Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Married Life, Domestic Fluff

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-01 Words: 3,237 Chapters: 1/1

Call and Response

Summary

They talk now, about everything and nothing at all.

Notes

It was my 16th wedding anniversary this weekend and then I went to a wedding, so I spent a lot of time thinking about marriage. This is the result. It felt fitting to place it in canon instead of one of my AUs.

"I had a weird moment in the interview today," Shane said over dinner.

They were at the kitchen table, Shane idly running the heel of his socked foot over the top of Ilya's bare one. It was the middle of the season, a home game behind them, a flight out in the morning to start the next roadie tomorrow. Right now though, there was nothing to do, but eat dinner together. Their bags were packed and ready by the front door, Anya was with David and Yuna where she would be far more spoiled than at the dog hotel.

It was the kind of night that Ilya hadn't even fully conceived of until they got married. Only six months in to sharing a home and Ilya felt entirely spoiled by these nights. No more rushed meetings, clandestine and shoved too small into the tiny free pockets of their scheduled lives.

They were men of luxury now. And part of that luxury was dinner conversation. Idle chatter about whatever they wanted. The topic was often hockey, naturally, which was fun, but there was a world of other things too: minor annoyances, overheard snippets of conversation, a joke, a video one of them stumbled over, and banal observations . Without even meaning to, Ilya found himself squirreling away things from the day to share with Shane later.

Today, Shane had had an interview in the morning with a high school newspaper. Ilya was unclear how that had come to pass except that Yuna and Harris had both agreed it was a good look to indulge them.

"Were the baby reporters mean to you?" Ilya asked him.

"Fuck off," Shane said. "No, it wasn't that. Have you ever been interviewed by someone who was scared of you?"

Ilya raised his eyebrows at him. Shane sighed, "Yeah, of course you have."

"It is not very fun," Ilya conceded. "It is funny for a minute, maybe. Then very boring to have to make them feel okay so it can be over."

"Yeah, exactly. It was annoying. That wasn't even the weird thing though."

"What was weird?" Ilya asked. Guessing would be impossible. The things Shane found weird were so varied and startling that Ilya resigned himself to learning new ones all the time.

"They asked me these warm up questions and they were all 'what's your favorite food', 'what's your favorite color'. All favorites."

"Baby reporters," Ilya said, unfortunately a little charmed by the idea. "Are they writing an article or Shane Hollander trivia night questions?"

"God, I hope an article," Shane winced at the thought.

"So that was weird."

"Well, yeah, a little, but it was more that it made me think. I don't think I have a lot of favorites."

"Shane," Ilya said like he was about to break terrible news to him.

"No, I know I have a lot of things that are like 'favorite', but I don't think it's what people mean when they say that."

Ilya tried to keep his face neutral. Apparently it was going to be his favorite kind of dinner conversation with Shane: bizarre and unexpectedly philosophical. One of those conversational meanderings Shane took them on that re-arranged Ilya's brain for a bit.

"Explain," Ilya said, leaning forward.

"I'll try, I'm not sure I even know what I mean," Shane said with the tiny considering frown that made him look delightfully serious. "Okay, do you have favorite color?"

"Orange," Ilya supplied.

"Why is it your favorite?" Shane asked.

"I like that it is very bright and also very soft," Ilya decided after a moment's consideration.

"I like that," Shane said. "You don't wear orange though."

"I do not like it on me," Ilya agreed. "I like to look at it. This is not the same for you?"

"I don't think I have a favorite color," Shane said. "I always say blue because it's common enough and no one asks a follow up question when you say 'blue'."

"Is this why you think you don't have favorites?"

"A little. I mean, I know I have a lot of strong preferences, but those aren't the same as 'favorite'. I think something should be your favorite because you like it, not because it bothers you the least."

"So you do not have favorite blanket because it is something you like, but because it is the one that does not itch," Ilya ventured, thinking he might have the shape of it.

"Yeah, exactly," Shane said, his frown melting into a small smile. "And that doesn't really feel like it fits the word 'favorite'."

