Work Text:
Being mic’d up wasn’t something new to Ilya. It had happened a handful of times in his career. Usually they went with Shane during these games because the Russian was known for his mouth and half the stuff that came out of it could not be put on TV. It was pretty difficult to be minding his ps and qs, or minding the marketplace as they said back home, while still trying to win a game.
He had sent his boyfriend a message before the game to let him know he was mic’d up but he didn’t get a chance to check if it had been read before he had to be on the ice for warmups. Just to confirm he knew, he met him at the blue line to look ‘sportmanly’.
As he stopped he showered Shane with a spray of ice shavings, a grin on his face, “Ready to lose?”
“Ready to eat those words?” Shane shot back with a half-hearted glare.
“You need to work on your chirps since I’m mic’d up. Give fans a taste of something besides bland boring Canadian hospitality."
“Someone needs to be hospitable since they don’t even have that word in Russian.” He shot back.
“Oh you know Russian now? Learning it so you can flirt with me on the ice Hollander?” Ilya’s grin was out of control.
“You wish you were on the receiving end of my flirting, Rozanov.” He said with a smirk.
“Are you hiding your game from the world? Would you sweep me off my feet?”
“Rose Landry didn’t seem to mind my game.”
Okay now that was a low blow and they both knew it. Shane mouthed him a short ‘I’m sorry’. Thankfully they were saved by the music change in the arena letting them know the first face off would be happening soon. Of course it would be between the two of them, so that gave them another chance to give the fans some sound bites. As they took their positions Ilya went in for another chirp.
“Good luck Rakovina”
“Rako...vina” Shane sounded it out. ”Sink? You called me a sink?” .
Ilya won the face off.
The first period was pretty on par with games between Montreal and Boston. A few scrums, several penalties and a tied score of 1-1. Ilya was still fuming about his holding penalty against Hollander. It wasn’t holding. Okay, maybe it was. He was just so happy to be that close to him again he maybe, just maybe, held him against the boards a little longer than he should have. Why were the refs even upset? He got a great sound bite of Shane saying something that almost sounded like a chirp.
When they leaned over for the first face off of the second period Shane looked beyond annoyed.
“Just had to field questions on why I knew the Russian word for Sink.”
“Did you tell them you’re a good boy who wants to communicate with new rookies on your team?” Ilya said without missing a beat, this is something they had talked about previously.
“Yes but how do you know?” Shane played along.
“Because you are predictable. All the way down to the white boxer briefs you are probably wearing.”
“Rozanov cut it out or I’ll slap you with an unsportsmanlike conduct.” The ref chimed in before dropping the puck.
Shane won.
The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion. Carmichael had clipped Shane with his stick causing the Metro to faceplant into the ice. Within seconds Pike had his gloves off and had punched Carmichael. This caused several other players to jump in and they all seemed to be oblivious to the fact Shane was still on the ice.
Without a second though he dove forward and planted himself over his boyfriend, gloves coming up to protect his head. Flashes of the injury a year prior flooded Ilya like ice water. Seeing the man he loved motionless on the ice, not knowing if he was going to get up. He couldn’t let that happen again. Protecting Shane was high on his list of priorities. Who was he kidding? It was his only priority.
As he laid on him he fielded several hits from the men fighting above them. A knee to his helmet, a body rolling over him and even the kiss of a skate to the outside of his calf. It took the refs almost 5 minutes to get everyone under control. Ilya remained on Shane the entire time, whispering to him as people were finally starting to be pulled away.
“Solnyshko you okay?” Ilya’s voice dripped with concern.
“I’m okay. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” His voice was muffled due to being pressed between the ice and Ilya’s expansive chest.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“No you’re not. I’m fine. I swear.”
The sounds of whistles had seemed to have died down so Ilya got up, pulling Shane up with him. Without thinking he reached up to straighten the man’s helmet and then ran his hands over his shoulders. Ilya’s expression then soured as he turned to find Carmichael.
“What the fuck were you thinking? Tripping? Really?” He started to move towards him.
“Bro calm down. It wasn’t on purpose. I was going for the puck and fucked up.” Carmichael said defensively. The last thing he seemed to be expecting was his own Captain to come after him.
“You could have hurt him!” The Russian’s voice continued to rise. Everyone around them were staring at this point. “Also, does no one look at their feet anymore? He was just down there while you trample him like animals.”
“Ilya…” Shane reached out to touch his shoulder, “Moya lyubov’, ya v poryaadke.”
Ilya’s shoulders seemed to drop and he calmed immediately. He turned to face Shane and then something dawned on both of them. Ilya hadn’t been acting like someone protecting a fellow player but like someone who was protecting something precious. Shane had even told him in Russian ‘My love, I’m fine.’ It seemed they both remembered at the same time that Ilya was mic’d up.
