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Throughout the decade that Ilya Rozanov has been playing in the MLH, a lot has changed in his life. He is now captain of a team he barely knew the name of when he started playing professionally. The newest player of said team is his old rival who happens to be his husband as well. He has a gold olympic medal to his name, the Canadian flag right next to it.
The one thing that has remained the same, however, is the speed at which he drops his gloves onto the ice.
“Getting soft, Rozanov?” Yanick Haller asks with a smirk. Ilya raises his eyebrows whilst taking position for the face-off. Haller mirrors his stance, keeping eye contact. “Hollander must keep your leash real tight, haven’t seen you out in ages.” The referee next to them suddenly skates away. In the corner of his eye Ilya spots the cause - the Nomads coach is in a full-blown argument over a penalty that caused the face-off. Both Ilya and Haller straighten their backs and lean on their sticks. Then Haller’s voice carries a chuckle in it. “When you’re done playing house with that fag, I would love to-“
White gloves fall down and so does Haller a second later. Ilya’s fist hits his nose with a harsh cracking sound, then his jaw twice. There is shouting around them but Ilya’s ears register nothing but static noise. Multiple hands grab his jersey and pull him back before another punch can land. “You would love to what?!” He shouts, his voice hoarse. “Finish your fucking sentence, Haller! Fucking dare you to!”
“Quit it, Rozanov. Off to the box, come on. Five minutes,” the referee tells him and pushes him in the direction of the penalty box. Rolling his eyes, Ilya takes place on the bench and ignores the Minnesota fans booing him. He looks at Shane, who meets his eyes with a deep frown, and smiles with his thumbs up. Shane doesn’t give him a reaction and gets on the ice.
The rest of the game keeps up a similar pace. Ilya makes sure to slam a few Nomads into the boards with clean hits just because. Troy scores another goal and wins them the game, right before overtime is about to start. They celebrate by jumping on top of him, nearly knocking him out in the process. The Centaurs fans scream loud enough to mask most of the booing. Wiebe takes Ilya to the side when everyone leaves the ice and is satisfied enough with a short explanation of the fight to let him go.
Walking into the locker room, Ilya bangs on the door and points at Troy. The room goes silent, eager to hear his winning speech. “I will personally get on my knees in front of Harris and beg him to suck your di-“ His sentence gets cut off by loud groaning and yelling. Ilya grins at the sound. “Okay, okay. You all deserve blowjobs! Every single one of you! Yes, Dykstra, even you. Ah, but I will not provide them all. Only for one lucky winner with freckles and angry eyebrows every time I talk.” Right at that moment Shane walks out of the showers with a towel around his waist. Once again everyone breaks out in screaming - this time begging their captain not to do it.
Ten minutes later Ilya is packing his stuff with Bood next to him. “What does ‘keep leash real tight’ mean?” He asks, shoving the last of his gear into his bag. “Haller told me Shane does this to me, but I do not think he means during sex. Would be great idea, though.”
“Think he implies Hollander is controlling over you. Doesn’t let you do fun stuff, or some shit,” Bood answers with a shrug, ignoring the last part. “It’s the same as when people are bitching over you fighting his battles. Just homophobic bullshit that isn’t worth your attention.”
A shocked laugh leaves Ilya’s mouth. The more he thinks about it, the harder he laughs. It takes a confused look from Bood and several amused glances by the others for him to get it somewhat together. “Of course they see him as golden boy Shane Hollander. Never in fights, always telling his husband to clean up mess, yes?” A honest to god giggle slips out of Ilya’s throat and he can’t even be bothered to disguise it with a cough. “They have no fucking idea.”
“Yeah, they obviously don’t know shit,” Bood chuckles along with him, still a bit unsure of what’s so funny. “Chouinard said one of his buddies knows a spot for later. You and Holly coming?”
“What is this question? Of course we are. But do not ask Shane, he will say no and tell you he is too tired. Is not true. Text me address, yes?” Ilya says and nudges Bood with a grin. He gets a slap on his shoulder in return. Despite being ready to go, he patiently waits until everyone has left and has heard him say “I love you, I am proud of you” before they walk through the door. Then he makes sure no items are left behind and shoots Wiebe a text on his way to the bus.
