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, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Kip Grady, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), J.J. Boiziau, cliff marleau, Victor St-Simon, Eric Bennett, Carter Vaughan, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Minor Rose Landry/Svetlana Vetrova, Minor Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike, Minor Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Episode: s01e04 Rose (Heated Rivalry), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, POV Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are Gremlins that Feed Off of Each Other's Evil Energy, Autistic Shane Hollander, Depressed Ilya Rozanov (just a little), Fluff and Smut, Slice of Life, Light Dom/sub, Service Top Ilya Rozanov, Under-negotiated kinks, But they're both fine with that

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of For O bāchan's Adopted Commenters

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-28 Completed: 2026-02-06 Words: 65,257 Chapters: 10/10

In Different Circumstances

Summary

“Mic’ing us up? Did I hear that right?” Hunter questions.

“Someone in PR thought it would be funny to hear the three of you during all of your games,” Coach LeClaire explains, “The idea got out and spread like wildfire.”

“Huh,” Hunter responds.

“It would be funny to hear me,” Ilya corrects, “I am funny. The other two are boring.”

He hears Hollander huff out a laugh and bump shoulders with him as Hunter continues to ask questions. Casually glancing over to the other man, he sees a small smile playing at his lips. His eyes, though, there was a gleam that he hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t certain what it could mean, but it couldn’t be good for Ilya.

-

Or what if Shane had stayed with Ilya that night in Boston?

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Imagine - a world in which Shane Hollander has a single safe person in his life to talk him down from his bad decisions. ✨

Boston

Ilya watches Hollander pull back from where he was seated in his lap on the couch. He feels the man’s weight settle more on Ilya’s knees and widens his legs to accommodate the shift. Hollander was staring intently at him, his eyes bouncing from one part of his face to the next. Had it been a mistake to say his name? Hollander had said his, in return.

Ilya could feel the cum on his lower abdomen cooling quickly as he carefully puts his hands on top of Hollander’s thighs. Was he going to freak out? It certainly looked like he was going to freak out. Hollander’s hands slide up to cover Ilya’s, squeezing tightly as his breath comes out more rapidly. It was obvious that Hollander was trying to calm down, but he was quickly losing his internal battle. 

“Sorry,” the man says in a cut off voice, before pressing his lips together and attempting to control his breath. “Sorry- give me a second.”

He’s off of Ilya’s lap before the other man can stop it, quickly tucks his dick back into the pants that Ilya had given him, grabs his phone from the coffee table and darts off to Ilya’s bathroom. Ilya hears the door click shut and after a few moments, the muffled sound of Shane speaking in Japanese. 

Ilya tries to tune him out, even though he couldn’t understand the man. He had gone too far, it was obvious. It had been stupid of him to even suggest that Hollander stay the night. They didn’t do that, even if a part of him desperately wanted it to happen. It would be impossible - the two of them together in any capacity other than what they were. And even then, he should have ended things a long time ago. Hollander was not an easy man to quit, though. Cigarettes would be easier to quit than him. 

Staring down at the coffee table, he sees their almost empty plates. Ilya snags a chip off of Shane’s plate and pops it in his mouth, mechanically chewing as his mind swirls with his impossible desires and the crushing reality of everything. He had fucked it all up.

He hears Hollander end the phone call and the bathroom sink faucet turn on and off. The door opens and Hollander appears around the corner with a hesitant set about himself. He doesn’t look Ilya in the eyes as he walks up to the couch and sits next to him. Hollander gently wipes Ilya’s stomach clean with a wet washcloth and tucks his softened dick back into his joggers. It’s only when Hollander has tossed the washcloth onto the coffee table that the man looks into Ilya’s eyes. Ilya’s breath catches in his throat.

“Idiot,” Hollander says without any real heat behind it.

Ilya stares in amazement at the man in front of him, he slowly pulls Hollander closer and the other man allows it. He catches the slight shake in Hollander’s hands before pulling him into a tight hug, his chin resting on top of Hollander’s head. He can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face. He had fucked up, but Hollander was fine with it. 

Hollander huffs out a laugh and starts to slap at Ilya’s torso, asking, without words, to be let up. Ilya releases him, but keeps the man close, the wide smile still playing at his lips. Hollander gives a small smile back, his eyes still slightly wary. 

“Turn the volume back up, I think Price just started a fight.” Hollander says before turning to sit more fully on the couch, touching shoulders with Ilya as he tucks his legs up to hug against his shirtless chest. 

“Bossy,” Ilya says quietly before doing what he was told. He wraps an arm around Hollander, bumping the sides of their heads together before returning his focus to the TV. They both let out a sympathetic, “Ooohf,” as the camera zooms in on Price wailing on a defenseman from the other team. 

Once the game is over, Buffalo obviously loses, and the post game commentators finish giving their opinions on the different plays, Ilya turns to the other man and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Want to practice getting your ass handed to you?”

“Really? A third round?” Ilya loves the way Hollander’s nose scrunches in confusion, “We have all night.”

All night. What a nice thought. “No, I meant video game, Hollander. Fucking works too, though.” Ilya gestures towards his gaming console and the row of NHL video games. 

Hollander sits up in interest, Ilya missing the press of his body against his immediately. “Should we play the newest one?”

“Why? Because your face is on cover?” Ilya grumbles, standing to set the game up.

“Jealous?” Hollander asks haughtily. 

Ilya glances behind him where he’s crouched in front of his entertainment center to see Hollander splayed out on the couch, his body almost parallel with the seat cushions, but his head was bent at a funny angle. The man had a stupid grin on his face that made something in Ilya’s stomach flutter. He turns on his console before quickly standing and grabbing a pillow, throwing it in Hollander’s general direction.

“Jealous?” Ilya asks, picking up another pillow and managing to beam Hollander in the face with it. “Oh, Mr. Front Cover-” Ilya jumps on top of the other man, causing Hollander to let out a short scream that quickly dissolves into laughter as Ilya picks up one of the deployed pillows and continues to hit Hollander with it. “You think I was not asked to be on front cover first? Maybe I turned down offer. You know nothing.”

Ilya futilely tries to keep the grin off of his face, gazing down at Hollander in wonder. He had never heard the man laugh so openly. The mental slip causes him to hold the pillow limply between them. Hollander takes the opportunity to steal the weapon and hit Ilya back savagely. Ilya stands from his spot on the couch when he almost gets knocked off, and spins on the ball of his foot to run away. It doesn’t take long for Ilya to hear Hollander chasing after him.

They eventually do play video games together - wasting the late afternoon virtually kicking each other’s asses as they talked about their experiences filming movements for the game developers. Once the sun starts to set, Ilya orders in food from his favorite Italian place and they kill time by lazily making out before their food arrives. They eat at the kitchen island in comfortable silence. Hollander cleans up after, also grabbing the plates from their lunch. 

“Do you want to watch movie?” Ilya asks from his spot at the island, enjoying the view of Hollander bending down in front of the dishwasher. He gets a sound of approval in return. “What do you want to watch?”

Hollander closes the dishwasher and hums, propping his hip against the island. “Have you watched Earth Girls are Easy? It has young Geena Davis and Jeff Goldblum in it.”

Ilya frowns exaggeratedly and shrugs, “No. Is good?”

Ilya watches Hollander struggle to hide a smile before saying, “Oh, it’s right up your alley.”

They return to the couch and Hollander finds the film quickly. Putting on Russian subtitles before hitting play. Hollander’s hand finds his and Ilya watches the cheesy opening scene suspiciously. Ilya slowly gets more invested as they follow Geena Davis, playing Valerie, to work - 80s fashion was a lost art. He starts to play with Hollander’s fingers laced with his. 

“It is musical?” Ilya asks incredulously.

“Not really - just enjoy it for its heritage.”

“Heratige.” Ilya repeats.

“Typically used to describe inheritance, like a child inheriting their father’s business.” Shane explains distractedly. “In this case, it means an important piece of older media.”

Ilya hums in response and settles into Hollander’s side. Staring with wide eyes at Geena Davis in lingerie and a horrible wig, he thinks he understands what the idiom, ‘right up your alley’ means. His jaw drops when Jeff Goldblum is finally revealed in all of his oiled up glory. 

“Holy shit, Hollander.”

“Just wait for the night gown scene.” Hollander says, smiling. He hadn’t been wrong. The director knew what he was doing with the lighting as Geena Davis lounged in bed in a practically sheer, white night gown.

By the time the movie ends, Ilya is eager to touch Hollander all over. 

They kiss for a while on the couch, Ilya spread out on top of him, before he decides to stand up and guide the man back to his bed. He knows that he is being too tender as he prepares Hollander, his gaze not leaving the other man’s eyes. 

In his defence, Hollander’s expression is utterly soft, as well. Ilya allows the man to pull him up to press a loving kiss against Hollander’s lips. He travels down, pressing kisses as he goes, and settles to bite and kiss at Hollander’s neck.

Ilya moans as he slides into Hollander, fucking him slowly and unlike any other time they’ve had sex. They keep eye contact for as long as they can until Ilya has to break it, resting his forehead on Hollander’s shoulder as he continues to thrust in and out in slow drags. He feels one of Hollander’s hands slide up from Ilya’s waist to rest at the back of his head. 

“Idiot,” Hollander whispers between gasps. 

Ilya lifts his head and watches the slow smile spread across Hollander’s face. He admires the flush across the other man’s face that travels down his neck and across his chest. His hips snap forward on the next thrust just to watch Hollander’s smile break into a moan. He enjoys the sight immensely. 

Afterward, they shower and lay back down in Ilya’s bed. He gazes at Hollander as the man texts Pike to say that he’ll be back in the morning. It was so unusual for someone else to be in his bed - besides Svetlana, he never shared it with anyone. Ilya didn’t want to think about how right it felt to have the other man here. 

Hollander must get a response back, because he gives his phone an annoyed look and rolls his eyes, before quickly typing something back. Ilya makes a curious sound in the back of his throat, causing Hollander to turn the screen towards him. Tell Lily I say hi. ❤️

Ilya scoffs to cover up a laugh and twists at his waist to turn the nightstand light off. In the darkness of the room, he pulls Hollander close to him. The man’s body slots perfectly in Ilya’s arms, his back pressing against Ilya’s front. Ilya can’t help but kiss the back of Hollander’s neck before saying, “Good night, Shane.”

If Ilya thought falling asleep with Hollander was incredible, he couldn’t even start to describe waking up next to him. Ilya blinks slowly, the low light of the rising sun filtering into the room and catching at his eyes. He feels Hollander’s arm around his shoulders, Ilya’s upper body pressed against the man. 

Lifting his head, he realizes that Hollander was already awake, his head propped up against the pillows and a book on the history of U.S. hockey open in his lap. Svetlana had accidentally left it the last time she had come over. 

They make eye contact and Ilya watches Hollander’s face go through several emotions rapidly before settling on hesitance. Ilya smiles slowly at him and moves upward to kiss him good morning. When he pulls away, he sees the expression had been wiped off of Hollander’s face, and now a small smile was present, mirroring his own.

Hollander doesn’t stay much longer, talking about being needed for some things before their game. Ilya can’t be too sad, though, when he gets to watch Hollander leave in the clothes he had lent him. Turning to look back at his dresser, he sees Hollander’s clothes from the previous day neatly folded on the wooden top. 

The Bears win the game, Ilya had no doubts that they would. He smugly winks at Hollander as they shake hands in the line up and delights in the annoyance apparent in his features. As the team celebrates in their locker room, Coach LeClaire steps in and pulls Ilya into the hallway. 

“Do you need interviews?” It wasn’t unusual for the press to ask questions before they showered, but Ilya certainly preferred for it to happen after.

“No, it’s something else.” 

LeClaire leads him to their conference room where another one of the Bears' coaches was pulling up a Skype call. The Admiral’s coach and Scott Hunter appear through the projector. Ilya looks up at the screen in interest - what was going on? 

The door opens again, admitting the Voyagers head coach and Hollander. Ilya has to school his features as Hollander enters the room. His jersey and upper body pads were off, but his lower uniform remained. He is messing with some tape that is tightly wrapped around two of his fingers, and Ilya has to swallow hard when Hollander rips the medical tape with his teeth to finish the job. 

Hollander had gotten into a fight with one of their defensemen when he had targeted a rookie player from Montreal. Besides the supposedly broken fingers, the man also sported a split lip and a cut eyebrow. The guy definitely deserved what Hollander had given him, but it had absolutely skewed the game in Boston’s favor once Hollander was sent to the box. 

Ilya watches as Hollander moves to stand next to him and notice the screen with Hunter’s face on it. Hollander scrunches his nose in confusion, glancing at Ilya before looking at his coach. “What’s up, Theriault?”

“We have gotten word from the NHL.” Coach Theriault looks between the three top players in the league and rather irritably says, “They’re mic’ing the three of you up next season.”

“Mic’ing us up? Did I hear that right?” Hunter questions.

“Someone in PR thought it would be funny to hear the three of you during all of your games,” Coach LeClaire explains, “The idea got out and spread like wildfire.”

“Huh,” Hunter responds.

“It would be funny to hear me,” Ilya corrects, “I am funny. The other two are boring.”

He hears Hollander huff out a laugh and bump shoulders with him as Hunter continues to ask questions. Casually glancing over to the other man, he sees a small smile playing at his lips. His eyes, though, there was a gleam that he hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t certain what it could mean, but it couldn’t be good for Ilya.

Detroit

It had been a month since the Bears played Montreal. Ilya had been trying to focus on his workout, but Cliff Marleau and Victor St-Simon were both being incredibly annoying. 

“Hey, Rozy!” Cliff calls out, “Have you seen these pictures of Hollander? Looks like he has a new girl.”

Ilya hits the emergency stop on his treadmill and is at Cliff’s side in an instant. Hollander never had pictures of him with women in public circulate the media outlets. He leans in to see the man holding a beautiful woman’s hand as they walk across a street in Montreal. She had dark hair and a killer smile. 

“Rose fucking Landry. Can you believe it?” Cliff asks, “How’d a guy like him land her?”

“It says that their relationship hasn’t been confirmed or denied,” Victor reads over Cliff’s shoulder. “But they’ve been spotted at several places around Montreal in the last few weeks.”

“What is Rose Landry even doing in Montreal?” Cliff pulls the phone closer to his face to find the answer to his question. “Ah, looks like she’s shooting a new movie there.”

Ilya turns on his heel and grabs his phone where he had left it on his machine. He couldn’t believe it. Why was he so pissed? Is Hollander actually going steady with this Rose Landry? He quickly Googles both of their names and finds himself staring at paparazzi pictures in horror. The two of them shopping together - going to restaurants together - Hollander putting his scarf around her. Fuck.

Tampa Bay

He lets himself stew for a month. It works well for him on the ice, but he can’t seem to brush off the jealousy he feels towards the situation. Not even going out to clubs and taking hot women back to his hotel rooms had helped. More pictures of the two of them popped up every day. Not that Ilya had their names in a search bar open on his computer, or anything. Things had gotten dire. 

Finally, that afternoon before their game against Tampa Bay, but after their morning practice, Ilya gives in and does something he has never done before. He calls Hollander over FaceTime before he can think about it. He sets up the phone in his cubby in their temporary locker room - Ilya was the last one there. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and taps his foot impatiently as he waits for Hollander to pick up.

When the man finally does, Ilya is greeted with a blur of what could only be the inside of a house as Hollander’s phone moves around quickly. “Give me a second,” Ilya hears the man say. He’s pretty certain he gets put in Hollander’s pocket. There’s more rustling and he could hear the sound of kids' voices. “Ruby, Jade, grab your snow boots, you can’t wear your princess heels with fifteen centimeters of snow on the ground.” He hears the girls groan from far away and then a stampede of steps down a set of stairs. “Here, let me help with your coats and gloves - Jade, stop touching your sister. Ruby, if you kick her again, I’m locking you out of the house.” He hears the girls giggle and a door open. The girls call out their goodbyes to ‘Uncle Shane’ and Hollander says, “Lunch will be ready in thirty minutes. Have fun!” The door closes and there’s more rustling until finally the phone is pulled out of Hollander’s pocket and is set on what must be a kitchen counter. 

Ilya stares widely at the first image he gets of the man. His hair was askew, a plastic tiara much too small for him placed precariously on his head. He had horrible glitter eye makeup and blush on his face, certainly the work of this Jade and Ruby. What shocked him the most, though, was the sleeping baby held close to his chest with one of those fabric baby wraps. 

“Why’d you call? Is everything okay?”

“What is even happening?” Ilya finds himself saying, completely shocked out of the jealousy he had felt just moments ago.

“Oh - I’m babysitting for Hayden. Him and Jackie needed to help her parents out with something. I don’t remember what.” Ilya watches Hollander step away from the phone, moving around the kitchen with familiarity. He blinks when he realizes that Hollander was wearing his shirt - the one he had given him a couple of months back in Boston. Hollander’s head pops back into view, an eyebrow raised in his direction, “What’s wrong, Ilya?”

He feels warmth rise in his chest at hearing his name fall from Hollander’s lips. “Nothing,” he says quickly, watching Hollander leave the screen again and clattering around the kitchen. “Are you in relationship with Rose Landry?”

The noise stops suddenly and Ilya watches Hollander’s face slowly reappear in the picture. His nose was scrunched and his brows were furrowed. “You’re asking- really?” Hollander squints at the screen, “And what if I was?”

“Then now I know.” Ilya says quickly before ending the call. He groans in embarrassment and leans forward in his cubby, thunking his forehead against the cinderblock wall. He startles when Brad Hammersmith pops his head into the changing room and asks if he would be coming out soon. His phone lights back up with a FaceTime request from Jane. Ilya asks for a minute. 

He accepts the call. “I didn’t say I was, asshole.” Ilya grumbles in response. “I’m not. We’re just friends.”

“There are hundreds of pictures of the two of you all over Montreal and L.A..”

“Are you jealous?” Hollander asks sincerely. “Stop, don’t hang up again.” Ilya drops his hand where he was about to end the call. Hollander’s eyebrows furrow, a thoughtful look taking over his face. Just as he’s about to say something, the baby against his chest wakes with a cry. Ilya watches all of his attention turn to the baby, emotion catching in his throat for some unknown reason. “It’s alright, Arthur.” Hollander soothes in a soft voice, pulling him out of the wrap. “Mom and dad will be home soon.” Ilya watches Hollander quickly settle the baby and hold him in one arm as he steps out of view to stir a pot. “Have you talked to Svetlana recently?” Hollander asks.

“What are you talking about, Hollander?”

The man reappears and asks his question again. “I’m serious. Have you?”

“Why the fuck does that matter?”

“Language,” Hollander chides. He covers one of Arthur’s ears and says, “You owe Jackie Pike a dollar in the swear jar.”

“Christ, you are so irritating.”

“Like you’re a bed of roses.” Hollander says in annoyance. 

“What does that even mean?” He watches Hollander turn to some cabinets behind him and pull out some plates and cups.

“It’s similar to ‘the pot calling the kettle black’. You called me irritating, I am saying you’re also irritating.” Ilya hums in thought, privately grateful for Hollander being willing to explain the stupid complexities of English to him. “I’m not dating Rose Landry, Ilya.” Hollander says clearly. “I can’t explain the pictures, though. Talk to Svetlana.” Ilya feels his face crinkle in confusion. Distantly, he hears the Pike’s front door being opened and the voices of a man and woman filter through. “Hayden and Jackie are back. I gotta go.”

“Okay, poka.” (bye)

“Poka, Ilya.”

He stares at his blank phone screen for a moment before grabbing it and heading out of the changing room to meet the others. He pulls up Svetlana’s contact and calls her.

“Hi gorgeous,” she says in Russian, “It’s been a second, have you forgotten about me?”

“Why is Shane Hollander telling me to call you?” He responds back in Russian.

“Oh, your Jane?” Ilya’s mouth drops in shock and he moves his phone away from his ear for a moment before putting it back. “Why are you shocked? I know you, Ilyushka. You would think it’s hilarious to put Shane’s name in your phone as Jane.”

“So now you’re on a first name basis with him?”

“Yes, I love him, I think. Mind if I borrow him from you?”

“Why is today my worst nightmare?”

“If you change your attitude it could be your best.”

“My best nightmare?”

“Kinky, right?” Ilya can’t help the laugh that escapes. He hears another voice on Svetlana’s end - a woman asking who she’s talking to. “I’m talking to Ilya. You remember me telling you about him, yes?” He hears her respond in English. “Would you like to say hello?” Ilya hears the phone get set down and a tap as Svetlana puts him on speaker.

“Hello, Ilya. It’s great to meet you. Svetlana has told me a lot about you. Oh- I’m Rose, by the way!” He could practically hear her smile through the phone.

For the second time in under a minute, Ilya has to pull the phone away to stare at it in shock. Rose Landry? He puts the phone back to his ear and awkwardly says, “Hello, Rose.”

“Anyways, Rose and I are dating,” Svetlana continues on in English, “But word obviously cannot get back to Russia, so we asked Shane to help.”

“He’s your cover?” Ilya asks in disbelief. 

“Americans would call it a ‘beard’. You know, because a beard covers something up.”

Ilya lets out a deep sigh. Emotions that had been pent up for almost two months slowly releasing from his body. Why had he cared so much?

“Anyways, it would be great to meet you in person the next time we’re all in Boston.” Rose says.

Ilya dazedly agrees and hangs up soon after. He doesn’t remember getting off of the team bus or walking to his room, but when he blinks, he realizes the door is directly in front of him. He swipes the key card and falls heavily onto his bed. He feels his phone vibrate and pulls it out of his pocket. 

Jane: 

There are other reasons we could use FaceTime. 

You know, besides asking me if I’m sleeping with specific women.

Ilya feels a wide smile spread across his face.

Lily:

Fucker.

Jane:

Oh, sorry. I meant asking if I was in a ~relationship~ with specific women.

Ilya laughs loudly at that - relief filling him so fully, that it felt like he could burst.

Moscow

Ilya feels like the summer flies by quickly. The Montreal Voyagers had won their second Cup in a row, causing Ilya to fly back early. In between taking care of his father, fighting with his brother, going out, and exercising, Ilya finds himself texting Hollander.

It was almost a constant. They had switched to an IM app that could be used in different countries so they wouldn’t rack up insane phone bills over the summer. Some nights, when he is certain his father is asleep and he wasn’t planning to go out to a club, he would Skype Hollander in the safety of his bedroom. Almost always, they would get each other off. Ilya loved how hot it was to not be able to touch Hollander, but tell him exactly what to do to himself. Hollander would always do what he was told.

Something that Ilya tried not to think about too much was how they would stay on the call after they had both orgasmed. He absolutely did not think about the few times they had fallen asleep together, computer screens open and Skype still running.

Boston

Ilya leans forward in his spot on the couch, his feet planted squarely on the floor in front of him and his eyes glued to the TV screen. He had been the first of the captains to get mic’d up for a game. It made sense - he was obviously the most entertaining of the three. The TV was playing the DVR recorded commentary of the game from the previous afternoon. He watches in satisfaction as the sports commentators embrace the show he puts on. Coach LeClaire had encouraged him to ‘ham it up’ - that had been quite the phrase to parse out - and ham it up he did.

He flops back in satisfaction, a grin forming on his face as the commentators laugh at his antics. The video switches to Hollander to give his impression of Ilya’s running quips from the game. The Voyagers’ first game was later this evening, so their interviewer must have caught him after practice yesterday. He was half dressed in his uniform, a tank top practically pasted to his body. His hair was wet with sweat, his cheeks ruddy from the workout.

Ilya pauses the recorded show to take a quick picture of the man on his screen and text it to Hollander before he can think better.

Lily:

Slut

Hollander responds back faster than he expects.

Jane:

That’s the last time I’ll say something nice about you on TV.

A wide smile forms on his lips as he starts the video back up.

“Shane - you, Ilya Rozanov, and Scott Hunter are getting mic’d up this season during the games. What do you think about Ilya Rozanov’s interactions with other players?”

“Do you mean in general or from his most recent game?” Hollander asks, slightly out of breath. His lips were a nice red like he had been kissed hard by someone.

Ilya watches the interviewer shrug and say, “Both, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Rozanov is always fun to watch on the ice. You can tell how much he enjoys the sport as you follow his career. Starting fights and being a general nuisance is a part of it.” He pauses to wipe sweat off of his face with a towel that was thrown over a shoulder before continuing. “As for his game today, he was probably more annoying than usual because he knew he had a much larger audience who could hear him.”

Ilya grabs a pillow that was propped up next to him and squeezes it tightly to his chest. His cheeks were starting to hurt from how hard he was smiling. The broadcast switches back to the talking heads as they wrap up the segment with information on upcoming games. Hollander had called him annoying on national television. It was quite sweet of him to know Ilya so well. 

Several hours later, he settles into his spot on the couch at Svetlana’s place. His childhood friend brings over a large bowl of popcorn and plops down next to him, practically sitting halfway in his lap. Ilya accepts her legs getting flung over his thighs and grabs the bowl to keep it from spilling. She picks up the remote to flip to the ESPN channel where the Voyagers would be playing against Toronto. 

“Are we going to talk about you and Rose Landry?” He asks in Russian.

“Are we going to talk about you and Shane Hollander?” She retorts back.

“No.” He says crisply. 

“Then no.” 

Svetlana settles in as they watch the Toronto Guardians come out first to warm up. The announcers are animatedly talking about Hollander being mic’d for the game, and provide audio of him in the back getting his microphone settled under his helmet. There is some rustling and noises and the sound of tape being ripped. They hear Hollander say something in French. There is a pause as someone says something to him and then he says in English, “Did you just say my mic is hot?” Panic was clear in his voice.

They hear loud laughter get picked up from the locker room. The announcers were rapidly working to get a translation on what was said as they hear one of the Voyagers team members say close to Hollander, “What did you say?”

“None of your business, Hayden.”

There’s more laughter as another team member says something in French before switching to English, “There’s no need to hide the love you have for me, Capitaine.”

They hear Hollander groan loudly and a door open as he more than likely leaves the changing room. The announcers put a translation on screen, reading out, “Oh my goodness, what a handsome boy you are, J.J.” 

Svetlana lets out a loud, surprised laugh, a handful of popcorn raised halfway to her mouth. Ilya has a hand up to cover a smile of his own. Of all things that Hollander could have said or done, this was probably the most like him. It wasn’t the persona he put on in front of cameras or crowds - it was how Ilya knew him to be. A total idiot.

Ilya only partially listens to the announcers as the Montreal team makes it onto the ice, watching Pike and Boiziau skate after him to keep teasing their Captain. The game starts with Hollander at the center. The man wins the face off and is flying down the ice in record time. In under a minute, he has made a five hole, the Toronto goalie not reactive enough to close his legs in time.

Ilya leans forward at that, Svetlana releasing a low whistle. “He means business, yeah?” The announcers talk over each other before the audio turns to Hollander to pick up how he celebrates. All the man does is let out a small, ‘Yippee!’ before heading back to the center, receiving claps on the back from his teammates as he got back into position.

“Yippee?” Ilya asks somewhat distractedly.

It takes a few more minutes of gameplay, but Hollander sinks another puck in, upping the score to 2-0 for Montreal. This time, Hollander says something in French that the announcers translate to, ‘Heck yeah, baby.’ Ilya was in a secret not-relationship with a complete dork. Svetlana must catch the dumbfounded expression on Ilya’s face, because she starts to pester him as they set up for the next face-off.

In the middle of the second period, the score is 3-1 Montreal, Shane having scored every single goal for his team. There is some commotion with the announcers as they ask the broadcasting team to switch over to Hollander’s mic, their fingers pressed against their earpieces. 

Hollander and Pike were keeping the puck away from Toronto by cycling it between the two of them along the boards. As they make their way across the blue line, Hollander’s mic finally cuts in. Ilya couldn’t believe what he was hearing - never had he heard the man sing on the ice, but he was absolutely, without a doubt, singing under his breath as the puck passed between him and Pike. 

It was almost distracted in the quality that he was singing, like he didn’t realize it was actually something he was doing aloud. The commentators quickly identified the song as, “All I Wanted” by Paramore. They go silent as the man continues to sing quietly.

“I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times

Fall asleep on the couch - shit, get it back Hayd”

Ilya watches Pike quickly maneuver to re-obtain the puck.

“Wake up early to black-and-white reruns

That escape from my - Wah! Jesus Christ, Kent -  mouth”

Ilya watches as both Hollander and Pike have to evade Dallas Kent several times before they finally shake him.

“All I wanted was you

All I wanted was you”

Hollander scores another goal with an assist from Pike. 4-1 Montreal.

“Yay, Hayden!” They hear Hollander say before the Voyager line gets switched out. The announcers leave his mic on, allowing the public a chance to listen to the man cheer his team on from the bench. There was no way the Guardians were coming back from this. 

Hollander is put back in for the last five minutes of the game. The score had changed to 6-2 Montreal. It was honestly boring to watch with Toronto being so awful. It was as if Hollander heard his thoughts, because one second the man is minding his own business, cruising down the ice, the next he’s getting rammed into the boards by Kent. 

“Fag,” is heard loud and clear through Hollander’s mic, before Kent skates off.

Hollander rights himself quickly and skates after the man, yelling, “What was that Kent? Say it again so all of your fans can hear what a homophobic piece of shit you are!” 

Kent stops skating suddenly, causing Hollander to have to do a fancy spin around him so they don’t run into each other. “You heard me, bitch.” The Guardian center says loudly before throwing his gloves to the ice and swinging at Hollander. 

“Jesus,” Svetlana breathes out.

They watch Hollander deftly evade the punch, drop his gloves, and swing one himself. He manages to deck Kent right in the nose. Blood flies everywhere, causing Hollander to say, “Ew,” before dodging another punch. The refs get involved after Kent finally manages to land a hit on Hollander, his helmet getting knocked off in the process. 

The audio cuts out and the commentators speak too quickly for Ilya to pick everything up. They both get 5-minute penalties for the fight, but Kent also gets another minor penalty and will probably have to pay a fine for instigating. 

The Voyagers win 6-2. 

After the game, interviewers surround Hollander, who is clean and in his suit, but is holding an ice pack to his eye. They ask several rapid fire questions, but the one Ilya pays attention to is, “What gave you the drive to hit so many pucks in tonight?”

Ilya watches a slow smile form on Hollander’s face, big enough to cause his visible eye to crinkle before he looks directly into the camera and says, “Rosanov made three goals during his last game, so I made four.” Ilya’s jaw drops at that. 

In past seasons, they would sometimes talk about each other to the press, but it was usually Ilya doing most of the pestering. He looks towards a suspiciously quiet Svetlana to see her hand clamped over her mouth, trying desperately to hold in her laughter. He hears the interviewer ask for Hollander to clarify and the man goes on to shrug and say, “Scott should get at least one more, too.”

This little asshole. Svetlana couldn’t hold her laughter in anymore, slapping at Ilya as she says between gasps, “Now I know why you like him so much. How does it feel to get a taste of your own medicine?”

“Fuck off.”

Hollander winks at the camera before Ilya gets the chance to turn off the TV.

The first time the Bears go against the Toronto Guardians, Ilya makes sure to find a reason to beat the ever living shit out of Dallas Kent.

San Francisco

Scott Hunter is unfortunately as boring as Ilya thought he would be. The Admirals were a few games in and the majority of what was recorded was the man encouraging his team and being disgustingly wholesome. He is even nice to his opponents. 

Ilya refuses to think about the fact that Hunter had also scored four points directly after the Voyagers’ first match. He wasn’t thinking about that at all. 

He watches sulkily in his hotel room as the Admirals and Voyagers lined up to face each other for the start of the game. It should be Ilya playing against Hollander, not this boring old man. It pisses him off even more when their microphones pick up Hunter saying, “What a handsome boy you are, Shane,” before the puck drops in between them. Shane lets out a loud laugh, scoops the puck up, and speeds off.

He was planning on saying that to Hollander. He runs a hand through his hair roughly. Ilya didn’t want to acknowledge the jealousy of Hunter flirting openly with Hollander on live television with no one questioning it. Or the jealousy of Hollander laughing in response. Ilya groans dramatically and continues to watch the game. The Voyagers are doing well, like always.

The commentators switch between both of the Captains’ mics, with Hollander starting back up on his background music half way through the first period. This time it was a song in French that Ilya didn’t recognize. Boiziau is playing defense in this line up and is sticking close to Hollander. The Haitian-Canadian picks up on Hollander’s singing and joins in much louder, as they evade the Admirals. 

The Admirals make a bad play resulting in a minor penalty. As the players wait for the refs to make the call, Boiziau shimmies at Hollander as they continue to sing their stupid song. The most incredible thing happens, though, when Hollander returns the move. Caught on live TV dancing on the ice. A hand flies up to cover Ilya’s mouth. He was certainly feeling second hand embarrassment, right? That was the feeling rising up in his throat. He didn’t like Hollander like that.

The game continues on, Montreal in the lead by a point. Every now and then, they hear Hunter say something nice to his team or Hollander make a cartoonish yelp as he avoids getting hit by another player. The Voyagers win 2-1. Hollander had scored all of their points, this time. Ilya had only scored one goal last game. The dick.

Chapter End Notes

A Shane Hollander who is consistently getting attention from Ilya would absolutely be singing on the ice. Especially to songs he's had in his playlist about Ilya for YEARS.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

"Teenage Dirtbag" by Nullevoy on AO3 should be universally accepted as canon.
Go read it and come back if you haven't already.

Boston

Ilya was incredible. A god even. A gift given to all NHL fans. 

He had never realized just how popular being mic’d would make him. As long as he wasn’t playing a fan’s team, fans outside of the Bears were starting to come around to the fact that he was hilarious. Finally, right? He was given the power to terrorize his opponents, and he did it with pure joy in his heart.

It helps that they had just won against Philadelphia. 

He leans back in his cubby, his uniform halfway off, as he watches the Voyagers play on a TV high up on the wall. They were currently tied with their opponent. Ilya watches Pike skate close to Hollander as they run through a manoeuvre.  

Typically, Hollander would start singing on his own volition, but this time Pike had encouraged it. The man starts off confidently, 

“Baseball

Basketball”

Pike claims the puck and passes it to Hollander who sings,

“Wiener dog

Short shorts, cigarette

Surf board, ping pong

-Wah! J.J. help!- Rugby ball, weiner dog”

What the fuck was this song? The commentators finally pull up the song title, “Sports” by Viagra Boys and Ilya quickly opens up Spotify on his phone to listen to it. No, it really was that bad. Ilya tunes back in to hear both of them now singing.

“Sports

Sports

Sports

Sports”

Jesus Christ, they sunk one in the net. 

A couple of days later, Ilya is eagerly awaiting Hollander’s arrival. 

They both miraculously have a gap in their schedules, which means the man is able to stop in Boston on his way back to Montreal. Ilya smooths the sides of his hair back and heads to the door when he hears a knock. Opening it, he is greeted by a blinding smile from Hollander before the man is in his arms, kicking the door shut behind him.

Ilya happily kisses him back, but when he tries to deepen the kiss, Hollander pulls away. “We have to be at Svetlana’s in 30 minutes.”

“So? How is that my problem?” Ilya responds, attempting to pull Hollander’s jacket off of him.

Hollander lets it fall to the floor, but grabs ahold of Ilya’s arms as he slides his hands up under his sweater. “Traffic is bad.”

“Then we have excuse for being late. Get on bed, Hollander.”

Ilya watches Hollander fight a smile that is trying to form at the corners of his mouth, and enjoys the feeling of Hollander’s hands leaving his arms to snake around his waist, instead. His eyes get a little darker as he says, “You don’t think you can wait?”

Ilya certainly loves a challenge just as much as Hollander does - his interest peaked. Hollander gets what he wants. Like always, the fucker. Ilya drives them to Svetlana’s house in his Ferrari 458. Hollander - the baby - holds onto the ‘oh-shit’ handle tightly and curses at him in French the entire time. Ilya had missed riling the man up.

Svetlana greets them at the door, giving Ilya a tight hug before turning to give Hollander a kiss on the cheek. “Come in,” she says to both of them, “Rose is currently destroying my kitchen.”

“I am not!” Ilya hears the woman call from the other end of the main floor. 

They follow Svetlana to the kitchen to be greeted with an unholy mess of flour and roasted tomatoes. “Oh my god, Rose. What were you trying to make?” Hollander says in a hushed voice. Ilya watches him scan the scene with something akin to horror.

“Don’t be mean!” Rose drops the rolling pin on the counter top and slaps her hands on the granite surface. “I was trying to make dinner,” she admits in defeat. “Svetlana mentioned that Ilya likes pasta.”

He hears Svetlana let out a huff of a laugh next to him, her arms crossing in front of her chest, and her hip popping to rest against a cabinet. Rose had tried to make pasta for him? Hollander steps up to Rose and brushes gently at some flour that had been wiped on her cheek. “Want some help?”

Her dark expression quickly turns happy as she eagerly accepts his help. What that actually means is Rose getting in his way multiple times while Shane tries to follow the recipe she had been using. Finally he breaks and says, “Get out of the kitchen. All of you. I will leave in the next minute if you don’t go away.”

How did Hollander manage to surround himself with people who loved to annoy him so much? Maybe it was a Hollander issue. It was so easy and fun to annoy him - why wouldn’t you want to? 

They settle in the living room that is close by, Ilya listening to Rose talk about her press tour for her new movie that had just come out. It was only when Svetlana and Rose become more immersed in their own conversation that he gets back up and casually walks over to Hollander. 

The other man eyes him suspiciously, but allows him to step up and wrap his arms around Hollander’s waist. Hollander pauses rolling out the fresh pasta in Svetlana’s fancy pasta maker to turn in his arms so they face each other. He rests his arms on top of Ilya’s shoulders, being careful not to get flour on him. 

“Oh my goodness, what a pretty boy you are, Hollander.”

Hollander rolls his eyes and tries to pull out of his grasp, but Ilya holds on firmly. “Literally the first thing I say after getting mic’d up.”

“I know, I was watching.” 

Hollander looks up at the ceiling, trying to will the blush away from his cheeks, “Hayden had just given him a haircut and I hadn’t seen it yet.”

“Why don’t you call me handsome on television?”

“Wasn’t I doing that by calling you annoying?” Ilya feels his chest fill with warmth. He watches Hollander glance down at Ilya’s shirt and say, “Is that my shirt? I can’t believe that even fits you.”

“Took you long enough,” Ilya responds, stepping out of Hollander’s hold to show off his upper body in the tight shirt. The bottom slightly rises up from where it is a little too short as he flexes his biceps. He enjoys watching the heat that fills in Hollander’s eyes. Ilya can’t help but grin.

Hollander’s gaze jumps between Ilya’s lips, arms, chest, and the sliver of skin below his shirt. Finally, he visibly shakes himself and says, “Leave, if you want pasta.”

“We could order in.” He switches to another flex, quite literally peacocking in front of Hollander.

“I’m not losing.” Is all Hollander has to say for Ilya to drop his posing, “Go hang out with Rose and Svetlana.”

“They’re probably making out by now.”

Hollander pauses and looks towards the living room before turning back to Ilya, a haunted look in his eyes, “You’re probably right. I’ve walked in on them several times. Like- I was expected, you know, invited over.”

Ilya lets out a laugh at Hollander’s woes. He gently brushes hair out of Hollander’s face that the man wouldn’t have been able to get with dough covered hands. Sidling up next to him, Ilya implores, “Let me help.”

He watches Hollander’s expression go soft and he steps out of Ilya’s way, “You just want to crank the pasta maker, don’t you?”

Ilya grins widely and grabs hold of the handle, listening to Hollander tell him what to do. 

