Archive of Our Own

"I invited J.J. over tonight. I'm gonna tell him."

On the other end of the line, Hayden went still for a moment. For long enough that it started to stress Shane out. So, naturally, he started sputtering into the speaker.

"Or do you think I shouldn't? Oh no, did he say something in the locker room I didn't hear? Hayden do you think J.J. could be homophobic?? Like, I don't think he would be but I don't know actually and I'm—"

"Shane. SHANE. Buddy—" Hayden tried to interject through half of that, but Shane didn't hear him over the blood rushing in his own ears and just kept taking. "Shane, listen. Breathe, man."

Shane willed himself to stop his sputtering.

Shane has been doing that, Hayden. Has been breathing a lot in his life. Telling him to do something he has always been doing is kinda dumb, Hayden. For most his life actually Shane has been breathing, since he is actively alive. Okay great, now he is really starting to sound like Ilya, even if not out loud yet. Damn you Hunter.

Instead of voicing all of that, he concentrated on what Hayden actually meant. You are starting to panic, Shane, use a calming breathing technique, Shane, take a moment to come down, Shane. So he did that. Breathing in a pattern his mum taught him when he was very young. Or maybe it was a therapist his mum went to with him after he actually jolted at any given external stimulation on his body and senses when too many changes happened too fast for him between kindergarten, preschool and elementary school. He remembers very little of that time. His mother told him once though, that during that time, it already became very clear that he needs his life in strict order. And if circumstances couldn't accommodate that, he needed to learn how to cope. So that's what his mum dedicated herself to help him do.

For a long moment, Hayden didn't speak. He never was impatient toward Shane, and he learned quickly that this is exactly what his best friend needs in these moments.

"Better now. Are you?" Hayden asked when Shane didn't sound like he just escaped from the meat eating Zamboni he dreamt about once when he had a fever a few years back. His brain has always been very capable in supplying him in realistic pictures of situations. Which is why this literal nightmare has left him drenched in sweat and shaking when he woke up from it. He sometimes still sees it when he looks too closely at the Zamboni at the rink.

"Yes. Better. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. And no, Shane, I don't think it's a bad idea to come out to J.J., I just wondered…"

A pause, a little cooing further away from the phone — Hayde is coddling Amber, he's sure — before his voice got louder again.

"—Uh, I wondered how much you wanna tell him tonight."

Ah. Hayden doesn't want Shane to put one of their defencemen into a coma by telling him he's with Ilya. Understandable.

"Just gonna come out. I want to ease him into it, gently. It's bad enough that my dad walked in on us with Ilya fondling my ass. And…whatever exposure therapy you went through in LA."

He could hear Hayden make one of those pitiful sounds again, one of those he made when he was waiting on that hotel bed in their room for him and his boyfriend come out of the shower so he could speed run his crashout (any%).

With a voice like someone in heels stepped explicitly onto his little toe that also happened to be situated on a Lego brick, Hayden squeaked: "Man I'm so happy for J.J. for not having to dream about Rozanov's ass for a week."

Shane aimed for a stern voice. But he may have snorted.

"You dream about my boyfriend's ass?"

"Noouu." It sounded like Hayden slapped a hand to his face halfway through the drawn-out word. He probably did. Shane pushed on.

"You didn't even see it. He had pants on."

"He had light Gray sweatpants on that hid nothing and his ass is massive, Shane." Jackie was heard laughing out a short but strong HA in the background. "…He also is a massive ass."

Shane couldn't help but giggle. "He's not so bad when you get to know him."

Something bonked the table on the other end of the line. Probably Hayden's head, by the way Amber erupted in laughter a second later.

"I think I'm good."

Shane was about to ask Hayden if he wants to come by with Jackie some evening for dinner when he imagined he could hear steps in front of his door. Maybe his mum? No, she's at home with dad in their cottage. He must have imagined it.

Then he heard the jingling of keys.

"Hayde, I'll text you later. I think my mum is here, I can hear someone unlocking my door."

He just hung up a video call on his parents thirty minutes ago, though. They were at their cottage. Who else had a spare— wait. He had given one to— no way.

"Oh, okay, all good. And tell me how J.J. reacted later, yeah?"

"Will do. Bye!"

Keys. Why did this apartment have an actual key for the door. His Boston apartment had two different keypads — okay if he was being honest, Ilya was glad that he only had to remember one key code and could carry around a key to Shane's apartment in Montreal. He wasn't sure he could remember it well anyway, especially not when he's as tired as he was feeling today. The decision to go to Shane was impulsive — not dumb, he knew Shane got time, and his own schedule had cleared up after coach announced the next two days' practices to be optional for some family reasons, or something — but now he was here, after a bad night of sleep, a morning of training, a flight, and a drive around early afternoon. He was so happy to see Shane, and so ready to see a bed.

Honestly, Ilya was still in awe and got the urge to thank Jesus (for some reason) that he was actually even allowed in Shane's Apartment now — let alone have his own spare key.

