Work Text:
Ilya had been less than thrilled when Shane suggested inviting Hayden and Jackie over for dinner. It seemed ridiculous. Their time together was so limited, and Shane wanted to waste an entire evening on Hayden Pike? But no amount of plaintively and graphically describing what else they could spend those hours doing had managed to convince Shane to reconsider, although it had made him shove Ilya onto the couch and ride him until his thighs gave out, so it hadn’t been a total loss. Still, the more he’d thought about it, the more Ilya had warmed to the idea. He might not like Hayden, but getting to be Shane’s boyfriend in front of other people? Getting to hold his hand and call him sweetheart and make no effort to disguise the utterly lovestruck way he looked at him? That held some undeniable appeal. By the time the dinner rolled around, he’d been cautiously optimistic.
So far, the evening hadn’t been a complete disaster. It had been a little stiff, a little awkward, but they’d expected as much, and things had remained mostly cordial. Jackie was an absolute delight, and she seemed sincerely curious about—and supportive of—Shane and Ilya’s relationship. Hayden… Well, Hayden seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else. He’d been tense and prickly all night, perhaps not helped by Ilya’s incessant chirping, but Jackie’s calming presence and Hayden’s easy rapport with Shane had smoothed over the roughest edges. Ilya wasn’t sure if this dynamic was unclear to Shane or if he just really wanted someone to get punched in the face tonight. It had to be one or the other. Naiveté and malice were the only two possible explanations for leaving Ilya and Hayden alone in a room together after several glasses of wine. Ilya had watched helplessly as Shane led Jackie away for a house tour, feeling his hopes for a pleasant evening vanish with them.
And then he was alone in the living room with Hayden Pike.
God, this was a nightmare. What the fuck did they have to talk about? Hockey would normally be a safe topic, but not with an opposing player who hated him. An argument about the penalties in their last game was unlikely to improve the mood. Ilya poured them both some more wine, more out of a desire for something to do with his hands than anything else, then sat down at the opposite end of the couch from Hayden. He forced his body into a relaxed, nonchalant position.
“So,” Ilya said.
“What are you doing with him?” Hayden blurted. The words spilled out of him with such velocity that Ilya got the distinct impression he’d been holding them in all evening. “What’s your game here?”
Ilya’s brow furrowed.
“Game?”
Hayden stood up, and loomed over Ilya in what was probably supposed to be a threatening manner.
“Is this a joke to you? Or do you just get off on fucking with him?”
“I do get off on fucking him,” Ilya said, face blank and gaze unwavering. “Yes.”
Hayden’s face twisted in frustration.
“That’s not what I mean and you know it! Shane is, like, forbidden. Is that the appeal?”
Ilya’s eyebrows rose. “You do not think much of your best friend.”
“I don’t think much of you.”
Ilya crossed his arms. “And who should Shane be with?”
“A nice guy! Someone who… I don’t know!” Hayden threw up his hands. “Someone who fucking cares about him?”
Fury flooded Ilya’s body so fast that it made him a little nauseous. He was off the couch before he was even conscious of moving, on his feet and crowding forward into Hayden’s space.
“Someone who cares about him?” he snarled. “You don’t think I—?”
“No!” Hayden snapped, cutting him off. “No, man, I don’t! Are you kidding?! Good job finding the time to play house in between fucking every woman on the goddamn continent, I guess, but—”
“Hey!”
Ilya and Hayden both whirled around in the direction of the doorway. Ilya’s heart sank. Shane looked as angry as he’d ever seen him, and Jackie was a silent presence behind him, her mouth a flat line of disapproval. Shit. Ilya had promised he’d play nice, and he hadn’t even managed to make it through one conversation.
“Shane, zhizn’ moya, I’m sorry—”
“Shut up,” Shane said, gaze murderous—and, Ilya realized, fixed on Hayden. “Ilyusha, come here.”
The tension drained out of Ilya’s body in an instant. Shane, still in the very early stages of learning Russian, used diminutives sparingly and with little confidence. Coming from him, it wasn’t a simple marker of familiarity, a force of habit. It was a term of endearment. Shane was angry, but not with him.
