Chapter Text
Shane goes through his mental checklist again. The trash is empty, the dishwasher is running, Anya is at daycare, his bags are packed neatly in the trunk, Ilya’s bags are…not in the trunk. “Ilya!” Shane leans against the entryway to their garage. The clock in their kitchen is visible from here and they’re running behind schedule. He takes a deep breath. As long as traffic is light and they hit all green lights they should be fine.
“What!” Ilya yells through several walls.
“We’re going to be late!”
“Is fine!”
“It’s not fine!” He marches through their house and up the stairs. He finds Ilya in their bedroom, sitting on the floor where their bed used to be. Their old bed frame is boxed in the corner already dismantled. Dozens of tools and various types of hardware are strewn haphazardly across every surface. Their mattress is leaning against the wall, their bed still fully made. Shane bites his tongue and the lecture threatening to roll off it. They don’t have time for this.
“Are you even packed?”
“For the most part,” Ilya doesn’t look up as he hammers two pieces of wood together.
One, two, three, four, five. Shane lets out the breath he was holding. He walks into their closet and grabs Ilya’s bag. It’s unzipped and feels light. Well, he huffs, if Ilya doesn’t have what he needs, it’s his own fault. He marches out of their closet. “I’m leaving with or without you!”
“Wait— OW! Yebat’.”
Shane instinctively stops to make sure Ilya’s not dying. He’s not. He’s hopping on one foot, cursing in Russian as he waves the hammer around. “Are you okay?”
“Da!” Ilya breathes deeply and sets his foot down. He limps to Shane and grabs his bag. “I am not done.”
“Packing or building our new bed?”
“Both.”
Shane glares and a smile slowly stretches Ilya’s face. “Not funny,” Shane crosses his arms and looks away. He hears a thud on the ground and assumes it’s Ilya’s bag.
“What?” Ilya's hand cradles Shane’s face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “It come when you drop Anya at daycare, is no better time to start.”
Shane shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips.“We’re going to All Star, Ilya.”
“Exactly, we need new bed to celebrate win after.”
Shane thunks his head against Ilya’s shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut. “Can you please, just…” He can’t find the words he needs. This weekend needs to go smoothly. Ever since they came out, Crowell has been breathing down their necks. They fully expected to sit this All Star out, sharing equal amounts of surprise and delight when fans voted them in. Turns out, they have a new, very loyal fan base that doesn’t watch the Centaurs for the hockey. “Please,” he settles on.
“Okay,” Ilya kisses his temple softly and Shane immediately deflates. “I am sorry, we go now.”
“Thank you.”
——
They arrive at the airport ten minutes late. It’s not the end of the world, but it sure feels like it to Shane. It’s only one thing off schedule, but this one thing affects the next thing and the thing after that. Next thing you know, everything’s spiraling out of control. How is the weekend supposed to go right if everything starts off wrong? Shane all but shoves their luggage at the sky cap, immediately wincing at his own rudeness. “Thank you,” he nods to them.
“Of course,” they say in their painfully obvious customer service voice. Guilt rolls off Shane in waves and he shoves his hands into his pockets.
The automatic doors open for him and he enters the private airport. Ottawa is a small city and the lobby reflects that. The tile is a bit dingy and the leather sofas are lived in. Not to mention the size, like the city, it’s small, looking full with their measly group.
Their group, consisting of Troy Barrett, also voted in by fans, Luca Haas, invited by the league to play in the rising stars game, Amy, the head of team logistics for the Ottawa Centaurs, and Shane’s parents, all light up at their arrival.
“Finally,” Troy grumbles, standing up from the sofa.
“We’re sorry, everyone,” Shane says. “Right, Ilya,” he whispers.
“We are sorry we are like five minutes late.”
“No worries,” his mom says, giving them both a hug. “They’re still loading our bags, we couldn’t take off anyways.”
“Alright,” Amy says. “Now that everyone's here—“
“Harris isn’t back yet,” Troy interrupts.
“See, we are not even last one here,” Ilya whispers. Shane elbows him.
