Chapter Text
Spending Saturday night in a house filled with Voyageurs players is not, as one might put it, Ilya’s idea of a good time. This, despite the fact that he’s spent most of it so far hiding away in Hayden and Jackie’s kitchen.
They are in Montreal to celebrate Hayden’s 32nd birthday, and for some reason, unbeknownst to not only Ilya and Shane but also Hayden himself, Jackie had insisted on throwing him a bigger-than-usual party.
Due to Shane’s complicated relationship with the Voyageurs, Shane and Ilya had considered declining the invitation. In the end, however, their friendship with Hayden and Jackie had won out.
Ilya knows it hasn’t been easy for them either, suddenly having to deal with such a hostile work environment, and Ilya continues to appreciate their unwavering support. Neither of them has ever said anything, but he sees it in their faces whenever Shane asks. To be honest, Ilya is surprised that Hayden even agreed to this party in the first place. If he is not entirely mistaken, he thinks Hayden might be considering a trade in the not-too-distant future.
“Babe.” Hayden tries and fails to catch Jackie’s hand as she flies through the kitchen. “Don’t you want a drink?” He gestures at the table where he’s standing with Ilya. Shane has disappeared upstairs, not that Ilya blames him, but he figures that one of them, at least, should try to hold down the fort.
Jackie gives Hayden a look not unreminiscent of the one Shane gives Ilya when he suggests skipping morning practice.
“Can’t drink,” Jackie tells him, “Busy.”
When she’s gone, Ilya raises an eyebrow and it takes Hayden a moment to realize what he’s suggesting. “No way,” he says, “She’s just stressed out with party planning.”
“Hmm.” Ilya accepts his explanation. For now. “You don’t want another baby?”
“Oh, I would.” Hayden lets out an easy laugh. “It’s Jackie who refuses to – and I quote – give birth to an entire team of hockey players. Which is extremely fair,” he adds, “She’s the one who has to do all the hard work.”
Ilya hums. “A whole team of Pikes,” he muses, “Must be nice.”
Hayden’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
Ilya feels the onset of a blush as he realizes what he’s just said. He responds with a shrug in an attempt to hide the longing in his voice. “Been a long time since I shared my name with someone I love.”
The look on Hayden’s face suggests that he’s not entirely successful. He’s mercifully spared from a response, however, when a warm set of arms sneaks around his middle. Immediately, the smell of his husband overflows his senses, soothing his emotions.
“Hello.”
Shane’s greeting is quiet, comforting. It’s something meant just for him, and Ilya can’t help leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek.
Shane rewards him with a smile that makes Ilya’s insides go fuzzy. He still has trouble comprehending the lengths that Shane has gone to, to become comfortable with this, with showing his love in front of others.
Nonetheless, Ilya searches his gaze to make absolutely sure that Shane is fine. He finds nothing but warmth, however, shining forth from his husband’s eyes. Ilya lets out a small hum in response and gives him another kiss, this time on the lips.
“You two are sickeningly cute.”
Hayden’s voice cuts through the moment, and Ilya is only partly annoyed. When he looks at him, his face shines with amusement, and Ilya knows that he’s secretly pleased to witness Shane so carefree.
“You’re just jealous,” Ilya chirps, knowing that Hayden more than lucked out with Jackie.
“You wish,” Hayden scoffs, “Although I probably should go find my wife.”
“We’ll join you,” Shane says, although Ilya doesn’t miss the lines of worry making their way onto his face. He sneaks his hands around Shane’s and gives them a comforting squeeze.
“I’ll be right next to you,” he whispers, and Shane hums in acknowledgement.
The next hour passes mostly without incident. Shane and Ilya stay next to each other, and they make sure to converse mostly with Hayden and Jackie’s non-hockey friends. A few of the Montreal WAGs are safe to talk to, too, more than a few of which have reached out to Shane to apologize for their husbands’ behavior. It’s not enough to heal Shane’s scars, but it helps, and Ilya takes careful note of who is supportive and who is not.
They are nearing midnight when things take a turn for the worse.
Somehow, Shane and Ilya end up around a table filled mostly with Voyageurs players, Comeau leading the conversation. Ilya is only half listening, most of his attention trained on Shane. His husband is nursing a half-empty glass of champagne, doing his best to nod along, his eyes straying every so often. For this reason, it takes Ilya a few seconds to realize the shift in conversation.
Comeau has ended whatever story he was entertaining them with, and now he’s addressing Ilya. “Notice I haven’t gotten any invites for Hollander’s birthday celebrations,” he says.
Beside him, Shane stiffens, and Ilya levels Comeau with a tight smile. “We usually keep our celebrations private,” he notes, “May is the middle of the playoffs, as you know.” He isn’t sure where Comeau is going with this, but Ilya refuses to be an active participant.
Comeau cocks his head to the side. “That explains it, I suppose.” There’s a beat of silence before he continues. “I was afraid you might have forgotten it or something.”
Ilya feels his jaw tighten. “I don’t know about you, Comeau, but I’m not usually in the habit of forgetting my spouse’s birthday.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Ilya knows it even before the words leave his mouth, but there’s something about the other player that rattles his composure.
The smirk that spreads across Comeau’s face is downright evil as he continues. “I’m not saying you’d do it intentionally,” he says, “It’s just that we all know about your other – exploits.” His tone of voice leaves no room for misinterpretation. “It must be hard to keep the dates straight sometimes.”
The table around them fills with laughter, and Ilya freezes with the shock of the insult. He doesn’t get the chance to respond, however, as a loud crash interrupts all sounds of amusement.
It takes Ilya a moment to connect the noise with the sound of glass breaking. It takes him another to realize that Shane has crushed the champagne glass with his bare hand.
“Sweetheart.” Ilya watches in horror as blood begins to trickle from between Shane’s fingers. “Don’t move,” he tells him, reaching out to steady the injured hand, trying to keep Shane’s grip from tightening further. He looks around, frantically, trying to find something to stem the flow, but he doesn’t find anything, and no one offers to help.
Ilya is so occupied with Shane that he misses Comeau’s mockery of the endearment. Shane, in turn, does not, and lets out an honest-to-god snarl.
“You say that shit about my husband again, and it’s the last thing you ever say to me.”
Shane’s voice is loud, and for a moment, every single person in the room freezes, Ilya included.
Shane’s hands are curled into fists, his knuckles deathly white against the flow of blood. Ilya is inadvertently reminded of his husband’s, admittedly few, on-ice fights. He’d looked half as intimidating then as he does now.
“You hear me?” Shane is seething. “You say that shit again, Comeau, and I’ll personally get you kicked out of the NHL!”
His breaths are coming in small gasps now, fingers continuing to clutch the broken shards. Ilya lets out a wounded noise. He coaxes him to slacken his grip, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. Shane, apparently, is not done yet.