"I think lots of people have things like this." Ilya said. He captured Shane's wandering foot between his own.

"Yeah, maybe. Do you?"

"About some things," Ilya said. "Scented soaps. I do not really have a favorite scent, but I know what I do not like."

"Things that say they're a smell of something that doesn't have a smell," Shane said and now it was a full born grin.

"What is the smell of 'Midsummer Nights'?" Ilya asked, setting down his fork. He was mostly done anyway. "My midsummer nights smell like smoke and burgers. Not flowers."

"Some flowers," Shane reminded him.

"Yes, some flowers, but not all flowers."

"So you're saying I'm having a normal human experience and being weird about it, right?"

"No. You are definitely weird."

"Fuck you," Shane groaned. "I'm being serious."

"Yes, so am I. You are weird, but you are not alone in being weird. I am there too," Ilya said with a wink. "Maybe other people. I don't know. Favorites are for things you care about and everything else can be what is good enough. You have some favorites."

"Well, yeah, I think so," Shane said. "I mean, you're my favorite person, obviously. Carrots are still my favorite vegetable too."

Ilya was fairly sure he said the right thing to that. He responded automatically, fluidly and Shane's smile didn't dim. The conversation wandered from that to the interview in general and then they were on the couch, TV on to the show they were very slowly watching at Wyatt's insistence. It was fine, something neither of them were invested in which made it perfect to watch while messing around on their phones.

Except tonight, Ilya wasn't actually watching the show or pulling up a game to fuck around with. He was just hearing the casual you're my favorite person, obviously over and over.

It was ridiculous. Shane had married him. They were married and they said 'I love you' at least once a day, usually more. Knowing the full truth of who Ilya was, Shane willingly spent most of his time with Ilya.

There wasn't even much competition to be Shane's favorite person. Shane loved his parents, but in a slightly irritated way that was both endearing and frustrating for Ilya. There were friends. Shane still texted J.J. and dutifully went to get a drink with him the two times they'd played Montreal. The entire Pike clan was irrevocably wedged in their lives and Shane texted Hayden a few times a month, friendly little check-ins. After everything though, it was hard to imagine Shane calling anyone that still wore a Metro's jersey his 'favorite' person.

The only real competition Ilya might face was Rose, who Shane actually deliberately called at least once a week just to talk. Often Shane would walk the house on those calls, ducking in and out of rooms without purpose, just keeping the powerful momentum of his body going. The end effect was that Ilya got samplings of their conversation as Shane weaved through rooms he occupied. They made each other laugh a lot.

But Shane hadn't said Rose. Of course, he hadn't. Intellectually Ilya understood that that wasn't a real competition. Emotionally though…..

Emotionally, hearing Shane say it so blatantly and simply as if it were a given was maybe giving Ilya a meltdown. A good kind. He let the show wash over him. When Shane nudged him to show him a picture that Luca had sent the group chat, Ilya leaned in to look even though it was on his phone too. They debated if Luca had meant to send them a picture of a random piece of sidewalk and if so, what he was trying to convey.

The rest of the night was normal. They did their usual pre-bed routines until Shane was reaching for his toothbrush and Ilya went to his knees. It seemed like the best, least suspicious, way to show his gratitude. Shane would never question a blowjob. Flawless plan.

And if Ilya got sucked off in return that was a very good bonus.

If Shane noticed Ilya's mild preoccupation, he must've chalked it up to thinking about the travel day ahead. They feel asleep properly snuggled together. By morning, there were other concerns and Ilya mostly quarantined the moment to the back of his head.

Weeks went by, the smeary blur of mid-season until they washed up on the shore of the All Star break. For the first time since they started playing, neither of them were invited. The sting of it was eased by the realization that they had an actual break in winter.

"What should we do?" Shane asked.

"We could go to a very fancy resort with a beach," Ilya suggested, aiming high. He figured if he said that, Shane would counter with staying home and doing something productive. Then they could compromise with off-season cottage time. Flawless plan. "Drink big drinks and go dancing."

Shane gave him a long look and to Ilya's complete shock said, "Yeah, let's do that. It'll be like our honeymoon again."

