Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Troy Barrett, Zane Boodram, Evan Dykstra, Luca Haas, Yuna Hollander, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Rose Landry, J. J. Boiziau, Svetlana Vetrova, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Ryan Price (Game Changers), Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Hockey, Inspired by Heated Rivalry (TV), Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), the ottawa centaurs win the stanley cup!!!!!, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Explicit Consent, Top Ilya Rozanov, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Service Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Established Relationship, sex on a dresser, is that even a tag??, Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog, listen the boy knows how to get what he wants, ilya rozanov is never winning an argument against shane hollander, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Oral Sex, Light Dom/sub, Rimming, lord trying to tag stuff with a migraine is ROUGH, idk man, they fuck on a dresser, That's it, That's all I got, more tags will follow probably, the most important one is that shane is bossy af in this, Bossy Bottom Shane Hollander, OH they make out like teenagers, Making Out, Shane Hollander Calls Ilya Rozanov "Baby", FINALLY THE PERFECT TAG EXISTS

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of where's the trophy? he just comes running over to me

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-14 Words: 6,219 Chapters: 1/1

the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me

Summary

No one wanted the night to end, so the celebration party had moved from the locker room (where Shane had a few sips of warm beer out of the Cup and three-fourths of a bottle of champagne) to Monk's (where Shane had cold beer and too many jello shots that were in syringes of all things — that was 100 percent Dykstra's fault) to Bood's house (where he ate a few slices of pizza to sober up a little and washed it down with a Ginger Ale that Ilya had somehow acquired from seemingly out of thin air before Ilya and Troy challenged him and Luca to a game of beer pong, which Shane and Luca had lost spectacularly because Luca had no idea how beer bong worked). After the game, Ilya had brushed his fingers along Shane's spine as he ribbed Luca on his poor skills, and Shane's skin burned.

Suddenly, he was done with the parties.

—
 

Or, the story of how Shane and Ilya broke a dresser (and a front door) after they won the Cup.

Notes

This idea has been eating at my brain for weeks. When you write about two hockey players fucking so hard that they break a dresser, you kind of just have to see where the story takes you, you know? No? Just me? Well, this is awkward.

You don't have to read you make it so easy (to fall so hard) and yours, until the poets run out of rhyme to understand this, but it definitely won't hurt either! This story may be spoiler-y if you haven't read either, but the only real spoiler is that the Centaurs won the Cup.

Thanks to everyone who read, bookmarked, shared, left kudos for, and commented on the two stories in this collection! I have read every single one, and they all warm my heart. I've yet to fully grasp that so many people have liked my silly little hollanov fics.

Title comes from "The Alchemy" by Taylor Swift.

-----------------------

Please note that there are a few triggering moments in this fic, which are outlined below. Just click on the toggle to see them, but they are mildly spoiler-y. Take care of yourself first and foremost.

CONTENT WARNINGS:

• The main plot point is that they're both very drunk, and they have sex while drunk.
• Additionally, there is a scene where Shane pukes.

Shane is surprisingly coherent considering how much he drank tonight.

To be clear, Shane is very, very, very drunk. Probably the most drunk he's ever been in his entire life.

He probably should have cut himself off a few hours ago, but he couldn't find it in him to stop.

They'd won the Cup.

They'd won the fucking Cup.

After everything he and Ilya had gone through — the years of denial and then years of hiding, being outed accidentally and subsequently berated by the MLH commissioner, Shane moving from Montreal to Ottawa, their wedding, the shitty comments from people who said they couldn't be on the same team, the anxiety and the depression, after everything — Ilya had been right all those months ago when he declared that they'd be a real contender for the Cup because they were together, not in spite of it.

And Ilya, God, Ilya. He was incredible. A sight to behold. Shane had watched him hoist the cup, watched him celebrate, watched him laugh freely, just watched him be… Ilya in the most concentrated form, happiness pouring out of him and drowning Shane every time Ilya looked at him or touched him or kissed him or smiled at him.

He was filled to the brim with unbridled joy.

No one wanted the night to end, so the celebration party had moved from the locker room (where Shane had a few sips of warm beer out of the Cup and three-fourths of a bottle of champagne) to Monk's (where Shane had cold beer and too many jello shots that were in syringes of all things — that was 100 percent Dykstra's fault) to Bood's house (where he ate a few slices of pizza to sober up a little and washed it down with a Ginger Ale that Ilya had somehow acquired from seemingly out of thin air before Ilya and Troy challenged him and Luca to a game of beer pong, which Shane and Luca had lost spectacularly because Luca apparently had no idea how beer bong worked). After the game, Ilya had brushed his fingers along Shane's spine as he ribbed Luca about his poor skills, and Shane's skin burned.