“Have I ever – ever,” Shane breaks off as he lets out a gasp, “- ever said shit like that about your family, huh? I was in your fucking wedding. And you just – you say something like that to my – to mine – my …” Shane trails off, seemingly unable to verbalize the magnitude of the affront. Ilya’s hand hovers weakly at his side, not wanting to overstep in the current setting, yet dying on the inside at not being able to provide his husband with the comfort he so desperately needs.
By this point, thankfully, Hayden has appeared on Shane’s other side. He takes one wide-eyed look at Shane, another one at Ilya, and then the two of them lead him away, quickly but kindly, not stopping until they’ve crossed the hall and closed the bathroom door behind them.
“Jesus Christ, buddy.” Hayden winces as Shane’s injuries become visible beneath the lights. “What did you do to your hand?”
Shane is shaking, and Ilya isn’t sure that he’s entirely aware of where he is right now. Ilya keeps one hand clasped around his wrist, letting the other trail softly up and down Shane’s back.
“You have an – what is word – emergency kit?” Ilya asks, the question directed at Hayden. His voice sounds muted even to his own ears, but he is spared having to wait for a response, as the door clicks open and Jackie rushes through.
“Shane,” she says, eyes going wide at the sight of blood filling up the sink. “I have gauze,” she adds. She deposits it on the counter and lets her own hand settle against Shane’s back, missing Shane’s flinch as she does. “I am so sorry, honey. J.J.’s kicking him out right now, don’t you worry. You’ll never see him in this house again. And Ilya –”
She looks at him, and Ilya shakes his head. “Can you –?“ He trails off helplessly, and Jackie wastes no time unfolding the gauze. It’s the sort of efficiency that comes with having four kids, Ilya supposes.
“I want to clean it,” Jackie says, “But I think maybe we should leave that to the ER personnel.” She sounds uncertain. “There’s a lot of blood…” she trails off.
“I’ll take him as soon as his hand’s wrapped.” Ilya gives his husband a reassuring look, but Shane immediately starts to shake his head.
“I want to go home,” he says, “We shouldn’t have come here. I just – “ He lets out a hiccup, “I want to go home,” he repeats.
Ilya lets out a soothing noise as Jackie begins to wrap his hand. “We’ll go home afterwards,” he whispers, ignoring the fact that Ottawa is two hours away and that they were meant to spend the night in Jackie and Hayden’s guest bedroom. Ilya is sober. If his husband wants to go home, he’ll take him home.
“I’m sorry.” Shane lets out a gasp. “I ruined your birthday,” he says to Hayden. Hayden protests but Shane ignores him. “I ruined everything. And now – now…” He trails off again, hands shaking.
“You’re all right,” Ilya whispers, “We’ll go to the ER, and your hand will be as good as new.”
“That’s not – “ Shane’s face twists in frustration. It takes him a few tries to get the words out. “I don’t like it when people say that stuff about you.”
“Moya lyubov…” Ilya’s heart tightens in his chest. There’s nothing he wants more than to smooth out the lines across his face, to reassure him that all is well. “I can take care of myself,” he whispers.
“But you shouldn’t have to!” Shane’s voice rises, and Ilya resumes the patterns across his back, calming him as best he can.
Both Jackie’s and Hayden’s eyes are trained on Shane’s injuries, attempting to give them as much privacy as possible. It is admittedly an impossible task in the bathroom, and Ilya doesn’t miss the look of heartbreak that crosses both their faces.
“You shouldn’t have to put up with those – insults,” Shane spits out the words, “All they do is lie about you. They don’t – they don’t know you. The real you.” Shane’s ensuing look is so sad, so devastated, that Ilya is barely able to stand it.
“Honey,” Jackie’s voice is firm, but kind, “You need to keep your hand still for me.” She sends Ilya a pleading look as red spots begin to bleed through the fabric.
“Shane.” Ilya’s voice is firmer now, more insistent. “I am going to say something, and you are going to listen to me.” He lets his fingers trail across Shane’s chin, tilting his head, until his husband has no choice but to look at him. “You are the most important person to me in the world,” he says, “No one else compares, understand? Yours is the only opinion that matters to me, the only one I care about. And the only thing that’s able to hurt me? That’s the sight of you hurting.”
Shane lets out a sob, and Ilya shushes him. “I love the way you love me,” he whispers, “I love the way you protect me. But your pain, my love? That will never be the savior of mine.”
Ilya presses a kiss to his cheek, and then two more. He continues until his eyes are dry, and nothing but freckles adorn his husband’s face.
By this point, finally, Shane’s hand is wrapped. Ilya lets his arms encircle Shane, meeting Jackie’s gaze across his shoulder. She gives him a small nod, and Ilya rewards her with a grateful smile. She shakes her head. It’s nothing, she mouths, and Ilya presses his mouth into a thin line. It’s definitely more than nothing, but he won’t fight her on it now.
“We should get going,” he whispers, briefly tightening his arms, as he feels Shane stiffen beneath him.
“I’ll go check that the coast is clear,” Hayden mumbles. He, too, receives a grateful look from Ilya before disappearing from the bathroom.
A few minutes later, he reports that the majority of the Voyageurs have cleared out. The only one left is J.J., and he stays uncharacteristically quiet as Ilya leads Shane across the living room floor.
Ilya knows that Boiziau regrets his initial reaction to their relationship. Regrets his reaction in the locker room, too, after Game Seven. Back when everything went to shit, and Shane was so deeply betrayed by the teammates that he had come to regard as family.
Yet, Ilya has difficulty forgiving Boiziau even as he encourages Shane to salvage the friendship. His husband needs friends, and Boiziau is trying, but that doesn’t mean that Ilya isn’t on his guard around him. That, however, is another fight not meant to be fought tonight, and Ilya settles for a small nod as they pass him. Boiziau looks like he wants to say something but stays mercifully quiet.
Another moment, and Ilya leads his husband out into the night. It’s just them now, in their bubble, mercifully free from the judgment of others. He feels Shane relax beneath him, and Ilya takes comfort in that, even as he’s unable to take comfort in little else.
Shane grows more careful after that night. It’s not that he stops touching Ilya, but there’s a carefulness to it now, one that wasn’t there before. It’s like he’s afraid that his touch will subject Ilya to more harm than good.
It makes Ilya’s heart break, to put it frankly, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Doesn’t know how to convince his husband of the thrills he feels, whenever Shane is near him.
For this reason, their next trial comes sooner than Ilya would have liked, and despite being surrounded by their own teammates this time, Ilya is left to watch his husband suffer in silence.
They’re flying home after a game against Buffalo when their flight is unexpectedly cancelled. There’s a festival in the city and between that and the hockey game, there are no rooms to be had within a ten-mile radius.
