Chapter Text
The hockey world at large knew Shane Hollander as the robot of the ice, the golden boy of pre and post game interviews, the polite, good Canadian of the locker room. Boring shit.
Shane Hollander was not the well-oiled machine the world assumed he was. In fact—Ilya slapped Shane's sweat-slicked ass—Shane was often well-oiled but in the fun way.
"What the fuck was that for?" Shane nearly hissed as he raised his head from Ilya's neck.
Ilya chuckled and massaged the growing pink of Shane's ass. "Is so… like s'mores."
Shane laughed in disbelief, "What?"
"You know," Ilya said against Shane's cheek, nibbling it softly before unlatching. Then he used his fingers and thumb to pump the air like he was squeezing an invisible sandwich. "Oh, Shane. You would not know. It is like gooey marshmallow sandwich. So tasty."
Shane chuckled again as Ilya chomped onto his cheek and sucked on it, letting it POP from his lips as he pulled off. He wiped off the wet saliva from his face as Ilya slid his hands over Shane's hips again. He let out a soft moan as Ilya kneaded him, their naked hips grinding into each other.
"My soft little marshmallow. Cute, tiny котик," he grinned.
"I'm not—" Shane muttered in half gasps, "—your marshmallow."
Ilya licked a stripe across Shane's jaw. "You deny squishy candy, but agree you're my kitten?"
Shane flushed, his freckles gleaming like dark specks on cute chick eggs. Canada's great generational talent was nothing but Ilya's precious pet as long as they remained in bed.
They did not.
Shane smothered Ilya's nose and eyes with kisses, threatening to leave Ilya with beard burn over the expanse of his face. "C'mon, get up."
Ilya groaned and sank back into his pillow. "Nooooo, it's day off," his voice was muffled by the pillow, but he could still hear Shane's fond scoff in response.
"Ilya," Shane was trying to use his scolding Yuna-voice, but Ilya knew a smile when he heard it.
"Shane."
"Harris asked you one small favor," Shane threw the hem of his shirt over his head, fighting the holes of the garment like a feral animal in his tiredness.
The bare ass jiggling in front of him left Ilya a tad unfocused. After finally getting his shirt off, Shane peeked over his shoulder, catching his husband's unlatched jaw. He spun around, letting out a snort as Ilya pursed his lips at the sight of his nude front. "Ilya," Shane scolded.
Waving his hand away, Ilya crawled to the edge of the bed on all fours. His tongue wagged over his teeth as he stared at Shane over his lowered brows. At the edge, he beckoned Shane over with a single bounce of the brow. Ilya's lips traced the light spattering of hair along Shane's thighs, making their way up to his jutting hipbone.
"Ilya," Shane's breathy argument ended shortly as Ilya dropped his knees, grinding on the damp bedsheets.
"Is small favor," Ilya continued Shane's sentiment before they both got distracted with each other. "Harris can wait then."
Shane's head inclined as Ilya's peppered kisses, featherlight pecks, over the arches of Shane's thighs. His nose rested in the crook where Shane's pelvis met his inner thigh—heaven, is what Ilya wanted to call it. Goosebumps bloomed along Ilya's back as Shane's fingers tangled through Ilya's curls. Inching down his neck, Shane massaged Ilya's shoulders and dragged his fingernails along the folds and creases of his back. Ilya returned the favor by rubbing gentle waves and radials along the back of Shane's thighs, under the crease of his ass.
"Ilya," Shane's voice was breathy, just the way Ilya loved it in the morning.
"You want me," Ilya did not ask. "You want my mouth."
He opened his mouth, wide and ready to swallow Shane in a single gulp, but the latter stepped away. There was a slight groan. Ilya wasn't sure if that came from his mouth or Shane's, considering Shane's frustrated twitch of his nose. "It's work-related, Ilya."
Ilya's palms missed the weight of Shane's ass. He dropped his whole body weight on the bed, letting the bed bounce with his disappointment. Starfishing, his head hung over the ledge. "Soooooo boring. Is day off! I'm not hockey player right now. My work is being husband."
The little twinkle of Shane's giggle could light every electric candle if Ilya was gracious to share, but Ilya Rozanov was a greedy man. He lifted his head and Shane dipped down to plant a chaste smooch on his brow.
"Harris asked both of us," Shane said. "We should go to the office together."
He didn't want the scorch of the kiss to leave his skin so he leaned in, and Shane allowed it. "Why did Harris not do his job yesterday?"
