Chapter 1: Chapter One: Shane Hollander

Never let it be said that Shane didn’t know what he was getting into by marrying Ilya Rozanov. He did. He knew about the highs and the lows, the unending love and the equally unending teasing. He loved everything about Ilya and could not imagine his life without him. More than that, he didn’t want to. It was moments like these that made Shane consider whether marital bliss and true love were all they were cracked up to be. Shane loved his husband more than anything in this world; he’d sooner chew off his own arm than harm Ilya in any way. He was going to murder him. In all fairness, the situation was technically half his own fault. The previous night had been good; the team was gelling, their practice went well, and Shane had never felt so accepted in his life. Riding the high of not having to hide their love had left him feeling brave. The team had gone to a club. Team bonding, Hayes had said, smiling at Shane. Ilya had been already half out the door, looking at Shane with an urgency that he recognised from their years together. He wasn’t even fully sure what was riling up Ilya so much, although historically it didn’t take much. Shane tilted his head thoughtfully. Ilya flicked his gaze to his lips. A compelling point, but Shane ignored him. He recognised what Hayes was doing, and he appreciated it. It hadn’t been long since Shane’s ousting from the Voyageurs, and, though the Centaurs were nothing but welcoming, he had yet to come out on group outings with them. He knew that this team was a different beast than Montreal, that they were more of a family than the Voyageurs had ever been. And it was comforting, it was, but at the same time, he was so wholly unused to a team so steeped in respect for each other that he found it a little overwhelming. Shane didn’t want to push them away, though. He had made a promise to himself (and Ilya) that he would stop letting fear rule him and control his decisions. So he had gone. Ilya, as ever, had followed, whining in Russian about boring Canadians choosing terrible times to become sociable. Secretly, Shane had thought Ilya was proud of him for pushing himself. That was, until he realised the true motive behind Ilya coming along, making Shane lose his mind. It had started small; Ilya letting his hand linger when handing Shane his drink, casually putting his hand on his knee underneath the table, stroking his thumb. Simple touches, things that could be brushed off as affectionate. Shane knew what he was doing, though. “Do not drink too much, moy solnishko. You will want a clear head when we are home, yes?” Ilya had whispered in his ear. “Oh? Are you expecting something when we get back?” Shane replied, a challenging look in his eyes. “Expecting? Never. Receiving? You would not be able to stop yourself, moy lyubimyy.” Ilya spoke with confidence, as if there was no world in which Shane would not be begging for him tonight. Shane shivered. “You wish.” It was possibly his fault for inviting competition into the space, given their history, but after that, Ilya had gone nuclear. He was constantly touching him, teasing him, stopping just shy of kissing him. When they were seated, he dragged Shane into his lap. Somehow, Ilya convinced him to dance with him. Shane blamed the heat of his hands lingering on his waist. He was hypnotic dancing to the beat; he was everywhere. Grinding against Shane, mouthing hotly at his neck, touching his chest. He muttered filthy promises into Shane’s ear, biting his earlobe. If they wanted to avoid a public indecency charge, they were going to have to leave soon. Shane lasted impressively long, under the circumstances. He ignored the catcalls and wolf whistles as he made their excuses and dragged a very smug Ilya behind him to the exit. That was last night. Today, they had afternoon practice. Today, Ilya was on the verge of being served divorce papers. They were in the locker room, changing into their gear, when Wyatt had said it. “Damn, Cap, fun night?” he said with a smirk in his voice. Shane looked over and saw, with dawning horror spreading over his face, what Hayes was talking about. Scratches. Dozens of scratches littered Ilya’s back, left by his own blunt nails. Trailing from his ribs up to the base of his neck. “Jesus, were you mauled by a bobcat? Christ,” Bood chimed in. Smug did not begin to cover the expression on Ilya’s face. “Ah, you are jealous?” he said. “Do not worry, Bood, I am sure there is someone out there for you. Someone who does not mind disappointment so much.” “Fuck off, Rozanov.” “Actually, you should know the only one I fuck–” “Ilya.” Ilya made the mistake of turning around when he heard Shane’s voice, exposing even more marks on his front. Bruises were strewn across his chest, his neck, his hips. Shane had maybe been a tad enthusiastic last night. “Fucking hell, Hollzy. What are you, a vampire?” Hayes asked incredulously. “If he was, would explain why he sucks my–” “ILYA,” Shane had to interrupt that line of thought at all costs. “Oh my God,” He put his head in his hands. “Was not God, was me! I understand the confusion, Hollander, but you should know who is in bed with you.” “Ilya, please shut up.” his pleas fell on deaf ears. “That’s not what you said last night.” The others were laughing. Their captain and newest teammate were about to die in a tragic murder-suicide, and they were laughing their asses off. Shane’s face was probably redder than it had ever been in his life. “Ilya, you would not enjoy sleeping on the couch for the next week. So I would suggest abandoning this topic of conversation.” Shane said in Russian. Ilya’s face immediately sobered. “You wouldn’t,” he said, cautiously. “Would you like to find out?” “Right!” Ilya said in English, clapping his hands together. “New topic! Barbeques! Bood, when is next one?” Dressing to the sound of the team making whip-crack sounds was a new experience for Shane, but he couldn’t help smiling anyway.