He just should have put that thing on an individual ring so he could make it out faster in his assortment of non-car keys he rarely uses. Which one actually was it again. Christ. He's feeling so tired.

"A-ha!"

Ilya held up the offensively boring key in victory before putting it into the lock, turning it, and letting himself into Shane's apartment.

He hung up his keys by the door, took off his shoes, put them neatly away, couldn't hold in the yawn that tore out of his body, and turned just in time to see Shane walking up to the front door with his phone in hand and a confused expression crinkling his freckles. Cute.

"Ilya?"

Ilya beamed at him. Put down the small backpack he brought and stepped over to pull Shane into his arms. He pressed his nose into the short, soft hairs behind Shane's ear and breathed him in.

"Hello, lyubimyy." A kiss to Shane's jaw. "Surprise?"

Shane still gaped like a fish.

"Uh."

Pulling back to look his boyfriend in the eyes, Ilya tried to shove his rising anxiety off his face.

"…not good I'm here?" okay maybe he was failing at controlling his face but that was between him and god. Russians are calm and collected. He is Russian. (His face was morphing into a strikingly accurate rendition of a puppy being denied a snackie.)

Shane shook himself — not solely his head, his entire upper body, head, shoulders, wrists, hands — put his phone in his pocket and wrapped his arms around Ilya's waist. "No! I mean— yes, it's awesome! I'm sorry—" a soft peck to Ilya's lips. "you surprised me. I was in the middle of planning for this evening. Threw me off."

Another peck.

"…Maybe a bit nervous. Very happy you are here."

Another peck.

Ilya let him do it another time. Then another. After the seventh peck, Ilya snorted, amused, and leaned in, fully capturing Shane's lips, calmly sliding his fingers up and down the back of his head through the silky black of his hair.

Shane finally melted against him. After a long moment of unrushed kisses, nibbling at his boyfriend's lower lip, then the upper, then fully closing his mouth around soft lips again, Ilya pulled back to look into those lovely dark eyes.

"…So, just a little. Nervous."

Shane — apparently he really likes to do that (no one blames him) — pinched Ilya's butt in annoyance.

"Shut up."

Ilya jolted into him, laughing, at the stinging sensation right where thigh turns into ass.

"Okay. So. What has you this nervous, this evening. Let me help." It was Ilya's turn to peck Shane, though he chose the tip of his nose. "Direct me." He added.

Shane dropped his head onto Ilya's shoulder while letting out a puff of air. "Not a lot you can do, actually. Other than—" and he lifted his head again, to look into Ilya's eye…area. Shane looks him in the eyes a lot for being Shane Hollander, Ilya knew that. Eye contact didn't come easy to Shane, but with him, and Ilya prides himself in it, it seems easier. Shane continued: "—please don't take that the wrong way now, but, you don't need to do a lot other than stay away."

Ilya looked at him confused for a second, trying not to let his mind jump to conclusions. Shane didn't leave him a lot of time to do so anyway.

"I invited J.J. over. I want to come out to him — I want him to know."

He dropped his head to Ilya's shoulder again, having used up his quarter-hourly face-looking contingent.

"About us, too, but not tonight. I want to see his reaction to me being gay, first. Then…adjust. If I need to."

"Are you afraid he could react badly?" Ilya rubbed his hands up and down Shane's shoulders and flanks now, a reminder of the day David Hollander watched Ilya grope his son's ass with their tongues tangled before rushing off and leaving behind a mortified Shane.

"I don't think he will. I'm sure it will be fine. But yes. It's up here." Shane bumped his forehead to Ilya's shoulder once. "Can't help it." He pressed a kiss to Ilya's neck, where he could feel his pulse jump under his lips. "I also don't want to put him in cardiac arrest. Hence the postponing of the boyfriend reveal."

Ilya could make a joke about J.J., or maybe five. But he didn't. He didn't feel like it, would you believe. Ilya didn't. Until a yawn broke out of him right from his core. Soundless, but practically shaking his very core. That's when Shane pulled back and took in his face again, this time with a new focus.

"Did you get enough rest?"

He wanted to lie. Tell Shane he is fine, nothing can shake him, Russians don't sleep actually. An impulse he's not sure he'll ever lose, to prove he is the unshakeable wall for people to lean on, the strong foundation to build on, the strong man that will never falter. But he is also trying, for Shane, to be honest. With him. And with himself. So Ilya inhaled deeply, once, before shaking his head.

"Couldn't fall asleep first, had to get up early again, and the three hours of sleep that I got weren't good, I think. Woke up with hurting neck."

Now saying this shouldn't be this exhausting, but Ilya could feel it draining the reserves he was running on. Shane assessed him for a short moment. Then nodded.

"I see. Change of plan then."

Ilya looked at his boyfriend, confused.

"What plan? You didn't tell me plan."

