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MONTREAL - APRIL 2021 - Round one of the playoffs. Metros vs Ottawa – Game Three
“Welcome to this exciting third game between the Montreal Metros and the Ottawa Centaurs in round one of the playoffs. It's the third game in a historic series of confrontations, right, Tom?”
“Yeah. Well... You know it's the first time in hockey history that two players are fu- I mean, are together and it's bound to have consequences.”
“That's right! Hollander and Rozanov are a couple! That's bound to change things in the MLH... You talked to both Montreal and Ottawa's management, didn't you?”
“Yeah. The Centaurs are taking it in stride, I guess. Not so long ago Barrett came out, too, so they're probably used to it, but Montreal...”
“Lots of distrust on that team, right, Tom?
“Sure! Yeah, Paul... We saw it in the second game, didn't we? Hollander has completely lost control of his team, and honestly of himself.”
“You don't think he has it in him to win? You used to be a big fan.”
“No, yeah, I- It's an earth-shattering moment in hockey. I think most people are wondering how Hollander can play properly against Rozanov.”
“And you're not worried about Rozanov playing against his own team?”
“The man is a danger. He'll skate over his little boyfriend for a chance to score.”
“What the- You can't say that! Are you f*****g serious?”
“What?”
“Hollander is not a little- He's the best player in the league. What the f**k are you talking about?”
Shane removed his headphones as the radio broadcast on his phone was cut short and replaced by a song he didn't know nor cared to listen to. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. With his lips pressed together, he bit the inside of his mouth until the pain of the bite replaced his growing anxiety. As his fingers reached for his eyelashes, he heard one of his teammates sneer. Shane glanced at him and then quickly looked at the floor.
Picking up his phone off the bench next to him, he unlocked it, thumbing his way to the last message Ilya had sent. One of thousands of I love yous Ilya had said or sent since they had allowed themselves to feel them.
Shane remembered to breathe as Ilya's love rushed through him. He struggled through a few breaths and felt tears water the corner of his eyes, in an unconscious escalation of feelings. With a quick brush of his hand over his face, Shane closed his eyes, erasing any trace of sentiment he knew his teammates would scoff at and thought of Ilya, sitting on a bench in a nearby locker room. Ilya who had, this morning, kissed his cheeks with soft lips. Ilya who had a list of targets he wanted to check into the boards.
Ilya had noticed the angry looks, the missed passes and the meaningful distance during the last two games and had compiled them into a mental queue, Metros players lining up to face his wrath. He had promised not to act on it, but Shane wasn't convinced he would stay as sweet and polite as he knew him to be, for too long.
Shane's phone pinged in his hand and he unlocked it again, reading Ilya's words.
Lily : I am thinking I want to eat Japanese tonight? I will pick up food on my way home, yes? What do you want?
Shane smiled and typed.
Shane: Are you talking about actual Japanese food?
Ilya: Yes! I will have you too, lyubimyy. But I would like you to eat good food, tonight, before I fuck you into the mattress.
Shane: Fuck. Stop.
Ilya: What do I order, Shane?
Shane: The usual. I love you.
Ilya: I love you too. Are you okay?
Shane: I am now.
Ilya: Ok. I will see you very soon, lyubov moya. I have a rival captain to defeat first.
Shane smiled as he tended to do whenever Ilya taunted him. Shane bit his lip again and prepared himself for the incoming scrum against his rival. Muscles stretched and ready, gear secured on his body, alternate captain by his side. Hayden sat down next to him and bumped his shoulder, smiling.
“You alright, buddy?” Hayden asked.
Shane nodded and inhaled deeply. He looked at Hayden and shrugged.
“Don't worry. We're winning this one. It's my fucking birthday! Ilya might as well give me the win on a fucking silver platter,” Hayden said.
Shane huffed a laugh and shook his head, “He got you something already.”
“He has?”
Shane nodded again and frowned. He stood up as Coach Thierault motioned for the team to roll out. He had always been the first to arrive on the ice, his teammates, his then-friends, closing ranks behind him. But that'd been before. Before he and Ilya had been outed by Hayden's fanmail video. Now, he followed sullenly as Comeau led the way. As he stepped onto the rink, as the public began to notice him, a dissonant chorus filled the arena. Disgusted groans and joyous cheers met in a terrifying low rumble. He skated away from the bench and dropped to the ice to stretch his hips.
He heard more than saw the Centaurs enter the rink. The rumble growing louder as Ilya skated to center ice. Shane felt the warmth of Ilya's eyes on him and glanced up at his frowning face. Ilya nodded and gestured with his gloved hand, asking Shane to come to him. Shane shook his head almost imperceptibly. Being subtle was a honed skill he had practiced on this very ice every time he had faced Ilya in the last ten years. But Ilya scowled and scrunched up his nose, an insistent nod of his head.
Shane rolled his eyes and inhaled, as a loud hush rolled over the arena. He pushed himself up and skated to his boyfriend, as chatter and boos reverberated against the rafters again. Shane shuddered as he skidded to a stop in front of Ilya and Ilya ignored it all, eyes focused on Shane only. He frowned and sniffed.
“Shane Hollander. Ready to lose?”
