Work Text:
Ilya let them into their hotel room and couldn’t even muster up a smile when Shane tried to slam the door behind him but was thwarted but whatever mechanism made the doors close gently. Shane groaned in frustration, and Ilya definitely understood after feeling the same from drawers in their home kitchen.
Instead, Ilya watched as Shane aggressively took off his tie, the ends whipping about noisily as he pulled at it.
“Shane, I-“
Shane held up a hand and Ilya felt himself deflate inside. “Don’t. Not yet. If you talk, I’ll talk, and I know I’ll say something I’ll regret because I’m frustrated… Just… give me a minute.”
“Okay,” Ilya answered miserably.
He didn’t blame his husband for being pissed at him. But he was ready to discuss this. Get it out of the way and move on. He’d had time to register and process what had happened from the penalty box. He was one hundred percent going to apologize, that wasn’t even a question. Ilya was just ready to do it now.
He sat on the bed, taking off his own tie, his suit jacket. He undid the buttons on his cuffs and down his shirt, all the while giving sideways glances to his husband, who was doing much the same, but grumbling, pacing, and throwing shit around while he did.
Ilya felt terrible.
He let himself fall backwards on the bed, and closed his eyes. This was definitely not how he’d planned to celebrate their win. He had missed hotel room hookups, their first away game should have been fun.
Ilya felt the bed dip next to him, and Shane’s hand squeezing his knee.
“It’s really fucking hard to stay mad at you when you look like that lying on the bed,” Shane mumbled. “You could wear an undershirt sometimes.”
Ilya opened his eyes and found Shane staring at him, his face a mix of the scowl from before, and a slight quirk to his lips that told Ilya he might be safe to say something.
He reached for Shane’s hand, curling their fingers together. “I feel terrible. I’m so sorry.”
Shane flopped down next to him, turning his head to look at Ilya. It took everything in Ilya not to kiss his husband. Not yet. He’d learned quickly kissing when Shane was mad wasn’t the best way to get out of an argument.
“Thank you.” Shane let out a loud sigh. “He’s been doing this for years, Ilya. Since our rookie year, actually. Every time we played Chicago, it was always the same song and dance. Whenever I was on the ice at the same time as Leeds, he’d make some comment. They’ve gotten more… personal over the years. I’ve learned to just ignore him, and then show him up by scoring when he’s on the ice. No point doing anything else.”
That admission didn’t exactly make Ilya feel too bad about his action, but he still knew it shouldn’t have happened. “I was not thinking…”
“Not true. You just weren’t thinking with your hockey brain on. You were feeling it here instead.” Shane put his free hand over Ilya’s chest, tracing a heart with his index, and turned on his side.
Ilya couldn’t disagree. He’d been on the ice with Shane for a late power play in a game the Centaurs were dominating. They were up 2 goals, likely soon to add one more to the tally once the puck dropped on the face off Ilya was getting set to take. They were skating about, getting into position, when the player had skated by and insulted Shane so casually the ref hadn’t caught it. Shane’s lips had tightened in irritation, but he hadn’t budged. The puck dropped, Shane shot it, and the goalie gloved it, not returning it to play. And Leeds skated right between Shane and Ilya, dropping another series of words Ilya couldn’t stand anyone saying – much less to his husband – and he had pounced. And cost his team that power play.
Shane had been livid, rightfully so, and had ended up getting taunted even more after for needing his husband to stand up for him. Ilya had felt like an asshole the moment he realized what he’d caused. But Shane had scored twice more after that. The team had teased Ilya about it – their way of trying to lighten the mood – and the media had asked both of them questions. Shane hadn’t exactly had much time to process it rationally until now.
“I get called lots of names on the ice, Ilya. You know how this game gets. They aren’t always as homophobic as that, but you cannot react every time someone’s mean to me. I don’t think coach’ll be happy to see you rack up penalty minutes. Hell, I won’t be happy about it.”
Ilya nodded. “I was excited to play with you and all the fun things that meant, I did not think of all the bad stuff of the game. I would still defend anyone on the team, not just you-“
“I know you would and have. You fucking punched Kent and I wasn’t even there. This is different.” Shane frowned. “I felt like some helpless damsel in distress. I’ve taken care of myself for 10 years, I don’t need my husband to step up for me.”
“I did not want you to feel this way. You can take care of yourself, I know that. He just-“ Ilya couldn’t even put into words how angry he’d gotten. No wonder other players didn’t want their sexuality known so those types of players couldn’t use it against them.
Shane cupped Ilya’s face and kissed his forehead. “I know. This is new to both of us. We need to not let it get to us. There isn’t really a precedent for husbands on the same team, but I don’t think it’ll be the last time this will happen.”
“Not after I reacted that way.” Ilya groaned.
“Hard to argue that.” Shane grazed his fingers along Ilya’s chest to his wedding ring and crucifix, hanging together on the chain he always wore. “I should have warned you though. I knew it was bound to happen… we could make sure to share if we know players on the opposing team that tend to be jerks, just so we know in advance. I can warn Bood too, so he can hold you on the bench or something.”
“That is good idea. Most teams really hate me, though. List might be long” Shane snorted, knowing Ilya wasn’t exactly wrong there. “I should warn you now about this one guy. He is on the New York team, he is so mean all the time to me.”
“Oh God-“
“He is terrible. And I cannot touch him ‘cause he is so old, I might break his hip.”
Shane laughed, and Ilya smiled for the first time since he’d toppled Leeds to the ice earlier.
“Leave Scott alone,” Shane said, poking him gently in the chest.
“I was talking about Vaughan actually.”
“Sure.” Shane leaned in and kissed the corner of Ilya’s mouth. “Sorry I got so pissy about the hit.”
“You do not need to apologize. I deserved it.”
“We did win our first road game together,” Shane mused, his fingers walking about Ilya’s bare chest and abs.
“We did.” Ilya tucked a strand of hair that had come lose from Shane’s bun behind his ear. “You should show your captain how happy you are to be on winning team.”
Shane’s brows shot up. “I feel like my captain should thank me for scoring twice, giving him an assist, and not getting a single penalty tonight.”
“That is a good argument. But is it really enough?” Shane lifted his index and mouthed first star with a cocky little grin that Ilya wanted to devour. “Well, that changes everything.”
He rolled on top of Shane, his hand wrapping around his neck, his thumb drawing the line of Shane’s jaw. “I am sorry for how I acted. You do not need me to rescue you, that is right. But I cannot promise it will never happen again. Maybe not with what guys say, but if you get hurt or something… I just cannot promise I will not do it. But I will try not to.”
Shane’s features softened and a look of pain flashed through his dark eyes. “I don’t even want to think of what might happen if you got hurt. But yeah, we’ll talk it out and the predictable stuff we’ll work on. We’ll talk to the team in the morning. We’ll take the rest as we go.”
Ilya pulled Shane into a kiss, happy they’d managed to resolve this one without too much damage. And proceed to show his husband just how valued he was.