Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Wyatt Hayes, Zane Boodram, Troy Barrett, Luca Haas, Evan Dykstra, LaPointe (Game Changers), Holmberg (Game Changers), Young (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Texting Fic, Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Bickering, Living Together, Fluff and Humor, Blow Jobs, Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Moving in Together, Idiots in Love

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-24 Words: 18,340 Chapters: 1/1

Getting There

Summary

Ilya: shane
Ilya: [image attached - button up silk shirt laid out on a bed]
Ilya: ???!!!!

Jane: Why did you send me a picture of your shirt?

Ilya: [image attached - Ilya’s torso with the shirt on, which is very obviously too small. The buttons will not close and the sleeves are squeezing Ilya’s arms]
Ilya: why is it fucking ant sized?!?!

Jane: Oh my god
Jane: I’m sorry that is hilarious. What happened to your shirt?

Ilya: you tell me!!!!

Jane: I mean, it was in your laundry pile, so I probably washed it with the rest of the clothes.

Ilya: …
Ilya: shane
Ilya: please tell me you did not put all my laundry through the machine at home

OR: Shane and Ilya finally live together after over a decade apart. Turns out living with the love of your life is a lot harder than the movies make it seem.

(OR: 5 times Shane and Ilya bicker over household things that you never know can piss you off until you are living with someone who does them.)

Notes

See end for more details (including the topics of the fights if that might bother you)! It's all lighthearted and in good spirits I promise, they're just adjusting to living together and it takes some time.

Long time listener first time caller etc. Big fan of the idea of these two learning the difficulties of cohabitation and fighting over the dumbest shit in the world that never bothers anyone until you move in with someone and all of a sudden, nothing has ever been more serious than pasta in an old yogurt container. I have personally been both the perpetrator and the victim in all of these scenarios (i think) and can attest to the irrational and all-consuming rage that one might feel.

Let me know what you think!

1.

Ilya is having the best dream.

He and Shane are racing each other on the ice, helmets off, Shane’s hair flowing in the wind as he jostles Ilya to get ahead of him. Their teammates are at the benches, banging their sticks and goading them on. Ilya grins and digs his blades into the ice, his quads screaming at him as he catches up to Shane, pushing him back. On the other side of the ice, he catches sight of David playing with Anya, which - okay, it doesn’t make sense, but it’s very cute and it’s his dream, so whatever. Everyone is laughing and happy, and Ilya catches Shane by the back of his pants, tugging on his hip to force him to turn around, and suddenly they are kissing, and Ilya’s heart is racing, and-

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Ilya wakes with a gasp, his heart thumping in his chest. It takes him a second to get his bearings, the obnoxiously loud noise startling him awake and triggering his fight or flight. It’s still dark out, which means it’s entirely too early for him to be awake. Worse than that, the sound is still fucking happening. It’s unreasonably loud, and yet, somehow, when Ilya pats the space on the bed next to him, he finds Shane still sound asleep. Ilya groans and shoves his shoulder, which causes Shane to stir slowly.

“Turn off that fucking siren,” he groans, his voice thick with sleep. He rolls onto his side away from Shane, folding his pillow over his ears.

Eventually, after what feels like 45 minutes (but is more likely 10 seconds), the absolute atrocity that is Shane’s alarm is silenced. He feels a hand squeeze his bicep. “Sorry,” Shane murmurs, the sound garbled a bit by his pillow earmuffs. “Good morning.”

Ilya drops his pillow, still feeling a bit miffed as he shuts his eyes again, mostly out of spite. “Not morning yet, I am going back to sleep.”

Shane chuckles as he rolls out of bed. “Fine, good night then.” Shane makes his way over to the en-suite, the door closing behind him, yet not doing nearly enough to muffle the sound of Shane’s morning piss, followed by the sink and his electric toothbrush. Every sound feels amplified to Ilya’s already irritated ears.

Ilya rolls onto his back again with a huff. He is too agitated to be able to fall back asleep, and his own alarm is due to go off in 45 minutes anyways. Instead of getting up, however, he lies there and contemplates every life choice that has led to this exact moment.

He loves Shane. More than anything in the world. More than he knew it was possible to love something. More than he ever thought he was capable of. He also loves living with Shane. They cohabitate well - they’re both clean, they never get tired of each other, they also don’t need to be together and are able to be apart without issue. They divide the household chores fairly, and are both pretty flexible with picking up the slack to help each other out. They’re a team, and Ilya wouldn’t have it any other way.

He especially loves getting to share a bed with Shane, something that, despite being together for over a decade, is a fairly new development for them. They’re both pretty cuddly, and they share the covers reasonably well, and there is truly nothing quite like getting to hold the love of your life at the end of a long day. It’s just that… well. If Ilya has to hear that fucking air raid siren one more time, he’s going to hunt down its inventor and light them on fire.

In the early years of their relationship, they never had sleepovers, so it was never an issue. At the cottage, Shane rarely cared to set an alarm, mostly just leaving the blinds open and allowing the natural sunlight to wake him gently and peacefully. Ilya isn’t bothered by light - he could probably fall asleep on Icarus’ back and not be bothered - but he usually wasn’t far behind Shane on their slow, syrupy cottage mornings, as he is a light sleeper, and they were generally on the same schedule anyways. In the regular season, when they were still in the closet and their time together was limited to hours at best, they were both operating on minimal sleep, waking up at all hours to catch flights and make drives and do whatever else they could to maintain their secret while spending as much time together as possible.

But now they live together. And they play together, which means they also travel together, and generally almost never have a reason to not be sharing a bed. Which, again, Ilya is incredibly grateful for. However, it also means that they have stricter schedules. Routines. More responsibilities. They can just exist in the same space, rather than trying to crawl into the other’s skin, or focusing on making every moment meaningful. Despite being a light sleeper himself, Ilya knows that Shane sleeps like a fucking log. It makes sense, really - he works incredibly hard all day, both physically and mentally, and the second his body is able to relax and decompress, it jumps at the opportunity. He’s one of those people who falls asleep the second their head hits the pillow, and stays asleep until they are forced awake by a sound rivalling a jet engine. This wouldn’t be an issue, except for the fact that Shane goes to bed earlier than Ilya, and subsequently wakes up earlier than him, enjoying some time in the morning for yoga or to take Anya for a walk. Which really means that Ilya goes to bed later than Shane, and then nearly has a heart attack every morning when he is inevitably ripped from his slumber at the same time as Shane, entirely against his will. And as it turns out, being sleep deprived and jump scared on a daily basis is getting to Ilya more than he thought it would.

By the time he drags himself out of bed and down the stairs, Shane is in the process of making himself a coffee, looking entirely well rested. Ilya scowls.

“Oh hey, I thought it wasn’t morning yet,” Shane says with a cheeky little grin.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Ilya mutters as he shuffles over to make his own coffee. He pulls two shots of espresso on their fancy automated machine (thank you Troy and Harris), dumping some vanilla creamer in the mug before sitting at one of the barstools and essentially chugging it all in one go, savouring the burn on his throat. He gets back up to make himself another one, ignoring Shane’s judgmental grimace. He’ll be fine in a few minutes, once the caffeine has a chance to do its job and Ilya’s had a hot shower and starts to feel a bit more like a human. But for right now, he’s grumpy and tired and annoyed, and just needs to sit in silent self-pity for a few moments.

Shane, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on that. “You sleep okay?” He asks, which Ilya knows is well-intentioned, but he’s grumpy, so instead he looks at Shane like he grew a second head overnight.

“You cannot seriously be asking me this right now.”

Shane’s brows furrow. “What’s wrong?”

Ilya sighs. “Nothing. Just tired. Just need to shower and I’ll be fine.”

Shane eyes him for a moment, before coming over and kissing the top of Ilya’s head. “Alright, if you say so. Let me know if you need anything, I’m going to walk Anya.” Shane puts the lid on his travel mug. “Maybe tonight you should go to bed a little earlier, so you don’t wake up like a zombie tomorrow.”

He walks away to grab Anya’s leash, so he doesn’t see Ilya shooting daggers at his back with his eyes.
___________

BEEP BEEP BEEP

It’s not even a gentle noise, like birds chirping, or some nice instrumental music. It genuinely sounds like a fog horn. Oh god, Ilya is suddenly sure that Shane chose it because it reminds him of a goal horn. He’s so horny for that sound. He starts his days horny and elated because he’s hearing the best noise in the world, apparently, while Ilya is doomed to suffer for eternity -

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Ilya kicks Shane in the shin, earning himself an “ow, what the fuck?” that he doesn’t even feel bad about.

“Turn that fucking thing off before I throw it out the fucking window.”

“Alright, relax,” Shane mutters, mercifully silencing his alarm. “You should get up too, we’ve gotta get to the rink by 9.”

Ilya squints one eye open to check his phone. The screen reads 6:04. He slams his head back into his pillow. “I’m going to throw myself out the fucking window.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Get up, you big baby.”

They get to the rink at 8:45 at Shane’s insistence. Personally, Ilya is a firm believer in showing up somewhere at the time you are expected to be there, but Shane prefers to be a bit early, so generally Ilya doesn’t mind accommodating him. Usually. However, even if the goal was to be there at 8:45, before Shane moved in, Ilya would’ve woken up at 7:45, showered, grabbed his shit, and been on the road by 8:15, stopping to grab a coffee on the way. He’d call Shane from the road, and then he’d call David or Yuna to let them know he left so that they could arrange to pick up Anya. Maybe he’d wake up at 7:30 if he had to bring her to the dog hotel. There’s absolutely no reason for a 6 am start time on a day like today. They’re among the first ones there, outside of Wiebe and Harris (who are paid to be there early), and Luca (who is basically Shane ten years ago). Even Troy isn’t there yet. Ilya stomps up the steps of the bus and plops himself in a window seat, heaving a (mildly dramatic) sigh as he tilts his head against the window, closing his eyes.

Over the next 20 minutes or so, the rest of the team filters onto the bus. He feels someone sit down next to him, and he knows it’s Shane by the smell of his shampoo, or maybe it’s by the fact that he can feel his eyes boring into the side of his skull. Ilya doesn’t bother to confirm, opting to keep his eyes closed. Beneath them, the bus rumbles into motion.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” Shane says. Ilya swivels his head to glare at him.

“Oh, thank you for letting me know,” Ilya replies sarcastically.

Shane narrows his eyes at him. “Jeez, what’s got you so grumpy?”

Ilya tips his head back against the headrest. “Tired.”

“I told you to go to bed earlier,” Shane informs him, arching an eyebrow.

Ilya just stares at him, feeling very irritable. “Shane, I could go to bed at fucking 7 pm and I would still wake up pissed because of that fucking alarm.”

“What? What’s wrong with the alarm?”

Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Are you fucking with me? It’s louder than the warning siren before the… ugh, the fucking spinning wind. смерч.” Ilya throws his hand in the air in a distinctly Slavic way, frustrated at how bad his English gets when he’s exhausted.

Shane rolls his eyes. “Tornado. And you’re insane, it’s not that loud.”

“I can’t believe I never heard it while you were in Montreal.”

“Because you were usually the one setting an alarm to leave early in Montreal.”

“No, I mean I can’t believe I couldn’t hear it from Ottawa.”

Shane scoffs. “Oh, fuck off. Maybe you should try waking up earlier.”

“There is no ‘try’! I already do, every single day! Why do you even need to be up so early? Fuck.”

“What the fuck do you want me to do? I have to wake up, I have shit to do.”

“Get another fucking alarm!” Ilya whisper-yells. He feels like pulling his hair out.

