Chapter Text
“Ilya?”
“Yes, Мой Любимый?”
Ilya lowered the book he was holding into his lap. The spine was cracked in places, his husband’s well-worn copy of Pnin. His heart and what would be the cause for his last nerve to snap, lounged against the headrest of the bed like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Please tell me why Ridley and Lavoie have been ‘deployed’ downtown by Lapointe and Holmberg. I thought you said this team wasn’t gonna put up with this hazing bullshit.”
Ilya’s expression morphed from curious into the picture of innocence. Not unlike the one some of the Pike kids sported, after they had destroyed the kitchen in the quest for more cake or like Anya when she had kidnapped a shoe or two of theirs. The big eyes and purposeful small pout was a dead giveaway.
Got him. Rather then placating Shane, the look on his husbands face spelled trouble.
“Ilya?”
“Shane?” Shane wrecked his mind, trying to think of something his husband would be so secretive about- Damn it.
“If this is about playing Montreal-“
“No, why would it be about that?” Ilya just wouldn’t let it go, would he?
“Oh, really? So, playing against them just before the play-offs has nothing to do with it?”
“No- Well, since they aren’t going to be in playoffs, they won’t be a problem.”
“Why would- So far, they got a wild-card spot-” “Yes, barely.”
“So?”
“Well, Tampa is only one point behind them so far. An they’re going to beat Buffalo no problem on Tuesday-“
“Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov”
“Uff, full name. Ok, Shane. Is it so bad, that I want them out of the conference finals? Since the season started, it was like they were trying to take a hit out on you! They went after you, when you weren’t even near the puck. So yeah, we’ll give them a taste of their own medicine. Play a bit unfair. At least we’ll play fair on the ice. They dumped you, have been impossible assholes. They don’t deserve to reach playoffs, after you helped them to get there every year you’ve been with them. How they managed to come close to a wild-car spot, I don’t know. We beat them every game-“
“So, you want to handy-cap them?”
“No … just mess with them a bit.”
“Ilya!” His husband had to know how much Shane couldn’t stand this kind of foul play. No matter the douchnossels on that team.
“Shane! It’s nothing. The rookie and Lavoie just are supposed to mess with a few of their lucky charms.”
“Who’s? Barely any of them have any.”
“According to sources, Drapeau, Taylor and Cameau do.”
“What- sources? Ilya, what did you do?”
“Just some … covert operation when we were in Montreal two weeks ago.”
“What- You were with Svetlana and me the whole time!“
“Yes, I wouldn’t waste time with you and Sveta on any of them. No, the day after we drove back- You know how Sveta stayed at your old place to sleep before the flight? Well, I saw this Montreal WAG post about some bachelorette party of Stedlund’s fiancée. I told Sveta my plan and she went to that club they posted about and got the info.”
“How did she bring that up in conversation? ‘Oh hey guys, I don’t know you but I want to jinx your boyfriends and husbands. Please give me the codes to destroy their happiness and careers?’”
“Just complaining about former hockey boyfriend and superstitions. No shaving, no sex during playoffs, those nick-nacks they carry around. How tense they get around the time play-offs start. Hey, by the way you’ve been tense more tense then usual lately. Do you want a massage-”
“Ilya, don’t change the subject.” “But you are more tense around this time of year.”
“Maybe it’s because my husband decides to make my blood pressure go through the roof and won’t tell me what’s going on.”
“Shane, please. It’s just a silly joke. Just want to annoy them some before beating them on the ice, no harm done.”
Shane couldn’t resist Ilya’s pleading face if he wanted to. Right now he didn’t. Shane would never live it down, if he told Ilya, but that look on his Russian’s face made him want to fold like a wet paper towel every time. He paced forward, towards the bed. Ilya met him on the edge, tossing his book aside and taking Shane’s hands into his.
“It’s not so serious. I promise, Котенок. If they progress to the next round, they’ll be kicked out in game four. Their baby rookies will be crushed. Like this they will work harder next year to be better then the homophobic dinosaurs on their team.”
“Drapeau and Cameau aren’t that old.”
“Yes, not as old as Scott Hunter anyway.” The smile stole itself onto Shane’s lips. Ilya answered a smile of his own. His husband and bad, dead jokes were a match made in penalty hell. Not be separated and there to torment Shane forever. Not that he’d want it any other way. Ilya got his attention again, when his foot tapped against the side of Shane’s.