Shane is staring out of the window when Ilya collapses in the seat next to him. He stirs out of his thoughts and smiles at the dramatic sigh his husband lets out. “What’s up? Thinking about the hat trick you missed out on because a rookie blocked you? Or just the fact that one of your goals was accidental?” Shane asks with a teasing glint in his eyes. He laughs from his belly, unrestrained and loud, seeing Ilya’s genuinely shocked expression and slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.
For the first time in years Ilya is staring with his mouth wide open and is at a complete loss for words. It hasn’t been too long since he saw Shane laugh like this, but it’s the first time whilst being surrounded by their team. A head pops up from the seats in front of them and begins laughing at the sight as well. “Holy fuck, Roz, he called you dogshit,” Troy says loud enough to get half of the bus to look at them. “That was brutal. Do it again, Holly, please. I’ve never seen him like this.” The bewilderment on Ilya’s face in combination with the ‘oooh!’ coming from their teammates has Shane in tears. He doesn’t even seem to mind the video that Dykstra is recording of them - losing it even further when it zooms in and captures the confounded expression.
“My own husband offending me like this. Calling my beautiful goal ‘accident’, as if I ever make mistakes,” Ilya eventually says with a scrunched nose. “Everyone always says ‘oh Shane Hollander, perfect hockey angel’. Is this your angel? Unbelievable.” Shane’s hand pushes into his face and tries to smother his words. “And now he is hitting me. He does this every day at home, you know. No one believes me when I say he is stronger than me.”
The entire ride to the hotel, Ilya is in his husband’s arms. It feels like pure bliss. All of the stress and exhaustion that have made a home out of his shoulders disappear.
The start of the season had been rough on both of them, Shane’s anxiety lashing out and Ilya relapsing into long days of depression. Surprisingly that came to a stop when three weeks in, with a gruesome practice behind them, they had been arguing in the locker room. Right as they both bit back their words, Haas had mumbled ‘please just fuck it out already’ in the smallest voice, horrified upon realising that everyone heard him. It took over twenty minutes for the entire team to calm down from wheezing. After getting home and following up on the suggestion, Shane had confessed to shielding himself from bonding with the team - including Ilya, out of fear for a repeat of Montreal. They had talked through all of their worries and the possibilities that came with those. Since then Shane had slowly started to build actual friendships and even let Ilya flirt with him at the rink. Now, a couple months later, it’s like he has always been a part of the team.
“What did Haller say?” Shane asks from the bathroom. They’re in their hotel suite getting ready to go to the bar. Originally Shane had turned down the idea, but after a blowjob that nearly reset his brain he had given in. “What got you the penalty, I mean. He didn’t come back from medical for the entire game.” He walks out of the bathroom with his skincare now done and some of Ilya’s rings on his fingers.
It takes everything in Ilya to not text Bood they aren’t coming and throw Shane back on the bed. In his mind he curses Rose Landry for showing his husband how to style himself, because seeing him in all-black with jewellery is almost a sin. “How fucking hot you are and how I should marry you again. Four times, actually,” Ilya says. He grins at Shane’s raised middlefinger and the slight blush on his cheeks, wrapping his arms around him. “Was just warning. Wiebe did not even tell me off, okay? He said ‘yes, you should marry Shane Hollander four more times’. Do you really want to go against Coach?”
Shane laughs and pushes him away. “You’re so annoying. None of that is true, asshole,” he chuckles. “Okay, whatever. Let’s just go before someone tries to knock down the door again.” They both grab their phones, share a quick kiss and walk out of the door.
In the lobby they run into Hayes who joins them in the cab. “Lisa called because she had ‘tea’ on a coworker,” he explains, “I got a little too invested. Completely forgot there were plans.” Ilya makes him retell the entire story during the drive. By the time they arrive, Shane has to drag them both out of the car and into the building.
