Archive of Our Own

“Da, Shane,” came Ilya’s almost pained groan, his lips dragging into a pout that became all too familiar over the years. He looked lost in his pleasure, fingers digging bruises where they were holding onto Shane’s hips, futilely trying to foresee their next move. 

As much as he loved being manhandled, Shane had to admit that being the one in control had its perks. He picked up the pace, ignoring the burn settling in the muscles of his legs and leant in for another searing kiss. He let out a surprised giggle when he felt the same hands sliding down his body and grabbing at his ass but was soon shushed by a relentless tongue. His own cock was bouncing in between them, the only momentarily relief being the few seconds it brushed against Ilya’s sculpted abdomen, smearing them with pre-cum. The masochistic part of him didn’t want to let go of the headboard - he knew Ilya wouldn’t allow him to touch himself either way. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered, feeling himself nearing his orgasm. His movements became hastier, almost uncoordinated, when Ilya grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him closer, teeth teasing the sensitive skin of his jaw. He loved it when his husband bit, used to wear the marks he would leave behind as a muted chirp in the homophobic locker room of the Metros - He felt himself freeze at the thought. 

Ilya let out an unsatisfied sound at the sudden stop. “Shane?” A light slap against his backside made Shane snap out of it. “Need me to take over?” 

Shane shook his head and leaned in for another kiss, knowing him picking up from where he was last left would stop Ilya from asking more questions. It was probably silly for him to feel so nervous - yes, the next day was going to be his first day as a Centaur but that didn’t erase everything he had accomplished so far. He was a good hockey player, that did the trick for most players who got traded. He must have done a terrible job at keeping his feelings to himself because suddenly Ilya was flipping them over, making himself at home in between his bent legs. 

“I am offended, Hollander,” the Russian tch-ed. “You’re thinking too much for someone bouncing on my dick.” Shane didn’t have the chance to protest because a hand cupped his face, angling it so their mouths would melt together. He felt his entire body relaxing against the pillow, his walls tightening around Ilya at the subtle display of dominance. “Usually nine inches are enough to make you cock-drunk.” 

It was true. Shane did not have a lot of special interests but sex with Ilya was one of them. It was the opposite of hockey, a way for him to drop the mask he pretended to understand most days and become an object of pleasure. All he had to do was to be pretty and take it. He loved everything about it, from the way it extorted his body to the way it made his brain feel all fuzzy, thoughts pulled out one by one in order to make space for pleasure. 

“Got bored of me already?” Ilya was bluffing, a mean smirk taking over his face as he pulled all the way out, smaller hands immediately circling his neck in order to keep him from putting even more distance in between their bodies. He thumbed at Shane’s puffy hole before slowly stroking his own cock. “Maybe I should go jerk off in the shower.” 

“No,” came a loud protest, Shane’s hips moving further down on the bed, chasing his touch. “Please. Fuck me.” 

“You’re sure is entertaining enough?” 

Shane’s next moan was punched out of his lungs with a sudden slide of Ilya’s cock right at home, his toes curling because of the sudden burst of pleasure. His husband knew him better than he knew himself so it came as no surprise when Ilya started moving his hips at an almost punishing pace, hands grabbing at the pillow Shane was resting his head against. It took about two thrusts for brown eyes to shut close, shiny lips parting as an invitation Ilya couldn’t ignore. 

“There you are.” The Russian had the right to sound so smug. His right hand cupped the lower half of Shane’s face again, pressing into the hollow of his cheeks. “Open.” 

Shane did without thinking, clenching around the cock trying to rearrange his insides, forcing himself to look inside Ilya’s eyes. Eye contact was not something his husband demanded of him at all times while being intimate - that would have been cruel - but there were times when it was non-negotiable. His mouth gaped with purpose, pupils blown as Ilya leaned in closer to spit inside of it, taking Shane’s breath away for a filthy moment. It was dizzying, allowing somebody to toy with your body like that. After all those years, it still caught Shane by surprise how much he enjoyed following Ilya’s orders, pushing his own limits to please him. 

“Swallow.” 

Lips crashed together a beat after Shane did, Ilya’s tongue intruding his mouth with purpose as soon as his hands grabbed his husband’s legs, raising them off the mattress. He ignored the whine of protest at the momentary loss of contact that followed, entering Shane with just as much force the second his knees were pushed against his chest, folding him in two. Hundreds of hours of diligently practicing yoga paid off. 

“Good boy.” Shane couldn’t help the involuntary moan that always followed those words. “Hold your legs, zaichyk.” 

Shane grabbed at the underside of his knees and all that Ilya needed was a glimpse at his matching wedding ring for his movements to speed up, fingers grabbing possessively at the meat of Shane’s ass. 

“Pretty and all mine.” 

It was that moment that Shane’s brain short-circuited, the incessant brushing of his prostate sending sparks all through his body, all the way to his curling toes. He must have whimpered about feeling it so deep because Ilya followed up with a condescending “poor baby” that made him leak even more, the sparks threatening to turn into a fire. He loved it when his husband was talking to him like that, loved it when he left no room for discussions, when he made it clear that taking decisions was not something Shane had to even think about trying. 

A light slap falling to the side of his thigh was all that Shane needed to cum all over himself, his legs trembling as he struggled to keep his position, bigger hands ultimately covering his and pushing his knees even closer to his chest. 

“Still my favorite trick,” Ilya said and leaned in for a quick kiss before raising higher on his knees, chasing his own release. “Good boy.” 

Shane let out a little a long whine of what could have been mistaken as protest, his hands grabbing Ilya’s as the latter continued moving, remorseless and unforgiving. The pleasure was tethering pain, his softening member twitching in interest as the prostate continued being bullied, stars slipping under his eyelids as words failed at being formed. The loud Shane his husband spoke into the room made him want to push back, to meet Ilya’s now disorganised thrusts but it was already too late for that because within seconds the movements stopped altogether. Warmth filled his insides, his cock giving a last, almost pitiful, twitch as Ilya’s hands broke out of his hold. 

He expected a kiss. Ilya always kissed him after sex, especially since they talked Vegas and how much that hurt. A peck was pressed to his inner thigh and then close to his left knee, the distance starting to grow between them making Shane let go of one of his legs in order to make grabby hands. 

“No.” He had barely recognised his own voice as Ilya slipped out of him. 

“Legs up, lyubimyy.” 

Shane’s protests shattered into tiny pieces the moment Ilya scooted lower on the bed and let out a satisfied sound at the image before his eyes. If he wouldn’t have just had one of the most earth-shattering orgasms of his life, he would have made the effort to grab his phone and take a picture. He was possessive, now that they were officially married more than ever. He loved knowing he was and would always be the only man seeing this carefree, needy side of Shane.

He pulled at the puffy rim with his thumb, eying the cum seeping out like it was the most satisfying spectacle, not missing the way Shane’s erection was already filling out. 

“Such a pretty hole.” 

“Shut up,” Shane whined, his hands keeping still despite the blush spreading to his chest. 

“Is true,” Ilya murmured and leaned in to press his mouth against it. “Prettiest hole I’ve seen.” Normally, he would have used his words further, turning his husband into a squirming mess and testing to see just how far the pinkness could spread over his body. Tonight, however, Ilya did not want to give Shane the time to think, so he dived in right away, lapping at the ring of muscles slowly, pressing kisses to it in between and trying not to smile whenever he spotted the adorable scrunch of pleasure on his husband’s face. 

He ate Shane out with purpose, cleaning the evidence of their love-making, his hand enveloping around the base of his reddening, leaking erection. It was not hard to make Shane cum; his body was wonderfully wired, more sensitive than anything one could have expected, soft and pliant and craving the pleasure Ilya knew only he could provide. 

Ilya’s middle and ring finger entered Shane the moment his body tensed up, his other palm gliding up and down his erection in sync. The legs were released from the grip, heels pressing into the mattress as his orgasm approached, his lower body trying to push the release closer by moving. 

“Fuck,” he cried out as the fingers inside of him curled. “I - I’m gonna cum, Ilya.” 

Ilya smiled and kissed his abdomen in silent encouragement; he loved watching Shane cum. He didn’t change a thing about the pace or the angle, keeping it up as he felt his husband’s walls tightening around his fingers, droplets of white painting his fist as Shane moaned, loud and unrestricted. He gently guided him through his orgasm, allowing it to ride it for as long as needed, endeared by the sight of Shane’s hands flapping. The movements of his wrists were fast and repetitive, knuckles brushing into the naked skin of his shoulders every few seconds. 

“Good boy,” Ilya kissed the same spot again as he felt Shane try to pull away from the stimulation and pulled his fingers out, moving up the bed so he could press a kiss to the cheek of his still stimming husband. 

There has been a time when Shane had felt embarrassed to show this side of him to Ilya but that had been years ago, before they even dared to admit that what they had was more than casual. Shane had done everything in his power to keep his hands busy, grabbing at pillows and sheets, at Ilya and sometimes even himself only not to show how good he felt like that. It took years of familiarity and a stern “let go, Hollander” followed by a post-orgasm panic attack for him to understand that Ilya didn’t mind.

Ilya had lied back then but he had no reason to keep at it now, that they shared the same last name. It wasn’t only that he didn’t mind, Ilya loved seeing his husband so blissful and unapologetically himself. 

Their mouths met into a messy kiss, Shane’s movements faltering as his entire body redirected its attention to the sweaty man pressing into his side. He allowed himself to relax on the pillow and smiled when Ilya chased him for a couple more kisses, these ones more innocent than pretty much everything they had been up to that day. His insides felt gooey and he had no idea how he was expected to shower in that condition but there was cum drying on his skin and the sheets were starting to feel weird.

“Better?” 

Ilya must have been referring to his overthinking so he nodded, thankful that no push followed. The anxiety was still there but it was quieter, duller than before. He didn’t necessarily want to talk about it, he knew that he needed for the next day to pass (hopefully without noticeable events) to be able to relax. 