“WOOF!”
Ilya gasps and spins around. Chiron is pulling Harris through the front doors, making a bee line for Ilya.
“Chiron!” Ilya crouches, letting him lick his face. Shane’s lip curls in disgust.
“Sorry, guys. I wanted to let him out one last time.”
“Shane,” Ilya looks at him with puppy dog eyes.
“No.”
Ilya pouts. “We have to go back.”
“Absolutely not.”
“But Anya—“
“Will have fun at daycare.”
Ilya pouts all the way to the plane and Shane soothingly runs a hand along his back. By the time they get to their seats, Ilya has the dog daycare cam pulled up. Shane huffs a laugh and pulls out his tablet.
This is going to be a long weekend.
——
It’s late when they land in Toronto, the sky pitch black but the city glowing. They squish into another vehicle, Shane’s knee protesting yet another cramped quarter. It’s an old injury that acts up from time to time and Shane’s silently glad he packed his IcyHot.
“You okay?” Ilya asks. Shane nods, rubbing his knee. “Is knee hurting again?”
“It’s not too bad.”
Ilya hums disapprovingly. He opens his mouth and Shane knows he’s going to get a lecture again. It’s the same lecture he’s heard a thousand times about overdoing it, they’re not rookies anymore, he’s going to hurt himself further, how can they have mind blowing sex if they fall apart before retirement.
Shane hopes Ilya spares the last part in front of his parents. Thankfully, his mom beats him to it, scolding him like he’s twelve again. Ilya smugly nods along and Shane fights the eye roll. Ilyas one to talk. He survived last week on a diet of Hot Cheetos, Coke and McDonald’s—but don’t worry, the Coke was diet.
The hotel is only twenty miles from the airport, but it takes an hour with traffic. Somehow, his mom manages to lecture him the whole time. Shane is thankful when the ratio of black SUVs becomes greater than the regular cars. They're finally here.
The black SUVs line the street one after another, waiting their turn to enter the hotel driveway. By the time their car makes it to the front, the line for hotel security is through the door. Of course, Shane sighs, more waiting. He stretches his knee out as they stand in line. As annoying as it is, Shane understands the necessity. If you put the league's best and richest athletes in one place, you gotta keep the weirdos out.
Ilya wraps an arm around his shoulders and Shane resists the urge to lean away. Since they came out, Ilya has been increasingly more affectionate, especially in public. After years of hiding, Shane still struggles to reprogram his brain, to remind himself it’s okay now, it’s safe, they don’t have to hide anymore.
He takes a deep breath and leans against Ilya, enjoying his familiar warmth. He refuses to hide or cower anymore. “Will go quick,” Ilya murmurs into his ear, reading his earlier thoughts.
“I’m thinking room service and a movie?” His hand finds the small of Ilya’s back.
Ilya hums. “I like this idea.”
They reach the front of the line and Shane drops his duffle bag on the conveyer belt. It slides under the scanner as Shane’s directed through the metal detector. As expected, neither he nor his bag sets off security. He grabs the duffle and swings it over his shoulder.
“Shane,” Ilya says, “look how cute.” He follows Ilya’s gaze and finds a beautiful German Shepard standing at attention. “I hope I did not pack my cocaine.”
Shane claps a hand over his mouth. “You’re so loud.” Shane feels Ilya’s grin underneath his palm, his eyes glinting with mischief.
The scanner beeps and the dog's ears perk up. The security guard grabs a bag off the belt and sets it on a table. “That’s your bag,” Shane hisses, his whole body tensing up. “What did you pack?!”
“Not cocaine?” He shrugs. “I do not think.”
“Do we have permission to open this bag?” The security guard asks.
What a stupid question, they’re going to open it anyway. Ilya nods and Shane silently prays the scanner malfunctioned and they don’t find anything. This is the last thing they need with a million witnesses around, two of which are his parents. The guard reaches in the bag and Shane holds his breath, almost afraid to look. Knowing Ilya, there’s at least a sex toy, or a million condoms, or a gallon of lube or…
A hammer?
