Summary:

"In the pile-up, Kent said some shit that I guess the refs missed in the chaos." Shane rolls his eyes and scoffs. "And it pissed me off, and I figured, hey, we're up by two in the third period, Toronto hasn't scored shit all night. I could probably take a major and the team would be fine." He shrugs, suddenly sheepish. "Of course, I mostly got my ass kicked, but–" Ilya makes sure that he's grabbing the unbruised part of Shane's face when he plants a firm kiss right on his split lip. Or; Ilya watches Shane lose a fight, and then helps him scratch an itch.