Later, when they’re all at the table, eating in comfortable silence besides the occasional compliment to the chef, Ilya finally asks, “So, Rose. How did you meet Svetlana?”

Rose smiles widely, a loving look shot to her girlfriend before turning her attention back to Ilya. She really was quite lovely now that he didn’t have to hate her guts for taking Hollander away from him. “Svetlana worked on X-Squad with me. She supplied a few of the cars that were used during filming. We ended up going out for dinner after a really long day and ended up staying at the restaurant past closing. We had so much to talk about!” She looks back to Svetlana and grabs her hand that was resting on top of the table. “She’s so funny and intelligent. It felt like we clicked right away. It’s been half a year now.”

Ilya watches in amazement as his best friend turns bashful at the praise. Svetlana reaches up with her free hand and tucks a piece of dark hair behind Rose’s ear. “My kisa.” (kitty) She says warmly. “I never thought I’d meet someone like you.” Ilya looks away when they move in to peck each other on the lips. His gaze catches onto Hollander and considers what both women had just said. He catalogues Hollander’s features intently. The man’s eyes are soft and he has a small smile on his face as he gazes at Rose and Svetlana. He quickly looks away before Hollander can turn that gaze onto him.

Ilya asking about Rose and Svetlana’s relationship opens the dam of questions Rose had been holding back on him. He had never met someone who was so genuinely interested in getting to know him - and so thorough about it. She got Ilya admitting things that he hadn’t even revealed to his teammates. 

That’s how he finds himself on the couch with Hollander at one side and Rose and Svetlana at the other side of him, watching in rapt silence at old videos Ilya and his idiot friends had made when they were teens. His arms were stretched out on the back of the couch allowing Hollander to lean into him, his face hidden in his shoulder. 

“I can’t watch this shit anymore. How did you not die?” Hollander says, like he was physically in pain.

Svetlana laughs from Ilya’s other arm, Rose curled around her. “You think this is bad? Consider how many takes he needed to get his car to do donuts just right.”

“That’s not actually lighter fluid you just drank, was it?” Rose says in awe.

“I swear to god, stop talking, all of you.” Hollander pleads.

“Shane, this is best part.” Ilya nudges at the man with his shoulder, “Look - car almost flips, but it doesn’t at last second.”

The three of them burst out laughing as Hollander lets out another miserable groan. 

It’s incredibly late by the time they get back to Ilya’s penthouse. Hollander must have been exhausted, because once Ilya comes back from the bathroom, the man is passed out on top of the covers, his clothes from the day still on. Ilya smiles softly and walks over to pull off the man’s clothes. He’d be grumpier in the morning to find that he hadn’t changed than now as Ilya disturbs him.

He manhandles Hollander until he’s under the covers and quickly strips out of his clothes before getting in bed next to the man. There was always tomorrow to get each other off. The other man didn’t need to leave until 3 PM. Hollander turns in his sleep and curls against Ilya’s chest. Ilya wraps an arm around Hollander and says, “Spokoynoy nochi, solnishko.” (Good night, little sun.)

“G’night,” Hollander grogily says before burrowing further into Ilya.

New York City

Ilya was pleased with the results of the Bears game against the Admirals.

He didn’t know what had happened to Hunter, but his game had dipped noticeably in his past few games. It would have been embarrassing to lose against him when he was doing so poorly. 

He whistles as he walks down the hotel hallway to his room. He stops abruptly in front of his door to see a brown takeout bag on the floor. Hollander had asked for his room number like he was planning on showing up after the game and not in an entirely different country. Ilya crouches down to pick up the Thai food. 

Ilya unlocks the door and sets the bag of food on the small circle dining table in his single room. He pulls out his phone from his suit pant pocket and sends a FaceTime request to Jane. Hollander picks up after the second ring. 

“Good job, tonight.” Hollander says tiredly. Ilya could barely see him in his dimly lit room. He watched the man rub aggressively at his eyes before blinking them rapidly and looking back at the camera. 

Ilya pauses. It had only happened a few times, but it was obvious each time it did. Hollander would overwork himself or forget to get enough sleep and would end up fraying at the edges. He would hear it in Hollander’s voice or see it in his expression over a call.

“Where are you?” He finds himself asking.

“My parents' place.” There’s some shuffling before a bedside lamp clicks on. The room was still dim, but he could see the headboard Hollander was leaning against and the blanket pulled up to his chest better now. 

Ilya hums in response, pulling off his suit jacket and tossing it behind him on the bed before sitting down at the dining table. “You got me dinner.”

“Can’t live off bad vodka and McDonalds to be the second best hockey player.”

Ilya scoffs to hide a laugh and starts to pull food out of the paper bag. “Maybe is poisoned. Trying to get rid of competition before big game between losers and Bears?”

Ilya enjoys the light laugh he gets from Hollander. “Our game is still three weeks away.”

“Poison is poison, Hollander.” He happily starts to eat his yellow curry and rice.

“I thought all Russians microdosed poison like Rasputin.”

“Oh? You think I am like Rasputin? He did also get a lot of women.”

“Alright there, Wiploc.”

“Wiploc? I would obviously be Jeff Goldblum’s character. What was his name, again?”

“Mac.”

“Right, Mac.”

“You going out tonight to celebrate?”

Ilya had been planning on it before he had seen the food waiting at his door. He shrugs at the camera, a bite of food in his mouth. “Early flight tomorrow.”

“Los Angeles?”

Of course he knew where Ilya was going next - but Hollander could probably recite where every team would be playing next. “Yes. You go to Buffalo next.”

“Then New York City.”

“Why are you at your parents’ house?”

There is a long pause where Hollander seems to be considering how to answer. “I had a bad night out last night. Hayden left early to call Jackie. He told me to stay and have fun, but J.J. left with a girl right after. Got stuck in a conversation with someone for too long.”

“Someone was trying to talk to you at club?” He sets the Coke can down onto the dining table. 

“Yeah. He kept talking about astrology or some shit. I think his name was Chase? Chance? He wanted to take me to a diner around the corner.”

“Oh, he was trying to pick you up?” He attempted to quash the feeling of jealousy rising up in him. It’s not like Ilya didn’t go out to clubs to meet people. He had been planning to do that tonight, even.

“He was a little too insistent - kept touching me.” All thoughts of jealousy wash away as he looks at Hollander severely. 

“Shane-”

“Nothing happened, I got outta there.” He hears Hollander sigh heavily, watching him scrub at his face roughly. “All I could think was that if he were you, I would have happily gotten food.”

Ilya blinks a couple of times as he translates what Hollander had said in his head. If it had been Ilya walking up to Hollander at a bar, he’d go home with him? He had been thinking about Ilya when another man was trying to pick him up?

“And you got me food.”

“Yeah, I ordered in Thai, too, but my mom made me eat it earlier. I hadn’t eaten yet today.”

Ilya’s lips part slightly as he considers what Hollander was really telling him. “You are too good for me.” He says in Russian.

“Not true.” He watches Hollander shift onto his side, his phone following his face onto the pillow. “I can’t believe you got into it with Scott. Talk about kicking someone when they’re down.”

“Oh, Scott,” Ilya says in a poor imitation of Hollander, “Scott Hunter is so cute and I’d let him fuck me because he’d ask nicely.”

Hollander laughs before saying, “That was truly horrible. Verging on defamation, I would argue.”

“Would you prefer him not to ask nicely? I don’t think he could do that. Is he secretly Canadian?” Ilya takes another bite of his dinner, “He’s definitely more Canadian than you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, asshole?”

“You’re too annoying to be true Canadian. And it’s not annoying that is on purpose, you are just actually that way.”

“Punk ass - stop eating that curry then! You piece of poop!”

“Wow, piece of poop. Very good, Hollander.” He continues to eat his delicious meal.

Chapter End Notes

Ilya is too in love to realize that Shane can understand him when he speaks Russian now. 🙃

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Please look up a picture of 2005 Volkswagen GTI in preparation for this chapter.

Washington State

Ilya was just about to head out to dinner with the guys, the game between the Voyagers and the Admirals just having finished. The Voyagers had destroyed the other team. Hunter was still in a funk that was affecting the other players. Ilya has just put one shoe on when he hears Hollander’s voice over the mic, “Hope next time we play, you decide to show up.”

For Hollander, that wasn’t an insult or a chirp. He didn’t really do those. Ilya bet he meant it - Hollander liked Hunter. He glances up in time to see the camera on both captains. 

“Cheap.” Hunter says through his heavy breaths.

“True.” Hollander insists. 

“You’re starting to sound like him.”

Ilya drops his other shoe. There was no way. He puts his hands to his face as he watches Hollander ask, “I’m sorry, what?”

His mouth drops open as Hunter doubles down, “You fucking heard me, Hollander.”

Ilya had never seen Hollander start swinging so fast on the ice. Especially never at someone like Scott Hunter. Players from both teams attempt to pull their captains away as they both struggle to pummel each other. Their audio is clipping in and out with how loud they are yelling at each other. Ilya had never seen Hollander so pissed. 

He knows to expect the call once he’s back from dinner. Ilya didn’t know how he should handle it, but he still picks up the phone once it starts to ring. There’s a prolonged silence on the other line. 

“Shane,” Ilya starts.

“So I might have overreacted.”

“You think?”

“My grandma already called and said that I finally made her proud. She always wants me to get into fights like you.”

“Your grandmother has good taste. Shane, he didn’t even say my name.”

“But he knows.”

“Right. Should I get my cousin Victor to deal with him?”

“You don’t have a cousin Victor. You would have used that line on me already if you did.” He hears Hollander let out a heavy sigh. “I blame you for this.”

“Unfair! Why me? What did I do?”

“Scott was right next to me when you told me your room number during our first All-Stars game.”

“So?”

“You should have seen the look he’d given me.”

“You don’t think he’ll do anything?”

“No, I think he’s just having a shit go at things. He’s not like that.”

“Did you get at least one punch in?”

“Shut up.” Hollander protests, but Ilya can hear the smile in his voice.

“Fine, what are you wearing?”

Hollander lets out a laugh at that, but seems more than happy to inform him.

Québec City

Ilya is practically vibrating with excitement in his cubby as he laces up his skates. The Bears were finally playing against the Voyagers for the first time this season. 

He watches his team mill around the changing room, several of them joking around while waiting for the others to finish up. The teams were playing in the Québec City stadium due to planned maintenance on the Montreal arena. It didn’t happen often, but still occurred maybe once a season that two teams would play away for a game.

Montreal was already on the ice by the time Boston stepped out. Surprisingly, the seats are full and rather evenly divided between both teams - the distance not being as much of a deterrent as their coaches had predicted. As he goes through his typical warm up routine, he positions himself to watch Hollander on the other side of the center line.

He had so many ideas on how to mess with the man while they were both being recorded. His coaches had even pulled him into a meeting to discuss how to best use their public rivalry to the team’s advantage. Ilya was pretty confident that he could get under Hollander’s skin tonight.

The game starts, Ilya and Hollander skating up for the first face off. Ilya has a wide, evil smile on his face as he catches Hollander’s gaze, “Hollander.” 

Hollander returns his smile, but to his surprise, it is much sweeter than Ilya would have expected. “Udachi, Ilyusha.” (Good luck, Ilyusha.)

Ilya’s jaw drops and he’s left in the snow Hollander kicks up as he obtains the puck and races off. What the fuck? He shakes himself and growls in frustration, quickly pivoting to follow after the man. Ilya was faster than Hollander, he could catch up.

It happens every single time Ilya gets close enough to try to pester Hollander. All of his careful planning was utterly ruined by Hollander chirping at him in Russian! He didn’t chirp - that wasn’t Hollander’s style. And he definitely didn’t know Russian. He was absolutely calling Svetlana after the game to chew her out.

“Oy, bud'te vezhlivy.” (Ow, be nice.) Hollander grunts when Ilya slams him into the boards to steal the puck.

“Rasskazhite, skol'ko golov vy planiruyete zabit'.” (Tell me how many goals you plan to score.) Ilya chases after him and is unable to stop the puck from flying into the Bears' net. “I have to make one more than you.” Hollander says as he skates around Ilya.

“Ty chto, yazyk proglotil?” (Cat got your tongue?) Hollander asks during another face off.

The Bears were doing poorly. Very poorly. And what was worse was that he knew the game announcers were probably having a field day with what Hollander was saying - if they had found a translator, at least. Near the middle of the last period, a fight breaks out between two of their defensemen that causes the other players on the ice to also start throwing punches. 

Ilya stops his skates next to Hollander who had flipped his stick upside down and was resting his face against the blade. He hears the man sigh and say, “They’re such idiots.”

Ilya can’t help the laugh that bubbles out. This had been the most bizarre game of hockey he had ever played in his life. He should be pissed at Hollander, but he catches the man's gaze and can only return the smile the man sends him. 

The refs are having a hard time breaking the fight up, and more of the players from the benches have streamed onto the ice to either help stop the fight or continue it. It was hard to tell. Both men turn to the glass when they hear knocking from the other side. 

A small, old Asian woman was trying to communicate through the glass over all of the noise. 

“O bāchan!” Hollander calls out happily.

They both watch her mouth move, as she gestures at Hollander and then points towards the fight. She forms her hands into fists, and holds them up in a fisticuffs gesture. 

“What? No!” Hollander shakes his head aggressively, “I’m not going to fight, grandma.” He repeats what he says in Japanese, if Ilya had to guess.

This was Hollander’s grandmother? Now that Ilya thought of it, he could remember a few interviews Hollander did post-games in Québec City when his grandmother would be standing next to him. She would answer questions in French and often would say the most embarrassing thing that she could to mess with Hollander. 

Ilya watches his grandmother throw her hands up in exasperation before turning to Ilya. He watches her point at him, then at Hollander, and finally raise her fists up in front of her again. Ilya let out a surprised laugh. Hollander’s grandma was telling Ilya to fight him?

He shrugs at her and quickly wraps Hollander into a headlock. Not hard enough to actually count as one, but tight so the man couldn’t easily get out of the hold. 

“Nantekotta, O bāchan?” (What the fuck, grandma?) Hollander struggles in Ilya’s arms. “I can’t believe you’d listen to her.” He grunts

“Come on, let’s go have fun.” Ilya says lightly, kicking off the ice to spin them towards the action, their sticks left behind them. 

The Bears lose 3-0. 

It was an embarrassment, really. Several of his teammates were about to pay quite the hefty fines for starting some of those fights. After Ilya showers, he is quick to dress in his suit and leave the oppressive atmosphere of the changing room. Just as he’s turning out of the door, a hand shoots out and grabs ahold of his forearm. He lets out a very manly yelp and turns to see Hollander’s grandma standing next to him.

She says something in French before hauling him off to another side of the arena, managing to avoid all of the press in the process. When they finally stop down a nondescript hallway, she leans back against the cinder block wall and crosses one arm in front of her. Her other hand is still holding onto Ilya’s arm.

Uncertain of what to do, he mimics her posture and looks up and down the hallway. He feels like a little kid again with his babushka, waiting for their food to be ready at the small corner restaurant she had been going to for over 50 years. It isn’t a bad feeling. He looks down at the older woman to see her gaze focused on a door just down the hall.

After a minute of waiting, Hollander steps out of what could only be the Voyager’s changing room and almost immediately notices them. The man visibly brightens and makes his way over to Ilya and his grandmother. He is wearing a nice fitting navy suit with a silky white button down. He stops in front of the two of them and raises his eyebrow at his grandmother’s hold on Ilya. The woman quickly snatches Hollander’s forearm too, and leads them down the hallway.

His grandmother says something in French, and Hollander responds. Ilya looks between the two of them causing Hollander to explain, “Grandma refused to learn English when she immigrated to Canada. She only speaks French and Japanese.” His eyes squint at Ilya before he asks, “She didn’t go into your changing room did she?”

Ilya laughs before shaking his head. His grandma has them turn a corner and Ilya starts to hear the murmur of voices. The noise gets louder as they walk closer to the side entrance of the arena. Hollander switches to Japanese, asking his grandmother something and she looks between the two of them and shrugs, before responding.

Right as they get into the view of the press, bodies turning at their arrival, Hollander’s grandmother says something which causes the man to say, “I’m not saying that to Ilya,” before responding in Japanese. The older woman sends Hollander a look. With a put upon sigh, Hollander turns to Ilya and says, “My grandmother has told me to tell you that you’ll be going to dinner with us and you can’t say no, because you are her current favorite hockey player.”

A bright smile forms on Ilya’s face that he can’t seem to tamp down by the time he hears cameras shuttering. Hollander’s grandma has good taste. 

They stop directly in front of five different news outlets, only one of them speaking English. Before either of the men can respond, Hollander’s grandmother takes over answering and rapidly speaks in French to keep up with the questions. 

Ilya leans into Hollander’s space and says, “Tell me what she’s saying.”

Hollander tilts his head slightly to whisper in his ear, translating into English as he speaks, “She’s talking about how proud she is of both teams for keeping the hockey spirit alive. Okay - that interviewer just asked how she thought I did, pretty typical question for her to get.” 

Ilya leans in closer as Hollander starts to translate verbatim, “My grandson focuses too much on perfecting his game and not enough time on knocking in teeth. He is squandering his potential by being friendly with players like Scott Hunter.” 

He suppresses a shiver as Hollander sighs in exasperation. 

“A reporter is asking about the last time the Voyagers played against the Admirals.” Hollander continues to translate, “I don’t care that he tried to start something with Hunter, he didn’t land a single hit. That’s more embarrassing than not having fought at all.”

Ilya has to pull back to laugh loudly at that. Hollander wasn’t joking when he had said his grandmother was into hockey for all the wrong reasons. They were great reasons, to Ilya. His grandmother glances behind her, as if she was reminded of Ilya’s presence. She starts talking to the reporters again, Hollander pulling at his arm to continue to translate in his ear.

“Ilya Rozanov, on the other hand, is a true hockey player. He knows exactly what the fans want - and he’s good at the sport. I’m sure my grandson would have been bored by now if not for Rozanov.” The reporters ask her another question that Hollander says is about upcoming games. 

Instead of answering, she continues to talk about Ilya, “Honestly, I would have had much more fun in ice rinks if Ilya had been my grandson. I probably would have had to get him out of juvie more than once, but it would have been worth it.” She pauses for a second before saying, “Actually - Ilya Rozanov is my grandson now. No further questions.”

She turns abruptly on her heel and holds out a hand in front of Ilya. Ilya cautiously shakes it and she smiles a wicked smile. Once they release their hold, she gestures towards herself and says, “O bāchan.” She looks expectantly at Ilya, so he repeats it. She nods and then points to him, “Mago.” (Grandson). He repeats her again. Finally, she points to Hollander and says, “Haisha.” (Loser). Ilya repeats her one last time.

“Hey!” Hollander cries out in offence. 

“What did I say?” Ilya asks.

O bāchan says something to Ilya in Japanese which Hollander translates, “She says you need to learn Japanese.”

They make their way through the reporters and exit the building. Hollander glances at him while offering an arm for his grandmother to take as they descend the arena steps. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“I’d be bad grandson if I didn’t.” 

Hollander huffs out a laugh and pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his apps before opening a translator that converts audio to text. He stops them at the edge of the sidewalk and Ilya watches him select Japanese and Russian. He says something in Japanese to his grandmother, but Ilya is able to understand with the app.

“Say something to Ilya so he knows you're not completely senile, yet.”

“I plan to live longer than you, bitch.”

Ilya laughs loudly, accepts the outstretched phone, and happily follows after the older woman as she leads them to an old Volkswagen GTI.

“Grandma, please let me drive us in my car.” 

The car was truly pitiful - but perfectly sized for the short, older woman.

“I’ll drop you off later,” She tosses Hollander her keys and gets in the passenger side.

Hollander sighs and turns to look at Ilya, “You’ll want to sit behind my grandma.”

“Our grandma.” Ilya happily gets in the back, scrunching himself into the car. The game had gone terribly, but maybe ganging up on Hollander with his grandma would make up for it. 

His grandmother insists on a washoku restaurant that is twenty minutes away, Hollander quickly explaining that they served traditional Japanese cuisine. Ilya leans back in his seat as much as he can, only to jump in fright as the car turns on and loud traditional Japanese music blasts in the small space. He rubs at the top of his head where it had hit the ceiling.

“Jesus, grandma!” Hollander exclaims before slapping the button to the radio off. 

They drive in comfortable silence to the restaurant. This was the first time Hollander was driving Ilya around. He was predictably boring, only going five over at the most. They arrive at the restaurant and Ilya opens the door for his grandma, holding out an arm for the older woman to pull up on. 

O bāchan smiles at him warmly, patting at his arm. “Such a gentleman, and so handsome, too.” She glances over to Hollander who was rounding the car, “Is that why you like him so much, Shane?” Ilya stops suddenly, the woman not seeming to notice. He looks at Hollander who has a panicked look on his face, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “Shane?” 

Shane blinks out of whatever he had been feeling and says, “Can’t really go with his personality. At least he cleans up well.”

Ilya was used to this type of ribbing from the other man, but he still looks down at himself and his dark brown suit, heat trailing up the back of his neck. He gets pulled into the restaurant, Hollander having opened the door for both of them. They are led to a low dining table, the seats equally as low. Ilya and Hollander sit across from each other, but his grandmother excuses herself to the restroom.

Once the waiter is out of sight, Ilya leans in and whispers sharply, “You told your grandma?”

Hollander also leans in closely, “No! Of course I didn’t. She must have figured it out.”

“How would she figure it out? No one else knows.”

“Right - besides Svetlana, Rose, and Scott Hunter.” Hollander has the gall to roll his eyes. 

“You can’t seriously still be pissed at me for Hunter.”

“I was never pissed at you about it.”

That causes Ilya to blink, “You weren’t?” Hollander shakes his head, his lips pressed together. The man was obviously stressed. Ilya felt it too. “How would she know?”

Hollander thunks an elbow on the table and puts his head in his hand, aggressively rubbing at his forehead. He suddenly stops and pulls back, sitting upright, when their waiter returns with a tea pot and small tea cups that match. 

Once they are alone again, Hollander opens and closes his mouth several times before saying, “The first time I went to your penthouse - I called my grandma. You know-” He trails off, uncertainty clear on his face.

Ilya considers the man and remembers how he had heard him speaking to someone on the phone in Ilya’s bathroom after they had - right. Ilya nods once, saving Hollander from having to explain further. 

Hollander swallows. “I didn’t say I was with you, but she must have pieced things together.”

Ilya scans Hollander’s face, but doesn’t get the chance to respond with the arrival of O bāchan.

She sits and happily rubs her hands together, picking up the menu and looking through it carefully. Ilya watches Hollander reach for the tea pot and pour his grandmother a cup before pouring a cup for Ilya as well. Their fingers touch as Hollander hands him his tea.

He only realizes that they are staring at each other for an extended period of time when a menu appears between their faces. “I know what I want, have you two made up your mind?”

Hollander takes his grandmother's menu and glances down at it. “Ilya, have you had washoku before?” Ilya shakes his head. “It’s all seasonal. There’s only a few entree options,” He sets his menu down and points them out to Ilya on his own menu, “You’ll also get soup, white rice, and a few side dishes.”

Ilya scans the menu and looks up at Hollander with suspicion, “Is healthy. All of it.”

“I’ll get you McDonalds later.” The other man says, perfectly timed as the waiter stops at their table. She looks between the two men, eyebrow raised imperiously. 

Ilya stifles a laugh as his grandmother and Hollander order. When it’s his turn, he randomly picks one of the entrees and passes his menu to the waiter. He listens to Hollander and his grandmother catch up, reading the translations on Hollander’s phone as he goes. 

“You said you have a photoshoot in the morning?” His grandmother asks.

Hollander nods and says, “It shouldn’t take too long, only a few hours.” He takes a small sip of his tea before setting it back on the table. Ilya watches him refill both O bāchan and his cups.

“How old is Ilya?”

“He’s a few weeks younger than me.” Hollander says without much thought. 

Ilya feels warmth settle in his chest - Hollander knows when his birthday is?

“Stop pouring tea, then.” She turns to Ilya and says, “Mago, the youngest pours the tea.”

Ilya nods seriously as Hollander complains. “It’s fine, I can do it grandma.”

“Shut up.” Ilya has to bite back a smile as Hollander gets slapped a few times by his grandmother. “You let your cousin do it, let Ilya.”

“Taiki?” Ilya asks Hollander. The man gives him a small smile before getting hit one last time.

Taiki was the one family member of Hollander’s he had met before tonight. It hadn’t really meant to happen - but because of when Ilya and Hollander were typically together and the extreme time difference in Japan, Taiki had a knack for IM’ing Hollander when Ilya was around. The first time it happened was a few years ago. 

They had just fallen apart from each other, backs hitting the pillows of the hotel bed. Their breaths were heavy, sweat glistening off their skin. Hollander had a hand in Ilya’s hair, gently running his fingers through the curls as they both stared up at the ceiling.

The moment had been interrupted by the sound of Hollander’s phone vibrating in a distinct pattern before stopping. The hand had stilled in Ilya’s hair and Hollander had said, “Sorry, I should check that.”

Ilya watched him grab his phone from the nightstand and pull up an IM app. All Ilya could see was kanji. Hollander stood up from the bed and walked over to the hotel room desk, where there was a pad of paper and pen.

Ilya had taken a moment more catching his breath in bed before sitting up and heading to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth. He walked back over to Hollander, wiping at his chest when he saw that the man was sketching out a hockey play on the notepad. 

Ilya remembered feeling affection rise in his throat, which he had quickly quashed. “Hockey is your one true love?” Ilya had started, “You are only with me because I am number one hockey player?”

Ilya leaned around Hollander to look at his face. The man was trying to hide a smile that was twitching at the corners of his mouth. “It’s my cousin - Taiki. He’s in Japan, so it’s 12 PM tomorrow, for him. He’ll message me when he needs help captaining his hockey team.”

“Cute.” Ilya walked away to toss the washcloth on the bathroom floor. He came back over as Hollander was taking a picture of the notepad and sending it to his cousin. “What was he asking about?” Once Hollander explained the issue, Ilya looked back at the play on the paper and said, “Why would he do that? Are you sure you are good at hockey?” 

Ilya pulls the pen out of Hollander’s hand and rips off the page, starting to draw a different play on the notepad. He pushed at Hollander’s face with his left hand as the man grumbled and tried to see what he was doing. He allowed himself to smile when Hollander finally gave up and started to walk away. Ilya had slapped him on the ass as he went, causing the other man to say, “Asshole.”

Hollander had his joggers on by the time Ilya presented the notepad a few inches away from his face. “Take picture and tell cousin that this is better. Ilya Rosanov says so.”

Hollander gave him an annoyed look, but those were never as heated as they could be after a couple of orgasms. The man obliges and takes a picture of Ilya’s play before sending it to Taiki. 

He had helped Taiki several other times - at first, only when Hollander was physically with him, but at some point, a group chat was formed between the three of them for easier access to Ilya, as Taiki put it. Ilya had learned early on that Taiki was in secondary school, he guessed he’d be 15 or 16 by now, and was working to learn English to play in the NHL one day. Taiki was a good kid. Ilya liked him.

Their order arrives and Ilya stares down at the artfully arranged foods. Each part of the meal was dished in a different styled plate or bowl, a wooden tray holding all of the dishes. He catches Hollander’s grandmother bring her hands together in front of her, briefly closing her eyes, before picking up her chopsticks and beginning to eat.

Hollander begins to eat, as well, his eyes flicking up to meet Ilya’s. The man nods his head slightly, encouraging Ilya to try the food. He breaks off a piece of his fish, garnished with thinly sliced green onion, and brings it to his mouth. There must have been something in his expression, because Hollander was looking at him carefully.

The other man glances at his grandma before presenting a piece of his chicken for Ilya to try. His eyes stay glued to Hollander’s as his lips wrap around the man’s wooden chopsticks. He enjoys the slight flush that forms on the apples of Hollander’s cheeks. “Indecent,” the man complains. Ilya gives him a crooked smile as he chews what had been given to him. “Better?” Ilya nods and watches in wonder as Hollander switches their main dishes.

They spend the rest of the meal quietly talking about the game and what Hollander’s grandmother had been up to. Ilya fills O bāchan’s tea a couple of times, causing the woman to smile at him warmly and refer to him by different diminutives. Hollander pays for their meal and helps his grandmother back in the car. 

As the two men settle in their seats, the woman says, “Drive to my house so we can play cards.”

“O bāchan, Ilya can’t be your prisoner forever.”

“I’ll play cards.” Ilya says from the back of the car.

His grandmother must be able to tell from Hollander’s expression what Ilya had said, because she crows triumphantly and pushes at Hollander to turn the car on. They drive for about ten more minutes before Hollander is turning into a McDonalds, pulling around to the drive thru. The man turns in his seat, his right hand comes to rest against the back of the older woman’s head rest. 

“What do you want?” Ilya sends him a sly smile at Hollander’s question, “Stop- don’t say whatever it is you’re about to say.”

Ilya gives him a scrunched expression before saying, “Gimme milkshake. Chocolate. And burger with fries.”

Hollander nods before pulling up to the speaker and ordering for him. His grandmother quickly says something in French and the man adds another milkshake to the order. Ilya grins happily when Hollander hands the bag of food and shake back to him. 

After another five minutes of driving, Hollander pulls into a driveway and quickly gets out to open the door for his grandmother. They follow her up the sidewalk to her front door, which was already unlocked when she turns the handle. She motions them in, sliding off her shoes and slipping on some house slippers before walking further into the house.

Hollander and Ilya do the same, the other man setting her keys on the table next to the front door. Ilya walks slowly around the space, taking in the decades of life displayed in the home. 

Family photos cover almost every part of the walls - old pictures of Hollander’s mom and who could only be her twin sister, pictures of the Hollander’s wedding day, baby pictures of Hollander that slowly move through time as you walk around the room. Somewhere in there, another baby was born, growing up alongside Hollander in the pictures. It must have been Taiki. 

He stops in front of a more recent picture of Hollander and Taiki, the teen over a head taller than the man, but quite a bit lankier. They were pressed in close in the picture, standing on a mountain trail, wide grins on their faces. 

A pang of hurt stabs in his chest at the comfort and familiarity the two seem to have with each other. Ilya couldn’t think of a single picture with him and his brother that looked anything like this one. Could he remember a time when his brother and him were anywhere close to being like this picture?

He feels the gentle slide of a hand run across his shoulder blades. Hollander steps in close next to him, the heat of his body pressing against his side. “What’s wrong?” The man asks quietly.

Ilya ignores the question. “Is that Taiki?” 

Hollander allows it. “Yeah. From last summer. My aunt says he’s grown even more since then.” He pulls at Ilya’s shoulder, “Come eat before it gets cold.”

Ilya follows Hollander into a small kitchen, his bag of fast food already sitting on one side of the table. Hollander’s grandmother is in a chair, shuffling some cards, before dealing for herself and one other player. Ilya watches the other man sit across from his grandmother and pick up the cards. He finally sits down as the two begin to play and pulls out his food.

“When do you leave tomorrow?” Hollander asks.

“Our flight’s at 11 AM.”

Hollander nods and settles back into the game.

Ilya watches the man closely. He doesn’t know what to do with the unfamiliar feeling of domesticity that fills him as he eats in one of Hollander’s childhood homes. People in situationships didn’t do this, right? Or was it that they did do this, and that’s why the relationships were always messy? He is itching to talk to Svetlana about it, but when he pulls out the phone from his pocket, he realizes he still has Hollander’s.

He quickly pats his other front pocket to find his own phone there. He looks at the blank screen of Hollander's phone for a second, before tapping it awake. Ilya pauses in his chewing as he stares down at the lock screen image. It was one Ilya had sent him several months ago while he was still in Moscow for the summer. Not his face or anything identifying, but a picture of him flipping off the camera. 

Ilya swallows hard, choking on the food that almost went down the wrong pipe. He quickly takes a sip of his milkshake before turning back to the lock screen. His stomach was doing funny things - probably from all of the healthy food Shane had evilly forced him to eat.

He clicks his teeth shut from where he had been slightly slack jawed and slides the phone over to the other man. Shane quickly glances at him before inputting the passcode and sliding it back to Ilya. He goes into the phone’s settings and makes sure it won’t time back out and fall asleep again. 

He watches the card game in front of him, Shane’s grandma viciously winning and collecting the cards back up to shuffle them again. Ilya eats slowly, a thought forming in his head that he knows would be a bad idea. Knowing him, of course he couldn’t help but follow through on it. 

Ilya swipes to the photo gallery on Shane’s phone and taps the app without preamble. At a cursory glance, there are mainly pictures of him with teammates or Rose or his family. There’s a few sunsets over the lake that Ilya knew was in front of Shane’s cottage, and a few pictures of random street cats.

He swallows another bite as he turns to scroll through the different albums, finally stopping on one marked as private. Tapping on it, another key pad pops up. He glances up at Shane to see the man is deep in the game, his eyes laser focused on the cards on the table in front of them. Ilya casually slides the phone over to Shane, and the man types in his passcode again without looking up.

Ilya has to fight a mischievous smile from spreading across his face. He quickly grabs the phone back and props it in front of him, so only he could see the screen. The smile he was trying to hide quickly drops from his face when he stares at the pictures in front of him. 

It was an album entirely dedicated to Ilya. Every picture that Ilya had ever sent Shane, that more than likely was deleted from their text log, was here. Even more than that, Ilya finds several candid pictures of himself - Shane having snuck them while Ilya was looking away or sleeping. He places a hand to cover the lower half of his face as he continues to scroll. The album also had pictures Shane had taken of his TV when Ilya was being interviewed or playing. There was a particularly good one of Ilya’s ass. He also had a picture of Ilya holding the Cup. 

Ilya quickly closes out of the photo gallery and sets the phone down flat on the table. He leans his chin heavily into the hand that was still propping his head up. He was being stupid. This had to be normal for friends-with-benefits, right? Is that what they were? Friends? 

He catches movement from the corner of his eye and glances over to see Shane already looking at him. He gives Ilya a questioning look, his head tilting slightly. Ilya shakes his head slightly at the man, before tracking his eyes to where Shane’s grandma was moving around the kitchen. 

Rifling through a cupboard, she pulls out a tin of Pirouline wafer cookies, before coming to sit back down. She opens the tin, placing it in the middle of the table before collecting the cards again, shuffling, and dealing to all three of them. He watches her get up again to pour a glass of water, setting it down in front of Ilya. 

She stops behind Shane’s chair and slides her hands to rest on his shoulders. “Shane,” she starts talking in Japanese that Ilya doesn’t catch. He quickly opens the translating app again to read her say, “-you have been acting all night, stop.” 

Ilya watches Shane’s shoulders slowly drop, causing him to realize they had been raised and tense since entering the restaurant. O bāchan squeezes at Shane’s shoulders a few times, and the man’s face blanks of any emotion for a moment before slowly coming back to himself. He looks more in his skin than he had been a few seconds ago. His nose scrunching up slightly, before smoothing back out. 

His grandmother walks back around the table and picks up her cards, assessing her hand. She doesn’t rush Shane to do the same. Ilya watches Shane blink at the table top slowly a few times before his head lifts to meet Ilya’s eyes. He looks tired and worried. Had he felt that this entire time? Shane sets his hand on the table and flips it over so his palm is facing up in between them. Ilya only needs to look at it for a second before he grabs ahold of it, squeezing tightly. 

The three of them play several rounds of a card game Shane has to teach Ilya. The cookie wafers in the middle were used as bargaining chips, and by the end, Shane had the majority of them. 

“Cheater,” his grandmother gripes, stealing one of his cookies for herself. 

Shane smiles a small smile at her, picking up a wafer of his own. 

Ilya takes the moment of quiet to look around the room again. That’s when he notices a corner of the kitchen that held several of Shane’s childhood awards and trophies. He slides his hand out of Shane’s and stands from the table to inspect them closer. He picks up a picture and sees a primary-aged Shane on the ice. Instead of him being in a hockey uniform, though, he was in a figure skating competition outfit. 

Ilya looks up at all of the medals and awards and calculates that Shane had been a figure skater for almost as long as he had been a hockey player. Following the photos along the kitchen wall, he finds more pictures of Shane performing, most in doubles and a few in singles competitions. 

Holy shit.

Ilya turns on his heel and laces his fingers behind himself. A sly smile forms on his lips as he walks back up to the table, Shane squinting at him suspiciously.

“When were you going to tell me that I needed to start figure skating?” 

The other man’s brow furrows and he tilts his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“If I am to be better than you at everything, I need to also do figure skating, yes?”

Ilya thrills at the offended look that quickly crosses Shane’s face. “Punk ass bitch,” the man says before he’s out of his chair and aiming for Ilya. 

Ilya lets out a short yell before evading the other man and running back into the living room. Shane is hot on his heels, causing Ilya to quickly manoeuvre around the couch to try to gain more distance. His efforts are in vain as he feels Shane’s strong arms wrap around his waist and lift him up in the air. Shane wasn’t typically the one who did the lifting in their relationship. Ilya feels his stomach swoop before he remembers the game they are playing.

He falls limp, suspended in the air, his feet several centimeters from being able to touch the ground. He hears O bāchan call out from the other room and Shane responds before saying, “Don’t dead dog me. Stop leaning forward.”

“Dead dog you?”

“You know, when a dog refuses to move from a spot and puts all of their weight against you moving them. Dead dog.”

“Is that general phrase?”

“I don’t think so.”

Ilya purposefully flops over more, not struggling, but slowly settling his weight to make it difficult for Shane to carry him around. “Oh no,” Ilya draws out, “Gravity is having effect on me.”

“Ilya,” Shane warns.

He continues to slink down, almost low enough to touch the ground - he’d be able to break free and run off again if he could gain even a little push. Shane must read his thoughts, because instead of that happening, he hoists Ilya up and throws him on the couch. As he bounces on the cushion, Shane quickly pounces on top of him. Ilya can’t stop him before a pillow is repeatedly hitting his chest and face. 

“O bāchan, help!” Ilya cries out, “Tell me how to say ‘help’ in Japanese.”

Shane pauses for a moment to say, “There’s no use - she won’t help you,” before starting up his attack once more. 

“Don’t kick guy when down, Shane!” Referencing his loss in their game, “Have mercy!”

“I know,” thwap, “the moment,” thwap, “that I give in,” thwap, “you’re going to try to get me,” thwap.

“Is not true!” Ilya squawks out, lying like a liar. 

Just as Shane raises the pillow up as high as he could make it, the man gets shot in the chest with a Nerf gun dart. “Ow! Hey!” 

Ilya cranes his neck up to see where Shane was staring. His grandmother was in the hallway across from the couch, Nerf gun in hand, a wafer cookie hanging out of her mouth like an oversized cigarette. Shane allows Ilya to move enough from under him to flip over and rest his chin on the back of the couch. 

O bāchan says something in French and gestures with her Nerf gun at Shane’s pillow. Shane grumbles back in French, causing his grandma to cock the gun again. Ilya watches Shane groan before dropping the pillow onto the other side of the couch. The older woman nods her head firmly in satisfaction, but still shoots the foam dart at Shane, anyways. 

At Shane’s squawk of indignation, Ilya quickly rolls back around and snatches the pillow. He lands a hit square in the man’s chest, causing him to fall off the couch where he had been straddling Ilya’s thighs. Shane pops back up quickly, a wild look in his eyes, and sprints down another hall, Ilya and his grandma close behind him. 