Ilya stepped away from Hayden and over to the doorway, where Shane took his hand and squeezed. When Ilya shifted to stand beside him, he found Hayden staring at the two of them with obvious annoyance.
“Hayden,” Shane said, “I think you should leave.”
Hayden startled, face falling.
“What? Shane—”
“No,” Shane said. He shook his head once, sharply. “I don’t wanna hear it. You don’t get to talk to him like that.”
Ilya’s gaze snapped to Shane, eyes wide and heart full to bursting. He’d never seen him like this before. Angry, sure, but never… protective. It made him feel exceptionally loved. He wanted to wrap Shane up in his arms and bask in it.
“Come on, Shane, that’s not fair,” Hayden said. His tone was caught somewhere between pleading and indignant. “He’s been talking shit all night!”
“Yes!” Shane made an irritated gesture with his free hand. “Exactly! Talking shit! Jesus Christ, Hayden, he makes fun of you for not eating mushrooms so you accuse him of not loving me?!”
Hayden faltered. He glanced over Shane’s shoulder at Jackie, but whatever he saw in her face must not have been very comforting, because his shoulders sagged.
“I didn’t… I didn’t say that,” he said quietly.
“It’s what you meant,” Shane said. He was terrifying when he was angry. Ilya loved him so much it hurt. “That’s a shitty fucking thing to say to your best friend’s boyfriend.”
“Come on, man,” Hayden said, eyes wide and earnest. “You know I’m just looking out for you.”
“Looking out for me?” Shane echoed in disbelief. “I’m not a kid, Hayden! If you’re actually worried, why don’t you try talking to me instead of picking a fight with Ilya?! You’re not protecting me, you’re just being an asshole!”
“Lyubimyy,” Ilya murmured, “it’s okay.” He stroked his thumb soothingly over the back of Shane’s hand. As much as Hayden got on his nerves, he’d hate to drive a wedge between the two of them. The last thing Shane needed was fewer friends.
“It’s not okay!” Shane snapped. He turned his head to look at Ilya, jaw clenched, and Ilya was startled to find his eyes bright with unshed tears. He held Ilya’s gaze for a second before he turned back to Hayden. “It’s not okay.”
Hayden took a breath, face desperately uncertain. He held out his hands like Shane was an animal he was trying not to startle.
“Look, Shane, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick. I don’t— I didn’t think it would be a big deal. We’ve been talking about what an asshole Rozanov is for years, that’s just—”
“I know,” Shane said, voice just a little bit unsteady. “God, Hayden, trust me, I know. I hated it.”
Hayden froze.
“What?”
Shane exhaled shakily. “Not— I mean, I still call him an asshole all the time, it’s not like I was choking back tears every time you called him a dick ’cause he was being a dick, but…” He shook his head and gripped Ilya’s hand tighter. “Do you have any idea how fucking exhausting it was? I couldn’t even compliment his playing in front of the team. I’ve had to pretend I hate him for years, and now I’ve finally carved out this tiny little piece of the world where I’m allowed to love him, and you just—” His voice broke, and he swallowed. “You won’t let me.”
Hayden’s sharp inhale was loud as a gunshot in the quiet house. He stared at Shane, wide-eyed and devastated.
“Shane, hey, no,” he said. “No, no, that’s not… I wasn’t…”
“I know you care about me,” Shane said quietly. “But that means you’re gonna have to care about him too, because he’s the love of my life, and he’s not going anywhere.”
Ilya tugged Shane closer by the hand and pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, earning a pleased little hum from Shane. He ached to hold him, but he knew Shane wouldn’t want that until Hayden and Jackie had left.
“Fuck,” Hayden said faintly. Ilya glanced at him; he was watching them with a shell-shocked expression. “Oh, fuck. God damn it. You really mean that. The love of your life.”
For the first time since the conversation started, Shane smiled, soft and sincere. The sight of it made Ilya’s stomach flip.
“Yeah,” Shane said. “I really mean that.”
For a long moment, the room was silent.
“Shit, man,” Hayden said, sounding absolutely stunned. “I’m an asshole.”
Ilya snorted.
“I could’ve told you that,” he muttered. Shane nudged his shoulder with his own, attempting a stern glare and getting nowhere close.
