of her hands on top of his, 

“Hey, it’s really okay.” 

“It’s not.” he managed, “I do like you. I really do. I like talking with you. I like being with you. I like having someone to smoke with. I like all of it.” 

She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows. 

“I know the sex stuff is a problem, but…” 

“It’s not a problem.” she assured, “A problem is something you can fix or find a solution for, like you struggling to hold yourself up and me agreeing to be on top. We’re more like a square peg in a round hole. Ew. No, I’m sorry.” 

She covered her face, now. “Forget I said that. Um, we’re just- we’re not meant to fit. And it’s really fine, I just don’t think that we can keep trying.” 

Shane tried to form a sentence, but he starts and stops multiple times before Rose offers, 

“Hey, you don’t owe me any explanation.” 

“I feel like I kind of do.” 

Words felt like the hardest thing in the world, just then. 

“You really don’t.” she paused for a moment, “Can I ask if you’ve ever been with another guy?” 

Shane nods, and he thinks about that first time after the commercial shoot, when they were both kneeling on the floor. 

“Have you ever told anyone that before?” 

He shakes his head, then, and he thinks about the first time they fucked- when Ilya told him that he didn’t have to try all fours. That he was having fun right where he was. He thinks about being given a blowjob in his wheelchair, as medicine for his pain.

“Was is different, with a guy?” 

He nodded, and he thinks about when Ilya gave him a back massage at his joking request. He thinks about them smoking together for the first time, and their conversation in the hallway about the olympics and the paralympics and the deaflympics. 

He manages, “Of course.” 

“Was it better?” 

He thinks about tuna melts and the way they texted each other whenever something stupid was said about their disabilities, the way they supported each other in all of the little ways. 

He thinks about Ilya Rozanov in every way, and he knows he’s too far gone. 

“Yeah. It was, uh- it was better.” Shane admitted. And while he’s being honest, “The thing is, I kind of prefer being the hole rather than the peg.” 

He can hear the ridiculousness of what he’s saying as it comes out of his mouth, and he chuckles. She’s laughing too, then, and it feels like maybe, it was going to be okay. 

“Wow! That is the best thing any gay boyfriend of mine has ever told me.” 

“Oh, you’ve had other…” 

“Oh, I was in theater school. Like, seventy percent of my boyfriends have left me for other guys.” 

“Seventy percent?” he repeated, letting his eyes go a little wide. 

“Actually, eighty.” she corrected herself, nodding a bit, “Yeah.” 

“Wow.” Shane sat back in his chair, trying to let everything that had happened run through his mind. Rose leaned forward with a casual suggestion, 

“You should follow Miles back on instagram. He’s not disabled, but you know he’s not an asshole.” 

“No.” Shane shook his head, “I don’t think I’m in the business of dating anyone completely able-bodied, honestly. Or, not disabled in some way, at least. It’s nothing against him. I have some things to sort out, anyways.” 

“So this other guy, he was also disabled?” Rose asked, and she’s dangerously close to a conclusion he didn’t want her to reach. 

“Let’s not play this game.” Shane stopped her, “I’m not ready for it.” 

“Of course.” she nodded, “One day, though?” 

“Maybe.” he offered, and she seemed satisfied with that. 

Shane was satisfied, too, with the suggestion to stay friends. 

“No, really. Not some bullshit, ‘Let’s stay friends,’ thing. Let’s be real friends, like best friends.” she told him, “It’s been really nice to know someone like you. One of the only disabled people in your world. It means a lot, to know I can talk to you.” 

“It’s meant a lot to me, too.” he told her, “Let’s stay friends.” 

“I really like you, Shane Hollander.” she stated plainly, “You’re secretly one of the funniest guys I know.”

“Well, that secret, you don’t have to keep.” he told her. 

“Oh, I will tell everyone.” she assured. “I have a feeling there’s not a lot of people you can…talk to. I mean, about all the other things and stuff.” 

“Things and stuff can be tricky for me.” he admitted. Rose smiled, then, leaning down to kiss his cheek, 

“Text me whenever, okay?” she pulled her white-tipped cane from her purse, extending it as she moved to walk to the car that was waiting for her. “I mean it, because I will be texting you all the time.” 

“Promise.” Shane watched her as she left, and she shouted back, 

“You will wish you never met me.” 

“Impossible.”

--

2017, Tampa Bay. All-Star Game

Ilya had worn the hawaiian shirt because he thought it would be funny, but it felt a bit silly now. His eyes caught on Shane Hollander, entering from across the room in his wheelchair, dressed up in a white blazer like this wasn’t a casual mixer for the team.

He lifted his beer to his lips and drained the rest of it because he had a feeling he was going to need it. 

Shane parked his chair next to him and used the counter to pull himself up onto the stool, and one of the servers was speaking to him immediately, “Can I offer you something to drink?” 

“I’ll have the same as my teammate, please.” His words are playful. Ilya makes a motion to the waiter to get him another, too. 

“So, what, are they out of ginger ale, Captain?” Ilya put emphasis on the last word, glancing over instead of staring straight ahead, inviting the conversation. 

“I’m feeling a bit wild.” Shane joked, “So, this should be fun, huh? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to play on the same team.” 

“Have you?” Ilya raised his eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I have.” Shane confirmed, “It’s nice that it’s in Florida this year, right?” 

It was the light sort of small-talk conversation that avoided everything they weren’t saying out loud. It was enough for now. 

Ilya shrugged, “Yes.” 

The waiter from before handed out their drinks. Then, “Did, uh, did you bring anyone with you?” 

“Uh, my parents thought about coming, but they’re going to Mexico in like, two weeks. And they’ve been to these before, so…” he trailed off lightly. Ilya hummed.

“Also, I didn’t feel like being managed this weekend.” Shane added before asking, “Did you, uh, bring anybody?” 

Ilya held eye contact with him as he shook his head, because they did better with silent communication, anyways. Ilya gives him a look, up and down, and Shane copies the motion. 

“Nice shirt.” he told him, motioning to his shoulder and pretending to pull on his own with the same hand motion you would use to say ‘okay’ or to pretend to smoke a cigarette by holding it up to your lips. Ilya cocked his head. 

It was the sign for “shirt” in american sign language. He wants to ask if he had been taking classes, or something, but he doesn’t because that would be ridiculous. Ilya supposed it was a simple motion anyone could do, just a way to signal what he was taking about by bringing attention to it visually. 

That made more sense than Shane Hollander randomly deciding to learn sign language, he decided.

“Thanks. I like to, you know, get into the spirit.” Ilya was being openly flirtatious, as he let his eyes follow his hands for a moment before snapping back to his face, to his freckles and beautiful eyes. Shane waits until he’s staring at his lips to all-but mouth, 

“You’re pulling it off.” 

“Cats and dogs!” An either over-enthusiastic or very drink J.J throws his arms around both of them, mindful of Ilya’s cochlear and Shane’s back but not much else. Ilya knows he’s loud as he says, “Look at this! Fucking beauties!” 

“Yeah. This should be a fun time.” Shane laughed. J.J told their teammate, very seriously, 

“Be careful around this guy. You can never trust him.” 

“One black coffee, please!” Ilya called out, and J.J laughs. 

“I’m just fucking with you, Rozy. It’s gonna be a hell of a time. Let’s go, East boys!” 

He let them be after that, running off to go chatter away with someone else. 

Shane chuckled, “I feel like we’re gonna get a lot of that sort of thing this weekend.” 

Ilya smiled, and he knows it’s too soft, 

“It should give us a chance to get to know each other. Who knows what we have in common?” he took his time running his eyes over his feature, “You’re looking very pretty today. Different, maybe? Someone take you shopping?” 

Shane looks at him for a moment, “If I um, if I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone or make fun of me?” 

“Well, it depends.” Ilya considered. 

“Seriously.” Shane insisted. 

“Yeah, sure.” the russian gave in. 

“I hired a stylist.” Shane spat out. 

Ilya cant help the more-movement-than-sound laugh he apparently always did. Shane had pointed it out, once, when they were smoking together, saying he liked it- and it had been so soft and admiring that Ilya didn’t know what to do with it. 

He still didn’t. He covered his mouth as Shane rolled his eyes and looked back to his drink, 

“Fuck you.” 

“Sorry.” he covered his mouth, “Wow. Of course you did.” 

Shane faced him again before speaking, “I shouldn’t have told you.” 

“No, no- I love it. I love it.” Ilya assured, “You got, what, tired of looking like shit?” 

“I didn’t look like shit. I just wore, like, athletic stuff.” Shane told him. “It was comfortable for my body and easy. I want to look nice, too. I’m trying to find the in-between.” 

“Mmm. I know what you wore and why you wore it.” he insisted. 

“And some of the guys in the league are so fashionable..” Shane tried to defend himself further. 

“Yeah, so very.” the russian mused. 

“Not you.” Shane assured, “Some of the guys.” 

“In the league?” Ilya pushed. 

“Other players. Not you.” Shane pushed right back against his sarcasm, taking a sip of his beer. Ilya shifted forward, deciding to ask the question on his mind more directly, 

“So, this has nothing to do with Rose Landry?” 

“No.” Shane shook his head, “Well, I mean- yeah, she always dressed very well and so do her friends, but I just wanted to stop looking like I was always going to the gym. I never really cared about clothes.” 

“So, uh, you and her are not…” he made a vague motion with his hand. 

“We’re not.” Shane confirmed. “She’s great but we’re just not…compatiable, I guess.” 

He’s being vague, gentle. Ilya lets it happen for now as he got hung up on the unknown english word. 

Shane sat back a bit, nodding to his wheelchair, “I should circulate, I guess.” 

“You have new clothes to show off.” he nodded, and he watches him as he lowers himself back into the seat before wheeling away. 

--

Shane Hollander was pretending not to watch as Ilya Rozanov signed with a group of deaf children, comfortable in his suntanning chair by the side of the pool. His cane was stood up next to him, because he was worried about having his wheelchair so close to the water. 

The parent of one of the children approached Ilya, speaking and signing in unison as kids crowded around her with excited looks on their faces. She had been hearing, but her child was deaf and a huge fan of Ilya. 

“They would love to get photos with you.” she explained, “They look up to you a lot, you know.” 

Ilya nodded, making a motion with his words, “I know.” 

And then, he switched to just signing, 

Are you all swimming today? 

He pointed to the pool, then, and all of the kids’s eyes widened as they responded with signed variations of “yes.” Ilya told them that he needed to take off his cochlear implant and that he would be in the water, too, and Shane was mostly able to follow along with the interaction even from a distance. 

It was ridiculous, but Shane Hollander had been taking sign language courses. He told himself and his parents that is was so that it was easier to communicate with some of his fans, but that was only an additional benefit to the endeavor. 

The real reason swam in the water in front of him, signing with the group of deaf children. 

If you all win, then I buy sweets from inside and give them to you.

Then, he looked around the pool. When he shouts to Shane, his voice sounds different due to not being able to hear himself, “Make sure none of these cheaters cheat!” 

Shane shot a thumbs up and a smile, and now he’s no longer pretending not to watch. Ilya proceeded to explain the rules of their race in both sign and spoken English, unaware of the fact that Shane could understand the signing, too. 

He could understand him play arguing with one of the kids about Shane being the best player in the league. He could understand as Ilya popped up halfway through the race to sign, shark in water before promptly pretending to drown. 

