Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Fix-It, Vegas fix-it, 2014 MLH Awards in Las Vegas (Game Changers), Shane Hollander Speaks Russian, No Angst, Kissing, Sex, Shane Hollander is Obsessed With Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Secret Relationship, Established Relationship, these boys sit finally sit down to DTR and accidentally end up married, Communication, Woops, freak4freak can be about the romance, bullshitting how the government works, polaroids, Wedding, Marriage, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, the cottage, Domestic Fluff, Domestic

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of a little more romeo, a little more juliet

Collections:

Zulie's Best of Heated Rivalry, No thoughts just gay hockey, The best pairings to bask in

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-11 Completed: 2026-02-18 Words: 9,982 Chapters: 5/5

don't be afraid (we'll make it out of this mess)

Summary

The thought of never kissing Shane again, of going the rest of their lives as strangers who once knew each other in the most intimate way - Ilya wants to throw up. Shane is right. So if he can be brave, Ilya can be honest.

Notes

they're so romeo and juliet i wrote a fix-it series. and im going to bring it up several more times. especially now that we're onto the main fic.
for now: our boys are going to take a hammer to the glass elephant in the room, freaky style, because they cant be normal about anything. i love them.

Chapter 1: the elephant in the room is sick of your shit

June 2014

This whole thing was bullshit. At least Ilya had gotten the pleasure of taking a picture of the two of them in public; his hand smoothing the tension out of Shane’s back enough to get a picture right when his smile went softer and real. It was the first photo either of them had ever taken together, the thought settled like a stone. 

He focused back on Shane, rubbing hands up and down his back. Ilya had followed Shane straight to the bathroom when they had been released from the stage, where he was now leaning heavily against the locked door, half an ear on the world outside, the rest of his attention on his- on Shane. Shane, who had immediately buried his head into Ilya's neck, breathing heavily. 

“It’s ok, solnyshko. You are good here,” Ilya whispers reassurances into Shane’s hair. His breathing eventually evens out and when it does, Ilya pulls his head up to look at him. He was so beautiful; Ilya had to kiss him. 

“Better?” Shane nods, letting his forehead fall against Ilya’s. 

“Good. Now get on your knees.” Shane rears back. 

“What the fuck, asshole!” Ilya doesn’t hold in his laughter. 

“Don’t worry, kotenok. I will not make you get on dirty bathroom floor.” Shane is still glaring at him. Angry kitten face. Very cute. 

“You’re still an asshole.” Ilya leans in and kisses him again, feeling Shane melt. 

Ilya has to be the one that pulls back, steadying them on their feet and smoothing out Shane’s suit. 

“We will go and watch stupid, boring awards, then we go to stupid, boring party, and tonight, when I win MVP, you will do whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want?” Shane challenges, “What if I win?”

Ilya smirks, “Nice try, kotenok. But, ok, if you win, we do what you want.”

Neither of them are surprised when Ilya wins. Not after his hockey performance post-Olympics. Skating like he had something to prove and doing exactly that with the Stanley Cup. 

They're laying in bed later and Ilya is mentally reviewing what is some of the best sex they’ve ever had — and the bar is high — when Shane shifts against him far earlier than his post-multi-orgasm laze usually allows. 

“Ilya.” His voice alerts Ilya to something wrong, “Ilya, I feel… I feel weird.”

That has Ilya lifting his head from Shane's chest to look at him properly, “Hurt?”

“No? I don’t know,” Shane feels floaty, but the edges of that pleasure are tinged with an unfriendly static. “M’head, feels…”

Ilya lets himself review the last few hours, trying to find what could have caused Shane to drop. He alights on what had been missing since Shane arrived in penthouse 1 and he cannot let the night go on any longer without remedy. Ilya brackets Shane's head with his arms, letting as many points of contact as possible exist, “Prosti menya, kotenok.”

Shane relaxes into the kiss, tension bleeding out of him. “Forgive me. I never forget again.” Words peppered with kisses, lips never leaving Shane's face or lips. How could he have forgotten to kiss Shane? It’s his favorite thing to do. Ilya resolves this to never happen again, and a small, warm feeling settles in him around the fact that Shane told him — trusts Ilya to take care of him. 

“I take care of you, yes? No сабдроп allowed.” Ilya dragged Shane to the edge of the bed as gently as he could so he could carry him to the shower. Settled on the toilet, Shane whined when Ilya had to pull away to turn on the warm water. Ilya kept up a steady stream of encouragement in Russian. 

Once under the warm spray, the routine of Ilya washing him seemed to settle Shane further. Ilya made sure to continue placing kisses everywhere he washed. 

Back in bed, limbs tangled, Shane comes back enough to say, “Spasibo.”

Ilya looks up at him from where he’s been resting on Shane’s chest, “I’m sorry,” His voice is a little hoarse. “I did not mean to-“

“I’m ok, Ilya. You fixed it. I’m ok,” Shane reaches to pull Ilya up to his lips. 

“You know what happened.” It’s a statement and question in one. 

“Yeah, I, uh, looked it up once. Well,” Shane blushes, “I was doing, um, you know, research. And I came across it. Read a lot about it, and other things.”

Ilya looks delighted, “Shane Hollander did sex research.”

“Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Nooo,” Ilya growls. “I stay right here. You are stuck with me.”

Shane laughs at his antics. “God, how did that happen?”

“Because you secretly like to break rules.”

“Not true. I actually love rules. I’m very by-the-book.”

Ilya pushes himself up to leer over Shane, “No, no book, just Shane Hollander breaking rules in secret.”

“Well maybe if there was a playbook for falling in love with your rival—”

Shane promptly forgets whatever he was going to say because Ilya freezes above him, and his brain processes what he just said, “Um.” 

Eyes wide, unsure of if he should start taking it back or if Ilya is going to say something. They've never talked directly about this. They've mastered the art of being honest while talking around it, never directly addressing the elephant by name. So it sat in the corner of every room they were in. But, Shane reasoned, they said exclusive two years ago now. They showered together after sex, had been to each other's homes, more recently started planning around days off to see each other. Jesus Christ they were dumb. 

Ilya makes the decision for him by kissing him hard; a reassurance and answer all at once. This is the easiest language for them to speak, a fall back when verbal words are too hard or not enough. Ilya's mumbling in Russian against Shane's lips, never quite pulling back between kisses. When he does, it's to say, ya tebya lyublyu in a soft, choked voice, eyes shiny.