Chapter 2: Chapter Two: Troy Barrett

Chapter Summary Ilya was Troy's best friend, but sometimes he thought maybe Ilya was sent from hell to kill him.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes Troy had a lot to thank Ilya Rozanov for. He was one of his best friends, had made him feel more welcomed than he ever had in his life, and he’d given him the push he needed to date Harris. He had been so happy when Shane joined the team, despite the circumstances, because of the effect he could see in Ilya. It seemed like he breathed easier when Hollander was around, like a weight Troy didn’t know he was carrying was removed from his chest. Troy couldn’t imagine how hard it had been, hiding like that for so long. Shane was great, a little stilted, maybe, but he settled in well. He was respectful, or perhaps thoughtful was a better descriptor. He listened to people, cared about them. He was also incredibly blunt and wickedly funny at times, though he tried to hide that. All in all, he was a perfect match for Ilya. That may actually be the problem. They had played against the New York Admirals last night, winning 3-2, and had all gone to celebrate at the Kingfisher with the other team. It was nice playing a team like the Admirals, one that they respected and that respected them in return. The NHL was changing; they could all feel it, but that didn’t mean change wasn’t slow. The night had gotten rowdy almost immediately, but underneath all that was an undercurrent of camaraderie that made Troy smile. He had been nursing a beer practically all night, not feeling like getting drunk and hoping he could catch Harris on a video call when he got back to the hotel. So, instead of joining the others in the frankly ridiculous number of shots that were being taken, he watched his team. Bood and Hazy were drunkenly arm wrestling, Bood was clearly winning if Hayes’ stream of curses was anything to go by. Haas was sketching Ilya and Scott’s playful argument as Shane looked torn between throttling his husband and kissing him senseless. That seemed to be their sweet spot, though, so Troy remained unconcerned. Speaking of the happy couple, they were not as subtle as he was sure Shane wished to be when they made their exit. Troy was glad they got to have this now. He knew it had been a long road to get here, but he was glad they got to celebrate life together, openly. Now, however, he wished they could celebrate a little quieter. It was just his luck that his hotel room shared a wall with theirs. A constant stream of thumping, and moaning, and “Ah fuck, Hollander.” Troy was going to end it all. God, how are they still going? They left earlier than anyone. So much for calling Harris; no one else should be subjected to this. Troy pulled out his phone and resolved to text him.

Troy Babe I’m going to murder them. Harris Ilya and Shane?

It spoke volumes that Harris hadn’t even needed to be told.

Troy The amount of stamina they have is frankly concerning. We literally just played a game. Shane scored a hat trick for fuck’s sake! Harris I’m going to hold your hand when I say this sweetheart That is probably why Troy God, I wish you were holding my hand, it would mean I was far, far away from here.

Another thump. A ragged moan in what was unmistakably Shane’s voice. Troy had never been more glad that he didn’t speak Russian. He thought about thumping on the wall, but decided against it. That could go one of three ways. 1. They wouldn’t notice. 2. They would notice, and it would only encourage them. 3. They would notice, and Shane Hollander would actually kill himself. Troy didn’t want to be murdered by a grieving Ilya Rozanov, so he restrained himself. He did his best to tune out the sound of his best friend pounding his husband into the mattress. He didn’t succeed, but a man could dream. Speaking of dreaming, it was like four in the morning. They had a nine o’clock flight in the morning. Troy was going to murder Ilya Rozanov. Potentially, that was unfair. Shane was clearly as much of a participant if the… sounds were anything to go by. But Troy just knew. This was Rozanov’s fault. It always was. The universe was trying to kill Troy, and it was doing it through his best friend’s sexual habits.

…

“I’m going to kill you.” Troy felt like death itself had taken a shit on his chest. “What? Did not sleep well? You should take better care of yourself, Barrett. Do not want to burn candle at both ends, yes?” Ilya had a shit eating grin. “Your days are numbered, Rozy.” Troy ground out. “How in the hell are you so awake?" “I have good pillow.” “A pillow?” “Yes, my husband’s tits are very comfy.” “I’m never taking the room next to yours again.” Ilya laughed loudly and obnoxiously until Shane, who had been napping with his head on Ilya’s lap, started stirring. “Oh shit,” he muttered, petting Hollander’s hair until he settled back down. “There you are, moy lyubimyy. You’re okay, baby.” Despite it all, Troy had to admit that that was pretty cute. There was a fondness in his voice that seemed to be reserved exclusively for Shane. Troy was happy for them. He remembered Ilya from last season, how sometimes he would seem… hollowed out. Like everything that mattered to him was locked away, which in a way he supposed it was. Looking at him now, it was like that version of Ilya had never existed. He seemed content in a way that softened every edge of his. Good for them. Troy thought. Ilya is still a dead man, though.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for the support!!! It means so much and goes straight to my ego :))) As always, feedback is appreciated!!

Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Harris Drover

Chapter Summary Harris was a goddamn professional, alright? He refused to be brought down by Ilya Rozanov being incapable of posting organisation approved statements. This was war. A war that Harris was determined to win.

Chapter Notes

I'm aware that Harris is not a player, but he is a Centaur to Me. See the end of the chapter for more notes Harris considered himself a patient man. You had to be in his line of work, social media was the Wild West in a lot of ways and Harris was paid to represent the Centaurs in professional, flattering ways.

Professional.

Ilya Rozanov could be considered many things. Cocky, aggravating, disgustingly in love with his husband, Shane Hollander. He could not be considered professional.

Harris knew this about Ilya from the beginning, of course. Immediately upon hearing that Rozanov was being traded to the Centaurs his first thought was of all the damage control he was going to have to do when Rozanov inevitably started running his mouth about his opponents. He had thought, foolishly, that the shit-talking would be the worst of it.

God, he wished the shit-talking was the worst of it.

Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ am surrounded by petty bitches 🙄 ↳ @ilyaroz81 replied Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ is my ass? too fat? my husband? too sexy?? ↳ @gentaurman replied STANLEY CUP WINNERS BABY! @gentaurman literally what even prompted this ↳ @ilyaroz81 replied Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ shane ( 🥰😍 ) has been stolen by pike ( 🤢 ) for “bros night” ( 🤮 ) ↳ @shollander24 replied Shane Hollander @shollander24 ✔ Ilya.

Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 scott hunter talks big game for man who needs hip replacement to hop the boards ↳ @scotthunterofficial replied Scott Hunter @scotthunterofficial ✔ Rozanov I am not that old ↳ @ilyaroz81 replied Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ hunter be honest you have one foot in grave ↳ @scotthunterofficial replied Scott Hunter @scotthunterofficial ✔ .@shollander24 come get your man ↳ @ilyaroz81 replied Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ you are just jealous that shane and i are both tens unlike your marriage where kip must carry burden of being only hot one

Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ i just think more people should appreciate shane hollanders ass and all that it has done for our society ↳ @ilyaroz81 replied Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ FROM DISTANCE. 🔪🔪🔪 ↳ @twocents replied centaurs enjoyers lets gooo @twocents these two tweets are timestamped 3 secs apart… the urgency of a man who knows the internet

Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ im just glad no unnamed teams have to realise that perhaps losing their best player who brought them to three different cups and led their shitty excuse of a team to victory more times than their small brains can count to was not finest moment ↳ @ilyaroz81 replied Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ imagine if on top of that they had to deal with getting destroyed by sexy husbands in every match! would be brutal ↳ @ilyaroz81 replied Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ thank god is just hypothetical

This was a nightmare. Ilya’s twitter was seemingly just a stream of consciousness, most of it Shane Hollander related. Ilya tweeted like he had never heard the words “Media Training” in his life, which Harris knew was bullshit because he had personally forced Rozanov to attend multiple seminars.

Harris was happy for Shane and Ilya, he was. It warmed his heart to see them so comfortable around each other and the rest of the team. He would never want to take that from them. If Ilya could maybe stop vague-posting the Montreal Voyageurs and thirsting after specific parts of Shane’s body that would be great, though.

Harris rubbed his temples, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the specific tension that built behind his eyes whenever he saw that Rozanov had posted.

“I’m gonna do it. I’m going to kill him! Has to be done,” he muttered to himself.

“Babe,” Troy said, patiently. “I love you so much and I promise that, if it comes to it, I will help you hide the body. I’m going to have to request that you don’t murder my captain and best friend until after the season is over.”

“You ask such cruel things of me.”

“What did he do this time?” Troy started rubbing his shoulders soothingly.

Harris let out a long suffering sigh.

“Just the usual stream of insults and horniness.”

Troy had a haunted look in his eye, no doubt remembering the horrors of sharing a hotel room wall with them. Harris was pretty sure the team had a chore wheel to determine who had to room next the Hollander-Rozanovs now.

“Well,” Troy said, shaking off the war flashbacks.”If anyone is strong enough to break Ilya Rozanov it would be you, babe.”

Harris looked at his boyfriend.