Everything he had ever known had changed within three months - he was now married to the love of his life, he had moved to Ottawa, he was a dog dad. But he was also no longer playing for the team he had hoped to retire from, the team he had led to three Stanley Cups. 

“Shower and sleep?” 

Shane nodded again, this time weaker. He hoped sleep would take some of his worries away. 

Ilya woke up earlier than usual on the following day. He had woken up more than once during the night to Shane twisting and turning only to throw an arm around him and pull him closer to his chest. He knew it wasn’t easy to change teams - he had left Boston for Ottawa too - and he had also learned how his beautiful but extremely complicated-at-times brain of his husband worked. It wasn’t a combination for the faint of heart.

So he woke up before Shane’s alarm went off and took a quick shower, fed his other baby and started on the (gross) smoothie the love of his life named breakfast. It wasn’t hard, as Shane had made a habit out of preparing the ingredients the night before, but it was still something that was going to win a few extra minutes for his routine. Ilya had already prepared lunch the night before - pan-fried Tempeh with stir vegetables he insisted he was going to eat for lunch as well, so he was only portioning it when he heard steps climbing down the stairs. 

He still had a hard time believing they were married.

“Good morning, solnyshko.” He cupped Shane’s face to kiss him, noticing right away the ounce of tension leaving his husband’s body at the contact. “Breakfast for birds is ready.” 

He didn’t miss the way Shane’s eyes softened when he spotted the smoothie, didn’t take the barely hearable “thank you” for granted. Another kiss was followed, along with the request to enjoy his morning run. 

Shane insisted they take his car to the rink so Ilya spent most of the ride dj-ing and trying to distract his husband from the multitude of thoughts he knew tortured him. He was sure the team was going to love Shane. The Centaurs were good guys, who have always reacted with concern in difficult situations, who have supported Ilya through his hard and harder times despite his instinct of pushing people away. 

Ilya tried not to feel hurt when Shane let go of his hand as they got closer to the rink. He also didn’t peep when Shane had changed his mind right before entering the locker room and intertwined their fingers. His palm was sweaty. 

Most of the guys were already inside, chatting lively about everything and nothing, chirping at one another about off-season activities and laughing loudly at dumb remarks over the rattle of equipment. Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand once before entering the room, his smile turning into a grin at the enthusiastic “Cap!” being parroted around. 

“Boys, I need you to be on your best behavior,” Ilya said seriously before shout-whispering: “Our new teammate is hockey royalty.” 

Shane would have rolled his eyes if he wouldn’t have been mortified by how quiet the room suddenly turned. He raised his free hand wave awkwardly before saying: “Hi, I’m Shane - uhm, Hollander. It’s good to be here.” 

3

2

1

“Shane Motherfucking Hollander is on our team.” 

It must have been Dykstra that broke the silence and before Shane could react, the guys were already getting closer, greeting him with tight handshakes and big smiles. Most of them have attended their impromptu wedding so theoretically, it wasn’t their first time meeting, but the enthusiasm seemed to have remained the same, all the attention making blood rush to Shane’s freckled cheeks. 

Ilya had to force himself not to smother him with kisses right there and then. 

It was Wiebe that interrupted the little welcoming party, reminding them they were there to play hockey before welcoming Shane to the team himself with the subtlest of smiles and a comment about real chances of winning the Cup.

Shane still found it harder than normal to breathe. Hockey was his second nature and he knew he was good at it but being integrated in a team was not included in the deal - the Metros made that clear. He lowered his duffle bag in front of his cubby, trying to not overthink the mechanics of organizing, when he heard someone clearing their throat right next to him. He turned to see Zane Boodram nonchalantly shoving his hands inside the pockets of his pants. 

“We could switch cubbies if you’d like.” 

Shane had to do a double take to understand the reason behind the offer. Boodram’s was next to Ilya’s. 

“I’m fine, man.” He hated the way his voice almost trembled. A part of him still expected the typical homophobic remarks that have almost become part of the locker room culture. “Thanks.” He hoped his tight-lipped smile didn’t give away his growing panic.

It was then that Shane realized Ilya and he had never talked about the specifics. Shane had explicitly stated he would most likely not feel safe with PDA in the workplace but they have never gone into the details. How much was too much? He was sure the Metros would have clocked even a stare. He changed into his equipment as quickly as humanly possible - tape, jersey, pants, left skate before right skate, helmet -, trying to ignore the uneasiness the red added to the equation. He supposed the team continued their animated talk around him until Wiebe appeared for the second time. 

Practice was different. Shane had never imagined that the team getting along so well could stand in the way of performance but he found himself slightly irritated whenever mistakes were laughed off as if they were nothing. Drills were not supposed to be fun. 

“Hollander, our rookie’s heart is gonna fall out of ass if you keep glaring at him like that,” Ilya interrupted his train of thought, pointing at Luca Haas with a movement of his head. “Tell him what you think he can do better.” 

And meddling like that has never been Shane’s intention. He was no longer a captain and he didn’t want to come off as some arrogant know-it-all but the kid was obviously struggling and it was only because of his bad posture. Of course Ilya would see right through him; this wasn’t him trying to be an overbearing control freak, it was him craving improvement. 

He tried not to think too much about the dark shade of pink Haas turned into when he pulled him aside. He tried to keep it short and clear, genuinely surprised by the seriousness with which the rookie (who was no longer a rookie) swallowed his every word. He was about to check in on the boy and ask if he’d like to continue with the drill when a nervous “Thank you, Mr. Hollander” vibrated through the air, making Shane’s eyes grow bigger. 

Somewhere on the ice, Ilya burst into laughter at that. 

“Haasy’s about to combust.” Shane couldn’t figure if Bood was genuinely worried nor could he put his finger on where he went wrong. 

“It’s Hollander-Rozanov now, Luca,” Ilya said like the menace he was, skating over so he could have a better look at the two blushing men. His gloved hand rested conveniently on the small of Shane’s back.

“Leave him alone, Rozanov.” 

“I’m not the one who almost gave him heart attack, moy lybov.” He turned to Luca, who watched the interaction with silent but ever so obvious fascination, and grinned. “What do they say? Better not to meet your idols?” 

“I thought he had your poster on his bedroom wall,” Boodram joined the conversation.

“I had both.” The words almost flew out of the young man’s mouth and regret must have followed instantly because the skin of his face and neck turned a shade deeper. “On my childhood bedroom wall, that is.” 

The barely audible Scheiße Luca let out next softened Shane’s gaze. Ilya’s teasing remark was shut down with a plain “fuck off” but that had been enough to put an end to the discussion, everyone turning their attention back to the practice. 

Shane had already seen Ilya coaching at the summer camp. He had realized that despite him coaching fully grown adults instead of curious children, his methods remained similar, his charm making every critique easier to digest. The team seemed to love him, every irritated “Cap” laced with a layer of fondness. Shane couldn’t remember a time the Metros addressed him with so much affection. 

Ilya had barely interacted with Shane during that first practice, addressing him with Hollanov during the rare times he did, his smile imperceptibly wider than when talking to all the other players. It had been the best thing he could have asked for; everything was new to him - from the lighting of the rink to the pacing of his teammates, he was happy he didn’t have to additionally worry about seeming “unprofessional”. 

Shane didn’t realize how tense he had been until they re-entered the locker room that afternoon, his equipment sticking in a way that made him want to tear his skin off. He was normally one of the firsts to jump in the shower but as everyone started to undress around him, panic started to pump inside his veins at the realization that they have never talked about how this part was supposed to unfold. 

His mind involuntarily slipped to the many degrading comments he had heard inside Montreal’s locker room; shortly before him leaving the team, they did not even bother to talk behind his back anymore. He could remember Comeau’s unabashed “watch yourselves in the showers, boys”. As if Shane was an animal who couldn’t restrain himself and would jump any of his teammates just for seeing them naked. As if he wasn’t the same person they pretended to love all through the years. 

Ilya’s voice grounded him back to reality. “Shane, I forgot my shampoo.” His husband was already shirtless as he approached his booth, and if it wouldn’t have been for all the anxiety, Shane was sure he would have drank the image in. He must have not done a great job at masking because he could pinpoint the second Ilya figured him out, his fingers clenching at his sides as if they were itching to reach out but were denied. “You’re okay?” 

“Yes.” A flat-out lie. 

“Shower?” 

He couldn’t tell what would be worse - going in the showers with Ilya and risking comments about their relationship or speeding through the process all on his own and hoping not to make anyone uncomfortable. Ilya seemed to have made the choice for him when he started taking his shoulder and elbow pads off. 

The main topic in the shower had been Chipotle. 

Hayes took the space between him and Ilya and started enumerating the reasons why the team should go to Chipotle after practice, the only time he became a bit louder being when accusing Ilya of hogging the warm water. Shane still made quick work of it, focusing on cleaning the sweat off his body while listening to the casual conversation around him. He didn’t really feel up for Chipotle, but he knew he was supposed to make an effort and hang out with the team outside practice. He wanted the Centaurs to like him. 

“I think we’re gonna pass.” Ilya said that without a trace of remorse, a smile still in place. 

“Hollzy?” It took Shane a moment to realize he was the one being addressed. “You should come with us. Cap can drive himself home and we’ll just drop you off later.” 

He blurred out the threat escaping Ilya’s lips next. It was something that would have normally embarrassed him - about how Hayes should stop trying to steal Ilya’s husband - but all Shane could think about was how curious but nice it felt to know the team wanted to hang out with him. 

“Sure.” He wrapped his towel around his hips and made his way towards the locker room. He looked over his shoulder at Ilya and conveyed his most innocent smile. “I’ll send you pictures.” 

He laughed to himself at the dramatic Shane that filled the showers next. 

Of course Ilya decided to tag along, his pout remaining in place until Shane gave in and kissed it away once they reached their car. It had started innocently, a closed-mouthed kiss matching the “you’re such a baby” the Canadian couldn’t hold to himself, but that had only been until Ilya’s hand moved to grab his husband’s face and bring him back for more. They have been together for the past hours, but not like that. 

