Archive of Our Own

“Okay, are we ready?” Harris rubs his hands together, excitement gleaming in his eyes. 

The “Yes” coming back is more enthusiastic than is to be expected for PR at this point in the season. The players are lingering under an awning in the parking lot, craning their necks. Not present is Ilya, who is currently going through an intense physical therapy regime for his knee. Today, he has an MRI appointment. 

“Remember, just be nice, hang out, we’ll take some pictures. Shane, we’ll film the intro in a second.” 

Shane gives Harris thumbs up, getting in the designated spot, standing with his hands clasped. 

“I hear it!” LaPointe perks up like a little boy, huge smile spreading from ear to ear. In this moment, the enormous, red Ottawa Fire Department truck pulls into the lot, followed by a second one. The guys start to holler and whistle, briefly turning into a bunch of little boys. Bood is filming on his phone, no doubt for his kids. 

They all startle, then cheer when the siren goes off briefly, letting out a loud howl. 

“Okay, Shane, are you ready? This could be a good shot-” Harris ducks around Shane and hurries to start filming. Shane gives him a brief, professional nod. He swallows, licks his lips. 

“Remember, family friendly. Okay, go.”

“Hello everyone,” Shane starts, pasting a rehearsed smile on his face, “Today, we are meeting some very important and brave members of our community here in Ottawa: the men and women working for the Ottawa Fire Department.” The truck comes to a stop a few meters to his side, and Shane can see the satisfaction in Harris’ eyes at the perfect shot. 

“Very recently, some of our team members had to be evacuated due to the underground gas leak in some areas of the city,” Shane dutifully explains, trying not to sound like he’s reading it off a card. He isn’t. He just tends to sound robotic sometimes and apparently, people think that’s funny. “Thanks to all the first responders of Ottawa, nobody was harmed and the leak was…” Shane trails off. “...fixed…”

Currently, some of the hottest men he’s ever seen are spilling out of the firetruck and into their parking lot. 

All of them are huge. Which Shane should be used to, constantly surrounded by hockey players. However, the hugeness combined with the uniform just… hits different. It’s a warm day, so they’ve mostly shed their jackets, leaving them in t-shirts and the heavy suspenders of their uniform. 

Shane has completely lost the thread of his sentence. 

“Holy shit,” Harris whispers from behind his phone, family-friendliness forgotten. 

Shane whirls around to give him a wide-eyed look, something like deep mutual understanding passing between them. Shane swallows hard, then tries to pick up where they left off, so Harris will be able to cut and use the shot anyway. 

“Th-thanks to all the brave first responders of Ottawa, nobody was harmed and the leak was fixed within a day, allowing everyone to return safely to their homes. Today, we want to honor and thank-”

Shane’s only warning is a tiny little meep Harris lets out before a huge hand comes down on his shoulder. 

“Shane Hollander?” 

Shane turns to be faced with a man looking like he came straight from one of those sexy firefighter calendars. He’s probably in his late thirties or early forties, taller than Shane by quite a lot, meaning he must be at least around 6’4, and built so solidly that his chest is like a brick wall. His muscled arms are tan and hairy, and the hand which still rests on Shane’s shoulder is as huge as a plate. He’s got dark hair which is turning a little salt-and-pepper at the sides, and a matching moustache, combined with thick, dark stubble on his square jaw. His eyes are a warm brown, with crows feet from smiling around the edges. He’s smiling now, too, sticking out his other hand for Shane to shake. 

Shane has half a mind to do so. 

“Matthew Roy, Ottawa FD. It’s an honor to meet you, I’m a huge fan.” 

“I’m a huge fan of yours,” Shane stutters, then immediately cringes so hard his shoulders pull up. “I mean, of what you do.”

“Oh,” Matthew laughs, “It’s our job, someone’s gotta do it!”

“Well, thank you.” Shane is acutely aware of the fact that Harris’ camera is still trained on him. “Let’s um… let’s meet the guys!” 

“I’ll meet your guys and you can meet my guys!” Matthew grins. His teeth are very white. “Guys and gals, of course.” 

Right, there are two female firefighters as well. Shane hadn’t noticed, too preoccupied. 

The firefighters are surrounded by hockey players, excitedly chatting away. One of the women is explaining the equipment to some of them, and another firefighter is showing the controls of the truck off to Evan and Wyatt. 

As Shane is approaching, Troy sidles up to him with a wide-eyed, slightly panicky look which Shane deeply understands right now. He’s just grateful Ilya isn’t here to witness this and get jealous. 

“I’m so glad I’m already out,” Troy says under his breath, making Shane exhale hard through his nose. 

Shane, somehow, manages to gather his wits and chat with some of the firefighters. One asks him to sign his helmet, another one shows him a very thick biceps adorned by a fucking Centaurs tattoo. Gen rushes in to take a photo of Shane smiling next to the guy’s biceps. 

“Hey, you guys carry people out of burning buildings all the time, right?” Holmberg asks eventually. 

“Yeah of course, all the time!” one of the younger firefighters, a stocky, handsome black guy, grins.  