Shane’s body language changed as anxiety started to course through him. Now wasn’t the time though to address this. Maybe no one had really noticed and could chalk it up to something like being extra protective of someone you respect like commentators had in the past. Maybe even the mic hadn’t picked up what he said and they would be safe until internet sleuths read his lips.
“Let’s just finish the game hm?” He shouted before pushing Ilya towards his bench like nothing had happened.
The rest of the period had a different feeling to it but both teams still did their jobs. By the end of the second period Boston was up by 1 and the teams went back to their locker rooms.
~~~~~~
“So want to tell me what that was about?” Hayden was the first to speak up in the Montreal locker room. He wasn’t completely dumb, he knew about them but if he didn’t say something someone else would and he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t be something horrendous.
“It’s nothing. After I got hurt last year he’s been weird about people going down like that. Have you not noticed it in his games?” Shane tried to play it off as he took a long drink of water.
“No I haven’t, but I also can’t say I purposely watch Boston games.”
“It’s good research, you should try it sometime.” Shane said without looking at his best friend.
“Doesn’t change what you said to him, Captain.” One of the new rookies said with confusion. Antov was Russian and definitely clocked what Shane had said.
“Telling him I’m fine isn’t a big deal.” Shane refused to acknowledge the ‘my love’ part. Least of all during a game.
Antov started to say something else but thankfully Theriault came in and began screaming at them about how they had been playing. The man had a huge chip on his shoulders when it came to Boston and as they got further into the season it just got worse and worse.
~~~~~~
“You good Roz?” Marleau asked softly as they got to their cubbies.
“Fine.” The Russian didn’t even bother to look at him.
“You got pretty heated.”
“I said I’m fine.” He snapped.
“Roz look…I’m going to say something and you can tell me to shut the fuck up if you want to but like…not all of us on this team are oblivious. We know you and Hollander are not actually rivals off ice. We know there is some shit there but not what kind of shit you know? I have my guesses.” He paused, “So we get you were worried. Any of us would be if we had to watch someone we care about get hit like that last year and then to see them go down again.”
Ilya finally looked at him, processing what Marleau was trying to allude to in a very terrible way.
“Carmichael didn’t mean it. None of us would hurt him on purpose.” He reached out and patted Ilya on his back. “You know we got you on and off ice right?”
Several other voices began to pipe up in agreement. The mood of the locker room switched from somber to a warmth that Ilya was not used to unless it was purely hockey related.
“Da. Th-thank you.”
“Now that the feelings are over can we go win a fucking hockey game?” Conners said from a few feet away.
The room erupted in cheers and laughter.
~~~~~~
The game ended with Boston in the lead 4-3. Narrow win but they had managed it.
Press was a whole different matter entirely.
The internet had done what it does best and had translated what Ilya had called Shane and what Shane had said to Ilya.
“Shane, Shane over here!” One of the reporters called out, “It has been translated that you called Rozanov ‘my love’ and he called you ‘little sunshine’ which is a common Russian endearment. Does this mean your relationship goes beyond rivals?”
“Ilya and I have not truly been rivals in a long time. On the ice we compete, we make each other better and want to give our all. Off the ice we have become friends.” Shane said with a flared tone.
“ ‘My love’ does not sound like just friends.”
God he wished Ilya was here with him. If this was going to happen it needed to be both of them. He couldn’t do this on his own. This is not the way he had imagined finally coming out about his own sexuality and about his relationship with Ilya.
As if summoned by pure will Ilya appeared in the doorway to the press room, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked at Shane as if asking Do you need me?. Shane had no idea what the look on his face was at this moment but it must have been yes because Ilya was now walking over.
Once at his side the Russian placed his hand on Shane’s back in an attempt to ground him. He hated that it worked so well.
“Ilya! Ilya! Over here. That was quite a game, especially with you mic’d up. You seemed very protective of Hollander when he went down. What was going through your head?”
“That a fellow player was in a position where he could get hurt. Everyone was too busy with each other to notice Shane was there.” His fingers pressed into his boyfriend’s lower back right out of the camera shot.
“A fellow player? Your words would allude to more.”
He looked at Shane, unsure what the word meant.
“Imply.” He said softly for just him to hear.
“I…” Ilya had no idea what to say. This hadn’t been in Shane’s 38 point plan. Almost everything else had been covered but Ilya opening his big mouth on an open mic and acting like a guard dog was not there.
“Just ask the question you all are dying to know..” Shane snipped, his tolerance for these lines of questioning quickly dwindling.
“Are you two in a romantic relationship?”
The pair looked at each other for a long moment, Ilya’s hand moving from Shane’s lower back, to slowly intertwine their fingers. Both men smiled coyly. They looked from each other to the crowd of reporters then said in unison, “Yes.”
The crowd of reporters went wild. Screaming questions, holding their phones and microphones high to try to catch a sound bite and cameras flashing multiple times a second.