The vibrations of a laugh tickled Ilya's eyelashes but he closed his eyes, breathing in the sound. "I'm sure Harris would love that question. Why don't you ask him?"
Ilya's head bounced up and he stared at Shane severely. "No. Harris will kill me."
Shane's laugh started a fire inside Ilya's chest. "He wouldn't." A smirk greeted Ilya as Shane trod backwards towards the en suite. "But he might give you a Chiron time-out."
"No!" Ilya sat up, the despair in his voice echoing in the room. "He can't!"
Shane snorted. "He can, and I'll even tell him how much of a punishment that will actually be if you don't get up right now."
Ilya, honest to god, growled at his husband. Shane thrust his arms out like he was placating a wild animal, which Ilya probably played into too much. They laughed as Ilya snatched up Shane, spinning him around in the room. "You will not take away my Chiron time!"
"I won't!" Shane wheezed, his laugh going too hearty as Ilya threw him over his shoulder. "I'll make sure Harris brings Chiron! I will!"
"You are so bad!" Ilya spanked Shane's ass, to which Shane squealed another laugh. "My love, you cannot take away my children."
Shane crawled down Ilya's shoulder and latched on his torso, wrapping his legs around his husband's waist and his arms around his neck. Ilya's arms held up Shane's thighs and his hands cupping the flesh he so loves to compare to soft and white and tasty sweetness. Damp but soft lips stamped over his nose and Ilya looked up at Shane. He smiled down, his freckles the beacon of Ilya's storms.
"He's not yours," Shane said with a toothy grin.
"Sweetheart, you cannot keep denying Anya of her brother!"
Shane smiled, resting his cheek on Ilya's shoulder. "Anya is also not your daughter."
Ilya gasped mockingly. "Shane, we need to divorce." That got him a slap, which they both laughed from. "Okay, okay," Ilya said like he was negotiating. "If Anya can be our daughter, I will give up on stealing Chiron."
"You were planning on stealing Chiron?" Shane laughed disbelievingly.
"Of course," Ilya responded. "We are better fathers."
"You're unbelievable."
"And," Ilya added with a sly whisper, like this was going to be the best part. "If Anya can be our daughter, you can be my pet."
Shane gaped at Ilya but the latter simply kissed his disapproval away.
"Deal!" He said quickly, like Shane had agreed.
He hadn't. They spent their shower disagreeing about it. And their entire breakfast. And ride to the office. It wasn't an argument serious enough to rage over, but both Shane and Ilya knew they enjoyed the sound of the other's exasperated sighs. It felt almost as good as beating each other in a game, hockey and non-hockey alike.
A shove from Shane and another returned from Ilya received the attention from Bood who'd entered the building behind them, with Dykstra.
"Woah," he tapped both husbands' either shoulder. "What marital spat are we having this time?"
"Did Roz forget to put his socks in the hamper again?" Dykstra smirked as he leaned towards Shane.
Ilya reached over Shane's chest and shoved Dykstra. The latter laughed and maneuvered swiftly over to Ilya's side. They wrestled as boys do when they are bored in lieu of a greeting. Bood slowly moved his hand from Shane's shoulder, noticing early on that Shane preferred less body contact unless you were named Ilya Rozanov. He ruffled Ilya's hair and crossed his arms as he spoke to Shane.
"What are you arguing about now?" He asked. "Is it interesting this time?"
Ilya answered instead. "No. Hollander is so boring, he doesn't understand my great idea."
Shane rolled his eyes, but that only got the attention of the other two men. "It's a ridiculous idea," Shane said, "Like a lot of his ideas."
"Like marrying you?" Ilya teased.
Shane clicked his tongue as the other two winced and opened their mouths to put out a fire. However, Shane got to it first. "That was my idea. And my ideas tend to be good ones."
"Oh, so you think it was good idea to marry me?" Ilya said with a smirk.
"No. It was a good idea for you to marry me." Shane raised his nose in the air.
Ilya scoffed this time. "You stole my idea! Candlelight. On the dock!"
"I did it first!"
"Was my idea!"
"And I beat you to it!" Shane jutted his chin with a satisfied sneer. "Who's the slow one?"
"Still you!" Ilya said, raising his voice. "And I said yes! You won because I let you!" He jabbed a finger at Shane, to which Shane responded by snapping his teeth at it just as Ilya pulled it away.
"Fuck off, Rozanov!"