“What’s going on back here?”

Ilya and Shane both snap their heads towards the sound of Wyatt’s voice. He’s standing in the aisle next to their seats, brows raised.

“Dad and dad are having a domestic,” LaPointe points out calmly. Ilya notices for the first time that he’s fully turned in his seat, watching Shane and Ilya over his headrest, Young’s face inches away in the other seat, like two kindergarteners on a school bus, only much dumber. “Wanna join?”

Shane rolls his eyes. “We’re not having a domestic. Ilya is just being a whiny baby.”

Ilya prays to the stars above for some patience, throwing in a few Russian expletives under his breath. Shane glares at him, which tells him that he was probably a bit louder than he intended.

“Actually, being a bitch is essential to a domestic,” Young adds. “It doesn’t count unless it’s peak bitchiness over some real stupid shit.”

“Nobody’s being a bitch,” Shane replies, and Ilya snorts. Shane whips his head over to glare at him. “You’re such an asshole.”

Young and LaPointe share a look, both their mouths twitching. Young nods. “Right, my bad, carry on.”

“Turn around before I show you some real stupid shit,” Ilya threatens.

“That doesn’t even mean anything, moron,” Shane mutters, which makes LaPointe and Young snicker.

“What are you not having a domestic about?” Wyatt asks, taking the seat across the aisle from Shane.

“Hollzy’s alarm,” LaPointe informs him. “Apparently Cap can hear it from outer space.”

“And Roz likes to sleep in, so he’s extra bitchy about being woken up early too.” Ilya at least has the decency to feel a little sheepish that their whole not-domestic was apparently a lot louder than he thought.

“That is true, he’s always been a night owl,” Wyatt points out.

“Does this need to be a group affair?” Shane interjects, grimacing slightly. Ilya’s inclined to feel the same way.

Dykstra pops his head out from the seat beside Wyatt. “Too late. If you’re gonna argue in a public space, we have the right to involve ourselves against your will.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “No one is arguing, fuck off. You all gossip like old ladies.”

“Let’s hear the alarm,” Wyatt suggests. Ilya would be agitated that he was completely ignored, but he pauses at the suggestion. He looks at Shane expectantly.

Shane scoffs and fishes his phone out of his pocket, looking incredibly annoyed. “Fine, if it’ll make everyone shut up about it, I’ll play my alarm.”

“Careful, everyone, make sure you put on some ear protection first,” Ilya warns because he is, fundamentally, a bitch. Shane thumps him on the thigh in reprimand, setting an alarm for one minute from now.

“You’re all so fucking irritating.”

Everyone waits with bated breath while the seconds count down. After a few moments, the peace is disrupted by the sound that haunts Ilya’s dreams.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Ilya watches with absolute vindication as the four other hockey players react to what is irrefutably the worst noise in the world. Young and LaPointe’s jaws both drop in disbelief. Wyatt’s eyebrows go up to his hairline. Dykstra claps a hand over his mouth. Shane, realizing pretty much immediately that he has not come out on top of this one, starts to fumble with his phone, but Ilya snatches it out of his hand before he can turn it off.

“No, no, Shane, let’s play it for ten more minutes like you normally do, give them the full experience.” He’s grinning widely, feeling like the cat who got the cream.

“Yo, turn that shit off before I slap someone,” Bood yells from the front of the bus. Ilya’s grin gets wider.

Shane yanks his arm down, pulling his phone out of Ilya’s hand and silencing the alarm. His cheeks are bright red.

“Jesus fuck, Hollzy, you got a medical condition or something? What the fuck was that?” Young asks, horror still evident on his face.

“I gotta be honest,” Dykstra says. “I really did not want to side with Roz on this one, because I know from experience that he can be a mean bitch when he’s tired, but...”

Wyatt looks a bit sheepish. “Yeah, it’s not great. Sorry, Shane.”

“My brain feels itchy,” LaPointe adds, his eyes squinted. “Why is it so… that?”

“See? I am not crazy, Shane. The alarm is terrible.”

Shane huffs, standing up from his seat. “Fine, sleep on your own then, and wake up whenever you want. See if I care.” He stomps off to the front of the bus, taking a seat next to Luca.

“Don’t worry, Cap,” Young says, patting Ilya on the shoulder. “You can share with us tonight if you want.”

“Will you blow me in the morning too?”

“Only if you buy us dinner first.”
___________

They get to the airport soon after, boarding their plane for the short flight to Detroit. Their game isn’t until the next afternoon, which means they’ll mostly just have team meetings today, maybe dinner in the evening. Shane and Ilya sit separately, which Ilya doesn’t love, but it’s probably for the best to avoid another team-wide argument. He is able to take a short nap, waking only when the overhead announces that they’re preparing to land. Ilya shifts a bit in his seat - ever since the near-crash earlier that year, he’s been a bit antsy when it comes to landing. His leg starts bouncing a bit under his palm. Suddenly, a warm hand slides under the one resting on Ilya’s thigh, squeezing his fingers firmly. Ilya looks over to Shane, his heart melting into a puddle of goo in his chest. He leans over and presses a kiss to Shane’s temple.

“I love you,” he murmurs softly.

“I know.”
__________

They get to their hotel room in silence. Frankly, Ilya isn’t sure how serious Shane was about him finding somewhere else to sleep, so he hovers in the doorway, watching Shane drop his bag on the desk before hanging their linen bag in the closet.

“Do you want me to go?” Ilya asks. Shane turns around to look at him.

“Do you… want to go?”

Ilya shakes his head. “No. But I will if you want some space.”

Shane sighs. “I don’t want space. I just feel bad that I keep ruining your mornings and making you so tired.”

Ilya shrugs. “My morning could never be ruined if you are there.” He grimaces. “Tired… maybe, but this is not only your fault.”

Shane sits on the edge of the bed, fiddling with his own fingers in his lap. “I just don’t know what to do to fix it. I can’t help it that I sleep so deeply.”

Ilya sits next to him, taking his hand. “I know, moya lyubov. I know you do not mean to wake me up. We are just… adjusting. Getting used to things. Will take time.”

“There has to be some sort of middle ground, though, you can’t be sleep-deprived for the rest of your life.” The corner of his mouth turns up a bit. “Dykstra wasn’t lying when he said you’re a mean bitch when you’re tired.”

“Ignoring that,” Ilya says, knocking his shoulder into Shane’s. “What about… can you pick another sound? Or lower the volume a bit? Or… rotate through different sounds? And I can try getting used to waking up earlier.”

“I won’t be mad if you want to sleep somewhere else,” Shane tells him, playing with Ilya’s fingers now instead. “Tonight, or any night.”

“Shane, you know I’m not going to do that.” He uses his free hand to tilt Shane’s face towards him. “I love sleeping with you. I sleep so much better when I can hold you. I would take your rocket-launcher alarm over Dykstra’s stinky farts any day, trust me.”

“Ew.”

Ilya smirks. “I would still choose you even if you had the alarm and the stinky farts.”

Shane shoves him, laughing. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“I’m serious!”

“Sorry, but if you’re having nasty farts, I’m kicking your ass out.”

Ilya gasps, bringing a hand to his chest in mock-affront. “Wow, it really is the ones you think love you.”

Shane laughs and turns his face into Ilya’s shoulder. “Fuck off. You know I sleep better with you too. Maybe that’s why I sleep so hard.”

“Ah, so it’s my fault?”

“Obviously.”

Ilya kisses the top of Shane’s head. “We are okay?”

Shane looks up at him. “Yeah, we’re okay. I’m sorry that I snapped at you. We’ll figure it out, okay? There has to be a solution here.”

“I know.”
__________

The next morning, Ilya is having yet another wonderful dream. They’re back on the ice, except this time, Ilya’s back is pressed against the boards, and Shane is on his knees in front of him, his head bobbing up and down on Ilya’s cock. It feels amazing - it always does, Shane is truly an expert at sucking Ilya’s dick. There’s already a heat building low in his belly, and he’s doing his best to grip the boards so he doesn’t fall down, but his hands only find a smooth fabric instead. He squeezes it in his palms, groaning as his cock hits the back of Shane’s throat. Fuck, it feels so good. Slowly, Ilya starts to become more aware of the dream, like his brain is telling him he’s waking up before he really knows it. He keeps chasing the feeling of Shane’s tongue, his lips wet and pink as they slide up and down Ilya’s length. He tries desperately to cling to this subconscious nirvana because the fire is burning hotter in his stomach, he is so close. He thrashes his legs a bit, which strikes him as strange because last he checked, he was upright against the boards. He rolls his hips upwards, into the tantalizing heat of Shane’s mouth, gasping as he realizes he’s looking at the back of his own eyelids, which is crazy, because he still feels so good -

His eyes shoot open as it hits him that he is no longer dreaming. He gasps, looking down at where Shane is currently between his legs, sucking him off. Jesus christ.

“What the fuck-“ he whispers in awe, watching Shane with wide eyes. Shane pulls off with a pop.

“Morning,” he says cheekily before diving right back in. Ilya reaches down to pet Shane’s hair back. God, he is so in love with this man.

“Fuck, Hollander, is this your solution?”

Shane backs off again to grin at him. “One of them.” He dips down a bit lower to mouth at Ilya’s balls, stroking his cock slowly with his hand.

“Well let me just say, I am a fan.”

Shane chuckles, his breath hot against Ilya’s skin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

__________

When they get home from their road trip a few days later, there’s a package sitting on their front steps.

“Oh, perfect!” Shane exclaims, shuffling the things in his arms to pick up the box. Ilya reaches over to take Shane’s bag from him before unlocking the door.

“What did you get?”

“It’s for you, actually. Well, for both of us, I guess.” Shane follows him inside.

“Ah, Hollander, you spoil me, I think.”

Shane chuckles, dropping his bag on the floor by the door and taking the key from Ilya’s hand to slice the packing tape. Ilya watches him curiously as he pulls another box out.

“Look!” Shane says, holding it up in front of Ilya excitedly. Ilya looks at the packaging of what appears to be… a round lamp. He raises an eyebrow. “Bood told me about it. It’s an alarm clock, but it apparently mimics the sunrise or something, so it helps you wake up more gently. And, it doesn’t play an obnoxious sound to do it. I just figured since, you know, at the cottage, I wake up with the sun, and you never do, so maybe this will help. I don’t know if it will be perfect, but I figured I could at least try it and see if it works?”

Ilya looks at Shane with a look that he knows his team would make fun of him for. He can’t help it. No one has ever made him feel so… seen. Cared about. He almost definitely has heart eyes. Fuck, it’s almost overwhelming how loved he feels when Shane is around. He takes Shane by the chin, kissing him on the mouth softly.

“I am very spoiled. I love you.”

Shane smiles at him. “I love you too.”

_________

The next morning, Ilya wakes up to the artificial sound of birds chirping, which is the audio clip he’d deemed as the perfect alarm sound nearly five years ago and has not deviated from ever since. He stretches, feeling ready to get his day started. He turns off his alarm, noting the time on the screen - 7:15 am. He also has a text from Shane.

Jane: I took Anya for a walk. Mission: success :) I think we found our solution.

Ilya: I was a fan of option one
Ilya: but this works too <3 thank you

____________

2.

On Sunday morning, Shane gets home from his run absolutely starving. Ilya had left the house just as Shane was tying his shoes, apparently getting brunch with a few of the WAGs, much to his delight. Ever since Shane moved to Ottawa, Ilya had taken it upon himself to become integrated with the WAGs, and they accepted him with open arms. Technically, as Ilya often pointed out, Shane could also be a WAG if he wanted to, but he was still getting to know his teammates, and didn’t really want to jump in too deep. Also, if he was honest with himself, the WAGs kind of scared him a bit.

