Chapter Text
Coach Wiebe looked at them apologetically, “It’s probably better, at least for now.” He gestured in a way that said ‘it’s out of my hands, boys, sorry’ which made Shane feel a little better. And, he did agree with the decision. This would be their first season on the same team, they were the first married couple in MLH history, there were a lot of unprecedented things they had to deal with. Ilya didn’t look thrilled.
“Makes no sense.” He groused, “We live together but we can not share a hotel room?”
“Roz, it’ll be good for the rooks if you and Shane room with them. Make them feel more comfortable coming to a team with… the two of you.”
“It does make sense.” Shane directed at his husband, “We’ll manage a couple nights apart, we did it for years.”
If they weren’t in front of Coach Wiebe Shane was sure Ilya would have groaned and whined dramatically, he probably would the moment they left the office. As it was he looked like he was pouting, which shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was on the face of a thirty year old man.
“Is this all you want from us? To pull us apart and make us suffer?” Ilya asked, making like he was about to stand.
Shane huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. Coach Wiebe, to his credit, didn’t give Ilya much of a reaction outside of a snort, “Yes. Get out of my office.” His words were affectionate. It was hard to believe that Ilya could speak to his coach like that and face no repercussions; the Metros would have had his ass for talking back.
But Shane wasn’t on the Metros anymore, he was on the Centaurs. With his husband. Gearing up for their first road trip together and he couldn’t be more excited.
They stepped into the hallway and, sure enough, the moment they were out of earshot, Ilya sighed dramatically, “I can not believe this. They are separating us! Homophobic."
Shane barked out a laugh, “They’re right to do it, Ilya. It makes sense.”
“No.” They were walking to their car, Ilya’s head was tilted to the side in thought and Shane seated what was about to come out of his pretty mouth, “We could kick out the rookies. Make them room together.”
The gasp that tore out of Shane’s mouth was probably a little much for what they were talking about. But the idea of kicking out the rookies for a night together was horrific! Those poor kids, “No, Ilya. We are absolutely not doing that.”
“Why? Would only be a couple hours. Or! We could share a bed. Three of us to a room. I’ll keep my hands to myself-”
“Like hell you will.”
They pushed open the doors and headed to Ilya’s Porsche; the weather was still nice enough that Shane allowed him one last joyride before it had to be put away for the winter. Ilya smirked, “No, I would not, you are right. Far too tempting, having you that close.”
“That’s why they’re making us stay in different rooms.”
“Still feels homophobic.”
~~~
Shane did not want to admit it. He wouldn't admit it, especially not to Ilya, but not sharing a hotel room was torture. They were so close, just down the hall, and they couldn't be together. It had been months since they'd separately and Shane wasn't sure he could anymore.
They'd landed in Boston that afternoon. After a short practice they'd met Svetlana for dinner before Ilya had managed to drag Shane out to see some of the spots he missed from his time in the city. It was thrilling being able to be out in public as a married couple in a place where they'd had to hide so much.
And now, after it all, they were saying goodnight in the hallway.
“You are not worried someone will see you?” Ilya smirked at Shane.
Huffing, he hit Ilya's broad chest, “Asshole.”
They were stalling.
“What? Is true, someone could come around the corner at any time, see you outside my door. They may talk.”
“Goodnight, Rozanov.” It was awful, how much Shane enjoyed Ilya's ribbing. Disgusting. Horrible. They were so in love. Shane had started down the hall, to his room where he knew there was a rookie, probably wide awake with nerves.
Before he made it far, a strong arm wrapped snugly around Shane's waist, pulled him back so they were chest to chest, “Don't go.”
Shane fought to tamp down the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “My room is down the hall and we have a curfew.” It was so difficult to be annoyed when he was able to openly be in the arms of Ilya, even if he knew the team would give them so much shit-
Almost on cue a flurry of cheers and whistles sounded from down the hall, “Get it Roz!” It was Wyatt Hayes. Troy was whistling, there was also some clapping happening, maybe from one of the younger kids Shane didn't know as well yet.
“Oh, that's enough!” He pushed out of Ilya's arms, “I'm going to bed.”
“Ah- not before kiss.” Ilya caught him again, this time by the arm, and dipped him. Shane bent almost full in half and while he knew Ilya was putting on a show for the guys, he couldn't find it in him to care.
The peanut gallery whooped.
When they broke apart Shane was just a little breathless, “Okay, fuck, I'm actually going to bed now. Goodnight, Ilya.”
Ilya hummed, “Goodnight, Shane. I love you.”
The peanut gallery crept closer.
Rolling his eyes Shane returned it, “I love you too.”
More cheers. They were ridiculous, this group of hockey men. It was often like a fever dream, Shane had been so certain a life like this hadn't been possible, even if he wasn't sharing a room with Ilya. He wouldn't change it.