Shane pulls him in for another kiss, gentler this time. “Ya tebya lyublyu” he echos, “God, Ilya, I love you.”

Ilya buries his face into Shane's neck, lets the other man wrap his arms around Ilya's shoulders, holding him against his chest. 

“I'm scared,” admits Ilya in a small voice. Shane just strokes his fingers through curly hair and waits. This is Ilya's confession. 

Without moving any more than turning his head so his voice is audible he continues, “Of how much I want you. What it means for us and Russia and-” He cuts himself off with a huff, continuing in Russian, “I’m scared of how willing I am to leave my home behind, because it doesn't feel like home anymore. Terrified that someone will find out and take you away from me. I feel safe here, when you hold me, and I want it forever. I’ve never wanted anything more. I want someone to tell me I can have it, have this, because I love you more than I know what to do with.”

His face presses back into Shane's neck, breath stuttering. “Ilya. Ilya, look at me.”

He only presses further into Shane. Like he could just crawl inside him and solve every issue by fusing themselves together. Shane doesn't let him hide very long, he never does, and Ilya finds himself on his back. Shane is kissing his face, cheeks, eyes, nose, over and over. He pulls back to look at Ilya, watery eye to watery eye, “I think I got most of that.”

Of course he did. Because Shane had always let Russia exist around them. He didn't flinch away from it or force Ilya to suppress it. When Ilya needed to use his first language, Shane listened, encouraged him even. Before he could translate words, he could understand tone, and only asked for translations occasionally, when he felt he needed to make sure. 

“You make me feel brave, Ilya.” Shane whispers, “We don't talk about this, but we need to. So I'm going to be brave. Do you want this Ilya? Us? Because I want it so bad, it's killing me. And we’re either in this together or not at all. I'm not letting anything be left unsaid, no matter how this ends.”

Ilya understands, they have to decide tonight if this is forever or never again. Or Shane will have to walk out of the door and leave them both heartbroken and they will only see each other for hockey and at hockey events. The thought of never kissing Shane again, of going the rest of their lives as strangers who once knew each other in the most intimate way - Ilya wants to throw up. Shane is right. So if he can be brave, Ilya can be honest. 

“You are easy, Shane.” He sees an eyebrow raise, trying to figure out if the double entendre was intentional - it wasn't. He clarifies, “Hockey is complicated, Russia is complicated, rivalry is complicated, other people out there,” he gestures vaguely, reminding them both of the full hotel around them. 

“You are easy, Shane. Easiest thing in my life. Here, when we are Shane and Ilya. We can just… be.” The look Shane is giving him bolsters his next words, “I want us Shane, so bad. I want forever. I want us to work, I want more. And I don't know how to have it.”

“Marry me.” Ilya stops breathing, “I mean- just. Fuck. You have me Ilya, you've always had me, remember? Tvoy. You can have me forever, and we can work on all the complicated stuff together. One of those is Russia, and safety, and I just- I love you, ya tebya lyublyu. We've never said what we are and my brain said it would be easier to keep you safe with a new passport. Then if anyone finds out, they can't take you away. It wouldn’t fix everything, but it would un-complicate some of the big things and—”

Ilya cuts him off by kissing him again, pushing up until he has Shane sitting in his lap, arms around each other, foreheads resting together, “Da. Da, yes Shane. I will marry you.”

“Really?” Ilya wants to laugh at this man and roll his eyes. 

“Yes really. Shane, you could have proposed on the floor of the dirty gym and I would have said yes. I'm yours too, since we met.” Shane does laugh at that. Small giggles are music to Ilya’s ears as he kisses Ilya again, more smiling against each other than swapping spit. 

“Holy shit, we just got engaged.” It's a statement and a question, followed by a delighted, if hysterical, laugh. “Holy shit. We went from something to engaged in like 15 minutes. There's so much to do.”

His Shane, already making plans. Taking a problem, finding a solution and making a plan. He pokes his fiance - fiance! and says, “Good thing my fiance is good at making plans.” 

He feels entirely too giddy at the feeling that word provokes in him. That Shane-shaped space in his heart is overflowing. He stops himself from thinking the words future husband because he might actually explode or orgasm. Or both, but that would be bad, he cant explode before he spends the rest of his life (holy shit!) with Shane Hollander. 

Shane has another look in his eye, the one he gets when Ilya has just said something that made him unexpectedly horny. Good thing him and Shane are always in the same chapter, and can usually find themselves on the same page. 

“We have engaged sex now?” He gets a moan when he flips them again. 

“I have to-" Ilya cuts off the thought with a hand around his hard dick. 

“No. First I fuck my fiance until he cannot think, then we make plan.” And he does exactly that. He kisses down Shane's body, working him up and open. Setting a slow pace and fucking his fiance like the most precious thing in the world.

Chapter 2: teamwork

Chapter Notes

I realized that it would be possible to adjust my posting schedule around valentines day, so here's something to tide you over until tomorrow.

Kisses!

Waking up next to Shane was always nice. Waking up next to his fiance was amazing. Mind-blowing. The best way to wake up; Ilya never wanted to do anything else. His fiance was still dead to the world — a rare occurrence that Ilya always took every advantage of. Today he just stared at Shane. Tracing his face with his eyes and drinking in every freckle he could see in high definition. One day he would finish counting them, maybe tie Shane up so he couldn’t distract Ilya from his task. 

Shane stirs, opening his eyes to see Ilya smiling adoringly down at him. The haze of sleep still coated his eyes and voice, “Dobroye utro. We got engaged last night.”

“Yes, we did,” Ilya is rubbing his back.

“Oh good, I thought it might have been a dream again.”

“You dream about us getting married, Hollander?”

“All the time.” Ilya rolls them so he can kiss Shane into the mattress. They’re both giggling, unable to keep smiles off their faces, as they kiss and kiss and kiss again. They don’t turn heated very quickly, just two boys basking in the glow of something previously unnamed. The yearly MLH awards are a favorite of both Ilya and Shane. A rarity they get to indulge in. There is nowhere to be in the morning, no obligations to be present for, and a convenient reason to be in the same place. 

This particular morning is no different, except everything is. Shane’s nails rake gently up his back, making him shiver. Ilya takes his cue to move to Shane’s neck, licking, biting, and kissing the skin exposed. Shane is moaning, fingers tight in Ilya’s hair. As he moves down Shane’s chest, he takes great pleasure in sinking his teeth directly into Shane’s pec, to the side of his nipple, earning him a shout and Shane arching into him. Ilya can feel his arousal and decides this is the perfect time to suck his fiance's brains out of his dick. So he does, sinking down and hollowing his cheeks. 

