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Shane Hollander, for lack of a better word, is boring.
He is predictable. He likes structure, order and meticulously color coded calendars. He likes routine. He doesn’t care for large crowds, he gets worked up when his favorite brand of low-sugar cereal is out of stock. He thrives on structure and predictability.
Ilya loves him regardless. Not in spite of his quirks, he loves him because of his quirks. He is the love of his life. Ilya could map out how their day would go, even before it happened. Shane Hollander is a beautiful, intelligent creature of habit. Ilya knows this, though he occasionally tries to coax him into trying new things, he unabashedly loves their routine. He loves everything and anything Shane, he takes it in stride because it’s second nature. Hell, at this point it is his nature. One day, Young mentioned that Shane basically walks Ilya like a dog. Ilya wasn’t mad at all. Because it was nothing if not accurate. Shane says jump, and Ilya would happily touch the moon. No questions asked.
However, Ilya could maybe count on one hand the amount of times his husband had surprised him.
- When he went out of his way to introduce himself outside of a dingy building in Saskatchewan, before promptly telling him not to smoke.
- When he easily gave Ilya his room number, dropping to his knees to put his dick in his mouth without missing a beat.
- Proposing to him in their living room after a more than traumatic flight that had Ilya re-thinking every decision he’s ever made, regretting how much time it took for them to get their shit together.
So when Shane Hollander, his beautiful neurotic and predictable husband, decides he’s rescheduling his photoshoot to go to a Boodram kickback… Well Ilya feels a little fucking surprised.
“It's fine Ilya,” Shane huffs, “I pushed it to next week. Everyone's fine with it. Stop looking at me like that.”
So, Ilya shuts up and promptly follows his husband up the stairs to get ready for the evening.
“We’re going to smoke. I won't, though, if it bothers you.” Ilya says, as he turns onto Boods street, fingers ghosting over the Porsche steering wheel. Shane sits, unamused in the passenger seat.
“I’m fine with it. Do what you guys normally do.” Shane shrugs, gently picking at his shorts. “I’m sorry I missed so many of these. I’m trying to get better at the whole team bonding thing. I shouldn’t only see them on the ice, you know.” Shane trails off as Ilya pulls into the driveway.
“It’s okay my love,” Ilya puts the car in park, shutting it off. “If you want to leave, let me know. Worst case we get Uber and get the car tomorrow.” He leans over the center console to give Shane a slow, toe curling kiss. When they pull away Shane’s jaw is slack, eyes lidded. Beautiful.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
Like all Zane Boodram events, the music is loud and the team is sprawled across the house and yard. However, this one was a bit different. According to Bood, the fellow Centaur WAGs didn’t feel like dealing with their husbands. So, they decided to grab their kids and shack up at someone's house. Something akin to a girl's sleepover but with more diapers. And the rookies have decided to spend their day somewhere else. So, this was an all male, veterans only affair. Ilya wasn’t complaining, he loved their rookies and the WAGs (and their kids) but sometimes he wanted to hang out uninhibited. Plus, less people at Boods meant Shane could hopefully relax a bit more and not worry too much about good impressions and societal pressures.
They make their way through the house and into the large kitchen, the smell of callaloo and spices hitting them immediately. Bood and a few others are trading stories about god knows what, beers in hand. Ilya can almost feel the bass of the music vibrating through his calves, Bryson Tiller crooning throughout the house and undoubtedly outside into the yard.
“Ah, the Hollander-Rozanovs, welcome welcome.” Bood smiles, throwing an arm around them. Ilya gives him a grin, patting him on his back.
“Yes, yes the party is here, you’re welcome.”
“Wow, here for all of three seconds and making it about yourself?” Troy shakes his head, grinning. “How do you put up with him?” he questions, turning to Shane and giving him a quick one armed hug.
“I genuinely don’t know.” Shane deadpans, earning a chuckle from the boys.
“Whatever, Hollander. You love me.” Ilya teases, walking to the fridge to grab a beer and a ginger ale he knows Bood has stocked specifically for Shane. He closes the fridge and makes his way back to his husband, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. Shane thanks him wordlessly, fingers briefly brushing against his waist.
“Anyway, lets fuckin’ eat!” Bood whoops, clapping his hands together.
“I’m just saying,” Wyatt Hayes coughs out, sucking in a shaky breath as he passes the blunt to Evan Dykstra, “I just don’t think they did the character justice in the movie,” He shrugs his shoulders, leaning back on the arm of the outdoor sofa while readjusting his legs he’s rested in Bood’s lap.