Suddenly, he was done with the parties. 

He'd managed to pull Ilya away from the celebrations for just a minute to pull Ilya into a quiet hallway of Bood's home, Ilya's eyes sparkling the entire time.

Shane had pressed Ilya against the wall, pinning him with his body. Then, he started trailing kisses down Ilya's neck, nipping every now and then.

"Take me home," he'd whispered into the warm skin of Ilya's shoulder.

"I thought you would never ask," Ilya had replied.

So, now, after they managed to say all their goodbyes, they're standing at the end of Bood's driveway, waiting for the car Ilya had called to pick them up.

It's so late, but Shane has no idea how late it actually is because his phone had died when they were at Monk's, the battery perishing to an influx of congratulations texts from Hayden and Jackie and Rose and JJ and Svetlana and Scott Hunter and Ryan Price and truly God only knows who else because again, his phone was dead dead.

It's so late, but Shane can't fathom sleeping anytime soon. He's suddenly thankful that they dropped Anya off with his parents before this series, so they wouldn't have to worry about her while they were occupied with winning the Cup. 

He's practically burning with need for Ilya, desperate to get his hands on his skin, to melt into Ilya's body.

He's sucking a hickey onto Ilya's collarbone, Ilya's dick pressing into his thigh, when a car pulls up.

Shane hears the windows roll down, but he can't stop kissing Ilya to care.

"Uh, hi," the driver says, a woman, Shane thinks. "I'm picking up Ilya Rozanov?"

"Yeah, yes, that is us," Ilya replies. "Jesus, Hollander, give me one second."

He pulls away long enough for Ilya to open the car door and shove Shane into the car. Ilya immediately crowds into his space, and Shane is pulling him down again into another kiss.

Thank goodness that Bood is less than 10 minutes from their house.

The ride to their house is relatively calm, except Ilya and Shane make out like teenagers in the backseat of this poor woman's car. Shane attempts to crawl inside of Ilya, but he's stopped from climbing Ilya like a tree because Ilya had made sure he was buckled in.

Stupid protective husband.

He's been working on a rather impressive hickey on said husband's collarbone when Ilya pulls away. Shane whines and tries to invade Ilya's space again.

"Shane," Ilya says with a hand on Shane's jaw. Shane doesn't stop kissing Ilya, mouthing and nipping his neck or jaw or ear, whatever he can reach. "Sweetheart, you're speaking French."

Oh.

Shane hadn't even realized. 

Is it because he's drunk or because he's stupidly turned on?

¿Por qué no los dos?

Wait, that's Spanish.

Maybe?

Now, Shane's not sure.

"Sorry," Shane finally says, in what he thinks is English.

"Is okay," Ilya whispers in Shane's ear. "It is very hot when you forget what English is."

Shane groans, but he's interrupted by a cough.

Shit.

He suddenly remembers that they're not alone and that they're making out in a stranger's car. His cheeks immediately warm with a blush. In fact, he feels his ears getting warm, too.

"Um," the woman says. She's turned to face them. "We're here."

Ilya turns to address her.

"Sorry about that," Ilya says with a smile.

"It's fine," she says with a warm smile. "Congratulations on the win. My girlfriend and I watched the game. I'm glad Ottawa finally won the Cup."

Ilya smiles, wide and beautiful. Shane can't help but lean in to press a kiss to Ilya's cheek.

"Thank you," Ilya replies. "Have a good night."

Shane scrambles out of the car with a mumbled thank you, and he hopes that Ilya tips her well.

He's digging his keys out of his pocket when he feels Ilya's arm wrap around his waist.

"I got it," Ilya says as he spins his keys on his finger. Distantly, he hears their ride drive off.

"Mmm," Shane replies before he slides his hand up the back of Ilya's shirt, seeking his warm skin. "Do you?"

They stumble in a strange three-legged walk to the front door, giggling and stealing kisses, both overwhelmingly happy.

When they reach the door, Ilya moves to unlock it, and Shane occupies himself by moving his hands from Ilya's back to his chest. He slides his hands up up up until he has Ilya's pec in his hand, and he pinches one of Ilya's nipples.

Ilya curses in Russian.

"What's wrong?" Shane asks as he kisses the back of Ilya's neck.