Shane could feel himself hardening as soon as Ilya’s tongue entered his mouth so he pushed weakly at his arm, reminding himself that they were in the middle of the parking lot and they were supposed to meet up with their teammates in minutes. 

“I missed you,” Ilya whispered against his lips, making him melt. 

They had done everything wrongly and have put themselves through unnecessary anguish for ten years but Shane wouldn’t have changed a thing. Because everything led to that - to kissing his husband in the parking lot of their rink, to having his hand held all through the drive, a thumb caressing the back of his hand in quiet reassurance and stopping his mind from coming up with improbable scenarios.

The boys did not overanalyze Shane’s order, nor did they mention whenever he pushed some of his side dishes to Ilya’s plate. If they found his eating habits strange, nobody could have told. No “you’ve got to eat like a man, Hollander” or “I don’t get how you manage to be so fast after eating that shit.” 

They did not put him on an uncomfortable pedestal either, sprinkling questions here and there without pushing, asking for his opinion whenever the conversation moved too fast and he didn’t have the chance to speak up. They were good people.

“Barrett’s coming back tomorrow?” 

“They better bring back some of that cider to this weekend’s barbeque.” 

“Oh, right. Harris posted from his family’s orchard.” 

Shane almost forgot he and Ilya were not the only queer players on the team. He felt his posture stiffening at the mention of Barret but didn’t say a word, instead sipping on his water as Haas whipped out his phone to search for the mentioned photos. He didn’t know what exactly he expected but it was surely not Bood’s fond “look at that dumb smile”. It was a selfie of Troy Barret and another man (Shane supposed it was Harris), their cheeks squished together as they stared into the camera, a beautiful sunset unfolding behind them. It made Shane miss the cottage.

“I didn’t think he could smile like that,” Luca agreed with a nod.

“I’m happy he finally grew balls to ask Harris out.” Ilya’s can of Coke was empty as it was lowered on the table. Pairs of curious eyes turned to look at him so he did what he knew best and grinned cockily. 

“You knew he was gay?” 

“I have impeccable gaydar.” He had suspected Barrett was queer for a long time before they ended up being on the same team but ultimately, it had never been any of his business. “That and he asked for Shane’s number when Shane came out.” 

“No he didn’t.” Troy Barrett had been known to be a huge bigot, there was no way he was interested in the gay, half-Asian hockey player. Shane snapped his head to look at Ilya, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he tried to detect any hint of his husband lying. 

“He did,” Ilya replied seriously. “I think you forget I married Hottest Man in NHL, malysh. Everyone wants a piece of you.” 

“They don’t.” Shane could feel the blush creeping underneath his freckles. 

“They do, moy pomidor.” Ilya made sure to press a quick kiss to Shane’s cheek before continuing: “Anyway. I told him no, threatened to break his legs, told him he’s stupid and should ask Harris on a date. Happy ending for all.” 

Everyone laughed at that, talking about how they wished to have been a fly on the wall while that conversation took place and how lucky Barrett was to still be physically able to play hockey. Nobody batted an eye at the arm Ilya used to keep Shane pressed against him, all the teasing remarks good-natured as Ilya winked at or flirted with his husband. It was comfortable, safe. 

They arrived later than expected at home and took Anya on a walk together, their fingers intertwined as the sun slowly set. Shane tried to shake off the impulse of pushing Ilya away every time someone looked in their direction, his fingertips pressing against knuckles tighter, as if he was afraid what letting go could lead to. He had nothing left to hide. 

Shane lost himself that night. Between incessant kisses and heated touches, murmured praises against his lips and neck, he was reminded there was no other place he had rather been than in his husband’s arms and heart. 

“You were so good today,” Ilya would whisper into his ear as he thrusted into him, hands grabbing at Shane’s shoulders in order to pull him closer. “So good for me.”

Shane almost sobbed as he nodded, their sweaty foreheads touching before their mouths crushed together, a familiar pull already making itself comfortable inside his abdomen. 

“Damn, Hollzy.” 

Shane was about to put his skates on when Dykstra’s voice boomed inside the locker room. He had barely spoken besides offering his good mornings so there was nothing he could think of that could have earned that reaction. He knew he was not the best at picking up social cues so he instinctively turned towards his husband for help, only to find the reason for the outburst. 

He caught only a glimpse of Ilya’s back as the jersey slipped down his frame but the angry red marks he had spotted along with the grin on his husband’s face were all that he needed to put two and two together. 

“It’s always the quiet ones,” some else pitched in, making Shane consider switching teams again. 

“He’s not quiet when -” 

“Ilya!” 

Shane was mortified. He hoped - no, prayed - for the floor of the locker room to swallow him whole. He knew his husband had a different set of boundaries when it came to his private life (hence the many articles capitalizing on him sleeping around) and he would have lied if he would have said he didn’t like his big mouth but this was not it. 

“Oh my God, do you guys remember the week after All Stars?” Dykstra asked, seemingly oblivious to his new teammate’s suffering. “When Cap looked like he had been mauled by a bear?” 

Everyone turned to look at Shane, who was now trying to remember all the clauses of the contract he had signed with the Centaurs. His face was burning and what he did not need in that moment was for Ilya to snort a chuckle and join the charade. 

“What can I say? My husband is very passionate man and loves me very much.” 

“I’m divorcing you.” The finality in his voice provoked a loud gasp out of Ilya, who immediately turned his back to his cubby in order to look at him. “And I’m taking full custody of Anya. You’re obviously not mature enough to take care of her.” 

“You can’t do that.” 

Shane smirked in self-satisfaction and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You brought that upon yourself, Rozanov.” 

The team hollered, Hayes squeezing his shoulder with an amused “you tell him, Hollzy” so he decided to cut the confrontation short and go back to his equipment. Left skate before the right, his lips twitching with even more amusement at the whiny Shane Ilya said in his attempt to regain his attention. He could tell the Centaurs were not familiar with this side of their captain. 

“I’m not signing divorce papers.” Ilya came closer to him at that; he was fully dressed but the helmet could not conceal the pout he was sporting. “Ever.” 

Shane stood up from the bench, suddenly aware of how close they really were to each other. “Me neither, you asshole.” He gave his husband a playful shove and hurried to be the first on the ice.

He met Harris that day. It was hard not to spot him taking in consideration the way he roamed around the rink the first thing in the morning, snapping pictures of everyone with his phone and joking around. He made a mission out of introducing himself to Shane with an enthusiastic handshake and a radiant smile and heartfelt compliments that didn’t fail to make him blush. 

Their on-ice skill work day left Shane a bit more optimistic about his new team’s perspectives. Their chemistry was obvious in crossing and passing and even if they had a lot more to do when it came to the practical aspect, everyone was really good at reflecting and accepting criticism. This was a team that wanted to be better.

Shane was mentally revisiting some of the duos that didn’t work out all that well when he realized everyone was getting off the ice and almost bumped into Ilya as he followed. There was a line that formed in front of him and he couldn’t fathom why. He could hear laughter and he must have looked very confused because Ilya felt the need to raise his shoulders to signalize he was also at loss. 

“One golden star for our rookie -” Harris’ voice became louder and louder as they moved closer. “Good job out there, bud!” 

It must have been a social media thing because a tripod was placed next to him as he filmed everything, a little bag presumably filled with stickers resting in his hand. Shane couldn’t help but smile at the serious face Young made as he puffed out his chest to receive his prize. Harris completely ignored his stance and pressed the star to his cheek, sending him off despite the loud “hey!” that followed.

“Next is our team’s heartthrob and captain with a capital C,” the blonde man said just as animated. “I don’t know if he deserves a star, he lowkey bullied LePointe today.” 

“Chirping is part of the game. Is not my fault he has weak forehand pass.” Ilya was obviously trying to hide his enthusiasm and as he watched him, Shane felt like his heart might just burst with love. “Pointy knows I love him.” 

Harris let out a dramatic sigh and placed the golden star on his helmet. 

“Not as much as he loves the next player in line,” continued the narration as Shane stepped forward,  his shy smile on. “Ladies, gentlemen and friends beyond the binary, I am proud to introduce our newest Centaur, Shane Hollander-Rozanov.” 

“Hi.” Shane decided to look at Harris instead of the camera. 

“How did you enjoy your first couple of days on the best Canadian team?” 

The way the Metros treated Shane was public knowledge at this point so Shane chuckled at the not-so-subtle dagger, feeling himself giddy at the realisation that the words he was about to say were 100% true.

“Everyone’s been great.” He pressed his stick firmly against the floor. “There’s a lot to improve but I can’t wait for the Centaurs to win the Cup.” 

That earned him two golden stars (one on each glove) and an invitation to double dates with Troy and Harris. His smile remained in place as Hayes complained about him becoming Harris’ favorite from the very first day.

Shane was used for the scenarios his overworking brain weaponised against him to remain ideas but he would have never believed the ease with which the transition took place. He always had a hard time forming interhuman connections so his rookie year had been nothing but difficult, with him trying to find a balance between training hard enough and pleasing his teammates. Back then he had not been ready to accept the fact that everyone on the Montreal Voyageurs tied his worth directly to his hockey skills. 

The Ottawa Centaurs were different. 

Sure, Shane knew he had created a name for himself but that didn’t mean much outside campaigns and rare events. He was used to having to awkwardly make a place for himself inside groups, to gingerly try to add to the already existing conversations. He was sure his and Ilya’s relationship also had to do with it but the Centaurs met him halfway. 

For once, he did not feel like the odd one out. He did not need to silently beg to be included, was not looked at funnily when he shared things about himself that a lot of people would consider atypical - like that he favored a particular brand of ginger ale because he could taste the difference, or that he had no interest in books that were not directly tied to the sport he loved.