“Behave,” he said. He turned his attention back to Hayden, face settling into something firmer and more determined. “Look, Hayden, just… I don’t care if you and Ilya argue. I think I’d be a bit freaked out if you didn’t. But I don’t ever wanna hear you talk about our relationship like that again.”
“I won’t,” Hayden said immediately. “I won’t. I promise. Fuck, Shane, I’m really sorry.”
Shane exhaled, and Ilya could see him relax as he let go of his remaining anger.
“I forgive you,” Shane said. He paused, then reconsidered and shook his head. “Actually, no, that’s not right. I’m not the one you insulted.” He raised his eyebrows, all challenge. “Apologize to Ilya.”
Hayden’s face scrunched up in displeasure. Ilya glanced incredulously between him and Shane, pressing his lips together to hold back a delighted grin.
“Ugh, seriously?” Hayden said.
“Hayden,” Jackie said sharply. It was the first time she’d interjected. To say that Hayden looked chastened would be an understatement.
“Fine,” Hayden said. “Fine.” He met Ilya’s eyes, still looking distinctly unhappy, and squared his shoulders like he was going into battle. “I’m sorry, Rozanov,” he muttered. His gaze darted away for a second before returning to Ilya, as though it was taking real physical effort to maintain eye contact. “I was out of line.”
Ilya lost the battle against smiling, but managed to bite back a snarky comment.
“Apology accepted,” he said instead, sounding only moderately smug, which was a real achievement under the circumstances. Hayden Pike had apologized to him. Under duress, in front of his wife, looking absolutely miserable. This was the best gift he’d ever received. He was going to make Shane sob tonight.
“That’s better,” Shane said with a nod. “Thank you.”
Behind them, Jackie heaved a long-suffering sigh. She stepped past them and crossed the room to Hayden’s side, where she smacked him upside the head and then pulled him into a hug.
“You oaf,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
“Yeah,” Hayden sighed. “Alright.”
Jackie didn’t apologize for Hayden—not that Ilya and Shane would have let her—but she did assure them she’d be having words with him, and she hugged Ilya while Hayden was saying goodbye to Shane. Ilya got the sense that she’d decided they were friends now, so they were, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was a kind of stubborn, deliberate affection that made him miss Sveta like a lost limb. He’d have to introduce them, once he’d told her about Shane. (And maybe, he thought… Maybe someday their circle would be large enough for a proper dinner party, large enough to fill the house with warmth and laughter. Yuna and David; Jackie and Hayden and their kids; Svetlana, and Rose, and maybe even Marleau… A whole room full of people they wouldn’t have to hide from.) They sent the Pikes home with the box of fancy bakery cookies Shane had bought to serve for dessert, which Jackie informed Ilya would buy him the children’s undying loyalty before they’d even met him. It all felt a little anticlimactic after such a dramatic evening. Jackie kissed Shane on the cheek, Hayden tersely shook Ilya’s hand, and then they were off.
The second the door clicked shut, Ilya slammed Shane against the nearest wall and crushed their mouths together. Shane must have been expecting it, because he melted into it immediately, cupping Ilya’s face in both hands and pulling him closer. He still tasted like coq au vin. Ilya kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until they were both red-faced and gasping for air.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Shane managed dizzily once they finally broke apart. His eyes were half-lidded, and his mouth was red and wet. Ilya wanted to eat him alive. “I’m still kind of mad at you for messing with him all night.”
Ilya hummed and leaned in to mouth at Shane’s jaw.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. (He wasn’t, particularly.) “Let me make it up to you?”
He bit down, just lightly, and Shane’s breath hitched.
“You’re the worst,” Shane said breathlessly, hitting him in the shoulder with absolutely no force. “You can’t solve every problem with sex.”
Ilya pulled back to look at Shane. His face was flushed, and he looked dazed and hungry, cracked open to expose his soft insides. This was not an expression Ilya had ever known to mean I’m seriously angry with you. It was more along the lines of If I don’t get to suck your dick in the next five minutes I might actually die.
“No,” Ilya agreed. He wet his lips and watched Shane track the movement. “But probably this one, yes?”
Shane huffed. He managed to hold it together for a few seconds before a besotted smile spread across his face.
“Yeah,” he conceded, already pulling Ilya back in for another kiss. “Probably this one.”