In any case, he’s on his own for breakfast this morning. He takes a huge swig from his water bottle, wiping the sweat off his face with the hem of his t-shirt, before deciding to just take it off entirely. He opens the fridge, scanning it for a few meal options before noticing a container of cottage cheese on the bottom shelf. That could work. He pulls it out, tosses a piece of grain toast into the toaster, and waits, grabbing the other things he needs. When his toast pops up, he tosses it onto his plate, stomach rumbling. He grabs his spoon and the cottage cheese, popping the lid off only to find -

Stir fry?

Admittedly, he’s a little stumped, because he can’t understand why he’s looking at veggies and chicken breast rather than lumpy cottage cheese. He turns back to the fridge, digging around for another container of cottage cheese, which he thankfully finds on the top shelf. Having been burned once already, however, he opens it immediately, disappointment washing through him at the sight of white rice. Feeling a little agitated now, he tosses that one on the counter, and starts pulling out any container he can find. He’s able to round up two more cottage cheese containers and one yogurt container, and yet, somehow, he is left with exactly zero yogurt and cottage cheese. He huffs, closing the fridge a little harder than necessary, his toast completely forgotten on the counter.

He bought nice glass tupperware for a reason. It’s all the same shape and size, and it stacks nicely, and you can heat up the containers well, and they’re all dishwasher safe. And also, most importantly, you can see what’s inside of them from the outside. Frustratedly, Shane abandons his quest for some sort of food, opting for a protein shake instead. He gets all the supplies onto the counter and reaches up to grab the protein powder off the top of the fridge. The second his hand closes around the powder, he freezes, a white hot rage burning through him, because it’s suspiciously light. He yanks it down and twists the lid off, and he almost laughs. In fact, he does laugh. There’s a light dusting of powder at the bottom that Shane doubts is enough for even half a shake. He’s seeing red. He grips the edge of the counter with both hands, trying to talk himself off the murderous ledge he’s landed on, when a noise from the other room startles him.

“I’m home!” He hears Ilya shout, followed by the front door closing, and Anya’s nails clopping against the hardwood as she runs over to greet him. “Hi, sweet girl, how was your morning?” Shane takes a deep breath, laughing without humour at his husband’s impeccable timing. He stays facing away from the entryway as Ilya enters the house.

Ilya wolf whistles from behind him. “Wow, good morning to me.”

Confused, Shane whirls around to face him, only to find Ilya much closer than he expected. Ilya’s eyes are on Shane’s bare chest, which reminds Shane that he’s half naked. Right. Truthfully, he wants to put his shirt back on now, but it’s all sweaty and gross and he’d rather peel his own skin off. Ilya grips Shane by the hips, backing him up against the counter.

Shane slaps his hands away. “Ugh, get off of me.”

Ilya pouts. Shane rolls his eyes and moves away from him. Ilya follows him like a lost puppy. “Are you mad at me?”

The question is so… innocent, like a little kid asking their parent if they’re upset after they made a mistake. Shane huffs out an incredulous laugh, spinning to face Ilya again. This time, though, his vision is a little less red, and he takes Ilya in a bit more fully. His curls are a little ruffled, his eyes a little glassy. He really is honest to god pouting, a crease forming in between his brows and his lips turned down in the corners. Between how he looks, and the way he’s acting…

“Oh my god, are you drunk?” Shane asks, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“No!” Ilya denies immediately. He tips his head to the side a bit, his lip pulling at the corner. “I might be a bit tipsy.”

“Ilya! Are you serious? It’s not even 11 am!”

“We went for brunch! I am told this is what you do at brunch with the ladies. Gossip and drink mimosas.”

“Jesus. Did you drive here?”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Yes, but with my eyes closed so the road wouldn’t spin.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Obviously I did not drive - Cassie dropped me off.”

Shane glares at him, glad that Ilya was responsible and safe, but also too annoyed about the other thing to give him any praise for it, so he doesn’t say anything. Ilya takes a seat at the barstool. He glances around the island, which is still covered in various open containers.

“How was your morning? Did you eat yet?”

In a cruel twist of cosmic fate, Shane’s stomach growls in response. “No, I didn’t eat yet, even though I’m starving, because I can’t find a single fucking thing in this kitchen!”

Ilya frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

Shane presses the heels of his palms into his eyes hard enough to see stars, groaning. He gestures wildly at the countertop. “What the hell is all this? I was trying to have some toast with cottage cheese, but all I could find was fucking stir fry and rice!”

Ilya grimaces in disgust. “Cottage cheese on toast is a horrible breakfast.”

Shane ignores him. “Why are you putting leftovers in cottage cheese containers instead of in the nice, clear tupperware that we bought specifically for food?”

Ilya looks at him like he’s the crazy one. He shrugs. “I have always done this. It’s a perfectly good container, why throw it out?”

“Because we have perfectly good containers for this! And don’t even get me started on the protein powder! If there’s nothing left in there, throw it out!”

“There’s enough in there for one more shake!” Ilya says, far too confidently.

Shane thinks he might lose it. He feels like he is actually going insane. It’s so stupid - he knows it’s so stupid, and he also knows that it’s maybe not fair to yell at Ilya, especially when he’s drunk, but he’s just so annoyed. All his muscles feel tight, and his skin feels itchy and hot, and he’s irrationally angry over fucking cottage cheese and yogurt. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Ilya,” he starts, slowly and quietly. He looks back up at Ilya, whose eyebrows are raised, looking absolutely bewildered. “If we run out of shit, please put it on the grocery list, rather than back where it came from. And definitely don’t clean it out and fill it with something else!”

“It is all on the list! Did you check?”

Truthfully, Shane hadn’t, but that’s not the point. He checks the white board on the side of the fridge a bit reluctantly. Sure enough, underneath морковь written in Shane’s shaky cyrillic, he sees творог as well as yogurt and protein powder. Their grocery trips are generally a fun little game, and a great way for Shane to practice his Russian - usually they walk around the store together, Ilya pointing at various items and Shane naming them in Russian. Their list is usually a blend of both English and Russian, another good way for Shane to practice his reading and writing. Sometimes, Ilya will challenge him to only speak in Russian at the grocery store, which almost inevitably leads to them having sex before they can even put the groceries away once they get home. Shane speaking Russian makes Ilya painfully horny, and doing a good job at something makes Shane painfully horny, so it’s a win-win.

“Okay, fine, it’s on the list, but just - still!” He starts stuffing the lids back on the various containers on the counter, too embarrassed to look at Ilya right now and see his smug little grin about being right, and also too annoyed and hungry to just snap out of his current mood. “I’ll just go get everything now.” He walks out of the kitchen in search of a new shirt, ignoring the way his skin crawls at the thought of putting clean clothes on his sweaty body. He needs to shower, but he also needs to go get groceries, and he needs to stop snapping at his husband.

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just go,” he snaps. Well, that didn’t last long.

He doesn’t get very far before a large hand is encircling his wrist. Shane yanks his hand free, but turns around to face Ilya once more. “What,” he huffs, avoiding looking him in the eye.

“Shane.”

“What, Ilya?”

Ilya pinches his chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, forcing Shane to look at him. His eyes are wide and earnest. “Shane. I do not understand why yogurt cups have you so upset, but if you want me to throw them out, I throw out, okay? No big deal.” He shrugs. “We are very rich, I do not care about a few containers, is just habit from before.” He cups Shane’s jaw with his palm, stroking his thumb soothingly across his cheek. Shane keeps looking at him, some of the tension leaving his own shoulders at the touch. “And if you want me to replace protein powder when it’s only half gone, I can do this. Very easy. Just tell me next time, okay? Instead of chewing my head off. I love you and I want you to be happy, and this is easy fix.” He ducks down to kiss the tip of Shane’s nose.

“Biting,” Shane mumbles.

“Hm?”

“It’s biting, not chewing.”

Ilya smirks a bit. “If you want me to bite you, all you have to do is ask.”

Shane fights off a smile. “Fuck off.”

Ilya smiles at him. “We can go to grocery store later and get 100 tubs of cottage cheese. Maybe even big bucket. And I will be passenger princess and carry the bucket home in my lap for safe keeping, because I did not think I could get so fucked off mimosas.” He puffs his cheeks out, blowing out an incredulous breath.

Shane heaves a big sigh, sinking his face into the side of Ilya’s neck. Ilya’s warm arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him close. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“Is okay, solnyshko. All good.”

“I’m just grumpy and hungry and annoyed.”

Ilya hums. “Ah, I almost forgot, I have perfect thing for this.” He lets go of Shane, running off towards the front door before jogging back with a takeout container in his hand, a wide grin on his face. He pops open the container to reveal four sphere-shaped… somethings. “Protein balls,” Ilya supplies. “They had them at the restaurant. They looked fucking disgusting, so I figured you would love them.”

Shane feels his face melt into something incredibly sappy, despite the jab. “Ugh, I hate when you’re nice to me when I’m being a huge bitch. Thank you.”

Ilya chuckles, grabbing one of the balls with his fingers and holding it to Shane’s mouth. “I love when you are huge bitch. Makes the sex very hot.” Shane snorts as he takes a bite of the snack in front of him. Fuck, it is very good. It’s mildly sweet, a bit chocolatey, with maybe a hint of coconut.

“Mmm, these are good, thank you.”

Ilya, who had popped the rest of the protein ball into his own mouth, grimaces around his mouthful. He looks at Shane like he’s a bit crazy. “Yes, so very good.” He swallows. “Although I think I prefer your balls in my mouth instead.”

“Ugh, gross,” Shane groans, even as he grabs another protein ball. Ilya winks at him.

“Speaking of gross - go shower, you stink. Then we will go to grocery store and I will tell you all about my bottomless brunch.”

Shane’s brow furrows as he swallows his bite. “Did they change that? I didn’t realize they did unlimited food there, it’s pretty high-end.”

Ilya looks at him with such a cheeky expression that Shane pauses mid-chew, eyeing him suspiciously. “They don’t.”

Shane groans out loud. Ilya bursts out laughing at his own joke, clutching his stomach. “God, that was terrible, even for you. I hate that I know you’ve been waiting to say that all morning, you loser.”

Ilya grins, swatting Shane on the hip. “Mmm, no, I said it pretty much the second we sat at the table. Big laughs, huge hit with the ladies. Even better the second time around.”

“I hate you so much.”

Ilya blows him a kiss. “Go shower, nasty, before I lick you clean.”

____________

3.
Ilya: shane
Ilya: [image attached - button up silk shirt laid out on a bed]
Ilya: ???!!!!

Jane: Why did you send me a picture of your shirt?

Ilya: [image attached - Ilya’s torso with the shirt on, which is very obviously too small. The buttons will not close and the sleeves are squeezing Ilya’s arms]
Ilya: why is it fucking ant sized?!?!

Jane: Oh my god
Jane: I’m sorry that is hilarious. What happened to your shirt?

Ilya: you tell me!!!!

Jane: I mean, it was in your laundry pile, so I probably washed it with the rest of the clothes.

Ilya: …
Ilya: shane
Ilya: please tell me you did not put all my laundry through the machine at home

Jane: ?
Jane: What are you talking about? Your clothes were dirty and I was doing a load of laundry.

Ilya: fuck fuck fuck shane
Ilya: why did you not leave it for dry cleaning?! she was supposed to come pick up last week!!