“Even big guys like me?” Holmberg asks, delighted. 

“For sure,” the firefighter replies. “Want me to try?” 

Holmberg laughs, then reaches behind himself with his enormous wing span and pulls Luca forward. “Do Haasy first, he’s lighter. Don’t want you to pull something.” 

Luca immediately blushes. “You don’t have to-”

“Come on.” The firefighter holds out his hand towards Luca. “You can just relax, I’ll have you.”

Luca’s blush deepens to a nice tomato shade as the guys start chanting his name in encouragement. “Uh, okay.” He lets the firefighter take his arm and pull him in. With a quick movement, the firefighter slings Luca’s arm across the back of his neck and bends to grip behind his knee, rising up to standing with ease. Luca yelps when he’s lifted. 

“Oh wow, that’s not too bad!” the firefighter exclaims with a laugh, then proceeds to do a squat with Luca on his back. 

“Holy shit, dude!” Holmberg laughs, clapping in delight. 

“More often than from standing, we have to do these pick-ups from a prone position,” Matthew explains. Then, to Shane’s horror, he turns to Shane. “Wanna help me demonstrate?” 

Shane sucks in a breath. “Uh, sure.” 

“Okay, so, just lie down on the ground-”

Shane does, and when he’s on his back, he stares up at the blue spring sky contemplating his life choices for a brief second as his team watches on in amusement. 

Matthew joins him on the ground, and Shane lifts his head in confusion. A second later, his arm and leg are slung over two very sturdy shoulders, and he is lifted from the ground like a rag doll as Matthew rolls to his knees, then squats, hoisting Shane in the air. 

“Holy shit-” Shane gasps, laughing at the sheer shock of it. 

“Just like that,” Matthew groans, standing up as straight as he can with Shane on his shoulders. 

Everybody cheers. 

Thankfully, Matthew gently sets Shane down a moment later; Shane feels mildly dazed. 

Troy comes to stand next to him. “How hard are you right now? Do we need to call Roz?” he asks from the corner of his mouth, then laughs when Shane shoves him with a “Fuck off, Barrett.”

-

Shane feels himself relax when the firefighters are gone and they’re finally on their way inside for practice. This is where he feels comfortable. This is where he's safe.  

“Hey.” Luca catches up to him in the hallway. He looks a bit tired; they all do. The season is getting exhausting. He holds something in his palm; a piece of paper. “It…. it happened again.”

Shane frowns at him until he realizes what Luca means. “Which one?” 

“The guy who squatted me,” Luca sighs, as if this is a hardship. 

“Huh.” Shane doesn’t know what to say. “What are you going to do with it?” 

“Nothing.” Luca frowns at the paper, then stuffs it into his pocket. 

Holmberg and Young are walking in front of them, their heads together, animatedly discussing something in hushed tones. Shane refuses to get into another one of their shenanigans.

He is, however, faced with said shenanigans less than half an hour later, when, during the drills they run, Young and LaPointe suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, crash into each other. 

“Watch where you’re going, dude,” Young groans, picking himself up from the ice. 

LaPointe says nothing, but Shane notices the pissed-off look he gives Young. They’re friends, usually. Good friends, even. So this is weird, and, considering where they are in the season right now, bad. 

“Can’t even say sorry?” Young calls after Pointy. Bood is already skating over to them. 

“Can you?” LaPointe whirls around, and a second later, he’s drifting towards Young, chest puffed out. 

“What for?” Young spits back. 

“Hey guys!” Bood is there, holding out his hands towards both of them. “Calm the fuck down.” 

“You fucking know what for!” Pointy ignores Bood. 

“For not being able to read your thoughts?!” Young rolls his eyes. 

“What the fuck is going on with them?” Troy asks with a frown. A few other players have stopped. 

“They… had a fight,” Holmberg says sheepishly. 

“Don’t pretend like you-”

Bood gives LaPointe such a stern dad-look that they can all feel it across the ice. “Whatever this is stays off the ice. Come on now.” 

“What is this, kindergarten?” Shane rolls his eyes; next to him, Troy snorts. 

Shane wishes Ilya was here. Bood’s got this, for sure, but years of being a captain and now an interim captain when Ilya is away have him feeling responsible anyway. And while Bood deserves the A, his chill, kind spirit is too nice for this. 

With an annoyed tsk, Shane skates over to them. The two young guys are still glaring at each other, both of them looking mad as hell. Shane can feel himself get pissed as well; they’re so close to the cup now, and yes, emotions usually run high. But this is just unnecessary. 

“Hey, both of you take a breather-” Bood is just saying, holding out both hands towards them, clearly trying to gentle-parent them into some sort of peace. 