They were half an hour into off-ice training when Ilya decided it was his privilege as Captain to change the music and put on the one album he had been blasting every morning drive. Shane had distantly heard Dykstra complaining about it - something about how Bad Bunny did not fit dynamic stretching - but continued his routine, effectively blocking out the discussion. He was mid leg-swing when Dykstra addressed him directly:

“Hollzy, is it true? He’s always the one picking the music when you’re driving?” 

Shane shrugged. “I don’t mind.” 

He knew that was an important part of Ilya’s morning routine. His husband, unlike himself, was far from being a morning person and needed a bit more time than him to be welcoming to the new day. He would sometimes still sip on his coffee while thumbing through his playlist.

“What do you want to listen to, man?” 

His mouth shut, his raised leg slowly making its way to the gym’s floor. He had some standard answers prepared for occasions like this because he had noticed how often questions about favorite singers and favorite songs were asked in social contexts. He had also done his research so his answers wouldn’t be complete lies. 

“He doesn’t,” Ilya said from behind Dykstra, interrupting the core workout he had just started.

“Dude, what the fuck?” 

Shane didn’t notice that Boodram was also listening. The strange looks their teammates have given each other and then Ilya signalized that something was being misinterpreted, most likely something along the lines of his husband being controlling, so Shane felt the need to intervene. 

Ilya happened to be quicker than him. “No, Bood, wait.” He was laughing now, apparently having forgotten about the reason why they were all there, in order to walk closer to Shane. “I’m trying to say Hollander does not listen to music.” 

Two pairs of eyes widened in surprise at the explanation. 

“At all?” 

Shane was thankful for the fact that he could blame the pinkness of his skin on exercising. He simply did not understand why people found it hard to believe that music did not play any role in his life but he had noticed the reactions early on, hence his motivation to hide the truth. It felt like a part of himself he needed to excuse so he opened his mouth to do something similar when Ilya threw an arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his temple, his own smile never faltering. 

“At all,” the Russian said with a sense of pride, blue eyes gleaming with affection as he looked at his husband. “He’s too boring for that.”

Shane pushed him away because it was just what he did, how they worked, eliciting even louder chuckles from Ilya. He was getting ready to give counterarguments, to prove that he had pop culture by naming a few albums he had heard on repeat during the summer - what was that one called, again? Brats? - when he noticed there was no trace of the usual disdain on his teammate’s faces. Nobody felt the need to make him the laughing stock. 

“Oh cool,” Dykstra said after a moment, as if he had just decided that was the case. “So do you listen to something else or do you just prefer silence?” 

And what lousy people Shane used to call teammates and friends. As Evan started with his stretches next to him, it had dawned on him that nobody besides Ilya had ever asked him that question. Nobody else tried to dig deeper than the surface that made it clear he was a bit different. 

“I sometimes listen to podcasts.” 

“About hockey, I bet.” 

Shane didn’t turn his head but he knew Dykstra was grinning like an idiot. 

“Look at you, you’re so cute!”

Shane didn’t know what he expected when knocking on Boodram’s door but that amount of excitement coming from his wife has not been on top of the list. Maybe it was because of the media frenzy still going around their marriage or maybe it had something to do with the half drained glass of wine Cassie was holding in her right hand. He was pulled into a strawberry-scented half-hug before he could say “no” and smiled sheepishly.

“Hi, Cass,” Ilya said before receiving his own embrace. “This is Shane.” 

“The reason you’ve been moping for a year and a half,” Cassie said teasingly, carefully taking the gift Shane silently held up and stepping aside so they could enter the house. “It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart! I’m a huge fan.” 

Cassie Boodram was the head WAG of the Centaurs. She was not only gorgeous, with her curly blonde hair and piercing blues, but also bubbly in a way that was not obnoxiously loud but welcoming. Zane Boodram had been on the Ottawa Centaurs his entire life so it made sense for her to move so at ease in between the hockey players filling her house and garden, making sure everyone had everything they needed while gracefully integrating herself in their discussions. 

“I begged Ilya for Jane’s number when he first came on the team.” Shane wasn’t allowed to apologise for that.

“I can be part of WAG group chat now,” Ilya said with a smile that morphed into a grin the moment they stepped into the living room and all the boys started hollering in greeting. “I’m better gossip. My Shane doesn’t ask for juicy details.” 

“One of us must have decency,” Shane bit back, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared at Ilya. 

“Have decency is synonym for having no fun, yes?” 

Shane knew he was doing the face his husband always named the “angry kitten face” because underneath Ilya’s amusement heat was palpable - the type that would sometimes make them leave the event early. His frown was about to deepen when Cassie linked their arms together, pulling Shane closer. 

“I’m sorry to break it to you, Cap, but the girls and I have already decided. Shane will be the first to join the WAGs.” She turned her face to him to quickly add we’ll find a better name before resuming her conversation with Ilya: “We’re still debating if you’re trustworthy.” 

Ilya’s jaw dropped in a dramatic fashion, his eyes gleaming playfully. He gave Shane’s fingers a little squeeze. “Are you not going to say anything?” 

“I guess you better prove yourself, Rozanov.” 

Shane couldn’t help the pride swelling inside his chest at Cassie’s giggle. 

“Bood!” Ilya yelled all of a sudden, looking over his shoulder at the sliding door he knew his friend would make his appearance through. His alternative captain did exactly that, holding a pair of tongs dangerously close to his favorite “BBQ Master” apron. “Your wife’s bullying me.” 

“Get in line, man.” 

Shane did not have a lot of experience with WAGs outside Jackie but after approximately five minutes of shaking hands and trying to memorize names, he had realized they represented no real danger. Most of them were already tipsy off cocktails with funny names and were doing their best not to coo whenever he mentioned Ilya. 

“For you,” Cassie interrupted the small talk he was having with Lisa Hayes in order to place something in his hand. Something pulled at his heartstrings when he noticed the can in his hand was not beer but Canada Dry ginger ale. “There’s a lot more where that one came from.” 

There were a lot of questions, just as expected but Shane did not feel pressured to answer anything that he didn't feel ready to. He was open to answer questions about his parents - yes, his mother was, in fact, one of the best sports agents to exist and yes, both she and his dad loved Ilya -, about Anya and about how moving back to Ottawa felt like, but he still found himself buffering whenever the attention was directed towards his marriage. He knew everyone was speculating and the ring he was wearing every hour of every day was proof of the promise he had made to love Ilya for the rest of his life. He was not ashamed to admit his feelings, he just found it hard to put into words everything that has happened over the last decade. It was precious, private. 

They were talking WAG jackets when Shane felt arms wrapped around him from behind and had to fight his every instinct not to put whoever was overstepping his boundaries in a headlock. His reaction was reduced to a flinch as soon as he spotted honey-colored curls. 

“Eavesdropping is not cool, Cap,” Dykstra’s wife teased.

“I’m not eavesdropping,” Ilya retorted with an innocent smile. “I’m taking my husband back. You stole him for enough time.” 

Shane heard one of the girls calling Ilya a “lover boy”, those two words the only intelligible from the chaos of noise that followed. The next thing he knew he was pulled towards the living room that was now surprisingly empty, all their teammates favoring the sunny garden in its place. Ilya guided him to a secluded corner, and cupped his chin with his right hand the moment he noticed Shane could not bring himself to maintain eye contact. 

“Is everything okay?” 

You seemed overwhelmed went without saying and Shane nodded, trying to pull himself together. Ilya had been there that morning, when he took a concerning amount of time to decide what to wear, unsure if his casual clothes could still be considered in good taste, he had answered Shane’s questions about the other’s partners and families. The mind-shattering blowjob Ilya gave him had not been carelessly planned right before they were supposed to leave the house. His husband knew how much he wanted this BBQ to work out. 

“You’re sure? We don’t have to stay if you don’t -” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shane whispered, giving his entire body a shake. Ilya had been missing this type of team meetings for more than a year because of him, he wanted to stay. 

“Solnyshko.” That was the no-bullshit-tone. The one that implied that one word was enough for them to drive home. It was moments like this that made Shane realize he could have never married anyone else.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Ilya kissed him softly. “Ya tebya lyublyu bol’she.” 

Ilya remained in his proximity for the rest of the evening, making his presence felt even when they were doing different things or talking to other people. He would lean into his side when they were seated next to each other or mindlessly play with the material of the shirt he had chosen for Shane’s outfit. 

Irrationally, Shane’s mood soured a bit with the arrival of Troy and Harris, but hoped his expression did not give that away. He had no reason to feel like that because even if he started the season with a bad impression of Barrett, things have changed along the way, when he made it clear he was more than decent. He supposed it was the openness of his relationship with Harris that clawed at a sensible part of his soul. The timeline the social media manager never failed to reproduce as a party joke, the way he would comfortably sit on his boyfriend’s lap as if he was just another WAG and not an openly gay man, the sexual innuendos.

He had never been someone for PDA, not even in his former relationships. He would hold hands in public, accept small gestures of affection but he would always call his girlfriends by their names, would get squirmy at the simple thought of people witnessing the side of him he only reserved for his partner. But he could also remember the devastation he felt that night in Montreal, when he spotted Ilya grinding against some girl he probably didn’t know the name of. He remembered the way the world seemed to stop spinning at the realization that he would never be able to kiss him like that in a crowd of people. 

His body must have given some cues away because Ilya instinctively wrapped an arm around him. 

“Do you want another beer?” 

Shane excused himself the moment Ilya nodded, heading towards the improvised drink station that was placed near the now-cooling grill. Most of the people have gathered around the fire, the sun starting to slowly set and make them grab the blankets. It was by mistake that Shane spotted Troy and Harris making out in the living room, his eyes moving away as fast as humanly possible from the back of the Ottawa Centaurs jacket and the muscular hands grabbing it. 

He knew the only reaction the other Centaurs would have at that imagine would be chirping. They were not the Metros, who used “cock-sucking” and other words Shane did not have the mind to reproduce as insults. 