The airport offers them a secluded room in which to spend the night, and management begrudgingly takes the offer.
With the exception of a few chairs, the room is empty, and the players spread out, leaning against walls or sprawling across the floor. Their coats and bags act as makeshift pillows, and all in all, it is a truly terrible night.
For Ilya and Shane, it becomes all the worse when Shane hesitates before settling down against a wall opposite Ilya. It’s about fifteen feet away, but it might as well have been measured in miles.
Ilya, for his part, doesn’t hold it against him. He knows of the internal struggle taking place within his mind. It doesn’t matter that more than a few of their teammates quirk their brows at the sight of their separation. He knows that none of them would bat an eye at Shane and Ilya lying next to each other.
Not for the first time, Ilya curses the Voyageurs. He casts another look at Shane, sees the sadness etched across his face, and closes his eyes, readying himself for a night of little sleep.
About an hour passes before his phone vibrates, signaling an incoming message.
Shane: It’s the first time
Ilya waits for Shane to elaborate except nothing else comes through. Ilya looks up to find that he is looking at him expectantly across the room.
Ilya: The first time…?
Shane: It’s the first time since our wedding
Ilya’s brow furrows. He can’t decipher his meaning however much he tries.
Ilya: ???
Across the room, Shane lets out a noise of frustration. He returns to typing, attracting the attention of more than a few of their teammates, who are trying to sleep.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Are you two texting each other right now?”
Ilya ignores Dykstra’s question as his phone vibrates again.
Shane: It’s the first time since our wedding I’ll fall asleep without your arms around me
For a moment, Ilya just stares at the screen. Then, he wonders whether his husband is trying to kill him. Whether he has done something he shouldn’t, something unforgivable, and this is Shane’s twisted attempt at retaliation. Otherwise, how dare he write something like that and expect Ilya to stay away?
Except when he looks up, there’s nothing but sorrow painted across Shane’s face. Ilya sends him a desperate look, and Shane’s expression morphs into one of regret.
Ilya lets his head fall back against the wall, wondering, not for the first time, how he’s meant to survive this night.
They’d tried to spend one other night away from each other, their very first on the road together. Shane had insisted it’d be good for him to room with others to get to know his new teammates. He’d barely made it through his dental routine, however, before Ilya had come crawling with a knock on his door.
Shane had been mortified, of course, face resembling a tomato, and freckles looking downright delicious against his flaming cheeks. He had, however, also helped Bood pack his bags, so Ilya figured he hadn’t been too sorry about the turn of events.
Since then, they hadn’t attempted to sleep apart, and no one had commented on it.
“Roz… Hollzy… Go outside to talk, will you? Either that or turn off those screens.”
Young’s lying with an arm slung over his head, so Ilya doesn’t know why he, of all people, is complaining. They do, however, put their phones away, although no more than a few minutes pass before another complaint is directed their way.
“Hollander – for the love of god – stop fidgeting.”
Shane squeaks out an apology, embarrassment clear in his voice. Ilya stays where he is. This is Shane’s boundary to cross, not his.
He settles for leveling an unimpressed look at Holmberg, who has the decency to look at least a little ashamed. Ilya loves his teammates, but anyone who upsets his husband walks a dangerous line.
When he looks up, he catches Shane looking at him again. There’s longing in his eyes, but when Ilya gives him a reassuring smile, his husband looks away. Shane turns in an attempt to catch some sleep on his other side, and Ilya ignores the stab of hurt that courses through his body. He aches to reach out, to soothe the tension between those shoulder blades. But he doesn’t. He lets his hands stay where they are, fingers twitching in the space between them.
Ilya lets out a slow sigh and ignores the looks of more than a few teammates who silently beg for him to intervene. He focuses instead on his own attempts at sleep.
Except sleep doesn’t come. And judging by the sounds of Shane’s breathing, his husband isn’t getting any sleep either. Ilya recognizes it, even across the throng of hockey players, like a beacon, begging him to come home.
Another twenty minutes and Ilya almost gives in when, suddenly, there’s a sound of footsteps pattering across the floor. Ilya holds his breath until the sounds come to an abrupt stop next to him. He’s still leaning against the wall but opens his eyes, only to be met with the warmth of his husband’s.
Shane opens and closes his mouth a few times, no sound escaping him. Then, he inclines his head, and Ilya opens his arms to him, no questions necessary. Shane nearly stumbles in his haste to reach him, and Ilya suppresses a sigh of relief as the familiar smell of his husband washes over him.
Shane’s arms come around his middle, one leg moving to tangle between Ilya’s outstretched ones. Shane leans his head against his chest, right above his heart, and emits a moan that’s borderline indecent in the quiet of the room.
“Thank the lord.”
The words are spoken by Barrett, but Ilya won’t deny that he shares the sentiment. “Shut up,” he says, doing his bit to discourage more teammates from voicing their opinions. He doesn't, however, miss the relieved whispers murmured in the room around them.
He moves one hand to tangle in Shane’s hair, letting his fingers draw soft patterns across his scalp. Shane lets out a small hum. Then, his breathing evens out, and Ilya presses a soft kiss to his temple.
“Did he just – ?”
Chouinard, this time, leans forward to stare at Shane.
“I think he did,” Dillon replies, voice equally in awe, “Can you show me that trick?” he asks, directed at Ilya.
Ilya tightens his grip, a protective look taking over his face as he tries to shield his husband from their prying eyes. “Go to sleep, will you?” The words are spoken, not unkindly, but firmly, telling them that enough is enough.
“You heard the man.” Bood, this time, speaks up from the opposite side of the room, “One more word and you’re all doing shuttle sprints tomorrow.”
“But –“
“I don’t care how little sleep you’ve gotten. One more word and you’ll regret it.”
All voices go mercifully silent after this. Ilya sends an appreciative look Bood’s way before looking down to take in the sight of his husband. His face is turned inwards, nose scrunched adorably against his chest. There’s a bit of light coming in from the window, accentuating his freckles, and Ilya resists the temptation to trail his fingers across them.
Ilya wouldn’t mind staying up all night, he thinks, if this is the sight he gets to take in. He’d even take Bood’s shuttle sprints and consider it a fair prize. Eventually, however, he feels his eyes begin to droop, lulled to sleep by the even sounds of his husband’s breathing.
Being in the know now, Ilya is aware of most of Shane’s attempts at public affection. The incidents at Hayden’s house and the airport both being cases in point.
Sometimes, however, his husband manages to catch him off guard.
An example of this is the next effort of the year, which prompts a call from their local police station. Ilya, of course, doesn’t know that this is a PDA attempt on Shane’s part and – quite justifiably – spends the next thirty minutes losing his mind.