"I'm not letting you go anywhere like this. You go take a nap. I wake you before J.J. arrives, then you go out for a while, and come back after J.J. left, yeah? Yeah. That's good, that can work."

Shane was telling his plan more to himself than to Ilya. But well, Ilya was tired, and he heard 'You take a nap', and then he already saw himself lying in his boyfriend's bed in his boyfriend's oversized T-Shirt and stopped listening.

Accent thick again, he nodded, leaned his forehead to Shane's, and with his eyes closed, said:

"O-kay."

♥♥♥

J.J. would be here in thirty-five minutes.  So it was time for Shane to go and wake Ilya, so he could have his five minutes of groggily sitting on the bed while his brain booted, quickly rinse his face like Shane knew he would, get dressed, and calmly go to his car to drive off to a restaurant or some other activity he might find that would allow him to (soberly) drive back later. Perfectly timed plan, as Shane does.

What he didn't account for was that he would stand in the door of his bedroom, look at his boyfriend's sleeping form, and just do nothing. Okay not nothing-nothing. He circled in and out of the bedroom, not going far but pacing in front of it with the softest steps a Jock probably has aver taken, into the bathroom, out of it, uselessly standing back in the door. Watching his boyfriend sleep in one of his mock-jerseys made of soft cotton that his mum got him as a joke, big even on Ilya's frame, his own name and number plastered across Ilya's back and visible to god and the world because his boyfriend just had to sleep on his stomach, one knee drawn up, revealing leg for days in his little shorts, blanket half-off off him. Mouth slack, curls a perfect chaos on his head, arms clutching the pillow like it's the nicest thing he ever put his head on.

Shane couldn't move his legs. He wanted to bite Ilya's cheek, and take his phone out and snap a picture for himself (to be put in a password protected folder that held all but five pictures), and he wanted to leave the room so Ilya could sleep, and he wanted to wake him because he needed to wake him, and he wanted to not wake him because it seemed cruel, and he wanted to step over and kiss him awake because J.J. would be here soon and Ilya needed to get ready, and he wanted to lay down next to him and snuggle his face into his back, and he wanted to drop to his knees at the end of the bed and rest his head on the mattress and just watch Ilya breathe.

Shane's phone buzzed in his hand —oh would you look at that, a photo of Ilya that he took, the act of doing that got lost under his brain running in circles around his legs — and then he saw a message from J.J., in french.

'At the intersection two streets down. Traffic is stuck somehow. But I'll be at your place in a few, Cap!'

Shane blinked. Checked the time on his phone. J.J. was supposed to arrive around 7:00. It was 6:54 now.

…Shit.

Warm lips tickled his face, high on his cheek, and a familiar scent was all around him. Ilya was still tired, he didn't want to get up yet, but the calmness that spread through him by just being in Shane's space put every sensation in cotton. He could feel the corner of his mouth curl upwards, no irritation by being woken, just his mind moving through molasses.

"Hrn…is time to get up already?"

Shane pressed another kiss to Ilya's face, above his brow.

"No. It's okay. Stay in bed, I…messed up my plan."

Ilya couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, even though he wanted to.

"…Mess up? Net, you don't mess up plan ever."

"I did. Didn't wanna wake you. You are…"

Ilya pressed his forehead into the warmth in front of his face with a questioning sound. Shane laughed, and went on.

"…couldn't bring myself to wake you. And you need rest. J.J. will be here soon, it's too late for you to go now. He'd see."

Worry started to spread through Ilya's sluggish mind now, he managed to crack open his eyes so he could take in Shane's face. He found him crouched in front of him, calm, next to the bed.

"Is really okay? You don't want him to know about me."

"Yet." Shane corrected. "Yes, and that is still the plan. You just stay here. Sleep. J.J. has no reason to go into my bedroom. You rest up. Just wanted to give you a warning in case you woke up."

"You give update so I don't wake confused."

"Exactly."

"Okay." Ilya closed his eyes again. "I'll be quiet. Kak myška."

He could hear Shane laugh softly before he felt another kiss on his cheek. A hand sliding through his hair. There wasn't any fight in him. And even if there was, it would've drained out the moment one of those devastating forehead kisses of Shane's connected with his skin.

"Good night, sweetheart."

"Night. I love you."

"Love you, too."

♥♥♥

"Capitaine! Ami—" J.J. stepped through the door into Shane's apartment and pulled Shane into a hug. "it's been too long since you invited me!"

Shane stepped out of the embrace after a moment.

"Yeah. Had a lot going on. Come, I have food."

He went to take off his shoes, put them aside, and followed Shane into his kitchen area where a spread of antipasti sat waiting under some lids on the kitchen island. They sat and started digging in. Wherever Shane got himself all of that, it's exquis. He'd ask him later.

A relaxed conversation started, about the last training session, then about Hayden and him thinking about getting a vasectomy asap, then back to gossip about other teammates. Apparently, Roy bought himself a stupid expensive german car directly from the factory in Munich. The ones that Shane thinks look like they have an ass for a grille.