He has to pin Shane’s hips into the mattress to keep him from shoving his dick too far down Ilya’s throat. Not that Ilya would ever complain about that, but he wants to maintain some semblance of control right now. But the idea of his fiance fucking his face slams into him hard and he moans. The idea might be too tempting to pass us, at least completely. 

He can feel Shane about to come, so he releases Shane’s hips to grab at his chest and lets himself choke when Shane’s hips arch off the mattress. 

“Hmmm, so good for me,” praises Ilya, pressing a kiss to Shane’s hip. He pulls himself up to kneel over Shane, stripping his own cock until he comes, then collapsing next to his fiance.

“I wanted to blow you,” Shane complains.

“After shower, lyubimyy.” 

—

Post-shower finds Shane on his phone instead, making a list of things and opening as many tabs as is allowed. He thinks he might have three separate emails drafted. He’s scrolling through the Canadian Government’s Immigration page when Ilya says something from where he’s lying against Shane, doing something on his phone. 

“How fast?” Shane hums, not fully tearing his attention away from his task. “How fast can we get married?”

That gets his attention, “What? I don’t know, why? I’m reading-”

“Can we get married next Friday?” Ilya cuts him off. Shane looks down at him.

“Friday?” Ilya nods, suddenly looking embarrassed. “Why Friday, malysh?”

“Friday is June 27th.” Shane just looks at him, waiting for an explanation. Ilya just sighs and types something into his phone before showing it to Shane. On the screen is the google page for june 27 2009 mlh. The top result is their picture from draft day. Understanding dawns on Shane — next Friday will be exactly five years since their first kiss. 

“We’re getting married on Friday,” he decides, turning back to his phone and pulling up one of those emails. “I think we need to tell Farah. And get you an agent that isn’t Russian. I think she would sign you, and it would be better, I think, to have the same agent.” 

He means to keep going until his phone is plucked out of his hands, Ilya holding it out of reach. “You are very cute. You are also talking very fast.”

Shane forces himself to take a deep breath, pulling his fiance in for a kiss, “I would like to get married on Friday. Our five year anniversary is very romantic, I like it.” He feels Ilya melt, “I also think you need a new agent and I think you should sign with mine. We need to tell Farah about us. She’s under contract and she’ll be able to help us secretly file paperwork.”

Ilya nods, “Ok. Yes. Good idea to not have Russian agent. And we tell your agent to help with paperwork. You are very calm about telling.” He’s right, Shane should be freaking out a lot more. But sometime between getting engaged and googling residency laws in Canada, he successfully went through all five stages of grief and settled on (anxious) common sense.

“I’ve been putting together everything we need, but I want —need— everything to be perfect. No leaks, nothing. I really don’t want to tell anyone before we’re completely safe, but we need help. We’ve got a few options, but we should talk it over and probably ask someone who knows what they’re doing. And, like I said, Farah is under contract with me. She’s the safest person to tell,” Shane is a little out of breath, Ilya processing his words.

“Yes. We tell her. No one else?” He asks. Shane shakes his head.

“No one else. Once you have a passport or permanent residency we can talk about telling people, but no matter how much I want to trust people...” Shane chews on his lip. “It’s easier to keep a secret when fewer people know. And I want to keep you to myself a little longer,” he confesses quietly. “Besides, who would we tell? Our teammates?”

Ilya lays his head back in Shane’s lap, “Yes, we invite Voyagers and Bears to wedding and say ‘surprise!’ Shane Hollander and I are in love and you can’t do anything.”

“Can you imagine the looks on their faces?”

“Yes, very surprised.” Ilya pauses, “Tvoi roditeli? Do you want to tell them?”

Shane hesitates. Truthfully, he’s already considered this, “No. I love them, and I know they love me. But… I don’t know how they’ll react to you. And that scares me the most I think. I don’t want one more thing that changes how they see me. I also don’t want this,” he gestures to the two of them, “to become another thing to manage. Or something else. I worry it’ll become something to be managed, to worry about. It stresses me out, honestly, the thought of doing damage control. Another thing that needs to be perfect and prepared for…” His chest is heaving now. Ilya sits up quickly, pulling him into his arms, hand finding the nape of his neck.

“Hey, hey, lyubimyy. Is ok, I am here. You are safe.” He repeats his words in Russian, then again, until Shane’s breathing is normal.

“Sorry.”

“No sorry, solynshko. Not to me,” Ilya keeps holding him tight, rhythmically squeezing Shane’s neck. “Ya ponimayu. Parents are hard, yes?”

Shane takes a moment, “I wish I could tell them. I wish I could just bring you home and introduce you and it would be normal,” There’s a slight bitterness to his voice. “They’ll ask how long? and then it will turn into me not trusting them and how much it hurt them. And then it’ll turn into questions: why him? and then it’ll turn into marketing and—”

“Damage control,” Ilya finishes. 

“Yeah. I hate the idea of defending us. I shouldn’t have to. It’s so hard when everyone wants me to be mean to you, or when they call you names and expect me to agree. Like, I know you’re an asshole, but you’re also the best thing in my life, and I’m scared no one will see it. Scared that no one will trust me, or trust you with me, like I’m some child and not a grown man capable of making his own decisions.”

“Ya ponimayu. I feel same. Why him, Ilya? You can have anyone, Ilya, what is so special about Shane Hollander? I think they are crazy to not see. They are blind, you are perfect. I have hottest man and second best hockey player in my bed. I get to marry him and take him away from everybody. I don’t want anyone, I want Shane Hollander.” Ilya leans in a little more, like he’s trying to share a secret, “Best part is Shane Hollander wants me too. He is much too good for me, but he insisted. I know Shane Hollander only deserves best, and he says I am best, so I will marry him and take him away. Rest of world will cry because they want him and can’t have him.”

The tears in Shane’s eyes are beautiful, “I love you.” He’s smiling again, pulling Ilya down to lay his head back in Shane’s lap, scratching his scalp, “So we tell Farah. I’ll send her an email to set up a meeting. Your flight is back to Boston or Moscow?”

“Boston, flight is tonight.” Shane nods. 

“If you want to get married on Friday, we should meet with Farah soon. When do you want to fly up to Montreal?”

Ilya doesn’t hesitate, “Monday morning. I will book flight now.”

They work in silence for a few minutes. 

“Farah says Tuesday morning works for her.” Ilya confirms his flight, forwarding the email to Shane. 