The big smile Ilya offered him alongside his “thank you” had managed to magically untangle the knot settling inside his stomach. He sat back down on the chair he had previously abandoned and silently accepted the blanket Ilya threw over their laps, his pulse quickening slightly when his husband’s hand found his underneath it. 

“Hands where I can see them, Roz.” 

Shane felt his face turning pink just in time for Ilya to raise their intertwined fingers and place them on top of the blanket. “Stop being homophobic, Bood.” 

He couldn’t restrain the chuckle that reply got out of him. 

They were the second couple to leave and despite the unimpressed boos, Ilya had somehow managed to charm his way out of it by declaring they were newlyweds who needed alone time. It had been a nice evening despite Shane’s anxieties and overthinking and they had fun but Ilya still made the conscious decision to not play music in the car. He could feel how drained Shane’s social battery was but he didn’t push, offering to take Anya on a walk and give him some alone time instead.

He didn’t manage to wait for Ilya so they could take a shower together because his clothes smelled of food and he was uncomfortably sweaty. He was in the middle of his skincare routine when Ilya entered the bathroom and hugged him from behind, smiling at him in the mirror. He knew Shane would protest but let him do it either way so he buried his face in his hair and inhaled the subtle scent of lemon before kissing the nape of his neck. 

“Shower alone is betrayal, Hollander.” 

“So is watching Normal People without me,” Shane rolled his eyes, freeing himself from the embrace in order to reach his under eye patches. He was rewarded with a playful slap of his ass. 

Ilya was about to climb onto the bed when Shane realized he had read the same line for the fourth time and lowered his book next to him. Ilya was already on his phone, by the looks of it texting the newest “cutest Anya pic” to Svetlana, his curls still damp and his smile boyish. He almost couldn’t believe this was his life now - rookie Shane would have imploded at the idea. 

“Are you happy?” 

“No, I hate it here,” Ilya replied without moving his eyes from the screen. Whatever he was typing in cyrillic Shane would have had a hard time to follow anyway. He sent a final heart to Sveta and placed his phone on the nightstand. Blue eyes moved to look at Shane with such an intensity that the latter had to stop himself from squirming. “What is your funny brain telling you?” 

“Nothing, it’s -” He wasn’t sure how to phrase that in a way that wouldn’t give his unfounded jealousy away. “I know it’s been hard for you to move here. You couldn’t talk a lot about you and you didn’t hang out with the guys as much as you probably wanted to because of me, well us.” He still wished he could have gone back in time to do things differently. “And now I’m here and we’re married but I still can’t -”

He did not expect panic to take over Ilya’s face. “You changed your mind -” 

“No, no, no,” Shane repeated a tad too loudly, crossing the little distance that was between them in order to cup Ilya’s face and kiss his lips. “Of course not, no.” He couldn’t think of a lifetime in which he would backtrack. “Marrying you was the best decision of my life, baby. What are you talking about?” 

“You sounded scary.” 

The words came out so small that Shane decided more closeness was needed. He climbed onto Ilya’s lap and held him tightly, his body involuntarily starting to rock back and forth in an attempt to soothe. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He promised with another kiss on the lips. “I’ll never change my mind about us. Ever.” Ilya’s heartbeat needed a few moments to go back to its steady rhythm so Shane used that time to press his lips repeatedly to the top of his head while trying to find a way to continue his idea. “I think I’m overthinking.” 

“You, overthinking?” 

Shane snorted and leaned back so their eyes could meet. “I think everyone’s a bit disappointed in me.” 

“Did anyone say something like that?” Ilya tensed, his expression hardening at the thought. He believed himself to be a laid-back type but there were a few things he drew the line at and disrespecting his husband was one of them. 

“No, everyone’s been great.” 200 lbs of muscle relaxed under his weight. “But I’m not exactly Scott Hunter, am I?” 

“Why would you want to be dinosaur, Shane?” 

If Shane wouldn’t have already been exhausted, he would have given his husband the stare. “What I mean is I’m not so good at being gay, maybe?” It sounded ridiculous even for him taking in consideration that he was quite literally in the arms of the man he married, but he tried to clarify what he meant: “I couldn’t bring myself to answer any questions about our relationship tonight.” 

“Okay?” 

“I can’t kiss you in front of other people,” Shane added as if that detail was going to be enough to make Ilya understand what he was talking about. “And it’s unfair because we’re married, everyone knows we kiss -” 

“And fuck,” Ilya said unhelpfully. Shane really didn’t want to think about his coworkers being intimate and he hoped that was a two-ways road. The rest of his discourse was on the tip of his tongue but Ilya spoke first. “You’re very private person, Shane. Everyone knows and respects that.” 

Shane had also regarded hockey as his biggest passion but being an NHL player was, at the end of the day, a job just like any other. He never felt the need to share details about his life outside the rink, he never talked in interviews about anything unrelated to the games, never accepted campaigns that could be tied to him as a person and not to him as a hockey player. He had never understood the appeal of being in the spotlight because all the press ever caused him was pain. 

He was not like Ilya who loved flashy sportscars and who would post thirstraps on his social media accounts in his early twenties. He had never been chased by paparazzi and there were definitely no articles focused on his tumultuous dating habits.

But this felt different - his marriage to Ilya was not a whim he didn’t want the outside world to catch on, he was proud of the life they were trying to build. He couldn’t understand, for the love of him, why he found it so hard to open up about it. 

“You hold my hand, yes?” 

That he did - ever since they said “I do” Shane had protested against the world by holding Ilya’s hand. It was a small gesture, something simple that even friends did, but to him it felt like a statement. He was never going to let go of Ilya again. 

“That is enough for now. Is not a competition, you don’t have to prove anything.” 

Shane knew some of it must have had to do with the Metros and his sport upbringing; you didn’t have to be a queer person to notice how homophobic locker rooms could get. He decided to take in consideration seeing someone who could maybe help him with the side of him that was still living in fear. 

The first six weeks passed like a blur and before September could end, the first exhibition game was announced, pitching them against Toronto. The Guardians have never been a real threat to Montreal but Shane was not a Metro anymore and that was going to be the first real game he was going to play alongside his new team. 

He tried not to spiral about the “first trip” aspect of the situation but couldn’t help the way his stomach seemed to drop every time he encountered a situation he did not take in consideration. Like airplane and bus seats - Ilya was the captain of the team so was it really okay for him to sit only next to Shane? He imagined the team was going to be loud, was going to boast about how they imagined the next games were going to play out but besides the three youngest teammates who ended up heatedly discussing videogames, everyone seemed to mind their own business. 

It was Wiebe who gave everyone their room keys that night and witnessed Shane moving his weight from one leg to another in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Room 2231.” The coach placed two cards in Shane’s waiting hand. “Curfew is 9 PM.” 

It turned out rooming with Ilya was not something he had to ask for - there was no need of trading with someone else, like he had imagined up until then. Ilya and he were married so everyone simply assumed they would like to stay together. Shane couldn’t have been grateful enough for the quiet acknowledgement. 

He slept horribly that night, twisting and turning onto the too-soft mattress while simultaneously trying not to wake up Ilya who was wrapped around him like a vine. Not only did they get to room together but they were also graced with a king-sized bed Ilya had insisted on christening and using it to found a new pre-game tradition. Shane didn’t exactly think things through and ended up being crowded on the unsoiled side of the mattress, his nerves catching flame every time he had the slight impression he might have touched something wet. 

He woke up more tired than he found acceptable for a game day and headed towards the bathroom, watching his husband turn around and bury his face further into the pillow they shared. Brushing teeth. Flossing. Showering. He tried to ignore his reflection, reaching out for his electrical toothbrush and counting up to two minutes instead. Maybe it was one of those days when he just needed a coffee alongside his smoothie. But then his hand reached inside the toiletry pouch he shared with Ilya for the floss and found - none. 

He furrowed his eyebrows and pulled the pouch closer but the second and third search proved themselves just as unsuccessful. And maybe if he would have rested properly it wouldn’t have been such a big thing but all Shane could think about was the bacteria roaming in the crevices of his mouth his toothbrush didn’t dream of reaching, about the plaque that had built over the night and he was going to end up swallowing alongside his breakfast. 

“Did you pack the floss?” 

Ilya had been in charge of their toiletries - it was something he had volunteered to do. 

The question startled his husband out of his sleep, his hand moving to rub at his face in an attempt to chase some of the tiredness away. Ilya frowned. “What?” 

“Did you put the floss somewhere else in the luggage? It’s not in here.” Shane raised the pouch as proof.

Ilya simply reached out for his phone. “Moy lyubimyy, is not even 8.” He obviously believed his argument was strong because he exhaled loudly once he noticed Shane didn’t move from the frame of the bathroom door. “Just brush your teeth and come back to bed.” 

“I already brushed my teeth.” And Ilya knew how much routine meant to Shane, he knew what it did to his brain to jump the imaginary steps of his mornings and nights. It might have been that thought or the already trying situation that made not having him even apologise so hurtful. “I’ll take a shower and head down to breakfast.” 

The only other teammate who managed to wake up as early as him had been Bood, who immediately hit him with a good morning and where’s Roz? as he sat down next to him at the table. Shane shrugged, knowing that stating the fact that his husband was likely to miss breakfast would have sounded petty. 

“You had a fight?” 

It must have been written all over his face so Shane made a non-committal noise before adding that he didn’t sleep well. He knew he would have come off as unreasonable if he went into the details because in the grand scheme of things, floss was not something worth arguing with your partner over. But it wasn’t just that - it was the fact that Ilya didn’t carefully pack after offering to, the fact that his discontent was brushed off like it meant nothing. 

“Good morning, I can feel off vibes,” Young said the moment he joined them, a stack of much too sugary pancakes being placed in front of him like it was his birthright. He took a double-take at Shane’s face and the not-eaten egg whites on his plate before letting out a little “fuck”. Ilya’s absence must have been loud. “Haasy, I don’t know how to break it to you buddy.” 