“What happened to that other Montreal goalie? Mitka, yes?”
“Right, I think it wasn’t properly announced. You remember when he struggled during and right after the Olympics? Well, he never took enough time to let the rest settle the injury properly. That bad knee cost us too many goals, so after some deliberation, he got moved to be the second choice. So far, Drapeau wasn’t awful on the ice, so he stuck.”
“Yes, but very awful off the ice.” “True”
Along with Cameau, the Montreal goalie had handled Shane coming out the worst. Who knew why he had been acting like that. Now in the new season, it seemed like there was a divide on the Voyager’s bench. While J.J., and Hayden were the only one’s Shane had been and still was close with, the remainder of the first line, as well as Andropov had been courteous enough after his coming out. Moving on as if nothing happened. Didn’t give him any grieve in these past few games either.
However the rest of the team seamed to have taken after Cameau and Drapeau in regards to how they treated him during the games against them. Shane more than any other Centaur got hit left and right, fouled more often than was usual even against teams playing up their physicality.
The tap against the side of his foot returned, bringing Shane back out of his head.
“Anyways, it won’t be anything they’ll miss after a while. On the Boston team there are a players few with those things. Little stuff some of them lost. They played shit for one game, then it was ok afterwards. They’ll be alright.”
Shane nodded. It wasn’t like any of the people of his former team were carding expensive shit around with them.
“Right, Taylor always wears the same pair of socks at every game from the beginning of the the season on. On road trips he wouldn’t always wash them. They stunk up the changing room more than one. He forgot to pack them for the Olympics. He was a nervous wreck every time.”
“Yes, and Drapeau wears this bracelet since he was small enough to be a puck.”
Shane didn’t correct Ilya’s expression. Sure, he still corrected Ilya’s mistakes here and there, but his husband had lived in America for so long he barely made any by now. Catching Ilya fail to use an article before a noun or use a slightly wrong idiom always made Shane happy. Not because Ilya wasn’t perfect in English, but because it reminded him of the boy he had met just before his rookie season. With his heavy accent and rough grammar. It made him remember how much time he already spend with his husband. And how there was so much more time to have together.
Ilya never had a routine, no real superstition outside of the no shaving policy employed by basically every team in the playoffs. Shane had known about Taylor and Drapeau. But there was no special object that came to mind when he thought of the hateful Voyager center.
“What is Cameau’s though? I can’t remember him talking about it over the years.”
“Don’t know. They just said, he keeps it in the small compartment of his bag. Janette, his wife, called it Jerry.”
“Jerry?”
“Maybe some stuffed animal from when he was a kid?” shrugged Ilya.
Before Shane could say any more, Ilya’s phone went off on the blanket next to them. As soon as his Russian made a move for it, Shane snapped forward. Joining his husband on the bed with a swiftness close to the speed of light.
“So help me Rozanov, if you put our baby defenders up to no good- Put that call on speaker phone.” Without missing a beat, Ilya followed Shane’s order.
“Report Rookie, your captain awaits your bounty.”
“It’s done, we got everything. They almost caught us, but thank God they went to get some food, before Cal could get himself caught-“ “Shut up, Rid! You were the one who opened the door too quickly-“
“Gentlemen,” said Shane, reminding the fighting defense-men they were on a call. Right now they sounded more like toddlers going for a round over the toy one took from the other then professional hockey players who were about to face their first play-offs in about two weeks.
“Oh, hi Holzy didn’t know you were there too-“ “Shut it Rid, of course he’s gonna be with Roz-“
“Please just get to it, will you?” Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Right, we got the stuff. What are we supposed to do with it? They never said what to do with it after.”
“Take photo for proof and throw the stuff away somewhere close to the hotel. Best not get to be caught with contraband.”
‘Contraband’, Shane mouthed. Ilya just wiggled his brows at him. Right, it was probably the word on the ‘word of the day’ calendar Shane had gifted him as a joke.
“Eh, captain …”
“What is it Ridley? Is simple direction, no?” drawled his husband.
“Well, I think we can’t just throw everything away on the street-“
“Why not? A bracelet and socks aren’t going to draw a crowd.”