He could understand as Ilya signs okay, fine. you all win. 

Ilya climbed out of the water, then, pushing himself up with his arms before walking up to Shane. He speaks in the same voice as before after shaking his hair out onto him, “Can you get these kids some money? I don’t have my wallet.” 

He rolled his eyes but nodded, moving to grab it, and Ilya smiles at him. 

Maybe Shane should have told him then that he didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to, but there was something fun about understanding what Ilya was saying when he thought he couldn’t. No one but Shane and the other deaf children there knew how sweet Ilya had been with the kids, how gentle. 

--

Being on the same team as Shane Hollander is an interesting thing, Ilya decides. 

They seemed to be in sync, making decisions based on eye contact and small nods and the tapping off their sticks against the ice. They manage a pass and goal that gets around the goalie for the west team near-effortlessly, and they find each other on the ice. 

Before Ilya could say anything, Shane made a motion with his hand. It’s a bit clumsy with his gloves on, but it’s clear enough for Ilya to understand:

Good j-o-b. 

He kisses his cheek, and he whispers, “When did you learn sign language?” 

Shane shrugged playfully as he moved to skate away, lifting a hooked pointer finger to the side of his face just before he turns away. 

Recently. 

Later that day, Ilya finds Shane sitting on the beach watching the sunset. He had dug his cane into the sand next to him and was leaning back on his hands while looking out onto the water.

“Found you.” Ilya announced as he sat down next to him. 

“So you were looking for me?” he mused.

“Of course not.” Ilya denied. “Oh, I looked up that word. ‘Compatible.’”

Shane furrowed his eye brows and looked at him, “What?” 

“‘Compatible.’” the russian repeated, “I thought I knew what it meant but I wanted to be sure.” 

“Oh.” 

“So you and Rose Landry were not…”

“Yeah, not compatible.” Shane clarified, “Not in that way, anyway.”

Ilya nodded, glancing down to where their hands were laid next to one another. And then, he tilted his head before speaking softly, 

“You learned sign language.” he said, and his voice is airy. 

“I thought that since you’ve always been good at making adjustments for me, I’d offer the same to you.” Shane shrugged like this was no big deal, “I’ve run into a few deaf fans, too. And I knew some signs from my time in school, anyways, so it wasn’t that hard to pick up.” 

“Sounds like you’re defending learning a new language for me.” Ilya teased. “Or maybe you really did just want to add another language to your roster- english, french, americal sign language.” 

He listed them off playfully, and he looks to Shane to take in his reaction. His freckles looked beautiful in the light of the sunset, Ilya thought. 

Shane lifted one hand up under his chin, brushing his nails there, directed at the other man. It was a sign that looked similar to the one for “thank you” or “you’re welcome” or “good” but done a bit lower, and Ilya knew exactly what it meant. 

Fuck you. 

Ilya lifted one hand to reply, pointing to himself before doing the downwards closed fist motion that meant “yes” in other contexts. 

I can.

Shane rolled his eyes, “I didn’t just learn it to seem smarter.”

“I know, Hollander.” Ilya assured. 

After that, the conversation fades into something both casual and carefully crafted about where they were headed to the following morning- about which hotel room Ilya was in. 

And because he was too all-in for one Shane Hollander, because the other player had learned a new language to communicate with him, he gives it. 

--

Shane leaves his cane just inside Ilya’s door and beelines for one of the beds, sitting down and letting out a breath. The other player stood in the entryway, leaning against the wall as he looked the man up and down,

“This looks serious.” he commented. 

“It’s not.” Shane assured, and then he backtracked, “I mean, yeah, I guess. Can you just, sit down, or something?” 

Ilya complies, moving further into the room to lean against the desk across from him. 

“It’s not just me, right?” Shane asked, and his eyes are wide and full of emotion. Ilya tilted his head, 

“Not just you what?” he asked for clarification, 

“This is all very, um, hard to say. Hard to explain. Words are hard, sometimes.” Shane admitted, turning his gaze down to his lap. 

“That’s an autism thing, right? Words being hard.” Ilya questioned, and the other man nodded. “How much sign language do you know? Can you sign it?” 

“I’m most of the way through an online course and I went to a few in-person conversational classes.” Shane answered, “I could try?” 

Ilya nodded, and Shane does just that. 

The two of us both have feelings.

Feelings?

A few weeks ago, we met and it was different. 

Different how? You ran, left? 

I was scared. I’m sorry. 

You ran for nothing. 

Not nothing. Don’t say that. This is hard, you’re an asshole. 

The hand motions were speeding up, then, getting sloppier the more annoyed they were getting.

“Oh, so you know all the curse words? What was that, unit one in your course?” Ilya asked verbally, and Shane signed back, 

Not the point. 

Ilya lifted his hands, again. What do you want? 

When Shane only tilted his head back and let out a sigh, the russian player kept signing, 

We meet, have sex. It’s easy. 

Easy? 

Easy to me. 

“Bullshit.” Shane accused out loud, 

“They didn’t teach you that one, in your class?” Ilya asked. 

“Oh my god- I’m learning a language for you and you’re being an asshole.” he sounded just as fed up as he did nervous. 

“So you admit that it was for me?” Ilya pushed back, and Shane shook his head. He wiped his palms against his thighs, letting out a shaky breath before, 

I’m gay, I think. 

Ilya chuckled, that more movement-than-sound thing, before signing back with exaggerated movements that implied a sarcastic tone, 

Yes? Why do you think that? 

Fuck you. You’re not gay. 

No. Not fully. 

I am, I think. Fully. 

O-K. You’re gay? 

He shrugged, raising his eyebrows in a way that made his sentence a question, a silent “so what?” or “who cares?” or “what’s the big deal?” 

This is big for me. If I’m boring, I’m sorry. 

Ilya moved to sit next to him on the bed before asking, “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Who else am I gonna tell?” Shane answered. “It’s not just being gay. It’s you. It’s this. Being gay is one thing, but this ‘fucking your arch-rival’ is another thing.” 

“That’s why it is a secret.” Ilya told him, like it was that simple. 

“But last time- and for the record, I am sorry about last time, okay?” Shane offered, “I’m sorry I freaked out. But before that, it was nice.” 

Ilya signed simply, yes. 

“And it felt like we were something.” the other player admitted. 

“We can’t be something, Hollander.” Ilya corrected him. 

“Would you want to be, if we could?” Shane asked, and Ilya turned his head away from him before replying, 

“We can’t.” 

Shane tapped on his leg to grab his attention and when he looks back at him, “That’s not what I asked.” 

“What does it fucking matter?” Ilya snapped, “You can learn sign language and be perfect all you want, but that doesn’t make this possible.” 

“I don’t think I can keep pretending I don’t like you anymore.” Shane told him, “I took fucking sign language classes I had no business in just so that it’s easier to talk to you- because I like talking to you, Ilya.” 

“You don’t like me.” he said, shaking his head, but it doesn’t sound like he’s confident in his words in the slightest. “You like talking to me- you like fucking me and smoking with me afterwards.” 

“I do like those things, but it’s different. I think I like you maybe a little too much.” 

His voice was raw, emotional. 

Ilya signed, stop. I can’t do this. 

And then, “I wouldn’t be able to go home again. Ever. Do you get that?” 

“Because your family?” Shane pushed for clarification, and Ilya snapped, 

“Because Russia! I would not be able to go back to Russia.” 

“What would happen to you?” Shane questioned, just softly. 

I do not want to know. 

Your parents? 

My father, brother. He pointed to the air in front of them, placing them both in an imaginary space before signing “police” and pointing to the same spots. 

Your mother? 

Dead. 

I’m sorry. 

“I was young.” Ilya explained, “My father is very…old fashioned. And sick.” 

“Sick like crazy?” 

“That too, a little, but no. Sick more like…” 

“Oh, like cancer? Or something else chronic but less dangerous, like me?” Shane continued guessing when Ilya trailed off. 

“Dementia.” Ilya finished. 

“That’s awful.” Shane wasn’t sure how to respond, but he wanted to be there. Ilya turned his head away, again, and he reached out to touch his leg. “Hey.” 

Ilya shook his head again, and when Shane leaned forward to try and look at his face, he sees that the other man is crying. He let his voice go softer, 

“Hey.” he made quick work of climbing onto his lap, or straddling him and guiding his hands to rest on his waist and hold him up. He caught Ilya’s lips when he looked up at him, and the kiss is soft, slow, deliberate. 

Shane rested his forehead against his for a moment before pulling him into a hug, rocking the two of them back and forth and back again. 

They don’t need any words or signing for a while after that. 

After they have sex, Shane passes his pen between them. 

“That has to be worse than smoking a cigarette.” Ilya pointed out, taking it from him and narrowing his eyes at the amber-colored oil inside, “What’s in this? Plastic and chemicals? You poison your lungs?”

Shane snatched it back, “I only use this when I don’t have access to my stash at home. It’s easy to smuggle on flights.” 

“Oh, so you admit to smuggling drugs?” Ilya leaned in, “Shane Hollander is a hardened criminal.” 

Shane kissed him but still protested, “It’s only technically a crime, and it’s not a serious one.”

“You don’t have access to your stash at home whenever you travel. Which is most of the time.” Ilya pointed out, “Is it really that inconvenient to go buy weed?” 

“It’s federally legal in Canada but in the states, it’s inconsistent. Complicated.” Shane scrunched up his nose. 

“What happened to never smoking somewhere it’s illegal?” Ilya mused, “That was your defense, last time I said you smoke too much.” 

“Maybe I have been hardened by this criminal life style.” Shane nodded solemnly, “Whatever will I do?” 

Ilya’s gaze flicked between his eyes and his lips, “No more goody two-shoes Shane Hollander for me, hm?” 

“I like to think that I was never a goody two-shoes.” Shane leaned in again, pressing his lips against his and then to his cheek, “I should go, probably. It’s not exactly easy to sneak across a hotel with a cane.” 

Ilya let him go, “I imagine it’s easier than with wheelchair.” 

“Much easier.” Shane laughed, and as he goes to the door, he could feel the other man’s eyes following him. He grasped the handle of his cane before turning back to ask, “What?” 

“Nothing.” he made the corresponding sign with his hand, too. “Good night, Shane.” 

He chuckled, “Good night, Ilya.” 

--

Two Weeks Later

It was kind of shocking how easy it was to convince Shane to come over before their game, even with the canadian’s half-hearted complaints through text. It’s even easier for Ilya to ignore the phone call from his brother once they’re done. 

He pointed to his phone on the bedside table after dismissing the call, brother. 

If you want, you can talk to him. 

No, I don’t want to. 

Is everything okay at home? Your father…

Shane had asked that they signed when they interacted in person, in secret, so that he could iron out his signing skills. And because Ilya loved how much effort he was putting into it, he complied- they would switch to talking when they ran into words one or both of them didn’t know, or when it worked better for emphasis. 

No more, please. 

No more what? 

Questions. You have many. 

I’m sorry. 

It’s okay. 

No. I’m sorry for the game tonight. I will win. 

You’re an asshole? 

No, you are. 

No. You are the asshole.

Ilya poked him in the chest to signify the “you,” People must know. 

Then, he cupped his hands around his mouth, and his voice comes out in the way it did when he wasn’t wearing his cochlear implant, “Shane Hollander is an asshole!” 

