Chapter Text
Early April 2020
Prologue
Ilya and Shane
***
“Fuck it!”
Ilya looks over at Shane, who is slumped miserably on the couch, laptop in the same position it has been in for the past hour. As the sun has set, the golden hour has made way to darkness and now the blue glow of the screen illuminates Shane. It makes his complexion glow, turning him from an ancient gilded hero into some fey creature from a dream. Or something, he thinks as he smiles to himself. His enthusiasm for his boyfriend truly knows no bounds. He is not normal about this at all, he is aware, thank you.
“That is a strong reaction to work emails. To forgo your career? Are you retiring from hockey to go work in boring Canadian government with your father? Solve the pandemic? We would be back to playing already if you did this, you are aware, moya lyubov?”
“No, asshole. I’m just…” Shane trails off miserably.
“I will approve of this plan. Might not be a bad move. And with so much computer time as a government employee, you will have to wear your glasses all day. So, I win no matter what.”
Shane has one of those looks on his face, just on the edge, unable to be pulled back by Ilya’s antics. He moves next to the love of his life, sinking into the sofa cushions and nudging their thighs together.
“Yeah, this is just so fucking stupid. I’m answering emails about joining Gretzky and Ovechkin on some fucking live stream of a hockey video game with the money going to first responders. And the actual heroes? They’re out there every day taking care of dying people. They’re getting sick out there… there aren’t even enough fucking masks for the hospital staff, and here I am answering emails about a fucking live stream?”
Snuggling in closer, sensing Shane isn’t done, he starts to rub small circles into Shane’s arm. The pandemic has sucked, certainly, but they are in a very privileged position. Ilya knows it has been doing a number on Shane’s anxiety though, as evidenced by this current monologue. By now Ilya knows that what Shane needs is for him to just be a quiet and supportive presence.
“It’s just. This disease, the not knowing, the governments who are going to fuck it up? It’s like the end of the fucking world out there and here I am worrying about going on a livestream in case someone sees some sign of my boyfriend, who I adore, and who I am so beyond proud of. It is just so fucked and I am so done.”
Shane gets up and starts to pace. “I’m not making a statement, but I'm done hiding. Who the fuck cares. My parents found out about us, and Mom and Dad were just fucking ecstatic that I wasn’t alone up here in the middle of everything. Thousands of people are dying. Who cares about two hockey players? Who the fuck is even going to notice?”
Ilya stands and gently approaches. Shane stands still, looking down, shaking his head, in that far off place that he sometimes takes himself to. Ilya grasps his partner’s hands and gently squeezes before tracking his hands up his arms and pulling him into a grounding hug. He murmurs soft sounds in his ear, and as he feels Shane’s body start to soften and relax, he guides him back to the couch, arm still wrapped around his shoulders.
“Shane,” Ilya starts, not sure if he wants to validate the words that he has wanted to hear for so long, or challenge Shane to really think about what he is saying. He settles on the middle ground, being his typical endearingly irritating self. “You may not have noticed, because you have mostly been doing things like reading books and having marathon love-making sessions with your incredibly attractive boyfriend.” Shane rolls his eyes, which is the appropriate response, so Ilya continues. “Lockdown is a new world. Currently everyone is always online, terminally online. End-game online shenanigans.”
Shane mouths the last word, “Where did you even learn that word?” And there is his Shane.
“From your father. Full of good words. But my point is that people will notice. If we want to do this, it is because we want to do this, not because we think people are otherwise occupied. They will notice. It might even become a big thing. People are bored. Is very likely we could end up a very steamy distraction to the people of the world. We are very attractive. Lots of think pieces, lots of compilation videos. They probably will imagine us together and write those stories about us?”
“Write what? The fuck are you talking about, Ilya?”
“The stories, romance about people and television characters,” he snaps his fingers distractedly. “The fan fiction. I found many interesting websites when I was trying to find out if Pedro Pascal is also bisexual.” Shane rolls his eyes again. “Important research, in case you ever change that rule of yours.” Coupled with a lascivious wink, that gets a deep laugh out of Shane.