Shane stops on their other side, and looks from Young to LaPointe and back. Mild annoyance is bubbling under his skin. There is a very brief moment of tense silence, before Shane harshly says: “Hey. If you’re expecting this team to carry you to the cup because you’re too busy quarrelling about whatever, you better get off the fucking ice now and let everyone else put in the work. If you want to be active participants, you better put whatever is going on between you two aside and practice your drills. God knows you need it. Subpar consistency, no awareness, and apparently no fucking discipline.” Someone gasps. It’s harsh, but they need it. “We’ve all been fighting to get this far and if you two can’t take this seriously right now, I’m not kidding, leave.”

With every word he speaks, they both shrink, like little boys getting a stern talking-to by a teacher. 

“Sorry,” LaPointe has the decency to mumble. 

“Not me you should apologize to.” With that, Shane turns, skating off. Everyone else quickly jumps back into movement. 

Behind himself, Shane can hear Bood say, “This happens when you do this shit when Roz isn’t here.”

-

They manage to ignore each other for the rest of the day, which still isn’t ideal, but is better than fighting. Shane cannot wait to hand this off to Ilya. 

After practice, he unlocks his phone. 

husband💙: I miss youuuuuuuu pt is so boring 

Shane is too smart to open the attached photo while still in semi-public. He will look at it in the car later. 

There is one of the usual texts from Rose saying how much she misses him, which he quickly replies to with hearts and a miss you too, and one from his dad, who sent him an article about surrogacy in Canada. Shane does not open it. 

Shane almost wants to lock his phone again and put it away, when one notification catches his eye.

Message request: 

matthew_on_fire: Thanks for having us today. I just wanted- 

The rest of the message is cut off. 

Shane opens it with a shaky finger. 

matthew_on_fire: Thanks for having us today. I just wanted to say again how great it was to meet you in person. You’re honestly such an inspiration, as an athlete, as a person in general and as a queer person in a masculine environment. 🏳️‍🌈 

Oh. 

Shane pulls his phone closer and reads it again, his heart beating faster. 

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, Shane chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds before texting back. 

shanehollanderhockeyplayer: Thanks for coming, you guys are the true inspiration. And wow, I never would have guessed 🏳️‍🌈 that’s awesome. 

He cringes at himself the second he sends it.

-

“Hello solnyshko.” Ilya comes up from behind Shane, wrapping his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. On the ground, Anya is skittering around him in joy. Shane turns his face, meeting his mouth.

“Hi. How was PT?”

Ilya groans, burying his face in Shane’s shoulder. “Annoying. Painful. Good.”

“Are you making progress?” Shane nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“It does not feel like it will give out anymore,” Ilya replies, eyes closed, inhaling Shane’s scent, “So… probably okay.”

Shane bites his lip, wrapping his arms around Ilya. His knee has been bothering him for some time now. They just need to make it though the play-offs. After, Ilya can relax, rest his knee and heal up. 

Shane kisses the top of Ilya’s head, holding him for a minute. 

“How was your day?” Ilya asks after a while, voice muffled by Shane’s t-shirt. 

“Um,” Shane says, “Fine.” 

Ilya pulls back, and Shane instantly knows he’s busted. His cheeks flush immediately. 

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine! Nice.” He avoids Ilya’s eyes, “Good.”

“Any more mildly positive adjectives?” Ilya asks mildly, then cups Shane’s chin. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Shane says way too fast. 

Ilya just stares at him, frowning. 

Shane refuses to talk about the firemen. “LaPointe and Young got into a stupid fight in practice, Bood and I broke them up.” 

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Fucking idiots.”

“Yeah,” Shane sighs, “No idea what their deal was.”

“Oh I know.” Ilya lets go of Shane, walks around the kitchen island and flips on the coffeemaker. Shane watches on with a disapproving expression which Ilya ignores. “They are fighting over a girl.” 

“But I thought Young had a girlfriend now.” Shane frowns. 

“Yes, this is the girl they are fighting over,” Ilya tells him with a big shrug, “They all met at a party or something and both were into her but she picked Young, so.” Another big shrug. 

“How do you know this?” Shane asks, now curious. 

“Holmberg,” Ilya sighs, grabbing his favorite mug (which has Anya’s face on it) from the cupboard. 

“Are you gossipping in the gym or what?” Shane grins, mildly amused at the mental image. 

“Yes,” Ilya replies, pressing the button for coffee. The machine gurgles, then spits out a stream of black liquid. 

“Well,” Shane frowns deeper when Ilya drops two cubes of sugar in his mug, “I hope they can deal with it before the next game.” 

“What did you say to break them up?” Ilya asks casually, stirring his coffee. 

“I don’t remember.” Shane rolls his eyes. “To get it together.”

“Were you mean to them?” Ilya leans against the counter with a smirk. 

“I was honest and told them that the team relies on them,” Shane replies, turning back to his laptop.

“Ah, so you were mean to them,” Ilya concludes. He takes a deep sip of coffee and lets out a happy little aah. 

“I’m never mean,” Shane says, opening an e-mail from his mom. 

Ilya just hums. “How was the PR thing in the morning?” 

“Fine,” Shane says, and then nothing else. “Unnecessary this far into the season.” 

“Not everything is hockey, Hollander,” Ilya teases, walking back around the kitchen island and pressing another kiss to Shane’s cheek. 

