Chapter Text
Ilya had been feeling high while Shane was on the ice with him. Playing against each other was always exhilarating but playing together? They each knew how to read the other’s body after almost a decade of obsessing over each other. The puck was always where Ilya needed it to be and Ilya sent it right where Shane needed it.
It was euphoric.
And then Shane started criticising his playstyle. Which reached into a territory other than chirping. And it concerned Ilya because this meant that someone had put these thoughts in Shane’s brain and he couldn’t seem to let them go.
And once his PT session ended he was informed by Marley that Shane had an episode on the ice. An episode of what the man could not understand.
So Ilya was waiting in his obnoxiously red Porsche for Hollander to exit the practice facility. When the man finally exited, he hesitated slightly before making his way to Ilya and settling in the passenger seat.
The silence that followed was almost stifling up until fiddled with the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
“Can we talk at your place?”
“It’s our place.”
He corrected softly. Because he couldn’t have Shane doubt their relationship.
They had gone through too much so that an argument on the ice would blow everything up. He started the engine and regretted taking this car for the noise it made when the engine started. Shane needed quiet and because of Ilya’s stupid need for attention, he couldn’t get it.
Ilya would need to buy a silent car. Probably electric. And an SUV. So that Shane felt comfortable enough driving it.
Meaningless thoughts such as these were plaguing his mind until Shane settled on the couch in their living room. He sat next to him, a foot apart to let Shane decide himself if he wanted to move closer. Ilya was studying him closely so he saw before he heard the exhale Shane let out.
“I asked my mom when I was sixteen to be a Voyageur because it was her favorite team and I didn’t want to disappoint her. The coaching style in Montreal wasn’t much different from my junior leagues. They expected me to be perfect so that it could account for me not fitting the norm. Me being Asian should be the only flaw they should be able to find. So Thierault made sure I was perfect.”
The small hitch in Shane’s breath made it almost impossible not to reach out and bring him comfort. But Ilya could also understand that Shane wasn’t in a place where touching him unprompted would be welcome. So he just hummed to show that he was still paying attention and let Shane continue to slowly break his heart.
“I was only given the ‘C’ because you were. It was a purely marketing perspective. Keep the rivalry going. Thierault made it clear that he didn’t agree with the decisions then kept on putting the blame on me when something went wrong. Which meant that people got sloppy. Because I was always there to take the blame. And I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do bag skates until I couldn’t feel anything but my lungs burning and my legs giving out. I didn’t want to—”
A slow tear made its way down Shane’s cheek. Ilya slowly moved to brush it away with his thumb. A gasp escaped Shane’s mouth at the contact and the man practically keeled over to start sobbing in Ilya’s chest.
Once Shane stops needing constant contact, Ilya will be making some calls. Because how dare Thierault put it into Shane’s head that he was anything but perfect? How dare he take advantage of Shane’s will to conform to make him suffer?
“I never actually wanted to be the captain.”
Shane’s small voice from underneath Ilya’s chin made him listen intently, focussing on the conversation instead of his need for revenge.
“I never actually wanted to be captain. I just wanted to be a guy on my mom’s favorite team. Make her proud.”
Ilya understood the feeling wholeheartedly. That is why he didn’t dare do anything but run a comforting hand back and forth on Shane’s back. Ilya understood the feeling of wanting to make his mama proud. It is something he carried with him everyday but that is so difficult to voice out loud.
“I want you to understand that I thought that was just hockey culture. Until today, I thought being captain of a team meant taking responsibility for every action but share your wins. Nothing was really mine in Montreal unless it was disappointment. And you never seemed to have that when you talked about your team. But then I never said anything either. I just assumed everything was the same. It felt like everything was the same because it was the same in Juniors. I’ve heard things about Toronto, Winnipeg, Edmonton, everyone really. Everyone but Ottawa. But at the same time, it’s Ottawa so I thought that’s why they don’t get shit done.”
A small hiccup made Ilya squeeze Shane in a hug to remind him that he was still listening. Still there for him.