“Morning?” Luca arched his brows in confusion. 

Young leaned closer to him and whisper-shouted: “I don’t know what Cap did but I think you’re officially a child of divorce.” 

Shane smiled and shook his head at that, his hand wrapping around his cup of unsweetened coffee. Adopting Luca as their son had become a running gag within the team, turning the rookie into a bashful mess every single time. 

The conversation took all sorts of strange turns that have managed to excuse Shane’s brain from most of the thoughts that have kept him up at night. His body was still protesting but he had somehow managed to immerse himself into the premonitions for tonight’s game, chiming in with his own observations every once in a while. 

They were ready to be kicked out of the restaurant area when a chair was pulled next to Shane’s, Ilya taking his seat on it without further ado, looking unfairly hot in his denim Adidas jacket and sunglasses. He looked like someone who had stepped out of the hotel’s grounds so the questions came pouring - questions from everyone but from his husband, who seemed to have made a task out of ignoring his presence. 

“Don’t tell me you had McDonald’s,” came Bood’s accusing voice. 

“Would have been good idea but no, I went to pharmacy.” He raised his sunglasses so they were resting on his forehead, holding his curls back and reached out for an untouched bagel from LePointe’s plate in order to break it in half and pop it into his mouth. It was only natural that the guys would freeze at that, he was their star center. “I’m okay, I just needed to buy floss for neurotic husband who starts fights at 7:30 because I forgot to pack it.”  

He dug into his pockets for two small green-colored containers that he placed in front of Shane. Shane would have protested if that wouldn’t have been his favorite brand. It was mint-flavored but the string had a coating of coconut oil and he knew Ilya most likely had to hit more than one pharmacy in order to find that one, specifically. 

“Brother, you’re down bad.” Zane’s remark was followed by a whistle and Shane turned to look at Ilya for the first time, finding a self-satisfied smile spreading on his face.

“Don’t try to save him, Bood, the man’s exactly where he wants to be.” 

It was Shane’s turn to smirk at Young’s comment.

Press has never been something Shane felt comfortable doing. He had represented the Metros in interviews for years, he was trained to give answers that would make his PR team proud and he had never been considered anything but witty but those factors have never taken away from the pressure that came with interviews. 

He had worn the C on his jersey with pride but he would have lied if he would have said he missed it. After the previous season's traumatic unfolding, he was more than happy to be a mere new player who could choose whether he wanted to show face or not. He was aware the press was dying to hear a statement and he was sure they hoped he was going to stoop as low as some of his former teammates; their problem was that they had already established Ilya and Bood were in charge of post-game interviews. 

Their first exhibition game had ended with a 3-1 for the Centaurs, with Shane making two of the passes that ultimately led to goals. The ice seemed to have done wonders to his psyche, shutting his mind effectively up despite the noisy crowd and the insufferable lights. Maybe spotting his parents in the tribune had also helped as it was their and not his first game his mom and dad got to watch. 

It had been easy, comfortable, the chirping not even scratching the surface of his skin as he stole the puck and headed towards the Guardian’s side of the rink. 

It had been everything but whatever he was feeling now, stepping into the locker room. The boys were loud, buzzing with a type of energy that could only come alongside accomplishments, the most of them foretelling the spectacular season ahead of them. The only buzz Shane could feel was the one underneath his sweat-slicked skin. His equipment felt heavy enough to have him pinned to the floor of the locker room, his eyes having a hard time focusing once he reached his cubby. 

He supposed he should have anticipated the way his brain would act out. 

Hayes had been the first one to notice how quiet he was but all Shane could bring himself to do is to nod when asked if he was alright. Knowing that his husband was out there doing press didn’t exactly help either. He could imagine the type of questions being asked - he bet everyone would try to deflect from tonight’s win. 

They were going to ask personal things. They were going to ask about their marriage and Shane leaving Montreal and if Ilya believed the Centaurs had a chance against the Metros and if -

“Guys, take it down a notch,” Hayes said in the team’s general direction before squatting in front of Shane so they could make eye contact. “Do you want me to get Cap?” 

Shane felt his hands balling on top of his knees. He didn’t need Ilya to calm down, it was not like it was the first time he felt the need to tear his skin off. He has handled himself for years without the help of his then-situationship or even Hayden, who he still called his best friend to this day. He had been living with himself for about thirty years - 

“Shane?” 

His teeth grinded together as soon as he heard Ilya’s voice, shame pouring inside his veins alongside all the other ugly feelings taking over. He must have completely spaced out because he didn’t know who or when they got Ilya back but his husband was now looking at him, the concern painted all over his face making Shane nauseous. He didn’t mean to cause a scene, didn’t want to be pathetic enough to interrupt Ilya’s captain duties. 

“Let’s get you out of your equipment, yes?” 

Shane considered the offer, not even noticing when he leaned back, Ilya’s hand moving with an almost inhumane speed to cradle the back of his head. He hadn’t noticed he was rocking either. He opened his mouth to protest when his husband started tugging at his jersey but his words got stuck inside his throat, glued together in uncomfortable lumps he couldn’t swallow down. 

He was afraid to look at his teammates but it sounded like everyone was busy doing their own thing. Nobody stopped to look at the miserable show his brain chose to put on, nobody was commenting under their breath about the strangeness of it all. Shane bit down on his cheek, his gaze searching the floor as Ilya undressed him like one would a child, recoiling at the feeling of air meeting sweaty skin. A shiver shook his entire body. 

“You’re doing so well, malysh.” 

It didn’t feel like it. Ilya’s chest was bare ever since before the interviews and Shane had to use all his strength to resist leaning in. He knew he would have probably hated it from a tactile standpoint, because they were both overheated and stinky, but a part of him wanted nothing more but to be held. His vision got blurry at the thought so he did as he always did, blinking repeatedly so the tears wouldn’t fall. 

He couldn’t even ask for what he needed.

Ilya’s hands moved to cup his cheeks, gently tilting his head and coaxing eye contact. They have talked about dos and don’ts in the locker room and despite Shane’s aversion towards PDA, he had felt the first tear sliding down his face as their lips met in an almost careful kiss, his lungs suddenly remembering what they were supposed to do with air. 

“Is okay,” Ilya whispered as he put some distance between them, his thumbs brushing away the teardrops that kept falling. The concern was still there but softer around the edges, like the crying was the confirmation he had needed that everything was going to be alright. “Shitty day in shitty city.”

Shane let out a wet chuckle. “Toronto is fun.” He could feel the metallic taste of blood on his tongue but that didn’t stop him from protecting his home country.

Ilya blew a raspberry.

“Lame city with even more lame team.” 

The following minutes passed as a blur. Shane had been barely aware of his surroundings as Ilya guided him towards the shower, his teeth finding the same piece of cheek to torture as lukewarm water started pouring. He felt like a puppet whose strings had been unexpectedly cut. He didn’t allow Ilya to wash his hair or back but didn’t protest when his husband helped with the drying, the silence being filled only by quiet instructions. Raise your other hand for me, solnyshko. Turn around just a bit. We’re almost done, lyubimyy. 

There should have been a celebration of their first win of the season. Shane couldn’t bring himself to look anyone in the eye as they re-entered the locker room. 

”I think we’ll head back to the hotel,” Ilya said as if it wasn’t already obvious they had no other choice. “Don’t drink too much - I’m looking at you Haasy, Young, Pointy. We won’t postpone departure time tomorrow because of hangovers.” 

“We’re taking a rain check, actually.” LePointe cleared his throat as if he wasn’t exactly prepared to continue his idea. “We don’t want to party without Hollzy.” 

Ilya felt his heart grow inside his ribcage. He crossed his arms in front of his chest in fake indignation. “So now I’m chopped liver. You don’t care your captain, the man who led you to many victories is not coming. Sounds like it’s been too long since our last bag skates, I must change that.” 

The unanimous groans of pain have somehow managed to make Shane smile. The playfulness of it all almost made him forget about the shame still nesting in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t remember saying anything but “good night” before he followed Ilya to their Uber, his palm sweaty against his husband’s. 

It felt like he was floating in the worst of ways. He couldn’t understand the small talk the driver tried to make, didn’t put two and two together when Ilya’s phone started buzzing inside the pocket of his jacket. He didn’t remember silencing his phone but a simple glance showed five missed calls from his mother, who was now talking to his husband instead. 

“We’re meeting Yuna and David for breakfast,” Ilya said once he hung up, pressing a kiss to the top of Shane’s head.

Right. They have made dinner plans with his parents. 

New tears welled inside brown eyes at the reminder, the car pulling up in front of their hotel the perfect alibi for him to hurry out of it and head towards the reception. Reception meant elevators and elevators meant the fastest way to their shared room. 

Shane was already crying by the time he stepped inside the dark room, his chest heaving with panic as he hastily tried to sit on the bed and slid onto the floor instead. He didn’t know what was wrong besides the fact that everything was too much, that he could feel every millimetre of his skin feeling too tight. Ilya turned on the light inside the bathroom and left the door cracked before joining him on the floor, witnessing his meltdown from mere centimeters away. 

The thought of his husband seeing him like that made Shane want to scream. It was not the first time Ilya saw him a complete mess but that did not make it any less embarrassing. 

“What does moy zaichok need?” 

Shane shook his head helplessly. He couldn’t think of anything that would make it better. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?” A nod. “Hold you?” Another nod, this one more hesitant. 

Strong arms gathered Shane into their embrace, pulling him closer until their chests were pressed together and hurried hands guided his legs around Ilya’s torso. The floor was replaced by Ilya’s lap before the hug turned tight enough to work as an anchor, their bodies swaying back and forth in a familiar rhythm. It felt better than the weighted blanket he used to always use as a child because it was Ilya’s warmth surrounding him, his breath tickling his ear, his heartbeat drumming under his fingertips. 

“Da, malysh,” Ilya whispered almost reverently into the dark. “Let it all out. You’re doing so well for me.” 

