Chapter Text
Chapter One: The Uninvited Guests
The silence in Ilya’s house was a rare, heavy thing. The lingering smell of tuna melts wafted from the kitchen, where two dirty plates and two mobile phones sat on the bench.
Shane had chosen to stay. He was currently sprawled across Ilya’s chest, his breathing deep and rhythmic, his hair a mess against Ilya's collarbone. Ilya had one arm draped over Shane’s back, his fingers curled into the hem of Shane's shirt, holding him while they slept.
Back in the kitchen, Ilya’s phone quietly buzzed against the marble countertop. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
[New Message: Cliff Marlow] Yo, Cap. Team movie night. We’re coming over. Don’t be a dick, open the door.
Ten minutes later: [New Message: Cliff Marlow] Roz? Hello? Fine, I’m using the spare key. See you in five.
The heavy thud of the front door echoing through the hallway didn’t wake them. The sound of shoes and the muffled arguing of professional hockey players about which Fast and the Furious movie was the best didn't wake them either.
It wasn't until the bedroom door creaked open that the bubble burst. Cliff Marlow was two steps into the bedroom and halfway through "Roz, get up, you lazy—" when he stopped dead and his voice died in his throat. Victor St-Simon bumped into his back, peering over his shoulder.
The two men on the bed didn't look like the league’s most bitter rivals. They looked like a matched set. Shane’s face was pressed into the crook of Ilya’s neck, his legs tangled inextricably with Ilya’s.
"Holy shit," Cliff breathed, the words exploding into the quiet room like a slap.
Shane Hollander woke up instantly. His eyes snapped open, wide and unfocused, locking onto the two silhouettes in the room. His heart hammered against Ilya’s ribs so hard Ilya felt it in his own spine. "What—? Who—?" Shane’s voice was a panicked rasp. He scrambled backward, nearly falling off the far side of the bed, clutching the duvet to his chest as if it were a shield.
Ilya sat up slowly, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. He didn't look embarrassed; he looked like a wolf whose den had been breached. He looked at Cliff, then at Victor, and then at the hallway where the rest of the team was undoubtedly hovering.
"Marley," Ilya said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, terrifying growl. "Out. Now."
"Is that—is that Hollander?" Victor whispered, his jaw practically hitting the floorboards.
"I said out!" Ilya roared, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Living room. Give us five minutes, or I will trade you to Buffalo myself." The door slammed shut as Cliff and Victor scrambled back. In the sudden silence, the only sound was Shane’s frantic, ragged breathing.