Shane smiled at him, widely so. Then, he signs a question, Talking or signing. Which one do you prefer? 

More people can talk, but signing is…nice. 

He hesitated, motioning to the part of his head the outer-part of his cochlear implant would be, Nice to not have to wear it all the time, with you. During sex or when I need break. Signing is all visual, decoding is not hard like speech. 

I’m happy I’m learning how to sign, then. 

Ilya smiled right back at him, Why didn’t you learn how to sign when you were younger? At D-A school? 

“Disabled” was shortened to the letters DA in sign. Ilya had taught Shane that. 

I didn’t have Deaf friends- I talked to kids from the sled hockey team. 

None of them were deaf? 

No. They had physical DAs, used canes, wheelchairs, walkers. The deaf kids could play sports at the deaf school down the street. I remember people talked about the deaf basketball team. 

Shane paused for a moment before finishing, I thought I would use french more. We picked one language.

Ilya tilted his head, I’m happy you’re learning now, too. 

--

The Next Day

Shane was trying not to spend every waking second worrying about Ilya, but after the sudden news that he didn’t join his team on the flight to Nashville and the ensuing lack of a response to his texts and calls, it’s kind of hard not to. 

He ended up in bed, pillows piled up around him to create the sort of “nest” he did whenever his body pain was particularly bad or he was stressed out. His glasses sat on his nose bridge and a book he wasn’t paying much attention to was propped up in his lap. He’s almost relieved when his phone rings with a video call from Ilya. 

They called like this, sometimes, when they were both alone. They said it was so that they could both practice signing, practice casual conversation, but it was really just an excuse to talk to each other. 

Shane shifted to face his bedside table and propped his phone up against the water bottle there before signing, Are you okay? 

Ilya motioned to his own eyes, and Shane didn’t recognize the sign at first before he mirrored it and bumped into his glasses. He removed them before, 

Sometimes, for reading. Where are you? 

The russian’s phone seemed to be propped up on a coffee table, and Ilya was sat on the couch in camera view. Home. Wear your glasses again. 

B-O-S-T-O-N? 

Shane was sure there was a sign used to refer to the city, but he couldn’t recall it just then, so he spelled it out. Ilya responded with the shake of his head and, 

M-O-S-C-O-W

Are you okay? 

If you wear your glasses again, yes. 

Shane reached over to grab them and placed them back on his face, happy? 

More happy, yes. 

Your father…

Dead. Yes. 

I’m sorry. 

Shane did the sign in a slower way, with a solemn expression that emphasized the associated feeling. 

What are people saying? 

Nothing. Online has little information, and your team has not-

Good. By the end of this week, I will come back. 

You should take more time than that. 

Why? So you can score more goals? 

I’m serious. 

Shane paused for a beat, You can talk to me. I want to help if I can. 

Instead of considering this, Ilya gave him a verbal order, “Take off your clothes.”

“What?” Shane’s eyes widened. 

Ilya signed, I’m serious, too. If you want to help me, take off your clothes. 

They both remove their shirts, then, and Ilya does the sign for glasses again.

And Shane, ever the obedient, puts his glasses back on. 

--

Ilya didn’t really think through his decision before he calls Shane. He leaned against the wall of the graffied tunnel and held his phone out in front of him, watching the transcription of the other man’s words appear on his screen. 

“How are you?” 

“Okay.” he offered. And then, “Not good. Probably bad.” 

“How’s uh, your family?” 

Ilya had no idea what Shane’s tone was since he didn’t have the outer-part of his cochlear implant on and was relying on the text to follow the conversation. He figured it was gentle, though. 

“At their worst.” Ilya answered. “My brother is…I don’t know, scared. It makes him terrible. And it makes me terrible back.” 

He figured his voice probably sounded odd, too, since he couldn’t hear himself and self-correct. Shane never seemed to mind it. 

“Is it very upsetting?” 

“Yes. And maybe I’m upset about the wrong thing.” he admitted. 

“You mean, not your father?” 

“Maybe I wish it could be different.” Ilya tried, “I wish he could know me, or…I don’t know. English is too hard right now.” 

“We can switch to a video call, sign.” Shane offered. Ilya looked around before deciding, 

“No, no. Nowhere to prop up my phone for video call.” he told him, “Sign language is still new language to me, anyways.”

“I wish I spoke Russian.”

“Mmm. You could probably learn it in a week- add it to your roster. No accent, perfect. Bonjour.” 

“That’s french, Ilya.” 

Ilya could imagine his voice, then, almost hear it- the genuine but playful correction that came whenever he didn’t catch onto sarcasm. 

“Yes, I know, Shane.” he smiled, then, despite everything. 

“Where are you?” 

“Just walking.” Ilya told him, “I needed to get out.” 

“Hey, uh, I have an idea.” Shane started, and Ilya followed along with the words as they appeared on his screen. “How about you tell me everything that’s on your mind, but in Russian? I won’t understand, but maybe it will help?”

“Ok.” 

And Ilya does it, and he doesn’t hold back much because he knows Shane couldn’t understand him.  Some distant part of his mind was worried that he would try plugging it into a translator, but that didn’t feel like something he would do. 

He talks about his family, how his brother treated him like he was stupid whenever he misheard something but still turned around and expected all of his money. He talks about making funeral arrangements, about giving up every bit of himself for a family who didn’t appreciate it. 

He talks about feeling alone, sometimes. About not feeling alone, when Shane shared experiences with him and they supported one another and how odd of a feeling that was. About not feeling alone, after entering online Deaf spaces and learning a bit of sign language and being able to make a handful of Deaf children very, very happy just by playing with them, by representing them in a way they weren’t used to. 

He talks about Svetlana and how he loves her, but not in the way he loves Shane. 

“Ok, I’m done.” 

“Do you feel better?” 

“Yes.” Ilya decided. “Thank you.”

“Maybe you could teach me Russian someday.” 

“Yeah, okay.” he mused, “Only useful phrases.” 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Like ‘Harder, please. Yes, sir.’” Ilya wished he were wearing his cochlear implant, then, because the way Shane reacted to this sort of thing was always fun to hear.

Even more so, he wished he were with him in person and could see his facial expression- the split second of being flustered that would quickly transition into playful annoyance. 

“Fuck you.” 

“No, more like ‘fuck me, please.’”

“How about ‘I wish you were here right now?’”

“I wish I was too.” 

--

One Week Later

It’s relieving to see Ilya in person again after he returns to Russia, even if it’s on the ice so that their teams could play against each other. 

Shane had gone through his usual pre-game ritual, but he hadn’t managed to get the pain levels in his body to lessen. It felt like a bone-deep ache, that day, and he planned on smoking after the game. 

After pushing through the pain to secure a win for the Metros. Ilya wouldn’t like him playing while in more pain than usual, but he would still hook up with him either way and Shane knew that. 

So, he played instead of telling his coach he needed to sit this game out. They had back-up lines prepared in the situation that a body pain flare up overlapped with a game, but Shane never cashed that accommodation in because if he did, all the sport’s broadcasts that implied he was a worse player because of his disabilities would run too far with it. 

“What was that about?” Hayden asked once he skated to the side of the rink to lean on the wall and grab his water bottle. The other man noticeably looked him up and down, and Shane knew he could tell that he wasn’t feeling well. 

“I just offered my condolences.” Shane shrugged, bringing his pop-top waterbottle to his mouth and squeezing it.

“Oh, that’s nice. Fuck, I should’ve done that.” Hayden glanced over to where Ilya was, “What did he say?” 

“Told me to fuck off.” Shane put the waterbottle down, then, taking in a deep breath. 

“Jesus, what a dick.” Hayden rolled his eyes. 

“He’s not that bad. It’s mostly an act.” Shane defended, 

“A pretty convincing one.” Hayden added. 

“Yeah, well, let’s make sure we win this one, right?” Shane flipped his hockey stick over in his hands. 

“Should you really be playing today?” Hayden asked, and he’s treading carefully. Before Shane could say anything, “I know you don’t like it when people question you on that sort of thing, but you have a history of pushing yourself further than you should. It’s not just about your pain being worse tomorrow, but if your joints lock up-” 

“I could fall over on the rink and get a concussion. I know.” Shane finished for him, and maybe it’s snappy. “I know my limits.” 

“You shouldn’t be pushing yourself to or over them, though. That’s basic pain management.” Hayden pointed out, “You should stop when something starts to hurt, not when you can’t handle it anymore.” 

“Playing hockey always hurts. My body always hurts.” Shane told him, “If I’m going to be in pain anyways, I should do the things I love and do them well.” 

“Is your body hurting more than usual, though?” Hayden tried to question, but the referees were motioning to the players to signal that the game would be starting soon. Shane stood up straight and gave Hayden a firm sort of look as he moved to skate to the faceoff point, 

“Just trust your captain, alright?” 

--

Shane won the faceoff, and there’s a fast flurry of him skating around the rink and shuffling the puck with his stick. Ilya could tell from their eye contact during the faceoff that Shane was breathing deeply, slowly, that look of concentration painted over his face like he had whenever he was pushing through pain. 

Usually, Ilya caught brief flashes of it when he watched Shane move in a way that upset a sore muscle or joint, but it sticks the entire time he’s on the rink. Which isn’t long, really, as Shane keeps sliding over the ice but seems to struggle with control, like he couldn’t move his hips or knees and therefore, couldn’t direct himself on the ice. 

Ilya slows down, just slightly, and he looks around for a ref or something to notice that something is very, very wrong- but before anyone does, another player from the Boston Raiders slams into Shane and knocks him over completely. 

Shane hits his head. Ilya’s world stops. 

Other players start to fight each other and the refs start pulling everyone apart, but he wasn’t focused on that as he watched the medics lift Shane onto a gurney. There’s hushed conversation as they get him off of the ice that Ilya can’t make out. 

“Is he okay? Fucking tell me!” he tried to get the attention of one of them, but a referee tries to get him to sit on his bench like Shane wasn’t in danger. He watched as he leaves, and Ilya shouts to no one in particular, “Someone needs to take his wheelchair to the hospital. He won’t be able to walk when he wakes up.” 

Hayden Pike shouts at him from across the rink, “I’ll get it to him!”

Ilya nodded, and they hold eye contact for a moment too long. 

He’d deal with that later, he decided. 

--

Shane felt way higher than he ever had before, and he’s not very aware of his body, yet alone any pain it may have. When the door to his hospital room opened up, he lifted his head, “Ilya!” 

“I just wanted to-” Ilya glanced over him after shutting the door, “Are you okay?” 

“Concussion and a fractured collarbone.” he explained, “I’m in a sling so I can’t sign very well, and I’m out for the playoffs but…” 

“Could have been worse.” Ilya finished. 

“Could have been worse.” Shane confirmed, “I think that my pain is going to be really bad for a long time after they take me off of whatever they have me on. I’m kind of scared.” 

“I’m sure you are.” Ilya nodded, sounding sympathetic. “Marleau feels terrible. He didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“I know. Part of the game.” Shane hummed, “I would’ve been able to get out of the way, but my pain was bad and- Hayden gave me this rant about how I shouldn’t push myself when he dropped off my wheelchair. He mentioned you, by the way.” 

“Did he?” Ilya mused, and the other man nodded clumsily. 