“Well, the eh-“ If Ridley was going to fumble this much under the slightest pressure, they were gonna have to put him through some intense PR training, before he was ever gonna do some press after a game in the future.
“Out with it, Rookie,” barked Ilya.
“Maybe those two wouldn’t draw much attention, but the purple nine inch dildo might.”
Ilya stared at Shane, Shane in return sat there with his jaw glued to the ground.
“Say that again.”
“Maybe-“ Lavoie butted in, before Ridley could fall for it. “Wait, we’ll send the photo.”
The photo included everything advertised:
One dirty pair of stretched-out, light grey socks, a wooden bracelet and a nine inch dark purple dildo.
And no, Shane wasn’t at all aware of the proportions. Not at all. He’d never admit it to anyone, even under threat of the extensiveness of his skincare routine being exposed. But after Ilya had texted him, back in the day about how he’d score nine goals, ‘one for each inch of the dick you want’, Shane had made sure to be aware how much that would be. He very much had wanted it. Had even ordered on in that size, just so he could be able to prepare. Turns out, Ilya was a show-off and no one Shane knew liked to exaggerate more than his dear husband.
Sue Shane, but he had, after the fact, measured several items to get the correct proportions of Ilya’s actual size. He just had to know. For frame of reference of course. And while it wasn’t nine inches, seven and three quarter inches was still plenty.
So, seeing that amalgamation of superstitious nick-nacks sure was an image he wouldn’t be ever capable to forget.
“Oh, look Shane. It’s the same c-“ Shane clamped a hand over Ilya’s mouth so fast, he almost felt dizzy with how fast he had to dive forward. However close they were with the Centaurs, no one from their team needed to know, that the dildo Shane used from time to time was that same purple. Thankfully Ilya had turned away from the phone to whisper-shout that piece of redundant information at him. He just had to hope, the microphone didn’t pick the sound up. The look of death, Shane deployed on his husband sadly didn’t prompt the desired reaction. Instead of backing down, Shane could feel Ilya’s shit-eating grin against the palm of his hand. His continued look of deceit was met with a swipe of Ilya’s tongue against his palm. Eh- gross.
“Cap? You still there? I think there’s a problem with the connection, I didn’t catch what you were saying just now.” Thank God!
"Wait, that's Cameau's?" Shane needed to be sure. He needed to know if the rookie accidentally, potentially poked into a hornet's nest.
"Yes, it was in his bag."
"Wasn't he the one who of the assholes used to bully you after you came out to them," questioned Ilya. Shane considered telling him later, but- Fuck it. The Centaurs were his team, they had his back.
"Yeah, he and Drapeau were the ones that immediatly switched up. Didn't shower anymore at the same time as me. Them and a few of the others didn't protect me on the ice anymore. Made sure I was getting all the hits. And yeah, Cameau and Drapeau were the ones using slurs like candy."
Shane snatched the phone from his husband’s hand. Time to wrap this up. Meanwhile he more or less covertly brushed the hand his husband had licked in protest on his pants. From Ilya’s impish expression, Shane knew he had been caught.
“Lavoie, Shane here. Please just put all of the items back where you found them. We don’t need the Voyagers coming after us or worse management, because we messed with their stuff. While I don’t think they would go after us for theft, I don’t want this to spiral into something unnecessary. You two understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” “Yes, Holzy.”
“Good. Now put those things back and go home. And if you’re not in the right head-space for the game later tonight, because you’re to caught up with this hazing shit, I’ll make you run bag skates at practice all throughout the rest of playoffs. You got that?”
After more affirmative answers rang through the phone, Shane ended the call. He tossed the smartphone back at his husband while rolling his eyes at Ilya’s trademark smirk.
“I’ll get lunch started, don’t do anything stupid ‘till we eat. Got that Rozanov?”
“Yes, sir.” The cause of his last nerve to snap, made himself comfortable on the bed again. Lounging against the head rest. Picked up his book and went back to reading like nothing had happened. Meanwhile grinning entirely too satisfied for what had gone down just now.
“I mean it, Ilya. I love you, but I need you to curb that inner chaos gremlin. Got it?”
“Yes, Shanya.”
When Ilya seemed to pay no attention to him anymore, Shane walked out of the room. While he looked back towards the bed though, Shane was greeted with the sight of Ilya ogling his ass longingly.