In Shane’s defense, it wasn’t meant to involve the police, a fact he’ll apologize for many times in the months to come. This, despite Ilya’s assurances that the ensuing chain of events happened through no fault of his own.
The call itself happens on a Friday.
Leading up to the phone call, Shane has left on a morning errand run, leaving Ilya home alone with Anya. It’s a reasonably warm morning, and so, the door to the garden is open, letting in some much-welcome fresh air.
When the phone rings, Ilya almost declines the call. As a rule, he doesn’t pick up unless he knows the number, but since Shane is not at home, there’s that ever-present worry that something might have happened, and Ilya, God forbid, declines a call from the hospital informing him that his husband has been in an accident.
Of course, unknown numbers usually turn out to be telemarketers or journalists, but on this morning, Ilya flies up off the couch when an Officer Keys from their local police station requests to know whether she is speaking to Ilya Rozanov.
Ilya swears that his heart stops beating in his chest. Theoretically, he knows that this is impossible since he’s still conscious, but he has no better words to describe the feeling.
He’s not sure what he says but he must have said something because after what feels like a lifetime of terror, the officer informs him that she is in possession of his dog.
For a moment, Ilya freezes, a rush of overwhelming relief coursing through his body as he realizes that Shane is safe. He’s probably cooped up in their local Loblaws, antagonizing over which brand of protein powder to buy after his favorite one went bankrupt.
Then, the words register and – “What did you say?” The words escape Ilya in a confused jumble, and he must repeat them before the officer understands him.
There’s a rustle of papers on the other end of the line. Then, the officer continues. “I have a dog here, by the name of Appelby’s Shooting Star, registered to one Ilya Rozanov. That is you, correct?” It takes a moment for Ilya to remember that Appelby’s Shooting Star is Anya’s official Canadian Kennel Club name.
Ilya’s mouth has gone dry, and so, it takes him a few tries to confirm that this is correct.
“And you are Ilya Rozanov?”
Not a hockey fan, Ilya surmises. Out loud, he tells her that there must be talk of a misunderstanding. “I am home with my dog right now,” he says.
There’s another rustle of papers, before Officer Keys’s words sound through the speakers. “You can confirm that you have eyes on your dog right now?”
Ilya looks around to do just that, except… Anya’s dog bed is empty. This doesn’t deter him, though, and he walks around the couch to check out her other hiding spots only… these are empty as well.
“One moment,” Ilya says, and he exits the door to the garden, calling her name.
He ignores a sigh on the other end of the line, as well as the pit of unease that’s beginning to form in his stomach. “She must be upstairs,” he declares.
He doesn’t know if he says the words for the sake of the officer or the sake of himself, but a few more seconds, and he’s running upstairs, two steps at a time.
Sometimes, when Shane isn’t home, Anya will sneak into their bed for a nap, and Ilya will let her, except now, the bed is empty.
“Sir…” Officer Keys is quite noticeably losing her patience, “You are the owner of Appleby’s Shooting Star? A fluffy, little thing?”
Ilya bites his tongue before answering that her name is Anya and that, despite being unseasonably fluffy, she is most certainly not a thing.
Unwittingly, his mind goes to her previous owners, those who’d left her out in the cold. If Anya really is gone… Ilya bites his thumb. He can’t stand the thought of Anya thinking that he and Shane would do the same thing.
“She is okay?” he manages to choke out. Then, he calls out her name again, half-heartedly, slowly accepting that Anya is not, in fact, in the house with him.
“According to the vet, she is safe and sound,” Officer Keys informs him.
Despite the assurance, Ilya feels deeply uncomfortable.
How did someone manage to kidnap Anya? Did they take her from the garden? Did someone enter the house? Did Ilya forget to lock the door? The gate? More importantly, why would anyone want to kidnap her? What if someone had entered their house when Ilya wasn’t home? What if someone had entered the house when Shane was home and taken him?
A terrible thought strikes Ilya. What if someone has taken Shane, and Ilya doesn’t know?
“If you could come down to the station, sir, you can pick up your dog and take her home with you.” The officer’s voice cuts through the phone, and Ilya nods, too dazed for words, before realizing that Officer Keys can’t see him. He emits an unintelligible noise and hopes that she understands the sentiment.
Once they hang up, Ilya calls Shane, frustrated when it goes to voicemail. He tries him two more times while searching for his wallet and keys. Then, he leaves him a voicemail, and, for good measure, a text too, explaining what has happened.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s bursting through the doors to the station, just barely restraining himself from rushing the counter. He waits impatiently while the people in front of him complete their business. Then he dashes forward, puts both hands on the desk and requests to see Anya.
“Ah yes.” The clerk looks up. “Stolen dog, right?”
Another non-hockey fan.
Ilya nods, and the clerk picks up the phone to call someone. A few minutes later, a female officer appears from a hallway. Officer Keys, Ilya supposes.
She shakes his hand and asks him to follow her down the hall. Ilya does, looking anxiously around for any signs of Anya. When they finally come to a stop outside an office, Ilya can hear the excited padding of paws on the other side.
“She’s right in here,” Officer Keys says, before opening the door to let him inside.
The dog is unmistakably Anya, and Ilya just about manages a sigh of relief before she rushes towards him, tail wagging so enthusiastically that Ilya’s heart breaks a little.
“What happened?” he asks. He tries to comfort Anya who, quite frankly, is too excited considering the circumstances. Poor thing has no idea she’s just been dognapped.
“Vet flagged it,” Officer Keys replies, “It’s quite common, actually. A man entered the practice about an hour ago and tried to change her name and contact info. It is unfortunately a common way to steal a dog. Thankfully, the man was unsuccessful.”
“A man?” Ilya’s voice trails off. “What man? I don’t –“ Ilya is still confused, “How did he even get to her?”
He tries to tighten his grip on Anya, but Anya darts away, tail wagging. She runs to a door at the far end of the room and makes a little twirl in front of it. Then, she looks imploringly at Ilya.
The trick does nothing to lessen the fracture in Ilya’s heart. Shane taught her that trick over the summer, and she’s been proudly showing it off ever since. What if he’d never gotten to see it again?
“I assure you, sir, you have nothing to worry about.” Officer Key’s voice cuts through the jumble of thoughts. “The man is being questioned right this minute, and we’re going to ensure that nothing like this will happen again.”
“But I do worry,” Ilya says, an edge of frustration to his voice, “Anya was home with me an hour ago. Are you saying this man was in our house? What would have happened if my husband was at home with her? How do I know that he wasn’t the target? What if – “ Ilya swallows and tries to temper his panic, “Who is this person?”
As if on cue, a voice rises on the other side of the door, and Anya lets out a small bark.
