Archive of Our Own

How it happens is that there are three weeks between the night the Admirals win the Stanley Cup and the day Ilya is scheduled to arrive at the cottage. And for the first couple of weeks, Shane is busy: keeping his parents off his back, avoiding but trying not to seem like he's actually avoiding the Voyageurs' group chat, traveling back and forth for doctors' appointments, starting PT exercises, asking the caretaker to open up and stock the cottage for the summer.

But, one week before Ilya's arrival, Shane is starting to have too much time alone with his thoughts. Sitting by himself out on the dock, his feet dangling in the water, he imagines Ilya changing his mind. Sending a text from the airport that says, I cannot do this, is too much. I'm going to spend the summer in Mykonos.

He pictures Ilya making it all the way to the cottage, fucking him for three days straight, and then rolling over on his back on the start of the fourth day and saying, "You know what, Hollander, I think I have gotten my fill. Have finally managed to fuck you out of my system for good. If I leave now, I can still spend the rest of the summer in Mykonos."

He thinks about Ilya staying for the full two weeks, but every day he gets more bored, restless and irritated, until on the last day he finally says, "Thank you for inviting me to your hermit palace, but I wish I had just gone to Mykonos."

Shane isn't sure why he's so hung up on the idea of Ilya going to Mykonos specifically. Maybe because a couple of his teammates went there after they won the cup last summer. He leans back on his elbows, looking out at the lake. The water here is murky and dark, even in the afternoon sunlight. The guys said the color of the ocean in Mykonos was crazy; the kind of blue that you only ever see in a crayon box.

The sports psychologist on staff with the Voyageurs is a big fan of positive visualization. He's always telling them that it has, like, actual proven scientific benefits. Shane isn't sure if he believes that part, but he still dutifully runs through the exercise before each game. Maybe he should try it now. He'd never let himself sit around conjuring up doomsday scenarios going into a big game, that's fucking loser behavior.

Ilya gets here in a week. Shane needs to work on visualizing success. He closes his eyes and starts to imagine the win.

"Did you have a good time?"

They're lying in bed together, curled up on their sides with Ilya plastered against Shane's back. In less than an hour, they need to leave for the airport. Shane knows they should get up and take a shower, but he's feeling boneless and exhausted, like he played the triple overtime game of fucking. After seven years, he's finally been able to get enough of Ilya to feel sated.

"You are kidding me," Ilya says, rubbing his nose against a spot behind Shane's ear. "Did you get another concussion when I wasn't paying attention? I had a great time. We fucked so much I think my dick is broken." He punctuates his words by thrusting his hips, but he's right, neither of them could get it up with a crane right now.

A minute or two goes by, and then Shane says, "I think everyone really bought the story about the silent retreat. My parents didn't even try to come over once."

"Hmm, yes," Ilya replies. He tilts his head down to start pressing kisses on the back of Shane's neck. "You are a better liar than I thought. Is good to know there are still new things to learn about you."

Shane knows that the next part is a leap, but it's now or never. "I was thinking about how I could tell people that the silent retreat was really helpful," he says. "When the season starts, I'll talk about how it's really helping me focus on my game. And, you know, that I want to do it again. For another two weeks next summer."

"Of course," Ilya says lightly. "Anything that helps you focus on your game."

Shane twists around to look over his shoulder. "So you think that sounds like a good idea? Another two weeks, next summer?"

Ilya reaches up to capture Shane's chin in his hand, holding his gaze for what feels like forever. His fingers press into his jaw, and somehow against all odds, Shane's dick twitches and starts to show signs of being up for one more round.

"Yes, very good idea," Ilya says. "Two weeks next summer. Now let me suck your dick one more time before you take me to the airport."

Shane rolls over onto his back and lets himself go limp as Ilya presses him into the mattress with two hands spread on his hips. He feels relieved and happy, and like he just hit a career milestone that used to feel out of reach. They spent two weeks together, and it didn't ruin everything, and it wasn't too much or too weird. Things can go back to normal during the season, and then next summer they can have this again. Everything is going to work out.

Shane opens his eyes and looks out across the water. That was good. He feels better. He's got an achievable goal now: they have two weeks alone together, and it goes so well that nothing changes during the season, and Ilya wants another two weeks next summer. This can really happen, he just has to put in the work.

The following morning, Shane is logging miles on the exercise bike in his home gym. It's his least favorite form of cardio, but he's still trying to avoid jostling his collarbone too much. Better to be cautious now, so he's ready for full-contact fucking next week.