"Hollander," Ilya whines. When Shane doesn't stop rolling Ilya's nipple, he continues. "Shane. I cannot get the door open when you are distracting me."

"What are you distracted by, Rozanov?" Shane asks as innocently as he can before he lets go of Ilya's nipple and moves his hand down until he covers Ilya's already-hard dick, pressing against it with his palm.

"You are being bad," Ilya says. He's not even sure if Ilya has gotten the key into the lock.

He stands on his tiptoes and whispers in Ilya's ear. "But I like being bad." He bites Ilya's earlobe when he finishes.

"Fuck," Ilya curses. 

And then he's backing up, pushing Shane back as he does it. And before Shane can ask what he's doing, Ilya brings his leg up and kicks the shit out of the door.

The door bangs open, the wood splintering and part of the metal handle banging to the floor.

They both just stare at the now open door.

"You kicked the door open," Shane says.

"Yes," Ilya replies, and then he turns around and picks Shane up, causing Shane to yelp as he carries him over the threshold of their home.

"What the fuck, Ilya?" Shane asks, laughing as Ilya carries him inside. When they're inside, Ilya sets him down and moves the table in the entryway — the same table that they normally use to collect their keys and stuff — to keep their front door shut.

"It was taking too long," Ilya says as he finally turns to kiss Shane again, tongue immediately plunging into his mouth. He breaks away. "And my very hot husband was making it difficult to think."

Shane laughs again, and then he can't stop himself from kissing Ilya again.

"You still want?" Shane manages to ask after Ilya pins him against the wall, smiling at their inside joke from the first time Ilya had ever fucked Shane.

"I still want," Ilya replies with a smirk before nipping Shane's bottom lip. He quickly soothes the sting by kissing Shane, his hands coming up to run through Shane's hair, knocking his hair tie out. 

Under normal circumstances, one (or sometimes both) of them would turn down sex when they were this fucking drunk, just because they weren't in a sober state of mind. Even though they'd been together for more than a decade and had tried a million different ways of having sex in that time, they both wanted to make sure that sex was always something they both enjoyed.

But…

These aren't normal circumstances.

They are fucking celebrating.

All night, they'd been orbiting each other, and it was obvious to Shane that, while they were enjoying the celebrations with their team, they were both looking forward to their private party at home.

Ilya's hand slides under Shane's shirt, and he tweaks one of Shane's nipples. Shane just groans into Ilya's mouth.

He breaks away from Ilya's hot mouth, which is a Herculean task that should honestly be rewarded.

"Come on," Shane says. "Let's go upstairs."

"Anything for you," Ilya replies, somehow both earnest and hungry.

He pushes Ilya forward and moves toward the stairs.

Ilya grabs him before he gets too far and lifts him up, hands cupping his ass. 

"Ilya," he says, laughing as he brings his arms up to wrap them around Ilya's shoulders. "I can walk."

"Don't care," Ilya replies, and then, he's kissing Shane again, walking them both toward the stairs.

Perhaps Ilya's idea is better.

Shane can't stop kissing his neck as Ilya carries him up the stairs. When they reach their bedroom door, Ilya kicks it open. Blessedly, the door was ajar, so Ilya won't break another door tonight. 

Shane breaks away to curse. "Shit, Ilya," he practically moans.

Ilya deposits him on a hard surface, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for Shane's inebriated and sex-fueled brain to realize that Ilya hasn't actually put him on their bed. Instead, he's now laid out on their dresser. Distantly, he realizes that they've knocked the knick-knacks they have on the dresser off, either from Ilya sliding Shane along the top of it or from Shane swiping off what was left. 

"Rozanov," he says. Ilya is currently sucking on his collarbone, clearly intent on leaving a mark. Good. "Ilya, the bed is right there."

"Too far," is Ilya's reply. He pulls Shane's shirt up and off, returning to Shane's newly exposed skin to bite his pec. 

Shane gives up on the idea of moving and instead decides that his limited brain capacity is better served doing more important things… things like getting Ilya out of those fucking clothes. He pushes up from the dresser and shoves Ilya's jacket off his shoulders before pulling off the t-shirt that reads "OTTAWA CENTAURS 2022 CUP CHAMPIONS" and smells like beer.

Ilya finally, finally stops biting and kissing down Shane's neck and shoulder to get on board, and his hands rush down to Shane's fly, flicking it open and pulling down the zipper in one smooth move.

