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Shane fiddled with his helmet. He was particular about his gear. He wouldn’t say he was superstitious or anything ridiculous like that, but there were some things he knew with a degree of scientific certainty. For instance, he had to put his left skate on before his right if he wanted to play well, which of course he did. And if his stick wasn’t taped just the way he liked it, then he had no chance of scoring at all. He’d be lucky to get even an assist with a sloppy tape job.
Ilya, however, had none of those qualms. One time, he swapped gloves with Evan Dykstra by accident and didn’t even notice until two whole games later. Shane shuddered just thinking about it.
Maybe if Ilya didn’t have such alarming equipment maintenance habits, he’d have scored already tonight. Which Shane had. He’d hacked in a rebound off of the goalie’s pads. It hadn’t been pretty, but it had worked, and the Centaurs had needed the goal.
It was a tight game against Boston, tied at 2-2 in the third period. The mood was intense, and Shane was fully expecting the game to go to overtime. But, instead of focusing or doing anything even remotely professional, Ilya was teasing Shane about his ugly goal as they sat on the bench.
“Like you could do better?” Shane asked, rolling his eyes.
“You know I can,” Ilya answered with a shrug.
“Fuck you, Rozanov!” A young woman in a Boston jersey screamed from the stands, interrupting them. Ilya turned and blew her a kiss.
“She has a point,” Shane said.
Ilya brought his hand up to his chest, feigning offense. “My own husband. That hurts.”
“Shouldn’t you be playing hockey right now?” Shane asked, taking a swig of water.
There was about a minute left in the game, and Ilya’s linemates were heading out. Ilya, who had been too busy being annoying to notice, jumped to his feet and grabbed the nearest stick.
Shane choked on his water, trying to stop him.
“That’s my stick, asshole!” Shane called after him, but Ilya was already vaulting over the boards and onto the ice. Taking Shane’s perfectly taped stick with him.
Troy sent a pass to Ilya, who knocked it back as a large Boston defenseman came barreling toward him. Ilya dodged and then shoved him from behind. Troy returned the puck, and Ilya went charging past the opposing player, getting cross-checked in the back as he skated by. Ilya went sprawling on the ice, rolling as he slid toward the corner at top speed. He reached over his head and swung his – Shane’s – stick wildly, whipping the puck toward the goal. Ilya slotted it at a sharp angle, sending it skidding past the goalie’s extended leg and into the net.
The entire arena was quiet for a minute, unsure if that had really just happened. Then the goal sirens blared, and Centaurs fans lost their fucking minds. So did the bench. Shane felt Dykstra grab his shoulders and jostle him around.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dykstra shouted into his ear, jumping up and down.
Ilya was still laying on the ice with his skates in the air, a stunned look on his face like he couldn’t believe what he had just done either. Troy and Bood dove on top of him, shaking him and yelling in excitement.
It was an insane goal, an absolutely impossible shot. If Ilya had 100 chances to recreate it, there was no way he could repeat it. It was, as much as it pained Shane to admit, a really sexy goal.
The scoreboard ticked to 3-2, with 28 seconds left to play. Ilya caught Shane’s eye and winked.
Ottawa won the game, and the staff at Monk’s made enough money in tips to cover several months’ rent. After the fourth round of drinks the Centaurs bought at the bar, Shane lost count because Ilya was joking loudly and grinning widely and so infectiously happy. He wasn't even that upset about losing their competition because the only thing he was thinking about was the way Ilya’s smile made his eyes crinkle.
**
The next morning, Ilya’s hangover had him dead to the world. Shane laughed quietly as he kissed his husband on the shoulder.
“Make the room stop spinning,” Ilya mumbled, his voice raspy with sleep. He was rumpled and adorable, but his morning breath was awful.
Anya yipped unhelpfully, ready to start the day despite her dad’s alcohol-induced misery. Ilya groaned in agony.
Shane, who very smartly had not consumed enough beer to fill a kiddie pool, climbed out of bed and took Anya out. When he turned on his phone to check his notifications, he saw he had, like, a million texts. The team group chat was just a rapid blur of chat bubbles.
Bood: Guys, wake up!! Roz is a Twitter meme.
Bood: [sent a link]
Wyatt: Wow, these are really creative! It’s nice to see our fans collaborate like this.
Dykstra: To be honest the ones from Boston fans are my favorite.
Dykstra: Those people are bloodthirsty. I’d fear for my life if I was Roz.
Bood: LMAOOOO
Bood: Will we get in trouble if we post our own? Because I have some ideas.
Troy: Harris says not to share or like anything that is “explicitly sexual” or “seems like it disrespects women.”