They eventually head back to the kitchen table, Ilya carrying Shane over his shoulder like a prize he had won. The man was grumbling behind him, his chin propped in a hand where his elbow dug into Ilya’s shoulder blade. “Don’t be sore loser, solnishko.” (little sun)

Shane’s grumbles grow louder, but he drops his elbow and curls around Ilya’s back. Ilya can’t hide his smile as he slides Shane back into his chair. Ilya looks over at O bāchan to see her rifling through the cupboards again. He pulls Shane’s phone closer to him when she starts to talk.

“Stay the night.” She directs at Ilya.

“O bāchan,” Shane starts.

“Okay.” Ilya says simply.

His grandmother smiles widely at Ilya before pulling out a tin and bringing it back to the table. She opens it up to reveal a weed stash. Ilya can’t help but laugh. O bāchan slides the tin over to Shane, who grumbles, but rolls a filter and places it at the end of a paper. 

Ilya watches in shock as his view of a straight-laced Shane crumbles before his eyes. He deftly rolls a joint, twists the top, and presents it to his grandmother. Ilya suddenly realizes how bad of an influence O bāchan is on Shane as he watches the man flick a cigarette lighter and light the end of the joint hanging out of her mouth. She takes a long drag in and blows it out.

Ilya was in love with the woman.

Shane grabs the deck of cards and neatly arranges them back in their box, sliding them on a shelf next to the dining table. He grabs a different tin - this one dominoes - from the shelf and starts to set up the game. O bāchan takes another inhale in of the joint before proffering it to Ilya. 

This was possibly the most bizarre day of his life. He already knew Svetlana would be entertained when he retold it. Svetlana - that dick - he had forgotten he needed to pester her about teaching Shane those Russian phrases for their game.

He takes a drag of the joint before passing it back to Shane’s grandma. They turn to the game spread out on the table and collect five dominoes each, Shane flipping over the first tile. After their first game, O bāchan winning, she casually passes the joint to Shane, who takes it from her fingers.

Ilya has to cover his mouth from the shock he felt as Shane inhales in and passes it back to his grandma. There was no way - this must all be a dream. Maybe he was actually concussed and in a hospital bed. Shane doesn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil as he slowly exhales through his nose and they set up for the next game.

Ilya openly watches the man in front of him as the night goes on. He has the privilege to watch Shane sink a little further down in his wooden chair, his posture relaxing almost entirely as they play. He had only ever looked like that after falling into bed with Ilya. A small smile is plastered on his face, his gaze slightly unfocused as he plays. Had he ever seen Shane so content in other circumstances? Maybe he would have if they could see each other more often.

In the middle of their third game, O bāchan’s home phone rings on the wall in the kitchen. She slowly gets up from the table, placing down her piece, before answering the call. Ilya hears her talk to someone in French for a minute before she hangs up.

“That was Charlotte.” Ilya watches her move back to the table, flipping her remaining dominoes upright in a forfeit. She’s out of the kitchen and calling from another room, “Don’t wait up for me.”

Shane laughs before calling after her, “O bāchan, you can’t be serious.”

“Bye, bitch.” Is the last thing she says before the front door closes. 

Ilya glances at the kitchen clock - 11:13 PM - before looking back at Shane in confusion. 

“Charlotte is grandma’s next door neighbor. She visits often when her husband is away for work.” The way that Shane had said it…

“Your grandma just got a booty call from her married next door neighbor?”

Shane can only laugh at the situation, the look on Ilya’s face making him laugh harder. It made Ilya feel a little loopy - or maybe that was the weed. “Your grandma’s a…” He trails off.

“Lesbian,” Shane finishes. “It’s one of the reasons she left Japan.” He gestures down at the butt of the joint that had been tamped out in an ashtray and gives it an eyebrow raise. Weed must have been another reason. 

“Really? She left? Just like that?”

“It wasn’t nearly as easy as you’re probably thinking.” Shane leans back in his chair, “She left her husband behind and took my mom and aunt to a completely new country where she didn’t know the language or anyone who lived there. She probably never would have moved if law enforcement hadn’t been after her.”

“What?” Ilya exclaims loudly.

“She was quite the delinquent as a teenager. She was able to run from them for a while, but she had settled down to have a family.”

Ilya stares in wonder, enjoying how Shane had his head propped up in one of his hands and was looking at Ilya physically sideways. “You could have grown up in Japan.”

“Probably. I’ve spent almost every summer there, regardless.”

“We wouldn’t have met.” Ilya says quietly.

Shane blinks slowly at him before saying, “You don’t think so?”

A little while later, Ilya finds Shane drawing a bath in a large soaker tub. His suit jacket had been taken off hours ago, but now his silky white shirt was untucked and unbuttoned. Ilya can’t help but step up behind the man and slide his hands under the fabric, pulling him in close.

Shane easily falls back against Ilya’s chest and turns his head to kiss him on the side of the mouth. “Take a bath with me.”

That’s how Ilya finds himself sitting shoulder to shoulder with Shane in the tub minutes later. Their legs curled up to their chest as steam wafts around the room. He hears Shane sigh loudly in contentment before the man sinks lower into the water. Ilya laughs at his antics but does the same to the best of his abilities. 

They dry off with fluffy, light blue towels before Shane leads him to a bedroom near the back of the house. They enter and Ilya falls onto the end of the bed, splayed out and watching Shane move around the space. A pair of boxer briefs lands on his stomach as Shane rifles around in the drawers for sleep clothes of his own. 

They crawl under the covers, pulling them up above their chins as they roll to face each other. Shane has a wide smile on his face that hasn’t left since the start of their bath. Ilya can’t help but return it in the quiet of the dark room. He reaches up to gently brush his pointer and middle fingers across the freckles adorning Shane’s cheeks.

A trivial thought passes through his mind as he moves his fingers to trace up Shane’s cheekbone and across his eyebrow. It was a typical one he had when Shane was around, or when he was thinking about Shane, or possibly all of the time. Shane leans further into his touch, his eyes closing as Ilya smooths out his eyebrow before repeating the action to the other one.

They were in Shane’s grandma’s house, though. Shane probably wouldn’t want to. A minute into his ministrations, Shane was fully pressing his face into Ilya’s palm, rubbing the bridge of his nose back and forth against Ilya’s hand. Ilya huffs out a laugh as Shane practically purrs at the contact. 

Belatedly, he notices one of Shane’s hands making its way down between the two of them. Ilya could only be happily surprised when he feels the man’s fingers slip under his waistband. 

He feels Shane’s warm hand lazily wrap itself around Ilya’s cock, already half hard just from them lying next to each other. Ilya watches Shane’s thoughts gradually work across his face, the weed making things a bit slower for them both. He can’t help but smile at the blank, but thoughtful look Shane is giving him as he leisurely strokes Ilya’s dick. 

“I don’t have any lube,” the man finally whispers. Ilya is about to say something when Shane says, “Oh well,” and quickly ducks under the covers.

Ilya lets out a cutoff moan as he feels Shane’s lips wrap around his cock. He can’t help but find the humor in the situation - Shane under the covers in his family home. It feels like they are teenagers sneaking around. He rests a hand over where Shane’s head is and closes his eyes as Shane’s tongue swirls along his tip. 

“Fuck,” Ilya breathes out.

He falls into the pace that Shane sets, sucking Ilya’s cock in a slow, sure rhythm. He doesn’t think Shane was trying to tease him, but his building desire to do more becomes almost too much. Ilya suddenly throws the blankets off of them so he can watch Shane. Their gazes meet instantly, Shane moaning around his cock. 

Ilya groans and pulls Shane up the bed so he can kiss him needily. Shane happily reciprocates and wraps his arms around Ilya’s neck as he is pushed on his back. Ilya breaks their kiss long enough to push down Shane’s waistband and grab a hold of both of their erections. 

Ilya swallows Shane’s moan as he comes in for another kiss, jerking them off desperately. Shane has a way of driving him crazy. After a few minutes, they are no longer able to properly kiss each other, panting into each other’s mouths. Ilya catches onto Shane’s tells that he is close - his brows furrowing slightly and his moans coming out more desperately. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” Ilya asks.

That’s all it takes to tip Shane over. Ilya is not far behind him, moaning through the waves of pleasure that course through him. He falls to his side, staring at the blissed out man in front of him. Shane turns to look at him, his eyes hot and satisfied. Ilya trails his gaze to follow Shane’s arms moving up to rest above his head, enjoying the view of his toned muscles. Sliding his gaze down he watches the quick rise and fall of Shane’s chest and their mixed spend on his torso. 

An intense feeling of possession jolts through him at the sight of his lover. Ilya suddenly stands from the bed to get a washcloth from the bathroom. He couldn’t feel that way. Shane wasn’t his.

Chapter End Notes

Sure, Ilya. It's a situationship - nothing more.
Svetlana would destroy you.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Sorry in advance. 🥲

The following morning, Ilya manages to wake up first - something that didn’t usually happen with the two of them. Shane was pressed up against his side, a hot line of body heat from where the man had fallen asleep naked. His mouth was incredibly dry from the joint he had shared last night. Ilya gently moves Shane’s arm off of him, the man only grumbling a little bit before turning over in his sleep, and walks over to the dresser in the room.

He finds a pair of soft black joggers and a white IDLES band t-shirt that must be oversized on Shane, because it fits Ilya perfectly. He steals some socks before heading back to the bathroom and cleaning his mouth out as best as he can. He hears noise from the kitchen and wanders over to find O bāchan making coffee. She has cute pink rollers in her hair and is in a long nightgown that his babushka would have worn. 

He goes to lean against the edge of the counter, enjoying the quiet of the morning as the coffee percolates. Shane’s grandma pulls out two cups from the cabinet and sets them on the counter, before grabbing Shane’s phone from the table and placing it at Ilya’s elbow. The battery didn’t have much charge left on it thanks to Ilya keeping the screen on all night.

The coffee finishes, and O bāchan slides over some cream and sugar before making herself a cup of coffee, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets.

“Shane called me quite a while ago,” she says, her cup of coffee close to her lips. The woman blows lightly at it before taking a sip. “He was in your bathroom trying not to have a meltdown.”

“A meltdown?” Ilya quietly says to himself, looking between O bāchan and Shane’s phone screen. 

She continues on, “The next time you try to tell him you love him,” Ilya’s mouth drops in shock, “Don’t bring up the other people you’re fucking. Just some advice from me to you.”

Ilya watches her with wide eyes as she reaches out and gently pats his chest. She moves around him to sit at the table and pull out a book of French crossword puzzles. He stares at her, rooted to the spot.

“It confuses him when you do one thing, but say another.” O bāchan glances up at him for a moment, “He notices both, of course, but doesn’t know how to reconcile your words not matching your actions.”

Ilya swallows hard and turns on his heel, pouring himself a cup of coffee and adding cream and sugar to it. “Sorry,” he finds himself saying.

“You don’t need to be.” She says to his back, “He understands now.”

He feels tears burn at the backs of his eyes, and he angrily forces them down. He turns and walks out of the room, heading for the front door and out onto the cool concrete steps at the front of the house. He sits down heavily, careful to not spill his coffee as he sets it down next to him.

He is almost immediately chilled by the cold Québec winter, regretting not having grabbed a coat. He shakily lifts the coffee cup up to his mouth and feels a hot tear streak down his face. Shane knew? He understood what Ilya had been trying to tamp down for all of these years?

He lets himself cry for the first time since he won the Cup - and before that, it had been when his mother had died. He’s not loud or dramatic about it. He quietly watches the sun’s slow rise and feels tears fall down his face.

He doesn’t know how long he has been out there, but his coffee is gone by the time the door opens again. Ilya knows it is Shane without having to turn around. He feels a heavy blanket wrap around his shoulders and the man settle down next to him. A gentle thumb brushes just under Ilya’s lower eyelashes, wiping away some remaining wetness. Ilya presses his cheek into the palm of Shane’s hand, before fully turning to face the other man and curl up under his chin. 

Ilya sighs at the feeling of Shane’s arms wrapping around him, holding him tight. He feels a kiss dropped on the top of his head before Shane presses his cheek into Ilya’s hair. They stay like that for a while, Ilya slowly warming back up. 

He finally pulls back when he feels more like himself and catches Shane’s gaze. Ilya catalogues the other man’s face before returning to his eyes. They hold an achingly soft expression. The next time you try to tell him you love him. It would be so easy to do now. The two of them feeling like the only people in the world. 

He opens and closes his mouth several times, the words stuck in the back of his throat. Finally, Shane saves him, cupping his jaw in one hand and pulling him forward into a tender kiss. He understands now.

They leave the house and head back to Ilya’s hotel. Halfway there, he quietly says, “I don’t want to leave yet.” The fear of admitting the desire out loud clawing at his throat.

Shane glances back at him through the rearview mirror. “Your flight leaves in a couple of hours. Did you want to get breakfast?”

Ilya steels himself, looking out his window at the passing sights, “Take me to your photoshoot with you.”

They stop at a red light and Shane stares at him, once more, through the mirror. After a long pause he says, “You’ll still need to get your things and tell your Coach not to expect you.”

Ilya’s stomach does a somersault at Shane accepting his company for longer. 

They pull into a parking spot and Ilya pops out of the car with nearly a skip in his step as he rushes into the hotel. He doesn’t get far, as he hears catcalls from his teammates where they were eating their continental breakfast. 

Cliff gets his attention, and waves him over, before he asks, “Did you really leave the arena with Hollander and his grandma?” He holds up his phone to see several pictures of the three of them in an online article. 

Ilya blinks before saying, “Yes. Didn’t you hear? I am Hollander’s grandma’s number one player.”

“She practically dragged you out of there.”

“I live for love of fans.”

Cliff laughs and slaps him convivially on the arm. “Where did you end up, though? You’re just getting in?”

“Took Hollander's grandma to a club. Had great time.” 

“Roz!” Cliff says loudly in shock.

Ilya smiles slowly and turns on his heel to head to his hotel room. He quickly brushes his teeth, packs his bag, and runs back downstairs to find Coach LeClaire and explain that he wouldn’t be leaving with the team. He drops off his key card and is out the door in a flash. 

Ilya smiles widely as he spots Shane and his grandmother still waiting for him in her tiny car. He tosses his bag in the trunk and sidles back into his seat. Shane turns around and says, “We’re getting breakfast and then taking O bāchan to play mahjong with her old lady friends.”

Ilya leans back in his seat, happiness feeling like it could overflow in him at any moment. 

They spend several hours at the community center watching O bāchan cheat at mahjong. His arm is pressed up against Shane’s as the two of them scroll on their phones to kill time. They were stuck slightly separated from the rest of the group as Shane’s phone charged in the wall. 

Ilya can’t seem to stop himself with Shane so close, leaning in to act like he is looking at something on the man’s phone only to drop a kiss behind his ear. He watches a small smile form on Shane’s lips for a moment before it’s wiped away. Ilya turns and rests his head on Shane’s shoulder, staring lazily at the people playing games. This was absolutely better than Ilya leaving on time with his team. He’d figure transportation out later.

When it’s closer to time for the photoshoot, the three of them pile back into the car and Hollander drives them to the other side of the city. He had explained that the shoot was for a local Québec designer who was recently recognized at some big fashion event as being a ‘young visionary’. 

Ilya fiddles with his sunglasses for a second before adjusting his ball cap to sit low above his eyes. Shane glances at them as they walk into the building, “You really think people won’t notice you?”

“Scott Hunter does it.”

Shane laughs, “You don’t see any problem in what you’re saying right now?”

“What is wrong with it? I have hat and sunglasses. I wear your clothes. No one will know.”

“Your jawline alone will give you away.” Ilya self consciously touches his jaw, “And your lips.”

Ilya stares as Shane openly appreciates both. He feels his cheeks get hot at the attention. They weren’t typically like this in public. 

Shane gets whisked away by the design team and Ilya and O bāchan are led to a low couch close to the set. Ilya looks around to see people running to and from different posts, cameras getting prepared and the set perfected. He feels Shane’s grandma tap at his wrist and he glances down at her. She starts a game of pointing out different objects around the space and saying them in Japanese. Ilya repeats back what he is told, attempting to keep a mental list of what she says. 

Finally, Shane is brought back out with his hair and makeup done. His hair was styled in a way Ilya would never expect Shane to do, himself. Strands of his hair were roughly pieced together and came to curved points throughout his hair. The hairstylist had arranged strands to frame his face nicely, also pointed with the use of product. His makeup was overall standard for these types of photoshoots, but they had given him a nice smudged eyeliner, as well. 

He was so pretty as he was pulled away to change, coming back after several minutes in a high-end androgynous first outfit. Ilya happily watches Shane from his front row seat as the man listens to the creative director before beginning to model the look. Shane, ever the professional, takes any direction in stride and continuously flows through poses as the cameras rapidly take pictures of him. 

He is pulled off set to be styled differently and goes through the shooting process again. Ilya never would have thought a photoshoot would be so interesting, but he almost feels enraptured watching Shane in front of the cameras. He is so goddamned attractive and appears to be oozing confidence as he interacts with others. The thing was - this wasn’t the Shane who was sitting on the front porch with him this morning, nor was he the Shane who kicked his ass on the ice last night. 

“He hates this shit.” Shane’s grandma says, having looked up from her phone. “I should tell Yuna to stop booking him for these so he doesn’t have to act so much.”

O bāchan had said that word last night in reference to Shane. He was purposefully putting on a show? Ilya wasn’t a stranger to that - knowing how to best act in different company to the extent that he didn’t always know who the true him was. He always thought that was due to his upbringing, though. Shane had a seemingly good relationship with his family. 

He gets pulled off the set one last time and is put in a final, high-necked outfit. He no longer has the eyeliner on, but his hair is still cute and spikey. He gets stopped by a makeup assistant and the artistic director before he can fully step back on the set. 

Ilya watches the two talk to Shane, explaining something quietly. The man’s shoulders and back begin to tense, and when Ilya and Shane’s grandma get a better look at his face, his expression seems rather closed off. The makeup assistant pulls out a tube of lipstick, resulting in Shane nodding his head tightly. 

The young woman looks relieved and begins to apply the lipstick on herself before lifting up to kiss Shane on the cheek, a lipstick mark left behind. She begins to apply again, Shane tense, but leaning down to accept another one. As the assistant starts to repeat the process again, Ilya feels O bāchan nudge him.

“Save him, idiot.”

Ilya glances between the older woman and Shane several times before he lets out a heavy breath and stands from his spot on the couch. He faux-confidently steps up to Shane, the makeup assistant, and the artistic director, and holds out his hand for the lipstick tube. 

Shane’s eyes widen, but the makeup assistant seems thankful to not have to kiss the man anymore, placing the lipstick in Ilya’s outstretched hand. Ilya turns to the artistic director and asks, “How many?” Once he gets the general idea, he grabs a hold of Shane’s arm and tugs him back to where the dressing rooms must have been.

“Ilya,” Shane hisses, “This is stupid.”

“You were uncomfortable.”

“That is more manageable than this story getting out about you.”

Ilya glances at Shane curiously before opening a random door and finding himself in luck. He had managed to locate the dressing room, and no one else was present. He guides Shane to lean against a vanity, his legs splayed so Ilya can stand in between them. He quickly grabs a makeup wipe and carefully removes the few kisses that were on Shane’s face. 

“You only care about me getting outed?” Ilya turns to look in the mirror above Shane and applies the lipstick like he had watched Svetlana do hundreds of times. He glances back down to Shane to see the man’s gaze trained on Ilya’s lips. It takes Shane a second to realize he was supposed to be talking, his eyes snapping up to meet Ilya’s.

“What were we talking about?” The man asks, a flush spreading over his kiss-free cheeks. 

Ilya bends down and lands a solid kiss on the apple of Shane’s left cheek, a loud smacking sound causing Ilya to feel quite pleased with the mark that was left. He begins to reapply the lipstick again, asking Shane the same question. Ilya waits, but realizes Shane is once again too distracted to listen to him properly. 

He plants another kiss, this time over his right eyebrow. He shows mercy on the poor man in front of him, and doesn’t force him to think as Ilya covers his face in kisses. The man’s blush has traveled down his neck, at this point, his eyes heavily lidded as he watches Ilya work above him. From the panting of his breath, Ilya knew the man must be unbearably hard. 

Ilya peels the high neck of the shirt collar down slightly to place one final kiss on his neck. He carefully rights the collar and admires how the lipstick mark peaks out from the fabric. He caps the lipstick and proudly looks over the mess he had made. 

Shane was leaning heavily on the vanity top, his chest heaving with breaths. His eyes were hot on Ilya and it was obvious they had a little problem that needed to be dealt with. 

“Ilyusha,” Shane pants out, his voice taking on a whiney quality that always makes Ilya wild. 

He glances above the door at the clock. The artistic director had given them fifteen minutes, and they still had nine to go before they were expected out there. He was quite certain he would be able to help Shane with his predicament in that timeframe. Hell - Ilya may not even need to touch him, with how worked up the man already was.

He turns on his heel and walks towards the door, Shane whining as Ilya tries the doorhandle, making sure it was locked. He turns back around with a crooked smile, and watches Shane practically slump in relief. 

Ilya quickly closes the distance between them and rakes up Shane’s tight shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. He pushes the fabric up to stop naturally just above Shane’s pecs. Undoing his trousers, he lets them fall to Shane’s ankles. Ilya holds on firmly to Shane’s hips where they strained to get closer to him. 

Ilya ghosts his lips over Shane’s skin, admiring the goosebumps that appear in his wake. He looks up when he’s made his way down to Shane’s navel to see the man was attempting to muffle his moans with a couple of knuckles in his mouth. He suddenly, desperately wants to test out his theory and rises to his feet to stand over Shane.

Shane’s hand falls away from his mouth. He’s absolutely wrecked, gasping in breaths of air. Ilya acts like he is about to kiss Shane, lips hovered over his, before moving to press against his ear. Shane whimpers at the loss.

“You’re waiting so patiently for me.” Ilya whispers. “What if I never touch you?” Shane takes in a sharp breath of air. “Are a few kisses from me enough? Could you cum just from the thought of me touching you again?”

“Like that hasn’t happened before, asshole.” Shane struggles to say.

“You touch yourself and think of me? Do you think about how good you feel when I fuck you? How you feel it days later?” He runs a light hand up Shane’s torso. He finds one of Shane’s nipples and twists it between his thumb and pointer finger. “Answer me.”

Shane whines. “I think about your eyes- and your mouth - and your hands.”

“Really?” Ilya begins to palm Shane’s pec, “Not my dick?” He bites at Shane’s earlobe knowing they are running out of time.

Shane lets out little gasps as Ilya’s free hand travels down to the waistband of his briefs. “I think about that, too.” 

Ilya hums in thought and moves to catch Shane’s gaze, he notices Shane’s breath immediately speed up. He touches their noses lightly together, wary of the kiss marks, keeping intense eye contact. It only takes Ilya sliding his hand in Shane’s briefs for Shane’s back to arch and his eyes to flutter close. Shane quickly brings a hand up to his mouth to muffle the sounds of his orgasm, Ilya attempting to catch as much of the spend as he can in his own hand. 

He pulls out his hand when Shane has finally caught his breath, and reaches around the man to grab a wet wipe. He quickly wipes his hand and Shane off. Shane had been fast. They were right on time. What Ilya wasn’t expecting was Shane trying to drop to his knees right after Ilya tosses the wipe in the trash. With a lot of self restraint, he catches Shane’s arms and hauls him back up. 

“You can’t ruin your makeup.” Ilya finds the reasoning to be paper thin, feeling his hard cock press against the constraints of his underwear.

Ilya watches Shane’s face go through a round of emotions before he finally says, “If I swallow you, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

He has to resist all of his urges and instead say, “People would absolutely know you just blew me.” Shane grumbles and curses at Ilya in French before righting his clothes and turning to the door and unlocking it. Shane has his hand on the handle, but seems to be steeling himself to return to the shoot. “After.” Ilya finds himself saying. Shane’s head whips around, his eyes wide and hopeful as they land on Ilya’s. He can’t help but laugh before he shoos Shane out of the room, “Go. Be pretty.”

Ilya has to take a couple of steadying breaths himself, before looking in the mirror and wiping off the red lipstick that was still on his lips. He lets out another laugh as he stares at the red stained makeup wipe. Shane really was a slut for him.

He heads back out of the dressing room and finds that Shane’s grandma was sleeping upright on the couch as he sits back down. Ilya acts like he hadn’t just gotten Shane off and watches the photoshoot with completely friendly interest. Really, he was just helping a friend out in a time of need. 

That line of thought goes nowhere fast as Shane makes direct eye contact with him as he poses on a bed with messy sheets. Ilya has to put a hand over his mouth to keep it together. The heat is still in Shane’s eyes as he continues his work, moving from pose to pose seamlessly, but his gaze is always on Ilya.

Ilya could overhear the artistic director and camerawoman enthusiastically praising Shane for his expressions. It takes an excruciating thirty more minutes for Shane to be done with the shoot. He watches the man walk up to the director and designer, thank them for their time, and mention that he would need a second in the changing room.

Both men give Shane the go-ahead to use the room for as long as he needs. They would be breaking down the set well into the afternoon. Ilya is already up on his feet by the time Shane walks past him. He attempts to casually trail after him, waiting a couple of minutes after Shane enters the dressing room for Ilya to slip in behind him.

Ilya is immediately pressed up against the door, kissed breathless by the other man. He hears Shane lock the door as the man slides his way down Ilya’s front, falling to his knees. Ilya had never seen such a beautiful sight as Shane looking up at him, covered in Ilya’s kisses, hot breath seeping through the fabric of his joggers. Fuck.

Shane is too impatient to tease Ilya, thank god, and quickly pulls his aching cock out of his pants. Keeping eye contact with Ilya, Shane tongues at his slit before circling his head several times. Shane quickly swallows Ilya down as far as he can go, his eyes closed to focus on giving Ilya an insane blow job. Ilya was having a hard time not finishing immediately, their foreplay like nothing the man had ever experienced. 

And now he gets to watch Shane, covered in his kiss marks, practically fuck his mouth on Ilya’s dick. The man is quick and sloppy, just as desperate as Ilya feels. Shane reaches up a hand and wraps it around the base of Ilya’s cock, moving it in time with his mouth. 

He had to last longer than this. This was a Shane-level time frame. He had to hold on- Shane flutters his lashes open and looks up at Ilya with hot, needy eyes. Fuck.

Ilya grabs at Shane’s hair and pulls him off quickly. Shane opens his mouth, his tongue sticking out wantonly as Ilya’s orgasm courses through him. Ilya can’t take his eyes off of Shane’s as he shoots lines across his kiss covered face. Holy shit he wanted Shane to be his. 

He falls back against the door, heaving heavy breaths as he tries to get his shit together. Ilya feels Shane tuck him back into his joggers before standing. Ilya opens his eyes where they had been squeezed shut and accepts the lazy, incredibly sexy kiss that Shane gives him. He was screwed.

Shane drives back to the Québec City arena after the photoshoot. He helps his grandmother into the driver’s side and pulls Ilya’s bag out of the back. They both say goodbye to O bāchan, the older woman giving them both a kiss on the cheek through the car door. They watch her pull away before walking towards Shane’s car. Shane refuses to let Ilya carry his own bag, because the man is irritating.

They stop in front of an SUV and Ilya can't help himself from saying, “Is this Jeep, Hollander?”

Shane looks at him affronted before popping the back door and setting Ilya’s bag down, “What’s wrong with a Jeep? It’s reliable in the snow.”

Ilya makes a disgusted sound before moving to sit in the passenger seat. He watches Shane slide into the driver’s seat and start the car. The ride to the airport would be around thirty minutes, and then Shane would drive the three hours back to Montreal. Ilya leans back in his seat and drums his fingers against his thigh. 

“Why would you only be worried about me being outed?” He finds himself asking, still not being able to get the question out of his head.

Shane takes a moment to respond, before saying, “I don’t want to be outed either, but I know it would be a lot worse for you. Svetlana explained what would happen when Rose and her asked me to help them hide their relationship.” He glances at Ilya for a second before turning his attention back to the road, “And with Svetlana, it’s a little easier, even. She has dual citizenship and all.”

Ilya looks out the car window, watching the flow of traffic. That all made sense. Ilya had known his situation from the beginning, but it was nice to know that Shane understood a little bit of it, too. He turns his head to gaze at Shane’s profile and his heart aches in his chest. It was stupid for them to see each other. For Ilya to risk everything just so he could meet Shane’s grandma and watch him at a photoshoot. 

He was an idiot. They should stop, if Ilya knew any better. 

San Fransisco

Ilya grumbles as he gets off his flight, his carry on slung over his shoulder as he walks through the airport to find the CCM driver who was supposed to pick him up. His agent had insisted that he take CCM’s offer to shoot another commercial with the company. He loves the money from sponsorships, but hates wasting what little time he did have during the season to do even more work.

He finds his driver who takes his bag and opens his door. Ilya thanks him before sliding into his seat. Ilya had been getting a lot of good press in the hockey world due to him getting mic’d up. He apparently had more brand offers than ever, and his social media accounts managed by his agent’s team were incredibly popular. A commercial made sense.

He watches the scenery go by until they stop in front of a large warehouse where CCM did most of their filming. They had their own rink and everything. Ilya pops out of the car and puts a smile on his face, preparing for an entire day of misery. Perhaps because he was dramatizing the situation so much, when he hears a familiar laugh, his emotions flip entirely to the other end of the spectrum.

He almost feels high, rounding the corner to spot one Shane Hollander getting his hair and makeup done by the CCM team. Shane keeps talking with the makeup and hair stylists, but when he catches Ilya’s eyes, he sends him a small, private smile. Like in a dream, Ilya floats to sit in the chair next to Shane and a few people introduce themselves before getting started on his own hair and makeup. Any chance he could get, he finds himself locking eyes with Shane through their mirrors. 

It had been two weeks since they had last seen each other - and it should have been two more before their next match in Boston. Ilya can’t seem to fully wipe the smile off of his face as his team gets him camera ready. 

He knew that he should end whatever this was with Shane - the quicker, the better for them both. But every time he picked up Shane’s call or saw him on television, all other thoughts fled as a warmth spread through his chest. Seeing him in person again, Ilya couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Maybe this was his chance to have one last moment with Shane? He swallowed and saw his smile falter in the mirror. He would end things after their next game. He could do that.

Ilya and Shane had never padded up in the same changing room before. The last time they had filmed promos for CCM, they had been practically babies and Shane had gotten there thirty minutes early. The two men stood in the changing room together, staring at one another, both unsure of what to do.

Suddenly, Shane lets out a laugh and walks over to Ilya, pulling him into a sweet kiss. “Kind of weird, yeah?”

Ilya feels a smile spread across his features, “Yeah.”

Things go back to normal after that. They both suit up, Ilya enjoying watching Shane put on the CCM branded uniform nearly as much as he enjoyed watching Shane take clothes off. They lace their skates and walk out of the changing room, grabbing their sticks from an assistant before heading out to the rink.

The commercial director wants to mainly get footage of the two of them skating around, playing a one-on-one game. It is difficult to avoid the camera crew as they work, but Ilya has an insanely fun time scrimmaging with Shane. 

The director has to remind them on more than one occasion that they need to have serious expressions on their faces as they play. Ilya supposes that the man didn’t know that in an actual game, Shane was smiling at him most of the time, anyways. Even when he checked the man into the boards - maybe especially then?

The two men are exhausted by the time the crew is done filming, both splayed out on the ice with their sticks lying next to them. After catching their breaths, Ilya stands and offers Shane a gloved hand up. Shane smiles and clasps onto his hand, popping up from the ice. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were on the same team?” Shane asks once they’re alone again. 

He turns to glance at where Shane was scrubbing shampoo into his hair, and reaches for his own 3-in-1. “Nice?” Ilya asks.

“You know - it’d be fun. And whatever team we’d be on would never lose again.”

Ilya smiles at that and rinses out his hair. It would be nice - if he were allowed to like Shane openly. They finish washing off and grab a couple of towels before heading back into the locker rooms. As they are putting their clothes back on, Ilya says, “This feels familiar,” staring down at where Shane was seated in front of him. Ilya enjoys the slow smile that forms on Shane’s face.

They make plans to pick up food at a restaurant Shane had wanted to try, before heading to one of their hotel rooms to watch bad television. Ilya stops at the door as he watches Shane talk with a few of the CCM ambassador managers. Ilya hears him thank them before one of the managers says, “It was a great idea for Ilya to shoot with you. Thanks for bringing it up.”

Ilya stares at Shane’s back as they speak for a moment longer. He feels a weight settle into his stomach like lead. Shane had asked CCM to fly Ilya out for the shoot? He watches Shane turn as he thanks them one last time, before heading to the door. The smile that was on the other man’s face slowly slides off as he gets closer to Ilya.

“Ilya?” Shane asks quietly.

Ilya walks out of the building, Shane following close behind. They get into their designated car, but when the driver asks if they want to go anywhere besides the hotel, Ilya tells him ‘no’ in a cold tone of voice. He can see Shane watching him from the corner of his eye, but he can’t bring himself to look at the other man.

They grab their bags from the back of the vehicle before entering the hotel. Ilya has so many thoughts racing in his head, that he doesn't realize he is in a hotel room with Shane until the man tugs his bag from his tight grasp on it.

“What’s wrong?” Shane asks, setting Ilya’s bag on the bed. 

Ilya moves to sit in the cuck chair to gain some distance from the man. “You asked CCM to do commercial with me?”

“I mean - kind of, not really?”

“What does that mean?” Ilya says harshly.

“They asked for my input on who else should be in the promos. I thought you made sense.”

“Because you wanted to see me?”

Shane blinks at him once, and then twice. “That’s not the only reason.”

“We are supposed to be rivals to public, Hollander.”

“Haven’t you been keeping up with the news? Media outlets have been guessing we are more friendly than they originally thought since the start of the season.” Shane flails his hands slightly before carefully clasping them in front of him. “They’re calling us friendly rivals now? Frenemies.” 

“They can’t know!” Ilya says with a raised voice. He stands from his spot and begins to pace.

“I know they can’t know - but is it so bad if the public thinks we’re friends?”

Ilya runs his hands through his hair aggressively. “And so you think that commercial is fine?”

“We’ve done commercials before.”

“You asked CCM to do commercial with me.”

Shane finally explodes in frustration, his hands rising up above him in a ‘what do you want?’ gesture, “This is ridiculous! You did the exact same thing to me!”

“Yes, years ago. And that was before-” He gestures vaguely between them.

“Fuck! I’m sorry then! I thought it would be fun. I didn’t realize it would make you so upset.”

“I am very upset.” Ilya growls out. He watches Shane pivot on his heel and grab his bag. The weight in his stomach seems to grow heavier. Shane catches his gaze, holding his head up high. He was clearly angry with Ilya for being so unreasonable, but what really makes Ilya uncomfortable is the assessing look Shane holds in his eyes. Ilya hates how Shane scans his expression and body language. Hates the tight line that forms across Shane’s mouth. 

“Okay.” Shane says quietly. 

He turns and leaves the room before Ilya realizes what had just happened.

Chapter End Notes

There's no hiding from Shane Hollander when he finally understands all of your tells.

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

Hellooo, Scott and Kip. 😊

Boston

Ilya spent the next two weeks in a miserable slump. 

Cliff and Victor had tried multiple times to pull him out of his inner turmoil, but no amount of clubbing and one-night stands had helped. None of them were Shane - or even close to the man.

Not even the news that he would be playing on the same team as Shane during the All-Stars game in New York City had helped. In fact, it probably drove him into a deeper despair. He wanted to play with Shane at his side. Fuck, he never wanted to leave Shane’s side. Ilya wanted to go to Shane’s cottage in the summer and have several changes of clothes at Shane’s apartment building - the building the man had bought just for Ilya to see him. 

He was an idiot for getting so caught up in problems that had no solutions. It was a fact of life - if he wanted to go home to see his father, he couldn’t be caught in a relationship with another man. The worst part, a small thought that festered in the back of his head, was that he didn’t really want to go back home ever again. He felt a sense of duty to his father to take care of him, but hell if that man had ever returned the sentiment. 

Vincent startles him from his thoughts with a hand on the shoulder, “You ready, Roz?”

Ilya nods his head, setting his phone in his cubby and standing. He hadn’t received a text or call from Shane in two weeks. Ilya hadn’t sent any, either.

They skate out on the ice to the sound of deafening cheers. It was nice to play at home - especially against Montreal. The team warms up and Ilya does his best not to make eye contact with Shane from across the blue line. It’s only when he lines up for the faceoff against Shane that he has to acknowledge the man’s presence. 

“Privet,” (hello) Shane says under his breath.

Ilya’s eyes snap up to Shane’s and he finds himself speaking without meaning to, “I hate Svetlana so much.” He had forgotten to bother her about messing with Ilya through Shane. She had been so interested in his visit with Shane’s grandmother, that they hadn’t talked about anything else.

He wins the puck and manages to score the first goal of the game. As they round back to the center of the ice and bend down once more, Ilya says, “Now you need to score two.”

Shane looks up at him, first in his eyes and then down at his crooked grin. The Shane he knows comes out to the surface a bit more. Ilya watches as a small smile forms on his face before he says, “Net, mne nuzhno budet nabrat' tri ochka.” (No, I’ll need to score three.)

The cheeky bastard! Shane obtains the puck and is off like lightning. Ilya smiles widely and chases after him, a lightness in his chest that hadn’t been there for two whole weeks.

Shane does manage to score three points, but the Bears are still up by one. At the start of the third period, a fight breaks out. This time it’s the Montreal goalie who started it. Thankfully, more players do not join in this time, Ilya supposing that they were too close on points to risk it. 

Shane stops next to Ilya, watching the refs wait for the fight to cross the line. “You know, Montreal is three times more likely to start a fight when we play Boston.”

Ilya glances at Shane, a wide smile on his face. “What about Boston?”

“Five times.”

Ilya lets out a loud laugh, skating a circle around the other man, lightly tapping their sticks together. “We give people what they want.”

“If ‘people’ refers to my grandma.” Shane says with a sigh.

“Our grandma, Hollander.”

In the last month since Ilya had met O bāchan, the Canadian-French media had started to interview her whenever they could get the chance. She would always praise Ilya and Shane, which made Ilya’s stomach do a sick flip of mixed emotions. She had been particularly willing to do an interview to talk about Ilya after the man managed to start three fights in one game.

It was more of the same when she talked about Shane - threatening him to be more entertaining and begrudgingly saying he was a good player. The sheer number of Shane’s pictures and awards that lined her home told Ilya it was all an inside joke. Actually, she had most recently said if Shane didn’t win the cup for the third year in the row, she would show his baby pictures to all of the Canadian-French media. 

An interviewer once asked about her opinion on Scott Hunter. The Admiral’s Captain had still been having a hard season, but his team, overall, was headed towards being in the finals. She had been almost as hard on Hunter as she was on Shane. But she does say that if Hunter manages to win the cup this year, she would consider also calling him her grandson.

The woman was collecting top NHL players like they were hockey cards. Ilya wondered if she had their hockey cards.

He stops his skates in front of Shane. The refs were now trying to break up the fight, but things weren’t going in their favor. “Hey,” he says to get Shane’s attention. When the other man meets his eyes again, Ilya continues, “Spin me around.”

Shane blinks at him in confusion, but when Ilya drops his stick and holds his arms out in the shape of a ‘T’, Shane also drops his stick and skates the short distance between them. Instead of Shane picking him up under his arms, the man bends down much further to grab onto his thigh, and hoists him across his shoulders. 

Ilya shouldn’t have suggested this. Hard-ons in cups really weren’t comfortable. 

He was being carried on top of Shane’s shoulders, parallel to them. Shane has one strong arm wrapped around the backs of his thighs and the other around the middle of his back. He dazedly hears Shane ask if he is ready and knows he says ‘yes’ in return.