“Yes it is.” Shane leans into Ilya, grateful to escape further questions. 

-

Harris Drover: hi Shane, just working on the footage from this morning and like I said, we won’t use the clip where you got flustered 🤭I made Bood do the rest of the intro. But would it be okay if I used the shot of the fire captain lifting you? The fans would love it. [video file attached.]

Shane is glad Ilya is still downstairs watching tv while Shane is doing his skin care. He taps on the video, and it’s pretty much what he expected. Matthew towering over him in the video looks wild. Shane watches himself lie down on the floor before getting hoisted up and over Matthew’s shoulders- and he can instantly tell why Harris is asking if he can use it. Shane looks clearly flustered, his cheeks pink. When Matthew puts him back down on the floor, video-Shane blinks at him with wide eyes for a second in a way that makes present Shane cringe at himself. 

He watches it again, chewing on his bottom lip, tasting the chemical sheen of his face mask. He closes it, opens instagram. 

matthew_on_fire: It’s not obvious, I know 😉 I’m a discreet guy… 

“There you have your damn instagram DM,” Shane mutters to himself. He takes a screenshot, hesitates for a second, then sends it to Harris. 

Shane Hollander: What do you think of this? 

Harris types for a second, then a message pops up; the first one is just an outraged emoji. 

Harris Drover: oh wowwwww… I mean, gotta admire the bravery. 

Shane Hollander: Let’s maybe not use the video then? I don’t want any wrong impressions. 

Harris Drover: What if I cut off your yearning bottom eyes in the end?

Shane gasps at his phone; the gasp reverberates through the bathroom.

Shane Hollander: my WHAT 

Shane Hollander: the only man I am yearning for is my husband 

Harris Drover: haha okay buddy, relax! I’m sorry. I won’t use the footage. But I’ll warn you, you do look flustered in almost all of the shots. 

Shane huffs. 

Shane Hollander: Then don’t use any of them.

Harris Drover: Shane, you’re one of our stars, Ilya’s not in the video at all, the fans want to see you. With Ilya hurt they need some positivity. And I don’t want people saying you’re, idk, stuck up for not meeting with ottawa community members. 

Harris Drover: I’ll cut you out of the video entirely but I don’t think that’ll look good, full disclosure 🫤

Shane groans. His phone timer goes off; time to take off his face mask. Shane flings his phone onto the bathroom counter and peels the mask off of his skin. No retinol in the world could get those annoyed lines out of his face right now. 

“Solnyshko?” Shane jumps when Ilya’s voice comes through the door. “Are you okay in there? You keep making noises.”

“I’m okay,” Shane says quickly. 

The door opens slowly, and Ilya peaks inside. When he sees Shane standing at the sink, he relaxes. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were douching.” 

Shane huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not, don't get your hopes up.” He’s well-aware Ilya doesn’t deserve his pissed-off-ness right now. 

“What’s wrong?” Ilya asks, approaching him, reaching out for him. “I hear you huffing and puffing all the way in the living room. Talk to me.” 

His hands land on Shane’s hips, and Shane can’t help but relax, leaning into him. 

“It’s stupid,” he grumbles.

“Not if it bothers you.” Ilya places a small kiss on Shane’s shoulder. 

“Promise you won’t be mad?” Shane asks, voice small. 

Ilya pulls back, frowning in confusion. 

“Okay,” Shane starts, “You know the PR thing this morning?”

Ilya nods. “With first responders or something?” 

“Uh-huh.” Shane avoids his eyes. “Ottawa fire brigade.” He stops, shifts on his feet, uncomfortable and blushing. “They. Um. I.” 

“What?” Ilya asks, more and more confused by the second. 

“I, uh… was caught off-guard by the… uniforms I guess,” Shane confesses. 

Ilya blinks at him, the sentence rattling around in his brain, until understanding dawns on his face and a massive grin appears on it. “What, you thought the firemen were sexy?” 

“Ilya!” Shane huffs, closing his eyes. “...yes.” 

Ilya throws his head back, laughing. “Fuck, Shane. You had me scared.” 

“It’s not funny!” Shane whines, pawing at Ilya’s chest. “It’s all on video, Harris asked me to do the intro and I forgot what I was saying when they arrived!” 

Ilya laughs so hard that he has to step back from Shane, doubling over. “Shane Hollander, super gay, on video!” 

“Stop it!” Shane scolds, but can’t help but laugh, too. “The guys talked one of them into picking me up in, like, a fireman carry.”

“Wow!” Ilya grins, “Did you like it? I bet I can do it, too.”

“For sure you can,” Shane tells him, crossing his arms, huffing. “Anyway. I don’t know if I want Harris to post it.”

“Let me see.” 

“No!” Shane says way too quickly. 

“Shane.” Ilya levels a serious gaze at him. “Let me see.” 

Shane rolls his eyes. “I don’t have all the footage, you’ll have to ask Harris.” He realizes his mistake the second Ilya’s eyes glitter with mischief. 