As he walked down the hall he heard Ilya turn to the team, “And I love you all, too.”
“Do we get a goodnight kiss?” Hayes asked.
Ilya laughed loudly, “Only if you get a shutout.”
~~~
Shane was having an off game. Frankly, it was embarrassing; he'd played better on less sleep in the past. Like when the plane had almost gone down (which was a filthy lie, Shane had had an awful game following the emergency landing). Or when Ilya and he spent long… long nights together. It wasn't out of the norm. But he'd slept so fucking bad. The bed felt too big but also too small. The pillows were too soft, making him feel like he was drowning.
His whole life he'd been bouncing from place to place and hotel room and hotel room and for the first time it had truly taken its toll. And Shane knew why.
He was staring off into the stands, looking at nothing in particular when Ilya skated up to the boards. He looked concerned, “You okay?” Ilya was off too. Perhaps it wasn't noticeable to most people but Shane could tell. His passes weren't as clean, he seemed a bit sluggish.
He nodded, “Fine.” He stood so they could change lines. Shane would get over this. How pathetic was it that he spent one night apart from Ilya and was all out of sorts. Still, it gave him a sick sort of comfort to know that Ilya was suffering the same.
____
They did end up winning, no thanks to Shane. He didn't score a single goal, but Haas and Ilya had, so that was good. Hayes let in a single goal.
“I can't believe I'm not going to get a goodnight kiss from Rozanov.” He lamented, “This is the worst day of my life.”
“Aw, don't worry, Hazy. There is always next time.” Ilya blew him a kiss.
Shane scowled. Just a little. Maybe he was annoyed that he hadn't performed as well as he wanted to. Annoyed that Ilya was being affectionate with other people- never mind that Wyatt Hayes was married.
Ilya sat on the bench next to him, “You are pouting.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Shut up.” Shane looked away, “I'm just-”
Ilya nodded, “Yes. Me too.” In normal circumstances, Ilya probably would have made Shane say exactly why he was upset but today he was relieved that they were silently on the same page.
Shoulders slumped forward, “It's stupid.”
“Maybe. But-” Ilya leaned over and kissed his cheek, “Will be home soon. Don't worry.”
“Don't do that here.” Shane huffed, looking away, “We're at work.”
“Yeah, Rozanov, not here! We can't know that you're in love with your husband.” That was Bood.
Shane threw his hands up, “All of you- just-” He waved them off and disappeared to the showers. Despite his… aggravation, Shane really loved this team. He loved that they could be affectionate in the locker room and instead of people being disgusted, they got teased. It was refreshing and wonderful and too much for Shane's sleep deprived brain.
~~~
It got better. Shane didn’t feel like he was playing at his best but everyone around him thought he was doing fine, which was good. Before, he didn’t feel like he was at his best only at home games. It didn’t matter where he was, he was always at the top of his game, but now that didn’t feel like the case.
Ilya would tease him for it even though he wasn’t always on top of things when they were at away games. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge why that was. Nobody on the team did either.
They were in Florida when two very nervous rookies approached Shane and Ilya. They were in the bar at the hotel, Ilya with a beer and Shane with a ginger ale. Both of the kids looked like they were about to puke. For a moment Shane’s stomach dropped; Had something happened to someone? Was one of them in trouble? Were they safe?
Ilya took a long sip of his beer, Shane tried not to stare at the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, “Did you kill someone?”
Gregory, the taller of the two, paled, “What? No!”
“Then why so serious? Are you dying?”
“No, we-” Carmen, this time, “We just… we wondered if we could… switch rooms with you.”
Shane and Ilya had been rooming with some of the younger guys, that had been the whole point of the ‘you’re not sharing a room’ deal. They’d managed to keep things out of shared spaces to avoid making anyone uncomfortable. Mostly. Sometimes they had a few minutes when one of the roommates was out exploring. Ilya whined about it plenty, but they’d been good. This time Shane was with Greg and Ilya was with Carmen. They were good players, still coming into their own and incredibly young.
Ilya took another sip. Shane was surprised he wasn’t jumping at the chance to share a room, but he didn’t press; he wasn’t wearing the ‘C’ anymore.
“Why?”
Carmen spluttered, Shane was sure he didn’t think they’d make it this far, “We- well, we-”
“We’re friends and we just… wanted to… share a room.” Gregory finished lamely.
Ilya snorted out a laugh and looked at Shane, “Do you hear that, Hollander, they are friends.”
“Don’t be mean.” Shane smiled at the kids, not unkindly, “I always roomed with my friend in Montreal.”
Beside him, Ilya rolled his eyes, “Montreal. I do not even want to speak their name. Never mind Hayden Pike’s.”
Under the table, Shane’s foot connected with Ilya’s shin. “Ow! You see how he abuses me. You wish to force us in a room together?”
