Archive of Our Own

They’ve been holed up in the house for three days since the news of them being a couple leaked, and Shane is about to go insane. 

He’s glad he doesn’t have to be alone. If the entire world is talking about his love life and he’s benched from playing the sport he loves, at least he gets to spend it the one person who makes it all worth it. 

But for the first time in basically his whole fucking existence, there’s so much about his life that’s unknown, so much that he can’t control, and he’s got a ton of nervous energy and no outlet for it besides working out in Ilya’s gym or pacing around the living room, and since he’s already done nearly an hour of weights and ran ten kilometers, pacing wins out.

He notices Ilya texting on his phone and has to check himself from getting annoyed, recognizing that, unlike himself, Ilya needs people around him. Thrives on it, actually, and just because Shane can’t handle the constant barrage of notifications doesn’t mean Ilya can’t, but the way he’s smiling at the screen makes Shane question, “Who are you talking to?”

But Ilya doesn’t answer. He clicks off his phone and shoves it in his pocket as he stands. “Let’s go for a drive,” Ilya says, and Shane wants to ask about seven more questions, but Ilya has already plucked Anya up from the couch. 

He almost protests. Almost tells Ilya it’s a bad idea because he’s not sure that them being seen at all, even in a car, will be helpful, but Shane could really use some time outside the house, and so he follows Ilya into the garage and silently gets into the car with no protest.  

They drive through familiar streets, and Shane can’t help but notice how much of the city has changed since he grew up here. Almost all of his time in Ottawa over the past years has been spent at his parents’ or at Ilya’s, and growing up, he’d always been so busy playing hockey that he never really took the time to enjoy his hometown. 

He makes a mental note to spend more time getting to know the place that raised him when he notices they’re pulling into the arena parking lot. Ottawa is away in Columbus, so there’s only a handful of cars, which makes their presence there even more weird. 

He gives Ilya a confused look, but Ilya just smiles and says, “Come on.”

So, Shane follows because he’d follow Ilya anywhere, and Anya licks at his face as they walk through the nearly empty lot towards a man holding a side door open. 

“It’s all ready for you,” the man says with a cheery smile, and Shane notices Pride pins attached to the man’s lanyard. 

“Thanks, Harris,” Ilya says, and Harris smiles at them both as he moves out of the way for them to come inside. 

Shane is still really fucking confused as to why they’re here. “Did you forget something the last time you were here?”

“No,” Ilya says, stopping at the door to the locker room. He doesn’t expand on it, so Shane holds onto Anya and goes after Ilya into the room. 

They watch from the doorway, Anya’s head moving back and forth as Ilya moves around the room picking up various equipment. A couple of sticks, a bag of pucks, and two pairs of skates get slung over his shoulder. 

He begins the walk down the long hallway into the arena, and Shane follows behind him wordlessly, exchanging a look with their dog as if she might know what the hell is going on. 

They finally stop at the Centaur’s bench, and Shane looks around to find the place completely empty. It’s not strange, he’s been in empty arenas before, but it’s so calm and still that he feels like he should take a moment to appreciate it.

Ilya sits and begins to put on his skates, lacing them up with skill born from years and years of practice. When he’s done, he pats the space next to him and Shane sets Anya on the floor before he takes a seat by Ilya, their thighs flush against each other. 

“What are we doing?” Shane asks and Ilya holds out the other pair of skates he’d grabbed. 

“Put these on,” Ilya says, and Shane takes them from him with a skepitcal look. 

“Will these even fit me? And again, what are we doing? Are we even supposed to be here? I don’t think–”

“Shane,” Ilya interrupts, taking Shane’s face into his hands and squeezing just enough to make Shane’s lips pucker out. “You are going crazy at home. You love to skate. You love hockey. So let’s go skate. And play hockey. Just you and me, okay?”

Oh. 

There’s so many things he wants to say. Like how much he loves Ilya. Or how glad he is that they’d taken the plunge off that scary, crazy cliff when they were teenagers. Or how even in the midst of the craziness and anxiety and unknown, Shane is so fucking excited for the life they’re going to have. 

But it all gets caught in his throat as emotion takes hold, and all he can do is nod and say, “Okay.”

Anya paws at the door, her tail wagging in excitement and they both shake their heads at her antics while Shane puts on skates that are just a touch too small. 

Ilya goes out first and holds out his hand, and when Shane’s feet touch the ice, the cold expanding around him in contrast to Ilya’s warm skin against his, Shane feels like he’s a prodigal son returning home. 