“Anya.” Ilya calls her name, but Anya doesn’t respond. Absentmindedly, he wonders how quickly a dog might develop Stockholm Syndrome.
Ilya looks at his phone again, wondering why Shane still hasn’t answered him. It adds to his growing feeling of unease, a feeling which doesn’t dissipate as Anya keeps twirling in front of the door. The voices on the other side grow louder still, and if Ilya didn’t know any better…
Before Officer Keys gets the chance to stop him, Ilya crosses the space, gathers Anya in his arms and opens the door. On the other side, he finds a square room, dim with a single light bulb casting shadows across its inhabitants.
It takes Ilya a moment to realize what exactly he’s looking at, and then –
“Shane?” Ilya’s voice sounds uncertain even to his own ears, but it is indeed Shane who turns in his chair, eyes darting between himself and Anya. The latter lets out a content little growl upon seeing her dad, and Ilya has to reel in her excitement as she squirms in his arms.
“Sir…” Officer Keys has followed him, “I understand that you are upset, but you cannot be in here.”
“Anya…” Shane’s voice sounds breathless, shoulders slumping in obvious relief at the sight of her. Then, he turns his attention to Ilya, eyes filled with pure frustration. “Babe,” he pleads, “You need to tell these – people – that I have not attempted to kidnap our dog.”
Ilya blinks a few times, mind reeling. From Anya’s supposed kidnapping to Shane’s apparent arrest to the fact that Shane just called him babe in front of people, he isn’t sure what to say. As troubled as he is by the sight of Shane in here, he’s also immensely relieved to find that a stranger hasn’t forced their way into their home.
“Ilya.” There’s a desperate edge to Shane’s voice. “Get me out of here? Please?”
And that – is something he can do.
Ilya must check himself as a sudden surge of protectiveness overwhelms him. It feels blinding in its intensity, growing only bigger as he takes in the scene in front of him. “What’s going on here?” he asks.
Shane and – an interrogation officer, Ilya thinks – are sitting on opposite sides of a steel table, his husband’s fingers fidgeting in front of him. There’s a single piece of paper clasped within his hand, and he seems to hold on to it as one would a lifeline. He keeps darting nervous looks towards Anya, who has begun to whine, clearly adding to Shane’s distress. This, in turn, does nothing to pacify Anya, who continues to whine, aching to provide Shane with the comfort he so obviously craves.
“Excuse me.” The interrogation officer looks at Officer Keys, eyes darting between her and Ilya. “What is he doing in here?” He raps his knuckles against the table, and Shane flinches.
It takes every bit of Ilya’s self-control not to react. In his arms, Anya lets out a howl, paws moving helplessly in an effort to bridge the gap between herself and Shane. Shane turns to look at her again, a pained look on his face.
Ilya takes a steadying breath before turning towards the officer. “You say this man has kidnapped this dog?” He flinches at the sound of his accent, but caught between Shane’s distress and Anya’s torment, he’s thankful that he manages to get the words out at all.
“That is correct, sir.” The interrogation officer nods. “Although the legal term would be stealing seeing as she is not human.”
Ilya goes to protest but doesn’t get the chance. At the same time, Shane’s face morphs into one of complete indignation, tearing his gaze away from Anya to glare at the officer. “Anya is part of our family.” He lets out an angry huff. “I did not steal her. I took her to the vet. That’s all I did.” Shane sends a pleading look in Ilya’s direction as if he’s afraid Ilya might be thinking the same thing.
Ilya tries to send his husband a reassuring look. It causes him physical pain that he cannot go to comfort him, but judging by the look of the interrogator, he should not move closer right now. Especially not with Anya behaving the way she does. Ilya tries to soothe her, but their fluffball is having none of it.
“Listen.” He keeps his voice neutral in an attempt to appease the officers. “I am afraid you have made a mistake. This man is my husband. This is our dog. Our shared dog. Shane’s, too. He has every right to take her to the vet.”
The man at the table pauses for a bit, lowering his gaze to the papers. “According to the vet’s registry, this dog belongs to you alone.” His eyes look up to meet Ilya’s. “And Mr. – “ He has to consult his papers again, “Mr. Hollander here is distorting the truth. He took her to the vet this morning in an attempt to change her registered name as it is stated in the Canadian Kennel Club.”
Ilya throws a confused look in Shane’s direction, but his husband is still looking at the officer, who continues without preamble.
“This name change would involve not only her official papers but her chip as well. You would have been unable to reclaim her, had Mr. Hollander been successful in his endeavors.”
Ilya is glad that he’s holding Anya, otherwise he might have been driven to tear his hair out. “As I just told you, Mr. Hollander and I share this dog. He is perfectly within his rights to change her name.” He ignores his own confusion as to why Shane would do this and focuses instead on the task at hand. “If my husband is not listed as an owner, then I will change this as soon as possible. Right now, if you’ll let us go.” He puts extra emphasis on the plural pronoun.
The officer seems to hesitate, and Ilya tries a different tactic.
“I am grateful,” he says, surprising himself with how easy the lie rolls off his tongue, “Very grateful that you worry about our dog. But there has been a mistake here. My husband took her to the vet this morning to change her name. That is all. He did not – steal her.” The word sounds dirty in his mouth.
The interrogation officer and Officer Keys share a look. “Does this mean that you won’t press charges?” he asks of Ilya.
Ilya lets out an exasperated sigh, accent thickening with the effort. “Yes, I won’t press charges,” he says, “Now may I please take my husband and our dog home?”
For a long while, no one says anything.
Ilya looks at Shane whose knuckles have turned white with how tight he’s clutching the paper. It makes his scars stand out, and Ilya’s hands itch to reach out and soothe the tension.
Then, just as Ilya’s patience begins to falter, the officer deflates, waving his arm in a defeated gesture. “Very well,” he says, “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. We apologize, Mr. – “ He consults the papers yet again, “Hollander. It seems you have done nothing wrong, and you are free to go.”
Shane rises from his chair so quickly that Ilya has to rush forward to steady him. He wastes no time, either, thrusting Anya into his arms. His husband is quick to tighten his grip around her, ignoring every self-imposed hygiene lesson as he presses quick kisses all over her face. Anya’s tail begins to wag, and Ilya catches more than one apology whispered against the warmth of her fur.
He sends Officer Keys a dirty look, not attempting to mask his thoughts as to who should be doing the apologizing here. She stays quiet, however, and so does he, letting his hand come to rest against the small of Shane’s back. He can feel the anxiety thrumming beneath his skin, and now that they’re free to go, Ilya is quick to coax him out of the room, hand never wavering as he does.
“Let’s get out of here,” he mumbles. Shane lets out a small hum, all his attention focused on Anya as Ilya leads them out of the station.