Ilya cooed mockingly, "Ooh, Hollander doesn't want to admit losing, telling his husband to fuck off—"
"I don't think you can win or lose at proposals," Bood interrupted timidly.
Dykstra nodded with worried brows. "Uh, yeah. In fact, I think this was a win-win situation." He smiled awkwardly while trying to diffuse the tension. "Hollzy, you proposed?"
Shane dodged eye contact and nodded. "Is it not what you expected?"
There was a quiet beat where Ilya watched Shane's expression. The nervousness held in Shane's stiff posture was easy to spot, but Ilya didn't bring it up. Thankfully, Dykstra answered swiftly.
"No." Then he paused and waved his hands violently. "No, I mean– I don't mean 'no' but I just mean…" He scubbed his face. "I just mean that I can't see either of you proposing."
"Huh," Shane said simply.
Dykstra hummed as he scratched his beard. "Yeah. I can't imagine a proposal."
Ilya chuckled. "Me and Shane are not romantic enough for you, D?"
He laughed in response. "I wouldn't say that."
Bood snickered along. "Yeah, Roz. I think we hear enough in neighboring hotel rooms that you and Hollzy are… not lacking in romance—"
"Oh god," Shane dropped his face into his hands as his husband cackled. Ilya pulled Shane into his chest and kissed the side of his head.
"I just…" Dykstra hummed as he seemed to pull words from an invisible cloud above his head. "It just felt like you two would have argued about who was proposing and then just agreed with annoyed looks on your faces to get married."
Bood nodded in agreement, but Shane looked aghast. "What? Agreeing to marry like that? Without a planned proposal or even dinner?"
Ilya sniggered. "Shane likes his plans. You had spreadsheet to propose, yes?"
Bood and Dykstra cackled, a chorus of "of course, he wouldn't have" and "no way" and "Roz, that's hilarious." But Shane raised his brow and shyly nodded. The laughter of their teammates stopped abruptly.
Ilya laughed loudly at the stumped two with a draped arm around Shane, continuing to walk. The other two followed with various questions regarding the spreadsheet, but their questions went unanswered.
"See!" Ilya rolled his thumb over the shell of Shane's ear after several questions came at them furiously. "They don't understand your ideas. My ideas are better."
"Their lack of understanding regarding my spreadsheet doesn't mean your ideas are better!"
"Bood," Ilya turns to face his Alternate Captain, "Proposal with candles on dock is romantic, yes?"
"Uh, I guess, yeah."
Ilya grinned at Shane and winked. Shane rolled his eyes and shoved Ilya's arm off his shoulder. "You're so annoying. I hate you."
"No, мой котенок! You're so boring, I love you."
"Shut up."
"Never. You love my voice."
"Ilya!"
"Shane!"
Ilya chased Shane down the hall as Bood and Dykstra laughed behind them. Just as Shane shoved Harris' office door open, Ilya glomped onto him, rubbing his jaw and cheek over Shane's hair. Shane uttered a hushed, but not unfond, "Get off, you annoying brat."
Harris glanced at them with a smile. Troy was standing behind him while Wyatt was kneeling, playing with Chiron. "You're here! Thanks for coming in—"
"Chiron!" Ilya shouted and shifted away from Shane who shook his head, a quiet smile on his face. "My son!"
"Not your son," Harris replied without bite.
Shane snorted out his nose. "You'll never get him to stop saying that."
"I know," Harris sighed.
Ilya gasped and clutched his chest in unfair upset. He lowered his brows at Shane and crossed his arms. "Liar. Harris, you speak to liar."
Harris laughed and Shane rolled his eyes with a peek of a smile. Ilya stomped over to Shane and clapped his palms over Shane's cheeks, pressing them until Shane's lips arrived to a pout. He peeked over his shoulder at Harris as Bood and Dykstra finally made it into the office as well. There was absolute no effort in getting Ilya's hands off Shane's face; Shane knew it was a lost cause.
"Ilya," Shane's voice lowered into a warning but the Russian simply smirked.
"They were having an argument on the way here," Dykstra.
Wyatt popped up from his crouch. "About what?"
Bood shrugged. "Dunno. If Hollzy loved Roz—"
"Which happened after Roz and Hollzy argued about who won their proposal—"
"Uh," Troy scrunched his face, "Both? They're married now."
"That's what I said," Dykstra said. "But that was after…" He turned to Bood. "What were they arguing about originally?"
Their Alternative Captain closed his eyes, as if the answers to all questions lied behind his head. "Umm… About Roz's bad idea."