They race and shoot goals while Anya fumbles her way around trying to decide which puck to chase after, occasionally ending up with more than one in her mouth at a time. 

They laugh until their sides ache and it’s the first time Shane can remember having fun in so, so long. It’s calming in a way he didn’t know was possible in the middle of a hurrican. The eye of the storm, probably, but he’ll take whatever he can get. Especially if it means he can be with Ilya in this way. Uninhibited by everything life has thrown at them.

They meet at center ice and Shane realizes he’s been smiling so much his cheeks ache. “How do you always know exactly what I need?”

“Because I love you, Shane Hollander,” Ilya replies as if it’s an answer for the existence of the entire universe. And Shane thinks it might be. Love really could do some extraordinary shit. 

“I love you, too,” he says back. “Thank you for this.”

Ilya suddenly pulls Shane to him, his face suggestive as his hands shameless grope at Shane’s ass despite Shane’s half-hearted protests. “Do you remember that dream you had?” Ilya asks once Shane has resigned himself to Ilya’s felt up in this empty arena. “The one where we fuck at center ice?”

Shane realizes very quickly where this is going. “We are not fucking on the ice, Ilya.”

“But there is no one here,” Ilya says, bending his head to kiss along the curve of Shane’s neck. “Would be so easy.” 

Except nothing about having sex on a literal ice rink sounds even remotely easy.

“Or, and hear me out,” Shane begins, only just managing to sound normal as Ilya’s tongue licks at his pulse. “We could go home and have sex from the comfort of our own home where no one will walk in on us.”

Ilya raises his head and gives Shane a glare with absolutely no heat behind it. “God, you are so boring.”

“Well, one of us has to be if we want any chance of being remembered for our accomplishments and not for being arrested for public indecency,” Shane snarks back and is rewarded with a smile. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” Ilya says. “I’ll race you, one lap around, and whoever wins gets the first blowjob.”

Shane forces the most offended look onto his face and asks, “Why would you to that?”

“Do what?” Ilya responds as his expression falls, and Shane almost feels guilty about making him worry for a even a second. 

Almost.

“Offer something you can’t hope to win,” Shane says, before he pushes Ilya and takes off, his laugh echoing joyfully as Ilya yells after him in protest.

oOo

Shane tries to pretend he doesn’t see more than one cellphone camera pointed at their table. 

They’re sitting at lunch after meeting with the commissioner, and part of Shane feels like he’s on top of the world. 

But another part of him can’t shake the feeling that he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

He’d been so bold to the commissioner, and choosing Ilya had been so easy in the face of everything, but that didn’t wipe away years of conditioning that screamed at him to hide. 

His mind starts to spiral, and he doesn’t even look up when the waiter places his pasta in front of him.

What if someone puts one of the photos they’re clearly taking on the internet, and then the entire world will be reminded of what they are, and it’ll be a bridge too far this time, and then no team will want him, and then his hockey career will be over, and Ilya will have to–

“Hey,” a familiar, loving voice infiltrates the noise. A hand reaches out and covers one of his that rests on the table. “Deep breaths, okay? You’re safe.”

It’s only then that Shane realizes he feels light-headed. He forces himself to breathe in deep through his nose and out through his mouth, focusing on Ilya’s face across from him.

“You’re safe,” Ilya says again, his warm hazel eyes reflecting gold in the dim light around them, and it steadies Shane enough that he doesn’t immediately feel like he might vomit anymore, and he manages to give a small, shaky smile. 

“I know,” Shane replies, his voice sounding so small he wouldn’t recognize it if the sound hadn’t come from his own mouth. 

“What is wrong?” Ilya questions gently, but his face looks like he bracing for something. “Are you worried about the commissioner?” 

Are you worried you made the wrong choice in choosing me? 

“No,” Shane says emphatically, and he’s never meant anything more in his life. That man can disprespectfully choke for all Shane cares. “I’m sorry, I’m just so used to having to hide when I’m with you, I don’t know how to…not. It’s making me panic a little.”

He’s not sure how Ilya will react to this. It’s been such a major sticking point in their relationship for longer than Shane probably wants to acknowledge, and part of him feels like he’s letting Ilya down by not being able to just fully embrace being out with him, because he really fucking wants to, it’s just…complicated.

But Ilya’s expression is so adoring, Shane finds he feels breathless again for a completely different reason. “Is weird, I know,” Ilya says and Shane feels his foot tap against the side of his sneaker. “But we can figure it out together, yes?”