When they finally reach the parking lot, Ilya opens the door for him and helps him secure his seatbelt as Shane refuses to let go of Anya. Once he’s sure that they’re both tugged in, he closes the door and jogs around to the driver’s seat. He settles in beside them but doesn’t turn on the engine.
He Ilya shifts in his seat so that he can look at Shane. His husband has taken to drawing small patterns across Anya’s back, and even as Ilya tries to catch it, Shane refuses to meet his gaze.
“Sweetheart.” Ilya makes sure that his voice is as gentle as possible, not wanting to add to Shane’s already growing anxiety. “Do you want to tell me what happened in there? Why did – how did you end up in there?”
Unwittingly, an image of Shane being stuffed into the back of a police car enters his mind. He does his best to dispel it, not sure that he can keep the anger out of his voice unless he does. He doesn’t want Shane to think that any of this is in any way directed at him.
“My car is still at the vet’s,” Shane says, in lieu of an answer, and Ilya reaches out a hand to rest on his knee. When Shane doesn’t pull back, Ilya gives it a squeeze.
“Bood or Hazy can help me retrieve the car later,” he says, “For now, I’m more worried about you. Moya lyubov… walk me through it, will you?”
Shane’s eyes are still trained on Anya who is now snuggled contentedly against his chest. She has buried her nose in his sweatshirt, emitting small snores as she dozes off.
“I just – “ Shane’s face screws up in frustration, “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”
No shit, Ilya thinks. First thing in the morning, they’re finding another veterinary practice. Then, maybe he can get Yuna to sue their asses. Knowing Yuna, it won’t take a lot of convincing.
Next to him, Shane’s fists clench in frustration, right one still holding the paper, and Ilya reaches out to stop him. “Whatever happened you can tell me.”
“It was meant to be a surprise,” Shane mumbles.
“What was, sweetheart?”
“The name change.”
The name change. It seems the officers were right about that, at least, although Ilya has no idea why Shane would wish to do this in the first place – and without talking to Ilya about it.
However, what Ilya told the officers was also true. Anya is just as much Shane’s as she is Ilya’s, and if Shane wishes to change her name, then he has all the right. Knowing his husband, he must have had a good reason to do it.
Ilya squeezes Shane’s hand between his own. “We can go change the name together when you’re up for it.”
Shane lets out a sniffle, and Ilya’s heart clenches. He’s not in fact sure that it is possible to change a dog’s CKC name, but if Shane went to these lengths to try, then it must have been important to him.
“What do you want to call her?” Ilya asks.
At first, Shane doesn’t say anything. Then, his hand begins to uncurl from around the paper that he’s clutching. He extends his hand, slowly, indicating that it’s all right for Ilya to take it. Ilya does, carefully unfolding it.
There’s a lot of legalese on the page, so it takes him a few seconds to understand what he’s looking at. Once he does, his world comes to a complete standstill.
In his hands, he’s holding a petition to change Anya’s CKC name to Anya Hollander-Rozanova.
It feels like the breath has been punched from his gut. Ilya can’t look away. His eyes stare at the name until spots cloud his vision and he must remind himself to blink.
Quietly, Shane’s voice filters through the ringing in his ears.
“I heard you at Hayden’s birthday party,” he says, “Before – you know. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you sounded so sad when you said you had forgotten what it felt like to share a name with someone you love.”
Ilya looks up to meet Shane’s eyes, and Shane stumbles on. “I went to change our names – Anya’s and mine both. I didn’t want you to feel alone,” he adds, voice small but determined, “I never want you to feel alone.”
Ilya literally has no words. “You – changed your name?”
Shane nods. “A couple of weeks ago,” he whispers, “But the vet didn’t have an opening until today.”
There’s a line of worry, Ilya notes, nestled right between his eyebrows. Ilya wants to obliterate that worry as soon as possible. He opens his mouth to do just that, to reassure him that he has nothing to be worried about, but he finds that he cannot. Words are failing him in both his languages. His chest feels tight. It feels like his heart is expanding. Like it cannot possibly contain all the love that he has for this man.
Shane bites his lip. Then, hands shaking, he reaches for his wallet and pulls out his driver’s license. When he shows it to Ilya, the words Shane Hollander-Rozanov stand out in shiny, black lettering.
For a moment, Ilya stays frozen. Then, he leans forward and presses his lips to Shane’s in an uncoordinated mess. The angle is awkward as Anya is pressed between them, still sleeping after all the excitement of the morning. But Ilya doesn’t want to change a thing. He tries to pour every single emotion into that kiss, letting out an involuntary sob in the process.
“Baby…” Shane whispers the word against his skin, lips picking up tears that Ilya didn’t realize were falling. Ilya raises his hands to tangle in Shane’s hair, letting out a shuttering breath as their foreheads meet.
“I’m sorry I messed it up,” Shane says, and Ilya lets out a wounded noise, “It seems you cannot change CKC names. At the very least not without the owner present.” He gives a hollow laugh.
“You haven’t messed anything up,” Ilya says, “Absolutely nothing, you hear me? You’re perfect, my love, absolutely perfect. And you are Anya’s parent, don’t you ever doubt that.”
Their eyes meet, breath mingling in the space between them. “You’re sure?” Ilya asks, searching Shane’s eyes for any signs of doubt, “You’re sure you want to share my name?” He tries to temper the hope, even as it simmers beneath his skin. He doesn’t want Shane to do this unless he wants to. Unless he’s absolutely certain.
Ilya’s worry, however, turns out to be unfounded. He watches as a determined pout overtakes Shane’s features. “I’m sure,” Shane says, words trailing off before adding, “And so is Anya.”
Ilya lets out an incredulous laugh, happiness bursting forth from every pore.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner,” Shane says, “I should have done it after the wedding. Would have wanted to,” he adds, “If only I’d thought of it.”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Ilya whispers, “It was a chaotic time. Wonderful, but chaotic.”
“And you’re okay with it?” Shane asks, that line of worry once again making its way onto his face, “You don’t mind that I took your name without asking?”
Ilya’s fingers rise to smooth the skin across his brow. “What’s mine is yours,” he whispers, “And it’s beautiful. Hollander-Rozanov. Most beautiful name I ever heard.”
Shane hums. “Promise?” he whispers.
“I promise,” Ilya says and presses another kiss to his lips. He lowers his head to give Anya a kiss as well. She settles further into Shane’s arms but doesn’t wake.
“Anya Hollander-Rozanova,” Ilya says, lips curling around a smile, “It sounds like the name of a princess.”
“I think so,” Shane says, a shy smile overtaking his features. There’s a blush spreading across his cheeks, accentuating his freckles, and Ilya thinks he might die with how much he loves him.
“All right.” Ilya leans back and turns on the engine. “We need to go right now.”