Everyone stares, completely dumbfounded. Why the hell did he bring a hammer? The bed. Shane’s the first to break the silence, a laugh bubbling out of him. “You’re an idiot.”
“You can’t bring this into the hotel.” The security guard says. “It could be used as a weapon.”
“Sorry,” Ilya grabs it, flashing a smile as if it’s completely normal to pack a hammer in your suitcase. He runs it out to the car and Shane swings Ilya’s duffle bag over his free shoulder.
Fully entering the lobby, it’s chaos inside. Signs are everywhere, welcoming the NHL to All Star. Several information booths line the wall, instructing guests to ask them about the city and arena. Players greet their old teammates, agents bustle about, and family members lounge around. A kid squeals as a player—who Shane hopes is the kid's dad—snatches him up and swings him through the air.
They find Amy waiting for them by one of the couches. “How’d you beat us here?” Shane asks.
Amy only shrugs. “My driver’s from New York.” She hands them an envelope with their names scrawled on top. “Here are your room keys.”
“Thanks,” Ilya grabs them.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. What time do you want security to meet you in the lobby?”
“Eight,” Shane says, already dreading their busy schedule tomorrow.
“Great, I’ll let them know,” Amy types something on her phone. “Oh, there they are,” she lights up, looking at something behind them. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow,” she walks off, towards Troy and Harris just arriving.
“Get some sleep,” Shane yells after her.
Amy laughs. “We’ll see,” she calls over her shoulder. It’s familiar banter they’ve exchanged at every away game since Shane joined the Centaurs. Amy is great at her job but she overworks herself. Shane doesn’t think she’s ever slept more than six hours, and that’s a good night.
“Shall we…” Ilya waggles his brows, “find our room?” Shane feels his cheeks get hot. He nods and they find the elevator tucked away in the corner of the lobby.
“Do you think they have ice cream?” Ilya asks, rubbing his belly.
“You can’t have ice cream for dinner.” The elevator dings and they walk on.
“You are so boring, Hollander. Is All Star. We get to have fun.”
“And ‘fun’ is ice cream for dinner?”
“Da.” The elevator dings before Shane can tell him that’s not fun, it’s irresponsible.
They get off on the 12th floor and follow the signs to their room. “Room 1-2-2-1,” Ilya cracks a smile. “How fitting.”
The memory of their first All Star rendezvous flashes through Shane’s mind. Shane remembers every detail, he always does when it comes to Ilya. But, “You remember that?”
“Of course,” Ilya shrugs and swipes the key card. Shane notices the slight blush on his cheeks, but doesn’t dare point it out. Ilya clears his throat, “Maybe we…pretend,” he pushes the door open and stands in the doorway, blocking Shane from entering. “Is then, not now…?”
“Yeah?” Shane lays a hand on his chest, an exciting thrill shooting down his spine. He pushes Ilya backwards into the room and the door slams shut behind them. “We have to be quiet.”
“I think you like Hunter listening.”
“Definitely not,” Shane scoffs.
“No?” Ilya’s teeth graze the side of his neck and Shane drops their bags on the floor. “I remember you so desperate.”
“Fuck off,” Shane only tilts his head further and feels Ilya’s hot breath as he chuckles. Ilya’s hands find their way under Shane’s shirt and Shane shivers. The air is cool but Ilya’s hands are warm roaming over his sides.
In one swoop, Ilya hoists Shane up, his strong hands resting firmly on Shane's ass. Shane tangles his legs around Ilya’s waist, ignoring the pain shooting through his knee as it bends. As Ilya carries him further into the room, Shane peppers kisses along his jaw, enjoying the growl it elicits.
Then Ilya stops, he doesn’t move or make a single sound. Shane pulls back to look in his face. Ilya is staring at something behind Shane, his face impossible to read. “What?” Shane asks.
“Nothing,” Ilya sets him down gently. Now Shane is really weirded out, Ilya never passes up an opportunity for sex. “Is small mistake.”