And then he’s spinning on the ice, across Shane’s shoulders. They start off slow at first, until Shane tells him to tuck his knees and head in. Then they really start to spin. Ilya can’t help the, ‘Weeeeeee!’ that comes out of his mouth as Shane spins them all around the Bear’s side of the ice. 

He can barely catch glimpses of the other players on the ice, but he thinks the fighting has stopped as Shane continues to spin them. He thinks he can see confused and shocked expressions on the other players’ faces, but the arena is swelling with laughter from the audience. 

Shane finally puts Ilya back down, holding onto his bicep to steady him. The crowd boos them for stopping, but Shane and Ilya can only laugh. Cliff skates up to them, astonishment in his eyes, “Trying to decapacitate our Captain, Hollander?”

Shane smiles lazily and says, “He asked for it.”

Pike skates up next to them and asks, “How did you even lift Rozanov? The guy’s got 13 centimeters on you!”

“Jealous, Pike?” Ilya needles.

The man scoffs at Ilya but he does give Shane an assessing look.

“I want a ride, too,” Boiziau skates up.

The unintended innuendo makes Shane and Pike laugh. It takes Boiziau a second before realizing what he said and joining in. Ilya glances at Cliff to see the man already looking at him, a humorous smile on his face. Ilya winks at him before skating off to the center where the refs were calling them over. 

They only have a couple of minutes left and the Bears and Voyagers are tied. Shane has the puck and Ilya is hot on his heels to get it back. Several times, Shane shoots off one-liners in Russian while evading Ilya’s stick. They follow the boards around the Bear’s goal and towards the center of the Bear’s side of the ice. Ilya knows that if he doesn’t stop Shane now, the man would score. 

It happens in slow motion. His body turns in preparation for Shane’s shot. His skate accidentally makes contact with Shane’s as the man twists and winds up. He watches in horror as the man trips and hurtles towards the ice, careening head first into the boards to the left of the goal.

“No!” He hears himself yell out, the sound ringing in his ears.

Shane crashes into the boards, his helmet knocking off as he falls to the ice. He wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t Shane moving? Ilya quickly skates over to the man before the refs are able to get to him. He throws off his gloves and falls to his knees in front of Shane. He could hear Pike calling for Shane from behind, Ilya assuming the man had jumped the boards to check on Shane himself.

He carefully rolls Shane so he is lying on his back. It takes a terrifying moment for Shane to blink dazedly at him and ask, “Ilya?”

Ilya quickly steadies the man’s head as it tries to loll to one side. “I’m so sorry.” He breathes out.

He feels the refs start to pull him away and sees Pike skate up to check on his best friend. Guilt eats at his insides as a stretcher is brought out by the medical team. He hears Shane call after him as they load him up, the medics having to stop Shane from whipping his head around to try to find Ilya. 

“Tell him I’m okay!” He hears Shane say loudly as he is transported off the ice. 

He is so devastated by the mistake that he wasn’t prepared to receive the punch that Pike lands on his right cheekbone. Both men spend the rest of the game in the penalty boxes. It goes into overtime, the Bears managing to squick out one last goal to win the game. 

Ilya blinks at the elevator doors sliding open to his penthouse, not knowing how he had gotten there. He steps inside and falls to the floor, hearing the elevator doors close behind him. He didn’t know where Shane was. There were several hospitals in Boston - should he try all of them? What would he say when they ask about his relationship to the man? Would being the Captain of his opposing team be enough of a cover?

He opens his phone and scrolls through all of the hockey media outlets, hoping to find any information on Shane. When he comes up empty handed, he growls and refreshes the page, scrolling again. He does that for an entire hour, before he hears the elevator to his level open once more and slim arms snake around his chest. 

Ilya subconsciously leans back in Svetlana’s hold. “You’re okay. It was an accident.” She whispers in his hair in Russian. “I’m sure Shane knows it, too.”

He embarrassingly feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Ilya throws his phone to the ground and turns to curl into Svetlana’s embrace. “I can’t find where they took him.”

“Rose is trying. She said she’ll text us when she hears back from his parents.”

Svetlana pulls Ilya up to his feet and guides him to his bedroom, her hand in his. He falls onto his bed as she roots around in his closet for a change of clothes. She tosses a few things on the bed next to him and stops in front of him with her hands on her hips.

He hadn’t moved, he realizes belatedly. He numbly shrugs out of his suit jacket and begins to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. After a minute of not getting a single one undone, Svetlana steps forward and quickly strips him of his button down. 

He changes into the outfit Svetlana picked out for him and they go to sit on his couch. He turns on the TV to ESPN just in case any news of Shane pops up there. He feels a hand on his forearm and turns to Svetlana.

“You love him.” She says. He can only nod shakily. “Does he know?”

“Not- not in so many words.” He finally gets out. “But I think he knows.”

Svetlana sighs and gives him a look, “That is so like you.”

“Shut up.”

They had to wait another thirty minutes before Rose finally texts them a hospital’s name and room number. Svetlana refuses to let Ilya drive, instead pushing him towards her own sports car and heading to the hospital.

They bypass the front desk and head straight for Shane’s floor. Ilya slows as he catches sight of Shane’s parents walking in the opposite direction as them. “It was so sweet for Rose to call.” He hears Shane’s mother saying as they walk past.

Ilya starts back up, rounding a corner and finding Shane’s room number quickly. They both enter and Shane perks up at the sight of them. “Ilya!” He calls out happily.

Svetlana quickly closes the door behind her and Ilya is at Shane’s side in an instant. He glances over the man’s body and sees no obvious signs of damage. The man seems to be looking at him coherently enough. 

“He just has a concussion,” Svetlana says, flipping through Shane’s medical records that were stored at the end of his bed.

“Those are confidential, Svetik!” Ilya blinks at the Russian diminutive.

“What?” She asks in English, “Am I going to find something embarrassing in here? Are you actually 1.75 meters instead of 1.78?”

“What the fuck,” he makes grabby hands for Svetlana, “Put that down, come over here.”

Svetlana smiles and does what she is told, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “There, all better.”

Shane smiles back at her. 

Ilya looks between Shane and Svetlana, his worry being overshadowed by Svetlana’s betrayal. “I can’t believe you taught Shane how to say shit in Russian just to mess with me during games.”

Shane and Svetlana share a look of exasperation, Svetlana more amused than not. “You’ll have to accept my apology for my friend, Shane. He’s probably had more concussions than you.”

Shane grins widely, “Probably. This is the second one Ilya has given me, though.” Shame wracks through his system again, and he feels Shane grab his hand, “It’s fine, Ilyusha, really.” Shane squeezes his hand tightly, “We play hockey. I know the risks involved with that. I’ll be out of here in the morning and will probably be cleared to play for the All-Stars game.”

“But- is different when-” Ilya feels embarrassed for the choked up quality of his words. He couldn’t say what he truly wanted to say. 

Shane saves him like he did a month ago, pulling him down for a gentle kiss. 

Svetlana steps away from the bed and says quietly, “I’ll stand guard outside.” Before walking out and closing the door behind her. 

Ilya stares into Shane’s eyes and watches them cross slightly before righting themselves. “Sorry, there’s been two of you this whole time. Having a hard time concentrating.” He pulls up a chair next to Shane’s bed and sits. When he looks back at Shane, the man has a salacious grin on his face. “Two of you would be nice.”

Ilya huffs out a breath, “You think you can handle two of me?”

Shane settles more into his pillow, his face twinging in pain before smoothing back out. “You doubt me? Other Ilya probably wouldn’t.”

“If Other Ilya is an exact copy of me, you’d be wrong.”

“Fuck you- what were we talking about?” Shane’s focus fades before snapping back to Ilya’s face. Ilya changes his grip in Shane’s hand to clasp it more fully. “Why aren’t we fucking?”

“You’re in a hospital with a concussion.”

“Doctors never said I couldn’t fuck.”

“Shane.”

“Ilya.”

Ilya can’t help but laugh, bringing Shane’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. He watches Shane struggle to focus on him, his eyes blinking closed for a prolonged moment before opening again. 

“No, that’s not what I meant to say.” Shane clarifies.

“You don’t want to fuck?” Ilya asks.

“No, I do. Almost always. That’s not it, though.” Shane stares at Ilya for a moment longer, his vision clearing the most it had yet. “Why were you mad at me?”

Ilya takes in a sudden breath. “When?” He tries to evade.

“In San Francisco.” Shane squeezes his hand tight as Ilya tries to move away. “You got mad that I recommended you do the commercial with me.”

Ilya bet that Shane knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear it from Ilya. Ilya rapidly looks at Shane’s features, not knowing what to say or how to say it. He hears Svetlana’s voice as she speaks with who could only be Shane’s parents. Saved by the bell. He quickly stands and pulls out of Shane’s grasp, the man letting him go. Ilya has just righted the chair when the door opens to reveal Yuna and David Hollander. 

Ilya gives Shane a tight smile. Shane looks between his parents' surprised faces and back at Ilya. The other man sighs lightly and offers a small, genuine smile of his own to Ilya.

“I am relieved you are okay.” He finds himself saying mechanically.

Shane gives him a thumbs up and says, “Don’t worry. Montreal will still kick your butts, even if I won’t be playing for a bit.”

Ilya feels his smile turn into a real one and he rolls his eyes at that. “What do you think your grandma will say?”

“Oh, she’ll probably call you about it.”

“She has my number?” Ilya asks in astonishment.

“She has her ways,” Shane says mysteriously. 

Ilya laughs and nods his head towards Shane’s parents before ducking out of the door. He’d be okay.

New York City

Ilya does end up getting a call from O bāchan the night before the Bears were to play in Québec City again. Ilya fumbles to pull up a translator as the woman immediately starts to talk in French. She had demanded that he take her out for dinner after his game. Ilya had obliged. 

He had spoken to Shane over the phone a few times, but it was difficult for Shane to find privacy to speak any more than they did. He had stayed with his parents for the three weeks it took him to fully recover. Ilya kept him company as much as he could. Svetlana told him that Rose had stayed with Shane for an entire week, which had made him feel better.

And now, finally, they were in New York City for the All-Stars game. The NHL wanted Hunter, Shane, and Ilya to speak with the press before the game. The media outlets had been made aware not to use flash in front of Shane. The three of them lined up in their gameday suits for questioning. Ilya hates that Hunter is a little taller than him.

Shane smiles his professional smile for the cameras, answering questions with an ease of having done this for years. Ilya is more used to the types of questions he would be given, after years of his own interviews, but strange wording and idioms still trip him up. A couple of times, Shane leans in close to clarify something an interviewer says. The NHL really should be spending more money on translators. 

Hunter seems confident in their abilities. The man had recently gotten out of his slump and was blazing a path for the Admirals to win the cup - not if Ilya had anything to do about it.

They’ve changed into their gear and are out on the ice in record time. After the skills competition - Ilya couldn’t believe that Shane had shaved a few milliseconds off of his fastest skater’s challenge result - they take to the ice for their game. Ilya takes center, with Hunter and Shane flanking him, playing left and right respectively. 

They win the face off and make it down the ice in no time. Ilya smiles widely at the first puck that lands thanks to Hunter. He slaps the other man on the back before rounding to the center. This was going to be a cake walk. 

The next goal they score comes from Shane, Ilya assisting. Ilya is so overcome with joy that he skates over to Shane and practically leaps into his arms. He settles for giving Shane’s helmet a wet smack of a kiss before pushing him off towards the center.

The other team rotates out a few players and Dallas Kent crouches in front of him for the face off. The man spits on the ice in front of Ilya’s skates and says, “Sorry, I missed.” before the puck drops. Fucking asshole.

Ilya is close enough to Shane, who has possession of the puck, to see Kent check him into the boards and say, “Fucking fag,” before winning possesion of the puck. Ilya sees red, but doesn’t get the chance to live out his fantasies as he watches Hunter knock him to the ground, instead, and steal the puck away.

It happens two more times - Kent targeting Shane, throwing slurs his way as he tries to physically injure the other man. Ilya yells at the refs each time, telling them to do something about it. They throw out warnings to Kent, but he doesn’t change his behavior. 

Hunter manages to knock the man down one other time before he’s put into the penalty box for three minutes. These fucking refs. Ilya looks at the time remaining and the score board. Fuck it. The next time he stands in front of a face off with Kent, he throws his gloves before the puck drops and decks the man in the face. 

He gets put in the penalty box with Hunter. Hunter throws him a wide, conspiratorial smile which Ilya returns. “Think Shane will join us in a second?” Hunter asks.

“No, he’s too nice for that.” Ilya leans back, “He’ll probably score another point so he has one more than me.”

The wonderful thing is - both of them ended up being right. Shane does, in fact, score one more point, rubbing salt into the wound of an 8-2 game. But when Shane catches a vet player on the opposing team harassing a rookie player on their team, his gloves are off in no time. 

“Hello, boys.” Shane says in greeting as the penalty box swings open. 

He shoves himself in between both players, Ilya complaining, “There’s an open box right next to us.”

“I got lonely.” Shane says lightly.

Ilya hears Hunter let out a huff of a laugh.

The three of them have to stay late for a post-game conference, back in their suits, shoulder to shoulder. The reporters are having a field day with the fact that all three of their mic’d stars had been in a game together. Most of their questions are regarding their ability to work as a team and how they communicate with each other.

An interviewer directs a question at Shane, asking, “Mr. Hollander, we noticed you were getting targeted on the ice by Dallas Kent tonight. Do you have any comments?”

Ilya glances at Shane and notices Hunter also looking at him. 

Shane pauses for a moment before rolling his shoulder back and saying, “Homophobia has been present in my hockey career since I was seven years old and my coach called us ‘fairies’ for the first time.” Shane clears his throat before continuing. “There is not a single ‘out’ player in all of the NHL and it’s not difficult to guess as to why that is. Players like Dallas Kent aren’t abnormal in the game. You’ve just gotten to hear a little of what players deal with every day, with the three of us being mic’d up for the season.”

The conference continues on, but Ilya sees an almost awed expression on Hunter’s face that matches what Ilya feels internally. Shane would get in trouble for that answer, but he said it anyway. He purposefully spoke out against the NHL. 

As the three of them head toward the side exit after the conference wraps up, Hunter stops them. “I was planning on getting dinner with a-” he pauses before saying, “friend tonight. Would you two want to come with us?”

Ilya watches Shane blink at the man several times in confusion, attempting to decipher what he was really trying to say. He slaps at Shane’s arm and helps clarify, “Like we are friends.”

Shane’s lips part for a moment before a wide grin spreads across his face, “Okay!” He looks quickly at Ilya who nods his head in agreement, a small smile of his own playing on his features.

The three of them grab a taxi and head to an upscale restaurant that has several private booths. They meet Hunter’s boyfriend in one of those booths, the tall, handsome man smiling at their arrival before planting a kiss on Hunter’s lips and pulling him down to sit in the booth.

Hunter quickly introduces Shane and Ilya to his boyfriend, Kip, who rolls his eyes at Hunter when he tries to go into further detail. “I know who they are, Scott.” He reaches across the table and shakes both of their hands, an easy smile on his face. 

Ilya feels Shane quickly relax next to him. Kip was easy to get along with, Ilya could see why Hunter likes the man. They talk about the game for a bit, before moving onto Kip’s preparations for graduate school. He speaks about his upcoming history classes with glee, Ilya watching Hunter smile fondly at him over his glass of wine.

“So, I heard that Shane’s grandma is going to adopt me too if the Admirals win the cup this year.” Hunter eventually says.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Hunter. Bears and Voyagers are still in race, too.” Ilya needles. “She’s bad influence, anyway. Won’t want to upset your delicate constitution.”

“Good phrase,” Shane praises.

“You’re not offended that Roz just called your grandmother a bad influence?” Hunter asks Shane.

“Oh, no. He’s right.” Shane nods.

“She gave Shane weed.” Ilya says very seriously.

Shane whips his head to look at Ilya and slaps him on the chest, “Shut up! Not even my mom knows that.”

“Ooh, secret weed dealer grandma.” Ilya pesters. 

Shane groans.

The food is good, but very healthy and is served in small portions. Ilya glances at Shane as their second course is presented to them and sees the man already smiling humorously at him. Shane nods his head slightly, making Ilya want to cheer in triumph. They were getting Ilya food after this. Instead, he opts to grab Shane’s hand under the table and squeezes it to death. 

“I saw the comment you made about Dallas Kent,” Kip says after their third course. Shane looks up and nods his head. “Was it really like that for you?”

Shane blinks, “I mean, yeah.” He takes a sip of his water before saying, “It didn’t help that I was also figure skating at the same time, growing up.” He shrugs slightly at Kip's look of concern, “My childhood best friend and I grew up playing hockey together, so it helped. He- uh. We’re not friends anymore, but he still made things easier.”

Ilya tilts his head at that. Shane had never spoken about a childhood ex-bestfriend before.

As they are eating dessert, Hunter asks, “So you and Rose Landry…” he trails off.

“We’re really good friends.” Is what Shane settles on. He was always so careful when Rose was brought up by the media. Ilya immensely appreciates him protecting Svetlana and Rose’s relationship. He supposes Rose also protects him and Shane. 

Hunter sends Shane a smile and a nod before eating another bite of chocolate cake. Shane slides his piece over to Ilya, who happily takes it. When Hunter and Kip are distractedly  talking to each other, Ilya scoops up a bite of cake on his fork and presents it to Shane, “Have at least one bite.”

Shane flushes a little at that, his eyes softening on Ilya’s before he accepts the bite Ilya feeds him. Ilya watches Shane lean back in his spot and sigh, “It’s so fucking good.”

“Have more.”

“Some of us don’t have insane metabolisms, Ilya.”

“You think my body is insane?” He waggles an eyebrow at Shane, causing the other man to laugh. 

On his next bite, he notices Hunter and Kip staring at them. He raises his eyebrows to ask what they want, and Hunter lets out a little ‘huh’. They shake out of it and wrap up their meal, Ilya quickly placing his card down before Hunter has the chance to. 

He sends Hunter a smug smile.

“Dick,” Hunter complains, but Ilya sees a smile fighting to break free on his face. 

They part ways in front of the restaurant, the late winter weather causing the four of them to tighten their coats around themselves. 

“Bye Scott, bye Kip!” Shane calls after them, causing the couple to turn around to wave one last time before they step around a corner. Shane turns to Ilya, a wide grin on his face that he can’t help but return. “That was nice.”

Boston

The Montreal Voyagers get knocked out of the race right before the Boston Bears. Not only does Shane’s grandma reveal baby pictures of her grandson to Québec media, but she also somehow finds baby pictures of Ilya to show. Ilya was absolutely baffled by where she could have found them. 

The Admirals are in the final game of the season, Ilya watching with Svetlana, Cliff, Victor and a few other teammates in his penthouse while Shane watches at home in Ottawa with his parents. 

“The Admirals will win,” Svetlana says from under his arm.

“That’s what Shane’s mom said, too.”

The women are right, and Ilya watches the pure joy Hunter experiences as he lifts the cup. The fucker. That should have been his cup. Or Shane’s - no, not Shane’s. He already has one more cup than Ilya. The bastard.

Ilya pauses in getting up from the couch when Svetlana holds onto his hand. “Look.” She says in wonder.

Hunter had skated over to the audience and was talking with a man - Kip. Kip was climbing his way down in the stands and hopped the boards to be on the ice with Hunter. And then they were kissing. 

“Woah,” Svetlana breathes. 

Several of his teammates also reacted in shock, but nothing Ilya would consider to be bad. He whips out his phone as he feels it vibrate in his pocket, and accepts the call before he’s out of the room.

“Did you see that? Tell me you’re watching the game.” Shane asks without preamble.

“I saw it.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah.” Ilya breathes out.

Chapter End Notes

I feel like in this canon divergence, Shane would start to speak out against homophobia in the NHL much quicker than he does in The Long Game. He knows Ilya loves him, so why wouldn't he?

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

Hope you enjoy! 😌

Ilya couldn’t help the well of jealousy that forms in his heart over Hunter and Kip. Knowing that he would never be able to do anything like that with Shane ate at him. He watches the press carefully over the next week as the season dies down. The majority of news outlets were praising Hunter and his ‘brave act’. The couple must have been happy. 

The NHL hadn’t put out a public statement about Scott Hunter, yet. They should have, but they hadn't. And when his agent sends over a proposal for him and Shane to do a two-week long press tour across the U.S. before the official summer break, Hunter's name is nowhere on the paperwork.

Ilya doesn’t know how to respond to the offer. Especially when the idea is leaked to the press. The day before he has to decide on his answer, a news article pops up with the headline, “Shane Hollander will not accept media tour if Scott Hunter is not included”. 

Within two hours of that article being posted, the NHL revises their contract to include all three top players - in all regards. Ilya accepts the amended proposal. 

Ilya enters the NHL conference room in New York City with Cliff Marleau and Victor St-Simon behind him. The other six players who would be going on the press tour were already present. Shane, J.J. Boiziau, and Hayden Pike sat on one side of the table and Scott Hunter, Carter Vaughan, and Eric Bennett sat on the other side. 

Ilya settles in next to Shane, kicking at Pike’s chair to annoy the man, and waits for their media training to begin. Hunter’s sexuality is never directly mentioned by the NHL reps, but it was absolutely the elephant in the room. 

They are carted directly from NHL headquarters to the airport to head to Los Angeles. Their first media appearance would be on a late night talk show that following night. Ilya had never been on a flight with Shane before, in all of their years of flying. He butts past Boiziau and Pike and snags the seat across from the man. 

“Sorry, seat taken.” He smiles smugly at Pike as the man stares down at him in contempt. 

“Want me to get this fucker out of my seat?” Pike asks Shane. 

Shane shrugs and says, “I’ve told you before. He’s really not that bad. Rozy’s just extra irritating to you.”

Pike looks askance and is forced to move down the aisle to not stop the flow of hockey players. 

“You’re just too easy.” Ilya calls after the man. Shane slaps him for that one. It’s worth it.

The flight is six hours, which would normally be gruelling to Ilya, but he had a whole, entire Shane Hollander to annoy. Ilya wins first pick for movies and puts on Fast and Furious. He tries to play footsie with Shane several times throughout the movie, causing Shane to grumble and kick him away each time. They eventually settle on linking ankles together.

After Ilya’s pick they watch the new movie Rose stars in, planning which things they would tease her about once they met up with her in L.A.. Ilya had never felt so happy right before a summer break. He couldn’t believe he got an entire two weeks of Shane before he’d have to go back to Moscow and take care of his father. Shane catches his staring, at one point, and sends him a private smile. Shane must be excited too. 

After the movie, Shane settles back in his seat and pulls out a book written in French. Before he opens it, Ilya watches him also pull out a small rectangular case. Ilya stares in astonishment as Shane places a pair of wireframed glasses on his face. Ilya is unable to pick his jaw up from the floor as Shane opens up his book and starts to read. 

Ilya makes a strangled noise after several minutes of staring at the man, causing Shane to look up at him in question. Shane blinks several times at Ilya’s expression and quickly glances down at his lips, before looking back to Ilya’s eyes. 

“What?” He asks in a hushed whisper.

Ilya puts a hand to his face and says, “You wear glasses?” Desire seeping through his words.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to all the time, but I typically just use them to read.”

Oh, his sweet Shane. He decided to be direct. Needed to be, honestly - desperately. 

“Have you heard of mile-high club, Shane?”

Shane flushes at that, closing his book with a snap. “Ilya!” He hisses.

“I will go to bathroom first, and then you follow after five minutes. Keep glasses on.”

Ilya stands and discretely adjusts himself before heading to the bathroom at the back of the plane. He counts down the minutes, his head thunking against the wall as he attempts to be patient. Exactly at the five minute mark, the door opens. Ilya smiles widely, pulling the man in quickly. 

Thankfully bathrooms on private planes were slightly bigger than the shoe boxes on standard flights. Shane presses into him, slipping a packet of lube and a condom in Ilya’s back pocket as he kisses him senseless. Ilya bites at his bottom lip before leaving a trail of kisses and bites down the man’s neck. He worries at the spot right behind Shane’s ear causing the man to let out a breathy moan.

“You will be too loud,” Ilya chides, “Everyone will know.”

“Shh, shut up.” Shane whispers back, tugging at Ilya’s sweatpants so he can have access to his dick. 

“Do you think you can keep quiet, Hollander?” Ilya whispers in his ear, biting at the lobe lightly. Shane lets out a cut off whimper. He’s wrapped his hand around Ilya’s hard-on and is firmly stroking it. Ilya sighs at the sensation and brings his lips back to Shane’s, pressing in a deep kiss. “Turn around - I will do.”

Shane quickly turns, like the good boy he is, and leans slightly over the small counter top. Ilya enjoys watching Shane slowly slide his sweats and underwear over the globe of his ass. They stop midway down Shane’s thick thighs. Ilya travels the path Shane’s hands make back to his ass, spreading his cheeks for Ilya. 

Ilya quickly pulls out the packet of lube and rips it open with his teeth, his other hand absentmindedly stroking his dick. He lets the lube drip between Shane’s ass cheeks, the man gasping lightly at the cold liquid.

Ilya looks up at the mirror to catch Shane’s heated gaze and tosses the packet in the sink, in case they need it later. He slides a finger down the trail the lube takes, stopping at Shane’s hole. Ilya circles it several times, applying slightly more pressure with each swirl, until Shane is whimpering and holding back moans in front of him. 

Ilya finally presses his pointer finger in, crooking it to find Shane’s prostate with each push in. The man jolts when Ilya has finally succeeded, shoving several knuckles in his mouth to muffle the sounds he makes as Ilya continues to hit the spot over and over. Ilya slides in another finger and begins to scissor him open. It’s only when Shane’s hips start to push back with each thrust in, that Ilya pulls his fingers out and stops rubbing his own cock.

Shane whimpers in front of him, his desperate gaze locking onto Ilya’s. “Please,” the man moans out quietly. His glasses were slightly fogged from the heat of Shane’s body. He didn’t realize that would make his cock throb so deliciously. 

Ilya quickly pulls out the condom from his back pocket and tears it open. “Please, what?” Ilya whispers.

Shane’s head dips down, his brows furrowing slightly before he lifts his chin and catches Ilya’s eyes again through the mirror. “Fuck me.” Shane swallows, “And keep me from being too loud.”

Ilya blinks at that, his thoughts clouding with lust before he quickly puts on the condom and slides one hand to rest along the front of Shane’s neck. His other hand guides him into Shane. He moans lowly at the feeling of the tight heat enveloping him slowly. When Shane starts to groan in pleasure, Ilya quickly pulls him back by the hand on his neck, gently applying pressure. Shane’s breath catches and after a second, Ilya knows the man is holding in his breath with how quiet he has become. 

Pulling Shane back had seated himself fully in Ilya’s lap. The feeling of being fully enveloped by Shane requires Ilya a moment before he is able to pull back and snap his hips back in. He continues his hard pace, Shane releasing his breath through a quiet whine when Ilya starts to hit his prostate repeatedly. 

The man is quick to hold his breath again, though, Ilya’s fingers sliding up to dig under Shane’s jaw. Ilya loves watching Shane’s expression in the mirror, but he much prefers when the man is directly in front of him.

He pulls out and  flips the man around, lifting him so he’s perched on top of the sink. Ilya slides back in, one hand staying to support Shane’s thigh, the other wrapping back under Shane’s jaw. He thrusts into Shane in a heated rhythm, kissing and biting at the man’s lips and swallowing all of his whimpers and moans. 

Ilya pulls back enough to whisper, “You’re taking me so well. Fuck- look at you.” Shane was absolutely blissed out under Ilya’s hands. “Such good boy, being so quiet so you don’t get caught.” Shane’s breathing has sped up, his gaze hot on Ilya.

Ilya quickly covers Shane’s mouth as the man orgasms, his back arched and his arms scrambling to hold onto Ilya. Ilya hadn’t touched him once. He follows quickly after, letting out a low, quiet groan over Shane as he cums in Shane. Shane holds onto him with a vise grip for a few minutes after, before Ilya has to slide out of him, quickly removing the condom and disposing of it. 

He drops back into Shane’s arms, both of them now standing and fully clothed. Ilya rests his forehead against Shane’s, his eyes closed and breathing in deeply. 

“Think anyone has noticed we’re gone yet?” Shane asks quietly.

“Hmm, if they have, then we can wait longer.” He presses a sweet kiss to Shane’s lips before kissing his cheeks and his forehead. Shane leans into his touch contentedly. 

Los Angeles

They get to the hotel at around dinner time, Ilya walking in with Victor and Cliff a little after the others. By the time they get to the front desk, Shane is handing him a room key. Pike is griping behind him, “I can share a room with you, man.”

Shane glances over his shoulder and says, “J.J. already claimed you, sorry. Something about partying for two weeks straight with you not having to worry about Jackie and the kids?”

Pike groans, but Shane laughs him off and pulls Ilya to the hotel elevator. When they make it to their floor and find their room, they notice Hunter standing in front of the room right next to theirs. They all stop and stare at each other for a long moment, a range of emotions cycling through Hunter’s face, horror being the most prevalent. 

“Shit,” Ilya hears him mutter before the man unlocks his single room and slips inside.

Ilya laughs loudly after him as Shane pulls him in the room, a wide grin of his own spread across his face. 

The following evening, the nine men get prepared for their first media event of the press tour with a segment on Jimmy Kimmel. Once their hair and makeup is done and they’ve donned their outfits, they wait in the wings of the studio to get called on. Shane bumps shoulders with Hunter and Ilya from where he’s in between the two men. 

“I barely got any sleep last night,” Hunter complains quietly.

“You’re welcome. Hope Kip was listening, too.” Ilya whispers back.

“How did you know-” They get called on stage, causing Hunter to cut their conversation short.

Shane is laughing at them both as they make their first appearance. 

Jimmy asks several questions to the group about playing hockey and their experiences in a professional league, before he introduces a game for the nine men to play. It was a Buzzfeed-styled quiz where the players would have to answer fun facts correctly about each other. Ilya smiles widely as he is handed a whiteboard and marker. This should be fun.

Their game starts off with different questions being asked about the different players. More personal questions were almost always easier for teammates to answer correctly. Finally, Jimmy asks a question for Ilya.

“What is Ilya Rosanov’s middle name?”

Some of the players groan, but he sees Shane quickly write down his answer. Curious.

The players reveal their answers, giving stereotypical male Russian names, but only one gets it correct. Ilya reveals his board, ‘Grigoryevich’ displayed in a scribble. 

“How does Hollander know your middle name, Roz?” Victor asks in dismay.

Jimmy turns to Shane, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“It’s on his Wikipedia page,” is all Shane says.

Jimmy and a few of the guys laugh at that, the host saying, “You look at hockey player’s Wikipedia pages?”

“I mean, sure, but I usually just keep Rozanov’s up-to-date.”

“With shit like, ‘Ilya Rozanov is the most annoying player in the league’?” Vaughan asks.

“No, you’re not supposed to do that on Wikipedia.” Shane says matter of factly.

The guys laugh him off, but Ilya knows that Shane wouldn’t lie about this. It just also sounds like a good joke to other people’s ears.

They go through a couple of more guys before Jimmy lands on Shane. “How many languages does Shane Hollander speak?”

Ilya confidently writes down his answer, but is shocked when he sees both Boiziau and Pike had written ‘four’ instead of the ‘three’ on his board. Ilya watches Shane reveal his answer, ‘four’ written out carefully. What the fuck?

“Really?” Jimmy asks, impressed, “You’re a polyglot? Which languages do you know?”

Shane seems to be holding back a smile, avoiding Ilya’s gaze as he lists out, “I learned English and Japanese at home, but I went to a French immersion school throughout my childhood. Russian,” Shane says crisply, his gaze sliding over to Ilya, “Is one I picked up recently.”

“Bullshit.” Ilya exclaims in Russian.

“The sound crew won’t know what to bleep out if you curse in Russian, Rosanov.” Shane says in perfect fucking Russian. He had an accent, of course, anyone who learned Russian did, but Shane somehow knew exactly what to say.

“This is bullshit, you don’t know Russian.” Ilya says in English.

“No, Shane’s been studying it for a year now,” Pike cuts in.

“Yeah, he’s so boring on plane rides,” Boiziau says, “He’s constantly practicing and reading stupid Russian books.”

Ilya starts to connect the dots. Around a year ago is when Hunter, Shane, and Ilya were told they would be mic’d for the season. His eyes grow wide. “You learned Russian to fuck with me during games?”

“Man, this is the most I think we’ve had to censor a group of guests ever!” Jimmy interjects.

Shane smiles smugly at Ilya. 

“Svetlana knew,” he whispers in shock. He whips his head around to find Svetlana sitting in the front row of the audience with Rose. She has the audacity to throw him a little wave.

Jimmy gets them back on track, saying he has a few extra questions for the three Captains. 

“How many toe drags has Ilya Rozanov currently completed in his career?” 

Ilya looks up at Jimmy and says, “I don’t even know that answer.”

“It’s alright, we do.” Jimmy says with a laugh. The players write their guesses down and when Shane is the final one, revealing ‘317’, Jimmy jumps from his chair and exclaims, “How the hell did you know that?”

Shane looks at him with wide eyes, as the answer is revealed on the screen behind Jimmy’s desk to be ‘317’. “It’s one of Rosanov’s signature moves.” Is all the man can say to justify his knowledge. 

“It’s not a trickshot that is tracked by the NHL,” Jimmy pushes, “We had our team comb through every single video of Rosanov for a week straight in preparation.”

“Oh, it helps if you don’t have to binge all of his games at once.” Shane says simply.

Jimmy can’t seem to let the issue go. “But how did you know? Do you know how many toe drags Scott Hunter has done in his career?”

“180. He’s more partial to a backhand flip.” Before Jimmy can say anything, Shane says, “278- for the backhand flips.” Jimmy blinks at him in wonder. Ilya catches Hunter staring at Shane in open shock. “I really like hockey.”

“No shit.”

They get another question for Shane, “Which extreme sport caused Shane Hollander to lacerate his spleen as a child?”

Only Bennett and Victor manage to guess the answer right, Shane revealing ‘skiing’.

“How did you manage to lacerate your spleen by skiing?” Hunter asks.

Before Shane can respond, Jimmy pipes up, “Wouldn’t you know - I actually have the home video of it happening.”

“You what?” Shane and Boiziau say at the same time. Boiziau sounds much more excited. 

“We have our ways,” Jimmy looks into the camera, “Roll the tape!”

The video is shaky for a second before it settles to point at the top of a ski slope.

“Do you see him yet?” David Hollander asks.

“No- oh David, this is an awful idea. This hill is way too steep for him.” Yuna Hollander says.

“He’ll be fine, love.”

“This is his second day skiing ever!”

“Oh! There he is,” David says in excitement. 

He zooms in on a little Shane. As Shane skis closer to where his parents were stopped, Ilya would guess he was 10 or 11 at the most. 

“Oh, he’s going really fast.” Yuna comments.

“Wait, shit, he’s coming right for us.”

“I told you he shouldn’t be on this hill!” 

The video captures Shane coming in hot down the hill. He manages to steer clear of his parents at the last minute, but there is an audible, high pitched scream as Shane shoots past them and down the mountain.

“Oh my god.” Yuna says in terror.

“Nothing bad will happen, I’m certain.” David zooms the camera in on Shane’s rapid descent where he is suddenly stopped by a tree. “Whelp.”

There’s a lot of shuffling and movement from Shane’s parents as they quickly make their way to Shane. When they finally find him, he’s laying in a bank of snow, dazedly looking up at them.

“Did I do it?” Little Shane asks. 

The screen pauses on Shane’s face and the audience erupts in laughter. Ilya has to keep a hand over his mouth to not offend Shane on live television. Jimmy turns to Shane and asks, “How exactly did that lacerate your spleen?”

Shane looks bashful as he answers, “I was going at such a high velocity that when I hit the tree, all of my other organs compacted and pushed my spleen against my ribs. One of my ribs cut it almost completely from edge to edge.”

“And so I’m assuming you went to the hospital right after this?”

“No, I did a few more hills first.”

The audience bursts out into laughter again, “You what?” Jimmy exclaims.

“Everything turned out alright,” Shane shrugs, “I didn’t die from internal bleeding, so yay me!”

Jimmy asks one more question of Scott to wrap up the game. From there, Jimmy starts to talk about the season all three teams had, eventually bringing up the fact that Shane had lifted Ilya up and spun him around in their last game together. Jimmy plays a clip, causing the audience to laugh, before playing the audio that Shane and Ilya’s mics had picked up of Boiziau asking for a turn. 

“So, Shane,” Jimmy rounds on him. “Why haven’t you given J.J. a turn yet?” Shane opens his mouth in shock. “I think you should do it now in front of a live studio audience.”

“Are you serious?” Shane asks, but Boiziau pops up from his seat and hops over to Shane eagerly.

“How tall are you, J.J.? 6’6”?” Jimmy asks.

“I don’t know, I use the metric system.” Boiziau pulls Shane up from his chair and demands to be picked up.

“You want me to pick him up or spin him?” Shane asks Jimmy.

“Both.”

Shane lets out a heavy sigh, Ilya having to hide a smile behind his hand. He watches Shane test out the slickness of the floor in front of him before walking over to the center of the stage, where the floor was more slippery. “Come here,” he tells Boiziau, bending his knees slightly as the band starts to play.

Ilya has to cross his legs when he watches Shane lift the large man up and across his shoulders. Damn, he had it down bad. He hears Shane ask a giggling Boiziau if he was ready before carefully spinning on the floor with the balls of his dress shoes. He spins him several times, Boiziau full on laughing when Shane finally sets him down and has to steady him. 

“Man, now I want to try,” he hears Jimmy say. 

Looking at the panting Shane, his cheeks flushed from the exertion, Ilya was happy to know he got Shane all to himself whenever he wanted.

Rose and Svetlana meet the hockey players backstage, Shane leaning down to kiss Rose on the cheek in greeting. Pike and Boiziau heckle the man as they walk back into the changing rooms to get back into their street clothes. 

“I’m officially throwing a party at my place,” Rose says to Shane. Svetlana siddles up to Ilya and threads an arm through his. “Tell all of your hockey buddies. Especially Scott Hunter.”

Shane laughs at that, “Scott specifically?”

“I like to look.”

Shane presses his lips together to not grin as Scott lets out a startled laugh behind Rose. “Good to know I’m still considered eye candy to the other sex.” Scott says before heading into the changing room, himself.

Shane, Ilya, and Svetlana laugh at Rose loudly as her face turns beet red and she slaps at Shane’s chest. “How could you!” She exclaims.

“It was too good to pass up.”

“Ilya is a bad influence on you.”

Shane lets out a slow smile, “No, I’ve always been like this.”

He kisses her cheek again and pulls Ilya into the dressing room. All of the guys seem excited to party at one of Hollywood's top stars’ mansion. They run back to their hotel to change, scheduling their pick up in thirty minutes. Ilya emerges from the bathroom to say, “You can’t possibly be wearing that.” In Russian to Shane.

“Why not?” Shane looks down at himself. He was wearing a pair of nice jeans and a white t-shirt. 

“You’re going to Rose Landry’s house party, not to brunch with your parents.”

“I don’t really have anything for going to a party.”

“You didn’t pack anything?” Ilya walks over to Shane’s suitcase, dumping out all of the folded contents on one of the beds.

“Ilya!” Shane takes the empty suitcase from him and watches Ilya sort through the clothes.

“Wow, you’re right.” Shane groans when Ilya leaves the pile of clothes a mess on the bed and walks over to his own suitcase. He pulls out a sheer black button down shirt with black lace up the sleeves. “Wear this.” He tosses it to Shane.

