Chapter Text
It was a warm Wednesday morning in Ottawa, but the clouds in the sky were already promising some showers. The rain would be fitting for the somber energy Shane had weighing in his chest. A gloomy cloud might as well have been looming over his own head as he rushed toward the rink from the parking lot. He was running late, which was unlike him, feeling a little flustered but low in energy. A lethal combination.
He was simply betting on practice lifting his spirits - between the ice, his teammates, and his husband - because his morning was not going well.
Shane had slept in late and woke with a headache. When he got up to shower? He somehow hadn’t previously noticed they were out of body wash. Ilya must’ve not noticed either. Or he had and didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t be the first time.
So, all Shane could really do was sigh and rinse quickly, making a mental note to get more body wash on the way home from practice.
Since moving to Ottawa, Shane looked forward to his mornings with Ilya. It didn’t matter how they spent it: at home, on a run, at the rink, playing with Anya. Every morning was worth waking up for.
However, today Shane could have used a restart button.
He hadn’t even seen Ilya yet. Ilya had left before Shane woke up. Ilya had dropped Anya off at the groomer before heading in early to the rink - something about Harris needing him and some of the others for content.
Shane learned this through a text when he woke up.
ILYA: Anya is with groomer now.
ILYA: Harris wants me to dance and sing for camera before practice. See you at the rink.
Once in the locker room, it took Shane a few extra minutes to dress in his gear, half the team was already out of there.
When he was fully geared up, he slipped out the door, ready to hit the ice.
The smell of the rink had the exact impact on Shane that he was hoping for. It was like a shot of adrenaline in his veins. His brain and body knew exactly what to expect as his senses were filled with the bright lights, fresh ice, and the sounds of pucks being passed.
“Making me look like bad captain by being so late, Hollander.”
The Russian accent he ached to hear all morning rang from the far face off circle. Shane knew Ilya was trying to rile him up, but it had the opposite effect. Shane grinned, skating over to his sweet husband - even if few people saw the sweet side, it was still true.
“It’s been the worst morning.”
Ilya’s careful gaze scanned over Shane’s face, and Shane could almost see the gears turning around and around. “What happened?”
Shane grunted, tipping his head to rest his helmet against Ilya’s shoulder. “Nothing is going right. We’re out of body wash.”
Ilya snorted, patting Shane’s padded hip with his gloved hand. “Okay. After practice, you pick up Anya and I will get body wash.”
“I also woke up late. Why didn’t you wake me up before you left?” Shane grumbled as he lifted his head to look into Ilya’s eyes.
“Shane,” Ilya scoffed. “I’m your husband, not alarm clock. And you are usually so… I don’t know what word. You always do things how you like, never mess up routine, or it makes you crazy.”
Zane Boodram skated by, supplying Ilya with a term, “‘Uptight’ is a good word.” It made Shane roll his eyes.
“Uptight?”
Shane shook his head, “He’s fucking with me.”
Seemingly pleased with the potential of a new word, Ilya asked Shane to define it. “Tell me what ‘uptight’ means.”
“No, you’ll never use anything else to describe me. You can google it later if it means that much to you.”
Ilya’s eyes squinted in defiance before raising and spotting someone over Shane’s shoulder.
“Hey!” Ilya called out to them, legs already moving to carry him away. Shane watched Ilya skate, graceful as ever, approaching Troy Barrett where he was shooting pucks from a pile at the top of the far face off circle.
Troy looked up, slightly startled. Like Ilya had pulled him out of deep concentration. Shane watched them interact for a few seconds, seeing Troy’s brows dip and he could only wonder what Ilya was saying to him.
After so long with Ilya, Shane knew one thing: You could never predict what the Russian man was ever going to say. You could only assume it would be crude or incredibly annoying. A professional ragebaiter.
Shane knew it was probably time he got to work, they’d have plenty of time to mess around later.
Coach Wiebe confirmed Shane’s thoughts as he stepped onto the ice, blowing a whistle and calling them all to gather around.
Yeah, this is just what Shane needed.
—
After practice, Ilya sauntered toward the locker room, chest puffed with a little pride and a grin shining with a lot of it. He was feeling so good about where things were in his NHL career.
He was captain of the Centaurs. He had an incredible team. He got to play alongside his husband.
Even just the day was going wonderfully.
He ran Anya before taking her to the groomer. Then he headed to the rink to play some silly games for Harris to post on Instagram. And he even learned a new word.
Uptight.
Ilya loved learning new English words, especially ones he could use on Shane.
“Moy lyubimyy,” Ilya greeted Shane as he stepped up to his cubby, already stripping himself of his practice jersey.
Shane offered a suspicious, narrow eyed stare in response.
“Moy lyubimyy,” Ilya said again, grin painting wide across his mouth. His eyes scanned over Shane’s pretty face. His skin was smooth as it never seemed to age. Ilya couldn’t decide if Shane was just as beautiful as he was when they first met all those years ago or if Shane just kept getting more handsome each time Ilya looked at him. And Ilya looked at him a lot.
“Say it, asshole,” Shane challenged as he scrunched his nose, probably trying to look grumpy or intimidating, but Ilya only found it endearing. A thirty year old man with a scrunchy, annoyed nose? Yeah, Ilya was so soft for that. “What the fuck do you want?”
Ilya let Shane’s question hang in the air for a moment. He hadn’t even got Shane’s attention for any particular reason. But now there was an opportunity that he was absolutely not going to pass up. “You are so uptight.”
It got the exact reaction Ilya was looking for.
Shane groaned, freckles being splashed red with an undercurrent of his blush. “I’m going to shower.”
Ilya smirked as he watched him go, pulling off the rest of his gear.
He was going to have to thank Bood for supplying him the new word, and then Troy for telling him what it meant. He didn’t even have to google it.