Summary:

Let's pretend that Shane and Ilya's sunset beach scene took place the night before the All-Star game, and Shane's gay confession is slightly overshadowed by Ilya's reaction to an injury on the ice. As the 2017 All-Star game draws to a close, you have to admire Shane Hollander’s leadership on the ice tonight. With the chemistry we are seeing from his team, you would think these players have been training together all season. Notably, this includes long-time rival Ilya Rozanov—and while it may come as a surprise, it’s clear that Hollander and Rozanov’s competitive history is not getting in the way of them working seamlessly together on the ice. It’s also clear that captain Aaron Eriksson is not going to be able to squeeze out a win against this powerful duo tonight. Rozanov with the puck now, with a beautiful pass to Hollander as they move to further solidify their victory, and ouch—Hollander just took a hard hit from Eriksson. That did not look good. There’s Scott Hunter helping Hollander to his feet now. Hollander’s waving away the medics, but you can tell he’s hurt. Looks like a possible broken rib. Who knows what this could mean for Montreal’s remaining season, but It’s safe to say that Hollander will not be finishing this All-Star game on the ice. And here comes Ilya Rozanov— boy, he is not happy. He’s confronting Eriksson now. This looks like it could get ugly. There go the gloves... And ouch, that is a powerful right hook from Rozanov. With three minutes left in the period, Hollander’s injury won’t prevent his team from clinching the victory, but it looks like Rozanov is going to be watching the remainder of this game from the penalty box. Later, when Ilya knocked on his hotel room door, Shane pulled him inside looking furious. “That was so fucking stupid, Rozanov, what were you thinking?” he hissed. Ilya just smirked. “Was thinking Eriksson would look pretty with less teeth.” In his deep voice it almost sounded sensual. “You can’t—that was so obvious, people are going to talk—” Shane said, eyes wild and anxious. Ilya looked at him like he was an idiot. “And they say what? I hit him, so this means you and I are fucking?” He rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his expression that never failed to make Shane feel breathless. “I need your permission to throw punch, now?” “It was reckless,” Shane argued. “Eriksson had it coming. I would have done same thing if he came after any teammate.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. “Only asshole would play dirty in stupid All-Star game.” “It was a clean hit.” “Was not. His elbow—” “I watched it back, Rozanov, it was clean,” Shane interrupted him, voice firm. “And so what?” Ilya sounded exasperated. “Is hockey. Sometimes people get punched. You never play before?” “Fuck you.” A smile was tugging at Shane’s lips despite himself. Ilya smiled back at him for a moment, but then his eyebrows drew together in concern. “How are your ribs?” “They’re fine—that’s not what I’m worried about right now.” “Is what I worry about. Show me,” he demanded. As always, Shane’s first instinct was to obey his order without question. He managed to keep himself from immediately raising his shirt, because Ilya couldn’t have everything he wanted from him all the fucking time. “Ilya.” “Shane,” Ilya said mockingly, and he stepped forward, crowding Shane against the bed until he was forced to sit down on the edge of the mattress. “Show.” With a heavy sigh, Shane lifted the hem of his t-shirt to expose the purple bruises starting to bloom over the right side of his ribcage. Ilya reached down to trace his fingers along the mottled skin, and Shane hissed at the sensation. “Is not so bad,” Ilya said appraisingly. You will recover before playoffs.” “I know that, you asshole. Which is why it was fucking stupid of you to deck Eriksson over nothing.” Shane felt a tiny bit of satisfaction from being right. But mostly he still felt mad at Ilya for risking everything because of his stupid temper. “It looked worse on the ice.” “I don’t care!” Shane snapped. “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me, Rozanov.” Ilya stared at him, looking deeply unimpressed. “Ah, so you were going to punch him, then?” he said pointedly. “It was a clean hit—” “So you say.” “Do you want me to pull up the clip and show you?” Shane said, tugging his phone out of his pocket, ready to do just that. “No, no, no. I do not want to watch you get hurt again.” There was something tender in Ilya’s expression, but it quickly shifted back to the cocky arrogance Shane was used to. “But you would like to see my punch again, da?” he teased. “Definitely not.” Another lie. Ilya was grinning now, and it was almost terrifying how much Shane wanted to kiss him.