Hockey Stonewall 🏳️‍🌈🏒 

Ilya: harris i need to see it 

Harris: woah bud 

Ilya: show me my husband being super gay 

Kip: I feel like you could just look at him right now and see that. 

Shane: :/

Harris: ah. okay one sec. 

Scott: ???

Harris: [video file attached.]

Video:

Raw footage of this morning. 

Shane: “Hello everyone. Today, we are meeting some very important and brave members of our community here in Ottawa: the men and women working for the Ottawa Fire Department.” 

Behind him, the firetruck rolls into the parking lot, stopping in the shot. The Centaurs immediately surround the truck like a bunch of little kids on a field trip. 

Shane: “Very recently, some of our team members had to be evacuated due to the underground gas leak in some areas of the city.”

To his side, the firefighters exit the truck. Shane’s eyes flicker over to them and briefly widen. He shifts, clasping his hands in front of himself. 

Shane: “Thanks to all the first responders of Ottawa, nobody was harmed and the leak was…” The firefighters are closer now, and Shane is clearly getting distracted. “...fixed…”

Harris, quietly from behind the camera: “Holy shit.”

Shane gives Harris behind the camera a panicky, helpless look. 

Shane, clearly trying to get it together: “Th-thanks to all the brave first responders of Ottawa, nobody was harmed and the leak was fixed within a day, allowing everyone to return safely to their homes. Today, we want to honor and thank-”

From the side of the shot, Matthew approaches, just outside of Shane’s field of vision. He lays his hand on Shane’s shoulder; Shane startles and half-turns, eyes widening, cheeks going pink.  

Matthew: “Shane Hollander?”

Shane nods in reply, silent. 

Matthew: “Matthew Roy, Ottawa FD. It’s an honor to meet you, I’m a huge fan.” 

Shane: “I’m a huge fan of yours.” He visibly cringes. “I mean, of what you do.”

Matthew, laughing: “Oh, It’s our job, someone’s gotta do it!”

Shane, sincerely: “Well, thank you. Let’s um… let’s meet the guys!” 

Matthew, grinning: “I’ll meet your guys and you can meet my guys! Guys and gals, of course.” 

Shane’s eyes flicker to the camera once more before the video cuts. 

New shot: the Centaurs standing around the firetruck, chatting and laughing. The camera briefly focuses on Shane, who blinks rapidly as one of the firemen sticks out his tattooed biceps at him. 

Cut. 

Luca being squatted while the team cheers. In the background, you can see Shane watching with his arms crossed, blinking rapidly. Behind him, Matthew very clearly zeroes in on Shane. 

Matthew: “More often than from standing, we have to do these pick-ups from a prone position.” He turns to Shane, who visibly blanches. “Wanna help me demonstrate?” 

Shane, quickly: “Uh, sure.” 

Matthew, gesturing: “Okay, so, just lie down on the ground, I’ll get you from there.”

Shane, after a second of hesitation, lies down on the ground. Matthew joins him a second later, and Shane’s eyes go wide when he does, lying perpendicular to Shane and hooking his big arms into both Shane’s arm and leg to pull him up onto his shoulders. Shane yelps when Matthew rolls into a kneeling position, but holds still. 

Matthew stays in the kneeling position for a moment, before, with a grunt, bringing one foot forward and squatting Shane up until he’s standing. 

Shane, gasping: “Holy shit!”

Matthew, smirking: “Just like that.” 

Gently, he ducks to the side to let Shane down. Shane lads on his feet, stumbling briefly, catching himself on Matthew’s arm, blinking up at him with wide eyes, cheeks pink. 

Matthew, quietly so the camera barely picks it up: “You alright?” 

Shane nods quickly, cheeks raspberry red. 

End video. 

Hockey Stonewall 🏳️‍🌈🏒 

Kip: Girl. 

Fabian: no idea what’s going on but i’m into it 

Scott: Where were you when this video was made Roz? 

Troy: answering bc i feel like we will not get a reply from him… pt appt 

Luca: they were really attractive 

Scott: Men in uniform etc. 

Kip: Troy I hope you can play without Shane on saturday bc I have a feeling he will not be able to walk 

Harris: asdfghjk 😂

Fabian: hot. 

Kip: oh no I think I’m on fire all of a sudden, won’t somebody come save me 

Scott: 😑

-

“He is hot.” 

“Ilya, stop,” Shane groans, grabbing for his phone. Ilya pulls it out of his reach, zooming in on the instagram photos. 

They’re lying in bed, still sweaty, because of course Ilya had to make sure Shane knew who he belonged to after that. 

“Can you please leave it alone?” Shane grumbles, pulling the covers up over his chest. “I knew you’d get jealous.”

“Like you don’t like it,” Ilya smirks, dropping the phone on the nightstand and rolling half on top of Shane, weighing him down, pressing a sloppy kiss to his chin. The way Shane smiles and blushes tells him he’s right. 