“That may be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” Harris said, fondly. “And you’re right, I will crush Rozanov beneath my heel.”

“Oh, wow.”

“I’ll grind him into dust and build a new world order from his ashes. I will rule with an iron fist!”

“I’m so scared of you.”

“And so will he be.” Harris kissed him sweetly.

…

Harris needed leverage over Ilya.

Honestly speaking, he liked the guy. Ilya was a fun dude, compassionate, and a good listener (against all odds). Harris was kind of sad that he had to rein him in this way. However, this was war, and as the old adage goes; all’s fair.

Shane was the obvious choice, he had Ilya wrapped around his finger in ways that Harris would have thought impossible prior to meeting him. It helped that Shane was a very private person, and was clearly embarrassed to be perceived on a grand scale.

Now, it was mostly about whether or not he would agree to the plan.

“Shane, can I talk to you about something for a moment?”

Hollander stopped from where he had been heading to the door, tilting his head quizzically.

“Yeah, of course. Is everything alright?”

“Well, yes and no.” Harris started. “I’m sure you’re aware of Ilya’s online presence of late?”

Shane chuckled.

“Heh, yeah, sorry about that. I keep telling him to stop and he keeps not listening,” he said, rolling his eyes fondly.

“Here’s the thing, Shane; I may not be able to stop him, but you have more power over that man than anyone else on earth. I need your help.”

Hollander frowned slightly.

“What do you want me to do? Take his phone away?” he asked. “I’m not doing that, for a number of reasons.”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just need you to… wield your influence against him.”

Shane looked even more confused, this was going poorly.

“Look, there is no way to say this delicately, so I’m just going to say it. Friend to friend? I need you to go on sex strike with your husband until he learns to post professionally.”

Harris had an air of desperation to him, but he didn't care. He was at his wits end. Ilya had not stopped posting for the past week.

Shane went red faster than Harris had ever seen another living person do so.

“I– What– How– Harris!” he spluttered.

“Look, I’m sorry!” Harris said.”But I can’t do it anymore! You are the only one who can save us, Shane. It has to be you.”

Shane visibly cringed, trying to compose himself.

“Okay, now I’m not saying I will do this. Because, frankly, it’s wildly inappropriate that you would even ask.” He said, clearly trying unsuccessfully to will down his insane blush. “But, I can see that you are… stressed. So, hypothetically, what would the plan here be?”

Harris grinned victoriously.

…

Harris went to bed happy dreaming of a peaceful future. A future where certain blond Russians do not try to give him a conniption with their social media presences.

He suddenly understood why the others loved playing hockey so much; winning was intoxicating.

…

Harris did not wake up happy.’

Ilya Rozanov @ilyaroz81 ✔ the haters try to keep me down but i stay winning [attached photo is of Ilya Rozanov taking a mirror selfie, he is shirtless and clearly sporting many hickeys spanning his neck and chest. Ilya flexes his right arm and is wearing his signature cocky smirk]

Hollander you weak bitch. You didn’t even last one night?

Harris’ phone buzzed in his hand as he processed this latest defeat.

Ilya your move media man

Harris screamed into his pillow.

Chapter End Notes

i fear my brain may be broken and that i may live the rest of my life obsessed with fictional gay hockey players. there are worse ways to live i suppose As always feedback is appreciated

Chapter 4: Chapter Four: Wyatt Hayes

Chapter Summary This had to stop. Wyatt couldn't deal with it any longer. They were everywhere. Fucking everywhere.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes Wyatt Hayes had been described as observant in the past. Hell, he had been described as perceptive by Ilya, himself. The truth was he sort of couldn’t help it. Wyatt’s brain fired a mile a minute and in the process he picked up a lot of random details. He had noticed the addition of the ring on the chain around Ilya’s neck. He had noticed the way that, before, Ilya would smile quietly at his phone. He had noticed a flash of the name Jane. So, yeah, Wyatt had known that Ilya had someone. He had been piecing together in the back of his mind who it was when that video had leaked. He hadn’t really expected Shane Hollander, but he supposed it made sense. Wyatt had felt awful for the two of them in the aftermath of the video. However, the crazy whirlwind that followed it had dropped Shane on the Centaur’s doorstop. Despite the circumstances, Wyatt had never seen Rozanov so happy. Right now, however, they might be a little too happy. “This has to stop,” Bood muttered next to him. “I might be homophobic again,” Troy agreed. The three of them were standing near the entrance of the locker room staring at the captain of their team making out with his husband. Had this been but one year ago they would have averted their gaze, probably would have left the room entirely. “I know.” Wyatt did know. Unfortunately, this was not a year ago, back when they had thought having a married couple on their team would be all shits, giggles, and Stanley Cups. They had been so naive. They had assumed that Shane’s need for privacy would win out against his husband’s urges, or, at the very least, curb them. Wyatt had never expected to feel dismayed that Shane Hollander was becoming comfortable around them and letting loose. “This is the third time this week that I have caught them going at it.” Bood said, a haunted tone in his voice. “We are literally talking out loud like eight feet away from them, how have they not stopped yet?” “I’m going to be honest, I don’t think they’ve even noticed we’re here.” Troy sounded resigned. The two seemed to be escalating, if Ilya’s wandering hand was any clue. “Okay, enough!” Wyatt clapped his hands loudly. The lovebirds startled apart, detaching themselves at long last. “Oh! Hi guys.” Shane said. He, at least, had the good grace to look flustered; Ilya mostly seemed proud of himself. “When did you get here?”