"Wrong," Ilya inserted himself. "I have a good idea. Hollander is boring, does not like my idea."
"You have bad ideas," Harris said.
Shane gestured to Harris, "Thank you!"
"But his ideas are always a little fun," Wyatt added.
"Thank you!" Ilya mimicked Shane, his eyes shining at Wyatt. But he suddenly shook his head, as if he was trying to pivot back to the correct topic. "And no, we're not arguing about good or bad ideas."
"Ilya," Shane's tone was warningly. But Ilya went on ahead.
"We are arguing about Shane being my pet."
"Fuck, Ilya."
There was a beat of silence and then it all came out. "Holy fuck," and "Oh, wow," and "Um…" and "Kinky," and "Huh, you're into that." Ilya couldn't tell what came from who but the room burst with noise and sudden laughter and shock and disbelief. Voices came from all directions, bustling and a bit distracting, but his eyes focused in on Shane alone.
His ears went pink as he dropped his face into his chest. Quiet curses were launched at Ilya from the depths of Shane's clavicle, but none seemed to be of distress. When that was established, Ilya wrapped his palm around Shane's nape and massaged it with pulsing pressure. A smile bloomed on Ilya's face when Shane whipped his head towards his peering eyes. Shane's brows lowered heavily over his eyes in a comically downward angle and his eyes were sharp like the toy daggers of the little Pikes' play kitchen. Lips that were made to smile and bicker against Ilya's skin pursed, their plush and pillowy pout making an appearance. Ilya wanted to snapshot his face and swallow it whole, keeping it inside him forever.
Instead, Ilya did the best thing he could do—that was possible.
"Look," he said as he lowered himself to Shane's eye level and raised his face up by his chin. "Is angry kitten face."
Shane's scowl deepened and he raised it up to Ilya. The latter chuckled before cupping his husband's face and showing it off to his teammates (and Harris). There was a collection of the audience who suppressed laughter (Bood, Dykstra, and Troy), one member who outwardly cackled (Wyatt), and another smiled genuinely (the lovely Harris). Ilya grinned widely and turned back to Shane.
"Adorable," Ilya smooshed Shane's face more before turning to the crowd. "See! Everyone agrees. Shane is my pet. My kitten."
"Woah woah," Wyatt put his hands out as he stuttered, "No one said that."
"Yeah, Roz," Dykstra said, "You'll get us in trouble."
Bood turned away but his shoulders were clearly shaking from laughter. Ilya glanced over to Troy and Harris. The former glanced at Ilya then at his boyfriend and then back at Ilya. Troy shrugged and sighed. "Captain, I don't think it's appropriate to call your husband or any of your partners a pet."
Shane gestured to Troy and made pointed eye contact with his husband. However, Ilya simply slapped the gestured hand as if Shane was asking for a high-five. His scoff denoted that he wasn't.
"Yeah, Ilya," Harris spoke slowly, like he was calming one of the rescue dogs. "I mean, would you like it if Shane called you his dog?"
There was a look of smug satisfaction coming through Shane's eyes, like he'd just won the argument. But what Shane didn't realize was that Ilya enjoyed being his husband's possession.
"Yes," Ilya said plainly.
Shane stammered, his mouth bobbing like a dumb fish. The others weren't in better conditions. "O-oh, fuck off, Rozanov."
Ilya gave him a wicked smirk. "I will—"
Harris stood up, stamping both his palms on his desk. "Okay, okay. Enough, love birds! Time to work!"
Shane nudged his elbow into Ilya's side as he wrapped his arms around the former's shoulders. Muttering thinly veiled threats and disappointed chants, Shane included that he'd bite Ilya the next time he tried anything at work.
"Okay. Is day off, Hollander," he whispered his reply, which swiftly got him a slap on the hand. When he cooed, Shane scowled at him and pointed harshly towards Harris, his eyes screaming pay attention!
Harris cleared his throat and scrolled on his laptop with a focused grimace. When he found what he was looking for, he gave an "aha!" and spun it around for everyone to see. The wide shouldered men squeezed in to examine the screen. It read "OTTAWA CENTAURS: WHICH CREATURE ARE YOU?"
Dykstra wrinkled his nose at the title and peered up at Harris. "Uh, what's this?"
"Are you—" Bood cocked his head, like a new angle of the laptop would provide him answers, "—making a powerpoint about the players?"
Wyatt curled his lip. "Creature? Are you calling us creatures?"
