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The average couple spent two hours of meaningful time together, a fact that Ilya found absolutely horrific. After the decade that they had spent with maybe two hours every few months, he stole away every second that he could. They were so lucky to have such a supportive team behind them, although he knew that Shane was having a harder time adjusting, especially after the betrayal that was Montreal’s reaction to the video outing their relationship.
He was glad that the team went out of their way to hide their teasing reactions, for the most part, around him. It was probably Hayes—he was weirdly perceptive—that had talked to them.
But now they had all settled into an easy friendship that Ilya was so glad for. He had had this camaraderie in the Bears’ locker room but he could infer from Shane’s expression when talking about the Metros’ locker room—even from before coming out—that it was not that kind.
Tonight, though. Tonight was not about the team. The kids had some sort of plans and the older team members wanted to go out to a bar that Bood had been recommended, and so they had less resistance when they said that they weren’t going out after the game.
“Boo,” Barrett deadpanned. “You’ve gotten even more boring, Roz.”
“At least it means that we don’t have to try to go shot for shot,” Dykstra said, shuddering. “I’m still scarred from the last time we were here.”
“Literally no one asked you to do that,” Chouinard rolled his eyes. “That was your own fault.”
Hayes grinned. “I still have the album from that trip.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ilya said. “We know, we are so boring and married and in love. You are also so jealous, I know.”
Shane coughed but it was clear that he was snickering. “We’ll go out next time.”
“We’ll hold you to that!” Hayes said.
“What are the quadruplets hiding?” Ilya asked, and the entire locker room looked over to the four younger players huddled in a circle. They collectively jumped when they realized that they were being watched.
“What’s up, Cap?” Holmberg asked, his eyes wide. LaPointe was slowly putting his phone is his locker as if it was a gun that was still smoking.
“Why do you guys look so guilty?” Shane asked suspiciously. “I only see that expression when Ilya feeds Anya more treats than she’s allowed.”
“Ooh, Rozy catching strays,” Chouinard coughed and was promptly elbowed by Ilya.
“Yes, what he said.” He narrowed his eyes. “What are your plans? You never said.”
“Oh…you know,” LaPointe said vaguely. “Haasy brought his Switch so we’re trying out a new game.”
“Yeah, I’ve been bugging them for weeks,” he said, shrugging. Ilya didn’t trust it. They normally couldn’t shut up about the games that they were playing, often roping Hazy into it, but he was too excited about his plans with his husband. “Why, what are your plans, Roz? Looking to do something fun?”
“Shane and I are going for dinner,” he said, grinning. “Will finally be able to keep my husband all to myself.”
The locker room jeered and booed, and Shane rolled his eyes. He should be glad that he didn’t say anything about his plans after the dinner to make sure Shane was sore all over, and not from hockey.
“Dinner? Does Hunter know that you’re joining him in the retirement home?” Haas teased, and Ilya’s jaw dropped.
“Haasy? I cannot believe this betrayal! My own son.” He clutched his chest dramatically. “This is what happens when they grow up.”
“Anyways,” Shane said, bringing the attention back to him. “We have a game to win. Better score some goals out there!”
The game and the dinner had both gone better than Ilya could have even imagined. One would think the Anaheim Geese were barely even on the ice, with the way the score ended up as 5-1 in their favor. He and Shane had both gotten two goals each, and he knew that the sex later would absolutely reflect their highs from that.
The restaurant was close enough to the hotel that they decided to walk back and enjoy the cold air. It was in a nicer area too, and there was a small park with a pond next to the hotel that Ilya had considered stopping at to see if there were ducks. Thank god they weren’t in Canada with the loons. Fucking weird wolf-birds.
“What is that smell?” Shane wrinkled his nose, his freckles moving with the action. Ilya loved him so much.
“You have never smelled someone smoking weed?” he said, glancing over. Wait…
Laughter cut through the quiet air across the park. “Ilya, is that Haas? And Holmberg?”
Ilya sighed. He was going to have to wait for the mind blowing sex.
“Guys, I need you to lock the fuck in,” Young hissed. “It should not be this difficult.”
“Jesus fuck, Young, give me a minute,” LaPointe muttered. His foot slipped from the branch he was balancing on and he nearly took out Haas—who was right next to him—trying to find his footing.
They were trying to climb up the large tree that had a net set up between several thick branches, but the joints they had smoked before discovering it were significantly impacting their ability to coordinate their movement.
“Pointy, if you kill me I’m going to haunt you forever from the afterlife,” Haas whisper-shouted. He didn’t know why he was being quiet, they were literally outdoors with no one around them. “Bergy, how the fuck did you already get up there?”
He was lying face down on the net staring at them, his eyes seemingly glazed over. “How much did he have to smoke?”
LaPointe shrugged. “You’re the one who gave him a joint. He’s been up there for a while, not gonna lie. And I don’t think I see a joint anymore.” And then he giggled.
Young sighed. He should’ve known that Bergy would immediately green out. Somehow this was his fault. At least he had his snacks. Wait. “Haasy, did you remember the snacks?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, affronted. “Who do you take me for, Bergy?”
“What, why am I catching strays?”
“I said Bergy, not Pointy.”
“Oh.”
They finally were all able to settle on the net with minimal injuries. Somehow LaPointe managed to scrape his chin at some point, despite no one remembering it happening. Including him.
Haas, the expert as they were all finding out tonight, lit the joint and took a long hit, turning his head up to exhale the smoke.
“Bergy is cut off, obviously,” he said, passing it to Young who took an equally long inhale, held it, and exhaled similarly.
“He better start to sober up before we get back to the hotel. If Shane smells us…” Young shuddered, offering the joint to LaPointe. He started to shake his head, paused, and then took the smallest hit anyone had ever seen. The tiniest puff of smoke was exhaled.
Haas gasped, grabbing the joint. “Don’t even disrespect my joints like that.”
“Your joints? I literally bought this.”
“And whose weed do we smoke in Ottawa? Oh, right. Mine.”
“Haasy has gotten so sassy after spending more time with Roz,” LaPointe muttered. “I swear to god.”
He exhaled. “Don’t hate on me because you cannot smoke weed or cigs. Vapes are for babies.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Guys.” They all looked over at Bergy who had flipped over so he was facing the branches and sky. “I feel like a marshmallow. Like. So round.”
And for some reason—probably because they were all so fucking high—this was the funniest thing anyone had ever heard and they all burst into giggles and laughter.
And they were so distracted by this that they didn’t even hear the shocked, “…Haas? Holmberg?” And they didn’t hear the crunches of the leaves approaching them until a voice from directly below shouted, “The four of you better get your asses down here before I start making you do bag skates tomorrow!”
…Fuck.
(The next morning they all woke up in a pile on one queen bed. Haas closed his eyes tightly. “Guys. I just realized the worst thing. We’re never going to be able to smoke on 4/20 ever again.” He got 3 pillows to the face immediately.)