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The reception hummed around them — silverware clinking, laughter spilling too loudly, someone from the team already halfway to too drunk. Waiters walking around serving champagne and finger foods. Chairs thrown around through their backyard in a way he’s sure they’re not supposed to be.
Shane Hollander thrived in chaos he could control.
This was the opposite of that.
It was foreign territory and way too much for him. The night full of speeches and emotions and people staring at him like he’d done something heroic instead of simply falling in love.
Across the room, Ilya Rozanov watched him with unmistakable amusement.
Ilya had exactly one job for the wedding. He’d assigned it to himself weeks ago actually, because when he had asked his fiancé about it —strategically during one very frustrating phone call with the banquet people— Shane had asserted with “I don’t have time to think about that, Ilya. You chose it.”
“Okay,” Ilya grinned, like he had just won the lottery. “You handle everything else. I handle romance.” And he had kissed Shane on the cheek and skipped away.
That should have been Shane’s first warning.
Shane adjusted his cufflinks for the fourth time when the lights dimmed and a collective ooooh rolled through the guests.
He turned towards Ilya immediately.
Ilya looked devastatingly handsome— flushed from champagne, tie already loosened slightly, eyes shining with that dangerous softness Shane had learned meant he was about to lose an argument he didn’t know he was having.
The DJ spoke, “Ladies and gentlemen. Let’s clear the area for the grooms’ first dance.”
Right, it was that time.
Ilya walked straight to him and extended his hand dramatically. Shane squinted at him, “Why do you look smug?”
“No reason,” he looked amused, his eyes sparking prettily.
“Ilya.”
“Moya lyubóv,” Ilya said sweetly. “Dance with your husband.”
That word still hit Shane sideways. Husband.
“Neither of us knows how to dance,” He took the offered hand anyway.
They stepped onto the the designated area, “Dance with me anyway.”
For one suspended second, there was only silence. A few lost whistles from their friends.
The music began. Heavy, familiar beats rumbling through the yard.
Shane looked at his husband, confused, brows furrowed and a question on his lips. Ilya looked back with the most dazzling smile and held onto his waist with one hand, the other clasped firmly on Shane’s own. He hid his face in the crook of the Canadian’s neck, taking in his cologne and natural Shane scent.
Instinctively, Shane lifted his other arm around Ilya, fingers clumsily grasping his arm.
The intro ran for a bit and—
Shane stopped moving and Ilya lifted his face, grinning
Slowly, realization dawned.
“You’re kidding,” He deadpanned.
Ilya’s grin widened, the hold on his husband tightening so he could guide him to move his feet again.
“Nope.”
“You picked—”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Is our song,” Ilya said simply.
“Ilya, that’s not our song,”
“Yes it is. Listen to it, moya lyubóv.” he kissed his cheek warmly.
We could leave the Christmas lights up ’til January.
Shane groaned under his breath as they started swaying. Above them, warm string lights glowed back at him. Not exactly designated as a wedding decoration, they hung permanently since last winter months ago.
Because Ilya refused to take them down.
Because home, with Ilya, had never followed normal rules.
And this is our place, we make the rules.
Ilya squeezed his hand meaningfully. See?
Shane rolled his eyes but pulled him closer anyway.
They had made their own rules through secrecy, long-distance seasons, whispered phone calls after games when saying too much felt dangerous.
The world tried to ruin this, tried to change their own story, to hide them back where they were. Now they danced openly while cameras flashed.
This was their place, their life.
And there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear.
Flashbacks of their first reunions. The curiosity that carried them both through years of encounters.
Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?
Shane laughed quietly.
“13 years actually, and I still don’t understand you.”
Ilya leaned closer. “You are obsessed with me, Hollander.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Married me.”
“Administrative error.”
Ilya’s smile softened because beneath the chirping, Shane’s arm had fully wrapped around his neck, bringing him impossibly close. His fingers tangled at the base of his head playing with his curls with the uttermost loving look on his eyes.
Twenty seconds.
Twenty years.
Somehow both true.
Can I go where you go?
“Never want to be away from you. Ever again. I come to Ottawa for you. Would go to the end of the world too.” Ilya murmured against his lips.
Can we always be this close forever and ever?
“Thank you for never giving up on me.” Shane told him. “I always want to be this close to you, even when I’m afraid”
He pressed their foreheads together, and whispered, “I’m sorry for being a afraid before.”
Years of separate teams. Separate cities. Separate hotel rooms staring at ceilings after losses, wishing the other was there.
They could have always had this.
And ah, take me out, and take me home
“Thank you for giving me a home, my Shane.”
You’re my, my, my, my …. Lover.
Ilya snickered.
Shane muttered, “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“You said the word.”
“I did not.”
“You did. In your head.”
Shane snorted despite himself, “Fuck off.”
But his eyes were already suspiciously bright.