All of the Centaurs take up the seats directly across from the bar. They start cheering ‘cap!’ when seeing Ilya, who accepts the three shots placed in front of him and immediately downs them. A ginger ale is pressed into Shane’s hand but only after he promises to drink at least one beer later. Since they have a few days off starting tomorrow, Shane agrees only somewhat reluctantly. He gets dragged away by Hayes to find Troy and lets the energy of the place wash over him. The crowd is big enough to get lost in, but not big enough to make it overwhelming.
Now on the other side of the room, Ilya is deep in conversation with Bood and Chouinard about the game. “Haller is lucky Shane does not like fighting,” he grins and takes a sip of his beer, vodka abandoned in disdain after barely tasting it. Chouinard laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, I get that. Selena also gets mad when I fight. Would definitely break his face, though. Fucking homophobic piece of shit.” Next to him Bood nods, raising his bottle to those words.
Their earlier conversation dawns on Ilya. He takes his arms off the bar, turning sideways to look at them both. “Ah, yes. That as well. But I meant Haller should be glad it was me.” The confused looks have him laughing again. With a shrug, he vaguely gestures in the direction Shane went. “You said something about people saying I fight Shane’s battles, yes? Is not untrue, but for other reasons. He does not fight because he is boring and focuses on playing hockey instead of chirps.” Neither of them show any signs of understanding. Ilya sighs and tilts his head. “Everyone thinks is because he can not fight. And that is very, very wrong.”
“So you’re saying Hollander would’ve beaten Haller fucking unconscious or some shit?” Bood laughs, clearly amused by Ilya’s dramatics. He looks at Chouinard like it’s the funniest joke the evening has brought them so far and then looks back at Ilya. His voice dies down when he gets a wink as an answer, making Chouinard choke on his beer. “Oh, fuck, seriously? Are we actually talking about Holly?”
Ilya’s grin bares his teeth in the warm lights above the bar. There is a twinkle in his eyes, like he is about to tell a huge secret after keeping it for ages. “Da. I was not kidding, he is stronger than I am. He can knock me out easy, no problem. I asked him to do it but he said no,” he pouts. In all honesty, Ilya had not believed it at first either. He’s both taller and bigger, his muscles are more defined and he has gotten into fights ever since he put on his very first skates. But then he had seen Shane kick and hit a heavy bag in practised rhythm as if it was the easiest thing in the world. It was also the hottest thing in the world, according to Ilya. That same day Shane had finally agreed to sparring with him - which lasted for about seven seconds, because as soon as Ilya was thrown onto the ground they abandoned it to have sex instead.
“That’s crazy, dude. I would never have guessed that, what the fuck,” Bood now laughs, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of it. “Wait, is he trained then? Like full on MMA fighting?” He sounds genuinely enthusiastic to be let in on something nobody knows about his teammate. His hand lands on the bar with a smack when Ilya confirms it with a nod. Chouinard shakes his head, a disbelieving smile on his face. “And he’s that good at hockey? That’s bullshit. Roz, you fucking suck, dude. Your husband is so much cooler than you are.”
Throughout the evening Shane and Ilya are mostly seated together. They stay longer than usual, Shane heading outside with Hayes a couple times to get some fresh air. At first Ilya makes sure to keep an eye on him. Only when he is convinced Shane isn’t just staying so Ilya can have fun but genuinely enjoys it, he dives back into the shit talking with Bood, Chouinard and Dykstra.
“This should be fun,” Bood cuts through Dykstra’s story of his rookie year. They all share a look, then watch some of the Nomads walk into the bar. Unlike the other three, whose faces harden out immediately, Ilya breaks out into a smug grin and stands up. He isn’t drunk enough to cause any trouble - however, he isn’t sober enough to keep his mouth shut either.
“Great game! Was fun playing you. Next time send out your grandmothers, yes? Maybe it will be close then.”
“Shut the fuck up, Rozanov.” One of the players sends him a dirty look.
Bood grabs Ilya’s elbow and drags him back. It doesn’t take much force, he willingly takes place again and raises his bottle to the Nomads captain. Said captain, Sebástian Matei, shakes his head and holds his hand up as a greeting back before making his way to the back of the room.