"Up, up," Ilya says as he starts sliding Shane's jeans down his ass, grabbing his boxers in the process. Shane lies back down on the dresser and lifts his hips, and Ilya pulls them off as quickly as he can with Shane leaning up now and sucking on Ilya's ear. 

Distantly, again, Shane realizes that his bare ass is now on their dresser, and they're definitely going to have to wipe that down tomorrow. Still, Shane can't bring himself to care because Ilya is stepping back and turning away from Shane, looking back at their bed.

Shane wraps his legs around Ilya's hips and pulls, the rough glide of Ilya's clothed dick on Shane's bare skin makes him moan again.

"Where the hell," Shane gasps, breathless, "do you think you're going?"

Ilya is smirking as he leans down to kiss Shane again, and he moves down Shane's jaw, sucking marks and nipping skin along the way. 

"To get lube, moya lyubov," Ilya replies before he bites Shane's earlobe. God, they're not going to be decent at all tomorrow.

"Nuh uh," Shane says, finding the strength somewhere to push Ilya back, his hand on his chest, palm covering that stupid fucking bear tattoo. He brings his left leg up, puts it on Ilya's shoulder, and uses his heel to push Ilya down down down onto his knees. Ilya goes easily, obediently. Shane leans back on his elbows and enjoys the view of Ilya on his knees between Shane's thighs.

"You don't have time to take me to an actual bed," Shane says, smirking at Ilya. "So you clearly don't have time to grab the lube. You can open me up with your tongue, baby."

Shane blames the alcohol because he's normally not this bossy in bed, more than happy to let Ilya take the lead when it comes to sex. But if Ilya's devilish grin and the way his eyes light up are any indication — like Shane just gave him a present he didn't even know existed — he's into it.

"Fuck," is all Ilya can reply before he puts Shane's other leg on his shoulder and jerks Shane down the dresser, his ass hanging off the edge so Ilya has the perfect angle. 

He bites Shane hard on the inside of his left thigh, and Shane moans, elbows giving out and back hitting the cool top of the dresser. Blindly, he reaches down and grabs Ilya's curls, tugging his hair harder than he normally would to pull Ilya to where he needs him.

Shane hears a muffled groan before Ilya's mouth is on Shane's dick, swallowing him down halfway, causing Shane to keen loudly and pull Ilya's hair harder. Ilya doesn't seem to mind because he groans, sending vibrations down Shane's shaft.

When he pulls off a moment later, Ilya sucks two of his fingers into his mouth. He reaches down, presses a single finger to Shane's hole.

"Moy korablik," Ilya whispers before he licks a stripe up Shane's dick.

"Fuck," Shane groans as Ilya nudges the tip of his finger inside him. "Did you— ah, fuck, Ilya— did you just call me a ship?"

Ilya hums in response. "Yes," he says. "A little ship." 

Finally finally, Ilya leans forward, pressing his mouth to where Shane wants him. He feels the tip of Ilya's tongue press against Shane's hole, lapping at it all wet and sloppy. Thank god he's still loose from their romp in the shower this morning.

"What, ah, why that?" he manages to ask. Ilya's finger slides into Shane next to his tongue, and Shane gasps.

"Because," Ilya replies in between swipes of his tongue. "You just like to be so wet, Shane."

"Oh god," he groans. He is so close to coming, but he refuses to shoot off without Ilya inside him. He grips the base of his dick, hard.

For a long time, the only sounds that fill their bedroom are Ilya's mouth as he takes Shane apart with his tongue and his fingers and Shane's moans and grunts and gasps in response to Ilya's work.

When Shane can't hold off anymore, he pulls on Ilya's hair, tugging until his beautiful husband finally stops stretching his hole.

"Yes?" Ilya asks when he finally meets Shane's eyes. He's fucking sinful right now, his cheeks flushed from his arousal and his chin and mouth slick with spit. 

"I'm ready, Ilya, please," he begs. 

Ilya doesn't reply, just unbuttons his pants and slides them down, stepping out of them before kicking the clothes across the bedroom. Then, he starts making his way up Shane's body, pressing kisses into his stomach and his chest and his neck, and Shane can only close his eyes as he drowns in Ilya.

When Ilya starts kissing Shane's neck, he reaches an arm around Ilya's neck and pushes them both up.

The only problem is that as he pushes them up, Ilya stumbles, knees banging into the side of the dresser.

"Whoa," Ilya says. He presses his forehead against Shane's shoulder. "Fuck."

"Ilya?" Shane asks, voice laced with concern. He drags his fingers through Ilya's hair, gently this time. "Are you okay?"