The other man sighs, a light flush rising to his cheeks before he pulls off his t-shirt and puts on Ilya’s shirt. Ilya smiles seductively at him and closes the distance between them. “We still have twenty minutes.” 

“Ilya.”

“Shane.” He plays with the silky material of Shane’s shirt.

Chapter End Notes

I feel like if Shane had the opportunity to pester Ilya in Russian, he would have learned the language much quicker. One of his special interests is annoying Ilya, after all.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

I've written J.J. a bit differently than how he comes off in the book. I feel like Shane would welcome a friend who consistently shows obvious cues that he enjoys being around him. J.J. is that for Shane in this fic. 😊

Hayden is always Hayden.

They barely make it on time, the two of them running to the limo and sliding into the back two seats. Hunter has an amused expression on his face, but doesn’t say anything to them. By the time they arrive at Rose’s front gate, it was obvious to tell the party is in full swing. The gate slides open and the limo pulls up to the front of the house. The guys pile out and quickly start to mingle with the other partygoers. 

Ilya overhears Carter Vaughan calling out for Gloria Grey, an actress he had dated in secret for over a year before they became public knowledge. Cliff and Victor aren’t far behind him, talking about making up for lost time. Bennett asks Hunter if he wants anything to drink, but the man shakes his head and steps closer to Shane and Ilya. Bennett shrugs before heading after the other guys.

The remaining players - Shane, Ilya, Hunter, Pike and Boiziau - find Rose and Svetlana in the second living room, doing shots before returning to dance to a live dj. Ilya laughs at the two of them, walking up and spinning Svetlana around. She smiles at him widely, already tipsy. “Perfect timing.” She says before wrapping her arm around Ilya’s neck and dancing to the beat. Rose dances behind her to make a Svetlana sandwich. 

Ilya glances over at Shane to see the man smiling at the three of them in something close to adoration. He gets pulled off by Pike and Boiziau to another side of the room, Shane catching onto Hunter to take him with them. 

After several songs, Rose and Svetlana need a break from dancing - and by break, both women mean more shots. Ilya joins in and catches Shane’s eyes as he throws the shot back. 

The four men were sitting on a wide couch on one side of the room, Shane splayed out, half on Boiziau, his back leaning against Pike. Hunter and Boiziau were animatedly talking about something, on their second beers. Pike was talking in Shane’s ear, glancing at Ilya heatedly before turning back to Shane to keep talking.

Ilya finds that now would be a perfect time to go harass Shane’s best friend. He pulls the two women after him, both happily following, and ends up standing in front of Shane’s splayed form.

“What is problem, Pike?” Ilya asks loudly over the music, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Pike glares up at him before suddenly standing, making Shane fall back with a yelp. Boiziau grabs Shane by the shoulder and lifts him back up, his focus not moving from Hunter. Ilya likes Boiziau.

His attention refocuses on Pike as the man points a finger to his chest. “The problem is that you’re dancing with my best friend’s girlfriend.” he jabs the finger against his chest several times for emphasis. 

“Oh no, how could I?” Ilya mocks. “Do you see Shane or Rose mad?”

“Shane?” Pike repeats. 

“If you are so upset, you go dance with Rose and Svetlana. I am tired.” Ilya sighs dramatically and plops himself down next to Shane where Pike had been moments before, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

“I- what?” He turns comically between Ilya and Shane and Rose and Svetlana. Ilya appreciates the predatory smile that slides across Svetlana’s face. “I couldn’t do that!”

“Aw, come on, Hayd!” Rose grins, “It’ll be fun! We can call Jackie, if you want?”

“Why would I dance with Shane’s girlfriend?”

“Shane doesn’t dance. Come on, let’s go!” Rose pulls at Pike and he reluctantly follows after her and Svetlana.

Ilya pulls Shane closer with the arm that was wrapped around his shoulders. “Have you had anything to drink?” He asks in Russian.

“No, I’ve been stuck listening to Hayden freak out for the past thirty minutes.”

“Poor guy.” Ilya says with little sympathy.

“I wish I could tell him sometimes. It feels bad to always lie to him and J.J., but it’s not my secret to tell.”

“What would you tell them if you could?” Ilya looks deeply into Shane’s eyes.

Shane pauses for a moment, his breath caught as he stares at Ilya. “What wouldn’t I say? I’d tell them everything.”

Everything? Ilya blinks at that and has to hold himself back from kissing the man he so deeply wanted. Hunter and Boiziau pull them into their conversation, passing Ilya a beer. Several songs go by and Boiziau pulls Hunter up to dance, finding a couple of beautiful women to also dance with him. 

Ilya holds his beer to Shane, and the man takes it for a small sip before handing it back. “Is Boiziau bi?” Ilya asks him.

“Not in all the years I’ve known him. His twin brother is gay. He’s also just a secure guy. I don’t know.”

“He flirts with you often.”

“Yeah, he flirts with a few other guys on the team, too. That’s just how he is.”

After one more song, Ilya pulls himself up and says, “Come outside so I can smoke.”

“Smoking is bad for you,” Shane says automatically, but stands to follow Ilya to Rose’s back balcony. It extends across the entire length of the mansion, meaning there are several other couples and groups lounging around in the cool night. 

Ilya quickly lights his cigarette and takes in a long drag. He leans against the balcony railing and admires the lights twinkling down the valley of Hollywood. Shane steps up and presses their shoulders together, also looking out at the sights before them. Ilya takes another drag of his cigarette before holding it out in front of Shane. Just to see what he would do.

The man sighs and takes the cigarette, inhaling and exhaling before passing it back. “God that’s awful.” He coughs out.

“Do it a few more times and you’ll get used to it.”

Shane lets out a laugh, his head dipping down in the process. Ilya admires the length of Shane’s neck, wanting to run his fingers through the hair the man had been growing out for a few months. Ilya takes in another puff of smoke and blows it out right as a tall, handsome black man walks up to them. 

“Shane, I was wondering if I’d see you here.” The man says with a flirtatious grin.

“Oh, hi Miles. How’s it going?”

“Better, now.” He nods with his chin towards Ilya, “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Shane straightens up at that and says, “Sure - Miles, this is Ilya Rosanov. He plays in the NHL. Ilya, this is Miles Senior. He’s an actor and a friend of Rose’s.”

Ilya smiles a tight smile and holds his hand out in between them. Miles happily takes it, holding on a little too long after the handshake. Ilya goes for another cigarette. 

“I’m surprised you’re not inside dancing with Rose, Shane.” Miles says, his eyes dipping down to Shane’s shirt before looking back up to his face.

“I’m not really into dancing.” Shane shrugs, leaning his back against the railing. Shane catches his eyes where Ilya was still faced towards the valley and raises an eyebrow. That look could have been because Ilya was being rude or because he had just lit his second cigarette. It could possibly be both.

“Oh, come on, Shane!” Miles pushes at his shoulder, “You’re so fun! You must have a little bit of dancing spirit in you.”

“Dancing spirit,” Ilya repeats in Russian. 

Shane laughs, but Miles doesn’t take it as laughing at him. “Sorry to disappoint you, bud.”

“You haven’t yet.” Miles says a little too flirtily for someone who was supposed to be Rose’s friend. He grabs onto Shane’s arm and tugs him in the direction of the main living room. Luckily for Ilya, Shane was easily 82 kilos of pure muscle, the man didn’t move a centimeter if he didn’t want to. Miles looks back expectantly and Ilya sees the opening for what it is.

“I’ll go with you two.” 

That makes Shane immediately ease up. Ilya stubs out his second cigarette and puts the butts in his pocket before following after Shane and Miles. Miles grabs them three shots and passes one to each man. Shane sighs, but throws the tequila back, grimacing at the taste as it burns down his throat. Ilya winks at him and pulls him on the larger dance floor of the house, Miles close behind him. 

Shane really wasn’t loosening up at all as he dances between Ilya and Miles, so Ilya slides his arms around the man’s neck and squeezes a hand at the back of it. Shane’s head falls forward slightly, accepting Ilya’s hand that traces along his cheek and runs through his hair. There, that was better.

They dance for an hour, Miles getting pulled away at some point by another guy and Rose and Svetlana finding them soon after. The four enjoy the music, the party swelling around them as they lose some of their inhibitions. It’s past one by the time the majority of the party goers have left to hop to different house parties in the valley. 

Ilya finds himself flanked on either side by Shane and Rose on their couch, Svetlana lounging on the couch opposite them. Shane’s shirt had gotten unbuttoned while they had been dancing, and it still lay open to show off a sliver of his torso. Ilya would like to bite at it. 

Hunter pulls in Boiziau and Pike, who were followed by Cliff and Victor. When asked, Hunter divulged that both Vaughan and Bennett had gone home with Gloria Grey for the night. The guys settle in, passing around some chips and popcorn they had found in the kitchen. 

“Hey, Shane.” Svetlana starts from her sprawled position on the couch. ‘Damn’ he hears Rose say under her breath. ‘Seriously’ Ilya replies just as quietly. Rose laughs and hits him on the chest. “Can you pick me up and spin me around?”

“How much have you had to drink, Svetik?”

“Think I’ll turn into a human barf machine?” Such a way with words she had.

“Probably. I’ll do it, if you want me to.”

Svetlana pops up from her spot on the couch, Rose sighing at the loss. With a wide smile on her face, Svetlana pulls Shane out of his hold, causing Ilya to sigh at his loss. Rose giggles at that. 

“This would be so much easier on the ice,” Shane gripes before picking Svetlana up and flipping her around his body several times. She screams with glee and is breathless by the time he sets her on the ground. 

“Hey, that was different from what you did to J.J. and Ilya!” Rose calls out. 

“J.J. and Ilya are both over 91 kilos. There’s no way in hell I could flip them around like that.”

“Quiter!” Boiziau yells from his spot, mouth full of popcorn.

“Do more, Hollander.” Svetlana demands.

Shane sighs at her and takes a few steps back, “Alright, take a running start this time, at least.”

Svetlana squeals and backs up several paces to target him in a dead sprint. Shane easily catches her around the middle and hoists her up above his head, doing a complicated move that spins her once over and then under his shoulder and landing her back on the ground to safety.

He holds out a steading arm, which she grabs onto for support, her head wavering with drunken dizziness. “Incredible.” She says breathlessly.

Rose pops up from her spot, leaving Ilya bereft of a warm body, and skips over to Shane.

“Me too, lover boy!” 

Shane laughs at her and tells her to also take a running start once Svetlana clears out of the way. Rose screams in excitement as she is lifted and twisted intricately around Shane’s body. Once she lands on her feet, she asks, “How do you know how to do that?”

“Ice dancing.” Shane says casually, turning to sit back down next to Ilya.

“Hold on-” Pike leans forward, “What do you mean ice dancing? Like figure skating?”

Ilya watches Shane’s shoulders stiffen unconsciously at the question. Ilya glances at Hunter to see the man also looking at Shane carefully. Were they the only two Shane had told - not even his best friend knew?

“Yeah,” Shane says in a forced light tone, “I competed growing up.”

Shane drops in his seat next to Ilya. He immediately wraps an arm around Shane’s shoulder and pulls him in close. Shane was still stiff, but at least he was breathing normally again.

Pike squints between Ilya and Shane before saying, “So you did it the same time you were playing hockey?”

Shane shrugs lightly and says, “Yeah. For around 8 years.”

“What made you stop?” Boiziau asks innocently. He had his arms around Hunter and Pike’s shoulders.

“I was 15. I figured it was time to pick one and stick with it.”

“That’s so lame!” Boiziau grumbles, reaching over to grab some popcorn and throw it at him. It only landed on Ilya. “Oh, sorry.”

Rose falls down next to Shane on the couch, barely squeezing between him and the couch arm. She has an incredibly sad look on her face as she asks, “You had to give up your dream of becoming a professional figure skater?”

Shane laughs and smiles widely at her. “My dream? I’m pretty sure the steadiest gig for a professional figure skater is Disney on Ice.”

“Don’t downplay your potential of being Flounder.” She can’t keep her act up for long, falling into giggles in Shane’s lap. Shane and the guys laugh with her, before she seriously pulls herself together. “You could have gone to the Olympics, knowing you.”

“I did.” Shane says plainly, laughter still in his voice.

“Sochi doesn’t count!” Hunter calls out. “It’s never too late to go back to figure skating.”

“Yeah, you wish, asshole!” Ilya enjoys seeing the wide smile on Shane’s face. 

“You wouldn’t go back?” Rose asks.

“No- I’m saying I went to the Olympics for figure skating. I was 15 and then decided to retire after.”

Rose wobbily stands up from her spot in shock. 

“You did what?” Ilya finds himself asking.

Shane suddenly looks bashful at the group of people who were laser focused on him. “I was in a doubles competition. We did good and I was happy to move on.”

“But the media absolutely would have picked up on that by now,” Cliff says.

“I have two names. I used my Japanese one.”

“Why?” Rose scrunches her face in confusion.

“I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Show us the video,” Pike says suddenly. “It must be recorded on Youtube, right?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come onnn, Hollander,” Svetlana drawls out.

“I’ll call your mom right now,” Rose threatens, already pulling out her phone and opening her contacts lists. 

“Don’t!” Shane protests.

“Would she even reply? It’s 2 am.” Hunter asks.

“It’s 5 AM in Ottawa. She’ll definitely be awake,” Pike adds helpfully. He had the TV remote in his hand and dangled it in front of himself for Shane to take.

Shane groans and gets up from his spot to grab the remote, to cheers from the group. He searches, “Hina Sato and Shōn Nakano Olympics Ice Dancing”. He clicks on the first video and turns up the volume before leaning back in his seat in defeat. 

The group watches in rapt silence as a 15 year old Shane skates with his teen partner for four straight minutes. By the time Shane pauses it at the end of the program, all of them are in various stages of shock.

“How many programs are in Olympics ice dancing?” Svetlana asks.

“It depends, there's usually two.”

Ilya feels Shane shift in his spot nervously. He casually pulls Shane in a little closer. 

The group is silent until Pike quietly asks, “You won gold?”

A blush forms high across Shane’s cheeks.

“What the fuck!”

By 2:30 AM, the guys start to straighten up their area, talking about heading to the hotel for the night. Rose stops them and says, “I literally have fifteen bedrooms in this place, please, stay.”

It wasn’t a hard decision. 

When Ilya goes to pull Shane up from his spot, the man complains saying, “No- leave me here. I’m too comfortable.” The man puts up a fight long enough that they are the only two left in the room after a minute. Ilya sighs heavily at the man before scooping him up in his arms and heading in the direction he assumes the bedrooms are. “Ilya!” Shane protests, but threads an arm around Ilya’s side and rests his head on his shoulder with a thunk.

“Shane.” He says lightly. Ilya finds an available bedroom and throws Shane down on the bed, the man laughing as Ilya creeps towards him, “Mr. Olympic-Gold-Medal-Winner.” He climbs on the bed to loom over the other man, “Mr. I-Can-Deadlift-91-Kilos-Without-Breaking-Sweat.” 

“Don’t forget the silver medal from the Sochi Olympics,” Shane adds cheekily. He lets out a small scream as Ilya finally goes in for the kill. Ilya isn’t on top of him for long, getting the few kisses he can, before Shane has flipped them on the bed. Ilya’s breath catches at the humorous smile on Shane’s lips that quickly turns sultry. 

Shane easily shrugs out of his unbuttoned, sheer shirt folding it from his spot straddling Ilya’s hips. He uses Ilya’s chest as the surface to fold the piece of clothing. Ilya can’t help but laugh as Shane sets it to the side and starts to pull at the shirt Ilya is wearing. He lets the man strip the top off and fold that as well before setting it aside. 

Then Shane is on him - all over him - kissing Ilya’s lips, face, down his neck. Ilya groans as the man’s hands squeeze the muscles along his front and down his arms, his lips following in their wake. “So pretty,” Shane murmurs against his skin, kissing at the constellation of moles down Ilya’s torso. 

Ilya’s breath catches in his throat at the soft words. He slides his hands up Shane’s thighs and rests them at the man’s hips, gently brushing his thumbs along the skin above his waistband. Shane catches his gaze and he can’t help the shiver that runs through him at the heated, blissed out look on the man’s face.

“Can I ride you?” Shane asks, his hands already migrating down to unbutton Ilya’s jeans and then his own. Shane quickly strips them of the rest of their clothes, his hands going to jerk them both off at the same time.

He throws his head back against the pillows at the sweet drag of Shane’s hand over his erection. Ilya lets out a low moan, “I didn’t bring condom or lube.” 

Shane pauses his actions for a second, causing Ilya to whine at the back of his throat, “What the fuck, Rosanov.” He starts back up, but seems distracted now.

Ilya opens his eyes to see the man looking around the room, zeroing in on a bedside table. “You could have brought them,” Ilya pesters. He twists his body, stretching to reach the nightstand and opening it to find an empty drawer. 

They both groan in defeat. 

Shane releases their erections and grabs onto Ilya’s thighs for leverage as he almost fully turns 180 degrees in his spot on Ilya’s lap. “Think that door leads to a bathroom?”

Ilya sits up and grabs Shane around the waist, causing the man to turn back to face him. “Let’s find out.” He pushes Shane off of him, the man falling on the bed with a surprised ‘oof’ before Ilya is off the bed and racing to the door. 

“Hey!” Shane laughs out, quickly popping up to catch up to him. They’re in luck, it was a bathroom with an incredible looking stand-up shower. “Fuck yes.” Shane pushes Ilya towards the shower and skirts around him to turn the water on.

Ilya turns Shane around to kiss him senseless. “You want me to fuck you in shower, Shane?”

Shane sighs heavily, his face playing at mock consideration, “I guess that works for now.”

Ilya laughs and pushes Shane into the hot water. “So sorry, Hollander.” Ilya drops to his knees and takes Shane’s hard cock into his mouth, the man moaning above him. He feels Shane’s hand slide into his hair and hold on for support. He pulls off of his dick with a pop to ask, “Should I always have lube and condoms on me?”

Shane lets out a cut off groan as Ilya evilly takes him back in his mouth right as Shane is about to respond. The hand in his hair tightens. “You’re not really supposed to keep them in your pockets like that.” Shane says breathlessly. 

The man was able to say way too many words for Ilya’s liking. He slides his hands around to knead at Shane’s glutes before slipping a couple of fingers to press at Shane’s hole. Ilya pulls his mouth back again, Shane whining at his teasing, and looks up at the man. “I don’t know what you want from me, then.” He pushes his middle finger in past the tight ring of muscle, up to the first knuckle before slowly pulling back out.

Shane groans, having to brace himself on the wall as he stares down at Ilya, “Fanny pack.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Ilya asks, pressing his finger in deeper. 

Shane’s legs begin to shake lightly and he squeezes his eyes shut before looking back down at Ilya. “Fuck, what is it called in Russian - it’s different like,” Shane gasps as Ilya crooks his finger to brush against his prostate, “How it’s different in British English.” Ilya slides in a second finger and begins to hit Shane’s prostate with each thrust in. 

“Can’t talk anymore?” Ilya asks, catching Shane’s dick back in his mouth and hollowing his cheeks around it.

Shane groans, his eyes flicking open, a heat in them that had been building this whole time. “Poyasnaya sumka. Waist bag - that’s what it is.”

Ilya pulls off long enough to say, “Wow, my Shane is so smart.” As he leans back in to capture his cock once more, he stops suddenly and laughs. “You want me to wear poyasnaya sumka?”

“Yeah,” Shane thunks his head against the tiled wall, his hips following the rhythm of Ilya’s fingers. “Wear a velour tracksuit, too. Might as well.” He lets out a moan as Ilya stands and turns the man to face the wall. Shane immediately spreads his legs, back arched sluttily for Ilya’s viewing pleasure. “You already have the gold chain.”

“Slippery slope,” Ilya chides before lining his dick up. He pauses at the sight and says, “Is this okay?” They had always used condoms.

“I swear to god if you stop I’ll probably cry.”

“Thinking about me in velour tracksuit and ‘fanny pack’, Hollander?”

“If that’s what you want.” Shane pushes his hips towards Ilya, causing him to laugh at the man’s eagerness. Ilya slowly enters Shane, partially because they are only working with the water from the shower and partially to annoy the man. They both moan when Ilya is fully seated, their hips as close as they could be. “I’m not going to last long.” Shane warns.

“Have you ever?”

“Fuck off.”

“I don’t think you’d like that.”

Ilya slowly pulls back and thrusts back in. They both moan at the feeling. Ilya had never not used a condom with past hook ups. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to last. Definitely longer than Shane, that was his only hope from not being pestered by the man for days after. 

He slowly picks up the pace, enjoying the lazy drag of his hips and the French curses spilling out of Shane’s mouth. The man had pressed one side of his face against the tiled shower wall, allowing Ilya to admire his profile. His long straight nose and red-kissed lips. His dark lashes clumped together with water droplets as his eyes squeeze shut. His pretty freckles across his cheeks.

Oh fuck - he realizes too late he was going to lose. His hips stutter suddenly as his orgasm shocks through him in a jolt of surprise. Shane moans at the sudden change in tempo and is not far after Ilya. 

Ilya can’t help but feel an overwhelming heat take him over at what they had just done. 

He pulls out slowly and spreads Shane’s glutes to watch his cum dribble out of the man. “Holy fuck,” he says to himself. He flips Shane around and kisses his soft lips with abandon. “All mine.” He says against Shane’s mouth, their breaths mingling together.

Shane responds to him in French, but Ilya can guess his meaning, “Tout à vous.” (all yours)

The morning after Rose’s party. Ilya wakes up before Shane, the bed too soft for his liking. He wanders around until he finds Svetlana in Rose’s room getting ready for the day. She was sitting at a vanity table and carefully applying eyeliner. Ilya walks up behind her and wraps her in a hug once she is done with one wing.

“You’re up early,” she says with a smile.

“I missed you.”

“There is a lot to me to miss.” She says with a mischievous smile. 

Ilya watches her apply the second wing before picking up a red lipstick to apply to her full lips. Seeing the lipstick sparks an idea that causes Ilya to smile crookedly.

“What?”

“Let me have that lipstick.”

“Darling, it’s not your shade of red.”

“So?” Ilya pouts. 

Svetlana laughs and opens a drawer in the vanity table. She rifles around before selecting a different tube. “This one is Rose’s.” She offers it to Ilya. 

Ilya smiles and takes the lipstick, dropping a kiss to her head. “I’ll get her a new one.”

New York City

Their next stop on the media tour is back in New York City. That night, they were expected to go on Late Night with Seth Meyers. 

The players head to 30 Rockefeller Plaza a few hours before they would be on the show for hair and makeup. They joke around as they wait to be called on, a few guys talking about what they plan to do in Miami in a couple of days. Ilya was looking forward to the beach. He’d never seen Shane in a swimsuit before - well, besides the swimsuit sponsorship he did a few years ago. 

Similar to Jimmy Kimmel, all nine hockey players are introduced to the show’s audience and Meyers warms them up with easy questions about their best and worst hockey stories. He eventually asks Ilya, Hunter, and Shane how it felt to get mic’d up for an entire season, which leads to a question directed specifically to Shane.

“So, man. You’ve been singing on the ice all season.” Shane flushes lightly at that, taken off guard, maybe. “Are you planning on dropping your workout playlist or what?”

“Oh!” Shane scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, “I actually don’t listen to music when I work out.”

“You don’t?” Pike leans over, “But you always have your headphones on when we run.”

“Maybe Hollander doesn’t want to talk to you.” Ilya chimes in helpfully.

“No, shut up.” Shane admonishes. “I listen to a metronome.”

Ilya blinks at Shane’s honesty. The man is always so innocently open - it is one of his many qualities Ilya loves about him.

“You listen to a metronome?” The host asks with laughter in his voice.

“Yeah, it’s easier to set that than it is to make a whole playlist of songs that have the right beats per minute. Even then, they might not all go together in a playlist.”

The audience and guys laugh at his admission. Ilya watches Shane’s expression start to close off at the reaction.

“You know, doing research before the show, we found that a superfan actually pulled together a playlist of all of the songs you sung on the ice this season.”

Meyers gestures for a tech assistant to pull up a screenshot of a Spotify playlist that Ilya knew very well. He sees Victor lean in close to the screen, his eyes squinting at the Spotify username. 

“Hey, Roz. Isn’t that your Spotify account?”

Ilya acts unaffected and disinterested. “Da.”

Meyers lets out a laugh, “You’re 81Bears on Spotify? There’s no way!”

“It makes sense, no? That is my number, but also it has a double meaning. What is that called? Innuendo?”

“You’re telling me you made the playlist?” Meyers reiterates. 

Ilya nods his head gravely. “I listen to playlist and think about times I beat Voyagers.”

He gets the others to laugh, but his gaze slides to Shane to see his reaction. The man was trying to hide a smile, rolling his eyes, but Ilya could see that he hadn’t been able to fully distract Shane from his stupid metronome comment. 

The host moves on to talking about strange hidden talents the hockey players have. Ilya watches Shane’s expression fully shut down over the next few minutes - the man obviously overthinking his answer.

When a few of the guys stand up to cheer Boiziau on as he does the worm in front of Meyers’ desk, Ilya also stands and walks behind Shane’s chair. He gives the man’s shoulders a firm squeeze as he acts like he was interested in watching Boiziau on the floor. Honestly, he wasn’t that bad at the worm. 

Ilya feels Shane’s shoulders ease up under the pressure of his hands, allowing him to go back to his seat in time for Meyers to introduce another segment. Meyers’ team had collected fun facts from people in the players’ lives. Their goal was to answer questions related to those fun facts. 

The game starts with the Admirals players before moving onto the Voyagers. When it’s Shane’s turn, the host asks, “What is Shane Hollander’s favorite song to sing during karaoke?”

Shane blinks and turns to Meyers, “I don’t think I have one.”

“No, you do.” Both Pike and Boiziau say in unison.

“Now I’m terrified of the answer.”

The other players give their guesses before Pike reveals, “It’s “Pump Up the Jam” by Technotronic.”

“What?” Shane says in confusion, “I don’t remember ever singing that.”

Boiziau lets a slow grin slide across his face, “That’s because you only sing it on nights that you black out.”

Shane’s jaw drops open in shock. He says something in French to Boiziau, causing the other man to laugh a little evilly.

“You know, your wonderful teammates actually sent in a video to prove their answer.” The host says, causing Ilya to lean forward in anticipation.

The video starts up to the dismay of Shane and no one else - a little shaky at first before it centers on Shane in a private karaoke room. Several of his teammates fill up the booths on either side of the camera, the Cup just off to one side. 

Shane has a stupid hat and sunglasses on as he mimics the singing style of the musician relatively well for being as plastered as he obviously is. At one point, the video picks up Hayden asking, “Why do you always have that expression on your face when you sing this?”

Shane stops mid-verse to say, “That’s how they do it in the music video,” before starting back up shimmying and side stepping to the song.

By the end of the video, Boiziau is up and dancing with Shane as well, singing along to the song loudly.

The audience cheers as the screen goes dark and the focus returns on Shane, who looks utterly mortified. “So, maybe I don’t remember the nights we won the Cup.”

Ilya can’t help but join in on the laughter at that.  

The host continues in their segment, finally landing on Ilya. “Which wild predator did Ilya fight in his youth?”

The question is met with disbelief and shock among the hockey players. Ilya glances over at Shane to see a look of tired defeat on his face. He smiles widely and listens to all of their guesses, enjoying that Bennett thought he had fought a shark. When it’s time for Shane to give his answer he says, “It was probably a bear or something,” with a sigh.

The guys glance to Ilya and he reveals, “Holly is right. Was bear.”

Meyers also has a video of that incident, more than likely from Svetlana, causing the audience to laugh at his teenage stupidity. Shane’s eyes are covered as Meyers rounds on him after the video is over. 

“You know, Shane. You certainly know a lot about Ilya. We’ve been watching your supposed rivalry for a while now, but I think hockey fans everywhere are wondering if you two aren’t actually more friendly than you let on.” 

Shane peaks at Meyers through his fingers before glancing at Ilya. 

They had never really resolved the stupid fight that Ilya started over the CCM commercial shoot. Ilya had been so worried about the media uncovering their secret relationship, that he didn’t want to hear Shane out. Them being known as friends to the public wouldn’t be a bad thing. The NHL wouldn’t like it, but fuck them, right?”

“We are friends,” Ilya says lightly.

Pike whips his head to look between both men. Ilya hopes he gets whiplash. “You’re lying.” The man proclaims. 

“No. I’ve gone to Shane’s grandma’s house and everything.”

“Oh, when will I get to go?” Hunter asks, the savior he is. He turns to Shane and says, “How did she get my phone number, by the way?”

“She has her ways.” Shane says, stoic secret keeper for his O bāchan.

They wrap up their part on the show and quickly get out of their makeup and outfits. Ilya watches Pike pull Shane out of the room, a severe look on his face. Looking over to Boiziau, he sees the other man laugh and shake his head. Boiziau catches Ilya’s gaze and sends him a wink. Huh.

Scott steals Shane and Ilya away for the night, having them meet up with Kip at a local bar they frequent. Shane seems apprehensive to be seen at a gay bar with Ilya, but his desire to see Kip outweighs his anxiety. Ilya knew it could be bad if word got back to his brother about this, but he still steps into the Kingfisher after the others. He wants to be there.

Kip greets them warmly, first planting a kiss on Hunter’s lips, before hugging Shane and Ilya. They meet a couple of Kip’s friends and watch a basketball game on the TV above the bar as they nurse beers. 

Ilya watches Shane bring his ginger ale to his lips for a sip before setting it back down, his fingers tapping at the side of the can. The man was obviously starting to fray around the edges. The talk show had been too much for him. Ilya glances around the bar and sees other gay couples and friends happy and engaged in conversations. 

Casually, he wraps an arm around Shane’s shoulders from where they sit side-by-side at the bar. He feels Shane melt a little against him, and that’s all the permission Ilya needs to kiss him behind his ear. 

“We’ll go home soon and I’ll lay on top of you.” Ilya says in Russian in his ear.

Shane tilts his head a little to catch Ilya’s gaze. “Oh? Is that all you’ll be doing?”

Ilya smiles before simply saying, “Yes,” before pressing a quick kiss to his temple. 

Shane hums and seems to perk up at the promise. Ilya watches him get into a conversation with Elena about her fancy tech job, and so he turns back to watch the game, making occasional comments to Kip sitting next to him.

They stay longer than Ilya expects, Shane holding out for a couple of more hours. Ilya regrets this, though, when he hears a man’s voice shout loudly over the bar’s noise.

“Princess?” The name is directed at their group. Ilya feels Shane stiffen under his arm. “I can’t fucking believe it! Hey guys, check it out! Shane Hollander is in NYC.” Ilya glances back to a group of four guys around their age, one of them seeming to be their ringleader. He isn’t able to stop it as the guy grabs at Shane’s shoulder and spins him around in his barstool, Ilya’s arm sliding off from around him. 

Another of the group steps up and says, “What the fuck are you doing in NYC the same time as us, tapette?" (poof)

“What the fuck did you just say?” Elena shouts.

That’s enough for Ilya to jump to his feet, shocked when Kip and Hunter do the same. The two hockey players and Kip loom in front of Shane, standing between him and the four dickwads who seem to know him. He hears Shane sigh and also stand from his spot, nudging Ilya out of his way. 

“You are in a literal gay bar, Lavoie. You’d think by now, you’d know how to act outside of a locker room.”

“Oh?” Lavoie moves closer to Shane, his shoulders squaring back, “And you know so much about locker room etiquette don’t you?”

Ilya is ready to get arrested tonight. His muscles are tight and coiled to attack. He just needs the word from Shane. He glances at the one who initially spoke to see him cracking his knuckles, gearing up for the fight. The third was shaking his arms out, a wicked grin spreading on his face. The fourth, though, hadn’t moved at all. The Asian man was staring at Shane like he had just seen a ghost.

“Are you seriously trying to pick a fight, right now?” Shane gestures to Hunter and Ilya next to him. “Against three professional hockey players?” He glances at Kip, “And Kip probably goes to the gym every day.”

Ilya hears a muttered, ‘thanks’ from Kip. 

“Yeah, Princess. Why don’t we go outside?” The third one says, “Kaito obviously didn’t get the message across the first time.”

The fourth man of the idiot group stumbles back, his face as white as a sheet. Ilya watches Shane zero in on him. Before anyone can react, Shane is pushing through them and grabbing onto the lapel of the fourth man’s jean jacket. Ilya watches Shane pull the man in the middle of their circle. 

“Still telling the same story, Kaito?” Shane looks at him intensely. Ilya had only seen that expression of pure hatred a few times in his time knowing Shane - thankfully, it had never been directed at him.

Katio’s expression darkens and he spits something out in Japanese, disdain filling his voice. Shane’s grip tightens on the shorter man’s collar and he says, “Tell them.”

“Fuck you,” the other man growls out.

The three idiots try to step forward, but Ilya, Hunter, and Kip stop them in their tracks. 

“I know the guilt must have been eating you up after all these years.” Shane leans in closer, his eyes blazing. “Tell Lavoie, Tremblay, and Pelletier what really happened.”

Kaito suddenly pushes at Shane’s chest, breaking the man’s hold on his collar and gaining distance between them. “You forced yourself on me in the locker room. Kissed me.” Kaito spits out. 

The other men jeer at Shane, but their words are drowned out by Shane’s much quieter, colder voice, “Liar. You fucking coward.” He steps forward again, looming over the other man.

“I am not,” Kaito whispers, shrinking in on himself slightly.

Ilya stares in shock, quickly glancing at their friends to see they are equally as stunned. Kip’s expression held a tinge of worry that was starting to eat its way up Ilya’s own throat. 

“Then tell them.” Shane demands.

Something in Kaito’s expression breaks, and everyone is there to witness it. The three idiots shift in confusion. 

“One evening- after practice,” Kaito starts stutteringly. Lavoie, Tremblay, and Pelletier glance at each other in uncertainty. “We were the last two in the locker rooms.” He gets out in one breath. “I don’t know what I had been thinking,” his voice is shaking now, “but from one moment to the next, I was kissing you.”

Lavoie, Tremblay, and Pelletier take a step back in unison, their eyes wide and dumbfounded. 

“And then what happened?” Shane says, his eyes never leaving Kaito’s. 

“You didn’t react. I got scared.” The man seems to be looking everywhere but Shane, “I punched you.”

“You broke my jaw, asshole!” Ilya takes a step forward at that. “And then you told the whole school I was the one who came onto you. I had to change high schools.” Shane steps back, bumping into Ilya’s chest. “Over a stupid fucking kiss.”

“You’re lying,” one of the guys tries.

“Look at your buddy, Pelletier. Do you think I’m lying?” All the fight seems to leave Lavoie, Tremblay, and Pelletier at once. Their eyes wide on Kaito. “Why the fuck are you four in a gay bar? Get the fuck out of here.” He turns to Kaito and says rather viciously, “Don’t you have a wife and kids to get back to? Does she know?”

Kaito suddenly charges for Shane, but is immediately blocked by Kip and Scott stepping in. He bounces off the men like he hit a brick wall. Ilya slides an arm around Shane’s waist, pressing the sides of their heads together. Ilya guesses the three stooges pull Kaito back and out of the busy bar. Shane slumps back against Ilya’s chest as the front door closes.

Hunter and Kip turn quickly, glancing down at the man. Shane was hiding his face, hanging his head low so they wouldn’t be able to see him. His ears and neck were a tomato red in embarrassment. 

Ilya gives both men a crooked smile and says, “I think is time for us to go. It was good seeing you both.” 

Hunter and Kip blink and nod their heads. 

“Good thing you are in New York City, Scott. Will not have to have room next to us tonight.”

Scott lets out a surprised laugh. “Thank god for that.”

Ilya is moving, collecting their things as he keeps Shane upright on his feet. He overhears Kip say, “I don’t know, it was pretty hot-” before he is too far from the group to hear anything else.

By the time they are outside in the chilly spring night, Shane has started to hyperventilate. Ilya presses Shane up against the bar’s brick wall, applying steady pressure from an arm across his chest as he quickly schedules an Uber. 

Putting his phone away, Ilya lets Shane fall into his arms, squeezing tightly as he tells him to breathe. Slowly, with time and Ilya’s repetitive hand up and down Shane’s chest, the man comes back down. When Shane finally pulls back, Ilya wipes the man’s tears away from under his lower eyelashes. 

“Okay?” Ilya asks. Shane slowly nods. “Okay. Our ride will be here soon.”

They ride back to the hotel in silence, Ilya dropping Shane off on one of their beds before heading into their bathroom for a pee break and to fill a cup with water. When he returns with the water, he sees Shane has pulled out his laptop and gotten under the covers. 

Ilya places the cup on the nightstand next to Shane and quickly strips down to his boxers, climbing into bed beside him. He watches Shane adjust his glasses, appreciating their presence, before glancing down at Shane’s screen. 

The man had pulled up a folder full of videos labeled ‘High School'. Shane really was quite boring. Ilya snuggles in closer to his side. Shane loops an arm around his shoulders and hits play on one of the videos. 

Teen Shane was talking off camera to the boy on the screen. It was Kaito. Suddenly grainy music kicks on and little Shane jumps into view, the two teens doing a horrible choreographed dance. Shane clicks on another video, this time of the two of them showing off the lunches their moms had packed for them. Another one, and then another. They spend quite a long time going through Shane’s old videos. 

Kaito had been the best friend Shane had mentioned during their dinner with Scott and Kip. The ex-best friend, rather. And it was obvious that Shane had been broken up over Kaito’s betrayal for a while. Ilya wipes away a tear that falls down Shane’s cheek as they finish the last video. 

“Did you like him back?” Ilya finds himself asking.

“No- I don’t know. It was my first kiss.” Shane shuts the laptop and takes off his glasses, moving both to sit beside him on the bed. “I didn’t really think about that kind of stuff back then. I went from school - hockey - figure skating - home - repeat almost every single day growing up.”

“No time for friends?” Ilya stares at the shut laptop.

“I had Kaito in hockey and Hina in figure skating. I knew them both for most of my childhood.” 

Ilya hums and moves from his spot against the pillows, rolling on top of Shane so they are chest to chest. “Okay. No more thinking now.” He drops a few kisses on Shane’s face.

Shane lets out a laugh, but settles down underneath Ilya. “Okay.”

Chapter End Notes

Ilya has so much social awareness, I feel like he'd pick up on ways to ground Shane without the man having to explicitly lay them out.

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Our poor Ilya. 🥲

Miami

Ilya feels like an utter waste of space as he stares up at the ceiling in their Miami hotel room. It was going on 10 AM, and he couldn’t find the energy to get himself out of bed. This happened to him sometimes. Usually right after a season ends and he has to go back home to Moscow.

He blinks slowly, letting out a heavy sigh. Shane would be back from his morning jog on the beach with Pike any minute. He had to get up. He didn’t want Shane to see him like this.

When he hears the door unlock and click open, though, he hasn’t managed to move a muscle. Shane appears next to him, in cute light blue running shorts and a tight white t-shirt. The part of him that would typically pounce at the opportunity to lick all of the sweat off of Shane was largely pushed out by the heavy weight of existence.

His gaze slowly rakes up to meet Shane’s eyes and he doesn’t like what he sees in them. He would think that Shane would make him get up. Pester him until he’s showered and dressed for the day - probably wanting to shower with him. Maybe he would tease Ilya for being lazy. His father always thought he was lazy when he was like this.

Instead, unfortunately, Shane defies all of his expectations and tucks him properly in the bed. Ilya watches him lean down and place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Hi, baby.” He says in Russian.