…

“Okay, we didn’t want to have to do this,” Wyatt said. “But it’s become abundantly clear that it is absolutely necessary.” He slammed the jar on the table, label sticking out so that the pair could clearly read the words ‘PDA Penalty Jar’ written on the side. “Guys! Bring it in!” Bood and Dykstra wheeled in a chalkboard that Wyatt still wasn’t sure where they’d gotten. Desperate times. On it was written a series of examples of the type of behaviour they would no longer abide, next to a list of corresponding dollar amounts. “Hazy, what is this?” Ilya asked, leaning back against the couch with an arm slung around Shane’s shoulders. “This, Rozanov, is an intervention. You have to be stopped! We’re losing our sanity.” He gestured at Troy, who still had the look of war on his face. “We let it slide for a while, but you are taking advantage of our good natures.” “What? Is crime to love my husband?” Ilya said, raising his eyebrow. “You guys would love Russia.” “First of all, don’t. Second, you brought this on yourselves.” Ilya huffed, but obediently held his tongue. "From now on, excessive levels of PDA in communal spaces will result in fines; the severity of which will be determined by the type of action.” Hollander cleared his throat. “I don’t know if a jar is necessary, Hayes. I don’t think we’re that bad about it.” Wyatt suddenly understood how Shane had stayed in the closet for so long without being found out; usually only straight men had that level of audacity. “Not that bad?!” he squawked. “Not that bad?” “In the past week alone, I have found you in no less than five compromising positions.” Dykstra offered. “I knock on every door in the stadium, now.” Bood said, grimly. “Just in case you guys are inside. People don’t even question me when I do it, either. They understand.” “You guys started making out on the ice last week. During practice. Wiebe had to pull you two apart.” Shane was growing increasingly red with every accusation. Wyatt wished that Ilya was capable of feeling shame, instead of he was visibly reminiscing. “Okay!” Shane squeaked out. “But you could have just asked us to stop?” “No, Hollander, we could not. And I’ll tell you why.” Wyatt sighed. “Your husband both has no shame, and is also possibly the horniest dude I’ve ever met in real life. And you! You fold like a cheap suit every single time when it comes to him.” “I don’t–” “Every. Single. Time.” Wyatt said. “I don’t need to bring up the Harris incident, do I?” “He is right, moy pomidor. You are very easy for me.” Ilya drawled, from where he was lounging. “Is perfectly understandable, I have that effect on people.” “Thank you, Ilya! Thank you for illustrating what we are up against perfectly.” “No problem.” Wyatt was going to kill him. “That brings us to the rules. There are three levels of infraction; Verbal, Physical, and Borderline Illegal.” Hayes explained, pointing to the board. ”Verbal incidents cover the umbrella of excessive flirting, and will have a standard fee of twenty-five dollars. However, discretion by the fining party can be used to increase the amount based on the level of obscenity and content of the flirtation.” “Physical fines pertain to any level of touch with sexual intent. Groping, rubbing, kissing to an extreme degree, and slapping asses are all off limits! Fines related to physical infractions will have a minimum fee of one hundred bucks, and repeat incidents will have an increase of fifty percent.” “Fifty percent seems like a lot.” “Don’t test me, Rozanov. Lastly, we have the Borderline Illegal category. Anything that involves or exposes genitals, belongs in this section. Borderline Illegal actions will have a minimum fine of five hundred dollars. Repeated offenses will result in increases of one hundred percent, and if ignored will require us to separate you two for one hour.” Wyatt was breathing heavily at this point, but he felt his message came across. “Any questions?” Ilya quirked his head to the side as if considering. He stood up, helped Shane up from his position on the couch, and walked over to Wyatt. “Yeah,” he said, digging his hand in his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He handed Wyatt a stack of bills. ”Do you think this will cover us for the next hour?” I am going to piss on Ilya Rozanov’s grave.

