Work Text:
May 10, 2011
Lily
Happy Birthday, Jane.
Jane
Thanks.
May 10, 2012
Lily
Happy Birthday, Hollander.
Jane
Thanks.
Good luck in the playoffs.
Delete that text.
May 10, 2013
Lily
Happy Birthday
Jane
Thanks.
May 10, 2014
Jane
Are you okay?
Jane
I’m sorry if being in Russia is hard.
You can talk to me.
If you need to.
Jane
Rozanov?
May 10, 2015
Lily
Happy Birthday, Hollander.
See you on the ice tonight.
Too bad we cannot celebrate.
*Jane reacted to your message: ❤️*
Jane
Thanks, Rozanov.
I’ll be celebrating when we beat you.
*Lily reacted to your message: 🥵*
Delete these.
Lily
You are cruel.
May 10, 2016
Lily
Happy Birthday
Good job making the playoffs
Lucky ❤️
Jane
Thanks
The luckiest ❤️
May 10, 2017
Lily
Happy birthday, Shane.
I hope your broken head can keep up with my puck tonight.
Jane
My head is not broken, it's just a concussion.
I can follow the puck just fine.
Thank you, Ilya.
Good luck tonight.
May 10, 2018
Lily
Happy Birthday, моя любовь. (my love)
I wish I could be with you.
Good luck tonight, but you don’t need it. Buffalo sucks.
Я тебя люблю. (I love you)
I found these today.
*Jane reacted to your message: ❤️*
Jane
Thank you, Ilya.
I wish I could be with you, too.
I miss you so much.
Buffalo does suck, but so does New York.
You don’t need luck either.
I love you too.
May 10, 2019
Lily
Happy Birthday, my Shane!
I love you.
Toronto sucks.
Kill them.
Jane
Thanks, Ilya. <3
I love you too.
I’m sorry Ottawa didn’t make it to the playoffs.
I can’t wait to see you soon.
*Lily reacted to your message: ❤️*
Lily
We will be there next year, I can feel it.
Only a little while longer.
May 10, 2020
Ilya
Happy birthday, Мой котёнок!!! (my kitten)
Look at what I saw this morning.
*Shane reacted to your message: 🦆*
I am at the cottage with Yuna and David.
Tell Scott Hunter I say he is old.
Also, I love you
Shane
Are you calling me a kitten again?
I love you too, Ilya.
Did you practice your loon call?
Ilya
*Video of Ilya poorly calling a loon with his hands*
Shane
We’ll work on it.
May 10, 2021
Ilya
Happy Birthday, Моя прекрасная невеста. (my beautuful bride)
Shane
Stop calling me your beautiful bride, you idiot.
I love you.
Ilya
But you are so pretty. :( See?
*Shane reacted to your message: 🙄*
Shane
I hate you.
Ilya
No, you don't.
You love me you said so.
I love you.
See you on the ice tonight, Мой прекрасный мальчик. (my beautiful boy)
*Shane reacted to your message: 👎🏼*
Ottawa is back with evil plan.
Word?
Shane
A vengeance?
You guys finally made the playoffs.
I hate it, but I’m proud of you.
See you tonight.
I love you so much.
Ilya
Are you okay?
I’m on my way.
Shane
They think I tripped on purpose.
I need you.
Ilya
I’m coming.
Shane
Hurry.
May 10, 2022
Shane’s alarm buzzes through the room, his eyes opening to find the hotel room still dark, the sun just barely illuminating the night sky from under the horizon. Ilya stirs beneath him, groaning and bumping Shane’s shoulder, urging him to turn off the alarm. Shane wriggles out of the tangle of sheets and grabs his phone from the hotel nightstand, silencing the alarm before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
Two strong arms around his waist and drag him back. He rolls over to meet Ilya’s closed eyes, but mischievous smile.
“We have to get up, Ilya. We have a morning skate in two hours.” Shane laughs, pushing at Ilya’s bare chest.
“Five more minutes,” Ilya says, tangling their legs together and pressing Shane’s face against his chest.
“You say that every morning,” Shane manages to get out, squished against hard muscle.
“Yes, but this morning is different.”