Ilya doesn't respond immediately, just groans loudly.

"Are you hurt?" Shane asks before trying to twist off the dresser. Ilya stops him with a firm hand on his hip.

"No, am okay," Ilya replies. He's breathing heavily, and Shane doesn't believe him. "Just uh, the room was um… dancing?" His voice goes up at the end in that sweet way it does when he's not sure if he's used the right word.

"Spinning," Shane supplies with a fond smile. "The room was spinning."

"Yes, that," Ilya replies. 

"We're way too drunk for this," Shane says with a laugh. He keeps running his one hand through Ilya's hair while he rubs the other up and down Ilya's spine. He presses kisses to the top of Ilya's head, to his temple, to his forehead, wherever he can reach.

"No," Ilya says gruffly. "Just need one minute."

"Okay," Shane replies. He decides that if Ilya hasn't recovered in the next few minutes, he's putting them both in bed, their erections be damned.

When he's just about ready to call it off, Ilya reaches down and grips Shane's dick.

"Fuck," Shane replies. "Shit, that's good."

Ilya mouths at his neck, pressing kisses.

Still, Shane pauses. He valiantly pulls Ilya away from Shane's neck, forcing Ilya to meet his eyes.

Ilya's eyes are clear.

"Are you sure?" Shane asks.

"Yes," Ilya replies instantly. "Just uh, can you lay back down?"

Shane raises an eyebrow at him. "On this cold dresser that you insist you're going to fuck me on?" he asks with a grin.

Ilya rolls his eyes at him, and just like that, the heat is back.

"Also, I just remembered," Shane says as Ilya starts kissing his chest, slowly helping him lie back down. He somehow manages to open the top drawer of their dresser, and he digs around until he feels a box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

He pulls the items out, and Ilya breaks away from the impressive hickey he's creating on Shane's left pec to see the haul.

Ilya blinks as he takes in the two items.

"You sneaky brat," Ilya says in awe.

Shane just smirks at him. In return, Ilya bites his nipple just this side of painful.

"Did you know this was here?" Ilya says as he shakes the box of condoms before pulling one out. He tears it open with his teeth while he waits for Shane's response.

"Maybe," Shane replies.

Ilya rolls the condom on and drizzles lube on his fingers. "So you just wanted me to eat you out?" he asks.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Shane answers before he hisses as Ilya pushes his fingers into Shane's hole with cold lube. In response to that, he gasps, "Ass."

"Brat," Ilya says again. He drizzles more lube in his hand before coating his dick. He picks up a shirt from the ground and wipes his hand clean.

"Your brat, though," Shane replies, shooting for snarky but landing on fond instead.

Suddenly, the heat between them fades from a roaring blaze to simmering embers.

"Mine," Ilya says.

Shane grabs Ilya's left hand and presses it against his heart, Ilya's ring — the ring Shane picked out for him, the ring that says he's Shane's, the ring that matches his — cool on his warm skin. "Yours," he says. "I love you."

"I love you," Ilya replies.

Then, Shane lies back on the dresser and wraps his legs around Ilya's hips. Ilya reaches up with the hand that was on Shane's chest and shoves his fingers into his mouth. Shane moans around them.

When Ilya is satisfied, he pulls them out and pumps his slick hand down Shane's dick, coating the shaft in his own spit. And then, he leans down, forearms like brackets on either side of Shane. He kisses Shane soundly, and Shane feels Ilya carefully, gently, pressing into him.

He's, once again, struck by how tenderly Ilya Rozanov loves him.

And then, he's reminded of the fact that Ilya Rozanov is going to love him, just like this, for the rest of his life.

How lucky is he.

Soon, he loses all coherent thoughts to the pleasure that vibrates through his entire body as Ilya drives into him, again and again.

Ilya is babbling in a mix of English and Russian, I love yous spilling out of him in both languages.

Shane tightens his legs around Ilya's hips, ignoring the stinging bruise on his thigh from a blocked shot two games ago.

"Ilya," he says in a gasp as Ilya drives into him. There's a loud banging and a splintering sound that Shane can't place, too lost in the pleasure. "Ilya, 'm close, please, pleasepleaseplease."

"Me, too," Ilya replies.

"Then give it to me," Shane begs as he brings Ilya down for a kiss. Ilya kisses him as he drives in him, and then Shane's coming, eyes squeezing shut as his release splatters between their stomachs. 