"It has heated seating. But he has to pay monthly to use it. Like damn, it's in there, let me use it? Oh, Capitaine, there is a stupid expensive car parking by the house! You'd hate it!"

"There is? What car?"

He stood up and went to the windows, trying to see if he could spot it at an angle. And he did, it was right there, Bright Blue and pretentious.

"Celui-là." J.J. pointed at it.

Shane had followed, and stood right next to him, trying to catch a glimpse of the car he meant. He even stepped aside to let Shane stand in his place. He put his hands on his captain's shoulders from behind, then pointed a finger in Shane's line of sight towards the drivable mortgage.

"Oh. That. I see it."

"Tellement arrogant! I bet this is a car Rozanov has in his garage."

J.J. could feel Shane tense under his fingers — just for a second — before stepping out of his hold and turning around. "Nah, that's probably the wrong colour. Have a feeling he doesn't like that shade of blue."

He threw a look out of the window again with a thoughtful sound. "Vrais, it looks like Voyaguer's colour. The guy would not even spit the direction of that car!" He tried to exaggerate his distaste on his face with a smile on the side before returning to the food. Shane seemed to tense momentarily again. Huh.

"Would he not? Are you okay, Capitaine? Rozanov say something to you? You are weird when I mention him." He shoved Bruschetta into his mouth before continuing "Do I need to beat him up bad next game?"

"No!" Shane cleared his throat and tried to hide the blush blooming on his face by looking down to his own Bruschetta still on his plate. "No, he didn't. He is—" another little cough to dislodge whatever he thinks is in his throat. "—he is not a bad guy. Actually. Like—" Shane's hands dropped to his lap. "—we. We actually are. Like. Friends. You know."

J.J. stopped chewing. "Pardon? You just say you and Rozanov are friends?"

A choppy nod from Shane. "…Yeah. I know it sounds weird. But, we actually got along well from the start. The rivalry was not a lie, you know. I'd never even let him win over my dead body. But I like him. He's not a bad guy." He managed to look J.J. in the eye for a moment. "Don't tell the other guys. Hayden knows. The others will think you have a brain tumour."

"Bien sûr, it sounds crazy! I mean, you always looked like you hated that guy!"

"Yeah. We tried to play into the rivalry thing. But, uhm." A hand went to the back of his own neck and his eyes went back to the baked Zucchini in the middle of the spread. "Kinda tired of it now, you know. He and I— We want to start a charity together. Would be easier if people didn't think we tear each other's heads off if we enter a two-meter perimeter off the ice."

"That man is an asshole."

"Yeah, he is." Shane actually laughed now. "But he's not a bad guy. I mean it. And— be honest. Him being an asshole is kinda funny when it's not directed at you."

The Bruschetta he hadn't been chewing for the past minute almost fell out of his mouth.

"What the. That why you invited me here? To throw my world upside down?" J.J. laughed now. Shane tensed again. J.J. swallowed thickly around the soggy bread now, trying to get it down.

"Uhm…no. There is another— unrelated thing." And J.J. could almost feel Shane cringe at his own words before he composed himself and slid the plate away from him.

"It's something I want to tell the team. I don't know when— probably not this season. Or the next. But, some day—" He could see Shane's arms tense, possibly him gripping the fabric of his pants in stress.

"— I wanted to tell you now, though. I feel like I can."

J.J. slid his plate out of the way now, too. This sounded serious.

"Okay, I'm here, Capitaine. What is it?"

"Uh… I'm."

A pause.

An inhale.

J.J. stayed quiet. He had a feeling where this was going.

"I'm gay."

He was right with his feeling. He didn't quite know how to feel. Well, about the gay thing — that he did know. It's fine. He didn't care. He's happy for Shane. But all of the surrounding things — the NHL (distaste), Shane trusting him (pride and gratitude), Shane's discomfort (worry) — mixed into a freezing sensation in his body. He sat still. Until he could see actual panic bloom on his friend's face.

"Shane! Shane. It's cool. Sorry," He got out of his chair to round the kitchen island and put his arms around his panicking captain. "it's cool, Shane, really. I'm very happy that you trust me with this."

Shane's arm came up and around his shoulders now, his head nodding against J.J.'s shoulder.

"Okay. Okay. Thank you."

"Please don't stress it." Boiziau stepped away from Shane to give him room to breathe. "I should be thanking you. It's a big deal for you, isn't it?"

Shane just nodded.

"It shouldn't be. Putain de NHL."

"I'll be okay, J.J. I'm just worried about my friends being bad about it."

"Well they better not be!" J.J. said seriously. "They get a beating with a rainbow flag if they are!"

Shane laughed at that. "Please don't."

"Does anyone else know?"

Shane nodded.

"My parents. And Hayden. They all, kind of— um—" now Shane blushed again. J.J. looked at him confused.