“Home?” Shane gives him a hopeful look, and Ilya is only partly apologetic when he shakes his head. “Soon,” he promises as Shane’s face falls. “We need to make a stop along the way.”
Another frown appears on Shane’s face. “I don’t think I’m in a state to drive right now,” he says.
“We’re not getting your car,” Ilya says, as he pulls out of the parking lot, “Bood will do that later. We’re going to city hall.”
“City hall?”
Ilya hums. “I don’t want to be left out of the Hollander-Rozanov household.”
Shane’s breath hitches, and Ilya reaches for his hand. “City hall and then the jeweler’s. I want it engraved on our wedding rings.”
“In that case –“ Shane’s voice shakes, and Ilya tangles their fingers together, giving them a reassuring squeeze, “You need to go to ServiceOntario,” Shane says, “Take the left up here.”
“Left it is.”
Ilya knows that there is a ridiculously big smile taking up most of his face, but he doesn’t attempt to restrain it. He sneaks glances at Shane as he drives, and Shane tells him to mind the road, reminds him that Anya is in the car with them.
That night, when they go to bed, there’s an interim driver’s license folded into Ilya’s wallet. It carries the name Ilya Hollander-Rozanov and it’s waiting to be replaced with a real card. He decided to get rid of his middle name in the process, lifting a weight he didn’t know he was carrying.
Next to the driver’s license, there’s another piece of paper requesting a name change for Anya. He’ll have to see who to bribe in the morning to make it real. Shane wants it, and whatever Shane wants, Shane will get. Ilya will make sure of it.
For now, he tightens his hold around Shane’s middle. He’s not as close as he usually is, Anya nestled safely between them. Shane didn’t want her to wake in the night, scared of being separated from them.
He looks at his husband in the dim light of the bedroom. Tonight, Shane’s nose scrunches in his sleep, not unreminiscent of the way Anya’s does. Both have been asleep for a while, but Ilya is content to lie here, reveling in the fact that his family is safe in his arms. He’s made an emergency appointment with Galina in the morning to talk everything over, refusing to let the fears of the day fester.
For now, though, Ilya lets out a peaceful sigh. He could get used to this, he thinks. And if one day they make room for a crib in the corner, Ilya would not complain about another Hollander-Rozanov taking up space in the room. Preferably more than one, but he’ll let Shane decide on that.
Things calm down after the vet incident. They avoid any further run-ins with the Voyageurs, there are no more flight cancellations, and no one gets arrested again. Shane does, however, end up in the hospital.
For the second year in a row, he sustains an injury right as the playoffs start. This one, thankfully, is less serious than the previous one, but it still means that Shane’s sitting out during their first two games. As there isn’t talk of a head injury, he is, however, allowed at the arena this time, meaning that he gets to cheer Ilya on from the comfort of the team bench.
Shane claims that he isn’t cheering on Ilya specifically, that he’s there to cheer on their whole team, but Ilya knows what Shane looks like when he’s lying.
It still thrills Ilya that he gets to have Shane at his games now. For so many years, Ilya had no one to cheer on him. Svetlana would come, occasionally, but the one person Ilya wanted above anyone else was always painfully absent.
This was, of course, natural due to the nature of their relationship and their conflicting schedules, but it didn’t make the pain any easier to bear. For this reason, seeing Shane sitting on their bench, eyes trained on him, still sends a thrill through him. Later, he’ll tease Shane about forgetting to pay attention to anyone else, and Shane will blush as he denies it.
For now, though, he’s soaking in the attention, making sure not to miss a single play with Shane’s eyes trained on him. He scores two goals during the first two periods, and after each one, he blows his husband a kiss, taking in the dopey look on his face each time.
They’re about to start the third period when Shane beckons him over.
“Any notes?” Ilya can’t help the smirk that crosses his face.
Shane rolls his eyes. “You’re playing a perfect game, asshole, stop fishing for compliments.”
Ilya clicks his tongue, smile growing even wider. “Such a mouth on you, Hollander.”
“You like it.”
“Maybe I do.”
Ilya really hopes his opponents aren’t looking at him right now. His usually cold on-ice exterior is currently replaced by an undoubtedly love-struck expression. He can’t find it in himself to care too much, however, with the way Shane’s looking at him right now.
“Seriously though.” Shane’s voice turns sober. “You’re playing absolutely beautiful.”
For a second, Ilya’s lip begins to wobble, and he knows that that cannot happen before the end of the game. Therefore, he lets his hand rest above his heart, hoping to convey everything that he’s feeling.
Shane’s eyes go soft, and he gives him a small nod, shows him that he understands.
Ilya clears his throat. “I should go back out there,” he says.
“You should.” Shane nods again.
“You need to get better,” Ilya adds, “I miss playing next to Shane Hollander.”
“Again with the Hollanders.” Shane gives him an amused smile. “Did you hit your head when I wasn’t looking?” He makes a show out of checking him over, and Ilya frowns, not understanding what he’s saying.
Then, Shane steps back, turns around and – oh.
There, displayed on the jersey for all to see, is the name Hollander-Rozanov spelled out in the trademark font of the team’s jersey.
“That’s not the one you were wearing earlier.” It’s all Ilya can think of to say. Shane got dressed, before they left for the arena, and Ilya would definitely have noticed if he’d been wearing that earlier.
“I had Harris make it for me.” There’s a pleased expression on his husband’s face, and it doesn’t fade even as they’re beginning to attract the attention of the arena.
Ilya is distantly aware that people are cheering, some of them letting out wolf whistles and catcalls, too. He tunes it all out. Shane looks so proud of himself that Ilya wants to eat him up. Wants to freeze this moment and cherish it until the end of time.
“Can’t believe you’re making me play a whole other period with that on your back.”
Shane’s smile turns, if possible, even brighter. “If you’re lucky, I’ll keep wearing it when we go home tonight.”
Ilya’s mouth goes dry, all coherent thoughts escaping him.
Although they’ve both been Hollander-Rozanovs for a few months now, they’d decided to keep playing under their former names. ‘Hollander’ and ‘Rozanov’ were obviously shorter, and with the two of them on the same team, they didn’t want to add to the confusion on the ice.
This, however, is making Ilya rethink all of their previously laid-out plans. He sees it in Shane’s eyes, too, and his husband shoos him away before Ilya gets the chance to become even more distracted.
“You have a game to win,” he tells him, and then, because his husband is a little brat, he adds, “I want a hat-trick.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
Shane nods, and Ilya wiggles his brow. “Better go score my husband another goal then.”
“You better, Hollander-Rozanov.”
“I’ll do my best, Hollander-Rozanov.” And then, just for good measure, he presses a kiss to Shane’s cheek, ignoring their teammates’ teasing as he returns to the ice.
Two minutes later, he scores the goal.