"Fans can find all that information on Wikipedia," Shane added helpfully, ignoring Wyatt's comment.
Harris rolled his eyes and scrolled down on his document. "You all have no sense of fun and imagination."
"Fun?" Ilya straightened, "I'm fun! We're not all Shane Hollander."
"Very fun," Wyatt snickered. Then he turned to Harris, "So what's this about?"
Harris quirked his lip and sighed, "Thank you, Wyatt. This is not a powerpoint on the players. It's a quiz."
"Harris," Ilya said in a worried voice, "Is your job so easy, you are bored? I can tweet again—"
Shane slammed Ilya's hand down as Harris shouted, "Put your phone down, Ilya Rozanov!" He rolled the pads of his fingers over his temple like he was awaiting a headache. Obviously, a fake headache, Ilya thought, because a real one would mean he should be resting at home instead of calling us to work.
"The fans know you," Harris began to explain. "But what better way can they engage with players if not seeing how they relate to you?"
"Isn't that why we have social media accounts?" Troy asked, a frown beginning to crease between his brows. "I mean, I don't see how anyone can relate to me unless they were…" he pointed to Shane and back at himself. "Gay. Hockey player—"
"Neurotic," Ilya added while Bood, Dykstra, and Wyatt snickered.
"Shut the fuck up," Troy said at the same time Shane shifted, annoyance in his brows but prideful glee in his eyes, "When'd you learn that word?"
"David," Ilya said.
"Crossword puzzle?"
Ilya shook his head, "He call Yuna neurotic."
Shane gaped as Harris attempted to gain their attention again. "Guys. Guys! This is simpler than a social media account. It's just a quiz."
"We take quiz?" Ilya asked, his voice pitching lower, annoyed he'd woken up early to take a damn quiz.
"No," Harris smiled. "You're the answers to the quiz!"
"Oh," Wyatt perked up. "Like those Buzzfeed quizzes?"
Harris pointed at him. "Exactly!"
"Buzzfeed quizzes?" Shane and Troy echoed each other.
Ilya scrolled on his phone and shoved it at Shane. The latter skimmed through it and crinkled his nose at the absurd pictures and titles such as "Say 'Yes' or 'No' to These Wedding Dresses to Discover Your True Aesthetic" and "If You Can't Guess 50% of the Correct Disney Hairstyles, Then I'm Revoking Your Disney+ Subscription" and "We Know Your Mental Age Based on the Home Decor You Choose".
"Is very fun," Ilya said.
Shane narrowed his eyes as he continued scoffing at some of the quizzes. "And completely inaccurate. Couldn't we just share our Myers-Briggs Type Indicator?"
"Our what?" Bood asked as Ilya's eyes wandered, "Our McBigs? Huh?"
Dykstra threw his head back in laughter. "Roz, this isn't McDonald's."
Wyatt, cultured as he was, explained before he was cut off by Harris. "Boys! This isn't supposed to be so serious. It's just a fun quiz!"
"Honey, you called us creatures," Troy wrinkled his nose.
Harris ignored his boyfriend. "Like centaurs, I'll be assigning a mythological creature to each of you. Then you'll provide me answers to my questions. When fans do this quiz, whoever's answers they match up with more often is the person or creature they get at the end!"
"This isn't hockey-related," Shane let Harris know.
"Couldn't we do something more interesting?" Wyatt asked. "Like, what fictional character we are. I call dibs on picking from comics. Oh! Roz would make a good The Heckler."
"No one knows them anyway," Dykstra said.
Ilya shook his head, "Luca knows Spider-Man."
They all nodded in agreement and Harris exhaled deeply. "Shut up! We're doing mythological creatures. If this does well, we can do fictional characters next."
"I don't want to do another one of these," Dykstra said.
Bood crinkled his nose, speaking carefully, "This seems a bit desperate for interaction. And it has nothing to do with us or hockey."
Troy agreed, "Couldn't you just keep recording us at practice?"
Dykstra nodded, "Or us at a club?
"Or barbecue?" Bood suggested.
Harris shook his head. "No can do. I'd have to blur half the video because of those two." He wagged his finger at Shane and Ilya. Shane scoffed as Ilya gave a sly smirk. The others nodded silently in agreement.
"Alright, now I need you each to select a mythological creature," Harris commanded.
Troy backed away, "Wait, you're not picking one for us?"
"Barret is lazy," Ilya teased. "Is okay, I will pick."