“That’s why I shouted at you about flashy plays. Because it is an argument that I have heard a thousand times. Never make it about yourself, play for the team.”
When Shane stopped talking, Ilya prompted him to continue. Because he wasn’t on the ice when Shane had the ‘episode’ Cliff was referring to. And Ilya now dreaded what he heard because it meant he would be committing multiple murders.
“What happened once I left?”
He asked gently. Shane’s breath stutters, before he shakes his head. Ilya understands the conversation is done for the day. There’s only so many emotions Shane can voice at a time.
So Ilya slowly maneuvers them around until Ilya is lying on his back on the couch, with Shane held tightly in his arms, face pressed in his chest.
Ilya listens to Shane’s breath until it evens out before allowing his own tears to escape.
Ilya knew that Montreal had a reputation to be old-school, but most original six teams do. That included Boston, so Ilya didn’t think much of the talk surrounding the coaching style. Now he wished that he had paid more attention. Maybe ask Shane questions to understand just how fucked up things were in Montreal. Maybe Ilya could have managed to bring Shane to Boston earlier.
Sure, they weren’t anything concrete before this year. This week really.
By Shane’s reaction when Ilya said his name the first time, their relationship might have ended once Shane did get to Boston. But Ilya would have taken the heartbreak of a failed relationship over seeing Shane destroy himself and not understand his worth in Montreal.
Now, this meant that Ilya will need to explain how to behave to Shane to the locker room without seeming like he was privy to information the others weren't. Maybe he could play his captain card and tell them he forced Shane to reveal what had caused the mishap and the attitude on the ice. It certainly fit the asshole persona he had been projecting for years. Even if the team now knew it was exactly that, a persona.
And then he would need to explain to them that there is no more Montreal team because he killed them all for ever deciding to hurt Shane. Maybe not Pike. Shane would be mad if the father of his godkids were murdered by Ilya. Nevermind that he was his best friend. So Ilya would need to explain to the room that they head to play only one Voyageur because the others were disgraces of human beings that shouldn't be able to walk on the Earth because they hurt his Shane.
—-
Shane woke up with a steady beat in his ear and a warm weight around his waist. As he slowly came to, he recognised the Russian he had come to fall in love with, unwilling to let Shane move even an inch in his arms.
As he remembered what happened during his first practice with his new team and the conversation that he had with Ilya after that, he found himself unwilling to move from the safe cocoon he was in.
Maybe if they stayed like this forever they would find them in a couple million years and identify them as a couple. No other strings attached. No hockey. No homophobia. No nothing. Just two people who died in each other's arms.
Shane must have fallen asleep again because he was brought back to the world of the living by soft kisses in his hair and on his temples.
“Solnyshko, it is eleven am and we have a game tonight.”
And now Shane was wide awake. He hadn’t started his routine. He hadn’t started his routine that he had ever since his first pre-season game in rookie season. He hadn’t drunk his smoothie at six am sharp. He hadn't done his half an hour yoga workout. He hadn’t—
“Shh, dorogoy, I can hear you thinking. We start new routine together, hm? You aren't in Montreal anymore, you need to follow our rules now, okay?”
And that sounded nice. Nice enough that he let his mind be tricked by the false logic around it.
“We still need to eat lunch.” He answered grumpily. Because he hadn’t had his morning workout and he wasn't happy about it.
As they made their way to the rink a few hours later, Shane felt good. A type of good he hadn't felt in a while before playing a game. Because Ilya was with him, a hand on Shane’s thigh and the other on the wheel, humming at the Russian song that was currently playing in the car. And they would be playing together. On the same team.
On a team that already felt more like home than Montreal.
Sure, Shane would need to answer questions about practice yesterday, but Ilya would be there. He would steer the conversion away if needed. The man knew him like that.
Once in the locker room, the terms of their bet came to his mind. They always did bet on goals and points during games, but this one had started at the boxing ring and it might be the start of a new tradition if Shane had any say in it.
“Rozanov!”
Ilya slowly turned from where he was talking with his wingers to look at Shane with a raised eyebrow.
“Hollander?”