“You know I only want you,” he says, and Ilya easily lets himself be placated when Shane tips up his chin to ask for a kiss. Ilya gives it to him. “Only want you around me, only wanna be your husband, only want your dick…” 

Ilya’s grin widens at that and he nips at Shane’s chin again. “Yes, because it’s the best one around.”

“Yes,” Shane says sincerely, “It is. You know I’m crazy about you.” 

And well, that makes Ilya’s heart flutter, even twelve years into their relationship. 

“I told Harris not to post it.” Shane wraps his arms around Ilya, and Ilya lets his head drop to his shoulder. 

“Why?” 

Shane groans. “I don’t know. It… it makes me uncomfortable to… to let people see that.”

“You mean, to let them see Shane Hollander, super gay?” Ilya asks, his voice slightly muffled by Shane’s shoulder. For good measure, he places a kiss on it. 

“Stop.” Shane gives his shoulder a weak little slap.

“People know you’re gay, Shane.” 

“I know!” Shane whines, and even though Ilya can’t see it, he knows the eyeroll is there. “But it’s… it’s different. Probably. For me to ogle men on camera.”

“You ogle me all the time, there are many compilations on YouTube.” Ilya blows a little raspberry against Shane’s shoulder. Shane gives a frustrated huff. 

Ilya peels back from Shane’s naked skin, looking down at him. “Shane, you are married to a man. People know you are gay. So what if you looked at a hot man. Even if he is not as hot as me.”

That gets a tiny smile out of Shane. “I’m also scared what people will have to say about that,” he admits, “Our relationship is under scrutiny as it is. You know how crazy people get whenever Rose and I go out, or when you stand next to a woman at an event. I don’t want, fucking… cheating rumors or whatever.”

Ilya takes in Shane’s concerned face. 

Shane has learned to ignore the press early on, and usually, he is very good at putting his head down and “no comment”ing himself through any sort of rumor, article or stupid question. 

But this, his sexuality, their relationship, is the one thing this stoicism fails Shane about, because it’s this vulnerable, soft part of him which he has guarded so closely and carefully for so many years. Shane Hollander Hockey Player is an object of desire in the public eye, yes, but he is also unattainable, almost inhuman. He couldn’t afford to have a sexuality for the longest time, much less one that isn’t explicitly bland and non-scandalous. 

“It’s just a stupid video,” Shane grumbles, averting his eyes. 

“What is this really about?” Ilya asks, not unkindly. 

Shane’s eyes widen, then he bites his lower lip. He says nothing for a long time, but Ilya lets him think. 

“I don’t know,” Shane starts, eyes somewhere on the ceiling, “I wish I could…” He stopped, letting out a frustrated little noise. “I wish I could just… make people realize how… how much I love you. How much you love me. That we’re meant for each other. Because sometimes it feels like…” He screwed his eyes shut, searching for the words. “Like people are waiting on us to fuck it up. And that pisses me off, because I literally want to have your baby.” 

Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up all the way to his hairline; Shane blushes violently when he realizes what he just said. 

“I mean-”

“Oh no, please do not correct yourself,” Ilya interrupts, a huge, delighted grin on his face. “You want me to knock you up, got it.” 

“Ilya!” Shane pushes lamely at his shoulder, “You know what I meant.”

Ilya chuckles, lowering his head to kiss Shane’s chest. “I know, solnyshko. I know this. I trust you.” 

Shane sighs, burying his hands in Ilya’s curls. “But?” 

“No but. Is funny video.” Ilya lets his accent trail lazily across the words. “And is kind of hot, y’know.” 

“Hot?” Shane scoffs. 

“Yes.” Ilya nips at his right pec, “To know all these guys want you but only I can have you. Only I know you like this.”

“Oh.” It falls breathlessly from Shane’s mouth, and then, he strains up, pulling Ilya in by his hair, placing a hot kiss on his lips. 

They don’t leave the bed for the rest of the night. 

-

They’re going to Philly this afternoon, and Ilya is lost in thought when he enters the elevator down from the media room. 

“Ah, Roz-” 

He has half a mind to stick out his foot to hold the door open for Young, who gives him a grateful little smile. “Thanks, man.” 

Ilya gives him a nod, going back to his phone, reading the article on surrogacy Yuna has forwarded him. The elevator goes down, and dings on the next level. 

The doors open, revealing LaPointe, who visibly freezes when he sees Young in there. Ilya looks up from his phone now; this whole situation makes him feel awfully nosy. 

They stare at each other for a second, before Ilya groans, “Get in or take stairs” at Pointy. It nudges him into motion, and he gets on the elevator, standing with his back to them. 

Two more floors down. 

Ding. 

Suddenly, there’s a heavy, metallic clank, an unhealthy rattle, and the elevator grinds to a halt, the lights flickering. Ilya feels his heart skip a beat. 

“Fuck,” Young groans, slamming his hand down on all the buttons. 

“That’s not gonna help,” LaPointe tells him, but Young ignores him. 

“Fucking shit,” Ilya mumbles, opening his text thread with Shane. 

“Great.” LaPointe leans against the wall of the elevator, crossing his arms. 