Shane turns to look at their room and his blood boils. Two fucking full beds. “That fucking asshole,” Shane’s already storming out the door, barely remembering to grab their duffle bags. There’s no way this is a mistake, Crowell is sending a message. The fans might want them there, but he sure as hell doesn’t.
Every second he waits in the elevator, his anger grows exponentially. He taps his foot aggressively against the floor as the numbers count down. Ilya places a hand on his back, it does little to calm him.
Finally in the lobby, Amy is gone, hopefully to bed for some well deserved rest. That’s good, Shane doesn’t know if he can control his anger. He skips the line for the concierge, call him an asshole, he doesn’t care anymore.
“You gave us the wrong room.”
“Uh,” the desk lady, Linda, looks up from the customer she’s helping. “I’m sorry, Sir, as you can see,” she gestures to a young man glaring daggers into him. “I’m with a guest right now. Someone will be with you shortly.”
“No!” he slams his hands on the desk and Linda jumps slightly. Ilya rests his hand over Shane’s and he forces his fist to unclench. He takes a deep breath. “Sorry.”
Another woman comes from the back room, hopefully a manager. “What seems to be the issue here?” She asks.
“We have a reservation for a king size bed and we got two fulls.”
“I can see how that would be very frustrating. Let me take a look,” she moves to the available computer on the left and quickly logs on. Shane follows her over, resting his arms on the counter. She asks for their information and Shane gives it to her. Ilya runs a hand along his back as she types. “It appears someone switched the rooms last minute. Would you like to switch rooms again?”
“Yes,” he keeps his voice as even as possible. He was right.
She types on the computer again and Shane taps his finger against the counter. “It would appear we are fully booked. However, we can get a team to push the beds together.”
Shane face plants on the counter. This cannot be happening. He clenches a hand over his chest, willing his lungs to fill with air. A hand finds the nape of his neck and he focuses on the rough calluses and the warmth it radiates. The thumb starts tapping, one, two, three, four, five, pause, one, two… he follows the count, timing his breaths with the taps until it evens out.
Shane lifts his head up, afraid to look around and find prying eyes. He focuses instead on Ilya and his steady gaze. “We will figure it out, okay?” Ilya murmurs and Shane nods. Ilya takes a step back, turning back to the concierge. “Cancel our room.”
Shane’s eyes bulge. “Are you sure?” The concierge hesitates. Ilya nods, already turning away. He leads Shane to the far end of the lobby, towards the hotel restaurant.
“Ilya?”
“Table for two,” Ilya tells the hostess. She smiles and grabs two menus. “Will be okay,” he finally answers Shane. He places a hand on Shane’s lower back as they follow the hostess. “We call Farrah and get Airbnb.”
“That’s…a good idea,” Shane relaxes under his touch.
Ilya shrugs as they sit down. “Look,” he grins at the menu. “They have ice cream.” Shane shakes his head but can’t keep the grin off his face.
——
Farah is a magician. By the time they finish dinner—a real dinner where Ilya eats real food and not just ice cream and Shane eats…some food, or at least enough for Ilya not to bring it up—she’s found and booked an Airbnb. It’s late by the time Shane’s able to collapse on their king size bed with soft silk sheets.
The bed dips beside him and arms wrap around him. “Thanks,” he finds Ilya’s hand and laces them together. “For fixing this,” he turns his head, meeting Ilya’s hazel eyes.
Ilya lifts their hands, kissing their fingers softly. “Is one small hiccup. Now, we restart and everything follows your plan.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Shane nods, hoping Ilya’s right and fearing he’s not.
“I know,” Ilya grins, Shane punches his arm.
A moment passes before Ilya leans over Shane. “Now, where were we?” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Shane’s neck. Shane cards his fingers through Ilya’s curls, a moan escaping him as Ilya bites down. A hand covers his mouth and Shane furrows his brows. “Shhhhh,” Ilya says dramatically. “Scott Hunter is right next door.”
Shane rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he mumbles into Ilya’s hand.