Jane: Because it’s insane to pay someone hundreds of dollars to wash your clothes when we literally have a washing machine in our home?

Ilya: fuck shit all my shirts are fucked
Ilya: and my pants
Ilya: i know your fashion sense is terrible but do you understand what happens to nice clothes when you wash them and dry them in high heat
Ilya: THEY SHRINK
Ilya: very fancy materials have to be handled by very fancy care instructions

Jane: Shit, I’m sorry. Most of my clothes are safe to wash normally, and I just hang a few to dry. I tried to check the tags! Yours just didn’t have any care instructions on the neck tag so I figured they were safe.

Ilya: oh my god i’m going to die young
Ilya: shane these are designer clothes they do not have care tags at the neck
Ilya: this is not fucking fruit of loom
Ilya: they are sewn into the sides or other seams
Ilya: hand wash in cold water
Ilya: do not soak
Ilya: do not bleach
Ilya: do not tumble dry
Ilya: do not natural dry

Jane: Alright, relax. Come on. Do you really expect me to believe you were doing all of that with all of your fancy clothes?

Ilya: NO I WAS NOT
Ilya: I WAS LEAVING IT IN THE HANDS OF A TRUSTED PROFESSIONAL

Jane: That “trusted professional” costs a lot of money! Do you really pay someone to wash ALL of your clothes?

Ilya: puckpedia.com/player/shane-hollander
Ilya: bmo.com/banking
Ilya: i am begging you to remind yourself how much money we both made this year shane
Ilya: you are literally being paid one million dollars this exact second to film stupid medicine commercial
Ilya: we can afford it i think

Jane: Just because we can afford something, doesn’t mean we should spend money on it. We have to be wise with our investments - we won’t be playing hockey forever.

Ilya: i’m going to invest in getting your brain checked for worms that are convincing you we are poor
Ilya: please do not ever touch my clothes again
Ilya: in fact when we have sex don’t even undress me i will do it myself i don’t want to risk it

Jane: Oh please. First of all, you love when I undress you.

Ilya: ok fine i regretted it as i said it. but you are on thin fucking ice

Jane: Second of all, you literally throw your clothes into a pile on the floor, and then make fun of me for folding mine.

Ilya: because I am in a rush to fuck you
Ilya: but then i pick them up after and put them in laundry to be managed by professionals
Ilya: i’m not an animal
Ilya: also it’s very funny to me that you fold your clothes and then somehow destroy everything in the wash
Ilya: like measuring spinach leaves with ruler before putting them in blender

Jane: You’re so annoying. But I am very sorry about ruining your clothes. Do you have anything else you can wear for your dinner?

Ilya: fuck i don’t know all my options were in the dry cleaning pile
Ilya: mostly only bum clothes left. t shirts and jeans and other boring things like what you normally wear
Ilya: i can make it work because i am sexy and hot but i wish i did not have to
Ilya: i am trying to dress to impress

Jane: Fuck, okay. Where is your shirt from? I’ll see what I can do to get you the same shirt and pants you were planning on wearing. I’m sure Rose has some connections, I’ll call her when I’m free and we can figure this out for you.

Ilya: the fact that you would bring up rose landry at a time like this is going to make me launch myself into space. sputnik 2.0
Ilya: whatever happened to league mandated sensitivity training
Ilya: and also why is rose landry your fashion plug when you are literally talking to me about my clothes for me
Ilya: do you not think I have connections
Ilya: or know where i bought these clothes
Ilya: or where i can buy nice things again
Ilya: it’s like you don’t even know me

Jane: Oh my god. I can tell that you are sensitive right now and that it’s partly my responsibility, so I’m not going to make fun of you, but you are literally so dramatic.

Ilya: partly he says
Ilya: maybe my english is worse than i thought

Jane: Asshole. I will transfer you however much you want so you can go get yourself a nice new outfit. Or reach out to your connections that you definitely have. My treat, because I feel bad.

Ilya: ok ❤️ thank you sugar daddy 🥵

Jane: Penalty.

Ilya: LOL
Ilya: that was very funny i really am L-ing OL
Ilya: ok no daddy kink got it

Jane: :)

Ilya: shirt was $2200 btw

Jane: Wait. Are you fucking serious?

Ilya: yes i am doing math on pants one second
Ilya: I think 5 maybe i am not sure

Jane: … 5 as in five thousand dollars?!

Ilya: yes they were custom tom ford

Jane: I think I’m going to be sick.

Ilya: now you know how i feel

Jane: Ilya you cannot be seriously telling me you’re spending nearly $10,000 on single outfits.

Ilya: give or take

Jane: You are out of your mind!

Ilya: shane when you shop with rose landry do you ever notice how the associates wear white gloves to handle pieces or are you too busy staring at her ass
Ilya: they do not do this at h&m
Ilya: you think you can pay for rolex with gift certificate?
Ilya: you think givenchy suit hanging in closet with your exact measurements was budget friendly?
Ilya: ralph lauren gave you friends and family discount
Ilya: you think when your stylist sends you clothes she gets them for free because you are pure of heart?
Ilya: maybe some things you get for free because you are cute and pretty

Jane: Yeah but those things are like, for fancy events! Not for everyday wear!

Ilya: oh my sweet shane
Ilya: YOU think they are for fancy events because your everyday wear is 80% lululemon
Ilya: people with fashion sense not so much

Jane: Oh god, Ilya.
Jane: You had so many clothes in that pile.
Jane: How much did it all cost?!

Ilya: let’s just say you probably need to show full hole at this shoot

Jane: Jesus christ.
Jane: You have received an e-transfer from: SHANE HOLLANDER for $10,000
Jane: Okay go buy your outfit, just please don’t show me any receipts and I can just pretend you’re investing $10,000 into charity or something.

Ilya: if you say so 🫡
Ilya: although i would not mind if you showed full hole to me instead of being sugar not-daddy
Ilya: equivalent exchange rate i think

Jane: What’s insane is that I’m actually considering it.

Ilya: 😛

Jane: Sorry again about your clothes. Please don’t bankrupt us.

____________

Jane: So there was a woman in our bedroom today when I got home.

Ilya: well i know she was not there to fuck you because you are very scared of pussy
Ilya: were we being robbed?
Ilya: you came in here with a weird energy so i do not know what to think

Jane: Asshole.
Jane: She said her name was Agnishka.

Ilya: ah Agnieszka! very lovely polish lady
Ilya: goes by Aga

Jane: Right.

Ilya: she is cleaning lady, hired her when i first moved to ottawa
Ilya: she does great job, floors always look so shiny when she leaves
Ilya: i can’t believe you haven’t met her yet you have been living here for like two months
Ilya: very bad employer Hollander

Jane: I didn’t know there was anyone to meet?

Ilya: ah yes fair enough you still believe in floor polishing fairy
Ilya: ancient canadian myth
Ilya: i am sorry to be the one to break the news to you
Ilya: you might want to sit down before i tell you about santa claus

Jane: Will you fuck off for a second? I’m serious.

Ilya: sorry
Ilya: what is the matter любимый

Jane: It stresses me out that I don’t know how much we are spending on all these things.
Jane: Not to mention, that there are people in our home sometimes that I didn’t even know about.

Ilya: I am sorry for not telling you about aga, i thought you knew i had cleaning lady
Ilya: did you not have someone in Montreal?

Jane: No. I just cleaned my house myself.

Ilya: she is the only one who comes in our house, and she always tells me when she is planning to come. usually once a week, sometimes every other week if we are away
Ilya: usually i only tell her to come when we are on the road or at the rink so we do not have to leave
Ilya: or worse, sit there while she cleans around us like lazy lumps
Ilya: and i always make sure anything that could be embarrassing aka sex toys are put away
Ilya: people CANNOT know we fuck 🙅🏼‍♂️

Jane: How much does it cost? You don’t think we can keep the house clean ourselves?

Ilya: honestly i am not sure exact cost, I usually give her $1000 which is including tip because as i said the floors are very shiny

Jane: $1000?! Every week?! That’s like $52,000 a year!

Ilya: plus bonus usually at holidays or if house is very very messy
Ilya: it is a very big house
Ilya: shane, we make like 30,000 a day. each. i do not think it is unreasonable to spend this money on things that make life easier for us

Jane: How hard is it for us to just keep the house clean ourselves?

Ilya: What are you worried about? The money? The privacy?

Jane: Both. It’s not like we’re slobs and need someone to clean up after us. And I don’t like that there are just people in our house.

Ilya: again I am sorry for not telling you there was someone coming into the house
Ilya: but shane my love she is very professional. and it is very nice to not have to worry about some of these things
Ilya: i can ask her to stay out of the bedroom or certain areas if that would make you more comfortable

Jane: It’s fine.

Ilya: if you would like me to have her stop coming and it is very important to you i can
Ilya: but i have to be honest i would really like for her to stay
Ilya: i have more money than i know what to do with and this is a very small percentage of it that makes a very big difference in my life
Ilya: for many years it has been like this for me. when schedule gets busy and i do not have time to do my laundry or clean the kitchen. or when i go away for a roadie and left some things around the house or house got messy when packing. it is very very nice for me to not have an extra thing on my plate to worry about.
Ilya: when it is sometimes hard for me to get out of bed and i cannot clean or cook or do anything. i cannot imagine the state i would be living in at those times if i did not have someone to help me to throw away the garbage or vacuum the carpet or change my sheets. you would not be very proud of me i am sure. i am very ashamed to think about it
Ilya: i am very happy for you that you do not have this problem and that cleaning is not difficult for you to do. and i agree that we can mostly take care of it ourselves. but i do not think that we have to if you are okay with that
Ilya: you do not have to pay a single cent of it

Jane: Fuck, Ilya.
Jane: She can keep coming. Honestly, I thought you were the one mopping the floors.

Ilya: I could never take credit for queen aga’s work
Ilya: thank you my love

Jane: Can you please just tell me when she’s planning on coming?

Ilya: of course
Ilya: that way you can hide all your dildos

Jane: Please. It’s not like we have mountains of dildos. It’s like, a couple dildos.

Ilya: you wish it was mountain

Jane: And I don’t mind chipping in to pay for it. She seemed very lovely when she scared me half to death today. I just would like to know what else we are paying for and why.

Ilya: one day we will need to sit down and discuss money a bit more because i am thinking it stresses you out much more than me
Ilya: and that is ok it is good to be responsible. i have definitely spent money on stupid shit
Ilya: but i also think it is important we are on the same page about things. especially when it comes to bigger things like money after retirement and when we have a family and picking our nursing homes etc etc

Jane: When we have a family, you can kiss your two-seater goodbye.
Jane: And we are turning old and grey at the cottage until we both die at the same exact time at 300 years old and our corpses rot there for eternity. Or at least until the neighbours notice the stink. You know that.

Ilya: that’s so romantic i think
Ilya: also hilarious that you believe my cars are going anywhere
Ilya: you showed your cards too early hollander i know you find it sexy when i drive them

Jane: Fine. But you need to have at least one sensible family vehicle at all times.

Ilya: deal

Jane: What else do you pay for? Just so I know. Hold on, let me sit down for this.

Ilya: not much
Ilya: have cut back on a lot like chef and professional shopper and other things that are more fun for us to do together
Ilya: dry cleaning as you know
Ilya: pool guy
Ilya: car guys
Ilya: gardener
Ilya: personal trainer
Ilya: tailor and stylist
Ilya: and other same things as you aka finance people lawyers farah yuna etc
Ilya: i think that is it for things around the home but i am sure i will come up with more
Ilya: it is amazing how much extra time i have now that i am not travelling to see boring canadian with every free minute of my time. can do many more things ourselves

Jane: Are all of these things also for the same reasons? Maybe someday soon we can make a spreadsheet or something to keep track of it all. It kind of stresses me out even more that you don’t even really know how much you’re spending.