“You said they needed to bring me my wheelchair. I’ve only ever told you and Hayden about hating the generic hospital ones.” he explained, “I told him that we talk about disability stuff, sometimes.” 

“Did he believe you?” Ilya questioned, and Shane shrugged. 

“No idea.” He tilted his head. And then, he realizes that Ilya is still standing awkwardly at the door, and he doesn’t like him being so far away. “Hey. Heyyyyy.” 

He reached out with the arm not trapped in a sling, and Ilya rushes forward to the bedside while shushing him to grab his hand, “Okay, okay.” 

Shane squeezes hid hand, “Yes. Better.” 

“You scared me.” Ilya admitted. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you last night.” 

“No, it’s okay.” he grazed the side of his face with gentle hands. 

“I was excited about last night. I’m mostly mad at Marleau for fucking that up.” Shane told him. 

“He feels really bad.” Ilya emphasized. 

“You know, I had a whole plan to ask you something.” he glanced up at him, and he’s all smiley and maybe a bit pathetically affectionate. 

“Maybe it’s just better if you just rest now.” Ilya suggested gently. 

“I was gonna ask you…” 

“Hollander.” 

“Will you come to my cottage this summer?” the words come out like he can’t help them escaping, “Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house. We’ll have so much fun and smoke so much weed and have so much sex and it’s so private. No one will know.” 

“Hollander, you know I can’t do that.” Ilya kept his voice firm and even, and it’s a little too stern for Shane’s intoxicated brain. 

“We could have a week or even two.” Shane said, “I’ll probably be stuck in my wheelchair for most of it, but my cottage is designed for that. We would be completely alone, together.” 

“It’s not about you being in the wheelchair, but maybe.” Ilya decided, and Shane smiles like this is the best news he’s ever received because it could be. 

Maybe.

--

May, 2017

“I’m still in the sling and mostly using my wheelchair, but the sling will come off in a few weeks.” Shane explained to Rose on the other end of the phone line. 

“And the wheelchair?” 

“I mostly used it off the ice before I got thrown around anyways, but it was to save my energy for games. Now, though, my pain is so bad- standing is a nightmare.” Shane told her, “I’ve been stuck in the worst of body pain flare ups and I’m worried it’s not gonna go away.” 

“I’m sorry, Shane.” Rose sighed, “Have you been able to restock your weed, at least?” 

“My mom went to the dispensary for me, yeah.” Shane nodded, “Takes the edge off, I guess, but my parents keep nagging me about being high most of the time. They aren’t too strict about it, though- they know how hard it’s been for me.” 

“You have chronic pain and you acquired an injury that gave you more pain.” Rose told him, “Smoke all you want.” 

“Will do, ma’am.” 

Their conversation is light-hearted even though it’s surrounding a topic that scares him, deeply so. Shane worried that he might have to take a season off, or that he wouldn’t be able to return at all, and he had no real way of predicting the likelihood of that. 

The doctors told him to rest so that his body had a chance to get better. 

His body wasn’t very good at the ‘getting better’ part, though. 

--

One Week Later

Ilya was texting Shane as soon as The Admirals managed to pull off winning the cup. He had his cochlear on, but the live captains were displayed across the bottom of the screen, too, transcribing the announcer spitting out statistics about how long it’s been since the last time the New York team managed to win the cup. 

Ilya was moving to put items into his suitcase as the broadcast seemed to be wrapping up, but then Svetlana grabs his attention and motions to the screen. Scott Hunter was motioning to the crowd, waving someone down that the camera didn’t have in view yet. 

The russian sat down to return his attention to whatever was happening, watching as a man- a New York local, maybe, made his way down the stairs towards the rink. He types out a message to Shane, 

What is he doing?

The canadian’s response comes quickly, I don’t know…?

The captions for the broadcast stated the obvious: “Hunter trying to get someone’s attention, apparently inviting them onto the rink.”

Hunter helps the man hop the boards and holds his hand as they walk out onto the ice, and Ilya knows what he thinks is going on but he doesn’t believe it until they’re kissing for the cameras. 

Ilya Rozanov makes a decision, then, and it’s one he doesn’t have time to second guess. He knows that he can’t call Shane because he was in his wheelchair and wouldn’t be able to easily get away from his family and neither of them could set up their usual facetime signing calls on short notice. 

He doesn’t want to rely on the automatic transcriber, either. Instead, he gets right to the point with a simple text, 

I’m coming to the cottage. We will video call later.

Chapter End Notes

so i made some plot changes oops. realistically an injury like the one shane received would interact with a chronic health condition like his but i thought it was more interesting to also nod to him overworking himself in the name of something he loves. there's a big difference in terms of asking for accommodations in requesting somewhere to sit during events and sitting out of a game entirely, so it makes sense that he struggles with it.

the little subplot where hayden clocks ilya wasn't in my planned notes but it's fun. i don't know if i'm going to do anything with it but for now assume he's at least pretending to believe shane about him just bonding with ilya over disability stuff.

i'm not sure how quickly i will be able to get the next chapter out honestly. my real life chronic pain is kicking my ass right now and i'm booked and busy. just know i am trying my best guys. i love you stay sexy leave comments mwah

Chapter 5: honey-dipped/flower bundles/bubble baths

Chapter Summary

"Your health is important, baby.”

“Baby?” Shane tilted his head. “You said it before, too.”

“Mm.” Ilya hummed, shaking his head, “Slipped out. Twice. Fake news. I will never say it again.”

“Wait, no.” Shane sounded upset, “Please say it again. Forever.”

“I think you are distracting us from an important conversation about taking care of yourself?” Ilya tried, and when Shane just pouted up at him, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. Shane Hollander is my baby and I care about him a lot, and I don’t want him to cry ever.”

“I am the best hockey player you know.” Shane relished in that, “And I’m your baby. I think I win at everything."

Chapter Notes

i did not think this was getting done tonight but I finally had time without school or work obligations to sit down and WRITE THIS! oh my god. the final chapter is here!

it's longer than most of the other chapters besides the first one at 10k words so! I hope you enjoy the wrap up to this little thing. i'll be sappy and ramble in the end notes i promise, but please enjoy for now

Every moment of this trip had been planned, solidified, and repeated via text messages and phone calls between Shane and Ilya, but that didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking as the canadian waited for the other man to approach his car. 

He felt a bit silly in his van, fit with a ramp that folded out for his wheelchair and straps that would hold it in place. When he needed the seats in the back, which only ever happened when he was travelling with Hayden’s family, the straps could go away and his wheelchair could be taken apart to go in the trunk of the vehicle. 

Right now, though, his car has all the hallmarks of a disabled driver: a blue disability placard that hung from his rearview mirror and allowed him to park close to the airport he was picking up Ilya from, a bag with various medications and an extra fold-up cane in the back, and his wheelchair strapped into place where there would otherwise be additional seating. 

“You drive a mom van?” the russian questioned as he climbed into the passenger seat. 

“Easy to adjust for accessibility stuff.” Shane shrugged, “You can’t make fun of my mom van- it’s ableist.” 

“Is it really, though?” Ilya tilted his head, and there’s a sweet moment where they’re both smiling. Shane moved to start the car as Ilya added, “How are you feeling?” 

“I think this is my first full morning not being a little bit high in like, a week.” Shane answered.

“So, bad?” the blonde questioned. 

“I’m in pain and tired, but that’s just being disabled and injured.” Shane shook his head, “I’m happy to see you, though.” 

He makes quick work of pulling out of the parking lot. 

“I could drive, if you wanted me to.” Ilya offered. “If you trust me with your precious soccer mom van.”

“You just got off a flight. I will be fine for two hours.” Shane assured him. “My parents and Rose went grocery shopping for me with a very, very detailed list. No one questioned the Coke I added for you. So, we won’t need to leave.” 

“What did you tell your parents about this, uh- cottage trip?” Ilya asked him. 

“That I’ve been recovering at my parent’s house for too long and want to try being independent again. The cottage is a safe place to do that, being fully accessible and everything.” Shane explained, “I told them I was overstimulated and needed to be alone for a little while. The autism card occasionally comes in handy.” 

“You’re ridiculous, Shane Hollander.” Ilya told him with that more-movement-than-sound laughter of his, and it’s nothing short of fond. “They’ll leave us alone, though?” 

“They agreed not to come unless I called them for help. And I told them I wouldn’t need to call them.” Shane hummed, “I think you’re going to like the cottage. It’s very, uh, relaxing.” 

“I think relaxing will be nice.” Ilya agreed easily, “What does relaxing look like for you? I know it’s smoking for pain, but what else?” 

“Hot baths, cooking if I’m up for it.” Shane answered, “Usually, I’m not relaxing with someone else. Could be sex, if you’re okay with me being a little high for the pain.” 

“As long as you’re okay with it.” Ilya nodded, “But there doesn’t have to be sex, either. I don’t want- you don’t need to push yourself for me.” 

“Orgasm hormones, remember?” Shane teased, glancing over to him and leaning in slightly while speaking in a sing-songy tone, “They help with the pain.” 

“Ah, yes. I’m your medicine.” Ilya clicked his tongue. 

“You are.” Shane agreed, and it feels like the easiest thing in the world, just then. 

“Thanks for inviting me.” the russian said, leaning back a bit in his seat. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” Shane was being nothing but honest. There was something about long car rides that brought it out of him. 

“Me too, but also like, terrified, yes?” he admitted. 

Shane nodded, “Did anyone recognize you? At the airport or anything?” 

“No, not that I noticed.” Ilya answered quickly. 

“Cool.” Shane sounded relieved by the confirmation, “The cottage is super private, so we won’t need to worry about anything.” 

“Good for lots of smoking weed and having sex, yes?” Ilya teased, calling back to what he had said while freshly injured and high on pain killers in a hospital bed. 

Shane flushed, rolling his eyes, but Ilya reached over to grab one of his hands and intertwine their fingers, and it’s soft. Gentle, nice in a way they couldn’t usually afford to be.

Shane decides that he likes holding his hand, then. 

--

“How does this soccer mom van work?” Ilya leaned forward to look at the center console once they’re parked in front of the cottage, trying to find the button that would open one of the back doors. He presses something, and the back door on the passenger side slides open. He claps his hands, “I figured it out!”

“You did.” Shane smiled, “Not sure exactly what you’re doing, though.” 

Ilya ignored him as he climbed out of his seat to go to the back, setting to work unstrapping his wheelchair and sliding out the ramp. 

“I can do this myself. You could take your luggage inside.” Shane shifted his weight between his two feet after climbing out of the front seat himself, fiddling with his keys in his hands. 

“I can push you inside and take the luggage in.” Ilya pointed out as he guided the wheelchair down the ramp onto the ground. He motioned for Shane to sit before going back to put the ramp away and shut the door, “Go on.” 

“Ilya.” Shane stared at him for a moment. 

“Shane.” Ilya stared right back at him, “It’s not because you are disabled or injured. It’s because this is vacation and you are like prince. I push you inside.” 

“A prince?” the canadian echoed playfully as he finally gave in and took his spot in his wheelchair, “What does that make you? Another prince? A servant?” 

“A servant is much sexier, yes? I do whatever you say, when you say it.” Ilya teased, “It’s usually the other way around, though, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t like this game anymore.” Shane decided, squirming slightly in his position in his chair like it wasn’t perfectly cushioned and comfortable. He planted his shoes in the rests and melted back into the chair while letting out a breath. 