He closes his eyes, letting his thoughts run through the positive visualization exercise he came up with the day before: two good weeks, normal next season, two more weeks next summer. He can feel tension bleeding out of his shoulders, and he rubs his thumbs against the handlebars of the bike. Too bad there's no way he can tell the team psychologist about this, but it really does help. Maybe it wouldn't hurt for him to expand on his picture of success a little bit.

"I had an idea about something."

They're sitting out on the deck after dinner, curled up together, sharing one of the loungers, with Ilya's head resting on Shane's shoulder. Ilya looks up at him with a sly expression on his face. "An idea about how we can fuck on a Jet Ski?" he asks. "See, you said no, but I knew you would give in."

Shane half-heartedly shoves at his chest. "No, not that," he says. "I already told you, we can try it, but it has to be at night, and I'm not going out on a Jet Ski without a life vest."

"So what were you thinking?"

"What if we tried to meet up a few more times during the season?"

"What do you mean?"

Shane tilts his head to look up at the sky. "The league should be announcing the schedule any day now. We could look at it together before you leave."

"And we will see what? League needs to make more money, so they are having Boston and Montreal play each other a dozen times next season?"

"Ugh, I wish," Shane says. Because he has a good idea he wants to propose for next season, but that sounds like the real dream. "I was thinking, what if one of us was playing the Admirals and the other one was playing the Scouts on the same night? We could meet up somewhere in the city."

Ilya puts his hand on Shane's thigh, letting his fingers creep up under the hem of his shorts. "You are saying you will sit in Manhattan traffic so you can come suck my dick," he says. "Wow, Hollander, that sounds kind of romantic."

"Shut up, asshole." He looks back down at Ilya, who seems curious and a little horny. Shane takes that as a good sign and keeps going. "Anyway, I had another idea, too -- did you know that Montreal and Ottawa are only two hours apart? So if you were playing in Ottawa and I was at home in Montreal, I could drive there for the night. My parents live in Ottawa, so if anyone saw me there, it would be totally fine."

Ilya raises his eyebrows. "Two hours. You would drive that long, just to see me? You must be very hungry for my dick."

"Fuck off," Shane says, while at the same time shifting his leg to wrap around the back of Ilya's thigh. "Maybe it'll depend on how well you play that night. I don't get hungry for loser dick."

"Against Ottawa?" Ilya scoffs. "Please. I will have you on your knees before the final buzzer."

Shane's bike shifts gears into cooldown. He opens his eyes and considers the possibilities. Over the last seven years, there was one season when they managed to meet up eight times: once in the pre-season, each of their four regular season games, one night during All-Star weekend, after the NHL Awards and then an unexpected surprise when the league dragged them both to New York for the rollout of a jersey redesign.

Usually, it doesn't work out like that: one of them misses a game because of injury, or there's a back-to-back with a tight travel schedule. There were years when neither of them could get away at All-Stars, or one of them skipped the awards.

There were also those other times, when Ilya shut him out after the Olympics or when Shane got scared and dated Rose. But he lets himself push those memories to the back of his mind, because things are different now. That isn't going to happen again. Eight times is their current record, but if they really dig into the schedule, Shane thinks that they can beat it. They can break double digits for sure.

Standing in front of the coffee maker, Shane responds to a couple texts from Hayden about the new baby. He scrolls down -- straight past the unread messages in the Voyageurs group chat, because they're back to cracking jokes about Scott Hunter that make Shane want to throw his phone in the lake -- to his text thread with Ilya, re-reading his play-by-play of the NHL Awards from last night.

He smiles at Ilya's description of a hulking defenseman from Pittsburgh wearing a red and white striped suit that made him look like a candy cane. Then he sets his phone down on the counter and grabs a mug. Ilya is flying back from the NHL Awards today, and then the day after tomorrow he'll get on a plane to Ottawa.

Shane is feeling good about the plan: two weeks, nothing gets weird, maybe see each other a few more times during the season, two weeks next summer. But maybe it wouldn't hurt to think about what else could happen next year.

"You know what I keep thinking about?"

They're standing pressed against each other in Shane's massive shower. He never thought about being in here with anyone else, but now he's glad that he let the architect talk him into dual showerheads.

Ilya rubs a soapy hand up and down Shane's side. "When we are done here, you will be ready to take my cock again," he says. "Good idea, I'm also thinking about this."