As they enter the awards for a second year in a row, Ilya tries not to let it bother him too much that they missed their chance at the cup again. He knows it bothers Shane immensely, and Ilya figures that one of them should keep a cool head. At least in public.
It’s a small mercy that Hunter didn’t win it either, and so, Ilya suffers through a conversation with him before they have to sit down. Shane thinks it’s absolutely ridiculous, but Ilya still hasn’t forgiven him for his check against Shane the previous year.
Hunter knows this, and, Ilya thinks, respects it too. He’d revealed last summer at the camps that he probably wouldn’t have forgiven him either, if the roles had been reversed, and Ilya had landed Kip in the hospital, however unintentionally.
“You made one hell of a run for it.”
Ilya glares as Hunter shakes Shane’s hand, and he makes sure to grasp Kip’s for just a little longer. He doesn’t miss the look of amusement that flashes across Hunter’s face, and Ilya’s scowl grows, if possible, even bigger.
“Thank you.”
Shane is, as always, polite, but he doesn’t miss the change in Ilya’s mood. With his other hand, he gives his a reassuring squeeze, and Ilya once again revels in the fact that he gets to hold Shane’s hand in public. A part of him wonders if the feeling will ever go away. A part of him hopes it never does.
Shane continues to make small talk, and Ilya is only too happy to listen. At some point, a few of their teammates join the circle along with Hayden and Jackie and J.J.
It’s nice, Ilya muses, to be in public like this and surrounded by friends.
However, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end, and they do a bit too soon for Ilya’s liking.
It’s the sudden tightening of Shane’s grip that first alerts Ilya to the fact. It gives him a few seconds to compose himself before he looks up and sees that Comeau has joined their circle.
Immediately, the mood shifts. Hayden’s and Jackie’s faces go uncharacteristically tight, and so does J.J.’s although he’s better at hiding it. Shane’s gaze fixates somewhere on his left shoe, and Ilya is the only one of the party willing to look up and meet Comeau’s eyes.
Hunter and Kip along with the Bood and Hayes remain utterly confused as they look between their friends and the newcomer.
“Rozanov.” Comeau gives him a small nod before turning to Shane. “Hollander… Long time, no see.”
Shane shifts his weight so that he’s leaning against Ilya, and Comeau’s lips twist into a taunting smirk. Ilya, in turn, bares his teeth, and Comeau lets out a delighted laugh.
Hunter, who’s quick to realize what’s happening, takes a small step forward. “Comeau,” he says, voice pleasant despite the look on his face, “Bad luck this year, huh? Second year you haven’t made it into the playoffs. That’s rough, man.”
While Ilya’s grateful for Hunter’s attempt at distraction, he also knows enough of Comeau now to know that this won’t help their situation. He can feel Shane’s nails digging into his palm and knows that he’s thinking the same thing.
Ilya is torn. He wants nothing more than to whisk his husband away, to hide him from the pains of their world, but he also knows that this is not going to go away. And as long as Shane stays his ground, Ilya won’t force him to leave.
Beside them, Comeau lets out a humorless laugh. “That’s funny,” he says, “I was just about to say the same to Hollander.”
Ilya is about to retort that his husband has just made it into the playoffs for a fifth year in a row, but Shane squeezes his hand before he gets the chance.
“You think there’s something wrong with my playing?” Shane asks.
Ilya holds his breath as he waits for Comeau’s respond. The man doesn’t disappoint.
“I think you’ve been the best for so long that you haven’t noticed your game’s been lacking,” he says.
“Is that so?” There’s a dangerous lilt to Shane’s voice, one Ilya hasn’t heard since that day in Hayden’s living room. “Enlighten me, will you?”
Hayden and J.J. have started fidgeting, and beside them, Jackie looks downright murderous. Hunter keeps looking at Ilya, silently asking him if he should step in, and Hayes and Bood are still confused, although it’s clear that by now, they have branded Comeau as Public Enemy Number One.
“Well…” Comeau gives an impatient shrug, reveling in his audience. “It’s simple, isn’t it? You’ve played professional hockey for thirteen years now. For eleven of those, you have been nothing short of excellent, but for the last two you have been somewhat…” His eyes cut to Ilya’s. “Softer.” He looks back at Shane. “You would agree, no?”
Once again, Comeau has managed to stun Ilya into complete silence. Looking around, however, he can see that the feeling is mutual. In fact, the only person who appears to be unfazed is his husband.
He straightens beside him and doesn’t so much as quiver as he answers his former teammate. “It is true,” Shane says, voice steady even as his cheeks redden with rage, “I have been playing professional hockey for thirteen years. However…” His voice trails off, letting Comeau stew before he continues, “There’s something else I’ve been doing for thirteen years, too.”
It’s all the warning Ilya gets before Shane grabs his face and presses their lips together.
For a moment, Ilya is stunned. Then, he feels his husband’s tongue press against his lips, and Ilya decides screw it. He snakes his arms around Shane.
If the fucker wants a show, he’ll get one.
Shane lets out a gasp as Ilya replies with like-minded enthusiasm, dipping him in the process. Shane’s hands sneak into his curls, anchoring himself, as he gives as good as he gets. Ilya moans into the kiss, and he is – very distantly – aware that Comeau lets out an indignant sputter. Mostly, he’s aware of Shane though, and the way his fingers trail across his scalp. He’s going to leave marks, Ilya thinks, and he hums into the kiss, encouraging him.
When they finally pull apart, Comeau is gone. They are met, instead, with the stunned faces of those around him. Ilya ignores them all in favor of his husband.
Shane, Ilya notes, looks absolutely wrecked, and he reaches out a hand to wipe at his lips, knowing he’ll be mortified tomorrow if any pictures make their way into the media.
It turns out, however, that the kiss isn’t the reason that their audience looks so stunned, but rather the fact that –
“Thirteen years?”
Hunter looks absolutely stunned as he looks at them. “You’ve been doing that –“ he waves an arm between them, “For thirteen years?” Beside him, Kip puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Hunter doesn’t seem to notice.
His sentiment, it seems, is shared by more than a few people around them, all of whom have paused to listen.
“Well…” Ilya trails off as his trademark smirk makes its way onto his face. “We’ve been doing other things, too.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and Shane has enough presence of mind to elbow him in the ribs.
“On that note…” Ilya turns to his husband, ignoring Hunter and the others around him. “Do you want to get out of here?”
At first, Shane looks at his husband like he’s grown another head. Then, any signs of indignation morph into ones of pure relief, and he nods. “You lead the way,” he says.
Ilya smirks. “Your wish is my command, Mr. Hollander-Rozanov.” He grabs Shane’s hand and turns his back to their audience.
This time, as they leave, Ilya feels nothing but happiness coursing through his veins.