"they walked in on me and my boyfriend. I wanted you all to know anyway, eventually, but the decision was kind of taken from me. Us."

J.J. stopped. "…Boyfriend?" Shane blushed deeper. Nodded his choppy nod again. "Yeah."

"How long?"

"Have I been with him?"

Nod nod.

"Steady now since June. But—we've been with each other before that. For, um. Years."

"Even when you dated Rose Landry?!"

"No. Not during that time. Things were complicated. And I accidentally made Rose my beard. I still apologize to her sometimes." The tension gradually bled out of Shane during their conversation. "Learned to accept myself during that time, first. Dunno if you can relate, but" Shane's eyes found their way up to his again. "I really didn't want to be gay." J.J. could feel his heart break for his friend.

"Merde, this sport. I'm sorry you felt like this, Cap."

"It's okay. Well, not the sport thing. But about me. I'm good now." A slow smile spread across his friend's features. "I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, too. Sometime."

"I'd be honoured, Capitaine!"

He was glad. Glad that Shane trusts him. That he'd even introduce him to his secret boyfriend — J.J. found himself really curious about Shane's taste in men — and he vowed to himself that, when Shane was ready to tell the team, he'd be there pride flag waving. Well, maybe not physically, but he'll have Shane's back. Always. He eyed Shane's still gradually relaxing form in his chair.

"…So you are gay."

Now Shane looked up in confusion.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't gays supposed to have some sort of fashion sense?"

Shane looked down at himself.

"I don't think I look bad!"

"Do you not have anything not boring?"

"I went shopping with Rose the other day. She insisted on buying me ludicrous amounts of what she called 'sexy' stuff, but I don't really wear it. I don't know when I would! I just put it in my bedroom closet still in it's bags."

"Sexy stuff? Capitaine, I need to see that."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!" Shane tensed again.

"Yes I do so I can figure out when you put that on! Come on, Capitaine!"

J.J. was beaming when he turned around to take the steps up to Shane's bedroom. This will be fun, and he'll give his friend self confidence even if he's fighting it. While he's always careful of pushing Shane out of his comfort zone, he's not a stranger to doing it in a controlled way.

"Really, J.J., — you really don't—"

J.J. slammed the door to the bedroom open without much fanfare — and stopped dead in the doorframe upon finding a dude sitting on the bed. Cross-legged, hunched over holding his phone, seemingly swiping through short-form content on mute, his other hand spinning a lollipop in his mouth by its horrible paper stick, probably freshly showered judging by his damp curls. Wearing an appropriation of Shane's jersey and some short shorts underneath. For his own peace of mind, J.J. believes in the fact that there are shorts there that he just can't see right now.

This situation would be awkward enough already, waltzing in on Shane's secret boyfriend when Shane obviously meant to ease him into that. But that guy sitting on the bed wasn't just some handsome dude. It was the unlikeliest handsome dude Jean-Jacques “J.J.” Boiziau could think of.

No, scratch that, J.J. couldn't smoke enough weed to even get this idea. Because the dude sitting on Shane's bed like he owns it was none other than Ilya Rozanov. Soft and unbothered and lightly flushed in the cheeks, having the audacity to look small in an oversized hockey jersey without the padding underneath and no fabric visible on his legs safe for the fluffy orange socks that go up a third of his calves — are those fucking anti-slip cat paws — no, no, the shorts, J.J. reminded himself. No matter the truth, there will always be shorts in his own version of the fever dream happening to him right now lest he goes to an early grave caused by aneurysm.

The offending presence on the bed didn't move much upon his intrusion. Rozanov just looked up, surprised, stopped his scrolling on the phone and looked at J.J.'s frozen frame still holding onto the door handle. Then his eyes drifted to Shane, probably behind him. J.J. didn't turn. Then back to J.J, blinked his too-bright eyes twice. He took the lollipop out his mouth and waved it in a small circle in lieu of a greeting.

"Zdravstvui."

Now J.J. blinked twice. He managed to keep himself from doing it more. Blinking Rozanov away or something.

So.

What the fuck. Shane invites him over. Tells him he is gay. So far so good. Tells him he wants J.J. to meet his boyfriend some time, and that he's nervous about it. Seeing fucking Ilya Rozanov on Shane's bed makes it so clear what is going on here. As much as J.J. want's to freak out about it — aight, he was actively freaking out — he tried at least to not hurl insults around and stay calm. Because, honestly, what explanation could there be here. It's quite obvious, honestly.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Okay. Breathe, Hollander.

Easing J.J. in is no longer an option. He can handle this. This is the third time something like this happened. Honestly, why was he even trying to come out to people slowly like that anymore.

First time, his dad walks in with Ilya's hand on his ass and his tongue in his mouth. Second time, Hayden walks in while they shower together with the room still smelling of sex. Now J.J.'s in the middle of the doorway to his bedroom, door handle in his hand like a lifeline, his boyfriend in the middle of the bed looking the boyfriendiest to ever boyfriend. What's next. Half an NHL media team with cameras actively rolling just accidentally catching them go down on each other through the windows of a hotel room?