Shane considers for a moment, but quickly remembers the date in his playoff and sleep-deprived haze.
It’s his birthday.
“It’s just a birthday, Ilya. I have one every year.” Shane laughs
“Yes, but this is the first one I get to be with you,” Ilya says softly, nuzzling into Shane’s hair.
The words settle between them.
Of all the years they’ve been together, officially or not, Shane’s birthday has always been smack in the middle of the playoffs. Not that Shane cares about his birthday all that much anyway, he’s never really celebrated. Sure, the Voyaguers usually brought him a cupcake in the locker room before the game to celebrate. Still, it usually ended up in the trash or given to Hayden cause of the whole macrobiotic diet thing. In truth, the best gift Shane could ask for every year is getting one more game closer to the Stanley Cup and a text from Ilya.
This year, instead of a text, he gets the real thing.
Warm hands. Warm sheets. Ilya’s groggy morning voice.
“Five minutes,” Shane concedes, relaxing into him, “and then we go to the hotel gym.”
“You are so boring,” Ilya grumbles into his hair, “Happy Birthday, moy lyubov.” (my love)
An hour and a half later, Shane is practically dragging Ilya down to the hotel lobby to catch the team bus. That five minutes turned into ten minutes, and “Shane’s first birthday present of the day”, as Ilya called it. That “present” consisted of Shane perched above his husband's face, gripping the headboard for dear life while Ilya absolutely devoured him and then dragged him off to the shower to finish him off on his knees.
Shane just hopes his knees stop wobbling before he has to lace up his skates.
Ilya’s looking entirely too pleased about it and wraps a steadying arm over his shoulder.
“Careful, Bambi, would not want you to fall.”
“Shut up,” Shane laughs, elbowing Ilya’s stomach.
The elevator doors open, and Ilya picks both their bags up off the floor, slinging them over his shoulders before Shane can protest.
“You go, I’m going to put these under the bus,” Ilya says, nodding to the bus driver, who is waiting patiently by the storage compartments.
Shane steps onto the bus without a second thought, but his jaw drops.
“Surprise!”
Shane is stunned.
The entire team erupts into cheers, streamers hanging between the overhead storage compartments, and cheap, pointy party hats on their heads. Shane just stares in disbelief until a little elastic strap is stretched over his own head, and he turns to find Ilya with a little blue hat and a party blower in his mouth, which he promptly blows directly into Shane’s face, making a loud horn sound.
“Was that necessary?” Shane laughs, shoving at Ilya’s face, the scruff of his playoff beard between his fingertips.
“Yes,” Ilya says seriously, “Now sit down, we are late.”
He drops into a seat and pulls Shane straight into his lap.
“I’m pretty sure the PDA jar still applies on birthdays”, Wyatt says from across the aisle.
“I am not paying any stupid PDA jar on my husband’s birthday,” Ilya says flatly before raising his voice. “Everyone! Announcement! PDA jar is banned today, I do not care what Harris says.”
“Hey, I wasn’t going to say anything!” Harris laughs, holding up his hands innocently.
“I really wish you would.” Evan groans as Ilya grabs Shane’s face and kisses him anyway.
When the bus pulls up to the arena, they filter off, party hats and all. The Centaurs all rush into the building, while Ilya leisurely picks up both their bags before taking Shane’s hand and leading them inside to the dressing room.
“Are you guys serious?” Shane laughs, taking in the room before him. “It’s just my birthday, it’s not a big deal!”
There are red balloons scattered across the floor and his stall, set up for him, is decorated with the same streamers, but also with balloons and confetti. Right in the center, a little glass mason jar with a candle and a lighter on top.
“Ilya, you know it’s the playoffs, I can’t-” He whispers, afraid to look ungrateful for the treat.
“It is overnight oats.” Ilya smiles proudly, “I asked Yuna how to make them.”
Ilya unscrews the lid and sticks the little blue candle into the oats before lighting it.
Shane can feel the wetness forming in his eyes as Ilya holds the jar up to his face.
“Make a birthday wish, Shane,” Ilya says softly.