Chapter End Notes

Oh my god we broke 1000 kudos!! You guys are so sweet!!! Thank you so much to everyone who has enjoyed reading :))) As always feedback is appreciated and makes me feel like i'm on cocaine

Chapter 5: Chapter Five: Luca Haas

Chapter Summary Luca loved his team, loved how close they all were. Sometimes, though, he thought they should have some distance.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes Luca liked Ilya Rozanov. It was one of those irrefutable facts of life; the sun rises in the east, Shane and Ilya were unreasonably horny, Luca Haas idolised Ilya Rozanov. Luca had been so excited to join the Centaurs, even more so to join the team Rozanov was on, it hadn’t occurred to him that there would ever be a downside. Which, in a way, there wasn’t. Luca had really lucked out with the Centaurs, they were probably the most welcoming team in the entire NHL. Ilya had made it clear that this team was to be an inclusive space, people who crossed the line would be dealt with. Luca supposed that wasn’t a very high bar, but he knew many of the other teams in the league failed to reach it. There were, however, times that Luca’s hero worship of Ilya faltered in the face of reality. Times where Ilya’s instinct to be a little shit won over Luca’s to be in awe. He supposed that he made it easy for Rozanov; all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Luca was too familiar with the feeling of noogying. He was practically born to be a little brother figure. Most of the time he enjoyed it, relished in it, even. He enjoyed the feeling of belonging this role gave him, even when the jokes about his youth and inexperience never seemed to end. The pride he felt when he contributed to games seemed to pale in comparison to the others on the team. Over time, he settled into the sense of family this team had, but especially the brotherly relationship he had built with Ilya. The problem was; if he didn’t know about Rozanov’s history of hiding Luca would assume he had never heard of the concept of privacy before. Brotherly friendships are a double edged sword, no one should ever have to hear about what their pseudo-brother wants to do to his husband “as soon as they get off this plane”. Luca thought about trying to sleep. The flight to New York was probably not long enough to warrant a nap, but he figured the only way out of this was the sweet release of unconsciousness. The worst part is that he knew that announcing his presence would probably only egg Ilya on. Shane seemed to be doing his best to look both disapproving and unaffected by the stream of filth that was pouring from his husband’s mouth, but unfortunately Luca had seen them interact enough to notice the signs that he was lying. His mouth was parted, a flush sitting high up on his cheeks, he panted slightly. Honestly, he looked a little fucked out. “You look so beautiful like this, moy solnishko, pretending that you are not moments from begging to be touched.” Ilya said, softly. Not softly enough. Luca had a fleeting wish for another emergency landing. “You’ll be a good boy, won’t you? You always take me so well, like you were made for it. You can wait a little longer.” Shane hissed something back to Ilya in Russian that made Rozanov chuckle. Ilya was clearly taking the feigned indifference as a challenge, because of course he did. They were the single most competitive couple in the entire world. They seemed to hold a lot of titles like that. Luca had mixed feelings about the Russian that was now being spoken by Ilya, smooth as silk. On the one hand, he didn’t have to understand his words anymore. On the other, if he was comfortable saying everything up to this point in English, how bad was the stuff he reserved for Russian? Whatever it was, it clearly had an effect on Shane. Hollander, honest to god, squeaked. Dear God, or whoever is out there, Luca thought desperately. I have never felt your presence less. But, if you would like to prove yourself, please crash this plane. In an act of what he could only call divine providence, the pilot’s intercom came on, announcing that they were approaching New York and would begin their descent shortly. Thank you, God. I will consider going back to church. Luca thought as they began filing off of the plane. The team collectively took one look at his beet-red face before offering their commiserations. “Ilya?” Dykstra asked, clearly already knowing the answer. “Ilya.” Luca agreed. “That’s rough, bud.” Luca never wanted to hear the word rough again, but he wasn’t going to tell Evan that. He kept his head down, and walked to claim his suitcase. Ilya and Shane were standing there, waiting for theirs to come down the baggage claim, but he steadfastly did not walk up to or talk to them. “Ilya,” Shane whisper-shouted, “What the fuck was that?” Oh dear lord, do not let me get trapped next to a domestic. “You know how you get on planes, moy lyubimyy. You needed distraction. I provide.” Wait, Luca thought. Was Shane scared of planes? Was this all to distract him from the height? It was a sweet thought, one that almost made up for the nearly two hours of suffering he had just been through. “You don’t think you could have distracted me a little quieter? Poor Haas looked like he wanted to die.” “He will live, is inspiration.” Ilya said, smugly. “Now he knows what to say if future boyfriend ever needs distraction.” He knew I could hear?? Nevermind about the whole “almost making up for it” thing, Ilya should start running. Ilya Rozanov, when I get my hands on you…

Chapter End Notes

Phew! I really struggled with this one ngl, but I hope you liked it. You all have been so nice and supportive while I've been writing this, I can't believe it's almost over!!! Next up: All the Centaurs having Ilya's back! The last chapter should be up soon :)) I shall never stop saying it, Feedback is always appreciated <3

Chapter 6: Chapter +1: Ilya Rozanov

Chapter Summary Ilya annoyed the shit out of his teammates, despite this they loved him fiercely.