“The fuck, Ilya. I guess you would know about what's happening online. Your socials are fairly epic these days.”
“Yes. Very popular. Many bored people looking for Rozanov thirst traps. But instead get pictures of your lovely latte art. And you can’t prove it is not me making the beautiful leaves and flowers, like the sexiest Russian barista. Who is also hockey god.”
“Our hobbies are very different,” Shane deadpans.
Laughing brightly, Ilya leans in for a kiss. As he pulls away he schools his face. His love for Shane is not a joke, not at all. “I love you. You know this. Is this something you want to do? Because as I have told you, there will never be a good time, but I will wait until you are ready. You know I am in a good place. Good team, understanding team, safe in Canada. But only if it is right for both of us.”
“I love you too. And seriously, I’ve been thinking about this. A lot.” Shane has his planning expression cemented in place. “Listen. It’s a great fucking time. Whether we’re on pause with the MLH or not, my contract is up after this season. I’m done with the Metros and all the fucking homophobes over there. LIke I’ve been saying, I have no time for toxicity. It is the fucking time to change and have a fresh start. And, I know we talked about this, but I can call my agent today to get me a meeting with the Cens. So when things open back up, it’s all done. And we can make it all happen like we’ve talked about.”
The kiss that follows this pronouncement is considerably more filthy. “This is true. So, what do you want to do? What is the Shane Hollander approved twelve-step plan?”
“Let’s talk to our agents, maybe you can sign on with Farah, less back and forth. We’ll tell her about us, and have her start working on seeing what Ottawa can offer. I mean, honestly, between the two of us, even if I can't get what I’m making in Montreal, and I probably won’t, we aren’t hurting for money. I’ll have Mom shore up a few more commercial partners. Fuck, I actually think they’ll love any publicity that results from us becoming public. Hunter’s ad revenue took off after he came out, so there’s precedent.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to look elsewhere? You could be on a winning team, you could have the highest salary in the league.”
“These last few weeks have been the most challenging I have ever had, but in a way, being with you for this uninterrupted time, well it’s also been kind of the best. I just don’t think I could go back. Life is more than hockey, you know. It can be so short. It is so short.”
Leaning in, Ilya deposits a kiss on Shane’s cheek. “This is a very good plan. I would expect nothing less. And I’m,” he braces his hands over his eyes momentarily. “I’m so damn happy. It has been hard. I have wanted to shout my love to the rooftops.”
“I know,” Shane reaches over and rubs his thumbs under Ilya’s eyes, smiling beatifically. “Lets move to lock down our plans and then just say fuck it.”
“Fuck it…and what does that look like, beyond the obvious,” lya says, coming closer, raising his eyebrows and finally shifting to Shane’s lap, where the computer had been hoarding the precious space all afternoon.
“Just, like. No statement, but no hiding. We can tell your team and our friends or whatever, but just, like, go out to a restaurant if we want, go grocery shopping together, meet up with Scott and Eric at the Kingfisher when we’re in New York for stuff. Normal couple things.”
“You are a secret chaos agent, my Shane. But,” Ilya gestures around, “We are in quarantine. I do not think any of those things are on the offer anytime soon.”
“I know. But, honestly,” Shane rests his hands firmly on Ilya’s hips, his gaze serious again. Ilya smooths his hands down Shane’s arms in a soothing motion. “You know me. Getting used to it up here,” he taps his temple, "that's the hardest thing. Just saying it doesn’t matter. If we just start acting like.. Like things actually are. Being ourselves always, not just when we’re alone. Well, it will help. My brain will get accustomed to showing my love outside of our own little cocoon, and it will be easier when we emerge from this crazy time and have to leave this house. Like practicing a play so many times that when you’re on the ice you don't even think about it.”
Ilya loves this man, and his big complicated brain, and his nuance, and every fucking thing about him. But they’ve done enough mental gymnastics for the afternoon. “Does make sense, lots of sense. For the record, I have very very good muscle memory,” Ilya growls, as he pushes Shane down onto the couch, and they focus on not thinking for a while.