Chapter Text
Ilya was furious.
Once again, someone dared to ask them if they’d ever thrown a game to help out the other.
‘ Give your lover a leg up, eh? All's fair in love after all,’ the reporter had asked as if it were the question of the century.
Shane had stiffened next to him. He had a distant look in his eyes, the color draining from his face.
Ilya knew what that meant. If he didn’t do something to bring him back into the moment, Shane would spiral endlessly till he would end up questioning himself.
He reached out and gently held his hand. A panicked look glinted in Shane’s eye as he looked at Ilya, questioning.
‘ My Shane isn’t someone who gives up anything easily. I have fought for every single win with bloody teeth. He doesn’t take anything lying down. When I say anything, I mean ANYTHING.’
He exaggerated the last G, ending in a smug smirk. The cameras went off in a frenzy.
His phone beeped furiously; he could see it light up with a message from Harris.
‘ Did you seriously insinuate that you are a bottom on National TV?’
Followed by a laughing emoji from Troy.
Shane’s grip on his hand tightened.
Anger, Ah! His plan had worked. Maybe a little too well.
He looked up at him through his lashes, with a fake, shy smile. He knew this would be the picture they'd print tomorrow.
Color had returned to Shane’s face, and he was solidly present in his body again.
Present and furious.
AHHHH, fuck.
.
.
.
The drive home was technically silent, but he could hear Shane vibrate.
Both of Shane's hands were clenched around the steering wheel, while Ilya lounged in the passenger seat.
‘Shanya, you look at the road as if it cheated Yuna in a deal.’
Shane didn't reply.
‘Like it said, ginger ale is stupid drink.’
‘You told the country I rail you!’
‘I said no such thing, people make meaning…is in the eye of the beholder.’
Shane shot him another murderous look.
‘ There is my man,’ Ilya purred, ‘ anger is much better than anxiety.’
Realization flickered across Shane’s face, this fuckig beautiful, exasperating man had anticipated what he was thinking and stopped him from spiraling before he even began.
He had noticed the anxiety creeping in, the tendency to dissect his every move till he would inevitably find himself guilty. And instead of comforting him gently, Ilya had dragged him bodily back into himself through irritation and innuendo.
As always.
‘You are impossible,’ Shane muttered, but Ilya could sense fondness in it.
‘Yes’
‘And possibly insane,’
‘Oh, you love it, you want to kiss me now.’
Shane could feel his resolve crumble and anger fade.
‘ I want to strangle you.’
‘Same difference, is foreplay.’
By the time they made their way through the threshold of their house, Shane’s anger had morphed into desperate desire.
Their fight dissolved into clashing mouths and reverent touches like it always did.
‘Let's not make a liar out of you Rozanov.’ Shane growled at Ilya when the latter tried to prep him.
Ilya looked at him wide-eyed. He had obviously bottomed before. Only for Shane, but it was a rare enough event that the novelty had not worn off.
Shane looked at Ilya, grappling with the command thrust upon him when Shane flipped him over.
Lips ghosting over his cock, fingers gently prying him open till he was pliant and accepting.
Shane twisted his hands in Ilya’s curly hair as he gently made his way into Ilya.
‘Shane, Shane…. Ilya desperately chanted,
‘ Maybe strangle me after all?’
.
.
.
Hours later, Shane had finally fallen asleep.
Ilya looked and felt thoroughly wrecked.
His curls were sticking up in all directions, his lips were swollen, and dark bruises were blooming across his neck and collarbones. He stretched against Shane’s sleeping back like an overfed tiger.
Bottoming or not, Shane never gave up his little spoon status.
Ilya pressed a quick kiss among the scratches littering his broad back and reached for his phone.
Ilya was a man on a mission.
He had been thoroughly loved, and he was in the mood to share some of the lovin’.
He chuckled to himself.
Over the years, he had become a relatively responsible public figure online.
Mostly due to Mama Yuna taking him under her terrifyingly competent wing regarding endorsements and PR.
Also, because Harris had threatened bodily harm on multiple occasions if he did not follow the guidelines set by their team.
Some things were worth risking death for.
And if it stopped people from questioning Shane’s integrity every five business days, Ilya would gladly lay his life down on the line.
He went to the archived posts on his Instagram
Years' worth of hidden-in-plain-sight posts flooded quietly back onto his page.
These were pictures from a time when Ilya couldn't claim Shane as his publicly, so he kept a bunch of cryptic posts detailing their life together.
He had naturally archived these once they came out, and started publicly appearing as boyfriends.
‘Fiances soon!’ Ilya giddily thought of the small velvet box he had kept hidden at the bottom of his drawer.
He scrolled down till he reached the very first picture.
A simple black plate with 8 burgers stacked on it.
He unarchived it and captioned it.
“2nd best in hockey, not math.”
Then he tagged: @Shanehollanderhockey
.
.
.
Shane was woken up by his phone, nearly vibrating itself off the nightstand.
He squinted sleepily at Ilya, who was looking at him with a serene expression on his face.
Not a good sign.
‘Ilya, what did you do?’ he asked, voice rough with sleep.
Ilya shrugged, one hand shoved into his boxers.
‘Nothing’
A lie.
Shane’s phone vibrated again.
He groaned and unlocked the screen.
At first, the notifications made no sense.
He had been tagged in dozens of mundane pictures.
A blue yoga ball.
Two cups of coffee.
A Massive KFC meal next to a green smoothie.
Anya as a puppy.
Blurry sunsets at the lake.
Two plastic rings on a nightstand.
And then it hit him at once.
The archived posts.
Years worth of them.
All back online.
And now every single one carried the same tag:
@ShaneHollanderHockey
Stories from a time when Ilya couldn’t love out loud.
They would be too easy to read. So he had loved him, completely but silently.
Until now.
The comments had already started to spiral into hysterics.
@69for81: Was Burger Gate 10 years ago? What do you mean, it was Shane?
@hollanov4ever: I knew I was not a bastard! My dads are married.
@Ilya’scheekmole: the plastic rings? I am unwell.
Shane understood what Ilya had done. He hadn't posted a grand declaration of love.
He unveiled what had always been true.
There was no Ilya without Shane.
No Shane without Ilya.
Not really.
Not even back then.
Behind closed doors at first.
Now openly, shamelessly, in the sun.