Shane bites at the inside of his cheek to try and keep the sting of tears at bay. Together has seemed like such an abstract thing for most of their relationship. It’s something they’ve been working towards, but never really let themselves imagine what it could really be. The fact that it’s here, now, isn’t something Shane’s quite managed to wrap his head around. But he’s really looking forward to trying. “That sounds really wonderful, actually.”

Ilya lifts Shane’s hand from the table and brings it to his lips, leaving a lingering kiss there that makes Shane feel like the whole world could burn down around them in that moment and he wouldn’t notice. 

“Now,” Ilya says, putting Shane’s hand down and picking up his fork and pointing it towards his chicken parm. “Want to join me in eating my feelings?”

Shane chuckles and returns the adoring look Ilya’s been giving him. “I’d love to.”

oOo

It’s his first game against Montreal since Shane left, and he’s doing…mostly fine. Except he’s not, and he’s a total wreck, and no amount of the therapy he’s had in the last three months could have adequately prepared him for facing so many demons (both literal and metaphorical) on the same night. 

It feels kind of silly to describe what he’s feeling as traumatic, but his therapist has made it clear that what he’s been through is distressing at best and horrifying at worst, so he lets himself acknowledge the difficulty of what he’s having to do, even if he can’t change it.  

He’s doing the best he can under the circumstances, and he’s on a wonderful team now with the best people. Plus, Ilya, thank fuck, is never far away, but Shane just can’t get a shot off to save his life, and it’s no different when he’s put out on the ice with Ilya for a power play. 

He’s just missed another goal when Gilbert Comeau yells out at him, “What’s the matter, Hollander? Trading the ‘c’ on your chest for a cock in your ass not working out like you planned?”

Time slows, and his ears ring while Shane tries to focus on the feel of the ice under his feet. The weight of his pads. The sweat that’s gathered in his hair. Literally anything other than his former teammate. Because if he doesn’t, the panic that’s held at the dam of his control might not hold.

He finally gathers the strength to tell Comeau to fuck off, but before he can even open his mouth, Ilya drops his gloves to the ice and punches the other player square in the jaw. 

Shane’s eyes grow wide as the two of them tussle, barely registering Hayden hovering next to him and asking if he’s okay. 

The fight doesn’t last long and no one else from the Centaurs joins and Shane briefly wonders if Ilya had told them not to before they took the ice tonight. Shane’s been in the game long enough to know that some fights are personal, and this is certainly one of them.

Ilya thankfully comes away unscathed, but Shane can see a bruise already blooming on Comeau’s jaw. 

Shane is frustrated that Ilya’s put himself into a position to get a penalty, but his husband doesn’t look the least bit sorry for it as he winks at Shane on his way to the box. 

He wants to be mad at him. To tell Ilya he doesn’t need him to fight his battles for him, but that’s not strictly true tonight, and honestly, he’s really grateful for a husband who isn’t afraid to get messy sometimes when Shane can’t do it himself. 

Plus, it’s really hot. Another thing he should probably bring up in therapy. After he deals with all the ‘closeted gay guy who fell in love with his archrival and is shunned by his team that he’s given his all to when they find out about it and is now making way less than he’s worth just to be in a supportive place’ stuff anyway. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Shane says once Ilya’s time has been served. “We can’t afford to have you out for that long.”

Ilya just shrugs and gives him a lopsided smile. “Did it make you feel better, though?”

Shane rolls his eyes, but it does little to keep his own smile at bay. “Maybe.”

“Worth it then,” Ilya says as the ref signals the commercial break is almost over. 

“And did it make you feel better?” Shane can’t help but ask. 

Ilya skates close and pecks him on the cheek, and Shane can hardly believe they’re just allowed to do that now. “I feel like I could go win a hockey game with Shane fucking Hollander.”

That simple reminder is all Shane needs to bring himself back. To remember who he is and the work he’s put in to get him here. It’s not the first time Ilya’s had to remind him, and maybe, if he’s lucky, he can convince Ilya he needs another reminder in their now shared trophy room at home. 

And for so much of his career, Shane has had to carry the burden of an entire team on his back, but he doesn’t have to do that anymore. He’s landed in a place where his talent is more than just a means to an end. No one questions who he is here. He’s valued and acknowledged for everything he’s contributed to the game. 

Because fuck Montreal. Fuck most of his former teammates. And fuck anyone who dares to think less of him because of who he happens to love. 

And god does he love Ilya. 

Maybe it’s not the healthiest way to cope, but he can work all that out later. Right now, he has a hockey game to win. 