“What else?” asks Ilya. “You have plan, tell me plan.”

“We meet with Farah to go over fastest residency options and figure out how to file privately. We’ll have to schedule a time to go to the courthouse.” Ilya is giving Shane his full attention. “There’s a lot of requirements there too, but that’s still all paperwork. Do you—” he pauses, “I don’t know how it would work, with hockey and keeping it secret, but do you want rings?”

Ilya’s whole face lit up, “Yes. Yes, rings. I will take care of rings. Figure it out.”

“I would like rings too. Even if we can only wear them in private.” Something twists in him at the idea. He wants the world to know he’s taken. Wants to wear Ilya Rozanov’s ring in public. 

“My job. I will do rings. Have idea, maybe.” Shane looks at him questioningly. Ilya just nods decisively, “You do paperwork, lyubimyy, I find rings, yes? Two people to do two things for one reason. Muzh i zhena — odin satana.”

“What does that mean?” Shane is sure he translated wrong. 

“Means, uh, we are together, like team. Share mistakes and share wins.” Shane smiles. A team, him and Ilya were a team. Of course they were, they probably always had been. And now there was going to be irrefutable evidence, legally binding paperwork filed—hopefully—deep in an archive in Ontario, and no one could do anything about it. The thought untwists the knot in his chest. 

“We make a great team. Ilya and Shane Hollander-Rozanov, husbands.”

“Everyone should be very happy we are not on same hockey team,” Ilya says, moving up his fiance’s body to claim his mouth. “We have time still, yes? Before flights?” 

Shane doesn’t bother replying, but mentally adds shared calendar to his list while Ilya kisses him. Everything else can wait.

Chapter 3: the whole time!?

Chapter Notes

double update?

Ilya and Shane sat on the couch in Shane’s Montreal apartment, fully dressed, and waiting for 11am, when Farah would join the Skype call. 

Ilya set a comforting hand on Shane’s knee to ground him. Still, neither of them spoke, content to wait anxiously together in the silence. When Farah joined the call, Ilya made sure his body was out of frame, letting his fiance say hello.

“Yes, Shane,” Farah says, “I can keep a secret. You pay me to keep your secrets. Even from your parents,” She tacked on, clearly confused about whatever Shane was going to tell her, but sensing it was important.

“How quickly can I file a marriage license? And can it be done discreetly?” Shane has clearly decided to just rip the bandaid off. To her credit, Farah doesn’t flinch.

“Shane, did you get married in Vegas?” She asks, eyebrow raised.

“No. Just engaged.” They’re both just staring at each other now, through the screen.

“Ok. You got engaged. And you need to get discreetly and quickly married. Is someone pregnant?” Ilya has to stifle a laugh in his palm while Shane’s face goes red. 

“No one is pregnant, but yes. You’re kinda the only other person that will know. We can’t risk it leaking to anyone,” Says Shane, “Not even my parents.”

Farah nods, “You’re not in any trouble?”

Shane shakes his head. Ilya squeezes his hand in silent support and Shane looks over at him, steeling himself for the scary part of the conversation.

“I’m gay,” he says, still looking at Ilya. “I’m marrying a man and it would be bad for our careers if it got out, but it would be more dangerous for him if he was outed.”

“I see. Thank you for telling me, Shane.” Shane looks back at her; she’s smiling softly, “Is he another athlete?”

Shane just decides to set the laptop back on the coffee table, putting the fiances in full view when he leans back. Ilya’s hand finds Shane’s knee. Farah can’t keep the look of shock off her face, but it’s quickly schooled.

“Oh, I see. Yes, that would be something to keep a secret from as many people as possible.” She seems to be doing something on the second laptop to the side, “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve already looked into, marriage-wise?”

So they talk, Shane and Farah. Ilya keeps up his steady support from Shane’s side, the English too complicated for him to follow. It takes almost two hours, but by the end, they’ve come to several decisions. In addition to agreeing to become his agent, Farah will also be able to seal the marriage license from prying eyes, as well as the permanent residency paperwork, claiming political asylum. Shane, as his spouse, will be able to sponsor him, making it easier to keep working while fulfilling his requirements for citizenship. Farah informs them that she’ll have a better timeline once she can talk to her contacts and paperwork is filed, but Canada is consistent so it will only be 3-5 years. Closer to five, she says, but it’s something. She also promises to find a private courthouse and someone to officiate, promising that they will be able to get married on Friday. It’s one less thing to stress about.

“Now, meeting out of the way. Can I ask why Friday? You mentioned it was important, is there a reason why?” Ilya can’t blame her for being curious, especially because she has been nothing but professional. He looks at Shane and meets his eyes, silently coming to an agreement. 

“Google our names and June 27,” Ilya says. It’s the first time he’s spoken directly to Farah today, having let Shane take the lead. Farah does and laughs.

“You want to get married on your draft day?” Ilya grins.

“No. We want to get married on day of first kiss.” Shane isn’t suppressing his grin beside him. Farah’s mouth drops open with a choked off snort.

“Oh my god. Oh. My. God.” The delight is radiating off of her, “The whole time? You’ve been together since your draft day?”

“Yes. Kind of.”

“That is awesome. I’m happy for you boys, seriously. Your secret is safe with me. I’ll get everything done on my end and keep you updated via email.” She says goodbye and then she’s gone. Shane and Ilya breathe a sigh of relief. That went well.

It’s well past lunch now, so Ilya stands, presses a kiss to Shane’s hair and heads to the kitchen.

“I was thinking about building a cottage,” Shane says, once they’re tucked into food. “In Ottawa, like, for the summer. My parents have one up on the lake that I spent summers in growing up. And it would be nice to have a private home, a house to go back to where no one can bother us.”

Ilya likes that idea, “Mr. Landlord. You want to build a house.”

“I was thinking it could be our summer home, for the off-season. You need a Canadian address, we need a private place. I don’t have anything built yet, just plans and I’ve been looking at property to build on. I’d like you to help.”

Shane probably has more plans for the cottage than he’s telling Ilya. 

“You want help with plan for your cottage?” Ilya only means that Shane can be very particular about details Ilya doesn’t care about, but Shane’s next words warm him anyway. 

“I’d like your input for our house,” Shane emphasizes. “A place only we, and the Canadian Government, know about.”

“Of course, solnyshko. Our house,” Ilya agrees. “You will help me pick house in Boston for us, Mr. Real Estate.”

“You already have an apartment.”