“Of course you don’t.” Ilya dropped down to kiss the top of his head before pushing him forward towards the front door. 

There were no steps, only ramps, as Shane had been using a wheelchair most of the time whenever he had started having the place built- he remembered that from the documentary about the so-called “fortress of solitude.” 

“Give me keys.” Ilya held his hand out for them, but Shane smacked it before moving to unlock the door himself. “That wasn’t very prince like.” 

“Shut up and go get your bag. Otherwise, I’ll come out and get it later and I know you’re going to lecture me about lifting things like my mom has been.” Shane grumbled, and Ilya immediately answered, 

“Your doctors all told you not to lift things. She’s right and so am I.” Ilya told him, “I should meet your mother. Maybe together we can get you to take care of yourself.” 

There’s a bit more bickering then, as Shane moves inside and Ilya grabs his bag and joins him before shutting the door behind him. Ilya left his bag by the door, out of the way from where Shane seemingly liked to park his wheelchair when he wasn’t using it- next to his shoes like it had been set up in his apartment.

Ilya takes his shoes off, too, because he knows that Shane preferred it that way. 

“Wow.” he looked around, sweeping his eyes over the windows that peered out into the woods, “Your real estate fetish really paid off, huh?” 

“Well, I had this place built.” Shane corrected, motioning around with one hand as he used the other to roll his chair further into the room, “It would be impossible to find a place so accessible to me on the market, honestly. There’s a handful of disabled living complexes, but nowhere where I could go on my own- nowhere convenient.” 

“What did you end up doing with that apartment building you used to live in?” Ilya questioned, turning around to face him, “You mentioned wanting to turn it into a disabled living complex.” 

“That was years ago.” Shane seemed shocked that he remembered. “There were…plans, to add in elevators and renovate the apartments, but I had wanted to have them solidified and rechecked and I wanted to be there to oversee the construction process. That was going to start this summer, and then- you know.” 

“I know.” Ilya hummed, “What’s happening with the sled hockey tournament, this year?”

“It’s still happening. Scott Hunter and Hayden stepped up to help my mom with planning, and most of the roster will be the same, just without me. A lot of the details were settled before I was injured, honestly.” Shane shrugged, “It will still fundraise for adaptive athletics- the turnout just may be worse. It sounds conceited to say it but-” 

“People watched for you.” Ilya finished, and he hesitates for just a beat before adding, “Put me on the list in your spot. I’ll head the team that you were supposed to.” 

Shane blinked at him, furrowing his eyebrows. “You’re serious?” 

“Yes.” Ilya nodded, “I will be horrible on the sled, probably, but it will get those viewers back. People will wonder why I’ve finally given in.” 

“People will speculate, though.” 

“I put in a request to have interpreters at public events. I could spin it as me accommodating for myself more, taking pride in being Deaf.” Ilya shrugged like this was casual even though it was terrifying, “That’s not a lie, it’s just half of the story. I’m serious. If the offer is still open, I’ll play in the sled hockey tournament. I’ll pose with all the deaf-disabled kids in the audience and sign their jerseys. It will be great PR.” 

Shane was smiling wider than he has in a while- since before he was injured, at least. “I’m going to have to call my mom later. Her and… everyone else, basically, are going to freak out. In a good way, of course. ” 

“I can reach out officially, so that your mother doesn’t question us speaking to each other. You can act like it’s a surprise.” Ilya suggested.

“I’m a horrible liar.” Shane told him. 

“You lie to your parents all the time.” Ilya pointed out, “You lie and use autism card to be left alone here.”

“That’s different.” Shane tried to defend himself, and the other man tilted his head with a curious look. “Okay, well, I can tell her. I told Hayden that we talk about disability stuff and now it’s established with my family and some of the other players that we’re like, friends. On the basis of both of us being disabled, at least.” 

“Ah, yes. Friends.” Ilya teased, stepping forward towards him. 

“Yes. Friends.” Shane smiled as he gradually tilted his head up to meet his eyes as he got closer and closer, step by step. “That’s what they think.” 

“Mm.” Ilya found this amusing, cupping the sides of his face once he was close enough to do so. He admired his freckles for a moment, his eyes and the way his gaze was filtered through his eyelashes, when he was looking up at him like that. 

“I could give you a tour, if you’d like. Or I could make us lunch. There’s a lot of food, and the water here is very good- I have my own well.” Shane rambled on clumsily, not breaking himself from the hold but avoiding eye contact. He leaned into one of his hands as he glanced out of the window, “You can see it, in case you’re thirsty.” 

Ilya took in every bit of his facial expression once he ran out of things to say, words to ramble off, before leaning down to kiss him and soaking in the sensation like it was liquid gold- honey, maybe, all sweet and soft and sticky and hot. 

Shane was the one that used one of his hands to send his chair rolling backwards down the small ramp to the living room, and Ilya gasped against his lips while the other man giggled against his.  

“I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to flip over.” Shane promised, “I have many tricks. I can do a wheelie.” 

“You can show me later.” Ilya decided, moving to help him stand up so that they could transition to the couch. Shane followed along easily, barely breaking away from his lips as he ends up laid out underneath the other man. “Is this okay, right now?”

As soon as the other man nods in agreement, Ilya makes quick work of undoing the string holding his loose sweatpants on his waist. Shane babbles, “Wait, um- it’s been a while, so I might not last long.” 

“Yes, same, but we have two weeks.” Ilya told him, going to continue to remove his clothes. 

They were comfortable clothes that were easy to change in and out of for the sake of his chronic pain, but they were also convenient other purposes. 

“Yeah, cool.” Shane laid back, resting his head on one of the pillows before, “Wait, same?” 

Ilya paused momentarily, nodding as if this should have been obvious. “Mm.” 

“You said ‘same.’ You haven’t been with anyone lately?” It was Shane’s turn to take in every bit of his facial expression, now. 

“No.” 

“Not since…” he trailed off. 

“No, not since, so can we-” Ilya ushered them along, but Shane’s face broke out into a smile similar to the one he had a few minutes before when Ilya said he’d join the sled hockey tournament. 

If little signs of commitment made Shane that happy, then maybe Ilya would marry him someday. 

“Really?”

“Hollander, it’s not a big deal- okay?” 

“Yes, but it’s been-” 

“Months, I know! So can I fuck you now, please?” 

Shane sat up, just a bit, to kiss him before Ilya swooped down to meet him most of the way. 

They’re both smiling like dorks, now. 

“I haven’t either. Not since last time.” Shane admitted, even though Ilya already knew that. He kisses Ilya again before pulling away to say, “I have an idea.” 

Ilya sighed dramatically, as if the slight delay was the worst news he could ever receive. Shane chuckled, and Ilya looked down at him with an impatient but endeared look, “What?” 

“For the next two weeks, let’s just be honest with each other about what we actually think and maybe how we really feel?” he suggested, grazing the side of the other man’s face with his thumb, just gently. 

“I will try.” Ilya promised. 

“Really?” 

“Yes. I will do anything if you let me touch your dick right now.” 

There’s another moment of kissing and laughter shared, then, before, “Shall I show you to your room?” 

They kiss for a little longer before Shane pulls himself from under Ilya to return to his wheelchair. Ilya took the job of pushing him up the ramp to go through the kitchen. 

“There’s two guest rooms through here, so there’s plenty to choose from.” he motioned to the doorway that lead out of the kitchen-living room area. The cottage was one large, sprawling floor, where every room faded into the next. 

“I will need a king-sized bed.” Ilya told him, pushing him up the next ramp when it came. 

“They all have a king-sized bed.” Shane told him, “The bed in my room is lower, so I can get into it from my chair without effort.” 

“So that’s the one where we will be ‘smokings lots of weed and having sex?’” Ilya teased, and Shane only looked back to stare at him with that grumpy, scrunched-up nose expression of his. “I want a view.” 

“They all have a view.” Shane responded easily. 

“And I will need a- what do you call it? An en-suite bathroom?” Ilya tried. Shane clicked his tongue, pointing to the first open door they saw. 

“Well, that might be a problem.” Shane grasped a support bar just outside of his bedroom to propel himself forward, forcing his wheelchair out of Ilya’s grasp so that he could spin around once inside. 

Ilya watched him with amusement in his eyes, signing once he was facing him head-on, Why?

Shane lifted his hands to sign back, Only one bedroom with bathroom inside. Mine. 

After a moment, he starts again, motioning between them, This is awkward. This room isn’t for guests. 

Disappointing, Ilya frowned playfully. 

I’m sorry. We want to provide for you-

Shane’s signing was cut off by Ilya leaning down to kiss him, his hands fisting mid-air in the middle of a sign before moving up to grasp his shirt. Ilya pulled back, “Can I lift you?” 

Shane blinked, “Can you?” 

“I am professional hockey player.” the russian ignored his non-answer and placed his hands on his waist before hoisting him up out of his chair. “I can.” 

Shane wrapped threw his arms over his head and wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist, gasping into the next kiss as Ilya deposited him onto the bed- fast but gently, as to not jostle him. 

“Sir, I’m just a bellboy.” he giggled, falling back into his pretend role as Ilya pinned him down, “You can’t treat the staff like this.” 

“I think I know how the staff likes to be treated, after all these years.” Ilya let one of his hands free to tug the outer-part of his cochlear implant off to set it on the bedside table. Shane watches carefully, and he smiles when Ilya returned to pinning him down and kissing him.

After a moment, he taps his thumb against Ilya’s wrist as a signal to stop. The russian lets his arms free without climbing off of him, watching as Shane got a remote from the bedside table, pressing a button so that the curtains went down. 

No, no.

Ilya repeated the simple sign a few times before taking the remote and putting the curtains back up, throwing it backwards over his shoulder. Shane went to sign something in protest, but Ilya promptly pinned his wrists to the bed once more. 

He kissed his neck, jawline, neckline where his too-big shirt left his collarbones visible. He made his way down, letting his hands slip away from Shane’s wrist because he didn’t need to be told to stay, at this point. 

Once he’s pressing a kiss to the waistband of his sweatpants, he glances up at Shane with a questioning glance. Shane nodded, desperately so, tangling his hands up in his curls because he didn’t need to be careful of the cochlear implant, then. 

Ilya laughed at his eagerness, that more-movement-than-sound thing that ran through Shane’s entire body. He tilted his head back and moaned as the other man got to work, and he wondered distantly if Ilya could feel the vibrations of it from where he was positioned. 

--

Why so many burgers? 

Ilya stopped on the other side of the grill, taking in the sight of Shane on his stool while cooking. Shane took too long to answer, and Ilya kept signing, 

How many gummies did you take? 

Shane used his free hand to sign, Fuck you. The recipe was for eight. 

Cut it in half, Ilya furrowed his eyebrows. You can’t do math? 

Shane wondered if maybe he was too high to be cooking on top of an open flame. He scrunched up his nose, Leave me alone.

Ilya smiled fondly at him, coming around the grill to stand behind him and wrap his arms around his waist, “No.” he mumbled as he dropped a kiss to the back of his neck. 

His voice was the way it was when he couldn’t hear himself. Ilya had gone to put his implant back on after sex, but Shane insisted that he didn’t have to- that they could sign as much as he wanted. He was a little out of practice after being stuck in a sling for a while and unable to facetime the other man due to staying with his parents, so it was nice to be able to communicate that way again. 