The sweet nothings continued alongside the rocking, the pressure turning stronger whenever Shane let out a particularly loud sob. He felt miserable and guilty for turning their win into this, for making his husband spend what felt like hours on the carpet of their hotel room. 

“I’m sorry,” were the only words he had eventually mustered.

The reply came without hesitation, Ilya pulling away just slightly so he could look into brown eyes. “No sorry, lyubimyy. We talked about this before.” It was not like he had some sort of control over how his nervous system decided to react to stimuli. “You take care of me when I have sad days, I take care of you when world is too much. Is part of the deal, yes?” 

“Don’t call our marriage a deal.” 

A soft kiss was pressed to his lips. 

“Is the best deal of my life, though.” 

Time was hard to quantify during those types of days so Shane didn’t even try to, allowing his body to slowly decompress until he went limp in Ilya’s arms. He had eventually asked his husband if his legs turned numb but had only received another loving kiss and a reminder that he was not the only professional athlete in the family. 

There were, maybe, a handful of things that managed to silence Shane’s mind in these sorts of situations, things that he used frequently or less frequently depending on the time in his life he was going through. At first, it had been complete darkness and confined places - up until he started school he had spent more time inside closets than most kids his age. Hockey came as a very happy second, turning most of his strange thoughts into desire to do better, to learn new skills, to progress. Hockey made more sense than most things in his life did, was easier and more interesting than forming connections with other people. There were clear guidelines, a points system, things that lead to penalties and things that were allowed. 

Hockey had been his lifeline for a while, his greatest love and passion. Until December 2008, Saskatchewan. Until he awkwardly introduced himself to the boy he had no idea would marry him 3 Stanley Cups and a heartbreak later.

“We are back at home with the -,” Harris coughed dramatically behind the camera. “- first husbands of hockey, who have agreed to do the challenge everyone spammed in the comments.” 

Shane wasn’t sure what exactly he had signed up to but his nervousness turned into bashfulness real fast at the sound of that nickname. The world reacted to their relationship with a spectrum of emotions, some of them more flattering than the others, and his Twitter-addict of a husband took his sweet time to introduce him to the brightest sides of the internet. He knew about that silly nickname only because Ilya couldn’t stop repeating it the evening he had stumbled upon it, interrupting Shane’s train of thoughts every thirty seconds and making Worlde’s challenge of the day impossible to solve. 

“What is it? Dirty questions?” Ilya wiggled his eyebrows just in time for the first sigh to leave Shane’s body.

“It’s called the bare minimum or princess treatment challenge. The name is self-explanatory, I’ll list a couple of actions and the both of you will have to answer if you think they count as the least someone could do for their partner or as princess treatment.” 

They have just finished the practice of the day but some of the guys have decided to hang around to hear the challenge, hopeful they would find new reasons to tease the Hollander-Rozanovs. 

“We’ll start off easy.” Harris said, looking at his opened Notes. “Learning their coffee order by heart.” 

“Bare minimum,” they both said at the same time while looking directly into the camera. Shane’s cheeks immediately warmed up so Ilya felt the need to add: “My husband is very boring so is easy to remember.” He tried to sneak an arm around Shane as he said that but his hand was immediately slapped away. 

“Pausing the show when they leave the room so they don’t miss anything.” 

“Princess treatment,” Ilya said decisively. “Shouldn’t leave the room at all.” 

“I sometimes need to p- use the toilet, Ilya.” 

“Or talk to Pike on the phone,” said the Russian in a tone that gave away the irritation he felt at the thought. It had just happened the other day, when Ilya decided to act like a baby and say he didn’t feel like watching TV anymore after Shane had paused their series for about 15 minutes to take a phone call. 

“Bare minimum,” was the only answer Shane graced him with.

He heard Dykstra chuckling and saying something about Roz being clingy but decided to ignore it for the sake of his own sanity. 

“Texting them to ask if they got home safely.” 

“We live together.” Shane had no idea why but saying that in front of a camera almost made him emotional. He looked at his still-pouting husband. “We spent enough time separated, I don’t want to write that type of message again.” 

Harris cooed as Ilya took Shane’s hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss it. 

“Carrying your partner’s heavy bags.”

“Bare minimum,” Shane replied without missing a beat. “I’m fine with carrying any bags, not just the heavy ones.” 

“Hollzy always carries Cap’s practice bag for him,” Hayes said from his cubby, spreading pinkness across Shane’s face. He never thought people would notice; it was something he had seen his father doing for his mother all through his childhood, whether they were out grocering shopping or on a vacation. It was a small gesture that came naturally to him. 

“Booo, Wyatt, go get your own big strong hockey player,” Ilya’s voice echoed loudly through the room, earning a round of laughter from the others. 

“Giving them the window seat on the plane or the bus.” 

“Bare minimum.” Shane shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t really care about window seats but Ilya gets whiny if he doesn’t get one.” 

“Whiny? I’m never whiny, Russians don’t do that.”

It was a new experience for them - their first flight together had been on their honeymoon and Shane’s had barely been able to contain his happiness when it came to the simplest of things. Like placing their luggage in the same compartment and having Ilya resting his head on his shoulder when the slumber became too tempting to resist. He didn’t care what seat number he had or what the view was as long as his husband was within his reach. 

“Letting them pick the movie every single time.” 

“Every single time?” Shane wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take it literally.

“Most of the time,” Harris supplied, smiling.

“Bare minimum, I suppose.” It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy watching movies or series, it was just that he didn’t care enough to critique them like most of the people in his life did. He took his media at face value. That was not something he could have said about his partner, as Ilya spent at least half an hour browsing through their streaming services in order to find something “appealing”. 

“That’s because you only want to watch boring hockey documentaries -”

“That’s not true,” Shane interrupted him with a shake of his head. 

He did tend to pick documentaries or movies that did not exactly fall into the blockbuster category but despite his theatrics, his husband tended to be more invested in them than he was, by the time they ended. If it wouldn’t have been so dear to him, Shane would have shared the memory of Ilya crying his heart out because of a documentary about sharks with their teammates. 

“It’s because you’re spoiled.” 

Ilya’s pout was back just in time for Harris to giggle and make the outro of the video and encourage the viewers to leave more questions in the comments. 

The other Centaurs tried to tease by calling Ilya a “spoiled princess” but every chirp was deflected by the Russian proudly accepting the title and underlining that it was all the result of being loved. He paraded himself around the locker-room like a peacock would, telling his teammates that they should learn from the video if they wanted their marriages to last. It was ridiculous and also something that wouldn’t have been so endearing coming from anyone else but Ilya. 

Shane couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’re a passenger princess, too.” It was a weak chirp but Shane couldn’t refrain himself from saying it out loud the moment he parked. He expected Ilya to say something along the lines of their car not being worthy of his attention but was met by a petulant expression instead. “What?” 

“Nothing.” 

It didn’t sound convincing but Shane let it go without a smart reply, his mind already occupied with the plans they still had for the evening. 

“I think I treat you like princess, too.” 

They had already gone through their nighttime routine, Shane’s muscles aching in the most satisfying way. He didn’t expect the subject to be brought up again so he arched his eyebrows as he took in Ilya’s handsome face. Ilya, who was wearing the matching pajamas his mother had bought for the entire family last Christmas, the six-pack peeking though the almost completely unbuttoned shirt contrasting the puppy eyes he was sporting. 

“I don’t know what kind of fairytales you guys have in Russia but in the ones I read princesses were never bullied by their prince charming.” 

The corners of Ilya’s lips were pulled at almost imperceptibly. He watched as Shane ran his fingers through his hair - it was getting longer - and waited for him to climb on his side of the bed in order to pull him closer. “You like it when I’m mean to you.” 

Shane chuckled at that but his laughter was swallowed by the mouth pressing against his own, Ilya’s arms wrapping around his torso and moving him so he was almost lying on top of his husband. Bickering was something they have always done, the purest remnants of their so-called “rivalry”, something Shane couldn’t imagine ever unlearning. 

A hand sneaked in between their bodies, grabbing at Shane’s half-mast member through his pajama bottoms and feeling it twitch in interest. He knew the direction the conversation was going to take the moment he had heard Ilya’s sultry tone so he didn’t shy away from moving his hips, rocking into the grasp as he moaned against his husband’s lips. Ilya’s free hand found the back of his head, fingers combing through black strands of hair before tugging on them and forcing some space between them. 

“Should I try to treat you nice? Fuck you slow and careful so you don’t break?” 

Ilya already knew the answers to his questions. If the world’s general consensus was that Ilya was the deviant, the manwhore, between the two of them, they both were aware reality was different. Ilya was indeed the more experienced one but even he had never tried most of the things he found out he enjoyed experimenting with his very enthusiastic, very freaky husband. 

Shane had never, not even for a second, wanted to be treated like he was made of glass. Not in bed, at least.

“Don’t you dare.” 

That was the thing about Ilya - Ilya knew him better than he knew himself. It took about an hour and a change of sheets for a satiated smile to take over Shane’s lips at the thought, his fingers running mindlessly through honey-colored locks. He pressed a kiss to Ilya’s forehead, his smile widening further the moment his sleepy husband moved his face up so another kiss on the lips could follow. 

“You’re my baby.” 

The Russian made a curious sound, as if his sluggish brain couldn’t exactly catch on the meaning of those words, and Shane couldn’t help but chuckle in endearment, guiding his head back to his chest. His husband was splayed over his body like the overgrown puppy that he was, the top of his pajama long forgotten somewhere on the floor. He was minutes away from falling asleep but would have never admitted to it, urging Shane to continue playing with his hair while they cuddled. 

“I like taking care of you.” He knew nobody else did since Irina died. Ilya was too proud to show his vulnerable side, was too accustomed to being independent. He had moved to the other side of the world as a teenager and was turned into the main provider of his family around that same time, cornered by inhuman expectations and undeserved critique. 