Suddenly, the kids looked worse. Was Carmen swaying on his feet? “We didn’t mean to-!” His voice had gone up at least one octave, Shane was sure.
“Ilya!” Shane hissed, “Enough.” Looking back to Greg and Carmen, Shane nodded, “No problems, boys.” He fished for the key card he’d been given and handed it to Carmen, who did the same, with shaky hands. Shane couldn’t remember ever being that nervous his rookie season, though he supposed their circumstances were slightly different.
The tension between the two of them was thick the moment the young men walked away from their table. Ilya still had half a beer left. It was only four in the afternoon. And yet.
Shane cleared his throat, “I think I’m going to head to my room.” He said casually, “Call it any early night.”
Ilya, very slowly, took another long drag of his beer. The fucker was doing it on purpose, he had to have been. His eyes were sparking and there was a small smirk playing on his lips, “Oh?”
And because Shane wanted to live just a little bit of a fantasy, he pulled out his phone and texted ‘1317’ to Ilya’s number. No longer did it say ‘Lily’ but he almost wished it did, just to sink a little more into the nostalgia of it all.
Ilya looked at the screen but made no reaction to the text. Of course he knew what room Shane was in, it was Ilya’s room. It was so thrilling though, to be in this fantasy where they were being just a little naughty. Anticipation slowly built in Shane’s veins. Ilya looked so good in the Florida sunlight, all tan and golden and glorious. There was a part of Shane that wanted to pretend some of that tan was still from their honeymoon, even though they’d returned home months ago.
Taking the last sip of his ginger ale, Shane departed quickly towards the elevators. Not only was he going to have mind blowing sex but he was also going to be able to sleep next to Ilya on the road. Maybe, finally, he was going to play at the level he was meant to.
____
“Holy fuck, Hollander!” Bood shouted as Shane skated towards the boards. The second period was ending and Shane already had a hat trick. He felt good, like he had woken up from a long sleep and everything suddenly made sense. Ilya, too, was having an amazing night. He was sitting pretty at two goals. Bood grabbed Shane’s pads and shook him violently.
Shane laughed and knocked at Bood’s hands, “Enough, enough! You’ll shake my head out of my skull and then who will score?”
Ilya grinned, “Me, obviously.”
A slow smirk spread over Shane’s lips and Bood dropped him like he’d been burned, “You look like you’re about to fuck-”
“I’d like to see you get a hat trick, then.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Always.”
In the end, Ilya didn’t get his hat trick. Shane had thought it would have been romantic, in a way, if he had, but they hadn’t needed it to win the game. 6-2, with Hayes making some stunning saves, as he always did.
The locker room was raucous afterwards. Shane wasn’t sure Montreal had been this excited after winning the damn Stanley Cup. Everyone was jumping and cheering and throwing themselves at each other. Even Greg and Carmen looked to have loosened up a little bit. Shane felt amazing; he was proud of the performance gave, proud of Ilya and his team. It had been a good game, clean hockey, the kind that made him remember why he loved the sport so much.
“Rozy-” Bood slung his arm around Ilya’s shoulders, “I don’t know what the fuck you did to Hollander last night, but fuck, keep doing it.”
Shane’s cheeks flamed. In all honesty, there was very little he and Ilya hadn’t donee; expect, maybe, sleep as much as they should have. Which was a testament to how much sleeping in separate beds had been messing with Shane. Embarrassing, really.
Coach Wiebe threw open the door and all eyes turned to him, “Stunning, boys! That was a looker of a game! Hayes, those saves! Troy, that goal in the third was picture perfect. Bood, your assists were clean, textbook. Ilya, I know you know you looked good.” Everyone was hooting and hollering, whistling their approval and happiness, “And that brings me to Shane Hollander! It was an honor to watch you play today, you were in top form.”
Ilya beamed at Shane, though Bood still had his arm over his shoulders. Shane wasn’t one to shrink from his accomplishments, he knew he was good at hockey, but watching his team celebrate him so vocally, and knowing that they’d still act this way if they lost, warmed him.
Coach looked between Ilya and Shane. He wasn’t typically one to make trouble, but he looked oddly like the cat who got the cream when he said, “Don’t you boys worry, we’ll never split the two of you up again.”
Shane wanted to be embarrassed, and there was a part of him that was. Everyone in the locker room knew why he and Ilya had done so well, knew that Shane was a weak, weak, man who couldn’t stand to sleep in a bed that didn’t also have his husband in it, but mostly, he was relieved.
Bood cheered, “Ear plugs for everyone! I’m buying!”
Shane laughed but quickly buried it by hiding his face in his hands, “You’re all the worst!”
Ilya had, somehow, freed himself from Bood. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s sweaty cheek, “Cheer up, Hollander. You’ll never be free from me now.”
“Oh, joy.” But really, Shane couldn’t think of anything better.