“Oh brother, here comes the fucking elitist.” Nick Chouinard grunts, throwing his head back in feigned annoyance. Ilya can’t help but laugh at the scene in front of him, already aware of how this is going to go.
“Yeah fuck off man,” Troy interjects, reaching to grab his beer off the table. “It was a good movie, just enjoy something for once.”
“You know he can’t ever do that,” Dykstra pipes up, earning a collection of grunts and head nods from the group. “You’ve doomed us to a life of you complaining about comic book adaptations. Please let us fucking live.” Hayes just flips him off before throwing a crumpled napkin at his head.
“I don’t mind it, Hazy, don’t worry.” Shane pipes up from Ilya’s right, shooting a small smile to Hayes.
“See! Thank you Hollzy!” Hayes perks up, gesturing to the rest of the men. "At least somebody loves me! You’re easily my favorite Hollander-Rozanov.”
That earns an eyebrow raise from Ilya almost immediately. “Shane is great but I was here first. And I am your captain, so watch it.” Hayes flips him off too before stage whispering ‘you’re my favorite’ to a giggling Shane. Ilya just rolls his eyes again, putting his arm around Shane to pull him closer on the loveseat, his movements feeling sluggish.
“Ah shit guys,” Troy pipes up, blunt loosely gripped in between his fingers. “Definitely almost done with this. Do we have any more?” The group of men take a moment to look at Bood.
“Fuck, I thought I asked Cassie to roll some before she left. I know we have more bud and wraps, but I’m not gonna lie, I don't know how to roll.” Bood runs a hand down his face, moving Hayes legs before reaching for the small box on the table. And sure enough, he opens the lid to reveal wraps, a grinder and a package of Canada’s finest greenery.
“I thought you said you did?” Troy responds, shifting to avoid Shane as he passes what’s left of the blunt to Ilya. It’s so low it almost burns his fingers, so he makes quick worth of hitting it before he sets the roach in the ashtray.
“Nah man,” Bood just shrugs. “Do any of y'all know how? Otherwise we’re kind of out of luck.”
No one responds while Ilya tries to think about the last time he had to roll. The last few years they’ve mostly done edibles because it was minimal effort but he guesses Bood was feeling fancy today or something. He feels Shane shift slightly, pulling away from his chest.
“I can do it, I know how.”
Ilya can’t help but snap his head to Shane, because what the fuck. Since when did his husband, Shane Hollander, learn to fucking roll.
“Bullshit.” the words tumble from his mouth before he can help it. But really can you blame him? He chances a look at the other men, and sure enough they look equally confused. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to doubt you. Caught me off guard.” He immediately corrects, pressing a chaste kiss to Shane’s cheek. The last thing he wants is to start a fight over something so small. Shane smiles and returns the favor.
“Are you fucking with us?” Chouinard asks, genuinely stunned.
“Bullshit Hollander!” Hayes adds, face stuck between amusement and skepticism.
He watches Shane as he turns back to face the group, his shoulders pulling back as he gets defensive. “I’m serious! Give me the fucking tray.” Bood complies immediately, snatching the tray up and passing it to his right to Chouinard, who promptly hands it past Ilya and into Shane’s waiting hands.
Ilya can see everyone watching Shane with rapt attention, and honestly, he’s no better. Shane makes quick work of balancing the tray on his thighs. He watches as Shane opens the package and pulls out a nug, inspecting it quickly before resealing the package. Deft fingers popping open the grinder and placing the bud inside before resealing it, twisting the small cylinder.
“So, I’m gonna ask the obvious question here.” Hayes starts, readjusting his legs in Bood's lap for the umpteenth time. “Who the hell taught the golden boy of hockey how to roll?”
“My guess is Roz,” Troy pipes up, “He’s a bad influence.” Ilya fixes him with a sharp stare.
“Fuck you Barrett, Yuna would kill me if she thought I taught him this.” He responds defensively, because while he did lead a previous life of partying and whatnot, he did his best to make sure Shane stayed out of that lifestyle. Partly because he was winding down as he got older, but also because… well it’s Shane. It's not his thing.
“Wrong,” Shane pipes up, not breaking eye contact from where he’s been methodically grinding down the bud. He pops the lid gently before dumping it onto the tray. “It was the Metros.” Ilya can feel his eyebrows raise, because well, who would’ve thought. He almost jumps at the chorus of ‘BOOs’ from the rest of the team.