Chapter Notes

Okay! So, a couple disclaimers; This chapter does have a bit of a tone shift! Trigger Warnings for injury, blood, suicidal ideation (not explicit or to an extreme degree but better safe than sorry), topics surrounding death, and hospitals Also: 1. Everything I know about hockey comes from OMG Check Please and Heated Rivalry so you're going to have to bear with me. 2. I also don't know shit about medicine, prepare for some medical inaccuracies. See the end of the chapter for more notes There was a fine line between charming and annoying. Ilya knew this well; he played that line like a goddamn fiddle most days. The trick was to be able to tell who was the right person err on the side of annoying near. Ilya also knew this well. The reality of the situation, however, was that he truly believed that if someone wasn’t able to handle his ability to infuriate, then they didn’t really deserve him being nice to them. Take Pike for example; there was no point in the beginning to not be a “menace”, as Shane liked to call him. Pike already had an idea of Ilya in his head, and had already made up his mind not to like him. Ilya didn’t feel it necessary to break his back trying to change his personality for someone who was not going to like him regardless. That being said, against all odds, he and Hayden were something akin to friends now. Friend- in-laws, perhaps. It was important to the growth of that friendship that Ilya showed him that he could be a shit-stirring asshole and also so in love with Pike’s best friend that he would never recover from separation. Ilya liked to think of himself as a loveable goofball with asshole tendencies. All of this is to say, Ilya knew he could be hard to handle. He knew the team, especially, were a little tired of his shit. But, he also knew that they loved him. Beneath it all, he suspected that they were happy he didn’t feel the need to hide his and Shane’s love anymore. Ilya was happy, too. Happier than he thought he had ever been in his life. No more hiding, no more waking up without his husband by his side. He was his husband, and Ilya would get to hold him for the rest of their lives. It was an intoxicating thought. The Centaurs were a tight-knit group, they felt more like a family than any team he had ever seen. They had each other’s backs. They had Ilya’s too. It had been a game against the Voyageurs, of course it was. An away game. Into enemy territory, Bood had joked. Ilya had laughed, but he thought the others could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He was worried about Shane, he always struggled with the thought of facing his former teammates, especially with how it all went down. And, Ilya was angry. Angry at the Voyageurs, for their cruelty, for their lack of loyalty. Angry at the league for protecting them. Angry at himself for not being able to shield Shane from this. Despite this, the game was going well. The Centaurs were up by three points, with Montreal only being able to net one point from them. It had been tense, an undercurrent of barely contained violence coiled beneath the surface. The checking from the Voyageurs had been nonstop, Ilya had hit the boards more times than he could count, and he knew Shane was in a similar situation. And then there was the “chirping”. It seemed Montreal players had no idea how to shut up. An endless stream of slurs and hatred poured from the mouth of virtually every player, bar Pike and Boiziau. If Shane felt affected while on the ice, he didn’t show it. He played like a man possessed, pushing past the insults and the brutality to do what he did best. He was beautiful. The lack of response seemed to only rile the other team up more, Ilya could see the anticipation of a fight brewing from where he sat on the bench with an ice pack to his ribs. He worried his lip as Shane, once again, hit the boards. It was Comeau. Ilya could see him spit something undoubtedly vile and cruel at Shane’s feet. Ilya’s teeth were clenched so hard he thought his teeth would shatter from the pressure. Whatever Comeau had thrown at Shane had clearly hit its mark. For the first time the entire game Shane reacted, snarling something at Comeau. Even from where Ilya sat he could see the savage smile that spread across Comeau’s face before he lunged. The fight didn't last long. It couldn’t, not with JJ and Hayden appearing to restrain their teammate. It was long enough. Shane was lying on the ice. Shane wasn’t getting up. There was blood on the ice and Shane wasn’t getting up. Ilya was on the ice before he was even aware he had moved. He couldn’t stop thinking about years prior, Shane being taken to a hospital he couldn’t visit until morning. He had to get to him, had to make sure he was okay, that he was breathing. He had to make him okay. The medics were already swarming, placing him on a spinal board, telling Ilya to keep talking to Shane, keep him awake. Ilya followed instructions he could barely hear over the buzzing in his ears. “Shane, my love, moy lyubimyy, you have to stay awake.” Ilya couldn’t have told you what language he was speaking in. “Come on, baby, eyes open. Ya tebya lyublyu. So much. I love you so much.” “Ilya,” Shane murmured, almost too quiet to hear. “Yes, sweetheart,” Ilya said, voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m here, moy solnishko.” They loaded into the ambulance, the game forgotten. Everything was loud, the sirens, the ringing in his ears, the sound of paramedics barking orders to each other. Ilya couldn’t think over the noise of it all. The hospital was too quiet. The doctors had told him what happened. Told him in long, complicated, English sentences that his brain couldn’t keep up with how there was a problem with Shane’s brain. Swelling? Bruising? Ilya didn’t know. All he knew is that he heard the words “if he wakes up”. If. Ilya didn’t know that a single word could scare him this much. Hayden was here, though he had stepped out to call Yuna and David for Ilya. Ilya didn't have the words. If he wakes up. Ilya suspected that if Shane didn’t wake up, he would never have the words again. “Hey sweetheart,” Ilya said to Shane, unmoving on the bed. He took solace in the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Pike is here. We are not even arguing, you would be so proud if you could see, so you should wake up now. Please wake up. Moy lyubimyy. Moy solnishko.” Someone walked in. Ilya registered their presence, but he didn’t move a muscle, just kept staring at his husband’s bruised face. “Here.” It was Bood. “Take this.” Bood handed him a tray with some food on it. “I do not want this.” “Ilya, you have to eat. It’s been hours.” “I can’t.” Ilya could hear the devastation in his own voice. “You can,” Bood said, gently. “He would want you to.” Ilya took a bite of the sandwich. … The Centaurs seemed to have a pact to make sure Ilya was never alone. Luca brought him a change of clothes, Bood and Hayes made sure he was eating. Troy was an ever-present silence at his side. Later, he would be grateful to them for that. Right now? He couldn’t feel much of anything. It had been two days. Two days and Shane still hadn't woken up. “Ilya, you need to shower.” It was Nick’s turn to keep Ilya company it seemed. “I can’t.” “Ilya, it’s been two days.” “You don’t think I know that?” Ilya said, harshly. “You think I have not counted the seconds?” “Ilya,” Chouinard prompted, kindly. Ilya deflated. He did not want to be cruel to his friend, his teammate. They were trying to help him. “Sorry,” he said, voice breaking on a sob. “I can’t– I can’t leave him.” “We will stay with him.” “The house is too far, I need to be near if– When. When he wakes up.” He had to wake up, Shane couldn’t die. Ilya wouldn’t survive it. “I’ve already spoken to Pike, you can shower at his.” “But–” “Ilya,” Nick interrupted. “You need to take care of yourself. He needs you to keep it together for him. Go shower. Pike’s outside to give you a ride.” … On the third day Ilya was trying not to admit to himself that he was giving up hope. Shane was strong, the strongest person he knew. He had never looked more frail than he did now, lying motionless on his hospital bed. Troy was on shift, something that Ilya was grateful for because he didn’t have the words to speak to anyone right now. Troy always seemed to recognise when silence was necessary. Ilya held Shane’s hand. It was warm, despite Shane doing his best impression of a corpse right now. Holding his mothers cross in his other hand, he prayed to the only God that’s ever mattered to him. “Shane, you can’t leave me like this,” he said in Russian. “I can’t– I can’t do it again. Please. Please, my love, wake up. I miss you.” A twitch in Shane’s fingers, barely perceptible where Ilya was holding him. He felt it like stepping into a hot bath after being in the freezing cold; searing, shocking heat enveloping him all at once. “Shane?” he cried. “Shane, can you hear me?” Another twitch, this time stronger than before. “Troy, get the doctor! Shane, moy solnishko, that’s right, I’m here. Come on, baby, you can do it! You can do it, moy lyubimyy, wake up.” Shane started moving in earnest now, hand reaching for the tube in his throat in confusion and panic. “No, moy lyubimyy,” Ilya caught his hand. “Is helping you breathe. You’re okay. You’re okay.” He was okay. Ilya was sobbing, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. Shane was okay, Shane was alive. Nothing else mattered. … He later found out that they had won the game. He couldn’t say he really cared, but he knew that Shane would. Apparently, they had just ended the match early, there had only been a few minutes left. Shane was a terrible patient, but Ilya had always known that was going to be the case. He refused to rest, always needing to be doing something. “You give me heart attack for three days by sleeping, and now you suddenly can’t lie down?” Ilya joked against the squeeze in his heart. Shane huffed and laid back down. The Centaurs had stopped by multiple times, dropping off care packages and support. They had been there every step of the way, even Coach Wiebe came by to check on them. Words could never be enough to describe how thankful he was for them.

Chapter End Notes

Here we are folks! End of the fic. I want to thank you all so much for the response y'all have given. This is like the second fic I've ever written, and the first I've ever finished, so the support has gone straight to my head love y'all so much! <333 Feedback is always appreciated :)) Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!