He wants to respond, but he doesn’t. He can’t really. Shane continues to look at him, cataloguing his features in a way that Ilya always hates. He kisses Ilya once more, but on the lips, before moving back and towards the door.

“I’ll be right back.”

The door opens and closes. Ilya stares at the ceiling, watching the light from their floor to ceiling windows dance along the flat surface.

Shane enters again, but this time with Cliff. The two make their way closer to Ilya, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, I see what you mean.” Cliff says, his voice sounding slightly like he is underwater.

“So this has happened before?” Why did Shane sound that way now, too?

“Yeah. It’s pretty irregular, though. When it happens.” Cliff furrows his brow at Ilya. He wonders how he looks to make his best friend seem so worried.

“He doesn’t usually talk?”

“No.” Cliff crosses his arms surveying their room. “Only one bed has been slept in.”

“Focus, Marleau.” Cliff’s attention snaps back to Shane, “How long does it take for him to come out of it?”

“Usually a day. Sometimes more.” He glances at Ilya for a second before saying, “I never know how to help. He doesn’t really talk about it.”

“That’s like him.” Shane says. Ilya wants to scoff, but can’t seem to move his muscles the way he needs. “Alright, Ilya and I will stay behind today. You guys go have fun on the beach and in town.”

Ilya had really wanted to go to the beach.

“Won’t it seem, I don’t know, a little suspicious if you both stay back?” Cliff glances at the unused bed again.

“I’ll think of something.” Shane says simply.

“Have to lie often, Hollander?”

“Just for a couple of Russians. Go, have fun. Come back later, if you want.”

Cliff starts towards the door before stopping. “Really?” He asks, “The two of you?”

“Come back later with food.”

The door opens and closes.

He watches Shane pull out his phone and call someone, “Hey, Hayden. Ilya and I ordered food off the room service menu and got food poisoning last night. It’s been bad - we’ve barely slept at all.” He nods his head along to whatever Pike was saying. “No, it’s okay. I had the front desk bring up some medicine. Just don’t expect us to be out of the room today.” He hangs up soon after.

Shane rounds the bed and stands next to Ilya again. Ilya can’t help but look at Shane’s stupid short shorts. “Like what you see, Rozanov?” Ilya glances up at Shane’s face to see an eyebrow waggle at him. A faint smile graces Ilya’s face. Shane smiles down warmly at him in return and leans down for a kiss.

“Mind if I open up our balcony door? It’s not too muggy yet.” Shane manages to read Ilya’s expression correctly and Shane turns around to slide the door open. The ocean breeze that courses through the room feels nice.

“I’m going to do my yoga routine and then we’re going to shower, Ilyusha.”

Ilya is distantly able to enjoy Shane doing yoga in front of him like it is his own personal show. If he was normal, he wouldn’t have been able to get through five minutes of Shane’s yoga routine before he would have had the man pressed down on the mat. He supposes that his current state allows him to watch Shane’s routine in its entirety and fully appreciate it.

Once Shane has rolled his mat back up and closed the balcony door, he turns to Ilya and asks, “Are you walking or am I carrying you?”

Ilya can only let out a huff of breath and blink at the other man.

Shane walks over and pulls the warm covers off of Ilya. The evil bastard. Then he bends down and picks Ilya up, Ilya’s legs instinctively wrapping around Shane’s waist. Ilya looks at him with the most clarity he has all day. “Hot, right?” Shane asks casually before walking them to the bathroom. Ilya’s head falls to Shane’s sweaty shoulder. He smells good.

Ilya slides to his feet and onto the cold tile when Shane reaches into the glass walled shower to turn the water on. The man carefully takes off Ilya’s sleep clothes before disrobing himself. Ilya sighs as he’s pulled under the hot water, lifting his face up to let it fall down his features.

Once his hair is completely wet, Shane grabs Ilya’s 3-in-1 and lathers up Ilya’s curls. He involuntarily moans at the feeling, his head drooping several times towards the other man. Shane laughs and guides his head back so the soap could rinse out from his hair.

He watches Shane pick up his own body wash and squirt some out on a washcloth before rubbing Ilya down. Shane was a 3-in-1 hater. It was nice to smell like Shane, though. Ilya leans against Shane as the man goes through his shower routine. The other man has to move him a few times when he gets in the way, but allows Ilya to stay in his personal bubble.

Shane turns the water off and wraps both of them in fluffy, white hotel towels. Ilya is guided to sit down in front of the bathroom mirror on a small stool. Shane walks away for a moment giving Ilya the chance to stare at himself detachedly in the mirror. He didn’t look good. His eyes were dull and his expression flat. He hated himself on days like this.

Shane is back and pulling him from his thoughts as he gently towels Ilya’s hair of excess moisture. He watches Shane fiddle with the hotel hairdryer, attaching something to the end of it before turning back to Ilya. A shock of emotion courses through Ilya - the most he’s felt all day - as Shane turns the hairdryer on and begins to carefully dry Ilya’s curls.

He embarrassingly has to hold back tears as he watches Shane in the mirror - his face slightly scrunched in concentration. It makes him desperately miss his mother for a breathtaking second. He can no longer keep his tears at bay, shame lacing through him as the first couple fall down his face.

It takes Shane a few minutes to notice, so focused on pressing the weird hairdryer attachment to his hair in counted intervals. When the man’s concentration finally breaks, he is standing in front of Ilya working on the curls that frame his face. Shane catches his gaze, his eyebrows furrowing with worry before he turns the hairdryer off.

He sets the hairdryer on the countertop and wipes away Ilya’s tears with his thumbs. Shane keeps his hands cupped against Ilya’s jaw, tilting his head slightly so Shane can lean down and kiss him on the lips. It is a soft, gentle press. Ilya feels more tears leak out because of the action.

Shane wipes his tears once again before pulling him in close for a hug. Ilya sighs at the closeness, Shane fully enveloping him and squeezing tight. They stay like that for a while until Ilya finally pulls back enough for Shane to understand. They meet each other’s gaze and Shane scans his features before stepping back and grabbing the hairdryer again.

Once Ilya’s hair is fully dry, Shane grabs another towel and quickly scrubs his own hair dry. Ilya smiles at the mused quality his hair takes on, strands sticking up in every which way. Shane smiles back and pulls him up and out of the bathroom. Ilya watches Shane go through his suitcase to pull out something for him to wear. Shane pauses, though, when he holds up a shirt that Ilya had stolen from him a while ago.

“I’ve been looking for this.” His eyes were squinting at him in mock irritation. Ilya quickly grabs the long sleeved shirt and puts it on, also accepting the sweatpants thrown at him. “Where do you want to be?”

Ilya looks around their space and lands back in the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He watches Shane turn on the TV and switch over to the Spotify app before tossing the remote to Ilya. Then Shane grabs a book and his glasses before sliding under the blankets next to him. The man pulls him in close before opening his book and settling in to read.

Ilya logs into his Spotify account and pulls up a random playlist of his before pushing his face into the crook of Shane’s neck and closing his eyes. He must fall asleep at some point, because he finds himself startled awake by a knock at their door some time later.

Shane drops a kiss to one of his eyebrows before climbing out of bed to find Cliff standing on the other side of the door.

“I brought lunch,” he says, somewhat uncertainly.

Ilya blearily watches Shane let the man in and close the door behind him. Cliff is looking at Ilya with an expression of worry on his face. Ilya hates it.

Shane ushers Cliff in and tells the man where to sit, pulling out the food he had brought. Ilya doesn’t move from his spot, causing Shane to turn around and give him a searching look. “Come eat. We’ll watch one of your awful action movies.”

Ilya slowly pulls himself up from the bed and heavily walks over to the small dining table. He plops down and accepts the food placed in front of him. Shane retrieves the TV remote from under the covers and puts on “XXX” starring Vin Diesel.

About fifteen minutes in, Cliff shifts in his chair and says, “So, all those meetups with ‘Jane’,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “They were actually with you?”

Shane has just taken a bite of food, so only nods in response.

“And Rose Landry?”

“Mutually beneficial exchange.” Ilya didn’t quite understand all of those words together. “But we’re also actual friends.”

Cliff leans back and nods his head. “You two have been acting pretty familiarly with each other over the past few days.”

“I’m sure Ilya would use this moment to harass you by saying just how familiar we are with each other.” Shane raises an eyebrow, his expression amused.

“Jesus - right. I don’t want to know.” The man quickly looks between him and Shane and says, “Not that I’m implying that you guys are- that I’m- damn it.” He runs a hand roughly through his hair. “Who else knows?”

“Like who else on the trip? Just Scott.” Ilya taps Shane’s foot with his own, causing the man to look at him in confusion. “Someone else knows?” Shane looks up for a moment, tilting his head back and forth. “St-Simon?” Ilya shakes his head, causing Shane to consider further. “Oh, J.J. probably.” Ilya nods his head in agreement.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Cliff asks Ilya.

He furrows his brows in irritation in return. He opens his mouth to try to respond, but nothing comes out. He grunts, falling back in his chair and turning back to the TV screen.

“Right, sorry.” Cliff says. “You just seem to be doing a lot better. I wouldn’t have been able to get you out of bed yet if it had just been me, you know?”

Ilya’s gaze slides back to his best friend before settling on Shane. How had this man become such an integral part of his life? It was years in the making, if he was being honest with himself, but he rarely was.

They finish the movie in silence before Cliff gets up to leave. “There will be a bonfire on the beach later tonight. Maybe you two could come to that?” He says in the doorway.

Shane smiles and looks over to Ilya before saying, “Maybe.”

They end up back in bed, both of them on their sides facing each other. Shane’s arms are wrapped tightly around Ilya’s shoulders, pulling him in close to his chest. Ilya is almost lulled back to sleep by Shane’s steady breathing when he hears Shane ask, “Mental health isn’t really a thing in Russia, is it? To older generations, at least.” Ilya is fully awake in an instant, his body obviously stiffening. “Sorry.” Shane says.

Ilya takes a few moments before slowly shaking his head. No, it wasn’t really a thing.

“It’s the same in Japan. It’s weird seeing how much better my mom is at coping compared to my aunt.”

Ilya waits, but Shane doesn’t say anything else. He slowly relaxes and burrows further into Shane’s warmth. His mother’s mental health had never been taken seriously - not even after she passed away. Ilya didn’t know what it would be like if he followed a similar path.

They both fall asleep for several hours, Ilya blinking awake to the low light of the setting sun. He catches Shane blearily looking at him, also just having woken up.

“Sorry.” He says in a gruff voice.

Shane brushes hair out of Ilya’s face and asks, “Why are you sorry?”

He didn’t know how to explain it - in either language he knew. He had never said it out loud. Instead he says, “It happens before I go back to Moscow.”

Ilya watches Shane blink, processing the change in topic before saying, “Every time?”

Ilya nods his head and huffs out a sigh.

Shane analyzes his face, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Will you eventually want to talk about it?” Ilya scrunches his face at the other man. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a fair question.”

Ilya thinks for a minute before sighing and nodding his head.

“Okay.” Shane pulls him in, smooching his cheek before tucking Ilya under his chin.

“Okay.” Ilya agrees, a smile fighting to break free.

They do end up going to the bonfire later that evening, meaning Ilya’s wish of seeing Shane in a swimsuit is also fulfilled. He didn’t know how long they’d be able to stay, with Shane walking around like that.

They are greeted by Pike who hands them both beers and says, “Hey, man. You feeling better?”

“Yeah, bud. Back to normal!” Shane responds.

“What, Pike? Why not ask me? I am also better.” Ilya sends Pike a look, causing the man to send a look of his own right back.

They hang out by the bonfire for longer than Ilya expects he can last, the guys already pretty drunk from a full day of partying. Shane pulls Ilya off at one point, when Bennett has started his third verse of “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”, to swim in the warm ocean.

Staring at Shane in the moonlight as the man swims around him, his body glistening with salt water, Ilya tries his best to hold out. By the fourth minute, though, he is hauling Shane out of the water and back to their room. A quick goodbye thrown over his shoulder is all he gives.

“Little short shorts,” Ilya mutters against Shane’s lips when they’re back in their room. “Teasing me all day.” He plays at Shane’s waistband, his swim trunks stopping just above his mid thigh.

“Oh no,” Shane says after another searing kiss, “How could I ever make it up to you?”

Ilya lets out a sound of contemplation before walking Shane to the foot of the unused bed in the room, his hands wrapped around his waist. “Sit on my face.” Ilya suggests.

Shane blinks at him, his pupils blowing wide at the thought, “Really?”

“Take these off, Hollander.” He snaps the waistband of Shane’s swim trunks. By the time Shane has peeled the wet shorts off, Ilya has arranged himself on the bed, his head lying near the headboard. “Come here.”

Shane stares at Ilya a second, his cock fully hardening in anticipation. Ilya watches him quickly climb onto the bed, and he reaches out to Shane to pull him where he wants. Shane grabs onto the headboard with one hand, and leans back slightly to catch Ilya’s gaze from between his thighs.

“Has someone done this to you before?” Ilya asks.

Shane shakes his head, causing a wave of satisfied possession to course through him. Ilya would prefer if it was only ever him to do this for the man. He nudges the backs of Shane’s thighs and the man shifts forward to be in the right spot.

“I’ll tap your leg if I need air,” is the only warning Ilya gives before pulling the man’s hips down and licking along his perineum. Shane lets out a gasp from above him, his thighs involuntarily tensing closer to Ilya’s ears. He can’t believe he’s never done this to Shane before.

He presses a few messy kisses to that same spot before sliding his tongue to circle around Shane’s hole. His hands slide up Shane’s thighs and knead at Shane’s ass roughly, getting a moan for his efforts. Before long, Shane’s thighs are trembling as Ilya works his tongue at Shane’s entrance.

He opens his eyes to quite the sight - Shane’s dick straining upwards above him, his abs taught with tension. Shane looks down and catches Ilya’s gaze, causing the man to lick up his perineum and swirl around his balls. Shane lets out a cut off curse in French, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back.

Ilya smiles a crooked smile, watching for the man’s reaction as he firmly slaps a hand over one of his cheeks. He kneads the muscle through Shane’s jump and loud moan. He repeats the action to the other cheek to keep it even before ducking back down to lave at Shane’s hole some more.

Shane is obviously struggling to hold on above him. Lost in the sensations as he loudly moans and whimpers. Ilya drinks the sounds in, pulling Shane’s hips down firmly for better access.

When he feels lightheaded and finally needs air, he taps on the back of Shane’s thigh and the man quickly shifts up. Ilya gasps out a breath and tells him, “Face the other way.”

Shane is quick to obey and Ilya pulls him down again, pushing his tongue as deeply into his entrance as he can - fucking it in and out fervently. Shane begins to rock against his face, and Ilya snakes a hand around to his front to grab ahold of his leaking hard-on. Shane whimpers a sound of warning, but Ilya has him exactly where he wants him.

He begins to jerk Shane off rapidly, quickly pushing the man to his orgasm. He continues to eat Shane out as the man shoots stripes of cum across his chest and stomach. Shane pulls off of him soon after, but stays straddling his head, trying to catch his breath.

Ilya moans in pleasure when the man on top of him falls down to his hands, mouthing at the straining erection in Ilya’s swim trunks. Shane is quick to push the shorts down, Ilya lifting his hips off the bed to be helpful. He moans again as Shane quickly wraps his lips around the head of his cock, quickly swallowing him down as far as he could go.

Shane sloppily blows him, spit slicking his cock as he desperately bobs his head up and down. Ilya has an incredible view of Shane above him, and can’t help but pull the man’s hips back down to bite at his inner thighs and lick along their inner creases. Shane stutters in his efforts when Ilya can’t stop himself from trailing his tongue back to Shane’s hole.

The man whimpers around his cock and quickly pulls off of him, readjusting their bodies for Ilya to flip on top of him, Shane’s back hitting the mattress. “Fuck me- please.” Shane begs, his voice rough and gravelly. Ilya turns to grab what they need when Shane stops him with a hand on his forearm. “Now.”

Ilya stares down at him, enjoying the demanding, desperate look on Shane’s face, before trailing down to appreciate the contours of the man’s body. He hikes Shane’s legs up to hook over his shoulders before lining up against his hole. The man isn’t as prepared as Ilya likes him to be before they fuck, but that must be how Shane wants it.

“Look at me,” Ilya tells Shane in Russian. He carefully, oh so slowly, enters the man, cataloguing all of Shane’s microexpressions as he does. There was obvious discomfort on Shane’s face, but a hot pleasure was quickly taking over. His Shane was a little freaky and that’s how Ilya liked him.

Once the pain has overridden into pleasure almost fully for Shane, he slowly drags his hips back before forcefully thrusting back into him. Shane moans loudly under him, his hands scrambling to hold onto Ilya. Ilya enjoys the scratch of Shane’s blunt nails down his back as he continues his hard, slow pace.

He places one hand flat on the mattress beside Shane’s head for support and brings the other one up to rest at the underside of Shane’s jaw. “Such a slut, taking me like this. You’ve cum once, but are already hard again?” He leans down and bites at Shane’s lips.

Shane is quick to wrap his arms around the back of Ilya’s neck, keeping him close. Ilya doesn’t speed up, but does adjust his angle until Shane is moaning with each thrust in. “Think I can make you cum again just like this?” Ilya brushes their noses together gently, before applying slight pressure to Shane’s throat.

Shane gasps out a breath he had been holding and moans out a litany of curses in Russian. That was a first for him - Ilya involuntarily picks up his pace a bit at the words spilling out of Shane’s lips. Ilya had never considered how unbelievably hot it would be to hear Shane curse in Ilya’s native language as he fucked him into the mattress. He could probably die happy.

“Open your eyes,” Ilya commands, enjoying the sight of Shane immediately obeying. He knew this would get Shane over the edge again, staring hotly at the man, their noses brushing lightly with each hard thrust in. He applies a little more pressure onto Shane’s throat, causing the man to suddenly cut off his sex-induced rambling. “Will you cum for me?”

Shane squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before they fly back open, staring into Ilya’s gaze as his second orgasm wracks through his body. Ilya curses loudly at the feeling of Shane’s muscles tightening around his cock. He fucks Shane through his orgasm and then Ilya’s own.

Ilya falls down on top of Shane, the spend from both of their chests smearing together in a way that would make Shane extremely uncomfortable in a few minutes. He kisses at Shane’s neck and cheek, accepting Shane’s lips against his own when the man turns his head.

He pushes their foreheads together and he gazes into Shane’s satiated eyes. “So you like?”

Shane huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, I like.”

The following day, the nine hockey players go on the morning news for a segment about the season. They get back to the hotel with only an hour until they need to depart, so the guys decide to kill time in Boiziau and Pike’s room. Vaughan brings out a deck of playing cards and starts to deal to guys interested in playing a game.

They are halfway through their first game when Pike’s phone rings and he immediately picks up - it was his turn. He’s met with gripes from the other players as he answers the FaceTime request saying, “Hi, baby! What’s up?”

The resulting sound is pure chaos on the other end. Kids are screaming, adults are talking over each other, and a baby is crying. “Currently, your two daughters.” Jackie Pike responds back, somewhat frazzled.

“What do you mean?”

“Ruby bet Jade that she wouldn’t be able to get to the top of the tree in the backyard. Jade got stuck and Ruby climbed up to try to bring her back down before I found out. The neighbors are here now to help get them both down.”

Pike blows out a breath loudly. “Jesus Christ. A typical Monday, huh?”

“Put Shane on.” Jackie says flatly.

Shane looks up from his spot on the couch where he was practically sitting on top of Boiziau. He reaches out a hand and Pike tosses his phone to him.

“Play your card, Pike.” Victor urges.

Ilya’s attention stays on Shane and Jackie.

“What’s up, Jackie?” Shane asks.

“Talk to this gremlin. I can’t get him to settle down - it’s been two hours of trying and I need to go talk the girls down from the tree.”

Ilya perks up at that and stands from his chair to perch on top of the couch’s arm next to Shane. He watches the video shift as Jackie places it propped up on the floor in front of a baby blanket. She then plops the baby who had been crying the whole call on his stomach in front of the phone. They hear a door slide open and Jackie call for her daughters.

“Oh! Hi, Arthur.” Shane says.

The baby stops crying for a split-second before starting right back up again. Shane switches to French, and talks to Pike’s baby for a minute before he has fully stopped crying. His eyes were wide on the screen where he was holding himself up, and a sudden, toothless smile plasters itself across Arthur’s face. Shane doesn’t stop talking.

“Hey, Shane.” Scott calls over. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh, crap,” he looks at his cards for a split second before turning to Ilya and handing them over. “Play something for me.”

Ilya smiles widely and plays the worst possible thing for Shane while the man is distracted with Pike’s baby. He hands the cards back to Shane and the man takes them without looking away from the phone.

Ilya knew that Shane spent time at Pike’s house with his kids, but this is the first time in a while that he has gotten the chance to watch him up close. He was like a baby whisperer, Arthur cooing and babbling back to Shane. The man had a soft look on his face as he spoke, a small smile gracing his lips. Ilya felt his heart flutter in his chest. What would it be like to have kids with the man? Wait- what the fuck?

Suddenly Boiziau lets out a laugh, “What did you just say to him?”

“What?” Shane asks innocently.

Boiziau turns to the camera and also starts to talk to Arthur in French until Jackie returns with a child under each arm. “Thank you so much Shane. Oh, hi J.J.! You’re mom wanted me to remind you to take your multivitamin.”

The call ends and they head to the airport soon after.

“What were you saying to Pike’s kid?” Ilya asks as they walk to their terminal.

“I was telling him how great his mom is and that she’s so much better than his dad.” Shane says smugly.

“Hey!” Pike shouts a couple of steps ahead of them.

Indianapolis

Their next stop in Indiana possibly involved the most exciting activity for Ilya of the entire media tour - surprising to say for the state, but true. The nine guys step out on the speedway track, cameras panning on them and over to the IndyCar two-seaters that are waiting for them.

Ilya could jump for joy. They got to drive fast as fuck cars on an actual racetrack and they were getting paid to do it. Holy shit. He bounces on the balls of his feet, hands rubbing together in anticipation.

“Are you sure I can’t stay in the museum?” He hears Shane ask the media person for Indy Speedway.

“Come on, Shane! It’ll be fun.” Pike claps him on the back.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Put your head between knees, Hollander. You’ll be fine.” Ilya says over his shoulder, practically skipping to one of the race cars.

The guys follow after him, checking out the nine IndyCars in excitement. Ilya turns back around to ask when they could hop in when he sees Shane standing in the spot he had left him in, his face as white as a sheet. Ilya sighs and walks back over to the man, physically lifts him in a fireman's hold, and walks him to a car.

“This is it. This is the day I die. I’m only 26 years old.” Ilya loads him into the passenger side of a car and buckles him in. “I haven’t even won my third Cup, yet.” Ilya shuts the door on Shane’s ramblings.

He excitedly swings around to the other side of the car and hops into the driver seat, turning the engine on and revving it a few times. He drives their IndyCar to the instructed starting point and turns to Shane as their countdown starts. “Ready, Holly?”

Shane quickly braces one hand on the roof of the race car and starts to repeatedly say, “Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Ilya can’t help but laugh in glee as he slams his foot on the gas pedal and Shane’s cursing morphs into a high pitched scream.

“This is incredible!” Ilya yells out.

They round a bend in the track and Shane’s scream turns into a litany of cursing. Ilya can’t quite believe his ears, but he has finally gotten Shane to curse at him in every language he knows. Ilya laughs loudly at Shane’s antics and the adrenaline racing through him as they pass Scott’s IndyCar.

Once they’ve circled the track completely, Ilya pulls into the pitstop and turns to Shane. “Okay, you did one lap. You can go.”

Shane turns to Ilya with wide eyes, his hand slowly falling from the roof of the vehicle. “Do it again.” He says, unblinkingly.

Ilya can’t help but laugh loudly at the man as he drives them back out onto the track and finds an opening to speed out. This time around, Shane’s screams hold a tinge of excitement.

“Is that Hayden’s car?” Shane asks, “Pass him!”

Ilya smiles and accelerates.

Seattle

The guys hadn’t been told they were being recorded while driving around on the racetrack. They watch the video that gets posted in surprise, most saying that they would get to send their reactions to friends and family. Very unfortunately for Shane, though, and hilariously for everyone else, every single second of Ilya and Shane’s first lap was included in the tape. They had gone through the process of translating every single curse, too. Shane had been red in the face for a complete hour afterwards.

Their next scheduled program happens in the evening. The hockey players decide to split off to explore the city and meet back when it is time. Ilya and Shane meet Rose and Svetlana for a quick lunch at local favorite, Pam’s Caribbean Kitchen.

Their food arrives quickly, Rose practically moaning over her first bite. She looks up at Shane to see him eyeing his plate. “What, gonna give you a tummy ache Holly?”

“Honestly, probably. This is pretty rich for my diet.” He takes his first bite and swallows before saying, “I was doing the math to see if I’d be fine before the show tonight.”

“You’re such a dweeb, sometimes.” Rose teases.

“Dweeb?” Ilya asks and Svetlana provides a translation. “Oh, perfect. I have new word for you.”

“Both of you are traitors.” Shane gripes pointing his fork at both of the women.

Svetlana and Rose laugh at him and they dig into their food, continuing to chat. Eventually Rose says, “So, I was talking to Miles the other day. He seems to really like you Shane.”

Shane looks up from his food, “Oh, that’s nice. He seems cool - it doesn’t seem like we have a lot in common though.”

Ilya covers his mouth to hide his grin.

“Oh, Shane,” Rose says, laughter in her voice. “I think you have more in common than you think.”

Shane frowns at her in confusion, “Okay,” he draws out, “Tell me some things and then I’ll know what to talk to him about next time I see him.”

Rose and Svetlana burst out into laughter, Ilya holding on by a thread, himself.

“No, no. You’re not understanding.” Rose says.

Shane looks a little offended by their reaction, looking between the two women before looking at Ilya, “Come on, not you too.”

Ilya bursts out laughing, causing Svetlana and Rose to double over in their chairs.

“He ‘seems to like you’ because he’s interested in you. You’re both gay! That’s what you have in common.” Rose says between gasps of laughter.

“Oh,” Shane says quietly. “I’m gay?”

They were going to get kicked out of the restaurant with how thoroughly they were disturbing the peace. Pam was going to walk out of the kitchen and personally escort them out. Ilya can't remember the last time he's laughed so hard at something.

“What do you mean?” Svetlana finally asks.

“I guess I never thought about it.” Shane says honestly.

“Shane, we have been fucking for seven years. You never thought once-”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Shane pushes at his face, “You’re not gay!”

“Shane, I flirted with you for four straight hours the night we met and by the time we were both headed out you shook my hand and said, ‘Welp, it was great meeting you. I’d really love to be friends.’” Her impression of Shane was pretty good.

“So?” Shane exclaims, “What does that prove?”

“Have you ever been attracted to a woman? Think about it carefully.” Svetlana says.

Shane pauses, giving the three others time to wipe their tears away and settle themselves. “I guess not.”

“But you have been attracted to men?”

Shane glances over at Ilya and back to Svetlana, “Obviously.”

“No need to get snarky with me, Hollywood. You’re currently taking an ‘Am I Gay?' quiz through your friends right now.”

“Fuck, shit.” Shane leans back in his chair. “I had no clue.”

The wide-eyed stare causes the three of them to crack up again - Shane eventually smiling and joining in. They ask for the check and Ilya quickly puts his card down to pay.

“Do you remember your first crush on a guy?” Rose leans in to ask.

“Viggo Mortensen as Aragorn.” Shane says easily.

“Solid pick, very solid.” Rose nods her head. “But what about in real life? You know, high school crushes and stuff.”

“Like the first person I actually knew? Ilya.”

Ilya’s jaw drops at that. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why can’t I be?" A flush forms on Shane’s cheeks. Ilya signs the check and the group stands from their table, exiting the small restaurant.

In a sing-song voice, Ilya says, “Shane Hollander has crush on me!” He steps out of reach as Shane tries to hit him. “You have crush on me.” Ilya says with finality.

“Shut up,” Shane gripes.

Chapter End Notes

We love the women in this series for all of the heavy lifting they are forced to do.

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

Sweet, stupid Hayden.

CW: This chapter contains the most BDSM sex scene out of the whole fic. 😌

They walk into the Seattle hotel with about fifteen minutes to spare and make their way over to the lounge where some of the other guys were already sitting. Pike rounds the corner a few seconds later, his phone in hand and says, “Perfect, here’s Shane now.”

“What the fuck?” Shane asks, accepting the phone and turning the screen to reveal an angry Jackie Pike.

“Swear Jar, Hollander.”

“Oops.”

“I called my husband about a certain incident and he said that you could provide more context.” Jackie speaks in a way that makes the surrounding listeners immediately start to sweat. 

“What was the incident?” Shane asks nervously.

“Why do my children know about waterboarding?”

Shane presses his lips together to hide a sudden smile, “Yeah, I did that. That one’s on me.”

A few of the guys let out a startled laugh, Pike crossing his arms over his chest in satisfaction. 

“Why exactly did you teach Jade and Ruby about that?”

“Hayden pissed me off, so I held him down and instructed Jade and Ruby on the finer arts of torture.” Ilya didn’t know how Shane could be so calm in admitting this, with the look on Jackie’s face. They may be time zones apart, but he wouldn’t put it past Jackie to climb out of the phone at any second.

“What did he do?”

Pike lets out an affronted sound at that.

“I don’t remember the conversation completely, but at some point he told me to ‘stop being so autistic’.” 

Ilya watches that shake Jackie out of her anger immediately. “He said what to you? Pass me over to Hayden.”

Shane smiles widely at the other man, Pike’s expression full of shock as he accepts the phone, “Ha ha, got you in trouble.” Shane sing-songs.

“What the fuck?”

“Hayden! Why would you say that to Shane? You’re supposed to be his best friend!”

“What’s the big deal!” Pike exclaims.

“You can’t be serious! Jesus and Mary, Hayd.”

“You can’t call autistic people autistic like that, bitch!” Shane crows.

“Wait, you’re autistic?”

“You should have waterboarded him longer. I’m so over this phone call. Don’t expect shit from me when you come home in a week.”

The phone call ends, but Pike continues to stare at the screen for a moment longer. 

J.J. walks in with Scott and Vaughn and looks between the players present. “What happened?”

“Pike managed to blue ball himself by calling Shane autistic as an insult.” Bennett explains.

“Why the fuck would you do that, bud?”

Québec City

Ilya had immediately looked up the word when Shane had fallen asleep that night in Seattle. He stayed up all night reading. Many of Shane’s traits that made him so endearing suddenly made much more sense. 

Shane had been right about how Ilya had grown up - anything outside of ‘normal' wasn’t really spoken about out loud. His father had outright denied his mother’s mental illness throughout his childhood. Ilya wondered if in his father’s moments of clarity, he realized that he was also mentally unwell. 

He looks across the plane aisle at Shane and considers him further. The constant switches in personality depending on the situation he was in. Jokes and conversations perpetually going over his head. His routines, diet, and hockey reputation of being an incredibly serious captain. All of the micro expressions Ilya had learned of the man over the years. They all made more sense now. 

In the week that Ilya had the opportunity to spend almost every waking moment with the other man, he had gotten to experience more of the ‘real’ Shane than he ever had before. It had been several years into them sneaking around that Ilya had noticed fragments of the ‘real’ Shane peaking through, but he had never gotten to see him around his friends before in any meaningful way.

He is touchy - constantly in Pike and Boiziau’s personal bubbles. He usually lets them guide conversations and suggest outings for the day. Shane remembers specific facts about them and always notices when their moods change. The most important, Ilya thinks, is that he smiles the most around them.

Ilya was enamored. 

“Shane, have you listened to a single thing I’ve said in the past hour?” Pike asks the man.

Shane moves his gaze away from the window and blinks guiltily at his best friend. “No, sorry.”

Pike sighs and kicks his feet up onto Shane’s lap. Shane immediately grabs a hold of Pike’s ankles to keep him there. 

“You about to vibrate out of your skin, man?” Shane has a wild quality about him that Ilya recognizes from the times they chased each other around Ilya’s penthouse and O bāchan’s house.

“Yes. Bad day to be on a nine hour flight.” Shane’s gaze travels above Pike’s head and stays there.

“Shane.”

“What?”

“Tell me who won the 1988 Stanley Cup.”

Shane’s gaze flicks to Pike’s and he immediately starts to talk a mile a minute. Ilya watches as Pike sits back and lets Shane talk for as long as he wants. 

Once they’re off the plane, Boiziau takes over managing Shane. The nine guys are standing in the middle of the airport, Scott trying to find where they need to go for pick up. Ilya watches Boiziau come up to Shane from behind, wrap an arm around Shane’s waist, and lift him in the air. His back was pressed against Boiziau’s right side. Shane’s feet dangle a solid 11 centimeters off the ground. 

Boiziau grabs both of their suitcases in one hand and follows the group of players walking after Scott. Shane has a wide smile on his face as he gets carried off. Boiziau says something in French and Shane responds happily. 

It seemed that Shane’s friends knew him as well as Shane knew them. 

They arrive at their hotel and check in, Shane following after Ilya to their room. Pike still hadn’t stopped complaining about not getting to room with Shane, but seemed happy enough to finally be the odd man out for his own room.

Ilya kicks the door to their room behind them and drops their bags on the floor. Shane turns suddenly to look at him, his eyes still wild, but squinting at Ilya. Now that Ilya and Shane are alone, he decides to test out whether or not he could also help.

He squares up in his stance, causing Shane to tense, before he charges at the man. Shane screams in glee and turns to run, but Ilya already has his hands around the man’s waist. He flips him up over his shoulder and carries him the short distance to the bed before throwing him down on it. 

Shane is immediately on his feet, standing on the mattress, and jumping at Ilya. Ilya lets out a surprised yelp before they both fall to the ground and begin to tussle. Knowing Shane and Ilya, though, their wrestling turns into more within minutes. 

Ilya finds his chance when he’s on top of the other man. He presses all of his weight down on the man through his hips, forcing Shane’s to still. He pushes Shane’s arms above his head, holding them in place on the floor at the man’s wrists. Shane struggles to break free, pushing their hips together and straining against his hands. He has a challenging look in his eyes as he hotly stares up at Ilya.

Ilya loved when this was the type of sex they had. To be fair, he loved all sex with Shane, but the times that Shane would act out on purpose usually resulted in a mind blowing experience. 

He distracts Shane for a moment by giving him a sweet kiss on the lips, the man stilling under him at the action. Maybe he should have known better, because Shane manages to flip them, grabbing at Ilya’s shoes to throw them off. Ilya lets it happen before flipping them again, this time with Shane’s stomach pressed against the floor.

“Brats don’t get to orgasm, Shane. Be a good boy.” He grinds down against Shane, enjoying the feeling of the man’s hips pushing back against him for a second before he starts to struggle out from under him.

Ilya lets him flip over, feeling Shane’s hands sneak under Ilya’s t-shirt. He sits back on his knees slightly so he can use both of his hands to keep Shane’s head still and kiss him senseless. He gasps and breaks away when Shane unexpectedly pinches and twists at his nipples. “You’re not listening to me.” Shane flutters his eyelashes at Ilya innocently before hiking his t-shirt up and over Ilya’s head. Shane smiles at him in satisfaction as Ilya has to struggle out of the piece of clothing. “You really are asking for it.” He throws his shirt behind him and falls back on top of Shane.

The man under him laughs as he bites and licks his way down his neck. Shane’s fingers lightly run up and down Ilya’s sides - the sensation turning too ticklish for Ilya’s liking. Ilya quickly grabs Shane’s hands and presses them against the floor, their fingers twining together. Shane moans at the pressure, his hips rocking up to knock at Ilya’s.

“You are brat, Shane Hollander.” Ilya watches Shane’s eyes flutter open again. The wildness still hasn’t left, but Ilya isn’t surprised. They were playing a game. He wonders what it would take to win. He tilts his head, Shane watching him intently. “If I tell you to get on bed, will you go?”

“Maybe,” Shane answers.

That’s probably as good of an answer as he would get. He slowly releases Shane’s hands and lifts his hips, allowing the man to slide out from under him. Ilya sits up and watches Shane plop down onto the edge of the bed, body angled towards him. 

Ilya smiles crookedly and quickly stands, pouncing on the man. Shane laughs through Ilya ripping his shirt off of him - but by the time he has also yanked Shane’s pants and underwear down and tosses them to the side, the man is back to staring at Ilya openly. 

Ilya steps between the V of Shane’s splayed legs and pushes the man down to the bed with a single finger on his chest. Ilya leans over him, placing one hand to brace himself on the bed and the other tracing at Shane’s jaw. “You’re acting out on purpose.” He holds the man’s face still so he can kiss him deeply. “You’re expecting punishment?”

Shane moans under him, his hands running along Ilya’s exposed skin. Ilya kisses him for longer, making out with him languidly for a few minutes. Ilya pulls back and steps out of Shane’s space long enough to flip the man over and knock his feet wider apart on the floor. Shane lets out another moan, his face pressed against the mattress, his back arched deliciously in front of Ilya. 

Ilya slides his hands up Shane’s back, squeezing at his shoulders for a moment before sliding back down to massage Shane’s ass cheeks. “How many do you think?” He asks Shane, dropping a few kisses along his back, the man whimpering with want. Shane shifts his head so he can catch Ilya’s gaze. His eyes hold more desperation than challenge at this point. Ilya had figured out what he needed. “Count,” he demands, and that’s all the warning he gives.

The first slap isn’t that hard, wanting to test out how Shane responds. 

Shane immediately moans out and pushes back against Ilya’s palm. “One.” He really was a good boy when he wanted to be. The next slap lands harder on his other cheek, Shane gasping out a, “Two,” his hands scrambling to hold onto the comforter. Ilya tries even harder on a thigh and is rewarded with a desperate whimper. Shane has to catch his breath before saying, “Three.”

“Too much?” Ilya asks, kissing the reddened skin.

Shane rapidly shakes his head, “No, just enough- please don’t stop.”

Ilya is nothing but a giver. He continues to land blow after blow across Shane’s ass and thighs, cataloguing the different ways the man jumps and shivers and moans after each slap. He takes a break to gently massage at the man’s skin when Ilya notices that Shane has started to cry. 

After a few minutes of light touches and kisses, Ilya delivers one more slap and that’s all Shane needs to orgasm untouched. Ilya moves to cover Shane’s body with his own, running sure hands along Shane’s arms and sides as he comes down. Ilya kisses Shane behind his ear before flipping him over, continuing to kiss his face all over. 

When he pulls back just enough to catch Shane’s eyes, he can’t help but feel like he’s won a game he was playing against himself. Shane is completely blissed out and pliant under him, his hands not even coming up to run along Ilya’s top half like he normally would after sex. 

“You done?” Ilya asks.

It takes Shane a second to process his words, blinking slowly at him, before he shakes his head. 

“No?” Ilya nips down his neck and along his collarbone. 

“Please, fuck me.”

“So polite.” Ilya returns to kiss at Shane’s lips before pulling up and flipping the man back over onto his stomach. “Stay there.” Like Shane had any intention of moving.

Ilya quickly grabs what he needs from his bag and is back to Shane in a heartbeat. He licks his lips as he stares down at the man, his ass and thighs covered in Ilya’s red palm prints. He had no clue the sight could make him ache so desperately to be inside Shane as quickly as possible. 

He pours out lube on a hand and warms it before leaning over Shane and pushing a single digit past his entrance. Shane moans softly, leaning into Ilya’s kisses along his cheek and down his neck. He quickly adds a second finger, scissoring Shane open in haste. Shane begins to rock back against his fingers and Ilya counts an additional minute longer than he wants before pulling his fingers out and undoing the fly of his jeans. 