"Mmm, yeah. But I keep thinking how much fun it was to play on the same team at All-Stars." He thinks about it a lot, actually. The way Ilya seemed to be able to read his mind when they were out on the ice together, it was almost hotter than fucking.

Ilya chuckles. "It was nice to finally play with someone who could actually keep up with me."

"God, I know, right?" Shane says. "I wish we could do that again."

Ilya pushes him up against the wall of the shower, planting one hand on his shoulder and reaching up with the other to comb his fingers through Shane's wet hair. "I know it is hard when you must always compare yourself to me," he says, his eyes sparking with amusement. "But you are still a pretty good hockey player. They will probably pick you for All-Stars again next year."

"Shut up, asshole," Shane says, rolling his eyes. "They came up with six years of reasons to put us on different teams, it might be a while before they let that happen again."

Ilya hums in agreement. "That is probably true."

"So, anyway, I was thinking about how sometimes I get asked to play in a charity game over the summer," Shane says. It's hard to concentrate with Ilya pressed up against him, but he's determined to keep going. "I usually just skip it and send a donation, but maybe we could figure out how to play in one of those games together? We can find one that puts all the NHL players on the same team."

Ilya raises his eyebrows. "Ah yes, because I am famously such a charitable guy."

Shane squirms against him. "C'mon, this is a good idea." Because it is a good idea, and he isn't worried about whether Ilya wants the same thing. He knows how it felt to play together, and he knows Ilya felt the same way. The other ways that they feel about each other might be confusing, but not this one.

"Okay, okay," Ilya says. He untangles his hand from Shane's hair and reaches over to turn off the shower. "I will ask my agent. Tell him that I want to start getting more … charitable."

Shane opens his eyes and smiles, because that one really is a good idea. It's not what he actually wants: no one goes all out during a charity game, that's part of the reason why he usually avoids them. It won't be like playing on the same team for real, but he's trying to visualize an achievable goal here, not dream up crazy shit that can never happen.

Still, the promise of playing a game together over the summer, waiting for him at the end of every season. It just sounds really nice.

Lying in bed, Shane is feeling fuzzy and just about to fall asleep. It's the last night before Ilya is scheduled to arrive, and so maybe his positive visualization … gets away from him a little bit.

When he walks back into the living room, Shane is still reeling from shock. "Holy shit," he says, shaking his head. "You won't believe what happened."

Ilya looks up from where he's sprawled out on the couch. "Hmm, what?"

"I just got a text from my agent," Shane says, running a hand through his hair. "I thought it was some kind of weird joke until I looked online, but it's real. The league is getting pressured by sponsors to show that they actually support Scott Hunter, so there's going to be a new rule next season that every team is required to have at least one openly gay player."

Ilya looks at him like he's gone crazy, which is fair enough because Shane feels pretty fucking insane right now. "Are you serious?" Ilya asks.

"I know, right? Like, they renegotiated the collective bargaining agreement and everything."

Ilya pulls out his phone, and Shane watches as his eyes widen. Because the news is all over social media now, and it's the leading headline on ESPN.com. His texts are probably starting to blow up, too.

Shane flops down next to him on the couch. "The really crazy part is that there isn't going to be any kind of salary cap relief," he says. "If a team doesn't already have a gay player and they don't have any room on their roster or it would put them over the cap, they'll have to figure it out with a trade or putting someone on waivers or something. You know what that means, right?"

"What?"

"Montreal is already going to be right under the cap for this season," Shane explains. "So if I tell them I'm gay, they'll be so happy they don't have to fuck up the roster that they probably won't even care."

He says this with a little bit more certainty than he actually feels. Since he first learned the news a few minutes ago, there's been a mixture of dread and anticipation prickling under his skin. The prospect is nerve-wracking, but he basically doesn't have a choice here. Telling management he's gay is the best thing for the team.

Ilya puts down his phone and tilts his head, giving him a considering look. "Do you think bisexuals count, for this new rule?"

"Huh, I don't know, probably?" Shane pauses for a second, because Ilya doesn't really love answering questions about himself, but it feels like they're in new territory now. "Is that … is that you?" he asks. "I know you've never really said, exactly, but--"

Ilya looks away briefly and then looks back at him, his face doing something unfamiliar and fond. "Yes, I know," he says. "I know that I act like I do not want to talk about these things, but secretly I like that you are so interested in me." He rubs a hand across one of Shane's kneecaps. "I am bisexual, probably. I told you a long time ago that I hooked up with my coach's son in Russia, but since then, there have not been any other men except you."

"Really?"