Ilya: this is very good idea. very responsible Hollander
Ilya: and yes more or less for reasons of busy + depression
Ilya: gardener is because he is hot

Jane: Well let me know the next time the gardener is coming then.

Ilya: actually he is fired as of just now. sorry eugene

Jane: Eugene? :/

Ilya: I know right? its terrible
Ilya: almost as bad as shane

Jane: Alright we’re done here.
Jane: Have fun with Svetlana later. Tell her I said hi.

Ilya: I love you

Jane: я тебя люблю

__________

Ilya: Shane
Ilya: love of my life
Ilya: my heart my soul my entire world

Jane: Oh boy.

Ilya: [image attached - a single dirty footprint on a car mat]
Ilya: did you take my sexy car off roading? roll around in the mud before hopping in?

Jane: Oh my god, Ilya.
Jane: I literally drove to my parents’ house and back. At your insistence, by the way.

Ilya: it was so hot watching you get inside her
Ilya: i jacked off before you even left the driveway

Jane: You’re so disgusting.
Jane: Also, I really don’t love that your car is a woman.

Ilya: jealous?
Ilya: remember i made you cum inside her once
Ilya: first time for everything

Jane: [search results for: divorce lawyers in ottawa]

Ilya: stop making me laugh i am very mad at you right now

Jane: For what? Wearing shoes inside your car?

Ilya: yes

Jane: It’s literally a car! What would you have me do?

Ilya: wipe your shoes off before getting in
Ilya: throw your shoes in the dumpster
Ilya: vacuum her when you exit
Ilya: avoid treacherous paths
Ilya: I do not know i am balling spit here

Jane: It’s spitballing.

Ilya: too much talk of spit and balls stop trying to turn me on hollander
Ilya: this is serious

Jane: You brought it up, jackass.

Ilya: also there is handheld vacuum in console for this exact purpose

Jane: You cannot be serious.

Ilya: I am very serious! she was very expensive and I like to take care of her

Jane: You literally fucked me in that car. And against the hood of it, if I remember correctly.

Ilya: and then had her professionally detailed to remove ass prints!!!

Jane: You track dirt into my car all the time.

Ilya: that is different first of all
Ilya: your car is a jeep they look sexier with dirt and mud in them
Ilya: like construction man with dirty hands

Jane: Is that a thing for you?

Ilya: no but i know it is for you, you are not subtle

Jane: Anyways.
Jane: I’m sorry I got dirt in your car.
Jane: Are you going to pay an exorbitant amount of money to get it detailed again?

Ilya: no i’m not insane
Ilya: i will clean her myself like god intended. treat her right

Jane: Right.

Ilya: cleaning my cars is very… what is word for relaxing but trance

Jane: meditative?

Ilya: yes! meditative. you have your yoga i have cleaning my girl
Ilya: i went out to garage to give them all their weekly cleaning when i saw how you maimed her

Jane: Alright, I’m really gonna need you to stop calling it “your girl”.

Ilya: only porsche and lambo are girls. aston martin is boy
Ilya: because i like both right

Jane: Yeah this is not making me feel better.

Ilya: please just keep my cars clean if you drive them
Ilya: if you get dirt use the vacuum
Ilya: if you get mud use the brush and cleaner
Ilya: if you cum in there use the leather wipes
Ilya: actually let me know first and then use the leather wipes
Ilya: no point cleaning her twice

Jane: Are you still out there?

Ilya: yes i am assessing damage

Jane: What if I come out and help you clean it to make it up to you?
Jane: Maybe pull it out onto the driveway so I can use the hose.
Jane: It’s pretty hot outside today, huh?

Ilya: holy shit
Ilya: right yes so this is doing it for me
Ilya: moving them all right now please hurry

Jane: Get the leather wipes ready.

Ilya: i might cum and die before you get here holy fuck
Ilya: here lies Ilya Rozanov he died doing what he loved: cumming thinking about sexy husband doing sexy car wash on sexy car

Jane: I’ll be out in five. Can you wait until then, you stallion?
Jane: Your gravestone inscription is a bit wordy. Might be better to change it to something like: fucking his sexy husband after his sexy car wash of his sexy car.

Ilya: honestly no promises i might cum just standing here
Ilya: have i mentioned that being married to you fucking rocks
Ilya: but also all jokes aside if you do not do a good job cleaning her i will probably need to do it again

Jane: Or you can just punish me until I get it right ;)

Ilya: oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck

Jane: :)

Ilya: but seriously dont be mad if i clean her twice

Jane: 🙄
Jane: Fine. But I’m buying you a construction vest next.

Ilya: god i fucking fucking love you
__________

4.

It’s 8 pm by the time Shane is driving down their street, and he is fucking exhausted. No game today, but that hardly means anything when you’re Shane Hollander. They had practice in the morning, and team meetings throughout the day. Afterwards, Harris had him hang back to do some stuff for the social media pages, which was a first for him. Usually, Harris has him and Ilya do stuff together (“it boosts engagement, Shane!”), but apparently they’re doing individual player features this week, and Shane drew the short straw. After that he had a meeting with his mom about a new brand deal, which drained the absolute last of his energy. Ilya offered to spend the day with him since he had no other plans, but Shane declined, not wanting to drag Ilya along to boring things. Which meant that they drove separately to practice that morning, as well. Truthfully, Shane thought it would be fine. He’s had days that were far busier than this before, and he’s been completely fine. And thankfully, ever since they got married, Shane has had more free time than ever before - partly because he and Ilya are no longer spending every free minute travelling between cities, and also partly because Shane has gotten better about saying no to things. The day should’ve been fine, but it wasn’t. He hasn’t had time to eat dinner yet, and he’s absolutely exhausted, and he wants nothing more than to cuddle in bed with Ilya until he falls asleep.

Which is why he feels his stomach drop when he pulls into their driveway and sees that it’s full of cars that do not belong to him or Ilya. He’s guessing some of the team is over, probably because Ilya was lonely and bored and everyone on this team is borderline obsessed with each other. Not that it’s a bad thing - it’s wonderful. It’s far better than the vibes were in Montreal, that’s for sure. It’s just… a lot, sometimes. On a good day, Shane would be a bit irked that Ilya didn’t give him a heads up that they were hosting a fucking party. Today, however, it really pisses him off.

With a sigh, he parks in the garage, sitting in the silence for a minute or two before mustering up the courage to go in the house and face everyone. The minute he steps through the door, he’s assaulted by loud laughter and shouting as a group of rowdy hockey players take over his house. He can smell greasy pizza and beer and his stomach turns. The sound only amplifies when he enters the living room and everyone notices him. Shane is thankful for his many years of media training that have prepared him for moments like this, so he can smile and greet everyone rather than rip all their heads off.

“Hollzy!” Bood yells from across the room. Next to him on the couch is Luca and Troy, and Wyatt is in the arm chair on the other side. Dykstra, LaPointe, Holmberg, and Young are all sitting on the floor, playing Mario Kart on the tv. Ilya is nowhere to be found, same with Anya. Because of course neither of the people (whatever) he actually wants to see are there to greet him. Bood shuffles over on the couch to make space for Shane, as if there isn’t a completely empty loveseat three feet away from him. Shane stays standing in the entryway. “Welcome home, man! Hope you don’t mind us taking over your place like this.”

Shane almost laughs. Instead, he smiles politely, if not a little stiff. Hopefully everyone just writes it off as him being a weird hockey robot, and not because he’s fuming. “Hey man, yeah, no worries. Good to see everyone.” He glances around the room again. “Where’s Ilya?”

As if summoned, Ilya rounds the corner from the kitchen, carrying a tray of what looks to be freshly heated spring rolls, Anya hot on his heels. Shane clenches his jaw - those were his spring rolls, that he bought a few weeks ago and was saving for a special occasion. Particularly, an occasion where he’s exhausted and starving and doesn’t mind indulging in something unhealthy and tasty. They would have been perfect for tonight, but instead he’s watching his stupid husband pass them around to their stupid teammates, who don’t even appreciate them as they shove them in their stupid mouths. “Alright boys, if I see a single grease stain on my nice couches, I’m chopping all your balls off,” Ilya shouts at them, earning a few jeers (and a few quick napkin wipes, Shane is irritated to notice).

Anya spots Shane first - finally, at least someone cares about him - and she charges over to greet him, her whole body wagging as she crashes into Shane’s legs. Shane crouches down to pet her, burying his face in her fur for a moment of solace. When he looks back up, he catches Ilya smiling at him, his face so bright and happy that Shane’s traitorous heart almost flips in his chest before it remembers that they are currently fucking pissed.

“Welcome home, solnyshko,” Ilya greets him, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth the second he’s close enough. Shane dodges it, and Ilya’s mouth lands somewhere on his cheek. Someone wolf whistles, which draws Ilya’s attention away long enough that he doesn’t seem to notice Shane’s blatant rejection. It’s probably for the best - he can read Shane like a book, and Shane’s pretty sure his fists clenched at his sides and tense shoulders are screaming I am trying not to strangle you. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Shane says, shrugging out from under Ilya’s palm on his arm. “Have you taken Anya for a walk?”

“No, not yet, the guys came over maybe one hour ago. I’ll take her after they leave, da? Come, have some food, you must be hungry.”

Shane is hungry, but he’s not willing to admit that. “I’m fine,” he replies, avoiding Ilya’s eye. “I’ll take her now so we don’t have to do it later. I’ll eat when I get back.”

He turns back towards the hall, heading towards where they keep Anya’s leash. Anya is smart enough to know what it means, and sprints towards the door, yipping happily. He can hear Ilya following behind them, but he pays him no mind as he gets Anya ready for her walk.

“You are sure? Spring rolls are fresh from the oven, I know you like those.” Shane can hear the frown in his voice. At the mention of the spring rolls, he spins around to face Ilya, his blood boiling.

“Yes, okay? Fuck,” he snaps sharply. He makes eye contact with Ilya, and it is immediately clear that he’s blown his spot. Which… yeah, okay.

“Shane-“

“Ilya, please, go have fun with the guys. We’ll be back soon, alright?”

He doesn’t stick around to hear his response, slamming the door closed behind himself with a bit too much force. Oh well.

It briefly crosses Shane’s mind to just load Anya into the car and leave. They could drive to his parents’ house, and he could pick up a poke bowl on the way. Or some spring rolls, because now he really fucking wants those. Maybe they could go to the dog park or something. It’s when the thought crosses his mind that they could drive to the cottage that he realizes he’s being fucking insane. With a groan, he reluctantly drags Anya past his very inviting car, taking her on their usual route around the neighbourhood. He briefly considers turning their leisurely evening walk into a 10k jog, but he squashes that thought as well, because that would be rude.

Despite what he had hoped, the walk does little to improve his mood, and he unclips Anya’s leash feeling just as sour as he did when he left. Maybe even more, if that’s possible, because rather than being rational as they walked, he spent the entire time justifying his own anger in his head, which just kind of riled him up even more. He stubs his toe on the corner of the entry table after kicking off his shoes, because of course he does, swearing under his breath as he hobbles back into the living room.

