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Monk’s was alive with celebration, overcrowded with men well over six feet who were too far gone to realise just how loud they were, to even drown out the sound of the very loud, very aggressive and very old rock music that kept the place beating in a consistent rhythm.
On a regular day, Shane would've agreed with anyone who said that they wanted to strangle the person behind the godawful playlist. It was the furthest thing from his type of music, in every way shape or form. His playlist of soft Lofi and RnB settled his perpetually unsettled nerves and this did the complete opposite, becoming one of the top five reasons why he almost always skipped nights out with their team. Tonight though, the aggressively loud music seemed to feed the adrenaline that ran in his veins.
This was a party, a party to celebrate their first victory of the season, a hard fought match against a team as skilled as Boston. A party to celebrate Shane's first match as a Centaur.
A party to celebrate his first match and season as Shane Hollander-Rozanov.
His face, flushed from the heat of the bar and definitely not the beer (or three) he'd been sweet talked into drinking, only burned brighter from the reminder. He was a married man now, married to the most beautiful, heartbreakingly beautiful creature on the planet. The earth seemed to tilt on its axis to hold itself upright under the sheer weight of his happiness. He'd never felt as loose-limbed as he did right now. Laughter slipped from his lips unbridled, everything seemed worth smiling for tonight. So sue him, if he seemed to want to sway to the music pulsing through the air.
Somewhere in this crowd, his Ilya was out there, still in half of his post-game suit, formal shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms that could coax Shane into filth that would make Troy Barrett blush. Somewhere, his Ilya was throwing his head back to laugh at something absolutely ridiculous that Wyatt Hayes seemed to have to say. Somewhere, in this too warm room, his Ilya was just as happy as he was and—
A pair of arms, as familiar as his own, wrapped around his waist and the train of thought slipped to a happier place in the haze of his mind. The sleeves of the dress shirt were, in fact, rolled up to reveal those sinful forearms. And usually, Shane would've elbowed his husband until he let go of him, far too shy, still, for PDA. But tonight, he let the man, his man, only tug him closer.
They'd fought for this. They deserved this.
“You are happy,” Ilya acknowledged simply and Shane felt more than heard the chuckle muffled into the warmth of his neck, as Shane more or less answered with a giggle. “And drunk.”
“No, not drunk,” Shane said, reaching back to pat Ilya's cheek, as he let his husband hold most of his weight upright. “Just happy. Maybe drunk on the happiness. I'm not sure though.”
“That’s just drunk, Hollander.”
“Shut up,” Shane said, and he once again, felt the answering chuckle rumble into his body, bringing warmth, the last of summer's clementine colours clinging before giving into autumn's embrace. His Ilya. Mine. Mine. Mine. “You don't get to be mean to me. You are definitely drunk.”
“Hmm, no. I am driving, remember, solynshko?” He heard Ilya say, still amused, still sickeningly fond, as if Shane Hollander like this, all soft edges and musical laughter spilling from lips he wanted to die for was all he needed.
“You’re awfully responsible,” Shane said, smiling as he felt the first of the many, many kisses Ilya was going to press into the warm skin of his neck. “At least ten people here are disappointed about that tonight.”
“Let them be,” was all Ilya said before Shane felt a familiar sway to their waists, the warmth of Ilya's arms guiding them. “I have all that I need right here.”
That's when Shane noticed the music, softer now, still rock but now the notes were, and he knew these words by heart, sinking into the crevices that made them. Was it cliché that it was Iris By The Goo Goo Dolls that his husband was slowly, subtly trying to coax him to dance with him to? Probably. But what Shane couldn't help but do was lean his head back against Ilya's shoulder and just laugh.
And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't wanna go home right now
How often had he let Ilya tug him into an awkward waltz in their kitchen? How often had he fallen asleep to the record playing as a storm threatened to wipe out the world outside for good, Anya by their feet and his face cradled against Ilya's chest? He'd lost count back in 2019. He'd lost count when the bitterness of their secret was still bearable, still a fight fought everyday.
Now, in the middle of at least a hundred people, in a world that knew that Ilya Rozanov fell asleep to the sound of Shane Hollander reading him Frankenstein, a world that knew that they wore wedding rings and shared chores and a pair of road safe, Canadian winter safe cars, bank accounts, grocery lists, a home, and probably children very, very soon, the laughter of fond, bright happiness, caught in his throat for just a moment. A moment enough for Ilya to spin him around and pull him back into his chest, letting Shane bury his face into his husband's neck, and hide the gloss of joy in his doe eyes. The love overwhelmed Shane easily, just as it drowned Ilya.
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
“You’re a sap,” Shane whispered, as Ilya continued to sway them, as he always did, a gentle boat in a rough tide, carrying them forward with enough love for them. “We are going to end up on Twitter. They’ll say that you've gone soft.”
“Only for one person,” Ilya said, grinning, as he pressed a kiss to his temple. “And as the second best player in the league—”
“You asshole—”
“—he deserves more than a few moments of soft Ilya Rozanov. They know better than to think the softness extends to them.”
“Fair enough,” Shane whispered, closing his eyes as a tired yawn escaped him. He was dangerously close to falling asleep right there, far too warm, far too happy in this moment to care that he was in public, surrounded by their teammates.
“Home, now, lyubov?” Ilya asked, already knowing the answer, already tightening his arms around his Shane, grabbing their suit jackets from the back of a chair they'd left them on, as he looked towards the door.
There were goodbyes to be said before they would make it to the car, where Shane, as awful as he was, was going to try to seduce his beautiful husband into taking him right there, in their car, the windows a little hazy by the light rain that had showered over the city since their game ended and they ended up at Monk’s.
But now, at this moment, Shane only nuzzled closer, nodding, as the song came to an end and the brief lull in the conversation rose again.
“Mhmm. Home, please.”