Between the two of them both being high and Shane liking to have leftovers on standby so that he didn’t have to cook every night, they finish off the burgers with a little struggle. 

My parents don’t like how often I’ve been high for my pain, but they love me eating more and breaking my diet. 

Ilya smiled, Your diet before was weird. You need to eat to heal. 

That’s what my doctors say. Shane agreed. 

Tell me about your parents. D-A-V-I-D, Y-U-N-A? 

Yes. What do you want to know? 

I know nothing. Your mother, he places her in an imaginary spot in the the air between them and does a sign Shane takes a minute to remember. Japanese? Likely where your beauty is from. 

Half of it, yes. Shane let Ilya’s hand graze the side of his face, smiling lightly. 

Your dad, he placed him next to where Shane’s mother was meant to be, boring? 

Shane motioned to the same spot, Not boring. 

Exciting? Read N-Y-E-R. 

Normal. Works with Treasury Board of Canada. 

Interesting, Ilya did the sign with an air of sarcasm. 

He played hockey for M-C-G-I-L-L. 

M-C-G-I-L-L? A town? 

No, a school. Good school. Shane clarified. Then, he motions to both of the spots where his parents had been placed, They’re both great. 

Do they know?

About you? No. 

About you. Ilya poked him in the chest to signify who he was talking about as if motioning to him wouldn’t suffice, and Shane thinks about how expressive he tends to be while signing. 

No. 

Would they be normal? If they knew. 

I don’t know. Shane paused for a moment, It would be OK, I think. I don’t know. I feel like I should have told them before. 

Ilya raised his eyebrows, pointing to himself. Shane looked around as if to say “who else?”

This is my fault. 

No. Shane sighed, A little. 

I think you can say you’re gay without listing every guy you’ve fucked. 

I know. It doesn’t matter. 

Shane goes to collect their plates to take them inside, and Ilya waves him off before doing it himself, You cook, I clean. 

The canadian took a moment before agreeing to this, OK, but I want to make a fire and smoke more. 

Smoke more? Ilya’s eyes widened, I’m too high now. 

I can smoke more. I have a higher tolerance than you. Shane clarified, and Ilya shakes his head like he’s disappointed but there’s no real bite to it. 

Not too long after that, they’re sitting in front of the fire just after it began to darken outside. 

We sit here and look at it? Ilya questioned once they’ve settled down. 

Yes, we sit here and look. Shane confirmed as if that should have been obvious, signing one handed as he drew in a drag from a joint. He had gotten come practice in one-handed signing while in the sling, but he preferred using both hands to communicate in that way. 

Canada is fun Ilya signed in that sarcastic way he had gotten so good at so quickly. Shane got distracted by his phone buzzing on the cushion of the patio couch next to him, and Ilya gave him a questioning look. 

R-O-S-E, Shane clarified after pointing to his phone screen. Ilya hummed, nodding. She asked if I’m OK. Are you jealous?

No, Ilya replied, and maybe it’s a bit too quick. 

I’m gay, Shane reminded. 

But you can fuck her, he motioned to his phone, which now symbolized Rose in the conversation space. Shane shook his head, 

The two of us had sex twice. Or tried to have sex. It was bad. 

Bad how? 

I don’t want to talk about it. 

Shane got distracted, then, by the sound of a bird call in the woods. He glanced past Ilya, who furrowed his eyebrows and turned to glance back, What? 

Bird noises, Shane explained once he was looking at him again, Loud. Bird named L-O-O-N, sound like wolf. 

Weird, Ilya replied, shaking his head, Sounds scary. I do not think I would like the sound. 

I can recreate it for you, later. When you’re wearing your cochlear. Shane assured. 

You know how to do bird calls? Ilya seemed entirely thrown off by this before waving him off, Nevermind. Yes, you do. You speak english, french, ASL, bird. 

A bit after that, whenever Shane was done with his joint, Ilya laid down to place his head in Shane’s lap. He was able to see the other man signing above him, and he could hold his hands out to respond if he wanted to. 

Have you talked to your brother recently? Shane asked after a while. Ilya shook his head lightly, staring at the fire in front of them. For someone who had mocked just looking at a fire, he seemed to love admiring the flames. Is that a good thing? 

I don’t know, Ilya admitted. 

I’m sorry about your family. I know they are horrible, but you have to miss them

My mother was not horrible. Ilya corrected, and Shane paused in his motions of running his hands over the other man’s back for a moment. She was great. 

How did she die? Shane’s signing is slow, careful, deliberate. 

Accidentally took a whole bottle of pills. Ilya glanced up at his face, as if to check that he understood all of the signs used. He did. 

How old were you?

12. I found her. He pauses for a moment, then, before, I don’t want you to think she was weak. 

I don’t. Shane assured, It’s hard to live in pain. Physical or emotional. 

Good. She was funny, beautiful, but sad. My father was hard on her. 

Shane glanced over in the direction of the woods again when he heard another loon call, but he turned his attention back to Ilya immediately. Wolf bird? 

The canadian let his hand fall to play with Ilya’s curls as he nodded, and with the other hand, Do you want to go inside? 

No, Ilya shook his head slightly, too, and he reached up to take Shane’s hand- seemingly deciding that the conversational part of their night was over and that they were to stare at the fire for a while. 

--

When they wake up the next morning, Shane laid atop of Ilya, the russian takes a moment to enjoy the scene. Sun rained in from the windows surrounding them, the bed was basically a nest with the amount of pillows Shane used- it was sweet and gentle in a way Ilya wasn’t used to. 

When Shane stirs, lifting his head with a vibration in his chest Ilya assumed was a groan as he rubbed his eyes, Ilya looked down at him with a fond look. He speaks, even though he didn’t have the outer part of his cochlear on and would definitely sound odd, “I like you.” 

Shane stared back up at him for a moment, blinking before his face broke out into a sweet, sleepy smile. Ilya doesn’t need to hear him to know that his next words are, “I like you, too.” 

Shane buried himself back in his arms promptly after that. Eventually, Ilya is able to get enough of his arms free to sign, You want to get up? Have breakfast? 

No, never. Shane shook his head, Body hurt, head hurt. Tired. Sleep more. 

You should eat. I can make food, run bath. Ilya offered. 

No, I’m OK. I will eat and have bath later, can do it myself. If you need to eat, you can make food. 

I know you can do it yourself. I want to help. Ilya told him, If I’m making myself food, then I should share. Let me run you bath, OK? 

You don’t have to. Shane insisted, and he seems a little panicked. I’m in pain, I’m slow, but I don’t need help. 

I want to help. Please? Ilya didn’t want to make him feel incapable, or upset him by offering to help with simple things, but he didn’t want to watch him struggle while in pain if he was there to make things easier. Remember? You are prince, I am servant. 

Shane rolled his eyes but smiled, OK. I stay in bed for now? 

Yes, Ilya nodded, I will come get you when bath is ready. 

Shane sat up just enough to kiss him before he left, promptly melting back into the pillows behind him after Ilya exited the room. 

And Ilya does run him a bath after that, checking the temperature of the water and tilting in the soap he knew Shane liked to use to create bubbles and epsom salt that was meant to help with his muscles. He went back to the bedroom to signal for Shane to climb out of bed and set to work gathering a towel, washcloth, and change of clothes for him. 

When he had settled on a pair of sweatpants and a big t-shirt, he glanced back to see Shane still sitting on the edge of the mattress, stretching out his legs and massaging the muscles there as if to prepare himself to stand. 

Sorry. He signed, I can stand. 

Wait, I can bring your wheelchair. Ilya handed him the clothes before going over to where the chair had ended up after their bonfire the night prior, wheeling it over so that the other man wouldn’t have to walk. Ilya offered a hand of support so that Shane could stand easier and guided him to sit in the chair. 

I’m embarrassed. The pain is so bad recently. 

It’s OK. Do you want me to bring you weed? To smoke during your bath? Ilya signed one handed, holding it out so that Shane could see the motions without having to crane his head, as he pushed him to the connected bathroom

No. I don’t like cleaning ash out of the bathroom. Shane waved him off, But thank you. 

Shane moved to stand, wincing before sitting back in the chair and shaking his head. He readjusted to remove his shirt, struggling slightly to keep his arms over his head for too long, and Ilya rushed forward to help him. At Shane’s expression, though, he stepped back. 

You’re upset. Do you need help? 

I don’t want to need help. Shane answered, It’s hard, but I get it eventually. It’s embarrassing to have someone here, watching.

Do you want me to leave, make breakfast? Ilya asked. 

No. Sorry. Shane bit at his lip. 

You don’t have to be sorry. Or embarrassed. You have mobility issues- it’s part of your D-A. Ilya shrugged like this were no big deal, I am here. I can help if you want me to.

You can help me. Shane decided, making a motion that signalled that he wanted his shirt off. Ilya set to work, then, helping him through every step before he could climb into the bath and melt into the hot water and bubbles, there. This is nice. Thank you. 

You’re welcome. Ilya smiled, I make breakfast and come back, OK? Your phone is with your clothes, you can call me if you need me.

Yes, OK. Shane let his head fall back against the edge of the tub and his eyes flutter shut, then, which told the other man that he was getting a moment of relief from the pain. 

And that had been Ilya’s goal, so he leaves him alone for a while. 

--

“I think I have to take a season off.” Shane drops the news when they’re sitting outside in the sun later that day, Ilya collecting flowers from the yard to put in Shane’s hair while he sat in his wheelchair flipping through a book he wasn’t paying attention to. “Any other athlete with an injury like mine would have been fine in weeks, but all of my other symptoms are flaring and I’ve just been stuck-” 

His voice breaks slightly, then, and his eyes teared up. Ilya is quick to come to his side, to pull a patio chair over so that he’s on his level. Ilya set his book and the flowers he had gathered aside, leaning forward to cup the sides of his face, “I’m sorry, baby. I know how much you love the game, how much you hate your health getting in the way of things.” 

Shane nodded, leaning into the touch on one side and blinking away the tears, “I kept telling myself I would be fine. But my doctors said that it might be a while before I can function normally again, and my parents and coaches think it would be a good idea to take some time off. Rose, too. Hayden, Scott. They’ve all been trying to convince me that it’s okay to take time.” 

“It is okay.” Ilya told him, “I can’t believe I’m saying that Hayden Pike is right about anything, but this is one situation where he knows what he’s talking about.” 

Shane laughed, then, and it makes Ilya smile. “It feels like I’m proving everyone right, though. This idea that I’m not capable. But I apparently can’t take my shirt off by myself without pain, so I definitely shouldn’t be on the ice.” 

“You’ve already proven that you’re capable. You won the cup, twice.” Ilya dropped one hand from his face and used the one he was leaning into to force his chin up, force his gaze up, just slightly. “You are the best hockey player I know. Needing a season off doesn’t change that. Your health is important, baby.” 

“Baby?” Shane tilted his head. “You said it before, too.” 

“Mm.” Ilya hummed, shaking his head, “Slipped out. Twice. Fake news. I will never say it again.” 

“Wait, no.” Shane sounded upset, “Please say it again. Forever.” 