“God, fuck.” Young slams his palm into the Emergency Call button. 

An hour later, they are still stuck. 

Their rink tech can’t get the elevator to run, so they’re waiting for the fucking fire brigade. 

Ilya wonders if this is some kind of cosmic irony or joke. 

Are you okay? Shane is texting him for the 8th time in the past forty minutes. 

yes just bored as fuck, Ilya replies. 

at least you’re not alone in there, Shane types. 

would maybe be better, Ilya texts back, then looks up from his phone. 

Young and LaPointe sit as far apart as two reasonably tall guys can in the small space of this elevator, looking in different directions, pointedly ignoring each other. Ilya can sense the tension from here. 

Well, they have nothing better to do for what will probably be at least another hour. So, might as well.

He looks at both of them. “So, what the fuck is wrong with you two?” 

They both turn, looking at him with wide eyes. 

“Nothing,” Pointy says defensively, pulling his shoulders up. Young scoffs, and LaPointe immediately rolls his eyes at him. 

Jade and Ruby are more mature than this. 

“Did you steal his girlfriend or what?” Ilya asks; a little bit of ragebaiting can go far. 

He knows it’s not been easy on Young these past few weeks after making his relationship with his girlfriend, who is transgender, official. Ilya knows first hand how nasty people can be. There were PR meetings, and Young spent one very long morning in Harris’ office. Ilya can’t fault him for being tense as fuck. 

“No!” Young shakes his head, “I fucking didn’t.” 

“You knew I liked her,” LaPointe says accusingly. 

“I fucking didn’t!” Young repeats, more agitated now. 

“You met her together?” Ilya asks. They need to get it out, and if he and his curiosity are there to witness it… well. 

“Yes,” they both say at the same time. 

“We went out together in Toronto,” Young explains, “To a queer club, y’know, to make Haasy feel more comfortable.” 

Sweet, Ilya thinks. 

“And we met her there with her friends,” LaPointe says. 

“Did you have threesome?” Ilya asks, mostly to rile them up. 

“Ew, no!” Pointy pulls a face, and Young violently shakes his head. 

“You should have,” Ilya concludes, enjoying their disgusted faces. 

“We hit it off at the club,” LaPointe explains, giving Young a glare. “Danced for hours.” 

Young gives him an unimpressed look. “And then you didn’t even ask for her number.” 

LaPointe throws his hands in the air. “I’m fucking shy!” 

“You’re a fucking bitch is what you are-”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ilya holds out his arms before they can start a fight in this tiny space. “What happened then?” 

“We went home, and I randomly found her on instagram the next day,” Young said, “so I added her, she dm’d me, and we started talking. I had no intentions at first, I just thought she was nice and cool.” 

“And he didn’t tell me about it.” LaPointe, clearly offended, crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Why the fuck would I? I had no plans to-”

“Okay so you text her,” Ilya gestures to Young, “You hit it off.” 

Young nods. “Yeah, we hit it off. And like, you know how it goes, and then she was in Montreal for work so we kinda decided to meet up…” He gives Ilya a sly little grin, the kind that tells Ilya he thinks this is a conquest when it was, most likely, very carefully planned by the girl. 

“And, y’know, we got along really well, and it kinda just…” Young shrugs, “Happened.” 

Ilya is sure a lot of things happened. 

Young, to his credit, is one of the smarter guys of the bunch, so Ilya is pretty certain he didn’t just go about this willy-nilly. 

“And all the while you fucking lied to me about it because you knew it would upset me,” LaPointe spits. 

“I was keeping it on the DL, dude!” Young defends himself, “You’ve seen how these past few weeks have been for me, for her-”

“Oh yes, so noble!” LaPointe rolls his eyes, clearly upset. “Don’t pretend you were lying to me because of that, you knew you could have told me-”

“Maybe I wanted to fucking avoid this!” Ilya doesn’t think he’s ever heard Young shout; he’s a chill guy normally. “Your fucking self-pity, all the fucking time, ooooh, I can’t get any women, women don’t like me-”

LaPointe gasps, and Ilya can see the hurt in his face. 

“-and then you didn’t fucking ask her for her number at the club!” Young gestures wildly, “How do you think that made her feel, huh? Guy who’s not even brave enough to ask for her phone number after dancing with her for an hour, is he gonna stand up for her when it matters?” 

LaPointe opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water; his face is an unhealthy color. 

Ilya is slowly starting to regret bringing this up. 

“Fuck you, dude,” LaPointe eventually says lamely. 

“Right back at ya,” Young tells him, and turns back to his phone. 

Ilya sits between them in silence, feeling guilty. 

Fire dpt is pulling into the parking lot rn, a text from Shane says on his lockscreen, we’re making it to philly today after all.  

Ilya takes a deep breath, grabbing his crucifix and sending a quick prayer to the ceiling.

“Look,” he tells them. Neither of them look at him, both of them slumped against the metal walls. “You’re both fucking dumbasses.”

“Wow, thanks Roz,” Young mumbles under his breath. 