Oh god no don't think this into existence, Hollander.

Sensing his building panic, Ilya looks over to him past J.J. taking root right where he stands. He looks calm enough, but in a cat-like way. Relaxed, but ready to pounce any time. I shouldn't have bought these dumb socks for him. Shane could feel his head start to ache, but Ilya's collected presence eases his anxiety. He is here. I'm not alone in this. A deep breath. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, trying to will the headache away.

And J.J. has not beat Ilya up yet. This might turn out okay.

Boiziau finally let go of the handle now. Instead, he turned to Shane and folded his hands in front of his crotch. He looked like he was about to ask a dude named Drake where the door is.

"Shane."

"Yeah?"

"What the fuck."

Ilya suppressed a snort. Badly, because Shane could still clearly hear it. He shot a quick glare over J.J.'s shoulder to his boyfriend, who, to his credit, seemed to really try and keep his face neutral. He suppressed a smile and sheepishly looked up at Shane through his lashes. So unfairly adorable, Shane couldn't keep his own mouth from twitching up at the corner. Then he turned his eyes back down to the floor in front of J.J.'s feet.

"Look, I — I knew this was gonna fuck you up. I wanted to let you know, but, like. Gently?"

J.J. still had a threateningly calm voice when he said "…gently?" He leaned back farther in his pose. His voice also climbed a note higher or two. Shane risked a glance up into his eyes, before quickly looking down again. Nope, no eye contact right now.

"I don't know. How do I tell people I am in love with the one guy everyone thinks I should hate. I get it, it's a lot to swallow."

Realising his wording, Shane shot a preemptive glare to his boyfriend — but there was no visible innuendo building behind Ilya's eyes. Instead, he was now perched at the end of the bed, phone no longer in his hand but locked and placed display down on the comforter. He was watching Shane and J.J. with nervous eyes.

J.J. turned his upper body back to Ilya, eyeing the man up and down before turning back to Shane.

"You could say that."

"…Are you mad?" It came out a lot more pathetic than Shane hoped it would. Not like an adult trying to assess the situation at hand, more like a kid that just got caught at eating another cookie out of the jar before dinner. He could hear Ilya breathe out loudly through his nose like oh Shane. He didn't even try to hide that he wanted Shane to come and get comfort from him. But he didn't move. He let Shane handle himself.

Which he did. By walking over to Ilya and sitting down right next to him on the bed, so close not even a piece of paper could fit between their thighs. He leaned in with his upper body, too, just letting their arms and shoulders touch before releasing the breath he hadn't realised he'd held.

J.J.'s eyes followed his movements until that moment — and then he seemed to snap out of it. "Mad? Capitaine, I — actually I'on know. Maybe? That guy told me I'm wielding a half baked baguette instead of a stick last Sunday on the ice!"

Now Shane snorted. J.J. looked at him in horror.

"Sorry." Shane turned to Ilya. "You said that?"

Ilya turned to Shane in mock offence. "Da! He kept not making shots when he should have, like stick is too short! Was embarrassing! He is third-best on team but he played worse than Pike!"

"Okay, sweetheart, I don't think insulting both of my best friends is earning you any favours here—"

"Not trying to earn favours, I just want them to play as good as they can so I don't get bored when you are on bench."

"Montreal has a lot of good players."

"And yet they played so bad I was bored last time. Boiziau used to be fun to play against! He did not even manage to give me bruise!"

Shane made a hmpf sound. "We beat your ass though!"

"You beat my ass. You scored hat trick. Three out of four goals, that was you, lyubimyy."

"Comeau and J.J. scored the fourth together."

"Da, could have been more if Boiziau didn't handle stick like unbaked breadstick!"

They kept getting closer and closer in their banter, eyes squinting and pushing index fingers into each other's thighs punctuating what they say.

J.J. let out another "What the fuck." He sat down on the hardwood right in the doorframe.

"I'm not sure if you are insulting or complimenting me, Rozanov."

Shane looked his — his boyfriend, calisse tabarnak — in the eyes before turning back to J.J. "Honestly, with him, it might be both." Rozanov grinned. Shane slapped his thigh. The resulting jerk of his body caused the jersey to ride up a bit. He was, in fact, wearing shorts, dieu merci. J.J. closed his eyes and took a deep, steading breath.

"Okay. Okay, so how did this happen."

♥♥♥

One explanation spanning 'hooking up since they were teenagers' and 'being obsessed with the other so bad that it turned into the most loving shit I have ever seen', J.J. was no longer sitting on the floor in the doorway. He was lying starfish on his back. Shane stood at his feet, concerned.

"Do you need some water?"

"J'ai besoin d'une lobotomie."

"Best I can do is coffee."

Ilya, still patiently sitting on the bed, casually threw in:

"I can do lobotomy."