"We will not get burned this time."

"What 'we'?" Shane scoffed. "I wore enough sunscreen unlike some people I know."

It was less intense than their honeymoon which had been amazing and also a little bit feverish in their desire to flip a middle finger at the entire world. This time, they spent a good chunk of their four days off asleep under a huge umbrella, in ridiculously comfortable lounge chairs. They still worked out and stuck mostly to their (far more sensible these days) nutrition plans, but otherwise even Shane's careful schedule went merrily to shit.

On their last full day, Shane even agreed to a very stupidly large cocktail and they drank them at a tiny spindly table under an awning, watching the waves roll in. There was a table full of older women a little ways away and they were speaking rapid fire in what Ilya thought might be Portuguese.

Shane took a sip of his mai tai ('it doesn't suck' had been his final evaluation) and looked at Ilya thoughtfully.

"What is it?" Ilya asked. "You have a question face on."

"I have a question face?" Shane asked.

"It is just your face," Ilya said. "Because you always want to ask a question."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Okay, never mind then."

"Nooo, I like your questions," Ilya protested. "Ask me. Please?"

"No," Shane said.

"Shaaaaane."

"Fine, stop whining," Shane groaned like he was very annoyed. "I was wondering something, but I'm not sure if it's a stupid question."

"I will tell you if it is."

"Oh, I know you will that's why I'm not sure I want to ask," Shane said dryly.

Ilya sipped his drink, a rum punch which was toxically sweet. Not really his taste, but there was something charming about a drink served in a glass the size of his head with a spear of cut up fruit and a tiny umbrella.

"I will be nice," Ilya said, "when I tell you that you have a stupid question."

"Thanks," Shane snorted. "Okay. Do you still think in Russian or do you think in English sometimes?"

"That is not stupid," Ilya said immediately. "But I cannot answer the way you want."

"I wasn't looking for any one answer," Shane said. "I was curious, that's all."

"No, I do not think in language exactly," Ilya explained. "Sometimes, yes, I have a sentence in my head, but my thoughts are not so…organized? I do not know the right word. They are happening and I don't have words attached to them most of the time."

"Really?"

Ilya shrugged, "Really. Is that weird? You think in English?"

"Yeah. When I'm thinking, it's usually like I'm talking to myself, but in my head?" Shane got his little frown. "That sounds kind of nuts, but it's accurate."

Ilya grinned at him. "I can imagine this. Little Shane voice going over a list. Or having a big argument about sand in shoes."

"Barefoot was better, you won that already, remember?" Shane said with a shake of his head. "Anyway, yeah. It is like that. It's noisy sometimes. Except when I'm on the ice. I love that about playing. The noise goes away."

"You said this before, but I did not think you meant actual noise."

"It's not like I can hear it, but…yeah. Mental noise, I guess."

Ilya sat back in his seat. Mental noise. "It is noisy in my head too sometimes, but with pictures or feelings or no feelings instead of words."

"No feelings can be noisy?"

"Very," Ilya said tiredly. "The loudest sound of all."

"I'm glad you're getting help for that," Shane said quietly.

"Me too," Ilya said. "And you help. I help you too?"

"Every day," Shane said. "You know what else makes things quiet?"

They finished their drinks a minute later and went back to their room to be very loud while they made their heads quiet. In the sweating aftermath, Ilya rolled his head onto Shane's chest to listen to the excited thrum of his heart start to slow and steady out.

"I dream in Russian," Ilya told him. "It is very funny because in my dreams everyone speaks Russian, even you and your parents."

"You dream about me?" Shane asked liked that was a revelation.

"Yes," Ilya said, laying a hand on Shane's stomach, he could feel the impossible strength of him beneath the relaxation. "Do you dream about me?"

"Yeah, sometimes," Shane said. "I think anyway. I'm not great at remembering my dreams."

"I wish I remembered them less, but I like the ones where you talk to me in Russian."

"I'm working on it," Shane promised. "Sorry, it's slow going."

"No sorry," Ilya said. "I like that you are trying."