Shane laughs helplessly, the sound catching somewhere in the middle as his eyes go glossy. He closes them for a second, then opens them again and looks directly at Iyla before blowing the candle out.
The room erupts.
“Alright! Happy birthday, Hollander.” Weibe says, waving his hands to calm the room down, “Let's hope that wish had something to do with sending Toronto home crying tonight.”
Morning skate flies by in a blur of laughter and drills, and little party hats over their helmets. Harris has been eating it up, taking videos all morning. Usually, Shane is strung pretty tight for the playoffs; in fact, he’s not sure he’s ever had fun with the pressure to perform. Something about this year just feels so different, so much lighter. He feels like a feather on the ice, moving quickly and smoothly, making perfect passes and hitting the inside of the net with each practice shot, the goal well protected by Wyatt.
There’s just something in the air.
And it shows on the ice that night.
The Ottawa Centaurs beat the Toronto Guardians 6-0, knocking them out of the playoffs. Shane scores two goals and assists Ilya in one. Ilya and Troy assist Luca in three, giving him his first hat trick in his NHL career. Wyatt acts like a brick wall in front of that net, every shot the Guardians make ricocheting right off of his pads.
The Centaurs are on fire, and as they stumble back into the dressing room, you’d think they just won the Stanley Cup.
“That,” Evan cheers, grabbing Luca’s shoulders, “is fucking playoff hockey!”
Luca laughs as Evan and Nick hoist him up onto their shoulders, a slightly shitty “Hollander 24” hat hanging backward off his head as his hat trick prize.
Ilya wraps his arms around Shane, waving Harris over.
“Harris! Take a picture!”
Ilya presses their cheeks together, their hockey gear half off. Shane laughs as the camera flashes in front of them, other Centaurs joining the picture, climbing on the benches behind them. Troy nearly hopped onto Ilya’s back to get his head over Ilya’s hot pink party hat.
Shane laughs so hard his chest aches.
For years, hockey just felt like a job, and his teammates just coworkers.
But this?
This feels like family.
And then a bucket of water crashes over his head.
“Happy Birthday, Hollander!” Boodram hollers, the team erupting in laughter.
Shane sputters in shock, but he can’t even be mad because he’s smiling too widely.
Later that night, back in the hotel room, Shane lies sprawled across the bed, warm from the shower and pleasantly exhausted from the activities leading up to it, watching Ilya crawl naked beneath the blankets and settling between his legs and resting his head on Shane’s stomach.
“The team is going to a club,” Shane says, twisting a particularly perfect curl around his finger. “Do you want to go?”
“I want to stay here tonight,” Ilya murmurs.
Shane smiles.
“That sounds perfect to me.”
Ilya shifts closer until their bare chests press together.
“I’m going to get you a Stanley Cup for your birthday,” he says quietly.
Shane laughs, shoving at him gently.
“You can’t say things like that, you’ll jinx it!”
Ilya scoffs, pressing a finger into Shane’s side and making him squirm beneath him.
“But you can wish for it on disgusting overnight oats, and that’s okay?”
“I did not wish for a cup, and the oats are not disgusting!”
Ilya raises his eyebrows.
“No? What did you wish for then?”
“I’m not telling you!”
“Tell me.”
“I’m not telling you!”
Ilya plants his knees on either side of Shane’s thighs, pinning him down and digging his fingers into his sides, tickling him. Shane laughs until his face turns a light shade of pink, not trying very hard to fight Ilya off.
“Tell me your wish!”
“No!”
Shane dissolves into helpless laughter, twisting beneath him while Ilya digs his fingers into Shane’s sides. Ilya grins, stopping only to admire the soft blush of his husband's cheeks before collapsing breathless against him.
They fall quiet for a moment, listening to their hearts beat quickly.
“I make the same birthday wish every year, but I think I need to make a new one.”
“Tell me your wish, malysh,” Ilya whispers, nuzzling Shane’s cheek. (baby)
“I already have it,” Shane says, reaching up to caress Ilya’s face.
Ilya pulls away for a moment, looking into Shane’s eyes, the realization making his lip tremble. He leans down and kisses Shane slowly, the two of them folding into each other, exactly where they wish to be.