“Have you decided on the terms of the bet?”
He could see the gears in his head turning. Because this was definitely the time where they usually placed their bets for the night when they were playing each other. But Ilya also seemed to understand that Shane wouldn’t possibly bring that up in the locker room.
So he stood still for a few seconds and Shane enjoyed the view while it lasted. It wasn’t often that he managed to get the other man speechless. He could feel the grin pulling at his lips as more of the room looked around, confused at not hearing their captain’s voice while they were heading out for warm-ups.
“Do I need to refresh your memory? The first day I was in Boston,” Shane paused intentionally because the first thing the two had done was fuck multiple times, have a tuna melt and a breakdown before Shane had a panic attack. But it was fun seeing Ilya’s eyes go through so many emotions. Especially because that wasn’t the official first day Shane was in Boston.
“I beat all of your asses in that boxing ring of yours.”
The room had gone quiet now. Watching whatever Shane had to say. Normally, this much attention in Montreal would get his skin crawling. But right now he was making sure he wasn’t revealing anything about his and Ilya’s situation. And he had full control of what would be happening in the room.
Because these men respected him. Even if they had been on the same team as Shane for two days tops, he already felt more part of the team then he ever had in Montreal after nine years playing for them.
“I bet, that if I won the sparring, I would get starting center.”
The whole room turned to look at Ilya who was slightly gaping at Shane. And the man was even sporting a blush that he could see from the other side of the room! Shane will be using the locker room for a lot more chirping if this is the reaction he got.
“You can’t possibly—”
“No no no. I absolutely can. I make good on my promises, you should know that by now Rozanov.”
And he threw in a wink because he could. None of these men would go farther than chirping him about it. And Shane would happily endure chirping if he kept making Ilya speechless and blush.
“So. You wanna be my winger? Or second line center? I hear you need depth–”
Ilya started crossing the room and stopped right in front of Shane. From up close he could appropriately appreciate the slight dusting of pink on this man’s cheeks that he would deny to the grave.
“I’m the captain–”
“I’m the new guy.”
Ilya’s eye started twitching and Shane knew that it would take approximately thirty more seconds before he gave in.
“Je pense que tu vas te faire assassiner dans la nuit après le match.”
As Shane tilted his head to look at Cliff Marleau on the other side of the room he shot him a grin.
“Donne-lui dix secondes.” And just as expected, Ilya threw up his arms as if he was a child.
“Fine! I will play right wing and Vicky is left wing. Marley goes center on second line.”
Shane looked back at the man in question, currently gaping at him like if he had just performed magic they couldn’t explain.
Shane hadn’t skated on the ice this happy in a while.
As Shane skated to the first faceoff, he could feel the silence in the arena. This wasn’t the move people expected from Boston. When Ilya skated next to him with an unhappy face, ready to get the puck Shane will win, the silence was almost suffocating. Or it would have been in Montreal.
Now, Shane was grinning like an idiot he was sure as a rookie from Arizona that had surprising faceoff stats looked slightly green in front of him. He still tried to chirp him. Shane needed to give him credit where it was due.
“Are you going to be too busy killing each other to win or yes?”
“He’ll behave if he knows what’s good for him.”
And Shane said it just loud enough so that Ilya could hear it. If Shane had his way the night that is going to follow is going to be incredible.
When the puck finally dropped, the rookie hadn’t even reacted to it. Whether it was because Shane chirped back or because of the nature of his chirp he wasn’t sure. If this is what chirping will get him though, Shane will gladly taunt Ilya on the ice to win faceoffs. Ilya would understand.
The ice with Ilya felt unreal. The ice with Ilya on his right wing? Incredible. The stuff of dreams. And this wasn’t just the show put up at All-Stars. This was an actual NHL game that counted for Boston’s playoff contention.
A few seconds in and Ilya was in possession of the puck, Shane hot at his heels. Ilya had two defenders behind him and one in front, trying to poke the puck out of his stick. As he did a sharp turn, Shane could see Ilya putting his advice from months ago to good use, escaping two defenders and sending it to the exact spot Shane’s stick was getting at a few milliseconds later.