“Yes. But maybe I sell it and we get house. More private, something we both pick, yes?” Shane gives him that look again, and nods. 

—

Thursday night finds them tangled on the couch together. They’ve spent the last few days alternating mostly between filling out the paperwork their agent sends them, fucking, and designing their cottage.  

“We’re getting married tomorrow.” Shane looks up from his spot on Ilya’s chest to catch his eye.

“Da. Muzh’ya.” They’ve lost count of how many times they’ve said it. “I have something for you.”

Ilya sits them up, setting Shane aside on the couch, and heading to the bedroom. He returns with a package that had arrived this morning while Shane was in the shower. Ilya settles back on the couch to open it, Shane hooking his chin over Ilya’s shoulder to watch. 

“What did you get?” He asks. Ilya pulls out two black velvet boxes from the bubble wrap. He’s on his knees in front of Shane before he can react. 

“I said I have idea. For rings,” he starts, and opens one of the boxes to reveal a simple gold band. “Shane Hollander, ty vyydesh’ za menya?”

Shane can only nod his head while he leans in to kiss Ilya, “Da, Ilyusha, I will marry you.”

Ilya grins and slips the ring onto Shane’s right hand. In Russian he says, “In Russian Orthodox, we wear wedding rings on the right hand. I got something simple so it will look like normal jewelry. And I got you a chain, to wear it around your neck.”

Shane just kisses him again and starts to admire the ring, so Ilya continues, in English. 

“It spins.” His fiance looks at him weirdly, so Ilya reaches over to demonstrate. “It is for yerzaniye, uh, when you fidget. Good reason to have ring, yes?”

Shane is testing out the ring. It does spin, at least it seems to be two parts, one set on a track so the jewelry stays in place on his finger. 

“It’s perfect,” Shane’s voice is thick with emotion. Ilya pulls out the other ring, but Shane snatches it from him. “I get to put this on you.”

Ilya doesn’t stop him, doesn’t want to. Shane opens the second box to reveal a similar gold band. This one matches in design, but not function. 

“Will people question if you wear it on your right hand?” Shane questions. 

Ilya shakes his head, “Maybe. But only crazy twitter fans, probably. I wear it on my chain, too, mostly. My two favorite people next to each other.” 

He kisses Shane again, letting it deepen, before Shane pulls off and stands up. 

“I have something too,” he comes back into the room with what looks like a camera. “It’s a polaroid. Instant pictures. When you sent me the ones from Vegas, I realized we don’t have any pictures together. And I don’t want our marriage to go undocumented.”

“Instant pictures?” Shane nods. 

“Only one, and it’s physical so there’s no trace. Just for us.” Ilya jumps up and grabs the camera from him, turning it over in his hands to see how it works. Shane snatches it back from him. “Come here.” and situates them back on the couch. Ilya is leaned back against Shane’s chest, the other’s chin hooked back over his shoulder, arm wrapped around Ilya’s waist. He holds the camera up backwards and snaps a picture. 

Ilya holds the polaroid as it develops. The first picture of them. Not at some stupid awards show for a stupid sketch, not official photos from hockey events or games, a picture taken by his fiance, in his apartment. The two forever frozen wrapped together, smiling like there was nothing in the world that could possibly be more important. 

Chapter 4: vows and photographs

Chapter Summary

“Ilya Rozanov, do you take Shane Hollander to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him, protect him, and be by his side through sickness and health. To weather challenges together, and to love him forever?”
“I do. Forever, moy lyubov.”

Chapter Notes

happy valentines day! the chapter we've all been waiting for.

enjoy, while i go out and get white girl wasted.

Shane was about 2 minutes from a full panic attack. Ilya sat on the bed, naked and amused, watching him tear his closet apart. 

“We can’t wear suits. They’ll be too noticeable, but it’s our wedding, we need to look nice. Ilya, I'm not wearing athleisure to the courthouse. I refuse.” 

“Is our wedding, moy lyubov, not dinner with queen.” Shane glares at him. 

“It’s our wedding. I want it to be perfect. I know it's not a big ceremony, but I need to look nice at least.”

Ilya stands then, pulling Shane into his arms and squeezing. He takes several deep breaths with his face tucked into Ilya’s neck. 

“Is ok, Shane. It will be perfect because it is us. Not because of clothes.” Shane groans, so Ilya continues, “We will find something, solnyshko. Why don’t I look, ok?”

He settles Shane on the bed and throws him a clean pair of boxers before vanishing into the closet. Ilya returns minutes later with a bundle of clothes. Shane ends up in black slacks— to match Ilya— and a white button down that his soon-to-be husband refuses to let him button up fully. Shane stares at them in the mirror, Ilya standing behind him, arms wrapped around Shane’s waist, looking edible in his black turtle neck. 

“Ready, moy muzh?” Ilya asks, dragging his lips from where they had been peppering Shane’s neck. 

“Don’t you dare make me wait a second longer, Rozanov.” And drags them to the door before they can be late. Ilya stops him only once, to drape his own leather jacket across Shane’s shoulders. 

“Hmm, there.” Is all he says. 

—

“I’m ready for you.”

There was no one else in the hallway where they sat. Ilya stood quickly, pulling Shane up by their joined hands. Anika Winters was a short woman, only a few years older than them and, Farah told them, not a big hockey fan. She knew they were famous, and would probably recognize them next time she saw them in the news, but had signed an NDA with no fuss. 

Shane and Ilya followed her into the office they were doing the ceremony in. They don’t have to wait long for Anika to organize the paperwork they hand over. 

“Are you boys ready?” Shane can’t take his eyes off Ilya, even as he gives an affirmative. Ilya stands in front of him, also refusing to look away. 

“Da, we are ready.” Anika tells them to join hands; they do. Shane can feel tears welling up in his eyes as she speaks. He is getting married to Ilya Rozanov, the love of his life. He gets to spend the rest of his lucky life with this man, who looks at him with such soft adoration and makes him food and texts him i miss you, i love you; who is giving up so much to be with Shane.

“Do you boys have any vows?” Ilya nods, eyes still on Shane. Their officiant gestures, giving him the floor. 

“Shane Hollander,” Ilya starts, voice clearly trying not to tremble, but Shane silently promises not to tease him for it, “I think I fell in love the first time I saw you. You know I forget all my English that day, too busy staring at your vesnushki.”

“Moy krasivyy vesnushki.” Shane can’t help but whisper; Ilya reaches out to stroke his cheek. 