He pulls his dick out and quickly puts a condom on before lining up to Shane’s entrance and sliding in completely in one thrust. Shane’s hips jump at the denim of his pants pushing against his reddened skin. Ilya looks down at where their bodies are connected before glancing up to catch Shane’s gaze. 

The man is still out of it, but has a hot look in his eyes, his pupils blown wide as Ilya pulls out and roughly thrusts back in. Shane moans loudly at the harsh pace he sets. He holds Shane’s hip with one hand and the other hand slides up to his upper back to press him down against the bed.

Ilya gets lost in the feeling of snapping his hips in and out of Shane, fucking him into the mattress. Every thrust forward pushes at Shane’s reddened ass and thighs, causing the man to moan and squirm against him. Ilya keeps him in place as he chases his orgasm. 

Shane cums again, his ass clenching around Ilya’s dick. Ilya quickly pulls out and throws his condom off to the side. He desperately jerks his cock until he’s orgasming, lines of his cum striping across Shane’s reddened ass and thighs. 

They both take a moment to catch their breath. Eventually, Ilya leans to kiss Shane’s cheek and says softly, “I’ll be right back.” He only gets a whimper in response. “Promise.”

Ilya runs to the bathroom to grab a damp washcloth before returning and gently wiping at the mess on Shane. He flips him over and cleans his other side before tossing the washcloth on the floor. Shane is pliant in his arms as he pulls the man up the bed to rest on the pillows. Ilya kisses him sweetly for a few minutes bringing him back down from wherever Ilya had taken him.  

Shane sighs against his lips, his eyes fluttering open to gaze adoringly at Ilya. Ilya smiles softly at him, brushing their noses together. Shane bonks his forehead against Ilya’s, keeping them pressed together. Ilya had absolutely won.

The next afternoon, the nine hockey players walk on set of an internet show and spot a rather unique layout compared to their previous gigs. There was a small circle table in the middle of the set with three chairs. Behind each chair sat two armchairs. 

The producers of the show directs the captains to sit at the table and for their teammates to sit behind them. The crew begins to film and the show’s host introduces their game for the episode. An assistant places a shot glass in front of each captain and sets vodka in front of Ilya, whiskey in front of Scott, and sake in front of Shane.

“We researched macrobiotic diets and learned you could have sake from time to time,” the show host explains to Shane as the man stares down at their table in slight fear.

“Thanks,” he says distantly.

The game was simple. The host asks a question and if they couldn’t or wouldn’t answer, they would have to take a shot. It is only one o’clock, but Ilya figures the game could be fun. How many questions would they get wrong, really?

They’re fucked. 

Scott, Shane, and Ilya stare at each other with wide eyes in response to the first question. ‘Scott recently came out as gay and Shane called out the NHL for holding onto homophobic tendencies. What is it truly like playing on a professional team?’ In unison, they take a shot. 

They get a few easy questions which lull them into a false sense of safety. Then the host asks, “At a game between the Montreal Voyagers and the New York Admirals, Scott and Shane almost got into a physical altercation. What is the context surrounding Scott stating, ‘You sound just like him’?”

They have already taken their shots before the host has finished asking their question.

The host asks a few more safe questions, Ilya picking up on the pattern as he pours himself another shot in preparation. Finally, the host slides a piece of paper across the table to them and says, “Please solve this calculus problem correctly.”

Ilya stares at the math in front of him and lifts the shot glass to his lips - there was no way. He stops right before shooting it back, though, when Shane says, “Thank god,” and pulls the paper towards him. 

He squints at the equation slightly, and holds the paper back so he can get a better look at it without his glasses. Accepting the pencil from the host, he quickly solves the problem and slides it back. The host appears shocked, possibly not having considered that there were smart hockey players in the world.

“He’s right.” They say as they check the answer. 

Scott claps Shane on the back. “Good man.”

They ask a couple more easy questions before handing over another piece of paper with a university-level physics problem on it. Shane once again accepts the paper, squinting at it for a second before handing the problem to Scott and saying, “Read it for me, I don’t have my glasses.”

Scott reads it aloud before handing the paper back to Shane, who immediately gets to work finding the answer. Once again, the host seems off put by Shane stopping the captains from having to drink. 

“How did you know that answer?” The host asks.

“Is that one of the questions for the game?”

“It is now.”

Shane leans back in his chair, looking down at the table before saying, “I was the valedictorian at my high school.”

“What the fuck,” Ilya hears the host whisper under their breath. Ilya silently mouths the word, trying to parse out its meaning.

They have to drink one more time at a question they get wrong before the host asks, “What are the names of the three parts of an insect's body?”

Ilya startles slightly at Pike suddenly clasping Shane’s shoulders from behind. 

“Head, thorax, abdomen.” Shane says confidently. 

“Thank god for the girls’ new obsession with bugs,” Pike exclaims. 

The host switches methods for delivering questions. A TV screen rolls onto set and they explain, “We’ve gone through your teams’ social media profiles and have pulled some videos we think our audience would like some answers to.” Ilya, Scott, and Shane lean over to see the screen as a short video from the Voyagers starts.

The video centers on Shane, Boiziau, and Pike in the changing room, already suited up for a game. Boiziau lifts Shane’s helmet and smacks a kiss on his forehead before Pike slaps him on the ass. Shane doesn’t seem at all phased by this as the three exit the room, jumping to get hyped for the game. 

“The question is simple, Shane - why?”

Shane blinks a little lazily at the host - the shots are starting to catch up to him. “It’s for good luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a pre-game ceremony. A lot of guys have them.”

The players surrounding them all nod their heads in agreement.

“But it’s…” The host trails off.

Miraculously, Shane picks up what they are implying. Even more out of character, he actually responds, “Look, I’m sure you’ve heard the saying that contact sports were invented for men to have an excuse to touch each other. I literally don’t care how that video looks. Those are my best friends.”

Ilya instinctually hides his smile behind his hand. He wished Shane would drink more often if this was the result. Scott bursts out laughing, causing the others to laugh as well. 

Scott answers a couple of questions about posts from his team’s page before it’s Ilya’s turn. 

The video is in the Bears' locker room, filmed right before a game with the Voyagers. Ilya is standing on one of the benches and giving the team a pep talk. “I’ll pay you $1,000 for every goal that we score tonight! Make Shane Hollander cry - please! Please!” 

Ilya slowly turns to look at Shane to find the man staring at the screen in open shock. He was fucked. 

“Ilya, please explain how this fits into your newly-made-public friendship with Shane.”

Ilya pauses for a beat too long.

“Yeah, I’d like to know that too.” Shane says in that stupid bitchy voice he sometimes gets.

“Don’t be pissed at me.”

Shane leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “Then answer the question, asshole.”

“No, I don’t have to explain myself.” Ilya tilts his chin upward, throwing his shot back in a smooth swoop.

“Scott, Shane,” the two men look at the host in confusion, “You have to take a shot too.”

“You son of a bitch,” Shane gripes, throwing his shot back along with Scott.

The next video is from the Voyagers from a couple of years ago, and is a compilation of quick snippets of Shane in the locker room with his team.

Shane steps up onto the bench and rubs his hands together in anticipation, “Alright, fellas, it’s my turn to decide how we irritate the other team.”

He is met by a chorus of groans.

“Shut up, guys - he’s our Captain,” Pike defends.

“Yeah, and we’ve already limited him to two turns a year. Let him enjoy this.” Boiziau says in French, with subtitles in English on the video.

“I’ve done the research. Not a single player on the Bears knows French.” Shane smiles mischievously at his teammates. “The entire game, say normal-ass things in French to the other team.”

The team responds in confusion.

“Hold on, let me explain. You’re going to say whatever, but make your tone sound like you’re saying the best insult of your life.”

He gets a few laughs and nods at that.

“If you don’t know how to speak French, we’ll give you a few phrases to use.” He stops the group from breaking off with a hand, “Remember, it has to follow our parameters.”

The camera pans over to a poster on the wall and zooms in. It reads, “If it’s homophobic, sexist, or racist, it won’t be said on the ice.” 

Ilya blinks at the poster, recognizing Shane’s neat handwriting. They really had that as a rule for chirping? He shouldn’t be surprised, Shane was captain after all. He remembered that game and how pissed off the Voyagers had managed to make him and his teammates. 

The video switches to another clip. Supposedly the second time Shane gets to pick the team's method of chirping for the night. Once again, the man stands on a bench and gathers his team's attention.

He claps his hands together and says, “Ignore all the other players tonight besides Scott Hunter. Don’t say a single word to the other Admirals, but be as nice as humanly possible to their captain.”

He’s met with groans from the locker room.

“Holy shit, I remember that game,” Scott breathes out. “You guys freaked us out so bad that we fumbled a winning goal.”

“Fuck yeah, you did.” Shane says happily. The man turns around to face Boiziau and Pike. “I should be given more privileges.”

“We would be outvoted so hard.” Pike says.

The host clears their throat, “So, Shane - the Voyagers have a tradition of planning out how they’ll chirp the other team?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t happen every game, but I am only limited to twice a season.”

“What other strategies have you suggested?”

Shane hums and thinks for a second before saying, “One game, I told the team to look as on the verge of tears as possible for the entire game. If they could make themselves cry, they should do it. Basically, I had everyone act like they had just received the worst news of their life.”

“Why?” The host asks in wonder.

Shane shrugs, “Thought it was funny. Maybe worked a little too well, though. Our opponents sent the team sympathy flowers the following day. I felt a little guilty for that one.”

Ilya rubs his eyes as the man’s words. This was the man Ilya couldn’t get out of his head for years - not without lack of trying.

The last video that the show pulls up is one of Ilya forcing his team to dance to his pregame playlist. Ilya smiles in pride as he watches his teammates suffer in the video. 

“Would this be considered a pre-game ceremony like the Voyagers video?” The host asks.

“Yes, and later we kissed and touched each other’s asses, too.”

“No we didn’t!” Cliff and Victor exclaim in unison. 

The three captains have a nice buzz going as the players head back to their hotel. Shane’s phone rings in their van, and when he picks it up Ilya hears O bāchan’s voice on the other end. The phone call is over in under a minute.

“Oh, shit.” Shane looks a little blearily at Ilya.

“What?”

“O bāchan is expecting us to steal Scott and go to her place.”

“What’s happening?” Scott asks from the front of the vehicle.

“Shane’s grandma told us to kidnap you.” Ilya explains.

“Oh my god, it’s finally happening.” Scott says, somewhat in disbelief. 

Their ride drops the other six players off and then drives them to an Asian grocery store for them to quickly pick up some things that O bāchan had demanded. They stare at each other, a little drunkenly, in an aisle of Asian vegetables and laugh at the absurdity of the situation. 

Having acquired the goods, they head back to the van and take the thirty minute trip to O bāchan’s house. Shane leads them up the driveway and opens the unlocked front door, calling out for his grandma in greeting. 

Ilya pulls out his phone and the translation app he had downloaded the last time he had seen Shane’s grandma. “We’ll need this,” he explains to Scott as they slide on house slippers and walk into the home.

Scott blinks at him, in disbelief at their situation, before looking around the room, taking in all of the family pictures. “Wow,” Scott says to himself. 

Shane returns from the kitchen with his grandmother in tow and she quickly walks over to Ilya, pulling his face down for a kiss on the cheek before patting at Scott’s hand. 

“So sweet of you to bring my grandsons to me, Shane.” The app reads in English.

“Yeah, yeah.” Shane rolls his eyes before catching onto something behind O bāchan. “Oh my god, you didn’t.”

O bāchan turns her attention to several new photos that the woman must have added to her collection. Ilya’s mouth drops open - she had framed pictures of him, Scott, and the three captains together. 

O bāchan looks at them proudly before saying, “Why do you three smell like alcohol? Did you bring me any?”

“It was for work.” Shane explains, ushering Scott and Ilya into the kitchen to sit at the small table. Shane washes his hands at the kitchen sink and turns towards his grandma, waiting for instructions.

The two cook dinner together, keeping the conversation going between the four of them. Ilya watches Scott make similar discoveries around the space as he did when he was here last. O bāchan harasses Ilya and Shane for not winning the Stanley Cup, and gives so much praise to Scott that the man is pink in the face from embarrassment. 

Ilya wonders what Scott is thinking as Shane and O bāchan place plates of food in the center of the table. Was it similar to how Ilya felt when he visited last? Was the man thinking about the family he once had? He seems happy enough, but it must not all be easy. 

After dinner, they move out into the living room and O bāchan turns on a Japanese dating show. They sit around the coffee table and play dominoes while the woman watches her bad television. She encourages them to stay the night, insisting she has plenty of space, and shows them to their rooms when it gets late. 

Ilya stops in the hallway between the room he is sharing with Shane and Scott’s room. Scott looks over to him from his spot standing in front of the bed. Ilya doesn’t really know what to say, but the look on his face may be enough.

“It’s a little weird.” Scott starts. “Like, it feels nostalgic to be here, even though I’ve never been here before.”

Ilya nods his head slightly, “Like, you can’t help but think about what you are lacking.”

Scott blinks and nods his head, “Yeah.” He looks around the space again. “It’s nice, though.” 

Ilya smiles and nods in agreement. 

The following morning, Ilya wakes up to an empty bed. He pulls on some of Shane's spare clothes from the dresser and shuffles out into the living room. Ilya follows the sound of quiet voices to find Shane and his grandmother sitting at the table.

He pulls out the translation app on his phone in time to hear O bāchan say, “Your mother is upset with you, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Shane sighs out. 

“She's spoken to you about it?”

“No. She texted saying she wants to talk with me when I get back to Ottawa.”  Shane stares into his water glass like it could solve all of his problems.

Ilya grabs a cup of coffee and sits next to the man.

“She's upset about that Late Night Show interview. The one where you say the two of you,” she motions between Ilya and Shane, “Are friends.”

“I figured it was about that.” Shane takes a sip of water, gazing out the window.

Ilya reaches under the table and places his hand on Shane's thigh. The man glances at him, smiling for a second, before his face drops again.

“Your mom doesn't know.” O bāchan surmises. Shane shakes his head. “She was taken off guard by the information.”

Shane sighs and scrubs at his face. “She can feel how she wants to feel.”

“You're obviously stressed.”

“Thanks, grandma.”

O bāchan looks between the two of them. “You don’t want her to know?”

“That's not it- it's more complicated than that. And you know how black and white she can be.”

The sound of Scott's footsteps ends the conversation suddenly.

Chapter End Notes

I promise, Yuna Hollander isn't evil, she's just out of the loop.

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

It's canon that Shane is not good with large groups of children, but I bet you money that he is great with kids one-on-one.
I also bet the moment that Hayden told him they were having their first kid(s), Shane immediately read 10+ parenting books in preparation.

Boston

The nine hockey players sit stiffly in their seats, the interviewer's last question hanging in the air. The interview hadn't started out this bad, though.

They had been welcomed onto the filming set and the guy seemed friendly enough, making sure they all settled in for the online channel segment. Unlike their other online gigs, this one would be live.

The interviewer welcomes the audience in the chat before introducing the nine players. A TV screen is rolled in and the guy explains, “We found a few videos of you on social media and would love to get your reaction.”

The first video includes Boiziau, Pike, and Shane. The men are getting interviewed by their social media manager outside the locker rooms after a game, when Scott rounds the corner. 

The video picks up their wide smiles as they call him over, giving him hugs and pulling him into the conversation.

The nine guys look at the interviewer in slight confusion. This wasn't groundbreaking information. Most people in the league liked Scott.

“Now I'd like you to compare it to this video.” The interviewer explains.

In the second video, Boiziau, Pike, and Shane are, once again, together. It looks like they are waiting for the rest of their team before a game, and are chatting with the social media manager. 

The camera swings over to spot Ilya walking down the hallway in his uniform. The three Voyagers immediately start to heckle him. At one point, Pike yells out, “Get lost!” 

Ilya shuffles his feet awkwardly and says, “I am already lost. Please help.” 

The three guys laugh at him, but Shane steps forward, like a good captain, and leads Ilya out of the hallway and to where he needs to go in the Montreal stadium. 

“Rozy, how did you manage to get lost like that?” Cliff asks in disbelief. 

“It looked like an older video,” Victor defends, “Maybe it was one of the first times he was in the stadium?”

“Why are we talking about me being lost? We should be talking about unequal treatment of players.” Ilya gestures a hand to the TV in offence.

“No,” Boiziau says, “We treat people equitably. That's more important than being equal.”

“You're saying Rozanov needs to be heckled?” Bennett laughs. 

“It's like photosynthesis with plants.” Shane explains. Ilya mouths the word. Shane catches him do it and translates it into Russian before saying, “Ilya needs people to irritate him to live.”

“Lies.” Ilya grumbles.

“That's why you secretly like Hayden so much.”

Ilya stands from his seat quickly, “Fighting words, Hollander!”

Shane lets out a laugh as Ilya slowly makes his way across the stage to him. “Don't get me! Sit back down.”

“No, please get him.” Pike says from next to his friend.

Ilya wrestles Shane for a brief moment, finding himself somehow sitting across Shane's lap, the man in a headlock under him. 

“Uncle.” Shane wheezes out.

Ilya lets go of his hold around Shane's neck. But settles more fully on top of his chair, putting all of his weight on top of Shane. The man lets out an ‘oof’.

“Are you two comfortable? Going to stay like that?” The interviewer asks.

“Easier to have Shane in reach when he says something else stupid.”

“Asshole.” Shane gripes. 

The interviewer shows a few more videos of the three teams. They were all pretty funny and promoted good discussion. It is when the interviewer starts to ask audience-submitted questions that things go downhill fast. 

They were almost rapid fire with the guys refusing to answer each one. 

“Boiziau and Vaughan, what's it like being some of the only black players in the league?”

“Hunter, top or bottom?”

“Vaughan, what's Gloria Grey like in bed?”

“Hollander, what's your Asian skincare routine?”

This was the last time they'd go on a show with a live online audience. Ilya hears Shane say in the quiet of the studio, “What the fuck are these questions, man?”

The interviewer holds up his hands in mock surrender, saying, “These are the questions our viewers want answered.”

“And you couldn't pick the appropriate ones in the chat?” He adjusts Ilya in his grip so the man could stare hard at the interviewer. “What, is the next question asking Ilya how much borscht he eats a week?”

“I do like borscht.” Ilya says to be irritating.

“Shut up, I know you do. You're not helping.” Shane pokes at Ilya’s side and says in Russian. “Grab his microphone for me.” Ilya smiles widely and does what he is told, handing it back to Shane. “Why don't I ask some questions?”

“Hey!” The interviewer asks, but is silently stopped by the producers frantically gesturing behind the camera. 

Shane clears his throat before smiling a winning smile and asking, “J.J., how does it feel to be the handsomest player in the NHL?”

Boiziau laughs loudly and the tension in the room abates immediately. “It is a hard and tiring job to keep this title. I need a lot of beauty sleep, but being so handsome has its demands.”

“Heyo - ladies, I'll give you his address after the show, if you want it.” Shane turns to Bennett and asks him an equally light hearted question. He asks a few more before turning to Ilya, who was still in his lap. “Ilya, how does it feel to be the third best player in the league?”

Ilya’s mouth drops open in shock. They usually called each other the second best player. Since when had he gotten demoted to third?

“Bitch! How dare you say that to me. Third?” Shane laughs at him. See if he'll be getting any that night. “What? Scott won cup so now he is before me? Boston has won cup, too.”

“It only seems fair,” Scott says lightly, placing his hands behind his head.

“Oh, yeah? Ask him who is first and second then.”

Shane laughs again and refuses to answer saying, “I'm the one asking questions here.”

They’re all in the van on the way back to their hotel when Vaughan finally says, “That was a shit show.”

“Do you think he was really expecting us to answer those questions?” Victor asks.

“Probably just wanted a reaction out of us.” Scott mutters, looking out the window.

Ilya scrolls through his phone, reading the comments from the livestream. They were mostly harmless, audience members equally as shocked by the questions. There were also comments about Shane letting Ilya stay in his chair.

Ilya worries the inner side of his cheek, quickly switching over to his internet browser to read through the most recent articles and blogs about their appearances on the press tour. People were equal parts shocked and supportive of how Shane and Ilya were acting around each other. There were a few paparazzi photos of them - the most recent two being Shane getting carried around the airport, a large smile on his face as he stared at Ilya at eye level, and of Shane, Ilya, and Scott laughing in the Asian grocery store. 

People seemed to overall like that they were friends. There were always the skeptics and louder voices, but people always found a reason to hate Ilya. He just didn’t want to make Shane’s life harder. He catches a few comments that pop up on articles, acting surprised that Shane had a personality at all. Others chide the original commenters, saying if they were true fans of the Voyagers, they would already know that. 

Ilya stares blankly at his phone for a moment. Was he being stupid? Acting like he was with Shane in public - around other hockey players. He probably was, right? But Shane hadn’t stopped him. He scrolls through screenshots and gifs of the two of them from the press tour. He’d stop him, right?

Ilya glances over to the man sitting next to him, his line of thinking immediately halting as he takes in Shane’s expression. The man was staring down at his phone, his face practically devoid of emotion. Ilya looks at his screen to see a chat open between Shane and his mom. Besides the, ‘We need to talk when you get back home’ there was nothing else on the screen besides three little dots in the bottom left corner. 

Shane and Ilya watch the three dots disappear for a second before reappearing again. She never ends up sending a text, though. Instead, ‘Mom’ lights up the screen as she calls. Shane stares at his phone for a second before answering the call.

He speaks over his mom before she can get out a full sentence, “I’m in the van headed back to the hotel with the guys.”

There’s a pause on the other end, “Call me back when you get to the hotel.” The call disconnects. 

Pike looks at Shane cautiously from his other side. “You’ve talked to your mom before on the Voyagers’ bus.”

Shane shrugs lamely. “I’ll talk to her in a few minutes.”

Ilya catches the worried look Pike sends him. Maybe Shane wouldn’t stop Ilya from going too far.

Shane is out of the van in a flash and has turned a corner to a hotel computer room before the others can check in. Ilya, Cliff, and Victor would be going back home for the night, so they only need three rooms for the remaining guys. Boiziau offers to take his second keycard to Shane, winking at Ilya as he passes. The man quickly returns though, a grim look on his face.

On their way up in the elevator, Pike pushes the man to say what happened. “His mom was full on yelling at him.” Boiziau explains in a hushed voice. Pike stares at him with wide eyes. “I know.”

“That shit doesn’t happen.” Pike swings his duffle bag over his shoulder as they step out onto their floor. “What was she mad about?” Pike asks. 

“She’s not happy with the way he’s been acting on the tour. Said something about brand and reputation.” Boiziau vaguely gestures in the air in front of him. “Whatever it is she’s always on him about.” He stops in front of his and Shane’s door, glancing over at Ilya. “She was really pissed about you.”

Ilya swallows hard. 

“Sure - maybe it’s a shock,” Pike starts, “But Rozanov really isn’t that bad. It’s obvious Shane actually likes him.”

It was irritating being spoken about like he wasn’t there, but he appreciates the attempt for what it is.

Boiziau shrugs slightly, “Shane hadn’t said a thing when I went to drop off the keycard. He had one of his looks on his face and barely noticed I was there.”

“Fuck.” Pike sighs before crossing the hall to his own room, Scott already inside. 

Boiziau watches Pike enter his room before turning his gaze to Ilya. “Go get him, would you?” Ilya blinks. “He wouldn’t be acting so reckless if he didn’t love you, so go back downstairs and hang up the phone call or some shit.”

Boiziau enters his room with a sigh, the latch clicking quietly behind him. Ilya stares at where the man had just been standing, Boiziau’s words echoing in his head.

After a prolonged moment, he turns on his heel and heads back downstairs. When he finally enters the computer room, the phone call has ended. Shane is staring at a wall blankly, his chin propped in a hand. He doesn’t look up when Ilya walks over and rests his hands cautiously on the man’s shoulders. 

“Shane.” Ilya says softly. He doesn’t get a reply. Squeezing Shane’s shoulders, he tries again. “Baby.” He says in Russian. Shane blinks out of his daze and turns to look up at Ilya. Ilya’s breath catches as he sees unshed tears in Shane’s eyes.

“We’ve been acting pretty stupid, haven’t we?” Ilya swallows, but Shane continues, pulling Ilya closer to him by his waist, “I’ve liked it though. I wanted to live in the delusion that we could always be like this.”

Ilya’s chest hurt. He wipes away the tears that finally fall down Shane’s face. “I wanted that, too. Still want that.” Ilya tells him.

Shane looks up at him in shock. Ilya’s throat constricts at the knowledge that he never says things like this outloud. “I don’t want this press tour to end. I’ll take one hundred more shitty interviews.” Shane smiles at him waterily. 

Ilya leans down and presses a kiss between Shane’s eyebrows. “We only have a week left.” Ilya says, because he hates himself.

“Shut up, asshole.” Ilya laughs lightly at him. “Don’t go back to Moscow right away.” Shane’s hands clasp Ilya’s wrists where Ilya was still cupping his cheeks. “Come to my cottage - just a week or two. It’ll just be us. We could relax. Fuck on every available surface-”

“I don’t know, Shane-”

“I have jetskis.”

“You have jetskis?”

Shane smiles a genuine smile at him. He pulls Ilya down for a kiss on the lips before whispering across them, “Just think about it.”

Ilya stares into his warm eyes. He wanted to go. So incredibly badly wanted - but he had his father to consider. He really should go back to Moscow right after the press tour. He swallows hard. He so deeply loved this man. It was a fantasy for them to ever be together truly. His forehead falls against Shane’s, his eyes sliding closed.

The guys hang out in Scott and Pike’s suite for several hours before Cliff and Victor head back home. Boiziau manages to convince Bennett to go clubbing with him, and they head out soon after. As Shane and Ilya stand to leave, Pike stops them, rushing up to Shane to give him a tight squeeze of a hug. “Love you, man.” Pike says sincerely. 

Shane smiles softly and hugs him back. “Love you, too.”

It’s easy enough to sneak Shane back to his penthouse - Boiziau texting on the ride to Ilya’s place thanking him for his support in Boiziau’s ‘slutting out’ pursuits. Ilya laughs and turns the screen for Shane to read. 

“He is a very busy man.” Shane says seriously in Russian. “I’m just glad he’s stopped trying to hook me up with random women.”

“Oh, is that so? Boiziau is your wingman? Was he very successful?”

Shane squints at him and says, “What do you think?”

“You’re really saying that you’ve only had sex with me?”

Shane’s face turns as red as a tomato. “Shut up, Rozanov.”

They step out of the taxi and enter Ilya’s apartment building. “Let me get this straight-”

“There’s nothing straight about it.”

Ilya laughs, “No deflecting. I have been the only person you have a crush on; I took your virginity; and I’m the only person you’ve had sex with?” Shane grumbles something under his breath as they enter the elevator. “What was that?”

“I said I’m regretting my past choices, now.” Shane spits out.

“Don’t be mad when you are faced with the truth.” He spins on Shane after the doors have closed, pressing him up against the metal surface. “You like me.”

Shane’s laugh is cut off by Ilya kissing him senseless. 

For dinner, Ilya orders in and they eat while watching a movie Shane had picked out. After Shane puts their leftovers in the fridge and throws away the trash, he sits back down, practically on top of Ilya, and wraps himself in a blanket cocoon. 

“You will fall asleep and miss movie.” Ilya brushes a bit of hair out of Shane’s eyes.

Shane hums and snuggles closer to Ilya, if that was even possible. “Don’t care.”

Ilya smiles and lets him sleep through the rest of the movie and a while after. He scrolls through his phone for a bit. Texting Svetlana and Rose for a while before opening up Instagram. He clicks on Boiziau’s story and watches in amazement as he and Bennett dance, surrounded by at least fifteen women. He tosses his phone to the side and looks at Shane’s sleeping form. 

Ilya was officially bored. 

He stands and swoops down to pick up the bundle that is Shane Hollander, before carrying him to the bed. He tosses the man down, Shane blinking half-awake in confusion.

“Wake up. I want to blow you.”

That wakes Shane up completely. Ilya smiles smugly down at the man before walking back to the front of the apartment, looking for his bag.

“Ilya!” Shane whines after him. 

“Get undressed, solnishko.” (little sun) He calls back to him.

Ilya finds what he’s looking for and quickly strips out of his clothes. He stands in front of his entranceway mirror and carefully applies the lipstick Svetlana had stolen from Rose for him. He purses his lips at his reflection before slinking back into the room.

Shane curses in French, his wide eyes taking him in. Ilya stalks towards the bed, enjoying the feeling of Shane’s hot gaze tracking his movements. 

“Oh my god, I’m going to die.”

“Happily - I would bet.” Ilya smirks between Shane’s thighs.

Shane’s legs fall open completely, and that’s all the invitation Ilya needs to take his half hard cock into his mouth. He hums happily as he swallows Shane down, sliding back up slowly and locking eyes with Shane’s. Shane has a hand over his mouth, his gaze never leaving Ilya’s lips.

Ilya feels satisfaction curl in his stomach as he bobs his head enthusiastically on Shane’s dick. The lipstick starts to smear at the base of Shane’s cock and up the shaft. Shane was oddly quiet causing Ilya to look back up at him. 

His eyes were still blazing, but his face was starting to go pink. He quickly pops off Shane’s dick and says, “Breathe, Shane.”

Shane suddenly gasps in a large breath of air. “Oh shit,” he pants out, “I totally forgot I had to do that.” Shane falls back onto the bed, his chest heaving with effort. 

Ilya can’t help but laugh at him, not realizing that putting on lipstick would have such an effect on the man. He climbs up on the bed, straddling Shane’s lap, and bends down to kiss him senseless. When he pulls back, he can’t help but stare at the red lipstick that was left behind. 

“So pretty.” Ilya whispers.

Shane sits upright, pulling Ilya up with him, causing him to now be fully sitting in Shane’s lap. Shane grabs ahold of both of their hard-ons and begins to stroke them quickly. He leans in for another kiss and then another. Ilya hums against Shane’s lips, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders. 

When they pull back Ilya can’t help but notice that they were both staring at the other’s red tinged lips, lipstick smeared past their natural lip lines. When Ilya is finally able to break his focus and look up into Shane’s eyes, he finds them blown wide with want. Ilya figures he probably didn’t look too dissimilar. 

He groans as Shane changes the angle of his hold slightly, starting to rock into Shane’s hand in time with the strokes. “Do you want to cum like this or do you want me to fuck you?”

“Don’t make me think right now.” Shane mutters dazedly in perfect fucking Russian.

Ilya laughs and pushes Shane back. He easily flops on his back and releases his hold on their dicks when Ilya pulls away. Ilya leaves long enough to find some lube. Pouring some out onto a hand, he quickly warms it and hops back on top of Shane. He lines their dicks back up and starts to rock his hips into his slicked up hand. 

Shane moans at the sensation and begins to move forward when Ilya moves backward. They stare at each other, mouths slightly open and panting, eyes full of desire. It doesn’t take long for Shane’s brow to start to furrow, his whimpers and moans becoming louder and louder. 

Ilya watches Shane orgasm and admires the complete beauty of the man under him. The way his muscles tense and his gaze stays on him throughout. The pretty sounds that come out of his mouth. After a few more thrusts, Ilya follows after him, squeezing his eyes shut at the peak of his pleasure. He lets out a low moan before opening his eyes to watch his cum mix with Shane’s. 

They stay in their positions for a few moments, catching their breath and attempting to cool down. When Shane starts to squirm, Ilya leans down to give him a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. He returns and wipes Shane clean, tossing the rag in the direction of the bathroom.

Ilya manhandles Shane under the covers and kisses him all over - his lips first, and then his cheeks, eyebrows, and forehead. When he pulls back Shane is smiling at him widely, fully blissed out from his orgasm. Ilya sends a crooked smile back before flopping down next to Shane and snuggling up against his side. 

Shane pulls him in close, Ilya’s head resting against his shoulder. 

Not for the first time, Ilya wonders what it would be like to do this every night with Shane. And not for the first time, he tries to push the thought down and fall asleep. 

They wake up the following morning at around 9 AM to Shane’s phone vibrating. It wasn’t his normal vibration pattern - it was the one he had set for Taiki. 

Shane immediately pulls out of Ilya’s hold and picks up the video call. Ilya hears Shane say something in Japanese, but all they get is crying on the other end. Ilya quickly pulls up his translation app and reads Shane say, “Taiki, what’s going on, buddy? Where are you? Why are you calling so late?” It would be 11 PM in Japan.

Finally, Taiki appears on the other end, obviously looking wrecked. “I don’t know where I am.” He says through hiccuped sobs. He is having a hard time catching his breath, but stills when he finally looks at the screen, “Why do you both have lipstick all over you?”

“Jesus Christ.” Shane quickly gets up from the bed and heads to Ilya’s bathroom to grab a wet washcloth. “Don’t worry about that. Tell me what’s going on.”

Taiki lets out another pitiful sound, “My girlfriend dumped me.”

“Himari-chan?” Shane emerges from the bathroom with a clean face and tosses a washcloth at Ilya. He gets back into the bed after throwing one of Ilya’s shirts on. 

“Yeah.” Taiki sniffs loudly, “I got accepted into the transfer program. Did grandma tell you?”

“What? No, she didn’t! You’re coming to Canada?”

“Himari-chan got upset that I was leaving and broke up with me at the beginning of school today.” They watch as Taiki tries to scrub at his face, but more tears fall down his cheeks. “I got on a bus after school and didn’t pay attention to where it was taking me. I got off at a random stop and now I’m somewhere in the country.”

Shane runs a hand through his sleep mused hair and says, “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Do you want me to call your mom or dad? I’m sure they’re worried sick.”

“No! Don’t bother them. Mom is back in the hospital and dad is spending the night there.”

“Okay,” Shane sighs, “What about grandpa?”

“He’s not very nice to you.” Taiki protests.

“He’d pick you up, though.” Taiki shakes his head firmly. “Fine. Tell me the name of your bus stop. I’ll see if there is anything close by.”

Taiki gives the name and Shane makes grabby hands for Ilya’s phone. Ilya hands it over and watches Shane pull up Google Maps and zoom in on Taiki’s location to search the area.

“Okay buddy, if you follow the road you’re on south, there’s a 24 hour spa in 3 kilometers. I’ll send you some money now.” 

Taiki lets out a heavy breath and thanks Shane before walking in the direction the man had indicated. They stay on the phone for the 30 minutes it takes him to walk to the spa, distracting the teen by telling him stories about their press tour. Shane is leaning back against Ilya’s bare chest by the time Taiki enters the spa. 

“Okay, I’m here. I got the money you sent. I’ll pay you back soon. Thanks, onii-chan.” (big bro)

“No, you’re not. Go eat and get some sleep.”

The call ends, Ilya pulling Shane closer to him and pressing his face into the crook of Shane’s neck. “Was that his first girlfriend?”

“Yeah, they had been together since they were twelve. Poor kid.”

“What is transfer program to Canada?” He rubs the bridge of his nose back and forth against Shane’s neck.

“It’s a sports transfer program. He’ll come to Canada next school year and play hockey on a scholarship.”

“Where?”

“He probably won’t know for another month.”

Ilya places slow kisses along Shane’s shoulder. “Hmm, I’m hungry.”

“For what?” Shane asks in a teasing voice.

“Both. Want to eat cereal in bed then fuck?”

“Oh my god.”

Montreal

They had made the quick flight from Boston to Montreal that afternoon, their van driving them directly to their next interview. Boiziau had thrown out the suggestion on the flight over that the guys didn’t need to lodge in a hotel for the night. Between Boiziau, Pike, and Shane, there were enough rooms for everyone. The guys had happily accepted, relieved at not having to be in another hotel room for the night. 

That’s how Ilya finds himself in front of Shane’s apartment building. His actual apartment - not the entire building that the man had bought for Ilya. The guys follow Shane into the sleek front lobby before taking the elevator up to the top floor. They step out into a small hallway that only has one door.

“You live in a penthouse, buddy?” Pike asks with a low whistle as they enter the apartment.

Boiziau says something in French, clear appreciation in his tone as he looks around.

“Wait - you two haven’t been here before?” Scott asks in confusion.

The players set their bags down in the entryway and look around the warm, modern space. Ilya only has eyes on Shane, though. The man looks slightly embarrassed, his shoulders tensing when Pike says, “Nah, Shane is Shane. It’s easier for him to come to me, anyways.” Pike toes off his shoes before walking around the living room. “My kids have been here, though.”

Scott turns his confused expression to Shane. The man quietly replies, “Friday date nights. The kids stay with me.”

“That’s a good friend, right there.” Cliff hollers from the spot he had found on the couch. 

Pike is goodnaturedly ribbed by the other players, all of them settling into the living room for the time being, Victor turning on the TV for background noise. 

Ilya follows Shane into his kitchen, and leans against the island as he watches Shane pull out unopened bags of chips and sealed salsa jars. Opening the fridge, the only thing the man has are a couple of cases of beer. Shane catches Ilya’s questioning look and says, “They were for a party that J.J. hosted. He ran out of fridge space for all of the drinks and made me store some here. We totally forgot about them.”

Ilya huffs out a laugh and grabs the two cases and brings them into the living room. He is met with cheers as the boys crack a few bottles open. Shane has just set the chips and salsa down, Pike saying, “The girls are going to be pissed you’re breaking into their stash,” when Shane’s phone rings. 

Ilya leans over from his spot next to Scott to see that Shane’s mom is calling. With a sigh, Shane accepts the incoming call. Whatever she was originally planning to say is cut off at the sound of the guys laughing at something. “Where are you? Your location says you’re at home.” Ilya hears her say.

“I am at home. We just finished up with work for the day.”

“We? Are you saying you have people over? In your house?” The utter shock in her voice would have been funny in different circumstances.

“Jesus Christ, mom.” Shane stands from his spot on the floor and walks to another room. Ilya watches him leave.

Shane comes back a few minutes later, letting out an exasperated sigh before sitting in front of Ilya on the floor. The man leans back against his legs and accepts a beer from Boiziau. They have a good time watching ESPN and drinking beers - it’s very Canadian of them, but Ilya accepts it for what it is.

At around 5 PM, Pike gets a call that Jackie and the kids were on the way so they could all go out to dinner. Boiziau texts his brother to see if he and his husband are free as the guys figure out where they want to eat. Shane gets another call, but this time from Taiki. The poor kid was still pretty broken up over his girlfriend dumping him. Apparently, she had asked for them to get back together the following day, but then had broken up with him again less than twelve hours later. He was a mess, to put it kindly. 

Shane steps out, again, to take the call, and Boiziau uses the opportunity for evil. Ilya knew there was a reason he liked Boiziau so much, catching the mischievous glint in his eye as the man stands and starts to go through Shane’s bookshelves. 

Ilya watches Boiziau pull out the first slim binder in a series and opens it to reveal Voyager hockey cards. “Boys, would you look at this!” Boiziau flips the binder around. The cards are carefully organized by year and then number. The collection starts when Shane joined the team in 2009. 

Boiziau tosses the binder to Pike to look through and pulls the second binder from the bookshelf. The collection kept the same format, displaying the team each year. “It’s like a high school year book.” Boiziau wonders. “Hey, look! This is one I signed!”

He crouches down in front of the coffee table and the guys lean in, laughing at some of the bad photos that had been used. “This binder goes up to this season,” Vaughan starts, “What’s the last one have in it?”