There, at one of the tables, Shane, Troy and Hayes are explaining a play to Haas. Trying to do so, at least. “No- wait, huh? I don’t play left,” Haas frowns. Troy blinks, looks at the empty bottles in front of him and looks back at Haas. “You sure?” He asks with narrowed eyes. The panic in Haas’ voice flares up as he slowly nods. “Yeah? We play the same position. We literally rotated today.”
Shane holds back his laughter. He chuckles at the nudge from Hayes and stands up. “I’m gonna get some water for Troy. Think I’ll head out after that, though.” There are a few sputtered protest that make him smile, especially since they all sound like they’ve had enough as well. He gathers the empty bottles between his fingers and carries them over to the bar.
A hand is slapped on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Shane whips his head back to find Matei standing behind him. He fully turns around, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Hollander, just who I was looking for. Saw your man when I came in and figured you’d be here as well,” Matei explains with a smile on his face. He takes his hand back and laughs awkwardly. “Uh, I wanted to apologise for Haller. He shouldn’t have used that word. He’s a good guy, you know? It was meant as just a chirp but he went too far with that.”
Piecing everything together, Shane laughs shakily and nods. “Yeah, no, for sure. It happens. Don’t really know what he said, but if he’s sorry then that’s what’s most important, right?” The way Matei’s face loosens up a bit goes right by Shane. In his defense, he has never been good at figuring out context through social clues. Which is why Matei feels comfortable enough to start laughing again and place his hand back on his shoulder - mistaking the confusion for anxiety.
“Well, it’s not like he said anything wrong anyway. We all know how you like to keep Rozanov on a leash.” His smile turns into a noticeable smirk. Then he inches closer to Shane, mumbling in his ear. “Although you’re the actual bitch in the marriage, I suppose.”
Any other time Shane would find a way out. Either through making eye contact with one of his teammates or straight up walking away. He would purposefully wait to tell Ilya about it back at the hotel so there wouldn’t be any drama. But Shane is slightly tipsy and so, so done with having to be the bigger person. The constant homophobic and racist remarks thrown at him have piled up to his limit, with this one reaching over it. He stretches his fingers and remembers the borrowed rings around them. “Oh, Ilya is going to love this,” he sighs. Making sure no one catches his elbow in their eyes, Shane quickly throws a glance over his shoulder.
“What, nothing to s-“ Matei’s words turn into a gurgling sound that is accompanied by a loud crack. Shane’s fist swings at the same spot again, making sure to break his jaw. Screaming breaks out when a third hit lands square on his nose. At this point Shane knows he should stop. Only one other time he had landed someone in the hospital, which had been out of self-defense. He is just so sick of being seen as weak because of not only his sexuality, but his ethnicity as well. So he dodges Matei’s attempt at a strike and works him to the ground with ease. It gives him leverage to knee his ribs instead whilst holding down his arms. He takes a hit to his right shoulder, but manages to grab Matei’s escaped arm and twists it to the other side.
“Get Roz. Fucking hurry, Haas!” Hayes yells out as soon as he notices Shane isn’t stopping. He pushes through the crowd surrounding the fight and grabs Shane’s shoulders. “It’s done, Hollander, he’s down. Let him go, man,” he shouts over the drunken heckles from behind them. Shane still won’t budge and Hayes isn’t able to pull him off on his own.
In what feels like hours for Hayes, twenty seconds in reality, Ilya bursts through. Both of them grab ahold of Shane and are able to finally drag him away. Hayes’ eyes first go to Matei but can’t see the state of his face because of all the blood. They then land on Shane, whose face only has some splatters which aren’t from any injuries of his own. “Jesus fucking christ, Holly. You look like the second coming of Rocky. Not even a black eye,” Hayes giggles, feeling the adrenaline still.
Ilya frantically checks Shane for blows Matei might have gotten in. The only thing he can figure out is a badly bruised shoulder and torn knuckles. He lets himself relax when there is nothing else. “Sweetheart,” he softly says, “Yuna is going to murder you. And Harris as well. And I think Wiebe too. And maybe I will frown very intimidating at you if you get benched.” It earns him a deathly glare from Shane. He returns it with a grin and a very poorly whispered ‘so hot’ - Hayes launching into a coughing fit next to them.