“I think you are distracting us from an important conversation about taking care of yourself?” Ilya tried, and when Shane just pouted up at him, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. Shane Hollander is my baby and I care about him a lot, and I don’t want him to cry ever.” 

“I am the best hockey player you know.” Shane relished in that, “And I’m your baby. I think I win at everything. Except hockey, because I need a break.” 

“You’ll go back to winning when you come back, I’m sure.” Ilya told him, “I’m a free agent next season, anyways. Maybe I could join a Canadian team, come check on you whenever I have time off. Not the Metros, though.” 

“I know.” Shane hummed. “If I actually take time to rest, I won’t need anyone to come check on me.”

“I would like to check on you, though.” Ilya admitted, “Practice sign language. Have breakfast and bubble baths. Bonfires. It’s nice.” 

“It is.” Shane agreed, “And you could become a permanent resident, and then a citizen. Live here with me.”

Ilya gathered up the flowers he had picked from the yard, mostly simple white ones, holding them out to him in a makeshift bundle. 

“Is this your version of a proposal, Rozanov? There are less shameless ways to gain permanent residency, I assure you.” Shane lifted them to his nose to smell them, before tucking the stems behind his ear. 

“Is too early for marriage.” Ilya shook his head. 

“How long has this been going on, now?” Shane tilted his head, letting his fingertips graze the flower petals mindlessly. “Too long to keep track off through the brain fog and memory issues.” 

“All but forever, baby.” Ilya told him. 

He means ‘forever’ in the positive, lovely, honey-dipped sense. And even though Shane was upset about taking a season off of hockey and what people would say about him after the announcement, this was nice. 

He liked the idea of forever in the lovely, honey-dipped sense with Ilya Rozanov. 

--

The moment Ilya comes out to the kitchen the next morning to greet Shane, the other man starts signing at him wildly, like he had been waiting ages for him to get up. 

“It is first thing in the morning and ASL is my third language.” Ilya reminded him, motioning to the back of his head where the outer-part of his cochlear was clicked into place, “Speak in english. Clearly, slowly.” 

“Right, yes.” Shane nodded. “I was thinking. About next season.” 

“I thought you decided to take it off.” 

“Yes, but people will ask questions if we’re seen together.” Shane argued. He was making toast for both of them, rolling around on a stool he could lock into place as needed. “The questions will start when you play in the sled hockey game later this summer. Some of the other players and my parents think we’re friends because we’re both disabled, but the whole world doesn’t have that context.” 

“Okay?” Ilya was struggling to follow. Not in the sense that he couldn’t make out his words, but in the sense that he was jumping from one idea to the next without missing a beat. “What were you thinking, baby?” 

“What if you played in Ottawa? You would qualify for permanent residency as someone working in the country, and you would be nearby.” Shane explained, “Ottawa needs a star center, and they can afford you.”

“Yes, okay.” Ilya took a seat at one of the stools by the counter, watching as he spread butter and jam over bread. 

Shane continued, “I would suggest that you sign a temporary contract with the Metros while I’m out, but I’m worried that my team might kill you and that the public would spin that into something about you taking advantage of my disability.” 

“That would be chaos.” Ilya agreed, “Ottawa could work, though.” 

“We could be friends publicly, then. We could do some ads for the sled hockey tournament together, some disability advocate stuff- if you’re comfortable. Ottawa and Montreal aren’t too intense.” Shane told him, “There are rookies who can hate each other. I think half of the reason we were pitted against each other is because we’re both disabled, and that’s also part of the reason why we could do even better as a duo.” 

“Deaf-disabled kids would love it.” Ilya mused, “I could be a better role model that way. Start signing more, in interviews. It would work out well for both of us, even if it is terrifying.” 

“You’re getting it.” Shane nodded, “There’s more, though, if you’re interested.” 

“More?” Ilya sighed, “What else could there be? That’s already like, two major life and career changes.” 

“I know, but hear me out, okay?” Shane slid a plate with two slices of toast across the counter to him. His motions are a little freer, a little looser, than the day prior, but it’s obvious that he’s still struggling a bit. 

It was also obvious that he was wired with his thoughts all night, though, so Ilya lets him make their breakfast. 

“I can’t hear, Hollander.” Ilya deadpanned, and Shane blinked at him for a moment. “So you can make jokes about your disabilities but I can’t? This is- what do you call ableism for deaf people? Audist?” 

“I am not audist, Ilya.” Shane told him. “I thought we could start a year-round charity, an extension of the sled hockey tournament. Like, a summer camp, for adaptive sports- we could hire disabled athletes who have retired or are off-season as coaches. We could fund the equipment, uniforms, and establish teams.” 

“Not just for sled hockey, but other sports too?” Ilya asked, and when the other man nodded, his eyes widened, “That’s a big project, Hollander. We’d have to build an accessible gym complex, probably. And if it’s a camp for children, we’ll need housing and food, too.” 

“It would be a great chance for disabled children to come together, not just for sports but to live and eat together, too. Not everyone has access to a special needs academy like I did, but I can give children a similar experience for a few weeks a year.” he said, “This would take a lot of phone calls, emails, video call meetings- it would give me something to do for the next year while resting my body.” 

“I see.” Ilya hummed, “We could have Deaf kids, too? Sign language interpreters and everything?” 

“Yes, of course.” Shane confirmed, “And anything left over can go to the establishment of adult sled hockey teams, so that the older kids have somewhere to go when they age out of the junior league.” 

“This sounds like something you’re going to do on your own regardless of what I say.” Ilya pointed out. 

“It would mean a lot to the Deaf-disabled kids we’re trying to help if we do it together, though.” Shane added, moving to lock his stool into place so that he could start eating while sitting across from the other man, “It wouldn’t be so fucking crazy for people to see us together, with you playing for Ottawa and the two of us working on this summer camp charity thing.” 

“It wouldn’t.” Ilya agreed, “Are you going to ask Pike to help, too? I don’t want to work with Hayden Pike.” 

“He’s an athlete with a disabled child.” Shane shrugged, “And he’s been helping with the sled hockey tournament forever. Of course I’m asking for his help.” 

“This is an evil world.” Ilya groaned, covering his face with his hands as if he just couldn’t take it anymore. After a moment, he sighed, “Okay, baby. Let’s start a huge expensive charity so that people don’t figure out that you like sucking my dick.” 

Shane laughed, then, and Ilya was glad that he was wearing his cochlear so that he could take in the sound. Then, with all the honestly in the world, “Whenever we retire, we could be together. For real.” 

Ilya paused, taking in a breath, “You really think that far ahead, Hollander?” 

“I do. About this.” Shane admitted, and suddenly their breakfast on the counter doesn’t matter very much anymore. Ilya opens his mouth as if to speak but hesitates, opting to sign instead. Shane doesn’t question it, watching closely, 

Do you want that? To be together? 

Yes. It’s a little scary, how much I want it. Shane assured, and when Ilya looked the other way to try and gather himself, he stood up to come around the counter, I’m OK. You’re OK. 

Ilya pushed the stool next to him out and kissed Shane through the process of him sitting down, both of them resting their feet on the bars of the other’s stool, locking them together. 

The blonde was overwhelmed, then, mumbling Russian he knew the other man couldn’t understand against his skin as he pressed tearful kisses to his mouth, cheek, jawline, neck. He pulled back after a moment, taking in the sight of Shane’s face- his beautiful freckles. 

He whispered, with the early-morning sunrise raining into the kitchen as his witness, “I love you.” 

Shane blinked back at him, and Ilya finds himself signing the spoken phrase for the first time. 

I love you, as if saying it in another shared language would clarify anything, solidify what they already knew. 

I love you too. Shane signed back after processing what he was seeing, and when he leans in for another kiss, “I love you too. So much.” 

“Fuck, Hollander.” Ilya pulled him into a hug, kissing the top of his head. 

“Does it fucking kill you too?” Shane asked, “And heal every bit of you, at the same time?” 

“Doesn’t kill me anymore.” Ilya mumbled, “The healing part, though. That’s true. I’m still your medicine, yes?” 

“Yes, of course.” Shane held onto him, “That’s what love is, I think. It what it feels like with you. The pain’s easier, when you’re here. Still there, but not too much to handle anymore.” 

Ilya held him tighter, after that. 

--

Their time in the cottage is nice, even with Shane’s pain limiting how much they could do. 

They sit outside for hours, passing joints back and forth and picking flowers with blankets around their shoulders as they watch the sunset. They play video games and take turns cooking for each other. They fuck lazily, usually on the bed with Shane laid out under Ilya, who always checked on him. 

They say that they love each other. In Russian, english, sign language- because it bares repeating in a million tongues. Shane wondered if this is what that honey-dipped forever would be like. 

Shane sat on the dock while Ilya swimmed around in the lake, having gotten a good half an hour in the water before deciding that he needed to stop. Swimming was good for his body. It was something to do with the weightlessness giving him a break from carrying the weight of his own bones, muscles, joints. 

After Ilya does a handstand in the water, Shane signed, Are you having fun? 

Yes. he came closer to the dock, propping himself up on the wood with his palms, Kiss me. 

You’re cold. Shane pointed out, but he leans down slightly to oblige nonetheless. He smiled against his lips, watching him with fond eyes as he pulled away. 

Ilya leaned down to plant another kiss against his knee before falling back into the water, and it’s sweet in the way the small bundle of yard flowers had been. It’s sweet in the way the bubble bath a few days prior was. 

Eventually, they both decide to go inside, Ilya pushing Shane in his chair back into the cottage through the ramp on the back door. They chatter on lightly about what to have for dinner, if Shane wanted to have another bath before bed. 

It’s as Ilya leans down to kiss his forehead in the kitchen that the front door is unlocked and opened to reveal Shane’s father, David. He takes a moment to take in the sight, of both of the shirtless men in a gentle, affectionate moment, before saying, 

“Okay, you’re safe.” he nodded, “Answer your texts. We thought you were stuck somewhere.” 

He promptly turns around on his feet to go back to his car, letting the front door shut behind him. 

“Fuck.” Shane sounded frustrated with himself as Ilya went off to retrieve the outer-part of his implant, “I should have checked my phone. They text me a few times a day to check in, and if I don’t answer, they assume I can’t reach my phone, I guess.” 

“Has that happened a lot recently, you getting stuck in bed or something?” Ilya questioned, and Shane nodded slightly. 

“Me being here is a test run for being independent again.” he confirmed, “I don’t know what he thinks is going on. You were pushing my wheelchair and kissing my forehead, though, which is pretty incriminating.” 

“And I’m guilty of what crime? Taking care of you?” Ilya asked. 

“This is a fucking nightmare.” Shane pulled at his hair. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? What the fuck am I supposed to tell him- them, once my mom finds out?” 

“Shane.” Ilya tried to break him out of his anxious rambling, “We should go talk to him.” 

“What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?” Shane argued, “I refused my parents taking care of me only to turn around and let my arch-rival see me in such a vulnerable state. It’s not going to make any sense to them.” 

“It doesn’t have to.” Ilya assured, “You’ll explain it and everything will be okay. You have to talk to your parents anyways, yes? About your decision to take a season off and put me in the sled hockey tournament? Three wolf birds, one stone.” 

The ridiculousness of the sentence makes Shane laughed and shake his head, “That’s…a lot at once, Ilya.” his tone is a bit desperate and he knows it.

“I know it is.” Ilya’s tone was gentle as he pulled a stool over to sit down, to meet him at his level. 