We could let our friends crash in the living room.
Across the room, teammates cheered loudly and raised their glasses.
They could... Shane imagined weekends with their teammates hosting barbecues, playoff grief, celebrations, birthdays.
People everywhere. Laughter.
Takeout containers stacked like trophies.
A life they never thought they could have.
This is our place, we make the call.
Ilya spun him slightly —cautiously and badly— earning laughter from the crowd.
“You didn’t rehearse,” Shane accused.
“I play hockey for living, not ballet.”
“You planned emotional sabotage but not choreography?”
“Correct. Part of your humiliation as my new husband.”
And I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you.
“They can all look all they want. Never get to have you, mine only.” Ilya narrowed his eyes theatrically at nearby guests. “Okay. I take it back. They don’t get to watch you.”
He lifted a hand off his waist to push Shane’s head into his chest and hide him from the crowd.
Shane scoffed. “You’re jealous at our wedding?”
“I am consistent. Got image to uphold.”
Shane shook his head, smiling helplessly.
I’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want ’em all.
And suddenly Shane wasn’t joking anymore.
Three summers since the cottage, three summers since they first said I love you; three summers of almost losing all of this because of fear.
Of wondering if careers or fear or timing would win.
His grip tightened and Ilya felt it— answering by pressing closer until there was no space left between them.
Can I go where you go?
Can we always be this close forever and ever?
Shane swallowed hard; forever used to sound unrealistic.
Now it sounded terrifying in the best possible way.
And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)
You’re my, my, my, my
Lover.
The word echoed through the room again.
Shane huffed weakly. “I still hate it.”
“No you don’t.”
He hugged Ilya until every part of their body was touching. Hand never leaving his curls, grasping for dear life while he fought off tears. “…maybe a little less.”
Ilya beamed and kissed the back of his neck.
Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?.
“Ah. My favorite part,” Ilya gushed.
He gave a confused Shane a dashing smile, and then pushed softly Shane's chest with the hand that was on his husband's waist before, separating them while their hands stayed clutched on one end.
With every guitar string scar on my hand
He extended their arms as if showing him off, gave him a small twirl again, then he brought up Shane’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles,
I take this magnetic force of a man to be my…
before pulling Shane forward again, with force, so they were chest to chest. Hand tight on his waist.
…lover.
Ilya looked up at him openly, vulnerably. Like saying his vows all over again through his eyes.
Shane’s composure cracked.
“Oh no,” Ilya breathed. “You’re crying.”
“I am absolutely not.” A tear escaped immediately.
Ilya’s expression softened into something unbearably gentle.
My heart’s been borrowed and yours has been blue.
“We know blue. We can get through blue. Together. ” Shane whispered to him.
“Don’t know what that means. But okay.”
Shane shoved his shoulder lightly.
All’s well that ends well to end up with you.
Every injury. Every loss. Every fight that ended with slammed doors and desperate apologies; they’d survived all of it.
Ended here.
Together.
Shane laughed shakily through tears. “You planned this exact emotional timing.”
“Is called destiny.”
Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover.
“You are extremely overdramatic,”
“And you married me anyway.”
“…yeah.”
And you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me.
Ilya smirked. “Why make jokes when can just do this.” His hands slid down to squeeze his ass.
Shane barked a laugh, and scolded him with absolutely no heat behind his voice, “Ilya.”
And at every table, I’ll save you a seat, lover.
Ilya leaned in, voice barely audible.
“Always will. From now on.”
Plane rides, award dinners and team events where Shane once sat alone pretending not to look for him.
They don’t have to do that anymore.
They’ll be on the same team now. The world knew about them.
Shane pulled him closer, forehead resting against his.
Can I go where you go?
Can we always be this close forever and ever?
They barely danced now, just held each other as the room faded and the noises softened.
Only warmth of their bodies and their breaths against each other remained.
And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)
You’re my, my, my, my
“You’re mine” Shane whispered.
Oh, you’re my, my, my, my
“Ty tol’ko moy” Ilya whispered back into his mouth
Darling, you’re my, my, my, my
The final note lingered, and they stood there. Not letting the other go, party forgotten in the background.
…Lover.
Ilya gripped his chin and kissed him, so softly and warm, like they had the time in the world. Like they didn’t have their friends and family watching them all around.
Shane made a noise in the back of his throat, hand gripping Ilya's hair tight, and not a single ounce of oxygen left in his lungs.
Shane exhaled, defeated, emotional and utterly gone for this man.
“…okay,” he murmured. Foreheads pressed back together, like magnets.
Ilya blinked, “Okay?”
Shane kissed him again —slow, trembling, but certain.
When he pulled back, voice thick, he whispered:
“You win.”
Ilya grinned, “I had already won. 13 years ago.”
Shane squeezed his hand tighter as applause thundered around them.
And quietly, finally, he said the word without flinching.
“My lover.”