Chapter Text
“They want to give me mentee.”
“What?”
“A mentee. Someone to teach.”
Shane pushed off Ilya’s chest and leaned back on his elbow. “They want you? To mentor someone?”
“You sound so shocked, Hollander,” Ilya said cockily, “You think I would not be good teacher? I’ve taught you a great many things, no? How to suck cock, how to cum over and over-”
“Yes, thank you, Ilya, very helpful, NOT what I meant,” said Shane, now sounding annoyed. “A mentee, that’s like, serious.”
“Oh is it?” asked Ilya mockingly. “I think it is no big deal. Another little rookie. We get them all the time.”
Shane exhaled. “Not like Garrett Graham you don’t…” he trailed off, and Ilya could all but see the puzzle pieces sliding into place. “Holy shit, your mentee, it’s Garrett fucking Graham isn’t it.”
Ilya smirked. “Maybe.”
“It fucking is!” Shane crowed, sitting all the way up now. “Holy shit, Phil Graham’s son! Dude! That’s huge!”
Ilya rolled his eyes and tugged Shane back onto his chest. “I know something else that is huge that we could pay attention to-ouch! That hurt!” Shane ran a finger over the spot he’d pinched on Ilya’s chest.
“I’m serious,” he said, “that’s a great opportunity for you. They trust you with a legacy. It’s like their past is him, their present is you, and the future is Garrett.”
“In the future I die? I quit hockey?” Ilya teased. “I cease to exist, they give my C to fucking Graham?”
Shane pinched Ilya’s side this time and laughed. “You know what I mean. You deserve to be captain, you’re a great captain, Ilya, I just meant-”
Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head. “I know solnyshko. I just wind you up. Is funny.”
They laid like that for a few minutes, Shane’s breathing slowing as Ilya stroked his hair. After a while, Ilya paused and said, “I have funny feeling about Phil.” Shane craned his head up to look at Ilya, who was looking out the window, hand still gently nestled in Shane’s hair.
“What do you mean?” Shane asked carefully. He knew what the old guard could be like. Hell, he knew what current hockey fans were like. The homophobic shit was not slowing down or phasing out, and Shane started to worry that maybe someone had said something to him. Montreal was a warmer team than Boston, close knit and fiercely protective of each other. Shane trusted his teammates implicitly and the thought of Ilya not feeling the same upset him.
“I just,” Ilya adjusted Shane so they were lying face to face, “I met him once, at some event. I think fundraiser for hospital for kids. Kids come dressed up, we take photos, talk to the families. He was not very patient.” Ilya’s appraisal was surprising. Often impatient and usually pushy, the fact that a lack of patience had stuck out to Ilya seemed like the pot calling the kettle black, to Shane.
“Not patient, with you? With the team?” Shane tried to understand. Ilya shook his head. “No. With kids. They want autograph, they want to talk to him. He did not kneel down the whole time, only really talk to the team. And only really his team, not us. Maybe me, maybe a little? He seemed-” Ilya stopped short. Was he really about to say this about a legend? A legend from his own team? Whose son he’d be taking under his wing? “He reminded me of my brother,” Ilya said quickly. “He was concerned with himself. He did not mention Garrett, except to say he thought he was not working as hard as he should. And I know how it feels when your dad thinks you do not work hard. That you are not grateful. That you are not good.” Shane’s hand found Ilya’s cheek and he stroked it softly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing a lump in his throat. “That you felt like he was there.”
Ilya scoffed and rolled onto his back, turning his head from Shane. “I was not confused. I know he was not there. Do not be silly, Shanya.” He sighed, rolled over, and pulled Shane close again. “It will be fine. He is Garrett, not Phil. And besides,” he started tickling Shane now, “maybe I come home from practice frustrated. Rookie does not listen, rookie did not fucking score. Maybe I need to feel better and maybe you will be here and I will be better when you are on your knees, hmm?” Shane shoved Ilya, hard, squirming under his attack.
“Fuck off, you wish,” he said, grinning. Ilya grinned back. “I do wish.”