They get kicked out by the owner with instructions to wait outside for the police. Dykstra and Chouinard promise to get Haas and a now mostly-sober Troy back to the hotel so they take the first cab. Bood and Hayes usher the rest of the Centaurs into the second cab, but stay behind themselves.
The police arrive within a few minutes. Two of the officers head inside with Bood and Hayes, two of them stay with Shane and Ilya. “Good evening. I am officer Vásquez, this is my partner officer Anderson. We got a call about a bar fight involving some high-profile names so we’re trying to keep this as discreet as we can,” she explains, keeping her eyes on Shane. “I’m afraid that whilst my colleagues are taking statements inside, I do have to take Mister Hollander into custody. This is not an official arrest so I won’t be reading your rights. Do understand that by either refusing to come to the station or doing something to make us feel like we have to intervene, this will turn into an official arrest. For your own safety and ours I will have to handcuff you.”
Shane winces under his breath. “Yeah, okay. I- I understand, sorry,” he mumbles and slowly raises his hands. He turns around, pointedly ignoring Ilya’s eyes and lets himself be handcuffed. “Uh, is my husband allowed to come with me?”
“I can follow in cab behind,” Ilya immediately offers. The officers allow it, making both his and Shane’s shoulders sag in relief. He calls for a third cab in the time they wait for everything inside to wrap up and Shane retells his side of what happened. Ilya acts as a buffer between them - rephrasing some of the questions Shane takes too literally and making sure they aren’t answered in full details. He quickly sends a text to Farah with a heads up to get a lawyer ready. It probably won’t be necessary, but Ilya has been through enough arrests to know it at least minimises the damage.
Both Bood and Hayes walk out of the bar looking visibly tired. They watch how Shane gets guided into one of the police cars, then Bood nudges Ilya. “Turns out Matei has a shit ton of misdemeanours on his record, so I think he’ll just take the fine. The owner said he isn’t pressing charges either,” he says. A small laugh that gets only half-repressed escapes his mouth. “Well, at least we now know you weren’t kidding about Holly.”
For the first time in his life, Shane sits behind bars in a police station. They put him in a holding cell as a precaution because of detected alcohol in his blood. The only thing stopping him from having a panic attack is the knowledge that his husband will come to pick him up soon. Coincidentally, that’s also the thing he is very much dreading. Because there is no world in which Ilya Rozanov isn’t going to absolutely lose it over Shane having his mugshot taken.
“Alright, Mister Hollander. Your partner has signed all paperwork for your release. There aren’t any charges pressed either, so you’re completely free to go.”
As expected, Ilya is waiting at the front desk. His face carries a neutral expression. It’s not until they get escorted out of a side entrance to avoid any cameras, he starts grinning. They climb into the cab that was called to bring them back to their hotel and Ilya finally takes Shane’s hand. “Maybe I should have told you what Haller said.”
“Would’ve been nice to fucking know,” Shane bristles. Both of them know that it would not have made a difference. Neither of them acknowledges it, though. “God, I feel like such an asshole. And the worst part is that he fucking deserved it too. But everybody saw me and it’s probably on the internet already.”
Ilya adores his husband so much. He loves him unconditionally, he would both kill and die for him. Which is why he is trying so hard not to laugh at the comparison in his head of Shane looking like an embarrassed kitten. “Hey, is fine. Farah said all angles make it seem like Matei started it. Is easy PR statement, yes? Self-defense and you decided to not press charges.” With a smile he brings their intertwined fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss on their wedding rings. “Wiebe said Nomads coach already contacted him and does not want press conference. Outside of rink, outside of work.”
It makes Shane snort and roll his eyes. “Because they know their team is full of bigots. It would probably hurt their image more to play into a victim role, they’ll have a new scandal next week.” Most of the anxiety in his voice has resolved, making place for exhaustion. “At least I’m not getting benched. That would be my end, I swear.”
“Ah, yes. Shane Hollander is okay with giving free plastic surgery and getting arrested, but not playing hockey game would go too far.”
“Shut up. I wasn’t arrested, I was detained.”