"Do you even know mythological creatures?" Bood asked, guilt coating his question. He waved his hands in defense as Shane glared at him. "I'm not saying he's stupid! It's just, we can't all be Russian creatures."
Ilya scoffed. "Bood does not deserve being Russian demon."
Bood gestured with wide eyes and a hand as if to say "See!"
"I know myth creatures," Ilya pounded on the table. Then he pointed a finger to Troy. "Fee-neeks."
"A phoenix?" Troy widened his eyes, the shock apparent in the assignment. Ilya simply shrugged.
"Rise from ashes, yes?"
Troy's bottom lip jutted slightly and Harris smiled, gripping his hand and rubbing it with his thumb. Shane grinned as Ilya spun around and jabbed his finger at Dykstra, Bood, and Wyatt with pointed significance.
"Banshee. Hydra. Kizune." He said respectively.
"Kitsune," Shane corrected with a smile.
"Why am I a banshee?" Dykstra asked.
"A kitsune! Cool!" Wyatt jumped.
Ilya rolled his wrist and began explaining backwards. "Kitsune protect shrine. Hayes protects our nets. Hydra because Bood has arms and legs cut off, but he is stubborn as fuck and keeps playing, even in bad team. And now he's a winner."
Bood and Wyatt grinned with surprised delight. Dykstra waited for his profound explanation.
"Dykstra is banshee because of bad music taste."
They all laughed as Dykstra shoved Ilya playfully. Shane's boyish smile overtook his face, his eyes crinkling at the ends with lovely life lines. Ilya could get lost in the hymnal of his laughs.
"What's Hollzy then?" Dykstra asked.
"I'm sure Ilya will say Shane's a mermaid or something," Harris said.
"A siren," Wyatt said.
Bood scoffed, "Hollander is a unicorn. He has to be a special specimen to marry our Captain."
They laughed again but Ilya rubbed his chin, humming in thought. "кот баюн."
The chatter simmered as Shane leaned over and fluttered his lashes. "Is that from Russian folklore?" He muttered silently before he stared at Ilya. "Cat bah-yun?"
Ilya leaned down. "Kot."
"Kot."
"Bayun."
Shane blinked and rolled the words over his tongue. "Kot Bayun." Ilya nodded and Shane smiled to himself—his perky cheeks were so biteable.
"I've never heard of that one," Harris said and the others nodded, like-minded.
"Is Russian. So boring, it makes people sleep."
Shane rolled his eyes and the others snickered. "Does it kill who it puts to sleep?" Shane asked, aware a large majority of Russian myths ended in death.
"Only if you sleep," Ilya explained. "If you catch it, you get reward."
"Reward?"
The Russian was never good at hiding his smug smirks. He slid a finger down the slope of Shane's nose, tapping the point of it. "You get nice little kitty as pet."
"Fuck you!" Shane slapped Ilya's hand away and shimmied away, hunching by the other side of Harris' desk.
Such cat-like behavior and he refuses to see it, Ilya thought.
Crossing his arms, Shane clicked his tongue and pointed at the laptop. "He's a tanuki," he pursed his lips at Harris.
Wyatt burst into laughter. Shane hid his grin as Wyatt threw his head back every time someone asked him what a tanuki was. "It's a ragebaiting raccoon. With huge balls!"
"I'm not a raccoon!" Ilya curled his lip downward, affronted, because that was what he was upset about.
"Would you rather be an ogopogo?" Shane asked.
The squished face of confusion from Ilya was one for the records. "A go-go… What? A pogo? Like…?" He mimicked jumping on a pogo stick, only stopping after the Canadians cackled at him.
Harris sniggered as he began typing away on his laptop. "Perfect," he said, without even considering Ilya as an ogopogo. Then he began to ask the crew a series of questions, such as "What is the best way to annoy someone?" and "What is your favorite way to sleep?" and "What unconventional superpower would you like to have?"
The more questions asked, the more everyone stared at Shane and his given answers. Because he was not helping his own case against Ilya.
Harris speed-directed questions to Shane. "If you can eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?"
"Salmon."
"What is one minor annoyance that others just don't seem to understand?"
"Unexpected and sudden noise."
"What do you do when you're stressed?"
"I leave?"
"Wow," Wyatt stage whispered to Dykstra. "All his answers are exactly what my childhood cat would've chose too."
Bood let out a titter and pointed at Ilya. "I bet Roz is already planning on putting Hollzy in a dark box or something when they go back home."