He drops into the empty loveseat, immediately calling Wyatt over to come sit next to him, so that the very inviting spot next to him is not filled by an unfortunately sexy Russian. Wyatt’s gentle, and respects personal space, and is not as loud as the other guys, which settles Shane’s nerves a bit. Plus, Wyatt is pretty perceptive, and seems to notice Shane’s overall vibe is not particularly social at the moment, so he mostly just talks at him or engages with Bood on the other side, and doesn’t force him into much active conversation, which Shane appreciates. Annoyingly, he also seems to have noticed the way Shane is avoiding Ilya’s very obvious attempts to get Shane’s attention, because at one point he whispers, “you all good, Shane? You kind of look like you’re trying to burn a hole in the carpet. Plus, Roz is kind of looking like a kicked puppy over there.”

Shane pointedly does not look up to where Wyatt is gesturing, instead fixing him with a glare. “Find someone else’s relationship to analyze, would you?”

Wyatt chuckles, a bit surprised, but seemingly not at all offended. “Right on, man. Cheers.”

Remarkably, it makes Shane feel a bit better.
__________

He spends the rest of the evening playing the role of perfectly polite host. He offers people drinks, engages in some small talk, and even plays a round of Mario Kart, which he wins by pulling out some dirty tricks with his items that he might feel bad about when he’s less angry. However, when Bood hops up, saying he’s gotta get home to help Cassie with the baby, Shane is quick to follow. Everyone else seems to get the message, and they all follow Bood to the door, exchanging hugs and goodbyes. No one except Wyatt tries to hug Shane, which Shane thinks is very smart. Wyatt unintentionally acted as his bodyguard all night, so he at least deserves a little bit of affection. Finally, the door closes behind him, and Shane and Ilya are left alone.

Before Ilya can even get a word in, Shane blows past him, dropping all pretenses of civility. He stomps into the living room, angrily collecting all the dishes to bring to the kitchen.

“Shane, what happened today? Why are you so upset?”

“Fuck off, I’m not upset,” Shane lies pointlessly. He starts shoving dishes into the dishwasher.

Ilya looks at him skeptically. “Right, you’re loading dishes like they personally offended you because you’re in a good mood. You’ve never put the forks next to the spoons, but sure, keep going.”

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” Shane explodes, slamming the dishwasher shut. “God, can you just drop it?”

Ilya raises his eyebrows at him. “No, I can’t drop it, because you’re obviously upset, and I am worried about what happened to you today.”

“Nothing ‘happened’ to me.” He storms back into the living room to collect more stuff. “I’m a big boy, Ilya, despite what you obviously think.”

“Ah yes, because the way you are acting right now is very mature.”

Shane slams the plates down on the counter, a few utensils scattering onto the floor. “Fuck off! Did you ever think you might be the problem?”

Ilya flinches the tiniest bit at those words, and Shane does his best to ignore it. He also ignores the tiny voice in his head that’s telling him he’s crossing the line into too mean.

Ilya laughs without humour. “Yes, I figured as much when you ignored me since coming through the door, but I would love to know why.”

“I just - ugh!” Shane groans, staring up at the ceiling for a moment to centre himself a bit. “I just had a long day, and all I wanted to do was come home and eat dinner and lie with you, but I couldn’t because you had half our fucking team over without telling me!”

Ilya throws his arms out. “How was I supposed to know your day was so terrible if you did not tell me anything?”

“You could have asked! And I would have told you that no, tonight isn’t a good night to have people over, because I’m fucking exhausted!”

“I did not realize I needed permission to have my friends in my own home!” Ilya fires back at him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Ilya, it’s not permission, it’s basic decency when you’re living with someone. You give them a heads up before having people over! You have to know how inconsiderate that is!”

“I do not expect this from you, I love when you have our friends over, even without asking!”

“Because we are different people!” Shane is so frustrated that he feels like crying, which is ridiculous. His heart is thumping madly in his chest. “We are fundamentally very different, Ilya. For you, being social is a way to charge your battery, and for me, it drains mine. It’s exhausting for me to be social for very long, and it bothers me that after all these fucking years, you still haven’t realized that! I thought you knew me better than anyone!”

Ilya’s face drops, and Shane realizes too late that he’s gone too far. Or maybe this has been a long time coming. It’s too hard for him to figure out right now. All he knows is that he feels sick and tired and he needs a minute before he actually starts screaming.

“Shane-“ Ilya starts.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Shane snaps, spinning off towards the stairs and leaving Ilya behind him.

————

Shane steps out of the shower twenty minutes later feeling calmer and much more ashamed. The guilt of yelling at Ilya is sitting heavy and thick in his stomach, now that he’s had a chance to unwind and settle a bit. They’ve gotten much better at communicating over the past year, especially since moving in together, and Shane can’t help but feel like he’s just set them back years in all their progress.

Sighing, he wraps a towel around his waist and steps out into their bedroom. Unsurprisingly, Ilya is sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with his fingers in his lap as he waits for Shane. His head snaps up at the sound of Shane coming out of the bathroom.

“Hey,” Ilya says, his voice sounding uncharacteristically unsure. The guilt in Shane’s stomach gnaws even deeper.

“Hey.” Shane quickly changes into some sweatpants before taking a seat next to Ilya on the bed, leaving some space between them.

“Shane, I-“

“I’m sorry,” Shane blurts, because he’s never been good at controlling himself around Ilya.

Ilya’s face screws up in confusion. “What? You have nothing to apologize for.”

Shane laughs a little in disbelief. “Are you kidding? I was being such an ass to-“

Ilya puts a hand on his knee. “Shane, please, me first, yes?”

Shane nods, closing his mouth.

“I do know you,” he starts, staring deeply into Shane’s eyes, trying to convey his sincerity. The pit in Shane’s stomach only grows wider.

“Ilya, I know, I was being stu-“

“Please let me finish,” Ilya cuts him off again, so Shane shuts up. “Like I was saying, I do know you, Shane. Better than I know anyone else. And I think this makes it worse. Because I know that being around people is sometimes too much for you, especially when you have a long day or you are not feeling your best, and I did not think of this, so I apologize. I am so sorry, sweetheart. And, you are correct that I should be telling you when I would like to have people over. I have lived alone for long time, but living with someone is very different, and I need to be… hm, more… considering?”

“Considerate,” Shane murmurs softly, his heart clenching in his chest. Ilya smiles at him softly.

“Ah yes, considerate. I need to be more considerate of your space and needs. It is not unreasonable for you to expect that I tell you when I would like to have someone over. We share a home now, and like you said, we are very different people in some ways. It is not nice of me to assume you must be okay with something because I am. Very stupid.”

Shane drapes his hand over the back of Ilya’s still resting on his leg. He gives it a soft squeeze.

“Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me.”

Ilya leans in to kiss his temple. “Of course. We are team, yes?”

Shane nods, tipping his head sideways onto Ilya’s shoulder for a second with a sigh. They stay like that for a moment before Shane looks up at him. He swallows thickly, shame crawling up his throat again.

“Ilya, I was awful to you. I’m so sorry I yelled at you like that, that was not okay. You do know me - better than anyone, and I love you so much for that. Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself. And…” he pauses, reaching up to cup Ilya’s cheek, tilting his face towards him even more. “And this is important - you are not the problem, okay? You are never a problem, even if we are fighting or pissed at each other or whatever. There is no one in this world that makes me feel better than you do. Just by being around you. No one as caring, and as gentle, and as loving. No one as funny, and intelligent, and beautiful. You could never be the problem, okay? I hope you know that.”

Ilya’s eyes are so soft when he answers. “Thank you.” He wraps his arm around Shane’s waist, tugging him closer and burying his face in his hair. Shane feels his lips on his head leaving soft kisses.

“And also, it’s not all people,” he murmurs, leaning into Ilya’s side.

“Hm?”

“It’s never too much for me to be around you. If anything, it’s almost not enough. Being around you makes me feel safe, and relaxed, and so comfortable. You bring me comfort.”

Ilya pulls back to look at him, his eyes looking suspiciously bright. “Okay, you must stop this now, or I am going to embarrass myself by turning into big, soft, puddle of goo. Goo for Shane Hollander.”

Shane chuckles. “I’m surprised you didn’t say all of your goo is for me.”

Ilya laughs, his nose wrinkling. “Gross, Hollander, get your mind out of the gutter. Even if it is true.”

“Oh please, I know you were thinking it.”

“I was not, you little freak. What, you want my goo? Are you trying to get me to make-up fuck you?”

Shane thumps him in the chest. “Ew, god, please stop calling it your goo!”

“So is this yes to make-up sex? Because I want you to know I am in.”

“Ugh, obviously,” Shane says, swinging his leg over Ilya’s thighs to straddle him. He props his forearms on Ilya’s shoulders, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Just one more thing.”

“What is it?”

Shane grins in a completely innocent way. “If you ever serve people my spring rolls without asking again, I will chop your dick off.”

Ilya laughs out loud, a startled laugh that seems to burst out of him. “Yes, I am most sorry for this of all things,” he says, wrapping his arms around Shane’s low back. “We do not share spring rolls in this house, I should have known.”

—————

Later, after they’ve fucked and cleaned up, they lay in bed together, Shane curved into Ilya’s side, his damp hair making a wet spot on Ilya’s shoulder as he wraps around him like an octopus. Their feet are tangled together, and Ilya is showing him a video on his phone.

Suddenly, Ilya shifts under him, squirming a bit. “Sorry, I have to piss.”

Shane groans, nuzzling further into Ilya’s body. “Can’t you just hold it? I’m very cozy right now.”

Ilya wiggles out from underneath him, kissing his hair. “Not unless you want to sleep in piss sheets. I’ll be quick. Here,” he says, handing Shane his phone, “you can keep watching, I have seen this before. Very cute, you will like.”

Shane takes it, lying back on his own pillows as he grumbles incoherently. He presses play on the video again, but gets distracted by a text from Luca popping up on the screen. Assuming it’s their team chat, Shane clicks on it to see what he’s missed. He realizes too late that it’s not the team chat, it’s a smaller group chat that seems to have been created that evening. Intrigued, and helplessly curious, he scrolls to the top.

- - -
Ilya made a group chat with Dykstra, Bood, Barrett, Young, Holmberg, Pointy, Baby Luca, Hazy

Ilya: everyone get out of my house right now i’m so serious
Ilya: bood make something up

Bood: come on man why’s it gotta be me? can’t you just kick us out like a normal person?

Young: LOL

Dykstra: why are we getting booted?

Hazy: I’m guessing it’s because Shane is trying to blow Ilya up with his mind

Ilya: ok so you noticed too

Barrett: Kinda hard to not notice it, he looked at you earlier and I felt a chill go down my spine on your behalf

Hazy: he’s so tense next to me i’m worried he might launch through the ceiling

Ilya: yes my shane has many talents but acting is not one of them
Ilya: now shut up about him this is family business

Barrett: You asked!

Baby Luca: What did you do?

Ilya: I have no idea!

Pointy: yeah bro i’m kinda scared can we actually go
Pointy: the way he behaved as toad made me nervous to be around him

Young: bro fr he got straight up psycho with it
Young: i didnt know mario kart violence could be so targeted

Ilya: wait no not yet
Ilya: Hazy ask him if he’s ok, he might kill me if i ask right now

Hazy: I already did and he told me to butt out of his relationship

Bood: LOL

Holmberg: lmaooo atta boy

Ilya: ok so it is me he’s pissed at

Dykstra: bro be so for real

Bood: Good thing we had Roz on the case to solve that mystery

Baby Luca: seriously why would any of us be involved

Ilya: all of you fuck off
Ilya: and also fuck off aka leave
Ilya: bood shit your pants or something

Bood: I was actually thinking I could just say it’s getting late

Ilya: no that’s so obviously a lie it’s like 9 pm what are you scott hunter? is it past your bedtime peepaw? must get back to nursing home?