Ilya smirks, patting Shane's knee. "Shane, I am a famous NHL player and very, very successful," he says. "Getting caught having sex with a man would have put my career at risk, so of course I would never do that. Except for the one man who is so attractive and sexy and talented that I just could not resist him."

"Oh, so you're very, very successful, is that right?"

"Please," Ilya waves his hand dismissively. "Even I can admit, no one was stopping the Voyageurs from going back-to-back the past two seasons. But with you out for the playoffs this year, I probably would have won the cup if Tremblay hadn't gotten hurt, which made Boston's goaltending go to shit. You said this yourself. Not even a player as good as me could have won with McCann in the net. And you think I would risk the chance of winning for anything other than the hottest fuck I've ever had?"

Shane gives him a dubious look, but there's a warm feeling of smug satisfaction growing in his chest. It really is one of the two of them or nobody else. Scott Hunter better enjoy his one fucking cup, because it's going to be either Shane or Ilya for at least the next decade.

Shane slumps back against the couch. "You know, the one thing I can't figure out is how the league is going to know for sure that a player is actually gay," he says. "What if they think teams are making players pretend to be gay so they can keep their roster intact?"

"So what, you think they will make the gay players pair off and fuck in front of their management? Prove that they actually like dick?"

"Well, I guess that's one way they'd know for sure."

Without warning, Ilya reaches over to grab Shane and haul him into his lap. It helps that Shane goes easy, because well, why wouldn't he? "I think you would like this," Ilya says in a low tone. "Letting your GM see how well you take it."

"Shut up," Shane snaps back at him, but it comes off weak because he's also wrapping his arms around Ilya's neck to draw them closer together. "I would not."

Ilya starts pushing down the waistband of Shane's shorts, and Shane arches up against his hand. "No, I think you will want to prove that you are the best gay player in the league," Ilya says. "Much better than Scott Hunter. A champion cocksucker, you know I have always said this."

"Fuck off."

Ilya just laughs, lifting his hips so he can get his own dick out. "Maybe we should practice now," he says. "Just in case."

Shane opens his eyes. His face is burning hot, and he's already started palming himself through his underwear. Great, now he's going to have to jerk off before he can fall asleep.

Sitting in the parking garage waiting for Ilya's flight to deboard, Shane drums his fingers against the steering wheel. So far today, he's gotten a series of short texts confirming each step of Ilya's journey: at the airport, about to board, flight just landed. No change of plans in favor of Mykonos.

But Shane is maybe feeling a little nervous, so he closes his eyes to go through the positive visualization exercise one more time. For this one, he's going to give it everything he's got. Conjure up a dream come true. The sky is the limit. The world is his oyster. Some other very tired cliches he can't think of right now.

Driving back from his parents' cottage, Shane looks over at Ilya in the passenger seat. "I still can't believe this is real," he says.

Ilya takes Shane's hand in his own, bringing it up to press a kiss to his knuckles. "It's real," he says. "I love you and you are my boyfriend and we are going to be together. If you do not believe it, I will prove it to you again when we get home."

Shane tries to keep his eyes on the road, but it's hard not to keep glancing over at Ilya. "I know it's our last night together before you have to leave," he says, "but I'm glad you got to meet my parents."

Ilya nods, his lips spreading into a small smile. "I am glad that you figured out a way to introduce me to them as a friend. It was … very nice, to meet them."

"I think it went really well," Shane says. "I mean, they were kind of distracted by everything that's in the news right now, so that helped."

He still can't comprehend what's happened in the last 24 hours. Feeling buoyed by confessing their feelings to each other yesterday and the other completely earth-shattering news that came out last night, Shane decided to call his parents this morning.

He told them that the coach who recommended the silent retreat had also said it was more successful if you did it with someone who mentally challenged you. He said the coach had worked for the Bears before he came to Montreal, so he'd made the suggestion that Shane and Ilya do the silent retreat together.

He told them he'd been skeptical, but said it had actually worked out great, and that he wanted to bring Ilya over to their house for dinner. He can tell that his parents are still a little fuzzy on the details of how he and Ilya became friends when they couldn't talk for two weeks, but they didn't ask too many questions. They all sat down at the table and ate dinner together, and it was maybe the best meal of Shane's life.

Shane looks over at Ilya again. "I really did mean what I said before," he tells him. "I'll come out to them soon, and then maybe in a couple of years, after they've gotten to know you better, we can tell them about us."

"Yes, I think your mother will need a couple years to forgive me for playing for the Bears."