Shane had almost cried when he found out Ilya couldn’t remember the last time someone held him before the All Stars Game in Florida. 

“You always take care of me.” Ilya’s voice was muffled by Shane’s shirt, his body turning just a tad tenser as he became the main subject of their discussion. Nobody knew about the very bad days, the ones in which he found it hard to get out of the bed and reason with himself that food and hygiene were important. They probably wouldn’t have recognized Rozanov if they saw him like that, sobbing for reasons he could not name and struggling with thoughts that paralyzed him with fear. He sometimes wondered if they’d understand why Shane decided to stick around; he sometimes had trouble comprehending that himself. “I like being your baby.” He buried his face in the crook of  Shane’s neck. “I love you.” 

“I love you more.” 

Ilya let out an indignant little huff. “Not everything has to be competition, Hollander.” He playfully nipped at the closest patch of skin he could reach and made himself even more comfortable on top of his husband. “But even if it were, you’d lose.” 

Shane wasn’t sure if it was because of Ilya or because of the entire assembly of the Centaurs that he remembered how fun hockey could be. It wasn’t only the practice sessions, the wins and losses also felt different alongside his new team. The Centaurs were hardworking and motivated to make the best out of the very good team they managed to piece together but they were also refreshingly human when it came to their not-so-good games. 

Nobody got mad at Young when he failed a pass that would have most likely turned their score around, nobody made mean comments whenever Haas was visibly intimidated by the more experienced players on the other team. The Centaurs were settled on sticking together through thick and thin. 

“Should we fuck them up tonight, Hollzy?” 

The Metros were coming to Ottawa for the first official game of the Atlantic Division and Shane was anything but indifferent about the fact. Realistically, he knew he had to face his old teammates at some point but October felt way too soon, not that anyone had bothered to ask. Montreal wasn’t doing much better than the Centaurs ever since the seasons started but he knew the press was not going to mention that if Ottawa was going to lose. 

“They stand no chance without you.” 

Shane wanted to believe Bood’s words. He tried to smile and thankfully for him, Wiebe joined them in order to go over their newly learned strategies, making it easier for him to breathe all the same. He tried not to meet Ilya’s worried gaze, tried not to give hints about his restlessness to the rookies whom he heard whispering their concerns in the gym. His plan was to treat the Metros like any other team and not like the family he once thought they were.

And it would have worked, if the Metros would have remotely tried to do the same, but the concept flew out the window the moment the first chirp reached Shane’s ears. 

“Cocksucker and proud. Right, Rozanov?” 

Comeau’s plan had probably been to get under Ilya’s skin but even from his position, Shane could see the smug grin splitting his husband’s face in two. “That’s Hollander-Rozanov for you. I’d say you need to read the news but you probably can’t read so -” 

It got worse with every face-off but Ilya did not budge, managing to take the puck almost every single time with such an exercised swiftness that Shane wanted to jump him right there and then. 

The game had turned exhausting halfway through - with Voyageurs checking Ilya into the boards far too many times to be considered unintentionally, the referees’ threats of penalties falling onto deaf ears. They were obviously trying to rile Shane up, to prove a point they didn’t have the courage to verbalize, to justify the cold shoulder they gave him the previous season, when his entire world fell apart. But Shane Hollander never dropped his gloves - 

And then Haas tripped on thin air during the last period, sliding the puck over to the Metros and allowing them to score what would turn out to be their winning goal. 

“You taught him that, Hollander?” 

Gagnon didn’t deserve the time of day, Shane knew that. He was an egotistical, bigoted piece of shit who barely managed to fulfill his role as a defenseman on a good day. But one glance at Luca, who seemed to be on the verge of crying as Dykstra helped him back on his feet, was all Shane needed to understand there was no room left for diplomacy. 

His gloves were landing on the ice before he had the time to reevaluate the situation and the next thing he knew was his closed fist making contact with Gagnon’s nose. He knew how it felt when nobody took your side, knew how small false accusations could make you feel and Luca did absolutely nothing to deserve any of that. 

Just like he didn’t, a year ago.

“Enough, malysh. Let him go, he’s not worth it.” 

He didn’t realize how badly his knuckles were aching until he heard Ilya’s voice close to his ear, his gloved hand moving between his and Gagnon’s body. He could hear the referee talking but he couldn’t piece the words together, his blood pumping adrenaline inside his veins and making the world spin. Ilya must have noticed that too, because he guided him towards the penalty room, ignoring Wiebe’s desperate gesticulations as he did. 

Shane knew all the sports channels were going to speculate about it - they were going to take the story and run with it, adding details that were far from the truth and turning him into someone he was not. Shane from that very morning would have been in a tizzy, but present Shane couldn’t wipe his dopey smile off his face. He never realized how much he had wanted to punch Gagnon in the face before. 

“Shane, why did you do that?” Ilya whined while opening the door to the penalty box for him. He leaned in to continue his thought, his words barely more hushed than the previous ones: “You made me so hard I don’t give a fuck about the game anymore.” 

The referee coughed uncomfortably and Shane - Shane burst in laughter, his chest having a hard time reining in all the love he felt for the crazy, beautiful man in front of him. His hands were still naked so he grabbed Ilya by the front of his jersey, pulling him in for a short, rough kiss that was meant as an answer. He knew social media would be flooded with photos from every angle and he suspected a part of him was going to regret exposing himself like that but the smile Ilya offered him as soon as they parted made it all worth it. 

He would have done anything to protect that smile. 

Luca started crying the moment the clock stopped, declaring the Metros the winning team so Ilya pressed a kiss to his helmet and told him to hurry inside the locker rooms before he took his place next to the rink’s exit. I love yous and fist-bumps became their post-game ritual soon after Ilya became their captain so the Centaurs took their place in the row, waiting for their turn to come. Shane was the last in line.

“You -,” Ilya dropped his hand before his husband could fist-bump him. “I love you the most. Don’t tell the others, they’ll get jealous.” 

Shane allowed no words of protest out of his mouth. 

He had been one of the first players to jump in the shower, wanting to get the grime off of himself as fast as possible. Terry wanted to check his hand so if he was fast enough with that, there was a possibility for him to be done by the time Ilya was done with press - 

“Shane?” 

He almost didn’t recognize Haas’ voice. He turned around to find one of the tallest players of his team looking incredibly small, his hands not finding any safe space within the vicinity of his body, fingers moving against one another at an almost dizzying rate. Blue eyes were red-rimmed and for a second, Shane wondered if he should ask Luca to name three objects he could spot. 

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to win-” 

Ah. So that’s what it was all about. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Shane said with ease, wanting to uproot the anxiety visibly spiking inside the rookie’s brain. “It could have happened to any one of us, there’s nothing to apologize for.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The Metros are just another team, we’ll make sure to win the next time around.” 

The weight of the world seemed to be lifted off Luca’s shoulders with every syllable coming out of Shane’s mouth so the latter added a smile at the end, for good measure. He had surprised himself with how honest his words felt - the Metros were just another team. A shitty team he was happy to have left behind. 

They didn’t talk about the game. Shane didn’t feel the need to rewatch the tape and point out the things they could have done better. He held Ilya’s hand on his thigh during their drive home and allowed himself to melt under his husband’s talented mouth the moment they made it in the hallway. They played with Anya in their back yard and Ilya cooked his favorite for dinner and for once in his life, Shane didn’t feel defeated by the loss. 

He loved hockey and he loved playing it alongside his husband and a bad game was not going to take all that away from him. 

“Go pick boring documentary, I’ll load the dishwasher.” Ilya let out a dramatic sound as soon as he noticed the way one of Shane’s eyebrows arched in suspicion. “I’ll do it the right way. Go.”

Shane was not going to tell Ilya about the list of documentaries he already had saved on his phone. He was searching through his side of Netflix, the one that was strangely hyperfocused on the ocean lately, when Anya lifted her head off his lap. Her fluffy tail started to wag enthusiastically the moment Shane started scratching her under her chin. 

“What has got you worked up, baby?” She looked at him as if she was waiting for him to catch on something, her head tilting adorably. “You were so determined to take Papa’s place on my lap.” She barked once, most likely arguing that was still her plan but Shane didn’t get the chance to reply because the doorbell went off, startling him. 

They weren’t expecting anyone.

Anya jumped off the couch she was theoretically not allowed on and ran towards the general direction of their front door, followed on her heels by Ilya wiping his wet hands on his shirt. It looked like his husband still needed a minute to finish rinsing the dishes. Shane didn’t think there was a point in following the two. 

“Surprise?” Shane was pretty sure that was LePointe’s voice he had heard. 

“Why is whole team here? What level of cockblocking is this?” 

“Ilya!” Shane couldn’t help but shout, feeling blood rushing to his cheeks. His embarrassment remained unnoticed by his husband who looked like he was still debating whether to step aside and allow their teammates in or not. 

“We’re the CCC, the Centaurs’ Consolation Committee.” Hayes was sounding like a theater kid who believed he found a genius name for his drama club and Shane burst into chuckles the moment he spotted Anya hurrying back to him, categorically unimpressed. “And we come bearing drinks.” 

“Aren’t they silly?” Shane whispered to the pup as she nuzzled into his touch, front paws and head using his thighs as a pillow. “That’s why your Papa fits right in.” 

“I don’t need any consolation -” Ilya crossed his arms in front of his chest but Shane could already tell from the tone he was using that his facade was on the verge of shattering. 

Ilya was soon going to ask him if it was alright to allow the boys in and was going to act bothered by their presence for about 2.5 minutes before starting to crack jokes. He was going to ask them if they were hungry and volunteer to prepare snacks even if they said they had already eaten dinner. He was going to make sure everyone remembered to drink water so the hangovers would not kill them the following day, and was going to convince the youngest to sleep over so he could make sure they didn’t do anything stupid while drunk. 

That was the type of man Shane had fallen in love with. 

“Who said we came here for you, Cap?” 

And that was the type of team Shane had always dreamt playing for.