"Fuck, Shane, fuck," Ilya says as he drives into Shane harder and faster, chasing his own release.

Shane suddenly starts to slide back, gravity pulling him, and he knows they are too drunk for this because Shane's world is spinning now. Luckily, Ilya wraps his arms around Shane's shoulders and holds him steady. The world feels tilted still, but at least it's not spinning anymore.

"Come on," Shane says, wrapping his own arms around Ilya's stomach and pulling up to whisper in Ilya's ear. "Let it go, baby."

And then Ilya is coming, and Shane can only hang on as they ride out the last of their high together.

Ilya slides out of Shane, and before Shane can say or do anything, Ilya is walking backwards, sweeping Shane up like he's a blushing bride and carrying him to their bathroom.

Shane doesn't fight it this time, letting Ilya put him on the counter as his husband goes to the shower and turns on the water. He gets rid of the condom while the water warms up, and then he reaches into the shower, testing the temperature.

When he's satisfied, Ilya comes back for Shane and helps him into the shower, and he groans as the warm water hits his back.

Ilya grabs Shane's favorite shampoo and gently massages his hair, careful not to get soap in his eyes, then gently guides Shane's head under the spray to rinse. When he finishes, Shane returns the favor. Ilya runs conditioner through Shane's hair, and then Shane does the same to Ilya. They stand under the water together, letting the warm water wash over their aching bodies, and it's just… quiet. Peaceful, even, as they both wash off the day.

The day.

They won the fucking Cup today.

Or, last night. Whatever.

Before he really realizes he's doing it, Shane starts giggling.

"Sweetheart?" Ilya asks with a smile.

Shane can't answer him, just rests his head on Ilya's shoulder as he shakes with unbridled, infectious laughter.

He feels Ilya start laughing, too, and they're just standing in the shower, water pouring over them as they both dissolve into hysterics.

"We did it," he finally manages between giggles. "We won the fucking Cup."

Ilya's laughter subsides first, and he presses a kiss into Shane's wet hair.

"We did," Ilya replies. "And we did it together."

Shane pulls back slightly and just looks at Ilya.

And it's at that exact moment that his stomach rolls.

"Shit," he says before he covers his mouth and gets out of the shower as quickly as he can.

He barely manages to make it to the toilet before he's losing the entirety of his stomach.

As he retches, he hears Ilya turn the water off, and he feels Ilya drape a fluffy towel over Shane's back.

Eventually, he sits on the ground next to Shane, his hair wet and his sweatpants damp in places where he pulled them on before completely drying off.

"Ugh," Shane finally says when he thinks his stomach is empty. "Dykstra and his fucking jello shots."

"Yeah," Ilya says gently, bringing up a hand to run through Shane's wet hair. Shane leans into the warm touch. "Can you get up?"

Shane nods, and then Ilya helps him stand, hand gripping Shane's elbow to help him balance. He lets Ilya lean him against the sink and lets him wrap Shane in a dry towel. While he gingerly towels off, Ilya digs out a cheap toothbrush because he knows that Shane will want to brush his teeth, just not with his normal toothbrush because puke is gross.

Ilya puts toothpaste on both of their toothbrushes, and they stand side by side as they brush. When they're finished, Shane manages to put on some of his favorite lotion while Ilya goes into their adjoining closet and comes back with a t-shirt and boxers for Shane. 

When he's dressed, Ilya asks, "Okay?"

Shane nods. "Sleep will help."

"Then let's do that," Ilya replies.

They stumble to their bed in the dark, and Shane is so glad that they didn't fuck on the bed, not that he'll ever tell Ilya that. The sheets are cool against his skin, and he rolls onto Ilya as soon as they're both covered, somehow still desperate for Ilya, still craving his warm skin pressed against him. He rests his head on Ilya's chest, the steady rhythm of his heart acting as a lullaby for Shane.

If he could figure out how to do it, he'd crawl inside Ilya's skin, make himself a home in his heart. He knows, without a doubt, that he would be safe there.

"Shane," Ilya says abruptly.

Shane, who was near sleep, hums in reply.

"Thank you," Ilya says.

"For what?" Shane asks.

He feels Ilya swallow. "For coming to Ottawa. For loving this team. For getting us a Cup."

Shane sits up as quickly as he can without running the risk of puking again. 

"Ilya," Shane says. He puts a hand on Ilya's cheek, thumb running along his beautiful cheekbones. "Baby, listen to me."

Ilya blinks up at Shane, his blue eyes wide.