Hazy: yeah Bood just take one for the team and shit your pants like a normal person

Bood: mind you an all nighter for shane is 10:30

Ilya: i know it’s so hot

Dykstra: dude

Holmberg: after Roz threatened to chop all our balls off if we made a mess on the couch? I vote no for pants shitting

Pointy: wait to clarify if we make a mess on the couch does the mess maker get their balls chopped off or all of us

Barrett: Are you asking because of the pants shitting or because of whatever’s going on under your right leg

Pointy: yes

Ilya: everyone’s balls

Young: aw man
Young: come on pointy

Holmberg: then i’m definitely out on pants shitting

Baby Luca: were you in on it before that?

Holmberg: kinda ngl

Ilya: right now only pointy’s balls because i watched him spill his beer earlier
Ilya: everyone’s balls if bood shits pants bc shit is hard to get out

Barrett: Are you speaking from experience or

Dykstra: come on man we’re tryna help you, stop threatening to chop our balls off

Ilya: no shane never shits or farts so shut up. he and his hole are perfect

Hazy: Down boy

Dykstra: Jesus christ

Barrett: I was talking about you but okay

Young: man you gotta stop i know way too much about shane’s hole and absolutely all of it was against my will

Pointy: oh fuck my b pls dont chop my nuts off they been with me through some tuff times
Pointy: rt on hollzy’s hole tho
Pointy: never knew asshole could be described as beautiful

Ilya: yes because yours is ugly and gross unlike shane’s
Ilya: and also mine for the record
Ilya: probably troy’s too but im just guessing

Hazy: HA HA
Hazy: HA
Hazy: H
Hazy: H
Hazy: HA

Pointy: ayo someone check on wyatt i think he just stroked out idk

Dykstra: finally reached his hole limit

Young: real quick is it homophobic for Roz to assume Troy’s hole is beautiful

Barrett: i honestly don’t know and I really don’t want to think about it

Hazy: Sorry I thought Shane could see my phone. Felt like talking about his hole might get all of our balls chopped off

Ilya: smart good call

Bood: This has got to be the dumbest shit I’ve ever read in my life
Bood: were you all dropped on your heads as babies
Bood: I’m genuinely hemorrhaging brain cells with every new message

Ilya: whatever the fuck that means
Ilya: so yes or no on shitting pants

Bood: Bro you’re so annoying whatever you did i’m on shane’s side
Bood: I hope he figures out how to blow you up telepathically

Ilya: wow ok say goodbye to your balls too boody

Hazy: rip

Baby Luca: oof

Pointy: too?

Bood: Fuck off I’ll just say Milo’s sick or something
Bood: Even though i still firmly believe that saying “sorry fellas it’s getting late and time to go” would be a perfectly reasonable explanation for me to leave

Ilya: oh smart blame your infant baby good thinking
Ilya: balls are reinstated
Ilya: not you pointy yours are still doomed

Pointy: aw man

Holmberg: imagine getting ur balls chopped off by Roz 🤣🤣🤣🫵🫵🫵

Ilya: quiet bergy or ur next

Pointy: 🤣🤣🤣🫵🫵🫵

Baby Luca: Sorry so can I call my uber now or no? I got confused

Ilya: if you losers make luca take an uber home ill cut all your balls off

Hazy: Relax, Roz. Luca I’ll drive you.

Baby Luca: thank you wyatt
Baby Luca: and for the record I am glad we abandoned the pants shitting plan

Young: im not

Bood: 🍅🍅🍅
Bood: Alright wish me luck

Ilya: you? I’m about to get my balls ripped straight off my body i think. no glue no borax

Bood: Yeah fair enough, good luck man

Young: who tf taught you about slime bro 😭

Holmberg: godspeed solider 🫡

Dykstra: If you need to sleep somewhere tonight my door’s open

Ilya: and so’s your asshole with all your nasty farts
Ilya: I’ll take my chances with the woods

Dykstra: man fuck you

Barrett: LMAO

Hazy: hahahahaha

Pointy: dykstra stand up bro 😭😭😭

Baby Luca: but slowly so no farts leak out while we are still here

Holmberg: im screaming

Young: AKSHDANQKDK

Bood: LOOL
Bood: dunked on by Haas has gotta be top three most devastating things to happen to a man

Barrett: but seriously Roz you can stay with me and Harris if this place becomes too hostile

Ilya: thank you troy 🫂

Dykstra: that’s it i’m killing myself

Ilya: not on the couch please

Baby Luca: 🤣🤣🤣🫵🫵🫵

- - -

Ilya: problem solved, everyone butt out of my business now please

Pointy: crickets before this msg btw

Holmberg: you totally boned didn’t you

Ilya: 😏

Young: lets gooooo lmao

Bood: shout out Shane’s hole

Ilya: yes agreed
Ilya: but also. careful

Baby Luca: sometimes I think we all should know less about each other

- - -

Alright, well. Maybe he wasn’t as polite as he thought.

___________

5.

It’s well after midnight in Nashville before Ilya and Shane get back to their hotel room. They just won in overtime, and the team had gone out for drinks to celebrate. By the time they get back to their room, they are both giddy with post-win energy, as well as a little tipsy. Ilya’s preferred combination, if he’s honest. It puts them both in a good mood, and Shane’s always a little flirtier after a win, and especially when he’s drunk, which basically means they are guaranteed to have hot, nasty sex. Shane’s even got a cowboy hat on, which Ilya fully intends to keep glued to his head until Shane earns his cowboy title.

The second they’re through the door, Ilya has Shane pressed up against it, marking up his neck in a way that Shane is definitely going to pretend to be pissed about later. Shane gasps at the sensation, his hands moving up and down Ilya’s back as if he doesn’t know where to touch first. Ilya’s hands are not having any of the same difficulty - they immediately get to work untucking Shane’s shirt before moving to his belt. He’s soon able to get his hand down the front of Shane’s pants, earning a hiss as he grips Shane’s cock, Shane’s head thunking back against the door.

“Did you - ah, fuck - did you hear what Wyatt said about his sex injury?” Shane gasps, his hands clutching Ilya’s shoulders as Ilya continues working him.

“No? What?” Ilya answers against Shane’s jaw. Admittedly, he’s a bit confused about the decision to start a conversation at this exact moment, but he’s sure it’s relevant somehow. Sometimes, Shane has the first half of a conversation in his own head, only blurting out the part that he really needs to talk about, without any additional context. Ilya doesn’t mind; eventually Shane will more or less explain his train of thought. Ilya’s just happy to be along for the ride. “Why are you talking to Hazy about sex injuries?”

Shane’s fingers make their way up to Ilya’s hair, tugging on his curls almost painfully. His thigh finds its way between Ilya’s legs, and Ilya grunts at the pressure on his rapidly hardening cock.

“It just kind of came up. Anyways, he said he’s injured himself too, can you believe it? Well, Lisa injured him, but still. Sat on him at the wrong angle and-“ Shane cringes.

“Poor Hazy,” Ilya replies sympathetically. He crashes their mouths together, kissing Shane with teeth and tongue until they are both panting. “My Shane knows how to ride me like an expert, would never break my dick.”

Shane lets out a breathless laugh against Ilya’s mouth, and then they’re kissing again, and Ilya’s mind goes blissfully hazy for a few moments at the slide of Shane’s tongue against his own. There’s a nagging thought at the back of his mind, though, and the more he thinks about it, the closer it comes to the surface.

“You still did not answer - how did sex injuries come up?” He asks, letting out a shuttering breath as Shane’s thigh moves against his cock through his jeans.

Shane moans as Ilya’s thumb flicks over the head of his cock. “Well after what you told me about Troy and Harris, I haven’t stopped thinking about it - fuck, that’s good, Ilya.“ He presses his nose into Ilya’s cheek, breath hot against Ilya’s skin.

Ilya stills, a cold dread settling in his stomach. He pulls back to look at Shane, ignoring his whine at the loss of contact. “…You did not tell him about Troy and Harris though, yes?”

Shane opens his eyes to look at him, seeming a bit stricken, and without even saying a word, Ilya knows the answer. His eyes widen in realization.

“Shane! No!” He whispers in admonishment. “You didn’t!”

Last week, on the flight to Philly, Ilya had noticed that Troy was walking a little more… gingerly than usual. Shane was in the back of the plane, chatting with Chouinard and Dykstra, so Ilya invited Troy to sit next to him. Within 5 minutes, he’d gotten a pink-faced Troy to admit that he and Harris had attempted shower sex, which ended rather abruptly when Troy lost his footing and nailed his left ass cheek on the faucet handle before colliding with the shower floor. Ilya had laughed about it for a solid three minutes afterwards, and persuaded Troy to show him the absolutely fucking gnarly bruise on his ass cheek. Troy made him swear not to tell anyone, and he spent the rest of the week playing it off as a hockey bruise in front of the rest of the team, but Ilya knew the truth. And so did Shane, the second Ilya had a moment alone with him. Shane had gasped, scandalized, before making a smug jab about their ability to have shower sex without injury, which promptly led to a - very successful - demonstration.

Shane’s cheeks turn pink under Ilya’s gaze, his eyes darting around Ilya’s face. “I- I mean, yeah, we talked about it, I thought he already knew. I mean, it was kind of obvious.”

Ilya juts his head forward in disbelief. “No, no one else knew! Troy told me not to tell anyone!”

“Then why did you tell me!”

“Spousal privilege! You are not counted in this, obviously I am going to tell you.”

Shane scoffs. “Well then why didn’t you say it was a secret, asshole!”

“I thought this was obvious! I told you a story about Troy Barrett and sex, of course it was a secret. Would you like it if Troy told Wyatt that you wore a plug on the bus home last week?”

Shane’s cheeks flush an even deeper red at the reminder. “Fuck off, that’s different and you know it.” He pauses for a second, worrying his lip between his teeth. “…You didn’t tell Troy about that though, did you?”

Ilya groans, thunking his forehead onto Shane’s shoulder once before looking back up at him. “Shit, Hollander, when did you become such a gossip? Of all things, I did not think I had to worry about this with you.”

“I’m not a gossip, I was just chatting with Wyatt!”

“This is definition of gossip, by the way. You used to be tsar of secret keeping.”

The complete ridiculousness of the situation is not lost on Ilya. Shane is pressed up against the door, his silly cowboy hat askew and falling halfway off the back of his head. His cheeks are flushed, eyes wide and bright, even if they have that fiery glint that bickering with Ilya always manages to elicit. Ilya’s hand is still down Shane’s pants, for Christ sake, even though he’s mostly holding Shane’s cock loosely rather than actually doing anything with it, and yet here they are, arguing about Troy Barrett’s ass. He’s come to learn that this is part of what married life is like - when you have all the time in the world to talk, to fuck, to be around each other, to argue, the lines between what is appropriate when, get a little blurred. Sometimes you talk about groceries while you’re getting your dick sucked. Sometimes it’s calling your husband a desperate slut. Sometimes you gossip about your friend’s ass. Interestingly, even though they’re no longer engaged in any foreplay, Ilya can’t help but notice that they’re both still mostly hard. Probably because they’re both perverts, and arguing makes them hot. Ilya would laugh, if he wasn’t so worried about being hanged by Troy in the very near future.

Shane rolls his eyes. “I don’t know if you remember this, but I spent most of my adult life keeping a secret or two under wraps.”