“Explain,” Ilya prods gently, taking inventory of Shane’s face in case he feels uncomfortable talking about his old team.
“Yeah explain, Hollz, we’re nosey.” Dykstra agrees, taking a swig from his beer.
Ilya continues to watch his husband as he methodically splits the wraps, doing his best to make them even and straight. He takes another sip of his beer, eyes following along the delicate joints of Shane’s hands. Ilya watches as his tongue snakes out gently to lick the wrap. He can feel a deep thrum of arousal, watching Shane do something with such delicacy. It’s almost absurd.
“It was a party, sometime around my rookie year.” Shane starts, focusing intently on pinching the finely ground weed and placing it into the wrap. “I, uh, obviously don’t like social things. Everyone was so loud and I was kinda freaking out a bit. J.J. dragged me into the dining room of his place, told me he was going to give me a task to keep me from freaking out. Give me something to do with my hands.” Shane shrugs gently, fingers slowly pinching and rolling as he talks. “Anyway, he showed me one time, made me repeat it and that was it.”
“Huh,” Bood nods his head, “We’ll shout out to J.J. for inadvertently saving the day.”
Shane just laughs, quickly running the flame of the lighter over the edges of the blunt, before setting the tray back on the table and passing the freshly rolled blunt to Ilya, keeping up the original order. Ilya gives him a quick peck on the hand, grabbing the lighter to spark it. “What else are you hiding from me, эксперт?” he laughs out.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Shane laughs, bumping Ilya’s shoulder gently.
“Wait,” Chouinard interjects, sitting forward in the chair to rest his elbows on his knees. “So does this mean you’ve smoked too, or… were you just rolling the whole time.” And honestly? it’s a damn good question, Ilya thinks to himself. He turns his attention from the lighter to look at his husband.
“Yeah, not often though. Obviously. Mostly a special occasion type of thing with Hayden.”
And of course, of course Shane’s smoked with Hayden. Ilya’s not mad, just surprised.
“Well I think this is a perfectly special occasion to see Canada’s pride and joy fucking hit the blunt!” Hayes bellows, a smile on his face. Ilya’s about two seconds away from telling him to fuck off, before Shane perks up.
“Sure, why not?”
Ilya can practically feel his eyes bulge out of his head as he turns to Shane. “Really?” And Ilya’s not going to tell Shane no, he knows he’s in safe hands but he genuinely feels off kilter at this very moment. Shane shoots him a small smile, gesturing for him to pass over the lighter and blunt that he’s been clinging to. So, he lets go.
“Holy shit, this is really like Christmas.” Dykstra laughs out, looking at Troy for confirmation that any of this is happening. Shane just shakes his head before gently tucking the blunt between his lips.
And god, Ilya has never wanted to be a blunt more in his life. He wants Shane’s pretty mouth wrapped around him like that. Right now. Maybe even right here, outside on Bood's deck, in front of all their friends. He watches Shane as he takes one long pull, passing the blunt to Ilya because while he sparked it, he never actually hit it. Ilya could care less about it to be honest, his attention entirely on his husband.
He watches as Shane drops his chin a bit, opening his mouth a fraction as the white plumes of smoke filter out. Slowly, and in a surprisingly effortless way, he watches the smoke curl and make its way up Shane’s nostrils as he takes another inhale, before blowing it out at once.
A french inhale.
Ilya Rozanov’s husband can do a french inhale.
Ilya Rozanov’s husband, Canadian hockey golden boy, Shane fucking Hollander, just did a flawless french inhale.
He can’t even fight back the groan from his throat, eyes locked onto Shane’s mouth. He’s never been more turned on in his entire life.
“Jesus christ,” Bood huffs out, shaking his head as he pats a hand on Hayes’ knee.
“That was… I think the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen.” Troy mumbles, wincing before shooting a glance at Ilya. “Sorry,” the hasty apology gains a choked laugh from Hayes as he tries not to cough up his beer.
Ilya can’t even pretend to be upset, because genuinely that’s exactly how he feels.
“Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”
He can’t help the smile that crawls across his face as Shane turns to look at him, eyes already starting to look glassy. “It’s still me, I just have some surprises up my sleeve.”
And Ilya can’t help but agree. He sure as hell feels surprised right now.