As the Arizona defender that was left got in front of Shane, he quickly redirected the puck so that it found Vicky, open at his left. A slapshot later and the puck hit the net and the goal horn sounded, ten seconds into Shane’s first game in Boston. As he crashed into Vicky to celebrate, he felt Ilya crash behind him and he knew this was going to be miles better from Montreal. He definitely hoped so anyway.
The game ended 4-1. Boston won and Shane had two goals and an assist. Coach hadn’t screamed at him about missed plays on the bench. He didn't feel the pressure of being captain. He was just an amazing hockey player in a team with a bunch of other amazing hockey players that just won a game. The high Shane was riding was addictive. He was hoping he could manage to get Ilya in a private place as soon as possible to get it out of his system.
He was pulled into media before he could even make it to the locker room.
“Shane, how are you feeling after the sudden trade? Was it expected for you?”
“My agent called me a few hours before the trade was posted with rumours. I didn’t know I was going to be traded.”
And because Shane wasn’t in Montreal and he didn’t need to be the perfect captain he said what was actually on his mind.
“But I am very happy where I am right now. I doubt Montreal management would think that I would do so good in Boston but everyone has been extremely friendly and welcoming.”
“Are you implying that the Voyageurs traded you to Boston with the hope that you would fail?”
“I’m not implying anything. Just stating truths.”
He smiled and sent a wink. The man in front of him stared and was blushing a little before he moved to the back of the scrum in silence. If Shane could actually fluster the media like this, he was sure he could get away with so much in Boston. He couldn’t wait to mess with everybody’s head.
“Is this lineup going to be official? Is Ilya going to be permanently on your right wing?”
“Well. I’m hoping that if Rozanov can actually keep up with me–”
The sound of a door slamming and loud voices cut off Shane’s answer. Of course, he knew exactly who was coming. He had been hoping Ilya and the rest of the team were watching the media from the TV in the locker room. He was smirking and looking at his left as Ilya entered, his hair plastered to his head, as if he just exited the showers. The pants meant that Ilya had quickly put on part of his suit before making his way out.
“No, no, no Hollander! You can not just spread lies like this!”
“Like that time you said you were the best player in the league?”
“I am best player in the league!”
“I’m sorry. Ilya, do you want to answer the question?”
“He won’t answer it.” Shane looked away from Ilya’s chest with difficulty, looking back at the man with the microphone and camera pointed at him.
“May I ask why?”
“He lost and he doesn’t want to admit it.”
“What exactly did he lose?”
“A sparri—” A hand on his mouth cut him off as Ilya replied for him.
“I didn’t lose anything! He is lying to you.” He started dragging Shane towards the tunnel and threw back over his shoulder, “As captain I’m going to take my player away so that he can’t cause a media panic. Thank you so much.”
The two entered the locker room in giggles, almost falling to the ground with the force of their laughter.
“Hollzy, did you leave all your media training in Montreal?” Wyatt Hayes, their goalie asked.
He was weirdly perceptive and Shane had caught him observing them together a few times. But if the man wasn’t calling anything out that meant he was safe. Shane hoped at least.
“No, this was all very controlled. I timed it perfectly actually.”
“How could you possibly plan that?” Cliff Marlow asked with a disbelieving laugh.
“I don’t share my secrets Marley.”
Coach LeClaire entered and Shane’s spine straightened and he made his way towards his cubby. He didn’t want to be reprimanded for not having an exemplary media appearance, but all Coach did was congratulate them on the win and reminded them of practice tomorrow.
When the man left, the locker room went back to its rowdy nature and Shane almost forgot that he should be anticipating the other shoe to drop.
The team was quick to convince Shane to go out to celebrate. He even allowed himself a beer and an hour of rowdy teammates before he excused himself, making sure Ilya knew exactly what he was doing by throwing a pointed glare his way.
He was followed to the uber he had called and was pressed against the door of their home before it closed. It looks like he wasn’t the only one turned on by playing on the same team and the same line.