“Let’s do it,” he grins, his heart light and determined as Ilya grins back. 

oOo

They’re out with the team at a club in Los Angeles because that’s what you do when you have an excess of adrenaline and testosterone after a hard-fought hockey game. 

It’s not his thing. At all. But Shane’s a team player, and he’s doing his best to build a brotherhood with these men as strong as the one Ilya has with them, and so when his team captain suggested they all go out to work off some frustration at their loss, Shane had donned his leather jacket and gone. 

Though if he’s honest, it has a lot more to do with spending time with his husband than hanging out with the team. He likes being around Ilya all the time, and while they’re normally really good about separating when they have different needs, tonight, Shane just really wants to be close to him. He’s never taken to losing games very well, and Ilya always makes it better. 

Ilya makes everything better. 

He should have known that wouldn’t work in this setting, though. 

Shane loses track of him when he goes to the bar for some water. It’s hot and muggy inside, and the last thing he needs is to get sick because he’s dehydrated. But he wishes he hadn’t left Ilya’s side because now he doesn’t see him, and pushing through the crowd feels like it’s only taking them further and further apart. 

There’s a throng of bodies taking up basically every space available, and the incessant thumping of bass from the music makes Shane feel disoriented. He stops trying to fight through people and decides to hug the wall, downing his water and clutching at the glass like it’s a lifeline. 

He looks around again, trying to find a trace of anyone he knows, but he sees no one, and panic starts to rise up in him. He tries to stamp it down, feeling silly for becoming overwhelmed in a setting where so many people clearly thrive. 

But it’s been years since he’s been to a club, and his last attempt ended with him sobbing in his car afterwards because he’d had to watch Ilya make out with some woman while Shane pretended to be straight with Rose Landry. 

Maybe his therapist has been right all along. Maybe he really is trauamtized by like…so many things.

But that aside, if he can just find Ilya, he knows he can calm down. If he can just hold his hand or kiss him or even just feel Ilya standing next to him, Shane knows that’s all he really needs to ground himself.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe, but it feels like there’s not enough air to fill his lungs. He’s debating on trying to find the exit when strong hands grip at his hips.

Shane’s eyes fly open, ready to flee or fight, he’s not entirely sure which, and he sees Ilya standing before him, hazel eyes concerned in the dim red light. 

“Are you alright?” he asks near Shane’s ear, and Shane almost nods that he is, but then remembers this is Ilya. He doesn’t have to pretend, here. 

So, he shakes his head no, and Ilya takes the glass from his hands and sets it on a nearby table, ignoring the looks from the people standing around it. When he turns back to Shane, he smiles, and his hands find Shane’s hips again. 

“Focus on me,” he says, pointing to his eyes, and Shane finds himself listening as he’s pulled flush against Ilya. “Nobody here but us.”

Shane nods and lifts his arms around Ilya’s neck, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressing together again after their brief time apart. 

Ilya starts to sway them and his lips touch Shane’s ear, his words dark as they rumble through Shane. “Now close your eyes. Is just us.”

And Shane listens. His eyes flutter shut and he lets himself feel. 

The stroke of Ilya’s thumbs at this hips. His breath on Shane’s neck. The flush of his skin. The thump of bass that had overwhelmed him before now thrums through his blood like a siren.

He feels grounded enough to look out again, and his the brown of his eyes clashes powerfully with the green and gold in Ilya’s. He’s suddenly struck by the urge to kiss him. It’s something he still doesn’t do in public that often, but here, in this place, the need to claim his husband in a way he’d never been allowed to before takes hold. 

Ilya seems to sense it too, lowering his head until their mouths are barely a milimeter apart. “I love you,” Ilya says, but Shane doesn’t hear it, he feels it in the brush of Ilya’s lips against his.

He can’t wait any longer, the distance finally unbearable, and so he captures Ilya’s mouth and lets himself go.

oOo

“And have you had a chance to look over the contracts I sent you last week?” Yuna asks at the table over dinner. “Looks like they’re amenable to signing both of you, I mean, they’d be stupid not to, but if you think there’s something missing, I can always talk counter with them.”

“I’ll have to look,” Shane says through gritted teeth, pushing a lone potato around on his plate and wishing they could have at least finished eating before his mom went into manager mode.

“Well, make sure you look over them tonight and get back with me,” she says. “And have you decided on what you’re wearing to the NHL awards this year?”

“Mom, that’s months away,” he says, and a familiar loss of control starts to creep up in his throat. He loves his mother, so, so much, but she never stops and is about as good at reading emotional cues as Shane is, and sometimes it gets to be too much. Especially when Shane is so used to her running so many aspects of his life. Even at thirty years old, he still struggles with telling her when enough is enough. 