Shane put his hands to his hips.

"You don't speak french. But you got that?"

"I'm not totally dumb, Hollander. Came free with learning confusing language after moving away from Russia." Ilya gestured in circles. "Picking words I understand from sentence. Worked good for me so far."

"Yeah," Shane let out another snort "especially when the words were any variation of 'cock' and 'ass' and 'knees'."

The pathetic sound of distress that bubbled up in J.J.'s throat hadn't even made it out before Shane looked down at him in horror, realising what words just came out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry I don't know how I managed to say that out loud in front of you."

Putain de merde this is not real. He's lying in a bed in hospital with a concussion. This is more likely to be real that Shane Hollander fucking Ilya Rozanov, a defenseman getting his bell rung on the boards is a lot more likely than sweet Canadian golden boy Shane Hollander talking about sex in front of him like it's the weather. The man couldn't even keep a straight face when J.J. told him that he'll fuck Rozanov if he fucks Shane before a gam— by god, that is why he looked at him like that.

J.J. sat up abruptly, all but smacked his face with both his hands and then stood up. "You know what, Captaine, I think I will take that coffee." Shane moved to go ahead. "Oh, great, I'll make—" J.J. held him back by the shoulder.

"I'll go and make myself coffee with your weird machine, you stay here for a moment."

Confusion spread across Shane's features. J.J. risked a look over at Rozanov. Now, that man looked about ready for murder. J.J. tried to clarify.

"Just need a moment alone. For my brain to catch up." He looked into Shane's eyes, Shane almost immediately avoiding his gaze, then he looked directly into the Russian's eyes instead. "I'm not gonna lie, Capitaine," he let go of Shane's shoulder and stepped toward Rozanov's slowly straitening figure on the bed. He walked through the syllables like he was reciting a poem in seventh grade in front of the class.

"I do not really agree in your choice of men. But I will try and be peaceful. If he does."

Rozanov stood — calisse the guy is big ain't he, not even bigger that J.J., how does he look so massive — and assessed J.J. like he's scanning a plastered wall for cracks, looking for the barest sign of him not being genuine. He nodded. "Go drink a coffee. Take your time. I will not bite you." And J.J. could tell the guy was holding his tongue, probably about his small brain needing to adjust to something as big as him — did J.J. really just insult himself. Rozanov didn't even need to do that himself anymore, ugh — because the corner of his mouth just barley twitched before he threw a look over at Shane, still on the bed, and reaching out his hand to gently run it atop his hair.

Retreating out of the room, just before he shut the door, J.J. could make out the soft words Rozanov spoke to Shane when he sat back down.

"Hey, lyubimyy. You are okay. We're okay. He will be, too."

Shane stuffed his face into his hands even before J.J. had closed the door. Ilya sat next to him on the bed and started to rub hopefully-soothing circles between his shoulders. Now that was no good. At least they managed to bypass a full on meltdown until now. Boiziau had, to his credit, managed to stay calm enough about this. Ilya had expected a fist to the face, he won't lie.

"…That did not go to plan."

Ilya chuckled. "No." He pressed a kiss to Shane's temple. Shane leaned into Ilya's shoulder with his hands still on his face.

"…He seemed mad."

"He wasn't."

"He was."

"No."

Ilya directed Shane's face to look at his with fingertips to his jaw. The same way he's done what feels like a hundred times. Shane let his hands fall from his face now, instead resting them to Ilya's collarbone in loose fists. Their eyes made contact, and it stayed.

"You told him you are gay. Yes?"

A nod.

"And that you are seeing someone. Yes?"

Another nod.

"And he was happy for you."

Not a question, a statement. Shane nodded again.

"So he is just — how you say. When someone is full of confusion."

Shane's hands started to play with the curls at the nape of Ilya's head. His voice sounded a little off, like it got out of his throat with some minimal resistance.

"Perplexed? Bewildered?"

"Bewildered! I like how word sounds. Bewildered."

He leaned forward and placed the probably twentieth kiss to the tip of Shane's nose this evening.

"J.J. is just bewildered. And he is defenseman. Defensemen always get mad when they get bewildered."

Shane laughed when he pressed his face into the crook of Ilya's neck.

Shane is Rozanov's boyfriend. Shane is Ilya Rozanov's boyfriend. Rozanov is Shane's boyfriend. No, it didn't sound better the other way around.

"Shane fréquente Ilya Rozanov."

Nope. Still not better when rolling off his just-burned tongue. Should'a waited a few to drink his coffee.

J.J. knows the outline of the logistics. He knows this was some complicated thing, for years. For longer than J.J. and Shane even know each other. He knows this is still complicated. They are not out. They hide. It just dawned on J.J. that they are hiding.

The NHL is not a good place for queer players. But Scott Hunter is doing his damned best to change that, isn't he? They could be out and have support. J.J. would support Shane 1000%. Tabarnak, he would even support fucking Rozanov. That guy is an arrogant ass, but even he should be allowed to be himself. And there is that Russian thing — it must be terrifying, mustn't it?