Shane continues. "Ilya, this team was going to win the Cup this year with or without me."

He's not surprised when Ilya starts shaking his head in disagreement, but Shane presses his hand firmer against Ilya's cheek.

"No, I'm serious," Shane says. "This team, Ilya, they would follow you into a goddamn war. They love you, and they trust you. You took that love, that trust, and you told them you believed in them. You accepted them as they are, and you told them they could win."

Ilya's eyes are growing wet, but that's okay. Shane can carry this for Ilya.

"And because you're you and because you're an amazing captain, you're probably thinking that they could have done it without you." If the way Ilya manages to smile, just barely, Shane knows he's on the right track. "And you may be right, but that doesn't take anything away from all that you accomplished."

Ilya brings his hand up and places it on top of Shane's. 

"You took a lump of clay and molded it into something extraordinary," Shane continues. "You created a family, and then you led them to victory. That was all you."

"Shane," Ilya says, voice shaky as tears finally fall down his face. Shane wipes them away.

"I should be thanking you," Shane says.

"For what?"

Shane just smiles. "For letting me be a part of it."

"Oh," Ilya says, and that's all he gets out before Shane leans down and kisses him.

They kiss for a few minutes before Ilya breaks away. "I love you," he says.

"Ya lyublyu tebya," Shane replies. "Now let's sleep."

Ilya tucks Shane against his chest and wraps both arms around him, holding him tight and safe.

Shane falls asleep easily, like slipping into a warm bath on a cold night.

------------------------

Too early, Shane blinks awake to blinding sun and chirping birds.

He groans loudly and then rolls over to snuggle back into Ilya, only to find his husband isn't there.

"Fuck," Shane grumbles.

In his half-awake state, he takes stock of his body. His head is pounding. His left knee is throbbing. His shoulder is stiff, likely from sleeping in the same position for too long. His mouth is incredibly dry, his tongue sticking to his teeth and the roof of his mouth every time he tries to move it. He's starving, and he distantly remembers that he puked up what little food he ate last night. He also has to piss.

"Fuck," Shane repeats.

He heroically manages to get out of bed and make it to the bathroom to relieve himself, but even that proves to be too much. He finishes up and washes his hands, debating whether he should try to find Ilya or if he should just crawl back into bed.

He decides to crawl back into bed, even though he's really grumpy that his husband wandered off.

He's just burrowed back under the covers when he hears Ilya come into the room. Well, there's one problem solved.

"Sweetheart," Ilya says. He sounds gravely, too, but Shane is too comfy under the covers to pop his head out to check. "Moy lyubimyy, can you please show me your beautiful face?"

Begrudgingly, Shane pulls the covers down so he can see Ilya.

Even though Ilya looks like death warmed over with his too pale skin and bags under his squinting eyes, he's still the most perfect thing Shane has ever seen.

That is, until he sees that Ilya has a blue Gatorade and a plate with two pieces of toast on it.

"Oh my god, I love you so much," Shane says in a rush, his voice cracking at the end from disuse.

Ilya just smiles as he hands the plate and drink to Shane, who immediately opens the Gatorade and takes a big swig.

"Fuck, that's good," he says after he's drained a quarter of the bottle easily.

"Thought that might help," Ilya replies as he settles into bed next to Shane. "Oh, and I brought Tylenol."

Shane sets the plate down in his lap and makes grabby hands at Ilya, who drops two pills into his hand. He swallows them with another swig of Gatorade.

"Eat that," Ilya says as he gently pulls Shane to rest against his chest. "You have nothing in your stomach."

Shane can't even be bothered to care that he might get crumbs in their bed. That's a problem for future Shane and Ilya. He eats a corner of one piece of toast and washes it down with more Gatorade, before he starts sharing with Ilya, feeding him bites in between his own sips. They sit in a comfortable silence as they slowly finish everything.

When he's done, he puts the plate on the bedside table, and Ilya tosses the empty bottle in the general direction of the hallway. Normally, he'd complain about it, but that would involve talking, which would definitely still hurt, so he just leans further into Ilya. He's hoping to grab a couple more hours of sleep when a memory flashes in his brain.

Eyes still closed, he says, "You broke the front door last night."

"Yes," is all Ilya replies.

"You kicked it open," Shane continues.

"In my defense," Ilya says. "My husband was being very sexy and wouldn't stop kissing me."

Shane starts to reply with something about Ilya's excuse being shit, but at that moment, Ilya's phone starts ringing loudly.

It feels like knives stabbing his brain.