“I know, but you can never start planning too early. There are several brands that have reached out already, and I think we need to be strategic about which one we go with. You know, really look at their history on the issues because we don’t need either of you mixed up in any scandals.”

“Is not like we have ever had any of those,” Ilya says with a wink toward Shane, but his smile falls quickly when he notices the strained look on Shane’s face. “Uh, maybe we take a break. Anya needs her walk.” 

“But we still have so much to go over,” Yuna protests, and looks to David for support, but Shane notices his dad is looking at him with quiet understanding. “

“We are taking Anya for a walk,” Ilya says as he stands, and his voice is firm. Shane watches as he gives Yuna a smile to indicate he’s not upset, but he doesn’t back down, and Shane wastes no time in standing up and joining him in his walk to the door. 

They shrug on their coats while Anya barely stays still enough to get her leash on, let alone her own coat and snow boots, and as soon as the cold November air hits his face, Shane feels both relief and a little bit of shame. 

“Thank you,” he tells Ilya when they’re out on the sidewalk. Their arms are linked, and Shane leans on his husband like a lifeline. “I’m so lucky she’s my mom, she only wants what’s best for us, and I feel shitty about getting annoyed but…it’s just a lot sometimes.”

“You can feel both at once,” Ilya says, and Shane can see the teasing gleam in his eyes reflecting off the lights from the streetlamps. “Lucky and annoyed. I would know.” 

“Fuck you very much,” Shane quips playfully as Ilya kisses his temple. 

Even though they’ve only been outside for a minute, Shane feels lighter already. It’s still amazing to him how well Ilya just gets him. That he knows when Shane needs to take a break even before he recognizes it himself. He’s so fucking grateful to have found the other half of his soul, and he’s sure he’ll never get over it.

“I love you.”

Ilya looks at him with so much warmth that Shane can almost forget the season’s first snow is crunching under his feet. He knows there’s no one else in the world who knows him like Ilya. 

“I love you, too,” Ilya replies, and Shane’s struck by how beautiful he is in the moonlight. Rugged and perfect and completely his. “I’ve got you. Always.” 

Anya barks at their feet, breaking whatever spell they were under, and they still for a moment as Ilya bends down to pick her up. He looks at Shane with a mischievous grin and loudly whispers to Anya, “Do not worry, I still love you the most.” 

Shane flips him off and picks up his pace, enjoying the sound of Ilya’s laugh as he tries to keep up, and when they finally walk back into the house, met by an apologetic Yuna, Shane finds that nothing really seems that daunting when Ilya is by his side. 

oOo

“Ilya, can you speak at all on what this means to you? Winning another Stanley Cup again after so long, and now with this team and your husband?” a reporter asks as camera flashes block them from really seeing anything past a few feet in front of them. 

Shane tries to take it all in. Basking in the culmination of so many battles fought and won. The fruition of victory has never, ever tasted so sweet, he decides. 

He turns his head and watches as Ilya opens his mouth to speak. But nothing comes out, and he soon closes it back, swallowing hard against what Shane can see are tears building and threatening to spill over. 

Ilya looks to him, his eyes wide and helpless in a silent plea. It’s a call Shane hasn’t had to answer since that first press conference they’d had together all those years ago, but he’s more than happy to take it on again. 

He reaches under the table and grabs Ilya’s hand, an encouraging smile on his face as he mouths, ‘I’ve got you.’

“Uh, well,” Shane starts with a laugh that’s mostly adrenaline with nowhere else to go. “I think it means everything you can imagine it would. This has been a grueling season and we’ve fought for every single win and this one is no exception. We love this team, they’ve embraced both of us and there’s no better group of guys we could do share this with.”

He looks again to Ilya and Shane can’t help but mirror the deep breath he sees Ilya take. He squeezes Ilya’s hand and Ilya squeezes back. “And on a more personal level,” Shane goes on, “Playing with Ilya has been the greatest honor of my life. I could have never imagined winning could feel sweeter than it did when I won the cup in the past, but uh–” he breaks off, voice shaking a bit as his emotions finally catch up. “This has been one of the best days of my life. And I can’t believe I get to share it with my husband.” 

Shane finishes and the questions start up again. “Ilya do you have anything to add? How does it feel for you?” a different reporter shouts out over the murmur of talking heads. 

Ilya smiles at Shane, his gaze never leaving as he leans toward the mic, saying this time, without hesitation. “It feels like everything I ever wanted.”