Troy: I don’t know what that means. It’s just what he told me.
Bood: What about things that disrespect Roz?
Troy: Harris says those are okay.
Shane: I know I’m going to regret asking, but why is Ilya a meme?
Wyatt: Click the link from Bood!
The link led to a Twitter thread about Ilya’s goal last night. It featured a highly edited video of the play, starting with Ilya leaping over the boards and ending with him on his back on the ice, celebrating while the Ottawa crowd cheered. The clip had elaborate music and digital effects, emphasizing the dejected expressions of the Boston fans scattered throughout the stands as well as Ilya’s shocked face. Shane was in the video too. The music was muted during his appearance so viewers could clearly hear him call his husband an asshole for stealing his stick.
@BostonBearsUpdates
If there’s one thing Ilya Rozanov knows how to do, it’s break the hearts of Boston hockey fans when they least expect it
[VIDEO]
@BigBadBearsFangirl
Replying to @BostonBearsUpdates
I think you meant to say if there’s one thing Ilya Rozanov knows how to do, it’s fuck Boston hockey fans
@BigBadBearsFangirl
Replying to @BigBadBearsFangirl
***Sorry, that was a typo: If there’s one thing Ilya Rozanov knows how to do, it’s fuck OVER Boston hockey fans
@BostonBearsUpdates
Replying to @BigBadBearsFangirl
Neither one is wrong tbh
@BigBadBearsFangirl
Replying to @BostonBearsUpdates
Call me Ilya Rozanov the way I score on my back
@BostonBearsEnjoyer
Replying to @BigBadBearsFangirl
Call me Ilya Rozanov the way I only need 30 seconds to finish
@HollanovForever
Replying to @BostonBearsEnjoyer
Call me Ilya Rozanov the way I hit from behind
@CentaursCentral
Replying to @HollanovForever
Call me Ilya Rozanov the way I touch other guys' sticks
@Mrs_Rozanov96
Replying to @CentaursCentral
(sorry in advance for this one) Call me Rozanov the way I thr-Ilya girl
@RogerRozander22
Replying to @Mrs_Rozanov96
(I’m sorry in advance for this one too) Call me Ilya Rozanov the way I use just the tip
@NotChuckTheBeaver
Replying to @RogerRozander22
Call me Ilya Rozanov the way I go down easy
@UnofficialOttawaCentaursSource
Replying to @NotChuckTheBeaver
Call me Ilya Rozanov the way I perform in the crease
And it just kept going. Tweet after tweet with innuendos about Ilya and some about Shane, each one with tens of thousands of likes and retweets. Their names were fucking trending.
Shane felt a migraine forming behind his eyes. It was bad enough discussing Ilya’s sexual history when it was just the two of them talking about it. Now with all of social media making jokes, he could only imagine how fucking annoying it would be.
Shane’s phone chimed with another message in the team group chat.
Wyatt: Oh no, Shane’s getting turned into a meme now too.
Wyatt: Sorry about that, Hollander.
And then Shane made the horrible mistake of searching for his own name on the internet. He regretted it immediately.
@LiveLoveHollander
Call me Ilya Rozanov the way I’m down bad for Shane Hollander
@ChironFanClubPresident
Replying to @LiveLoveHollander
Call me Shane Hollander the way I have terrible taste in men
@ManicHOE-llander
Replying to @ChironFanClubPresident
Call me Shane Hollander the way this dick so good I got bitches moving to Ottawa
@ShaneHollandaddy
Replying to @ManicHOE-llander
Actually it’s “Call me Ilya Rozanov the way this dick so good I got bitches moving to Ottawa”
@ManicHOE-llander
Replying to @ShaneHollandaddy
Both are true bestie
@ManicHOE-llander
Replying to @ManicHOE-llander
Call me Shane Hollander the way I’d let Ilya Rozanov crack my back like a glow stick
@Mrs_Rozanov96
Replying to @ManicHOE-llander
***Call you like half of North America the way you’d let Ilya Rozanov crack your back like a glow stick
@ManicHOE-llander
Replying to @Mrs_Rozanov96
also true other bestie
@Ottawa(Sin)taurs
Replying to @ManicHOE-llander
Imagine being Shane Hollander, winning multiple Stanley Cups, playing for your hometown team, and getting your back blown out every night by Ilya Rozanov
@Ottawa(Sin)taurs
Replying to @Ottawa(Sin)taurs
Lord I see what you have done for others and I want that for myself
Shane’s cheeks burned bright red, and he silently begged the earth to open up and swallow him whole. He really, really didn’t like people speculating about his sex life. It was private, and what he and Ilya did when they were alone was their own business. He’d thought it couldn’t get worse than it had when Hayden had accidentally outed them in a FanMail video, but the universe loved to prove him wrong.