“Vashi prekrasnyye vesnushki. I was ocharovannyy, captivated. When you ask me if I want to kiss you in Russian, I was gone.” He switches to Russian then, keeping it as simple as he can so Shane can follow, “You make me better in every way. I feel safe when I am with you. You challenge me, at work on the ice. You challenge me when we are together. I want to be good enough to deserve you, to keep you forever.”

They’re both crying now.

“You are the most beautiful person I know, the smartest. I cannot lie to you, and I cannot lie to myself about you. I never have. We were young and dumb and in love. Fuck, I am so in love with you. But if we can make it this far without fucking everything up, I promise you I will keep not fucking it up. And I will fix it if I do because I’m not letting you go. You’re mine, Shane Hollander, and I’m yours.”

Yeah, they were all crying at this point. Shane let out a watery laugh. 

“You’re an asshole. You should have told me you prepared vows. I don’t do well unprepared,” Shane sniffles, “Except with you. I was not prepared for you, Ilya Rozanov. I thought I was, but then I met you. I shook your hand and you shattered everything I thought I knew about you when you gave me a compliment no one had ever given me before. I went home that day and looked up what you said. I actually googled how do I know if someone is flirting with me? because I wanted to be sure I wasn’t going to do something stupid for no reason. I practiced saying Ty khochesh' menya potselovat? in the mirror for hours. I thought I was being so dumb,” Shane has to chuckle a little at himself, “But then it worked. You kissed me, and you asked for my phone number. Everytime I’m around you, my brain goes quiet, like nothing needs to be worried about. You make me so brave, Ilya. I can do anything with you by my side. You are so beautiful, and kind, and strong. I love you so much. No one else will ever be to me what you are. Someone who knows how to take care of me, who lets me be myself, who loves me anyway. Someone who understands me in ways even I don’t. Ya tebya lyublyu, Ilya.”

Anika clears her throat to take back over, “Do you have rings?”

Ilya pulls their rings out of his pocket and hands his to Shane. 

“Ilya Rozanov, do you take Shane Hollander to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him, protect him, and be by his side through sickness and health. To weather challenges together, and to love him forever?”

“I do. Forever, moy lyubov.” Ilya slips the ring onto Shane’s right hand where it belongs. Anika repeats the same to Shane. 

“Shane Hollander, do you take Ilya Rozanov to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him, protect him, and be by his side through sickness and health. To weather challenges together, and to love him forever?”

“I do, of course I do.” Shane loves the way their rings look together. They lace their fingers together between them, rings touching. 

“Then I now pronounce you husbands. You may kiss the groom.” 

Ilya puts his hand on Shane’s face, cupping it gently, admiring his husband's face for just a moment before leaning in. Just for a moment, Shane is sitting on a dirty gym floor, sweaty and gross, fireworks going off in his body as he presses his lips to another boy’s for the first time. 

Pulling apart is a necessary evil in order to sign their marriage certificate. Shane hesitates for a moment when they’re done, before pulling out the polaroid camera from his bag. 

“Would you… would you take a picture of us?” He asks. “We don’t have many, but…”

She’s taken the camera from his hands before he can finish. Ilya uses the tissues on the desk to clean both of their faces. He wraps his arm around Shane’s waist and kisses his cheek hard, click. Shane turns his face towards his husband, smile taking over his face, click. Ilya kisses him again, this time on the lips, click. Shane’s hand, the right one—with his ring—comes up to cup the side of Ilya’s face, click. 

They thank Anika for everything, the wedding, the paperwork, the NDA, the pictures. It’s dark when they leave, but that doesn’t stop Ilya from taking more pictures, chasing Shane through the parking lot.

“Cooome ooonn, solnyshkoooo,” Ilya manages to grab his hand, pulling Shane’s outstretched arm to get Shane to look at him. “I need pretty pictures of my pretty husband.”

A wide, unbridled grin breaks across his face at the word. Right in time for Ilya to snap another picture of their joined hands, rings reflecting the flash, Shane’s arm outstretched—the absolute furthest he can physically be from his husband—and smiling the freest smile of his entire life.

“Ilya, stop.” Ilya tugged him in by their still connected hands to press him against their car. 

“Noooo.” Ilya whines against his lips. Shane kisses him as a distraction, grabbing for the camera. Ilya doesn’t resist, letting Shane push him back far enough to say,

“Smile, moy muzh.” Shane gets to capture forever the way his husband's face goes red when he smiles at Shane. While he waits for the picture to develop, Ilya unlocks the car and starts to fiddle with something inside. Shane hands him the camera and the stack of pictures they’ve taken to be put safely away. Once done, Ilya turns the radio louder. He managed to catch the very beginning of a song he recognized. The radio was loud enough to be heard if they left the door open, so he turns to his husband and holds out a hand. 

“Dance with me?” Shane pulls him in for a kiss, and they sway there listening to the radio sing about memories and photographs. It sounded perfect. 

—

Ilya strips Shane of his clothes the moment they’re through the door, letting them drop and stripping his own in between fervid kisses. He stops only to hoist his husband over his shoulder to carry him to their bedroom. Instead of throwing him on the bed, the way Shane is expecting, Ilya sets him on his feet and sits himself on the bed. He pulls Shane in between his legs, holding onto his hips. Shane’s hand combs through his hair; Ilya licks the dick in front of his face, sucking the head into his mouth. Listening to his husband moan is wonderful, Ilya looks up to see Shane looking at him. He pulls off.  

“Do you remember this?” He asks, “The first time, in room 1410? I held you just like this, kissed you like this,” he demonstrates, kissing Shane’s stomach, “Sucked your cock.”

Shane moans. “Fuck, Ilya. Yeah, I remember. You were so good to me, even back then.”

He lets his fingers scratch through Ilya’s scalp, “Are you going to fuck your husband, Ilya?”

Now Ilya throws his husband onto the bed, crawling over him, reaching for the lube he stored under the pillow before they left. 

“I am going to ruin my husband.” Ilya pins both of Shane’s hands under one of his, Shane giving a token protest, but surrendering easily. Ilya’s other hand is rubbing lubed fingers around Shane’s hole. “So good for me, my love.”

Praises fall from his lips while they work over Shane’s neck and back up, swallowing moans. Once Ilya is three fingers deep, moans have turned to begging.

“Please, please Ilya, fuck me already.” Ilya Rozanov has his husband begging in Russian on nothing but his fingers. 