"Ugh," Shane says as Ilya leans away. "Make it stop."

Ilya quickly silences the phone, and then he clicks through a few screens before he starts typing away quickly.

"Who was it?" Shane asks after Ilya stops typing.

"Yuna," Ilya replies. "Checking to see if we are alive."

"Why is she calling so early?" Shane asks.

"Hollander, it is nearly 1 pm," Ilya says with a laugh. His phone dings with a new text. "She says she tried to call you, but it kept going straight to voicemail."

"Phone is dead," Shane replies, suddenly remembering. He ignores that thought in favor of trying to tuck himself further into the warmth of Ilya's chest. Ilya, the bastard, won't hold Shane properly while he replies to Yuna. Thankfully, he puts the phone on the bedside table when he's done and pulls Shane into his chest, hands immediately resting on the top of Shane's aching head, fingers carefully running through his hair. "Should probably fix that," Shane finishes when he remembers what words are.

"Yes," Ilya replies as he gently runs his hands through Shane's hair. "So people do not think you are dead."

"I think I might be dead," Shane says. "I don't think I've ever been this hungover."

"Tragic," Ilya replies. "Russians do not get hangovers."

Shane groans at the blatant lie and shoves him with as much force as he can muster. "Fuck you," Shane says. "I hate you."

"No, you do not," Ilya replies in a sing-songy voice that is doing nothing for Shane's aching head.

"Yes, I do," Shane says adamantly. He manages to shove himself off of Ilya's chest and crosses his arms instead of touching Ilya. "I'm filing for divorce."

"Good, then I can finally marry Svetlana," Ilya says with a smirk.

Shane just glares at him.

And then he rolls over, his back to Ilya, and buries himself under the covers.

"Divorce," Shane finally says. "We're getting divorced. I'm filing the papers tomorrow, and I'm taking Anya."

He hears Ilya gasp, and he can't keep the smile off his face as the covers are suddenly ripped back. And then Ilya is in his space, kissing his face wherever he can reach.

"Noooo, moya lyubov, I won't marry Svetlana," Ilya says in between kisses. "Don't take Anya!"

"I knew this was about the dog!" Shane replies, more adamantly than he should, especially considering how much his head hurts.

"It's not just about the dog," Ilya says.

Shane pouts. It's a dirty move, and he knows it, but he also doesn't care. Sometimes, he just likes to see Ilya's adoration for him plainly expressed on his face.

As predicted, Ilya folds immediately, leaning into Shane's space and peppering kisses along his face.

"Sweetheart, I could never marry Svetlana," Ilya says. "Who would yell at me about leaving dirty socks everywhere?"

Shane rolls his eyes and pulls away from Ilya. "Oh, so you just want me because I nag you?" Shane asks. "Wow, so romantic."

"Yes, but also because you are very good at blowjobs."

"So you're just using me?"

"Nooooo, I love you," Ilya says, whining. God, he's so cute. "I want to be married to you!"

"Not sure that's good enough," Shane replies, barely suppressing a smile.

"What if I make pancakes?" Ilya asks, grinning sweetly. 

Oh, how Shane adores him.

Still, he pretends to consider Ilya's offer. "I want blueberries in mine," Shane finally says.

"Ugh, Hollander, why must you always sneak extra vitamins into perfectly good meals?" 

"Blueberries in my pancakes or no deal, Rozanov," Shane replies, playing like he's not going to back down.

"Fine," Ilya says with a dramatic groan. "But I'm putting chocolate chips in mine."

And Shane can't help himself. He really can't. He pulls Ilya close to him and presses a chaste kiss to his lips, mindful of morning breath. When he's satisfied, he pulls away but keeps his forehead pressed against Ilya's.

"Okay," he says. "It's a deal."

"It's a deal," Ilya replies.

Ilya pulls him out of bed, and Shane goes over to their dresser to get some sweatpants.

Except… one of the legs on the dresser is broken, and the whole thing is now leaning at a weird angle. 

"What happened to the dresser?" he asks. 

He and Ilya both stare at it.

"I do not remember," Ilya finally says. "But I guess it happened when I fucked you."

Ilya looks at Shane then, gives him a lopsided grin, and then Ilya laughs. Shane, enamored with his husband, laughs, too.

And then he winces.

"Shit," Shane says, fingers pressed to his temple.

"Come on," Ilya replies, pulling Shane's fingers away from his head and lacing them with his own. "Let's get you some food."

Food, yeah. That sounds good.