“That’s what you got out of that sentence?”
They make a beeline for the elevator once they get dropped off at the hotel. LaPointe and Young spot them in the lobby and start cheering, but snap their mouths shut at Ilya’s glare towards them and scramble away.
“Fuck, I’m gonna have to call mom,” Shane groans when they walk into their suite. He takes his phone from Ilya with a light smack to the back of his head, not amused by the shit-eating grin he faces. “Can you get the shower ready? And hide my phone when we get out. And also set-“
“Yes, yes, set ten thousand alarms on my phone. Call your mama, lyubimyy. Maybe she will make merch of your mugshot. New business opportunity, hm?” Ilya starts cackling at the rings that are hurled in his direction. He picks them up and deposits them on the coffee table. Then he grabs two pairs of boxers for them to change into, presses a kiss to Shane’s cheek and disappears into the bathroom.
Ignoring the notifications of missed calls and unread messages, Shane taps the button next to his mom’s contact info. She answers before he can even bring his phone to his ear. Logically, he knows that even though she might be mad, his mom will always stand behind him no matter what. There hasn’t been a single time in his life that she judged his choices without talking to him about it. But when she picks up and asks him ‘honey, what happened?’ in the gentlest voice, Shane is so relieved he doesn’t even feel the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Sorry. Uh- yeah, I’m sorry, mom,” he sighs with a slightly wavering voice. “I’m sure Ilya filled you in already. Matei just said something disgusting and I snapped. Should’ve walked away but I couldn’t take it anymore.” The line stays silent as he takes a deep breath. “It’s so unfair. And I know it’s better to let it go because it’s not like they’ll ever quit, but- yeah. Sorry. They’re not pressing charges.”
Yuna makes a heartbroken noise that makes Shane flinch. He wants to launch into another apology, but stays silent when hearing her speak. “Shane, it’s okay. Are you listening, honey? You’re fine. Even if they dared to press charges, we would sue them for every hate crime under the sun, okay?” Both of them leave out a breathy laugh. “Of course I don’t want you to fight. But I watched that video, Shane. You might have hit him first but that creep had it coming. That is a disgusting man. Did he hurt you?”
More tears escape his eyes. Shane wipes them away, steadying himself. “Not really, no. My shoulder is bruised but that’s everything. Iced my hands so the swelling is almost gone there.” He tests it out by stretching the fingers of his left hand and sure enough doesn’t feel anything in the wrong. “Wait, you watched the entire video?”
“Yes, I did. Multiple times. Your father had to take my phone away because, according to him, I was ‘cheering too loudly’. Which is ridiculous because we don’t have neighbours.”
Shane starts laughing in earnest this time. “Pretty sure Ilya would have done the same thing if he had the chance,” he chuckles, shaking his head at his mom’s ’see!’. “I’m going to bed. Thank you, mom. I’ll talk to you tomorrow when we’re picking up Anya. Good night, I love you.”
“Good night, honey, I love you too. See you guys tomorrow. Tell Ilya I love him as well!” She says with a smile in her voice. They hang up at the same time, leaving Shane staring at the floor for a few seconds. His phone gets placed on the nightstand and left behind as he makes his way to the bathroom.
“Mom says she loves you,” he tells Ilya, which gets returned with a beaming smile. He doesn’t have the energy to protest against his clothes being thrown crumpled on the floor and steps into the shower. When he turns around, Ilya is folding them to create a neat stack. Once again Shane bursts into tears.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Ilya breathes out. He joins the shower as well, pressing kisses all over Shane’s shoulders and neck. Whilst softly mumbling praises in Russian, he washes the blood out of his hair and holds his face gently in both hands after rinsing. “You are okay? Crying because you are tired, not because of chopped homophobes?”
Small breaths turn into coughing wheezes, causing Shane to choke on water. “What the fuck is ‘chopped’?” He manages to get out. New tears blend in with the water on his face, this time from laughing. “Ilya, there is something seriously wrong with you. You have fucking issues.” They both launch into hysterical laughter. Every time either of them tries to form an actual sentence, it comes out high-pitched and gets cut off by uncontrollable giggling.