“No, listen.” Ilya holds out a hand. “Normally I would let you to do whatever, but we are approaching the fucking play-offs right now, and if we don’t fucking win the fucking cup, my husband is not having a baby with me.” 

They both freeze, turning around to face him with matching confused looks on their face. 

Ilya waves his hands dismissively. “Does not matter. What I need is for you two to fucking lock in.” 

“Don’t say that,” LaPointe mumbles. 

Ilya shushes him. “You. He’s fucking right.” He points at Young. “You need to stop being so pathetic about girls.”

LaPointe sniffs, looking at the ugly carpet floor. 

“No, I fucking mean it,” Ilya continues. “Everytime I hear some fucking incel bullshit from you, fucking drop that. You are handsome, you are rich, and I know you are inexperienced but I am sure there are plenty of girls who will help you out with that once you get over yourself and show some confidence. Jealousy is not fucking cute.” 

LaPointe ducks his head, rubbing his neck like a little boy. 

Next to him, Young snickers, and Ilya levels his unimpressed gaze on him. He stops snickering immediately. 

“Stop laughing,” Ilya tells him, giving him his best slavic stare. “I am all for true love and such, and I believe you when you say you had no intentions, but lying to your homeboy is fucked. You should have stood up for yourself and been honest like a man once you knew where it was going with your girl.”

Now Young is the one staring at the carpet. 

“So, like I said,” Ilya tells them, looking from one to the other and back, “Both dumbasses. Now, say sorry to each other.” 

They don’t say anything, both stone-faced.

“Say sorry!” Ilya repeats, yelling a little, making them both jump.

“Sorry,” Young mumbles. 

“Sorry for what,” Ilya prompts, earning himself a glare. 

“Sorry for not being honest with you sooner.” Young picks at his shoelace, giving LaPointe a shy glance. “...and sorry about what I said earlier, that was too much. But you know I’m kinda right.”

LaPointe sighs, pulling his hood over his head. “...sorry for being a little bitch about it. And yeah. Maybe you were kinda right.” 

“Yes, good, cookies for everyone.” Ilya lets his head bump back against the metal of the elevator wall. “Gospodi.”

There’s a brief silence between them, and suddenly, there are heavy footsteps from somewhere, then voices. 

“I think they’re coming!” LaPointe perks up. 

“Fucking finally,” Young sighs, and they share a tentative little grin. 

There’s rattling and noises and voices, and eventually, the elevator door is wrenched open a few inches. The elevator is stuck halfway down, meaning they will have to hoist themselves up later. 

“Everyone alright in there?” 

And of course it’s Mister Fucking “I’m discreet” fire captain Matt or whatever his fucking name is. 

“Ilya?” Shane’s voice calls, and Ilya feels himself perk up like a dog. 

“Yes, lyubimyy,” he calls back, overexaggerating the pet name maybe just a little bit. 

“We’re gonna get you out of there in a minute,” the fireman calls. 

They do something, and then something else, and there’s a lot of noise, and then, eventually, the elevator doors are wrenched open, and like an actor in a movie, the annoyingly handsome fire captain sticks his hand, offering to pull them out. 

LaPointe and Young take the offered hand, letting him pull them out. 

When it’s Ilya’s turns, he refuses the hand and digs his hand into the metal, bracing himself on his feet against the now-open door and pulls himself out, ignoring the fireman. There’s several people there, including Coach Wiebe, who sighs with relief, and Harris, phone in hand, filming the whole damn thing.

“Ilya, oh god, are you okay?” Shane sounds uncharacteristically worried. 

“Yeah,” Ilya says, and then scoops him into his arms and dips him in an epic, show-off-y kiss. Shane gasps against his lips, but lets him, hands digging into Ilya’s shoulders. 

When Ilya puts him back on his feet a second later, Shane is blushing and very obviously flustered. 

“Wow,” Matthew grins. Ilya gives him an unimpressed look, but holds out his hand. 

“Thank you for doing your job.”

“Ilya!” Shane nudges him, getting even redder. 

“Hey, no problem.” Matthew shakes Ilya’s hand with a firm grip, giving him a brief but visibly appreciative once-over. 

“Jealousy isn’t cute, cap,” LaPointe says under his breath when they walk down the stairs a minute later, hurrying to catch their flight. 

“I don't know what you are talking about,” Ilya tells him. 

-

Ilya Rozanov’s Instagram account 

ilya.rozanov81 ✅: happy to report my knee is better 💪

[video post: Ilya standing in the Hollander-Rozanov’s home gym. The video is shaky due to being filmed through the floor to ceiling mirror. Shane is draped over his shoulders, Ilya's arms hooked behind one knee and one arm, holding the phone, clearly giggling as Ilya does a full squat with him on his shoulders. He completes the squat, and Shane yelps, “Ilya!”, clearly not sounding opposed to this. “Okay,” Ilya says, speaking through gritted teeth with a huge grin, “Now we do hip thrust.” Shane gasps, the camera shaking. “Ilya-”. The video cuts off.]