"Anyway, they might figure out that I'm in a long-distance relationship," Shane concedes. "Once they find out that I'm getting a teleporter installed at the cottage."

"Hmm, this is true. Not even you would want to spend that much time alone."

Shane shakes his head. Being able to successfully introduce Ilya to his parents was unexpected, but it really doesn't come close to the other thing that's changed what is possible for the two of them. "I still can't believe this is happening," he says. "I didn't even know anyone was trying to invent teleportation, and now it's like, yeah, teleportation is real, and it works, and sometime in the next year, you can pay to get a teleporter installed in your house."

Ilya shrugs. "Well, we are hockey players. It's not like either of us were reading the, you know, the science papers."

"First thing tomorrow, I'm going to find out how I can get on one of the teleporter waitlists," Shane says confidently. He's already thinking about how they can teleport to the cottage to be together after games. It's like all the risk that always hung over their heads has been exchanged for infinite rewards. "I know it'll be expensive, but it's not like I can't afford it. And then we can come here and be alone together, whenever we want."

Ilya squeezes his hand, and Shane looks back out at the road ahead of them, feeling like they're driving into a bright future. It's a miracle that they can have this. That they managed to figure out the fucking impossible. They can both keep their careers, and they can play for as long as they want, and they can be together in secret whenever they want. He never could have imagined it working out so well, not in a million years. Everything is perfect. He's never been so happy in his entire life.

Shane resists the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel, because that got a little nuts. Honestly, everything he imagined over the last week was crazy. The first best-case scenario he came up with is what he needs to focus on. They have two weeks together. It's a good time, nothing gets too weird, and they can go back to business as usual during the regular season. They agree that there could be another two weeks next summer. That's a success. He can believe in that.

After the first season Shane and Ilya play together for the Centaurs, they have a late start heading out to the cottage for the summer. It's for a good reason, though: the celebration after Ottawa won the cup lasted for weeks.

Somewhere around halfway through the drive, Shane looks over at Ilya in the passenger seat. "Did I ever tell you about the week before you came to the cottage for the first time?" he asks.

"What about it?"

"I was … nervous, I guess," Shane says. He hasn't thought about that week for a long time, but making this drive together always makes him feel nostalgic. "Nervous about how things would go. I kept trying to do that positive visualization thing that they tell you to do before a game. You know, like, you picture success and that helps you achieve it."

"You are saying that you visualized a successful trip?" Ilya asks, looking delighted. "Sounds hot. Did you spend the whole week jerking off?"

"Ugh, no, not like that," Shane says, before remembering that one very weird night. "Well, one time kind of like that. But mostly--"

"Mostly what?" Ilya prompts.

Shane pauses for a moment, and a part of him wonders why he even brought this up. He remembers himself five years ago, running on nothing but nerves and ruthless pragmatism. He can admit now that even his wildest dreams for what was possible between them were pretty fucking small.

"When I think about it now, it's actually kind of sad?" he says. "In my best-case scenario, we had a good time for two weeks, we were able to go back to how things were during the season and then we got another two weeks together the next summer. I didn't really get any further than that."

Which is basically true. Shane's positive visualizations never got any further into the future than the following summer, even if they became a little bit more elaborate around the edges. He mentally cringes, thinking about the scenario with the sci-fi movie transporter technology, because he's taking that one to the grave. In retrospect, he can admit that 26-year-old closet case Shane was kind of a lunatic.

"I don't know, five years ago? Ilya says. "I think it was brave to imagine any kind of future for us."

Shane laughs. "I definitely never pictured anything like how we ended up."

"Yes, I'm sure you were not visualizing getting successfully outed by Hayden Pike's idiot FanMail and being forced to leave Montreal because they are all terminally stupid assholes." Ilya says this like a joke, but Shane knows his husband pretty well, and he can hear the sour undertone in his voice.

"Well, okay." He reaches over to put his hand on Ilya's thigh, soaking up the warmth of his skin because his shorts are very pleasantly short. "Maybe not that part. But getting married? Being able to play on the same team as you, and win with you? I never could have dreamed that big."

Ilya turns Shane's hand over so he can lace their fingers together. "What else happened in your little dream homework?" he asks. "Was I very sexy?"

Shane's face flushes, but what the hell. "Well," he says, "there was this one thing I came up with … don't even ask me how I got there, but we had to fuck in front of our team management to prove that we were gay."

"Oh really?" Ilya grins. "Tell me everything."