“I will, my husband. You are so good for me, begging for my cock. Yes, I will fuck you.” Ilya slicks up his bare dick— discussions and tests done just for this—and lines himself up. 

He’s leaning over Shane, still holding his hands above his head, to kiss him while he pushes in. Dual moans fill the air. Heavy panting, Shane’s back arching off the mattress the best it can under Ilya’s weight, Ilya’s bare cock enveloped in the heat of his husband's ass. He finds Shane’s prostate and sets a steady pace, fucking into him with abandon. 

He lets Shane’s hands go—they stay where they are fuck— and sits up to grip his hips more firmly. They’re both close, so Ilya shifts Shane’s leg for a better angle, leaning in to whisper, “Are you going to come for me, moy muzh? Am I going to make my husband come untouched?”

It’s a double-edged sword, because Shane comes immediately, but Ilya is not prepared for the feeling of his husband clenching harder around him as he comes, forcing Ilya over the edge behind him. 

“Fuck, Shane.” They both moan at the feeling of Ilya coming in Shane before collapsing. 

Ilya drags himself out of bed to get a towel, returning to his blissed out husband. He cleans them and crowds Shane to the other side of the bed away from the mess they’ve made, curling around him. Ilya kisses Shane again, before settling in behind him. 

“Spokoynoy nochi, Shane. Ya tebya lyublu.”

He catches Shane repeating ya tebya lyublu quietly, half-asleep, and—smiling into Shane’s neck— lets himself fall asleep.

Chapter End Notes

fun fact: photograph by ed sheeran came out literal days before their wedding, it would have been on the radio and I thought it was perfect and a little cheesy.

Chapter 5: the cottage

Chapter Summary

The Cottage

Chapter Notes

I spent the weekend writing, so give me another day or so to edit.

Anyone would be hard-pressed to call the building a cottage. Mansion would be more appropriate for how massive it was. Ilya was correct in assuming that Shane had more done than he let on, contractors already contacted and blueprints in their final stages. But Shane still wanted his thoughts on the smaller details and any additional accommodations for Ilya he might have forgotten to include in his original plans. 

So Ilya got to spend six weeks pretending to argue about colors and backsplashes and where to put the laundry room—secretly loving every second of it; designing their house— only to separate at the end of August for the preseason. He was reunited with his husband for their four day Christmas break, getting the opportunity to drive through the gate and up the driveway to their finished home for the first time together. 

Shane had originally wanted to build on a lot only ten minutes from his parents cottage, but waiting for Ilya’s input had lost him the spot to someone else. Their luck found a(nearly identical) property, thirty minutes in a different direction. 

“Ilya,” Shane yelped when Ilya scooped him up. “Put me down.”

“Nyet. I must carry my husband into our new house, yes?” 

“You’re just going to leave all of our bags in the car?” Shane sighs half-heartedly. He finds the key to unlock the door from the comfort of Ilya’s arms, pushing the door open. 

“Wow, your real estate fetish really paid off, huh.” Ilya teases, kicking the door closed behind him. He’s impressed, nonetheless, at the design. Wide, full length windows make up most of the bordering walls, letting dim, winter sunlight envelope the living room where they’ve come to a stop. 

“Shut up.” Shane is kissing him now, more eager to christen the space then unpack. Ilya lays them on the couch—right on top of the protective sheet laying over it. 

“I want to ride you.” Ilya flips them, rather awkwardly, before the sentence has fully left Shane’s mouth, and starts to strip Shane of his shirt. He has Shane kissing him, pants down, dicks gripped together in his hand, and a moaning husband before it occurs to him they won’t be able to christen the couch the way they want.

He groans, but redoubles his efforts on their cocks, resolving to still make them both come. Shane whines and tries to pull back, but Ilya stops him.

“We don’t have lube, moy lyubov,” He manages to pant, “Is ok, come for me.”

To his credit, Shane takes Ilya’s unusual restraint in stride, and snakes a hand down to join in, pushing them both over the edge. Ilya smacks his husband's ass, and tucks them both away, sitting up. They only have four days together, and Ilya knows they need to start unpacking before either of them can start to make the most of it.

“Let’s go get our bags, lyubimyy.” Ilya urges them off the couch and towards the front door. 

Ilya is correct, as he usually is when it comes to his husband and his husband’s routines, and they spend the next few hours unpacking boxes in various rooms. The bathroom first, followed by the kitchen so they can prepare a quick lunch. Shane refuses to be distracted until the accumulated trash is taken out; a good stopping point Ilya points out because they’ve already taken care of the important day-to-day things they will need, but gets vetoed until there are sheets on their bed. 

Ilya returns to their bedroom to find Shane shoving pillows into forest green pillowcases.

“Will you hang up our clothes?” Shane asks, sparing him a glance. It’s the first he sees of their giant walk-in, symmetrical to accommodate the both of them, and a bench against the far wall. Ilya already has several ideas for that bench.

“Sheets are on the bed.” Shane joins him, opening another pack of hangers and unzipping his suitcase. “I want to unpack the bookshelves next.”

“We have time, solynishko, do not burn out.”

“I know that, Ilyusha. How about you pick something to watch while I do that? We’ll be in the same room, and I promise, last thing today. Then we can cuddle on the couch.” Ilya would much rather cuddle on the couch now, but he’s weak against his husband’s pet names and an expert in negotiating with Shane, so he agrees with a kiss. 

Shane pulls books from the boxes at his feet, sorting them into piles; Russian literature, language textbooks, hockey books— sorted by biography and history—, and miscellaneous. His focus is on the task at hand, while Ilya rubs a hand up and down his back. His husband’s attention is on the last SEA-SAN game of the season, making comments occasionally, to keep Shane updated. It’s all very domestic, a feeling deep in their bones. Shane doesn’t know how they’ve ever managed to separate at the end of every meeting, especially these longer stretches they get together. 

Shane stands with his organized piles and files them onto the bookshelf. He climbs into Ilya’s lap when he’s done, and curls into him, tucking his face into his neck and breathing deep his husband’s scent. He wants to stay here forever, wrapped around his favorite person, in their home. The glass-and-wood structure is everything Shane dreamed it would be: private, nothing except nature around them, enough space for him to breathe without everything crushing him from the outside. He gets to share it with Ilya, too, and only Ilya. Putting it off so long because he wasn’t sure if it was his place to ask Ilya to stay, if he should just build it and invite him. No complaints about how it turned out, Ilya’s name next to his on the deed, all over the house in little ways. 