Shane huffed a laugh and shook his head. A tender smile spread on his face as he realized he didn't have to pretend anymore. This was his boyfriend and judging by the boos and the cheers everybody in the arena knew of it.
“Not a fucking chance, babe.”
Ilya smiled and nodded, pouting. “We need rules, I think. This is not fair. You cannot call me 'babe' on the ice."
“You once told me you liked my cock during a face off. It is fair.”
“Is true. Yes. But you are not allowed, because I don't have self control like you. I will fuck you on the ice like in your sexy dream, yes?”
Shane blushed and Ilya smiled brighter. Shane looked at his smile for a second, and then his eyes dropped to his lips and further down over his chest. Ilya reached and laid a hand on the front of his shoulder pads, under which, Shane knew, hung his mother's cross and his engagement ring. Black and gold against his warm golden chest. Shane thought of the moment he had chosen Ilya completely after almost losing him in a plane crash, after losing him for a few excruciating minutes. No news, no future. The boos and the sneers seemed louder than Ilya's voice but could never be worse than those awful minutes. Shane's chin quivered as he struggled through the tenacious fear of losing the love of his life. To aeronautics or scandal. He bit his lip and made a noise deep in his throat.
“Shane. Lyubov moya...” Ilya said with the sweetest of voices. Shane glanced up and Ilya continued, “I will give you a kingdom, Shane Hollander.”
“What do you mean?” Shane sounded amused, but didn't feel it.
“You are king, yes?”
“What?”
“You are kin- Do I need to remind you?”
“Right... Right, yeah. I am... king. Sure.” Shane didn't need the reminder. He remembered being fucked expertly and tenderly in his trophy room, while Ilya moaned praises into his ears. How Ilya felt like he was fucking a king in his throne room, how they would one day share a trophy room, a dynasty. How much he loved him.
“And I know Canada is kingdom already... Queendom, maybe, but-”
“You've been studying hard on those citizenship questions, uh?” Shane smiled softly.
“Yes. I want to do it properly. What if you divorce me? What then?”
“I'm not divorcing you,” Shane shook his head and grimaced as a few boos resonated louder near the bench.
“No, of course not. Our wedding was not legal, so technically you can't do it.”
Shane huffed a breath and pinched his lips. He stuttered a few breaths out, tears in his eyes.
“Lyubimyy?” Ilya moved closer but didn't dare cross the line to wrap his arms around Shane. Instead he tapped his hockey stick on Shane's leg gently. Shane looked up and nodded.
“I'm fine... I- It's loud...”
“Do I have to kill someone?”
“No killing, Ilya. You promised.”
“Did anyone say anything, Shane? Tell me,” his voice sounded dangerous and commanding. His face reflected his anger.
Hayden skidded to a stop next to them and furrowed his eyebrows, as he stole a glance towards Shane, “Everything ok?”
“What did they say, Pike?” Ilya interrupted.
“Nothing, Ilya,” Shane insisted. “No one said anything.”
“Shane had his headphones on. He couldn't-”
Ilya interrupted again with a groan and tapped Shane's leg harder with his hockey stick, “I said no news. For fuck's sake, Hollander!”
“I wanted to know what they're saying about us.”
“It doesn't fucking matter!” Ilya's voice could probably be heard all the way to the bench and definitely by the other players milling around, “I love you and you love me. That's it, yes?”
Shane nodded and looked down.
Ilya waved a glove at Hayden and said, “Hug him, please.”
Hayden made for Shane, but Shane raised his hands to push him away, “Fuck no.”
“For my fucking birthday! Come on, buddy!” Hayden grabbed Shane's jersey and bumped his shoulder against his captain's, as Ilya smiled. Shane looked up at him, locking his eyes in his hazel irises, a faint smile on his lips.
“Okay,” Shane whispered.
“Okay,” Ilya repeated and turned towards Shane's friend, “Hayden. Is your birthday, yes?”
“Tomorrow, yeah.”
“So I will give you present, now.”
Hayden shook his head, amused, “Oh yeah? The name of your vodka dealer?”
“Ah no! Never. But I will let you score once, tonight. Just one time.”
“Ah great... Thanks, buddy. I can't wait! Will you tell me when?”
“Yes. I will give you a sign. Just look for it.”
“It's your middle finger, isn't it?” Hayden asked.
Ilya chuckled and nodded, with a falsely apologetic face. He was going to say more, but the referee skated towards them and interrupted with a finger moving from Ilya to Shane, “No funny business, you too!”
“Of course not! Just hockey,” Ilya replied and then, looking at Shane “Yes, Hollander?”
“Yeah. Just hockey.”
“You're looking very pretty, though.” Ilya smiled at Shane, reminding him of a Toronto rink and a photoshoot that had brought them together in a dim hotel room all those years ago.
The referee bristled and scolded through gritted teeth, “Rozanov.”
“Shut up, Ilya,” Shane added, as he crouched down to get into his face off position, Ilya mirroring him.
“Are you wearing make up, my love?”
“Rozanov. I'm warning you,” the referee insisted.
Shane huffed a laugh and then chuckled, “Will you knock?”
Ilya smiled. “Will you open?”
Shane nodded and smiled back, biting his lip at the same time.
Ilya frowned, his smile barely hidden behind a serious face, “Fuck you, Hollander.”
Shane chuckled as the puck dropped.