J.J. rubbed a hand down his face.

No, no. They can't just be out. It would end in madness. They'd need a bigger support system, wouldn't they? The commissioner is the old white man. He remembers a story Shane told, once, about the first things that have been said by those men when he was drafted. 'We're delighted that Shane is Asian.' or something like that. Like it's something that makes him less. J.J. had been disgusted. Those same men (are probably already rotting in a grave) would lose their fucking mind if their golden boy that happened to be Asian was also fucking gay and also in love with that other golden kid of his year. That guy they've said he hates without ever asking him. J.J. had thought they hate Roz by default, too, he reminded himself.

He sighed into another sip of his still-too-hot coffee.

Shane was so nervous to come out to him tonight.

No. For being Shane, he was remarkably calm about something this socially big. Coming out. The nervousness started when he told J.J. about his boyfriend. That he'd like J.J. to meet him.

"Fuck."

Shane was not worried about him being homophobic. He was afraid of people abandoning him. Because of who he loves. The realization felt stupid, like he's making up a romance novel plot in his head to stick it to his best friend on the team. But it's, sadly, more probable to be the truth than he would like. And Shane — Shane wanted to let him in on this secret. Shane trusts him.

J.J. slapped both hands flat onto the surface of the kitchen island. Took a deep breath. Resolve manifesting.

Okay. He can do this. Some of his friend's had, arguably, worse girlfriends than a multimillion-heavy professional athlete that looks like a statue of a Greek god. And that guy was actually sweet to Shane. He could work with this. He would be there for Shane. And, uh, Rozanov. Reluctantly.

♥♥♥

Ilya went down into the kitchen exactly fifteen minutes later. After Shane insisted he put some long, not-grey sweatpants on first. (Hayden told me he dreamed about your ass, Ilya. He'd tuck that info back for some other time.) He found Boiziau with a full cup of coffee in his hand, sitting at the kitchen island, staring at the ceiling. Must be his second, it's steaming. That man will not sleep well tonight.

He slid into a chair across from the Voyageurs' defenseman.

"Hi."

Boiziau levelled him with a neutral look on his face.

"Hey."

They just stared at each other for a moment.

"Where is Shane?"

"Still upstairs. He'll come down in a bit. Is resting his head for a moment. This was stressful for him."

J.J. only nodded. Another stretch of silence.

Ilya made a gesture with his hand. Like, come now. Go ahead. Say it.

"…If you hurt Shane, I will kill you."

There it is.

"Okay. Best get in line."

Ilya stole the cup of coffee from J.J.'s hand and took a sip. It's plain black coffee. Ew.

"I will not, though."

J.J. snorted at him in offence.

"He told me he's had this boyfriend of his since June. But they'd been a thing for longer. You are that boyfriend."

"Yup."

"You have always been sleeping around, Rozanov!"

"When we were not together, yes."

"I'm going to strangle you."

"I've been with many women, yes. I've been with men, too, sometimes. Shane has been with people, too." He won't specify how many.

J.J. looked like he was about to launch himself over the kitchen island.

"But it's only ever been him." Ilya looked into the cup, as if the coffee could step up and speak the words for him. He added, almost inaudible. "Maybe since the first time I've seen him."

J.J. leaned back then. Assessing him. Ilya went on.

"So many pretty people, but the only one I've ever wanted was him." He shook his head. Why was he opening up to fucking J.J. Boiziau of all people. "We thought we couldn't be anything. So we didn't become anything. Until we started believing that we could." A frown spread on his face. He wanted to say 'because Scott Hunter was brave'. He didn't. He wanted to keep some of his dignity tonight.

It was J.J.'s turn to frown. Whatever was going on in his head, he was conflicted.

They both turned toward the sound of steps coming down the stairs.

Shane rounded the corner and took in both men sitting in his kitchen. He stopped for a little moment, seemingly thinking, before giving himself a little nod. He stepped onto the tiled floor, but instead of taking himself a chair, he just slid in behind Ilya and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Pulled him back into the backrest. Plopped his head on top of his boyfriend's.

A giddy feeling spread through his chest. He's had a taste of it in front of Shane's parents. Their relationship on display, so openly, was a phenomenal feeling. He could feel himself close his eyes, a smile spreading on his face, and lean back into the warmth of Shane.

"You two okay?" He murmured into Ilya's curls, looking over to J.J.

Ilya cracked open an eye, too, taking in the man across from him that's looking at Ilya with suspicion in his eyes. He sat, rigid, for a moment, before the fight drained from his features. He sighed.

"Capitaine, you could really have some better taste in men." Another sigh. Dramatic.

"…But you could have much worse taste, I guess. Oui. Yes. We're good."

He grunted, though, before adding "I'll still beat you up on ice, though."

All men laughed.

"I have told you. Get in line."