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Ilya couldn’t hold back anymore. He had promised Shane he would stay out of any conflict on the ice Shane got involved in, but this time it was different. They were playing against Montreal, and Ilya had his guard up so high, willing to risk it all to stop them from trying to fuck with Shane. Ottawa was not losing against them.
Ilya skated closer to Shane and Comeau, ready to try break off whatever shit talking was going on, using every ounce of the little restraint he had left.
“Starting to think you have a crush on Shane, Comeau.” Ilya teased, “Can’t keep his name out your mouth.”
“And you can’t keep him out of yours, Rozanov.” Comeau spat.
Ilya took a deep breath, laughing humourlessly, “Unbelievable.”
“Hey, Rozanov?” Comeau started.
Ilya looked to him, brows furrowed, waiting for whatever bullshit he was about to leave his mouth.
“Was it worth it? To leave Boston to be on the world’s shittiest hockey team, just so you could stick it in Hollander more often?” Comeau asked.
“Yes. Was the sex with all the prostitutes worth your wife leaving you?” Ilya quickly asked back.
Oh, fuck. Shane thought.
Comeau paused for a second, shocked at Ilya’s words, before he lunged forward, striking the right side of Ilya’s face. The two immediately broke out into a brawl.
Shane wasted no time before he jumped in, throwing hits at Comeau whilst trying to push him away from Ilya. Ilya didn’t let much distance grow between them though, keeping close to Shane. Ilya tried to throw a jab, but Shane moved him out of the way. This was his fight now. Ilya let him have it, whilst still staying by him.
“Fucking pussy! My fucking mom could hit harder! Come on!” Shane yelled out between swings. “Suck my dick! You homophobic asswipe!”
Comeau swung, but Shane dodged it, throwing a right hook back at lightening speed. Comeau hit the ground, and a ref blew the whistle. Ilya grabbed Shane’s waist, pulling him back whilst he struggled.
***
The pair entered their home, dragging in their bags behind them, throwing down keys onto shelves and kicking their shoes off. Ilya was tense and on edge, just waiting for Shane to erupt.
“Ilya.”
Here we go, Ilya thought, bracing himself for Shane’s usual lecture.
“I can handle myself. You jumping in every time isn’t a good look. Please, let me deal with my shit.” Shane snapped, though it was a demand rather than a request.
Ilya knew Shane could handle himself. He didn’t doubt it for a second. Just because Shane didn’t fight, didn’t mean he couldn’t. He could always handle his own, he wasn’t afraid to chirp at anyone. But sometimes Ilya just couldn’t stop himself from getting involved.
From the moment the pair were outed as being in a relationship, there were a handful of players who used ‘friendly fire’ as an excuse for hateful comments. Homophobic insults were spat once or twice, and Ilya was not just going to stand by and listen to some shit hockey player insult the most important thing in his life.
“I would do same for any other teammate.” Ilya shrugged. “Maybe with you it’s just… more passion.”
Shane stood to face Ilya, hands resting on his hips with his adorable angry face, “Yeah, well… I had him.”
“I know, baby.” Ilya cooed.. “You were out for blood, my love. I would hate to fight you!”
Shane’s expression didn’t move. Ilya ran a thumb over Shane’s cheek, “But you know me. I cannot stand by and let players shit on my team, let alone my husband.”
“Well, let your husband handle his own shit, Ilya. I mean it”
“Don’t be mad at me.” Ilya whined, “I can’t take it right now!”
“Stop doing things to make me mad.”
Ilya looked over to Shane with his puppy dog eyes, “Baby. My Solynshko. I’m sorry!”
Shane had that man wrapped around his finger.
Shane’s face finally broke into a smile, leaning in to plant a kiss on Ilya’s lips, “I guess I can’t be surprised when Rozanov opens his big mouth.” He playfully shoved Ilya.
Shane yawned, reaching up to wrap his arms around Ilya. The day had taken it out of him.
“I’d probably do the same for you.”
Ilya laughed, “Yes. Probably. Definitely. So you cannot tell me I cannot do it!”
Shane gazed up at Ilya with the most smitten look, and Ilya was sure Shane’s eyes actually held stars in them, the way they sparkled.
Shane ran his thumb gently over Ilya’s already swollen cheekbone, “That’s gonna be a black eye tomorrow.”
Ilya shrugged, “Hmm… I’ll look like hot bad boy.”
Shane rolled his eyes.
“We can make a deal. I will let you handle things, until it is too far. Okay?” Ilya kissed Shane’s forehead, “But I will never not be an asshole. Is in my blood.”
Shane giggled, pressing his head to Ilya’s chest “Okay, baby.”
Ilya’s heart completely skipped a beat, and melted into a puddle.
“Truce.” Shane said before walking away, headed to the living room to start folding clothes they had washed earlier.
“Wait.” Ilya said, taken aback.
“Hm?” Shane called back.
Ilya turned to chase after him, holding onto the back of the sofa and staring forward at Shane, “What did you say?”
Shane’s cheeks went red, but he kept his composure, folding up a dress shirt, “Oh, uh, truce? It means like… an agreement, I guess? Like, we’ll stop fighting about it. We’ll-.”
“No, no. Not that. Before.” Ilya interrupted, and Shane looked confused, until he realised the slip of the pet-name, and his cheeks flushed red.
“I said okay.” Shane said quietly, embarrassment in his voice.
“Uh, Shane Hollander, do not do this right now. Say again.”
“Hollander-Rozanov.” Shane corrected, not looking up to meet Ilya’s eyes.
Ilya moved his hands from the sofa, walking around to stand behind shane, reaching an arm around and smacking the dress shirt down onto the sofa. Shane threw his hands up, turning to face Ilya.
“Ilya! You’re going to crinkle it!”
“Say it again.”
Shane gazed up at Ilya, “I said baby. What’s the big deal, weirdo.”
Ilya bent down to grab Shane’s thighs and lifted him up, wrapping his legs around his waist.
“What’s the big deal!? You never call me this. I love it.”
“Yeah, I never will agin if you make this big of a deal.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I love it. Say again.”
“Stupid.”
Ilya shot him a glare. Shane tilted his head down to plant a kiss on Ilya’s lips.
“My baby.”
Ilya’s face softened into an expression that only Shane could bring out in him, “Oh, my love!”
”Next time I want to win an argument I’ll just call you baby.” Shane chuckled.
Ilya swooned, “You will win always then.”
Shane kissed Ilya’s lips, before breaking away, moving towards the stairs, “Shower time. Come join me?”
”Only if you call me that again.”
“No. It will ruin the effect of it on you.” Shane protested.
”Not true. Never true.”
Shane rolled his eyes, “Come shower, baby,”
Ilya yelled out in a fake agony, clutching the left side of his chest where his heart was, “I am dead, I’ve died. I love you.”