It takes them half an hour to dry off and wrap Shane’s knuckles with bandages. Ilya keeps almost falling down because he’s so lightheaded from laughing, whilst Shane is so overstimulated he automatically flinches away from the lightest touch. They’re half-asleep by the time they finally lie down in bed.
“You know,” Ilya says in a yawn, “I was telling others about your training. Right before you dicked down Matei.”
“Don’t- no, that is not the right way to use that word and you know that.”
“Okay, okay. Right before you beat the shit out of Matei, we were talking about Haller. I said ‘he is lucky it was me and not Shane’ because duh. But they thought I meant that I would be worse if he said it to you.” He slips a hand between Shane’s legs to knead his thigh as he goes on. “So I told them ‘no no, Shane can break my neck with his legs’. Not those exact words, but is true still.”
“Ilya, are you kidding me?” Shane groans in embarrassment. He gets shushed by Ilya, who takes his chance to go on with his story. “Bood was very excited. Chouinard called you cooler than me, he is notorious liar as we know. But my point is that you should not be ashamed. You always take high road, yes? Unless it is about your family, friends or very sexy husband. It was about time you put yourself in that group as well.”
There is some rustling under the blanket until Shane finally gets his arm free. He accidentally smacks Ilya’s face before he can lay his hand on his cheek. It gets a snort, so he smacks him on purpose this time. “Ya tebya lyublyu. I love you so much. I will remember this tomorrow morning and tell you again how amazing you are, okay? But I really want to sleep now,” Shane mumbles.
Ilya laughs softly and kisses his temple. “Ya tebya lyublyu,” he whispers back.
“Why are you acting weird?” Shane glances besides him and frowns whilst looking back at the road again. It has been four days since they came back from Minnesota and they’re driving to practice. The internet had blown up after Shane’s mugshot was released, to a point Farah had to write a statement for Shane to screenshot and share on his Instagram story. It said that he had not gotten arrested, he had acted out of self-defense and had been detained because there was alcohol involved. In those four days the entire Centaurs groupchat had found a mutual passion for sharing memes using his mugshot.
In the passenger seat Ilya chuckles at his phone. “Is my secret lover. You would not know him, he is in jail according to Twitter.” Shane rolls his eyes at that, pulling up into the parking lot next to the rink. “Oh really? Let me guess, he punched someone?” He asks, parking the car smoothly and turning the engine off. “No,” Ilya says, taking off his seatbelt and looking up with a grin. “They say for ‘having ass that is too fat‘ and ‘murdering everyone with those bambi eyes’.”
They walk into the locker room together. Shane on the verge of developing a nerve twitch near his eye, Ilya still reading tweets out loud. “This one is very true. ‘Shane Hollander arrested for killing Ilya Rozanov. Rumors say the Canadian hockey player took the life of his former rival-now-turned-husband by riding his dick in an ungodly way’.”
“Okay, no, stop. There is no way all of that even fits as a tweet. And stop fucking liking tweets about our sex life, Ilya!”
He sighs as he drops his bag. Then he notices how everyone’s stuff is already there. Ilya grabs his hand before he gets a chance to start freaking out. “Relax, lyubimyy. Practice does not start for another forty minutes. There is surprise for you, okay? We are not late.” Which are arguably worse words to hear when your husband is Ilya Rozanov and has an entirely different understanding of what surprises are.
Shane gets instructed by Ilya to wait a minute before following him through the door to the rink. So he sets a timer on his phone, waits until one full minute has gone by and then tries to prepare himself whilst walking to the ice. He is greeted by the sight of his teammates wearing matching shirts. Wiebe and Harris are wearing them as well, standing by the boards. Silence stretches across the entire building.
“I’m fucking retiring. I’m retiring, moving to the other side of the world and I’m taking all your girlfriends and wives with me,” Shane groans. “And Harris. I’m taking Harris as well once he changes his shirt.”
Roaring laughter breaks out. Ilya starts skating laps, holding up an extra shirt as if to show the empty seats. On every single shirt is a photo that has been making rounds on social media, in physical papers and even on the news. Shane’s mugshot.