"Yeah, but you learned English so quickly."

"I live in a country that only speaks English at me. I learned or I understood nothing. A little different."

"A little," Shane allowed.

"Sometimes I feel like I still do not know enough," Ilya confessed because he could. Because Shane already knew. It wasn't a frustration that Ilya hid well from him.

"I think you use English better than most of the people we know."

"That is not a compliment."

Shane laughed. "Ouch, but yeah okay, fair. You know what I mean though."

Ilya did. His grasp on English wasn't what he wanted it to be, but his grasp on Hollander-ish got better every day.

Having a real vacation made a noticeable difference when they returned. They reentered the season with vigor and verve, mowing through a six-game winning streak. The media had lost interest in their points race when they started playing on the same team (that they were also more invested on examining how their marriage impacted their play was…irritating at best), but Shane and Ilya were not so easily distracted from it.

"You're falling behind," Shane taunted as Ilya backed him against their bedroom wall.

"Three points is not behind," Ilya contended, shoving his hands under Shane's shirt. "It is a false sense of security. You will make mistakes now. You will be cocky."

"Cocky," Shane repeated with a spark in his eye. "How about you suck my cock, loser?"

Flirtation was an art. Or a battle. Or both. Either way, Ilya loved Shane's flirtations these days. He'd appreciated them when they were younger and flailing wildly around each other too, but now Shane had a confidence that really sold things. He pushed and prodded just as believably as he made wide innocent doe eyes to get what he wanted.

Which was to say, Ilya absolutely got on his knees and sucked his husband's cock. He didn't let him come because he had other plans for the night, but one had to reinforce sexy behavior. Or something.

Which was also to say that Ilya was entirely blindsided when in the shower a half hour later, Shane set down the shampoo and asked, hesitantly, "You never think I mean any of that, do you?"

"Mean what?" Ilya asked, trying to remember what about their dirty talk might've triggered that.

"That you're a loser. You know I don't-"

"I know," Ilya cut him off with a laugh. "Shane, I know. You would not marry a loser. You would not say a loser was your favorite person."

"I would if it was you," Shane said flatly. "I want you to know that. Okay?"

"It is fine, I will not lose, so we don't have to talk about this," Ilya said, hoping his sounded light.

"Ilya."

"Shane," he groaned. "No. It is too late for nice sincere conversation. I cannot do this before bed. I will get a bad stomach or something."

Shane made a sound that Ilya was reasonably sure was a repressed laugh. "Don't be a baby. It's not a big deal. I just- I like winning against you. I do. I like the competition."

"I know," Ilya said. "Every one that knows us, knows this."

"But!" Shane said with a flare of annoyance, "But."

"I like your butt too," Ilya agreed.

"Shut up, Rozanov," Shane said. "Just listen."

"You have shampoo in your hair."

With an annoyed noise, Shane tilted his head back and rinsed it out. There a few suds left on his forehead and Ilya reached out to wipe them off with his thumb.

"Thanks," Shane said, catching his hand before Ilya could retreat. He gave it a squeeze. "I'll still love you even if you lose the points race. If we don't win the season. I'll be upset because I love to win, but I love you more. Okay?"

"Okay," Ilya said roughly.

"Cool. Want me to get your back?"

Wordlessly, Ilya turned around and let Shane wash his back. He liked the pressure of Shane's hands around his spine and shoulders. He liked even better how once all the soap was rinsed away, Shane pressed himself to Ilya's back and kissed his neck.

They stayed in the shower for far longer than advisable.

"Your fingers prune up so much," Shane observed, looking at their hands, interlaced. "More than mine. Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," Ilya said with a small smile. "But we can google in bed and you can tell me?"

"Good plan."

They did it too. Shane put on his glasses and read Ilya an article about blood vessels.

"Marriage is weird," Shane determined as he reached to turn off the light.

"I love it," Ilya told him.

"Yeah," Shane said "Me too. I hope you still love it when I'm still asking you questions twenty years from now."

"You must promise that you will," Ilya said urgently. "I want all your questions. Just for me."

"Who else would I ask? You have the best answers."