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Ilya was a simple man at heart. There were things he truly hated and things he loved.
He absolutely loved his husband.
His husband, who, over the years, has found comfort in a particular set of sleep clothes. Soft forest green pants and a grey cotton t-shirt. It was a gentle sight, but seeing Shane cuddled up in bed, glasses on and face peaceful, Ilya wanted nothing more than to crawl over him and nibble at Shane's skin.
Which he would do.
Eventually.
If his fucking rookies would answer the phone.
'Hi, you've reached the voicemail of-'
Keeping Shane in his peripheral vision to make sure he didn't fall asleep, Ilya dialled the number again.
The rookies had decided to go out, some of the older players had agreed, but to Ilya's knowledge, the rooks ventured out as their own little group.
'Hi, you've reached the voicemail of-'
Said little group had not returned to the hotel, and Ilya was starting to understand how much he stressed out the veteran members of the Boston team with his bullshit.
Karmic retribution, they'd call this.
"Have they answered yet?" Shane asked, muffled by the blanket, which was curled around his hands and tucked up to his face. "It's past curfew now."
"They are sending me to voicemail," Ilya replied, voice flat. "Disrespectful children."
Shane barked out a laugh, nose crinkling, and Ilya was sure this was a personal hell, not being able to just crawl into bed with this beautiful man.
"Says the party gremlin of Boston," Shane said once he stopped laughing, cuddling further into the bedding. His glasses lay slightly askew.
"But they're in a bit of trouble if Coach finds out."
"They are in trouble with me." Ilya sighs, pulling up Luca's contact this time. "Haasy better answer."
"The favourite child is in trouble, pigs might be flying." Shane's voice was starting to drift into this floaty state; he'd fall asleep soon, and Ilya would not be happy about it. "Can't wait to have that conversation."
"They will wish you were the one calling."
The number rang for a moment, then blessedly connected.
"Hello?" A voice answered, drawing out the vowels of the word in a drunken state, but it was definitely not his rookie. "Who is this?"
"This is Ilya. Where is Luca?" Ilya questions, his pacing coming to a halt, foot tapping and one hand resting on his hip. "And who is this?"
Shane looked up to him now, more alert than before at the questioning.
"Sorry mate, the owner of the phone has his head in a toilet, so I answered. Hold on, I'll pass you over."
Ilya blinked at the roof and prayed for a semblance of mercy.
"Hm? Oh, 'lya?" A slurring voice of Luca Haas came through the phone. "Hi."
"It is past curfew Haasy," Ilya said simply.
"Oh fuck." Haas giggled, "We're in trouble."
"Where are you?"
"Um, a bar, I think."
"You think?"
"Yes."
Silence rang in the conversation before Ilya cursed in muttered Russian. "How are you getting back?"
"Young is calling a car."
"You tell me when you are on your way and send Shane your location tracking, yes?" Ilya asked.
"Yes, Dad." Haas sighed back, not realising exactly what he said. "Be back at the hotel soon."
The line disconnected, and Shane's phone dinged with a message with the promised location sharing.
Shane was putting his glasses on the little table and patted the bed for Ilya to sit.
"They coming back?"
"Very drunk, but yes," Ilya grumbled. "I will have grey hair from these rookies."
Shane stretched his arm out to tangle his fingers through some of the looser curls, "You have them already, Ilya."
Ilya squawked in offence and rolled them around so he was straddling Shane, who was giggling at his own poor attempt at a joke.
"You tease me because I cannot react." Ilya whined, "Have to wait for the kids to be in bed."
Shane wiggled around for a moment before settling, "Too bad for you, I'll be asleep by then."
Ilya groaned properly this time and allowed himself to lie flat atop Shane.
He stayed there until Shane's phone pinged again; the rookies had stopped driving, which meant they'd be slowly making their way upstairs.
Giving his husband a parting kiss, Ilya shuffled into the hallway and leant against the wall.
Moments later, the elevator opened and out stumbled his four drunken rookies. All trying to keep each other upright, dishevelled and clearly going to be feeling it tomorrow.
"Ilya!" Haas called out, happy to see his captain and obviously unaware of the lecture coming his way. "See, we're back fine!"
Ilya shook his head and started to usher him down the hall, "You all, bed, now."
A chorus of complaint came out until Ilya gave them a blank stare.
Ilya dropped Holmberg and LaPointe to their shared room, then had to take Haas from them. Using the kids arm, he waddled them into the hotel room and gently placed him in the crisp sheets.
Realising Luca would not be moving, Ilya removed his shoes and pulled the blanket out from under him so it could be used correctly.
"Are we in trouble?" Young asked carefully, "We didn't realise the time."
"We talk properly in the morning," Ilya replied, but upon seeing the crestfallen expression, he doubled back. "Not trouble, but we have things to discuss."
"M'kay." The younger boy replied before flopping onto his pillow and falling asleep.
Ilya sighed and shuffled back to his own room, where he found Shane, out cold and cuddled into the blankets.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Luca regretted every decision he made last night. From the first drink to letting a stranger answer his phone to standing in his Captain's hotel room.
Lined up with the other rookies, Ilya stood in front of them, hands on his hips.
Any hope of Shane helping them out was squashed when he disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
"I do not care that you want to go out," Ilya said eventually. "But you answer the phone."
All four of them shuffled awkwardly and couldn't meet their captain's eyes.
"We're sorry," Luca said eventually, hoping it could save them from a prolonged lecture. "It was loud, and I didn't even know my phone was ringing."
"Yes, so a stranger answers and tells me your head is in toilet," Ilya replied, voice flat. "Very comforting, Haasy."
None of them had a defence after that.
Shane eventually made a reappearance, "He's too stubborn to just say you worried him, and he'd appreciate a phone call. We've all broken curfew, but don't go radio silent on us in a different country, in a city you don't know well."
The four rookies replied with a chorus of 'yes, Shane, sorry, captain'.
"Next time," Ilya said, foot tapping, "I put tape on your door so you can't leave without someone seeing it."