Just as Boiziau stands and pulls the third binder out, Shane steps back into the room. Everyone stills at being caught, but Shane does, too. Ilya watches his eyes go wide as he realizes what they were looking at. The man zeros in on the last binder that Boiziau has in his hands and he says quite firmly, “Put it back.”

“Did you just use your captain’s voice on him?” Pike asks, his expression suddenly intent. Pike’s head swivels to Boiziau quickly, saying, “Open it! Quickly!”

Boiziau stands in indecision for a moment, before slowly sliding a thumb under the front cover. Suddenly, Shane is in a dead sprint, charging the man. Boiziau screams as Shane jumps on him like a spider monkey, desperately trying to rip the binder from Boiziau’s hands. 

The struggle is short lived - Boiziau finally falling with all of Shane on him. Right before Shane can grab the binder, though, Pike scoops it up and throws it to Scott. Scott deftly catches it and opens the binder so only he could see. Ilya hears Shane cry out in defeat from on top of a sprawled out Boiziau. 

“Oh my god.” Ilya hears Scott say from behind the binder, laughter tinging his voice. “Shane.”

“Don’t. Shut the fuck up, Hunter.” Shane tries to climb over the coffee table but is yanked back to the ground by Boiziau. 

“Show us!” Pike demands. 

Scott lowers the binder down just enough so his eyes could find Shane’s before sliding over to Ilya’s. “Consider this payback.” Scott says to Shane before handing the binder to Ilya.

“Payback for what?”

“I think you know.”

“Bozhe moy.” (oh my god) Ilya stares down at the card collection. It was all him. Every single hockey card was Ilya, carefully arranged in chronological order. 

“Kill me now,” Shane says sullenly, his body limp in Boiziau’s hold, in total defeat. 

Pike finally loses patience and grabs the binder from Ilya and tosses it on the table so the other guys can see. Boiziau sits up quickly to look at the binder, pulling Shane up with him. The man was as red as a tomato, his gaze staring dejectedly at the binder in front of them.

Cliff is the first to break the silence, a laugh bubbling out in surprise. Scott follows after, along with Boiziau. The others join in, ribbing Shane and Ilya for their stupid rivalry and obvious obsession with each other. Ilya glances over at Pike to see him already staring back. He is the only one not laughing, well, besides Shane. It looks like Pike is trying to solve a complex math equation in his head. Ilya hopes it makes his brain hurt.

Around fifteen minutes later, the binders safely tucked away, there’s a knock on the door followed by two little voices calling out for their dad and Uncle Shane. Pike pops up eagerly and runs to the door to let his family in. Ilya watches Ruby and Jade immediately tackle their dad, giving him hugs and kisses. They start to talk a mile a minute, filling Pike in on something that had happened at the park that day. 

Jackie skirts around her family and sets a baby carrier on the coffee table in front of Shane. She leans down and gives him a kiss on the cheek before saying, “Your baby,” and turning to give Boiziau a kiss on the cheek, too.

Shane sits up from his spot against Ilya’s legs and leans the carrier down slightly to see Arthur slowly blinking his eyes awake. “Hello, my baby.” The man says quietly.

“You should really watch who you say that in front of, Jackie.” Hayden says. He walks the two girls over to the living room, Ruby hanging from one arm and Jade hanging from the other.

Shane pulls Arthur out of the carrier and the baby immediately coos at the man. He holds the baby out in front of him in the air, facing towards Pike. “This child isn’t even remotely Asian, Hayden.”

“You never know.” Pike says, leaning down to kiss his baby on the forehead before dropping the girls off directly on top of Boiziau. 

Jackie leans against the bookshelf, a hand on her pregnant stomach. Her eyes suddenly squint at Shane and Ilya, Arthur still in the air, now held up as protection against the woman.

“What did we do? Why is she looking at us like that?” Ilya asks in Russian.

“You both owe me a dollar for the swear jar.” She points at them.

“Yeah! Swear jar,” One of the girls crows out from where she was harassing Boiziau with her sister.

“Oh,” Shane says before sitting Arthur down on the coffee table, one hand holding onto his front so he doesn’t wobble over. Shane sits up slightly to pull out his wallet and pass over a dollar.

“Why do I owe dollar?” Ilya asks in offence.

“January 11th, 2017.” Jackie says gravely.

Ilya furrows his brows in confusion before realization hits. He had called Shane about the pictures with Rose and him that had been circulating. He pulls Shane’s head back so he can look him in the eyes. “You are snitch.” Before looking back up at Jackie and saying, “Shane Hollander has entire binder dedicated to my hockey cards.”

Shane squawks at Ilya, but the man can’t do much in a tight space and with a baby. Ilya leans over the man to give a laughing Jackie his swear jar dollar. “So, where are we going to eat?” She asks.

They end up at a steakhouse, Shane with the girls on either side of him and Arthur in his lap. Ilya couldn’t complain, though. He was obsessed with watching the man around children. Cliff had to slap him a few times to keep up with the conversation. 

Shane was alternating between cutting pieces of steak for Jade and Ruby and eating his own food like it was the easiest thing in the world. His plate was pushed just out of reach of Arthur, a handful of rice puffs on the table for the baby to snack on. Shane catches his gaze from across the table and gives him a small smile. Ilya was in so much trouble.

It was nice to meet Boiziau’s brother, Frankie, and his husband. The fraternal twin was very similar to Boiziau in keeping up conversation easily. By the end of their meal, he and Boiziau have gotten the other guys to agree to a night out in Montreal. Shane grabs the bill and before everyone can stand to leave, the girls plead to spend the night at Uncle Shane’s. 

Jackie and Pike glance at each other before looking in unison at Shane in question. “Sure,” he says lightly. “Go out and have fun.”

One of the girls jumps in glee while the other one launches herself at Shane for a hug. “Like I’m minced meat,” Pike says happily.

“Sorry I’m so cool to 5 year olds.” Shane shrugs. Arthur lets out a squeal. “And 8 month olds.”

The Pike’s switch their car seats over to Shane’s Jeep and get the kids buckled in. Shane texts Victor and Cliff his entry code, just in case they make it back to his apartment and don’t end up crashing at Boiziau’s. As they start to split off, Ilya swings back into Shane’s passenger seat.

Shane looks at him in surprise, “You’re not going out with the guys and Jackie?”

Ilya gives him a judgemental look, “Why would I do that?”

Shane blinks at him, turns to the back seat to stare at Pike’s brood, before looking back at Ilya. He clears his throat before saying in Russian, “You always like going out to clubs. Montreal has some good ones. Why would you pass up on-” Shane trails off.

“Why would I pass up on a one night stand when I could spend the night in with you?” The way he emphasizes ‘you’ is purposeful enough for Shane’s expression to soften.

“Oh,” is all the man can say.

Ilya huffs out a laugh, “Idiot.”

That causes Shane to smile widely at him. 

They first have to stop at the grocery store to pick up food for breakfast and any potential snacks the girls want. By the time they’ve unloaded the kids from the car, Ilya has a good idea of which twin is which. He holds onto Ruby’s hand as they walk in the parking lot, Shane having Arthur in one arm and Jade in the other. 

Ilya picks up a basket from the front and they make quick work of grabbing ingredients. Shane speaks to all of the children in French, Ilya is surprised that the girls understand him as they help collect things and put them in the basket. 

“Jackie speaks French?” Ilya asks, knowing already that Pike doesn't.

Shane shakes his head, “No, but they both asked if I could talk to the kids in French so they would be prepared for immersion school.”

Ilya blinks at him and has a hard time not imagining a life with Shane. Following after him in a grocery store with their own children, probably having to listen to the awful concoction of languages the kids are learning how to speak. Going home every day to a little family that he made with Shane. Falling asleep every night with the man in his arms. He clears his throat and has to shake himself out of the fantasy.

The girls were much better behaved around Shane than the impression he was given from Pike. They barely fought, always listened, and seemed to pick up on Shane’s calm demeanour and replicate it easily. Pike was probably the problem. 

They get back to Shane’s with enough time to watch a movie before the girls need to go to bed. Jade and Ruby rush off to their room - yes, Shane had set up an entire room for them - to change into their pajamas while Shane pops popcorn. 

Ilya leans in close to Shane, relishing in finally being able to kiss him after so many hours of not being able to. Arthur babbles at their feet, grabbing onto Ilya’s leg and slapping it lightly. Ilya smiles widely and swoops down to grab the baby, Arthur babbling even louder as he reaches for Ilya’s face. Shane leans in for another kiss, getting slapped by Arthur for his efforts. 

“You probably want real food, don’t you?” He says to Arthur.

Shane stops the microwave in time and pulls out the popcorn before heading to the freezer and pulling out a silicone tray of baby food cubes. The cubes were bright greens and oranges. “Poor, Arthur.” Ilya says in Russian, “Forced to eat healthy food at such a young age. You’ve probably never even had a single McDonald’s fry, have you?”

“He has,” Shane says from where he was placing one of the cubes into a bowl to heat back up. “Jade snuck him one the moment he could have solids.”

“That’s a good big sister.” Ilya boops Arthur on the nose. 

The girls run back into the kitchen, tutus and fancy gloves on over their pajamas. “I didn’t know I was hosting two famous stars tonight,” Shane says, his back to the counter.

Ruby strikes a fabulous pose and says, “We are the best dancers in Canada.”

“No, Ruby! Not Canada.” Jade sighs, also having struck a pose.

“Oh- right. I mean, we are the best dancers in the whole world!”

“Wow,” Shane says, impressed. “I had no clue. What are your names best dancers in the whole world?” He takes out the bowl of green baby food from the microwave and stirs the contents before placing it back in.

“Andromeda Starfish and Mercury Beatlebug,” Jade says confidently.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Shane bows and takes both of their hands into a handshake before quickly spinning them around a few times. 

They’re in giggles, dizzily trying to stay on their feet when Ilya says, “I heard your arch rival, Dolittle Farts,” He holds up Arthur between them, “Has also been invited to dance show.”

The girls laugh at their brother’s name - farts are always a strong choice for preschoolers - before they can compose themselves and gasp in shock.

“Dolittle Farts!” Jade exclaims, “What are you doing here?”

“This is our dance show.” Ruby puts her hands on her hips.

“I am here to prove I am world’s actual best dancer!” Ilya says in a small voice, wiggling Arthur around to sell the act.

“No!” Ruby yells out, running up to Ilya to get him. 

Ilya quickly runs away, still acting like it was Dolittle Farts talking, both girls several paces behind him. Arthur squeals in joy, a wide smile on his face as they race around the penthouse. 

Eventually, Arthur gets stolen from Ilya by Shane so the baby can eat, causing the girls to show off their dance moves as a way to prove their self-claimed titles. Ilya absolutely has to teach them a few dances that they didn’t already know. As the girls practice, he glances over at the kitchen island to see Shane quietly talking to Arthur in French as he feeds him his mush. Arthur seems quite content sitting on the counter top, a bib around his front, his hands slapping on the marble surface. 

Ilya feels another pang of warmth run through him at the pure domesticity he feels in that moment. Would they ever be able to have this for real?

After Arthur is done eating, Shane pulls them all to the couch with bowls of popcorn and ice cream. Ruby and Jade snuggle in close next to Ilya, putting the bowl of popcorn in his lap while they eat their ice cream first. The girls shout out a few movies they want to watch, but Shane vetoes them all quickly.

“You two know that we don’t watch any of that junk in this house.”

“Uncle Shane,” Ruby groans.

“If it’s from your lifetime, it’s not getting put on my TV.” Shane throws a kernel of popcorn at Ruby. “We’re watching the “Jungle Book”. You haven’t watched that one yet, have you?”

Both girls shake their heads and settle into their spots on the couch easily. 

After a few minutes, Jade complains, “Nothing is happening.”

“You said that about “The Aristocats”, too.” He looks plainly at both girls’ pajamas, a white cat with a pink bow all over their pants. They grumble, causing Shane to say, “Low stimulation is not a bad thing.”

The girls repeat what he says begrudgingly, “Low stimulation is not a bad thing.” Like they have had this conversation with him multiple times already. 

Ilya can’t help but smile.

Arthur is out like a light ten minutes into the movie, causing Shane to position the baby on his back on the couch. Shane shifts and pulls Ruby away from Ilya, the girl immediately cuddling into his side. They watch the whole movie, the girls quickly getting wrapped up in the story. By the end, their heads are bobbing as they fight off sleep. 

Shane first grabs Arthur and sets a baby blanket from a cabinet on the floor, placing the boy gently down. He miraculously stays asleep. Then he picks up a very sleepy Ruby and walks her to their bedroom. Ilya scoops up Jade and follows after. The girls curl into bed and are asleep before Shane can fully tuck them in.

Shane quietly closes the door behind them and the two men walk back to the living room to clean up. Ilya is quick to pull Shane back to the couch when everything is back where it should be. He pushes Shane down on the couch, so he is fully lying across the length and falls down on top of the man.

Shane lets out an ‘oof’ before wrapping his arms around Ilya’s waist. Ilya scratches his stubble against Shane’s smooth cheek, before burrowing into the crook of his neck. Shane sighs contentedly, dragging one hand up Ilya’s back and sliding it back down in a repetitive motion. 

Suddenly, Ilya lifts his head up to look into Shane’s eyes. The man squints at him slightly with their faces so close. “We would have five children.”

“Five? Planning on getting me pregnant, Rosanov?”

Ilya smiles crookedly at the other man, leaning in for a sweet kiss before saying, “We need one more than Pike.”

“Should we also name our kids after precious stones?”

“No, precious metals.”

Shane lets out a laugh and pulls up a list of precious metals on his phone. “Oh, yeah. A baby named Rhodium would be perfect.”

Ilya looks at the list and says, “Rhodium, Iridium! Dinner is ready! That would work.”

“Horrible,” Shane tosses his phone onto the coffee table. “How do they sound in Russian?”

Ilya wracks his brain for the translation before saying, “Rodiy and Iridiy.”

“Definitely better.”

“French?”

“They’re the same as English, just have a French accent.”

Ilya hums and rests his head back on Shane’s shoulder. As they lay in the quiet of the evening, just the sounds of their breaths filling the space, Ilya can’t help but think there is no other place he would rather be. He closes his eyes as Shane runs a hand through his hair. 

He remembers the offer Shane had given him in that hotel computer room. Ilya wanted nothing more but to extend his time with Shane and stay in his cottage forever. He sighs heavily. He didn’t know why they did this to themselves. What they wanted was so simple if the world happened to be just them - no responsibilities or expectations or questions of life or death. 

He breathes in Shane’s warm scent, running the bridge of his nose along Shane’s shoulder. He can try to stay in the moment for as long as he can, though. It isn’t every day that he gets to do this with Shane. Sure, they would be able to Skype and talk on the phone over the summer, but Ilya is certain it wouldn’t feel the same as this.

He opens his eyes when Shane kisses him on the cheek. “I wish things could be simple.” Ilya smiles sadly. Shane had been thinking the same thing as him? Shane’s nails scratch along the nape of Ilya’s neck. “Hayden gets it so simple.”

“Yes, at Pike’s house, he has family pictures on walls, probably.” He lifts his head to look at Shane, anticipating his expression. “All you have are hockey cards.”

Shane delivers what Ilya was hoping for, an affronted look sweeping across his face, “Asshole,” he whispers. “I can’t believe you know about those.”

Ilya grins widely. “Why? Because I won’t let you live them down?” Shane gives him a bitchy look that says, ‘Obviously’. “Don’t worry. I will sign for you.”

“Ilya, that isn’t even all of them. Those are just my favorites. You have over a thousand cards just from your rookie season.”

“You have them all?” Ilya asks in astonishment. Shane sends him another look. “Of course you do, I am best player in league.” Ilya looks up at the bookshelf in confusion, “Where are they?”

“In my trophy room.” Shane says simply.

Ilya stares at him intently. “You have trophy room?”

“My mom thought it would be a good idea.”

“Show me now.”

Shane sighs but nudges at Ilya to stand up. He guides him to the other side of the apartment, where Ilya had quickly dropped their bags in Shane’s bedroom once they had gotten back from the grocery store. Passing his bedroom, Shane opens a door to the right and leads him into what could be a nice-sized office.

Instead, it housed wall-to-wall shelves full of awards and trophies Shane and his teams had won over the years. Ilya immediately walks up to the two Olympic medals stored in a glass display, staring at the gold figure skating medal from 2006 first, before jumping to the silver hockey medal from 2014. Ilya slowly walks around the room, Shane leaning against the doorframe, as he takes it all in. 

He finds the binders of all of Ilya’s hockey cards carefully organized by the card company and year. There are also binders full of Shane’s cards that sit next to Ilya’s. Ilya smiles faintly at that. Admiring the replica Stanley Cups, he wonders how many they would have won by now if Ilya and Shane had been on the same team. 

They hear a startled cry from Arthur and immediately head back to the living room, Shane scooping the baby up and talking to him in French quietly. Once he is fully settled, Shane blows a raspberry against his cheek and tells him, “We need to actually put you to bed.”

Ilya decides to take a shower while Shane gives Arthur a bath in the kitchen sink. He’s wrapping himself in one of Shane’s fluffy towels when he spots the crazy amount of skincare products on Shane’s sink. A slow smile forms on his face. He quickly throws on some boxer briefs and shorts before grabbing his phone and pulling up Instagram. 

He starts a live countdown on the platform and watches the minutes tick down as the audience grows rapidly. He loves being hockey famous sometimes - especially the times that allow him to annoy Shane.

The countdown ends and he picks up his phone saying, “I am Ilya Rosanov, but you already knew that. Recently, on internet livestream, Shane Hollander was asked about his skincare routine. He did not answer, but that was because it was racist. He does have one.”

Ilya flips the phone camera so everyone in the live could see the bathroom. “Here we are in Shane’s bathroom and I will show you skincare routine.” He flips the camera back to himself and sets it down on the sink. “You may be asking yourself, how does Ilya Rosanov know Hollander’s skincare routine? I do not. But I will bet you he will be here in under a minute. Watch.”

Ilya starts to pick up the different creams and oils, setting them down on the counter loudly. The clinking and clanking of the various products does get a yelled out, “Ilya, what are you doing?” from the other room.

“See, I told you.” He says to his audience. “Maybe I can get him quicker.” He leans towards the door and asks, “What does La Prairie Radiance Creme do?”

“I swear to god - set it down!” Shane calls out.

Ilya proudly sets the pot down, smirking at the camera as he hears Shane rush to him. The man rounds the corner, a clean Arthur in his arms, a baby bottle in one of his hands. 

“Ilya,” Shane warns.

“Hi, Shane.” Ilya says happily.

“Whatcha doing?” The man squints at him in suspicion. 

“Just touching all your stuff.”

“To what end?” The man really did look quite endearing when he was trying to be annoyed with a baby in his arms.

Ilya reveals his phone, the livestream chat currently blowing up, but Ilya was too far away to see what was being said. “We want to know your skincare routine.”

“What? Are you seriously on live right now?” Shane walks up next to Ilya and adjusts Arthur and the bottle to be in one arm as he puts his products back into their proper places.

“Show us skincare routine, Hollander. Look, my fans want it.” He gestures to the rapidfire chat. 

“I do it after I shower.”

“That’s fine. I showered. Do on me.”

Shane would often act like he didn’t want to do something Ilya suggested, but it was well known between them both that Shane almost always said yes eventually. This time was no different. The man sighs before saying, “Grab the ottoman from the other room.”

Ilya skips away, quickly locating the two-seater ottoman from in front of the bed and carrying it in. He plops himself down on the upholstered top and looks up at Shane with a wide smile. Shane gives him a small smile back, inspecting his face closely. 

“Go ahead and get your face wet.” Ilya turns to the sink and quickly scrubs water onto his face. “Jesus, you’re such a man sometimes.” 

Ilya turns off the faucet and says, “Like manly man?”

“No, like 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash man.”

“I knew you hated my 3-in-1.” Ilya turns to his phone and says, “Shane Hollander thinks I am manly man.” He begins to flex at the camera, starting with quarter turns, as Shane groans over him.

“No, I meant it derogatorily.” Shane complains in Russian.

Ilya glances over at Shane, “Derogatorily? Good word.”

Shane smiles at him and says, “Thanks. Do a side chest for us.” Ilya positions himself into the pose and gets a, “Wow, look at that, Arthur,” from Shane in response. Ilya does a couple more poses before Shane pushes at him to sit back down. “Here, hold the baby, manly man.”

“Gimme,” Ilya reaches up to take Arthur and continues to bottlefeed him.

Shane picks up one of his products from the counter and shows it to the audience before applying it onto Ilya’s face. The man grabs a washcloth and runs it under warm water before wiping the cleanser off of Ilya’s skin. He moves on to the next thing, explaining why he is putting it on Ilya and what it is supposed to do. 

They continue like this for several minutes, at one point Ilya has to adjust Arthur to pat him on his back after he’s done with the bottle. Shane takes his job very seriously, his face incredibly focused while he applies the different products evenly across Ilya’s face. 

“There,” Shane finally says, ruffling his fingers through Ilya’s damp curls. “All ready for bed.”

Ilya turns to the screen and smiles widely at the live. “Taadaa. I give people what they want.”

“Sure,” Shane laughs as he caps the last product.

Ilya leans in to look at the chat when a question comes across, “Why are we at home when everyone else is out clubbing?” He reads out. “Designated babysitters.” Ilya says lightly, gesturing to the baby sleeping against his shoulder.   

He ends the live and carries Arthur into Shane’s bedroom where the man is setting up a pack-and-play. Ilya gently places Arthur on his back in the crib and smooths out his hair. Righting himself, he catches Shane’s gaze, something familiar in how he was looking at Ilya.

The following morning, Ilya wakes up to an incredibly hot bed. Sometime in the night, Ruby and Jade had crawled in to sleep with them. Ilya had slept right through it - those sneaks. Shane is already awake, his glasses on as he stares at his phone. 

“Good morning,” Shane says, when he notices Ilya is awake. Shane leans over Jade and gives him a kiss. 

Ilya hums contentedly, “Moy solnishko.” (my little sun) He worms his way up to sitting against the headboard, the navy sheets pooling around his waist, “What are you looking at?”

Shane turns his phone so Ilya can see the screen, “Seeing how people reacted to the little stunt you pulled.” It was open to the live chat from the previous night.

“What did they say?”

“Nothing bad, really. I think our fans are getting used to the idea of us not hating each other.” Shane hands the phone over and Ilya scrolls through the comments. 

“Nothing bad.”

Shane and Ilya are in the kitchen making pancakes for breakfast when Ruby and Jade stumble in, completely bedraggled from sleep. Ruby is holding Arthur, who seems the most alert out of all of them. Ilya quickly grabs Arthur from his sister’s hold and flips a pancake. 

The girls climb up onto a couple of stools at the island and accept two strawberry banana smoothies from Shane. His own protein-filled disgusting smoothie was safely away from any innocent bystander. 

“Uncle Shane, did you know that spiders aren’t the only arachnids in the world?” Jade asks.

“Yeah, I knew that. What other arachnids do you know?” Shane hip bumps Ilya out of the way to check on the house potatoes in the oven.

“Scorpions are also arachnids.” Jade responds.

“Oh! And Vinegaroons. They spray acid at predators.” Ruby adds.

“Sick.” Ilya says, adding a finished pancake to the pile before pouring out more batter. 

“You have to leave today.” Ruby says once they’ve all started to eat. Shane and Ilya had made extra for Cliff and Victor whenever they woke up. 

“Yeah, kiddo. We’ll leave for the airport at one.” Shane ruffles her hair when she sighs dramatically at his answer. “You two didn’t take baths last night.”

“Did you get more of the green apple bubble bath soap?” Jade asks.

“Of course I did.”

“Totally radical.” 

“You need to stop listening to your dad for new vocabulary.”

They clean up from their meal, Arthur chilling on the floor with Ilya. The baby was rocking back and forth on his knees and hands until suddenly he was crawling over to one of his sisters. Shane and the girls stop dead in their tracks as Arthur reaches Jade and slaps at her leg. 

“Holy shit.” Jade says loudly.

“You owe your mom a dollar,” Shane says in awe.

“Wait, can I owe mom a dollar, too?” Ruby asks.

“Fine.”

“Holy shit.”

“What? What is it?” Ilya asks, looking between Arthur and the three of them.

“That’s the first time you’ve seen him crawl, right girls?” They nod their heads in amazement. “Okay, shoot. Okay - look at me ladies, team huddle.” The girls quickly turn to face Shane, the man stepping close to them. “You are about to be inducted into a top secret group.” Their eyes widen in wonder. “This never happened.”

“What? What do you mean!” Both girls start to protest.

“We know it happened.” Shane gestures between the five of them, “But your parents won’t know.”

“Why?” Jade complains.

“Parents always want to be there for things like this. They’ll be so sad if they know it happened without them.” He holds out his pinkie, “Promise me that you will act surprised when he crawls in front of your parents.” The girls loop their pinkies around his and shake on it. Shane stands upright and runs both hands through his hair. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

“What do you mean?” Ilya asks, watching as Arthur crawls over to him. He accepts the baby and pats his tummy. 

“Both of you,” he points to the girls accusatorily, “Did this, too! The first time both of you walked was with me.”

“But mom has the first time we walked on camera at home.” Shane gives Ruby a look. “Right, the top secret group.”

“With how things are going, this will happen with your new sibling, too.” Shane sighs and ushers the girls out of the kitchen and into the bathroom for a quick bath.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door before Ilya hears the security code get punched in and Pike walks through. Pike squints at Ilya who is lying on his stomach, playing with Arthur and his baby toys. “Good morning,” Ilya says casually. 

“You’re hanging out with my baby.” 

“He’s a lot more enjoyable than you.” 

As Pike steps into the room, Arthur catches sight of his father and plops down onto his hands and knees to crawl over to him. Pike stares in amazement as Arthur reaches him. Just at the last moment, Ilya remembers to act surprised, too. 

“Holy shit, buddy.” Pike scoops his baby up and gives him a loud kiss on the cheek. He quickly looks over at Ilya with wide eyes and says, “That didn’t happen - Jackie can’t know.”

Ilya has to press his lips together to hide his smile. He nods his head, not trusting he wouldn’t laugh. He tosses a small ball at Pike that Arthur had been playing with before he came in. Pike easily catches it and hands the ball to the baby. 

They end up sitting in awkward silence on the floor with Arthur, who is blissfully unaware of the discomfort. Pike keeps looking like he’s going to say something to Ilya, before glancing at the bathroom where Shane is with the girls, and stopping himself. Ilya was starting to get annoyed by it. 

“Did you know that Shane has every single hockey card of mine? Not just ones from binder on bookshelf.” Ilya claps Arthur’s hands together, “He doesn’t have that many of you.”

“Rosanov-” That is the moment that the three exit the bathroom, Ruby and Jade wrapped in hooded cat towels. The girls sprint over to their dad when they spot him and immediately jump on Pike to get him wet. 

“Oh! Hi, Hayd. Didn’t know you’d be back so soon.” Shane smiles at the man. Pike looks between Shane and Ilya for a moment, before settling a hard gaze onto his best friend. Shane’s smile slowly slips from his face, “Sorry - I could have gotten them ready sooner.”

“That’s not it. We need to talk.”

Shane blinks, “Okay - is everything alright?”

Pike tells the girls to go pick out outfits and then stands from his spot on the floor. “Not really.”

Shane follows him to the table but Pike stops before sitting, irritatedly motioning for Ilya to follow them. “Oh, I am in trouble too?”

Shane and Ilya sit shoulder to shoulder across from Pike. “Look - I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you.” Pike motions between Shane and Ilya, “But whatever it is needs to stop.”

Ilya and Shane glance at each other, Shane’s eyes filled with worry. Ilya feels his jaw tighten in anticipation.

“What are you talking about?” Shane asks innocently.

“Don’t try to deflect, Shane. I’ve seen how the two of you have been attached at the hip this entire time. You’ve been obsessed with Rosanov for years! Why’d you have to pick now of all times to act on your stupid crush?” Shane’s face is tomato red at Pike’s words. “You have a wonderful, perfect girlfriend! Why would you even think about doing this to Rose?” Pike throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. 

“Wait- you’re problem is that you think I’m cheating on Rose?”

“I don’t think - I know!” Pike leans in, “I watched Rosanov’s livestream last night.”

“Did we kiss on livestream?” Ilya asks Shane.

“No, idiot.” Shane sighs out, relaxing a bit into his chair. 

“You were all over each other! Shane would never do that shit with someone else.”

“Oh my god.” Shane sighs, putting his head in his hands. They could overhear the girls playing in their bedroom - plotting to take down Dolittle Farts. 

“Yeah, you should feel guilty. Not only are you fucking Rosanov, you’re also being obvious about it.”

“He doesn’t do the fucking-”

“Ilya, I swear to god.” Shane cuts in.

“I don’t think you two are taking this seriously at all.”

“We won’t be stopping anytime soon, no.” Ilya smiles bitchily. 

“Shane, is he serious?”

Shane moves his hands to cup his cheeks so he can stare at Pike. “Are you serious?”

Pike adjusts his hold on Arthur to pull out his phone and pull up Rose’s contact. “I’ll call her right now.”

“Be my guest.” Shane challenges.

Pike stares at the two of them for a moment longer before hitting the call button and putting it on speakerphone. Ilya catches Shane quickly pull out his phone and text Rose under the table. He has to cover his mouth to hide a smile - Shane was obviously up to no good.

Rose picks up on the last ring. “Hi, Hayd! What’s up?”

“Hey, I know that I’m Shane’s best friend and you’re his girlfriend, so this might be a little awkward - but I needed to tell you something.”

“Uhhh, okay man. Is it, like, sexual?”

“What the fuck?”

“I don’t know. Just the way you put it. You don't, like, have a crush on Shane, do you?” Shane and Ilya try their best to keep their composure as Pike stares at the screen in disbelief. “I understand if you did, he’s a sweetheart.”

“No- no, that’s not what I need to tell you.”

“Okay, so what is it?”

“It’s Rosanov and Shane-” Pike starts.

“Oh, is this about them being friends? There’s no need to be upset about it. I think they’ve been friends for a while now. You’re still Shane’s best bud, don’t worry.” They hear some shuffling around on the other line, “Hey, I have to head out to a yoga class soon-”

“No! Stop, just listen to me.” Pike says exasperatedly.

“Alright,” Rose draws out. “What is it?”

“Shane and Rosanov have been sneaking around behind your back. They’re a thing!”

Ilya watches as Shane has to clamp his hand around his mouth at the theatrics that come after that reveal. Ilya slaps at his leg under the table as Rose puts on the act of her life. “You can’t be serious! Shane is the love of my life, how could he do this to me? He was talking about proposing this fall.” It sounded like she was about to cry. Ilya grabs onto Shane’s leg, hard, to keep himself together. “You’re not lying to me are you? Thank god I had to reschedule my tattoo appointment. I was going to get Shane’s name tattooed across my heart.” Shane was slowly breaking, Ilya couldn’t look at him or he would start to laugh, too. “What do you think I should do, Hayden? I really don’t want to stop seeing him - the sex is phenomenal.”

Ilya and Shane crack at the same time, laughing loudly at Rose’s act. She stops in her tirade, suddenly, and begins to laugh as well.

“What the fuck is going on?” Pike asks in bewilderment. 

Shane and Ilya are in no state to speak, so Rose has to say, “I already know about them, Hayden! I’m their fucking beard!” She hangs up the call with a sense of finality. 

“What?” Hayden yells out. 

Shane is clutching at his side and Ilya is on the floor when Cliff and Victor walk into the kitchen. “Morning, boys.” Victor greets. “Thanks for saving us some breakfast.”

“What’s going on?” Cliff asks.

“Am I the last to know that these two idiots are together?” Pike asks weakly.

“No, I don’t think Bennett or Vaughan know.” Victor says lightly. 

“What the fuck?”

On the ride over to the airport to their next media tour destination, Ilya asks in Russian, “What did you text Rose?”

Shane pulls out his phone from his pocket and shows him the text thread, “It’s okay, he figured it out. Just have fun with it.”

Ilya stares down at the text with an amused smile, “You mean she did that all on her own?”

“You’re surprised?”

Ilya glances up at Shane and gets caught in his warm gaze, “No.”

The guys arrive at the airport and are waiting on their private plane to be ready when Ilya’s phone starts to vibrate in his bag. He has to root around for it before finally grabbing ahold of the phone and pulling it out. He stares at the name on his screen - ‘Andrei’.

It had been a few weeks since his brother had last called him asking for money. He almost doesn’t accept the call, but he does at the last minute, just in case. 

“What do you want, Andrei?”

He catches Shane’s curious gaze from his seat opposite Ilya’s at their gate. He blinks at the silence on the other end.

“Andrei? What is it?”

He feels his breath pick up and his heart starts to beat harder in his chest. Shane is still watching him. The long pause on the other line is almost too much.

“He’s dead. Polina found him this morning.”

The call disconnects and Ilya is left staring at Shane. However his face must look causes the man to quickly stand and close the distance between them. Ilya reaches for Shane’s outstretched hand like a lifeline. The other guys were starting to notice something was wrong. He terribly would love to be alone in this moment.

“What happened?” Shane asks quietly.

Ilya works his throat before finally being able to say, “I need to go to Moscow.”

“Right now?” Ilya can only nod his head slightly. He felt overwhelmed by the worry in Shane’s eyes. Ilya watches Shane turn to the other players surrounding him and say, “We need to find a direct flight to Moscow that is leaving within the hour.” The guys quickly stand. “Text me what the different airlines say.”

“You used your captain voice.” Ilya says faintly. 

Shane sits in the chair next to him, not releasing his hand. “Baby, what do you need?” He squeezes Ilya’s hand tightly. “I don’t know what to do.”

Ilya blankly stares at their connected hands for a moment before looking up into Shane’s eyes. He felt numb - in shock. It didn’t feel like he was going to cry. He didn’t want to cry. What did he need? 

Slowly Ilya shifts towards Shane, until the man is able to figure out for the both of them what Ilya is asking for. Shane lets go of his hand, quickly sliding his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and pulling him in close. Ilya takes in the first deep breath of air in what feels like hours, but knows it is really only minutes. He hides his face against Shane’s neck, breathing in his cologne. 

He sighs when he feels Shane rest his cheek against the top of Ilya’s head, Shane’s arms a comfortable, grounding weight around him. They only shift when Shane’s phone starts to vibrate. Ilya watches him quickly find his glasses and start to look at the texts their friends had sent with boarding times. Ilya rests his head against Shane’s shoulder, rubbing the bridge of his nose back and forth against it. 

“There’s a flight boarding in 15 minutes at Gate B37. We can get you there in time. Scott is holding the spot for you.” Shane pulls Ilya up from their spot and grabs his luggage. “Come on, Ilyusha.” They make it to the gate with five minutes to spare. Ilya dazedly watches Shane pay for the first class seat, Scott staring at both of them worriedly. “It’s time,” Shane says, nodding at the priority passengers starting to be admitted through. 

Ilya stares at Shane, lost for words. He didn’t want to leave. He knew he had to leave. He wanted to kiss the man he loved in this busy airport. He knew he couldn’t do that. Shane places his luggage in front of him, quickly kissing the palm of his own hand before squeezing Ilya’s. A weak smile breaks through Ilya’s numbness. Shane had been thinking the same thing?

“Call me when you land - if you can.”

Ilya nods his head faintly before picking up his suitcase and turning towards the flight attendant. He turns and looks at Shane and Scott one last time before he fully exits the gate to board the plane.

He realizes, belatedly, when the plane has already taken off for the 12 hour flight that he never told Shane why he needed to leave. The flight is a blur. He knows he doesn’t sleep. He also can’t get himself to eat or even drink the decent vodka the flight has available. He should tell Shane when he lands - why he had to leave so suddenly. Knowing the man, he was probably worried sick. Why didn’t Ilya feel anything?

Ilya finds himself standing outside at arrivals, waiting for his car. The warm, humid air feels nice against his face. He crouches down, his knees to his chest, and pulls out his phone, calling Shane over their app before he even knows what to say.

“Just land?” Shane asks in lieu of greeting. He feels a tightness unfurl in his chest at the man’s voice.

“Yes.” There is a long pause, Shane giving Ilya a moment to say more.

When Ilya can’t find what to say, Shane goes on. “We got to Atlanta several hours ago. St-Simons almost got detained at the airport because of a bag check.”

“Why?”

“The girls put the rest of that pancake mix into his bag. Security was not very happy with finding an open bag of white powder.”

Ilya lets out a light huff of a laugh. “My father died.”

There’s a pause on the other line before Shane says, “I’m sorry. Was it expected?”

“He had been sick for a while now.” Ilya rubs at his face.

“Were you two close?” 

Oh, how much Ilya had kept from him. “I hated him.” He sighs, “It was different near the end. He had a hard time remembering. It almost felt easier.”

There’s more silence on the other end. “Did you tell Svetik?”

“No.”

“Want me to call her?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, baby.”

Ilya suffers through the first 24 hours back in his home city barely interacting with anyone. He lets Polina and Andrei know he’s in Moscow, but immediately heads to his apartment and stares at the ceiling as the night turns into day. He had gotten a text from Svetlana at 3 AM saying she would be there by that evening.

The front door unlocking and the sound of Svetlana coming in wakes him up - not realizing he had fallen asleep in the first place. Svetlana pulls him out of bed and forces him to shower, promising that she would order in some food.

The next couple of days also move in a blur - everything has a slight haze around it. It’s only when Andrei confronts him at a family dinner that Ilya is shaken out of whatever he had been in. He finds himself alone, in an underpass that he and his senior classes friends would hang out in after school. He stares down at his phone, Shane and his IM messages open. Call me anytime. I’ll pick up.

Ilya calls Shane, bringing the phone to his ear as he listens to it ring. Shane picks up on the second ring. “Hi, give me a second.” Ilya hears Shane move around, the buzzing sound of voices surrounding him. A heavy door is shut and Shane says, “Hi, baby.”

“Hi. Where are you?” 

“We’re in Dallas, doing some questions for the league.” There’s a pause before Shane asks, “Want to know what I’m wearing, too?”

Ilya huffs out a laugh, feeling tears burn at the backs of his eyes. “You are in a navy suit and white button down.”

“You don’t let me have any fun.”

“No?”

“No. How are you?”

“Okay- not good. Probably bad.” He slides down the concrete wall of the underpass. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Why?”

He finds that for the first time since he got the news, he can’t stop himself from speaking. He tells Shane the things that he never could before. Not everything, but a start. 

"I was never good enough. I'm still not good enough to them."  He sighs heavily and pulls at his curls with a hand in his hair to feel something real, "Once mom died, it all got worse. I'd spend most of my time at friends houses or hockey rinks if I wasn't at school." Ilya hears Shane breathe in sharply, but he keeps going, "They would take and take from me. Always wanted more." He lets his hand slip out of his hair and fall limply in his lap. "I don't have anything here anymore. Svetik is the only person holding me here, now, but she's in the States more than she's ever back home." He swallows hard. "Russia doesn't feel like home."

“Where is ‘home’ now?” 

Ilya pauses at that question. Shane always asked so many questions. Sometimes Ilya thought the answer should be obvious.

“You.”

He hears Shane take in a breath on the other line. “Me?”

“Idiot.” Shane laughs at that, but Ilya can tell the man is crying. Ilya wipes at his own face to find tears streaming down his face. “I’ll be back in a week. Can you pick me up in Toronto?”

“Toronto?”

“That’s the closest airport to your cottage, right?”

He hears a gasp on the other line. “Right.”

Chapter End Notes

That's all for now, folks!
Stay tuned for Part 2. 😊

Please let me know if there's anything you're hoping to see in the next part!