“Yes, and now that whole world knows about us, you are just blabbing everything to everyone. Slippery slope! All thanks to Hayden Pike.”

Shane clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Oh my god, are you five? I don’t blab, you shithead. I’m sorry I spilled Troy’s secret, but it’s just Wyatt.”

Ilya’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Hazy is biggest gossip of them all!” He drags a hand down his face. “Fuck, Troy is going to kill me.”

Shane pries Ilya’s fingers away from his own face to get a better look at him. Ilya relents, even as he glares at Shane, who is suddenly blinking up at him with his bright eyes, his stupid beautiful freckles more prominent than usual after their week-long southern road trip. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

Ilya grumbles under his breath, stubbornly tilting his head back to give himself some reprieve from the intensity of Shane’s gaze, his own complete inability to resist those stupid pretty eyes and freckles. He pulls his hand out of Shane’s pants so he can grip his hips with both hands, steadying himself. Unfortunately, he is, fundamentally, a weak man when it comes to Shane Hollander, and when Shane’s fingers urge him to tilt his face back down, he obliges. But, because he has at least a modicum of self respect, he frowns at Shane so he knows he’s serious, and he will not by won over by Shane’s sneaky tricks, playing on Ilya’s weaknesses. Which, by the way, Ilya suspects is entirely intentional, if the way Shane keeps blinking at him is anything to go by. Ilya supposes this is what he gets for spending over a decade waxing poetic about Shane’s pretty doe eyes. Shane tilts his head just the slightest bit, as if to emphasize his eyes even more, like a sad little puppy, and Ilya rolls his eyes, even as his heart beats madly in his chest. He is so soft for Shane Hollander it is pathetic.

“What?” Shane asks, frowning up at him innocently, the bastard. As if he’s upset at Ilya’s rejection, and not actively deploying psychological warfare.

“You know what.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Ilya sighs, his hands on Shane’s hip tighten in reprimand. “Fuck off with those big, sad eyes, Hollander. I’m not kidding. It’s pissing me off and I’m already annoyed.”

Shane blinks at him again, his lashes fluttering, casting elongated shadows against his cheeks, before a slight crease forms in between his brows. “What am I supposed to do, asshole? They’re my eyes and I’m sad.” He dips down to place a soft, lingering kiss just below Ilya’s eye, his lips moving for a moment before he pulls back just enough to look back up at Ilya again, one of his hands tangling in Ilya’s curls, the other cupping his jaw. Ilya can feel his pulse in his throat, his resolve laughing in his face as it crumbles around him embarrassingly quickly. He clears his throat, nevertheless determined to persevere.

“The fuck do you have to be sad about? I am the wronged party here, not you.” He can’t help it when his eyes flutter shut at the next, agonizingly gentle touch of lips to his overheated skin, this time just at the corner of his mouth, the tip of Shane’s tongue applying the briefest pressure before it is gone again. His irritation and his arousal are fighting a very confusing battle in his body, both of them somehow winning. Maybe this is why fighting makes them horny, Ilya thinks distantly. They are very shit at keeping the two things separate, the two signals getting crossed over and over in his brain until it reaches a point where they have become virtually indistinguishable. Plus, it’s super fucking hot.

“I’m sad because I made you angry,” Shane murmurs against Ilya’s stubble. The fingers in his hair are doing something absolutely sinful, kneading slowly and intentionally against Ilya’s scalp, sending shivers down Ilya’s spine. Shane is everywhere, overwhelming him - his soft lips on Ilya’s skin, hard chest heaving deep, measured breaths where it’s pressed against Ilya’s, his thigh between Ilya’s legs. Ilya is having a hard time keeping his eyes open, let alone making his brain keep up with conversation. “I’m sad because I broke your trust and I didn’t mean to.” The hand on Ilya’s jaw trails slowly, painfully slowly, down Ilya’s neck, fingers leaving goosebumps down his chest until they come to a stop at his necklace. He idly toys with the crucifix and wedding ring both clasped there, as if to subtly remind Ilya of their presence. Oh, he’s good. “I’m sad because you didn’t accept my apology.”

Ilya lets out a stuttering breath, his eyes sinking closed at the onslaught of sensation, unable to withstand it. His grip on Shane’s hips is so tight, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough that he is almost certain he’s going to leave behind marks.

“This won’t work on me,” he warns Shane, somewhat pointlessly, since the words come out so thick that he’s not even sure Shane can understand him.

“I think it already is,” Shane counters, pressing his thigh forward as if to prove his point. Ilya sucks in a breath despite himself, feeling Shane’s grin against the underside of his jaw, where his teeth are currently scraping the skin there.

“Fuck,” Ilya breathes, his hips moving forward of their own accord. “I’m still mad at you for gossiping.”

“Let me make it up to you,” Shane whispers, his mouth making its way back to Ilya’s lips. Ilya groans when they’re finally kissing again, slow and deep and so fucking sensual that he feels dizzy with it.

“I am feeling very emotionally manipulated,” he informs Shane when they finally part for air. Shane only chuckles, moving in close enough for Ilya to chase his mouth before Shane pulls back again, resulting in their lips just barely ghosting across each other.

“Two things to make up to you then.”

Ilya drops his forehead against Shane’s, panting, their breath mingling in between them. “You are so evil, Hollander.”

“I don’t hear you complaining,” he replies smugly, his thigh increasing the pressure against Ilya’s straining cock.

Unable to take it anymore, and desperate to salvage some of his dignity, Ilya grunts, wrapping his arms tightly around Shane and spinning them so Shane’s back is to the room. He dives in for another kiss, aggressive this time, licking his way into Shane’s mouth, making him take it. Shane groans, his fingers tightening in Ilya’s hair, the other flying up to tightly grasp his shoulder. Ilya starts marching them towards the bed, pushing Shane down onto it when he feels their legs collide with the bed frame. Shane bounces, a little unceremoniously, his hat toppling off and rolling onto the floor. Shane props himself up on his elbows, breathing heavy as he looks up at Ilya, his lips pink and shiny. Ilya’s eyes flick to the hat on the floor.

“I hate that you look so fucking sexy in that stupid hat, it makes it very hard to stay angry with you.”

Shane’s lips twitch a bit as he pushes his pants and underwear all the way down, his cock bouncing up against his stomach. “Oh, are we still pretending that you’re mad at me?”

“Fuck you,” Ilya scoffs, feeling a bit irritable, even as he rips his shirt off over his head. “I am mad. No more blabbing, I mean it. I will try to tell you when things are secret, but maybe just assume most things are, da? Especially about the team, they gossip like old ladies.”

Shane shrugs. “Or you could just do what I do and not tell me. Then you won’t have to worry.”

Ilya rolls his eyes as he kicks his pants and underwear off. “Where is the fun in that? You are my husband, I want to gossip like old lady with you.” He scoops the hat up off the floor and throws it at Shane. “Back on, please.”

Shane snorts, his face bright as he stuffs the cowboy hat back on his head. His eyes are twinkling with a mischievous gleam, which makes Ilya instantly narrow his eyes, unable to shake the feeling that he’s missed something, like he’s on the outside of some joke. He runs the last minute over in his head again as he crawls onto the bed, thighs bracketing Shane’s, hands planted on either side of his head. It clicks, then, and his jaw drops. He rears back a bit. “Wait, what do you mean ‘do what you do’? What do you do?”

Shane laughs out loud this time, his grin cheeky as he gazes up at Ilya. “I mean that you’re not the only one who tells me secrets, you know.”

He stares at Shane, incredulous. “Who is telling you things? What are they telling you? Why did you not tell me?!”

“You literally just said that you gossip like an old lady,” Shane points out, enjoying this far too much for Ilya’s liking.

“Not me, the boys! I am good! I am excellent at keeping secrets.” He is aware that he sounds whiny, and a little desperate, but he finds himself unable to care, too annoyed by this turn of events.

Shane leans up just enough to capture his lips in a kiss, distracting Ilya enough momentarily that he can roll them so that Ilya is on his back, Shane straddling his hips. He reaches up to adjust his hat a bit before planting his palms on Ilya’s chest. “Tell you what,” he says conversationally, reaching over Ilya to grab the lube off the nightstand from where they’d thankfully had the foresight to leave it earlier. “Because I do feel bad about telling Wyatt about Troy, and because you think I manipulated you - “ Ilya scoffs, but Shane ignores him. “- I’m going to ride you into this mattress until you come so hard you’re seeing stars.”

Ilya’s eyes go wide, suddenly no longer feeling very annoyed at all. He purses his lips and nods. “Right. Okay, this works for me.”

Shane smirks at him. “Shut up, I’m not done.” Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. What could be better than this? Shane leans down, his lips coming up next to Ilya’s ear, way more sensual than when he delivered the first half of his deal. “And then, when we’re all fucked out and sleepy, you’re going to lay on my chest, and I’m going to run my fingers through your hair while I tell you all the gossip I’ve learned since the start of the season.”

Ilya gasps, staring up at Shane in awe. He feels like a dog hearing all its favourite words. He’s not entirely sure his tongue isn’t lolling out. “Really?” He feels hornier than he has all night, and Shane’s not even touching his dick right now. If he was a better person, he might reflect on that a bit more, but Shane wasn’t wrong - he does gossip like an old lady.

“Really,” Shane confirms, grinning at Ilya’s reaction. Ilya grips Shane’s shoulders, yanking him down into another kiss. He blindly reaches out to find the lube, drizzling some on his fingers. He reaches around to find Shane’s hole as they part, suddenly feeling in a much bigger hurry.

“Okay, but make the first part quick, we have ridiculously early flight and I want to know everyone’s secrets. And do not even think of leaving anything out.”

Shane tips his head back and laughs. “Seriously?” He asks, shuffling forward a bit to grant Ilya easier access. His ass drags across Ilya’s cock with the movement, and Ilya moans at the electric shock that shoots through him at the sensation. He nods his head, two of his fingers prodding at Shane’s hole. Shane gasps at the intrusion, his hips shifting a bit in Ilya’s lap.

“Yes, very serious. We can fuck any day, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“You’re insane,” Shane tells him a little breathlessly, bracing his hands on either side of Ilya’s head, which brings their faces much closer together. “But fine. Saddle up, cowboy.”

Ilya huffs out a laugh. “I think you are the cowboy here, no? Is this cowboy on cowboy? I do not understand this roleplay.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, you know what I mean. It’s hard to be sexy with this stupid hat on.”

“Disagree,” Ilya replies wholeheartedly.

“Wait, if I’m the cowboy, what does that even make you then?” Shane asks, his hips rocking with the movement of Ilya’s fingers.

Ilya thinks for a second. “Mmm, pathetic, I think.”

Shane laughs again, tucking his face into Ilya’s neck. “Yeah, maybe. But I like you a little pathetic. I like you all ways, actually. But that’s our little secret.”

Ilya grins at him. “I like you all ways, too.”

________________

The next morning, Ilya and Shane make their way onto the plane, bleary-eyed and slightly hungover. Despite this, Ilya doesn’t think he’s ever been in a better mood in his life, absolutely buzzing with his newfound knowledge, courtesy of Shane. Also the mind-blowing sex, but he has no shame in admitting that part has taken a back seat to the fact that Chouinard shit his pants after being checked into the boards by a Toronto defenceman last month, and that’s not even the best of it. He’s buzzing so hard that he doesn’t even flinch when he hears a burst of laughter from a group a few rows behind him, followed by Troy’s “Roz, you fucking asshole!” shouted across the plane. Next to him, Shane grimaces, looking apologetic, but Ilya just shrugs, unbothered. He’s got the best fucking life.