Shane heard the porch door slide open and Anya trot back inside. Ilya was leaning against the doorjamb, somehow having managed to crawl out of bed. He looked like death warmed over as he nursed a cup of coffee close to his chest.
Shane’s phone dinged again. He didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to read any more cringey posts about himself, so he tossed it on the couch with a sigh, then flopped sideways next to it.
Ilya sat next to him, wearing a pair of boxers and a ratty sweatshirt that said “It's Raining Men, Amen” on it, with little cartoon men falling from a thundercloud. Rose had given it to Ilya for his birthday a few years ago when she had been in Canada to film some indie movie and had come to visit them at the cottage. They’d played Just Dance in Shane’s games room for hours, doing silly moves and arguing over who was better. Rose had objectively kicked Ilya’s ass at the routine for the classic song and had bought him the sweatshirt to rub it in. Shane had laughed so hard he had almost thrown up. He was too embarrassed to laugh now.
“Why did you have to score a slutty goal?” Shane grumbled into the pillow. He narrowed his eyes at Ilya, glaring from behind the hair covering his face.
Ilya frowned in confusion, then shook his head.
“Is too early for you to say weird shit,” Ilya said as he took another sip of coffee.
***
Later that day, when Ilya believed he had recovered from his hangover enough to read things and not pass out from the strain, he checked his own phone. Once he opened up the team group chat, he laughed so hard that he actually did throw up.
As he slumped against the toilet, Shane watched him from the doorway.
“The tweets made me want to vomit too, but I had enough self-control to keep my breakfast down,” Shane said.
“Ha-ha,” Ilya deadpanned. He leaned back against the edge of the bathtub. Shane offered him a cloth to wipe his face and brushed his damp curls away from his forehead.
“You okay?” Shane asked. He filled a cup with water from the tap.
“Better now,” Ilya said. “Are you?”
Shane’s lips curled down, and his nose wrinkled in distaste. “I don’t like when people make jokes about us. Our relationship. They just say whatever they want about something they don’t understand at all and I – ”
Shane cut himself off. He dropped to one knee and offered Ilya the water. “I don’t like the idea of all these people thinking about us like that. Especially our teammates. Yuck.”
Ilya took a grateful sip and smiled. “If it makes you feel better, their tweets were not that funny.”
“Their WHAT?!” Shane asked. He raked a hand through his hair, then opened Twitter again, that godforsaken fucking bird app.
@GrillMasterZaneBoodram
First time Roz has gone viral for something that wasn't a sexually transmitted disease
@Wyatt_Hayes
Replaying to @GrillMasterZaneBoodram
No slut-shaming! We are sex positive here
@DJ_EvanDykstra
Replaying to @Wyatt_Hayes
You know what else is positive? Every STD test he's taken in the last decade
@GrillMasterZaneBoodram
Replying to @DJ_EvanDykstra
Be nice. The last time Roz was in a video this popular it was probably a sex tape.
“No creativity. Just disappointing,” Ilya complained as Shane read the posts. Ilya paused, then grinned. “That could be the name of Bood’s sex tape.”
Shane snorted. “It’s pathetic.” Then he added, “Name of Dykstra’s sex tape.”
And then he and Ilya laughed until Ilya almost threw up again. Shane rubbed his shoulder. He felt bad for Ilya, but because he so rarely had the upper hand when it came to teasing, Shane said, “I always thought you were better at swallowing than this.”
Ilya let out a surprised giggle, his back shaking under Shane’s hand.
He looked up at Shane and said, “Sometimes you can only laugh at these things. I know you do not like it, but some of it is funny, yes?”
Shane chewed his bottom lip, and nodded. “So you really don’t mind the jokes?”
Ilya thought about it. “Some of them I do not like. But this is mostly just silly. Not serious.”
Two texts in the team group chat lit up Shane’s phone.
Dykstra: Sorry about the tweets, guys.
Bood: But we had a responsibility to comedy to post them. They were too funny not to.
Ilya rolled his eyes. “We could do better.”
Shane thought for a minute, then said, “Maybe we should.”
**
@ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer
Call me Ilya Rozanov the way I handle this stick
@Ilya_Rozanov81
Replying to @ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer
Call me your rival the way I arch your back
@HarrisDroverLovesApples
Replying to @Ilya_Rozanov81
One normal day at work. That’s all I ask for >:(
@Agent_Farah_Jalali
Replying to @HarrisDroverLovesApples
You and me both.