All that was left was to decide which belongings stayed here, to decorate the walls, fill the fridge, buy furniture for the patio and sunroom when summer rolled around. There would be plenty of time in the off season to swim in the currently frozen lake. It was Christmas time, their first Christmas as a married couple, and he didn’t lie to his parents about his location for the holidays—letting them believe he was in Montreal still, heavily hinting that he had plans with someone (not untrue, at least)— to waste the four days he got, uninterrupted, with his spouse. 

Seattle won, 4-2. Shane was content to let Ilya maneuver them into a more comfortable position for a while, still stroking his spine. 

“It’s time for dinner.” He murmurs against Ilya’s chest, feeling the humming response vibrate against his jaw. Shane sits up, and continues in Russian, “Come on, husband.”

That always does the trick, Ilya rolling off the couch with a dramatic groan from where he catches himself on his knees.

“You big baby.”

“You are bullying me.” Shane sticks his tongue out and walks away, knowing the other man will put up a chase. He’s proven right when he’s swept off his feet and spun around only to be set on a stool at their counter. “I make dinner. You sit and be pretty while you watch.”

Dinner is nice, a hearty stroganoff Shane allows because it will make enough leftovers for several more meals and between his diet and limiting the amount of cooking they have to do, he makes his choice. He’s also never been able to turn down Russian food, his brain making an asterisk next to his diet rules as if to say this doesn’t count. 

Footsie is played under the table while they eat, Shane unwilling to unhook his ankle from Ilya’s shin. He retaliates by wrapping his arms around Shane while he does the dishes, trying to distract him with light kisses and compliments. Eventually, they fall into their freshly made bed.

“Did you put an extra sheet on the bed?” asks Shane, pausing when he notices the white sheet covering the whole bed the same way a similar one had covered the couch earlier.

“Da, I put clean sheet on top. You wanted to ride me, but these are clean sheets, so…” Ilya shrugs, like he hadn’t concocted a whole plan so they wouldn’t have to do another load of laundry tonight. Shane loves him. He rolls off his husband to grab the lube from the nightstand where he’s sure Ilya left it out on purpose when unpacking. He makes eye contact while drizzling lube onto his fingers, reaching behind himself to slip one in. Ilya’s grip tightens on his thighs, watching intently while Shane prepares himself.

“Fuck, Ilya. Feels so good,” he moans, “You’ve been so patient all day, waiting for me.” Ilya nods.

“Waiting all day, moy lyubov.” He knows better than to try and interrupt Shane’s prep, but that doesn’t stop his hands from twitching, yearning to reach out and take over. Shane watches this happen, removing his fingers to smear them on Ilya’s stomach, before handing him the bottle of lube.

“Well, if you’ve been waiting all day…” Ilya fumbles to get his fingers wet and inside Shane’s hole, pressing immediately on his prostate, earning him a loud moan. Panting above him, Shane leans down to kiss Ilya while he works three fingers into his husband. 

“Trakhni menya, Ilya,” Shane pants into his mouth, “Please, Ilya. You feel so good in me, gonna make you feel so good.”

Ilya slicks up his cock while Shane leans back to line him up, sinking down faster than he should, twin groans filling the air when hips finally connect. 

“Hold onto something, Rozanov.” Powerful, hockey trained thighs move in earnest, hips rolling with every thrust. Ilya has one hand on Shane’s hip, the other gripping the headboard behind him. 

“Fuck, Shane. Tight ass fucking me, fuck.” Ilya’s hips meet his husband’s ass with every thrust, tight heat squeezing his dick. It was a feeling he would never tire of, fucking into the love of his life with barely controlled desire. He barely gets a hand on Shane before he comes with a, “FUCK, Ilya.” Rolling his hips through the aftershocks and bringing Ilya over the edge with him. Getting a hand behind Shane’s back and rolling them, Ilya pulls out, kissing away Shane’s wince at the feeling. They lay there long enough for a shower to become the forefront thought on Shane’s mind.

Ilya takes the time to roll the protective sheet up, revealing their clean bed, and throws it in the hamper with a, “See, easy clean up.” and joins his husband under the fancy rainfall shower head they had installed as a luxury in their cottage. He wraps his arms around Shane’s stomach, taking over washing him.

They fall asleep chest-to-back, legs tangled beneath bedding, breathing in the smell of each other. 

—

“What’s this?” Ilya has handed him a brown box, heavier than anticipated, and sat down across from Shane on the couch.

“I think you know what a gift is, Shane.” He teases, but he looks a little nervous, shrugging, “It is something for cottage. Pictures to go on the wall.”

Shane peels the tape off, “What pictures?” is as far as he gets before he sees the top frame.

“We don’t have pictures of us before our wedding, but we have, uh, professional ones.” Shane pulls out the stack of framed pictures. The first one is a cropped photo showing the two of them holding their new jersey’s, Shane holding a blue Montreal 24, Ilya holding the black Boston 81. Draft day. 

Ilya taps the glass, “First kiss.” He says, setting it aside to reveal the second. A still from their CCM photoshoot, a behind the scenes photo of the two of them crouched at center ice, laughing and failing to be serious. “First date.”

A smile is playing on the corners of Shane’s mouth, setting aside the second to see the third and final one. The photo Ilya had taken of them during their stupid skit at the MLH awards the day they got engaged. It’s a nice picture, Shane has a soft smile to match Ilya’s, and although it’s not visible, he knows Ilya’s hand is on the small of his back. 

“They’re perfect. Of course I want to put them up.” Blinking tears out of his eyes to look at his nervous husband. “We can’t really hang them anywhere else, can we? I know just the place.”

Shane stands, pulling Ilya with him to the hallway between the kitchen/living room and the stairs to their bedroom. He hands one of the pictures to Ilya, the first kiss, and holds up the other two, eyeing them against the wall. Ilya held his picture up to where it would go. “We can do whole timeline. Frame some wedding pictures, yes?”

He drops his hands, turning to Ilya, “Yeah, I’d like that. All of our pictures in the hallway, a gallery.” Even as he says it he knows it’s a project for the summer; he says as much to Ilya, who just nods and collects the frames to put them somewhere safe. They will have to separate again in two days, to different countries, and have to pretend they hate each other. Shane swallows hard, maybe one day, there will be a picture of them in matching jerseys. Or one of them surrounded by family. It seems like a pipe dream, unattainable, he can’t even think of a team that could—or would—take them both. He can’t think about the future like that, not right now. He takes his husband’s hand and squeezes, “Come on, we only have two more days and I need to give you your present.”