“I lied to them, Ilya. For so many years.” he sighed, “This is a nightmare.” 

“Then maybe it’s time to wake up, yes?” Ilya took him into his arms when he leaned forward. 

“I’m scared.” Shane admitted, just quietly. 

“It’s scary. But you’re brave.” Ilya ran his hands up and down on his upper back, like he did when he was giving him a massage in bed. 

“Shut up.” Shane argued, and Ilya responded easily, 

“You are, baby.” 

“So much for easing them into it.” he pulled back to settle back into his chair. 

“Maybe he didn’t notice?” Ilya suggested, and Shane rolled his eyes, but not without smiling softly. 

“Okay. I’m going to get dressed and drive over there. And then- fuck, what am I gonna say?” he sounded frazzled, a million different thoughts failing to come together into one of the plans he loved so much. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Ilya offered. 

“Would you?” 

“Of course.” he answered without missing a beat. He moved to stand up, putting the stool back in it’s place so that he could push Shane back to the bedroom. 

This wasn’t going to be easy, but Ilya was making it a little easier. 

--

By the time Ilya helps Shane get his wheelchair out of the van and gets him into it, his parents are already standing on the front porch, watching the scene with confused glances. Yuna was more confused than David, but it was still a shared feeling. 

“Hi mom, dad.” Shane greeted. 

“I genuinely was just there to make sure you were okay.” His dad jumped into an explanation immediately, “You weren’t answering anyone’s texts, and I just kept wondering if you were safe- if you had everything you needed, if you were stuck in bed.” 

“I know, Dad. I’m sorry I got distracted- I really didn’t want you to find out like this.” 

“Find out what, exactly?” his mother cut in. Shane blinked, adjusting awkwardly in his seat, 

“I’m gay.” he answered, “I was gonna tell you soon. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. And this is Ilya…Rozanov, but you already know that.” 

Ilya waved slightly at the cue, “Hi.” 

“He’s visiting and we’re uh-” 

“Lovers.” Ilya offered, and Shane shook his head immediately, 

“No, that’s gross.” 

“But you hate him? Or, you did until very recently.” His mother pointed out. 

“No, I never hated him. I get why you think that, but no, actually, I love him.” he gets a bit breathless when he says it, like he wasn’t quite used to the words. “I did not want this to be how I told you. I’m sorry. Can we go inside, please?” 

He felt too out in the open, just there in front of the house. 

Later, when they’re sitting at the kitchen table with mugs, “What we did not suspect is that you were so friendly with Rozanov.” 

“Ilya.” The russian told them. 

“Ilya. Sorry.” David corrected himself. 

“I know. It’s a long story.” Shane hummed, rubbing his face as he says it. Ilya glanced to him, then, furrowing his eyebrows like he did when he didn’t understand something. Shane started signing, then, 

I said ‘it’s a long story.’ About us. Sorry about covering my face and speaking quietly. 

“How long has this been going on and when did you have the time to learn another language without anyone noticing?” Yuna asked, glancing between her son and Ilya wildly. “You did not take sign language courses in school. You took french, I remember.” 

Shane laughed, “You’re right, mom. Sign language was in the last year, but I’m a quick learner. The two of us, though…”

“The All-Star Game?” David tried, “You two had so much chemistry.” 

“No, it was before then. The All-Star Game was when I knew enough sign to start using it with Ilya.” Shane corrected. 

“So, a while before that, then?” Yuna asked. 

“Since our, uh, rookie season.” Shane offered. 

“Since your rookie season?” Yuna repeated, and she seems alarmed. 

Ilya signed to Shane, No, it was before that. That summer. 

“What is he saying?” David asked. 

“He is very unhelpfully pointing out that it was before that, technically.” Shane shot a glance at the other man. “It was the summer before our rookie season.” 

“So, you’ve been in love-” 

“No, no, no.” Ilya spoke out loud, now, shutting down that idea before it even fully left her mouth. Shane shook his head, too. Then, he watches in horror as Ilya and his mother go back and forth in a vague game of implication that he’s worried will end in him explaining what a ‘fuckbuddy’ is. 

It’s only a little less terrible that his mother comes to the conclusion of “lovers” on her own. He promptly bans the use of the word, and then they’re transitioning to sipping on vodka and asking all sorts of questions he wasn’t ready to answer. 

He confirmed that his teammates didn’t know, that no one knew. He tells his mother that he would never let Ilya win against him in hockey. Ilya agrees with his father about keeping the relationship a secret until they both retire. They explain that Ilya is bisexual. 

They admit that they’ve only ever been in love with each other. 

Shane wheeled outside to join his mother with a cardigan in his lap, “Hey.” 

“Hi.” she took it from him gently, “Thank you.” 

There’s no words said for a while, as they both struggle to find them. Eventually, 

“Mom, um- I need you to know that I did really try.” Shane settled on, “I tried really hard but I just can’t help it. I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” she turned to him with that gentle, concerned look she got when she was worried that he wasn’t taking care of himself well enough. It had become a familiar thing, recently. “Look at me.” 

She repeats it until he does, teary eyes and all. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me. I’m so, so proud of you. Please forgive me.” 

Shane stands after that, falling into the arms of his mother like he would have when he was a child. He pulls back after a bit, “There’s more.” 

“More?” her eyes widened. 

“Nothing as life-changing but it will be different for a while. I think- um, I know that I need a season off. To try and heal. I won’t be able to play well like this, and I’m never going to get better if I force myself to try.” 

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m proud of you for prioritizing your health, and I’m sorry you have to give up hockey for a while.” she cupped the sides of his face, “It’s gonna be okay, though. The world will be waiting for you about a year from now.” 

“Oh, and Ilya is going to play in the sled hockey tournament in my place.” Shane added. 

“Oh!” her eyes widened delightedly, “That’s great for marketing, but I have a lot of calls to make, now.” 

He started laughing, then, and so did she. Then, they’re hugging again, “I forgive you, mom.” 

--

Shane and Yuna rejoin David and Ilya at the table around the same time the food in finished, and then they’re back to talking strategy and planning. 

“You play in Ottawa?” Yuna asked Ilya. 

“Yes. It would be closer, and with the camp…” he trailed off. 

“And you have no loyalty to Boston?” Yuna followed up immediately. 

“Jesus, Mom!” Shane stared at her from across the table. 

“What? They drafted him!” she defended herself. “You would leave Boston for Shane?” 

“Yes.” Ilya answered without missing a beat. She nodded with a hum. 

“Mom.” Shane warned. 

“Loyalty is important.” she pointed out. 

“He’s trying to be loyal to me, not Boston.” Shane stated plainly, but then after that, Ilya was falling into conversation about Scott Hunter coming out and it was overwhelming.

He leaned forward to rest his head in his arms on the table, trying to steady his breathing like he was taught to do when he was overstimulated. Ilya rubs his back gently, massaging the muscles there in the way he knew relaxed him, and his voice is soft when he says, “Shane.” 

“I’m okay. I’m just freaking out.” he admitted, glancing up just so that Ilya could see his mouth, “I’ll be okay in a second.” 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey.” he comforts him, “We’re good here. Your family is here. Your boyfriend is here. You’re good here, okay?” 

Shane lifted his head, fully this time. “My boyfriend?” he echoed, like the words were unfamiliar to him. 

“I mean, yes. I think so. Probably.” Ilya smiled at him, and it’s sweet. Honey-dipped, maybe. 

There’s a brief kiss shared, after that, and then they’re returning to their meal and it doesn’t feel like everything is closing in on him anymore. By the time his father and Ilya are packing his wheelchair into the back of the van and they’re agreeing on dinner plans, it feels like maybe, everything would be okay. 

It’s easy to believe this, too, as they drive back to the cottage with soft music playing on the radio and something like a plan for the future. A plan for forever. 

Shane and Ilya liked the idea of forever together, something dipped in honey and sweet like bubble baths and yard flower bundles and the words “I love you” shared in at least three different languages, again and again. 

--

Epilogue - Later That Summer, Montreal. 

It’s interesting to experience the energy of the fundraiser event he crafted from the audience, Shane thinks. He sat in the accessible seating section, surrounded by excited disabled children and adults alike who he took plenty of pictures with in between watching his friends and boyfriend warm up on the ice. 

Ilya had been rather clumsy on the sled to begin with, but he had done a lot of training in the last few weeks to secure the win for the Sled Kings. It was Hayden Pike’s first year on the other team, because the rivalry between Hayden and Ilya was interesting enough to keep viewers entertained while Shane was off the ice. 

The public announcement regarding his break from hockey would be made after the sled hockey tournament fundraiser closed, but it was already heavily speculated as the Montreal Metros coaches started to switch up the lines to fill the gap the absence of their star player created. 

Hayden Pike would make a good one-off coach, Shane liked to think. 

There had been a lot of speculation about Ilya suddenly joining in on the fundraiser when he had refused to before, but it was ultimately chalked up to him embracing his disability more than he had before. He did a whole interview in sign language, talking about how he was encouraged to learn by disabled people around him- and he never says Shane’s name, but you could feel the blank space left by the absence of it while watching him answer the questions. 

He publicly challenged the viewers, doubting their ability to raise more money than they ever have in past years for the sled hockey cause, which doubled the amount of pre-game donations within a day. 

So far, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov working together was leading to good things. 

Whenever Ilya and Hayden come out onto the ice and set themselves up in the faceoff spot to start the game, they both take a beat to wave over to the accessible seating section. To the viewers at home, it looked like Hayden was waving to his family and Ilya was just waving to all of the children, there. 

To Shane, though, it was a subtle nod to him. He signed quickly and subtly, a motion that could be missed easily, Good luck. 

In a motion even more missable, Ilya winked at him. 

Shane wasn’t looking forward to sitting out of a season of hockey due to his disabilities, but watching Ilya play wasn’t so bad.

Chapter End Notes

okay so I know I made some omissions of scenes we like. I feel like these versions of these characters wouldn't have the "I could marry svetlana" conversation considering that the scene before that would've happened is one where they joke about getting married to each other, which means that shane is a bit less panicked and able to wait until morning to bombard ilya with future plans

also the phone call blow job scene was cut because ilya is very careful about making sure shane is up to sex with his body pain and he wouldn't want to risk it. also couch sex sounds uncomfy SORRY. but I added the bubble bath scene so. fair trade yes?

there are so many things in this chapter that i love that makes me want to write more of them, but we will see. as someone who hasn't read the entire book series, I do not know exactly how much I threw things off by making Shane take a season off, so I will decide if I want to continue this au after reading the books/watching season two once it comes out and can see if I'm starting from scratch or whatever.

i want you all to know that I have appreciated every comment on this fic, especially the ones from disabled readers telling me that they're enjoying/feeling represented by the story. this was for you guys more than anything, so thank you for reading and commenting! any thoughts you have are great, but even just saying "I enjoyed this" means a lot and helped encourage me while working on the final chapter.

i am up too late knowing i fully have classes tomorrow but i got into writing this and i'm too excited not to post it so if you notice mistakes. no you didn't just put the kudos in the bag and move on it's really okay.

thank you all for reading <3

P.S for any fan artists reading ? i would be really interested in seeing art for this fic, so if you have commissions open and a tumblr/instagram page where I could look at examples of your art, let me know!