Archive of Our Own

2012

“Did I mention you’re looking very pretty today, Hollander?”

Shane shoved a forkful of salad into his mouth with one hand while flipping Ilya the bird with the other. “If you have to be an asshole, can you at least be more original?”

“What do you mean?” Ilya said innocently, digging into his burger and fries on the sofa across from Shane.

“I mean you tried that line the last ad campaign we were shooting, and it was just as annoying then as it is now.”

Ilya shrugged one shoulder, eating three curly fries at a time. “From what I remember it nearly ended up in shower sex then we fucked in hotel. So I would say it worked, no?”

“Dude!” Shane darted his eyes around the green room as if people had somehow magically appeared in the last five seconds as a gotcha.

“Relax, Hollander, we are alone. Don’t be so boring.”

“I’m not being boring, I’m being careful,” Shane muttered, stabbing at a chunk of cucumber with his fork. “Something you should try one day.”

“Only if I get a reward. Maybe some stickers of gold stars.”

They ate in silence for a few moments, each wearing a fluffy black robe to protect their CCM fits from getting food stains. It had been the company’s idea this time to have the two of them star in another ad campaign since the previous one had been received so well. They’d been in the middle of the photography shoot when the lighting setup had failed, causing them to take an early lunch.

It was probably for the best, as Shane couldn’t stop stealing glances to where the mole on Ilya’s face should be. It was a crime that so much foundation had been slathered over it, but it’s not like it was something he could harmlessly point out without sounding unhinged. Like, ‘sorry to hassle everyone, but you’ve taken away my emotional support beauty mark, and I need it back! Thanks!’

Antony, one of the CCM reps assigned to look after them, poked his head into the green room after a brief knock on the door. “I’m sorry for the delay, guys, but we still might need another twenty minutes,” he said, scrunching his nose apologetically. “Can I get you anything else while you wait?”

“No, I’m okay thank you,” Shane said with a polite smile.

“All good here,” Ilya nodded, lifting his Coke can in a salute.

“Excellent,” Antony replied, checking a message on his phone. “I’ll come back to collect you when everything’s been resolved.”

Ilya waited for the door to click shut before turning back to Shane with a sly grin. “Twenty minutes, huh? I know something we could do to fill in the time.” He threw out a suggestive wink. “Maybe fill in something else, too.”

“Gross,” Shane muttered behind his can of ginger ale, taking a sip so Ilya couldn’t see his smirk.

“Come on, Hollander, could be fun,” Ilya teased, eating another curly fry. “We can put a timer on the phone, will be very sexy for you playing by the rules.”

“Oh sure, big fun,” Shane scoffed, lips twisting up into a smile. “Nothing says ‘hot’ like someone walking in on you having cramped bathroom sex while an alarm goes off.”

“Who said anything about a bathroom?” Ilya casually draped his arms over the back of the sofa, settling further into the cushions. “We could have fun right here.”

Shane hummed thoughtfully. “You know what, Rozanov?”

A smirk crept across Ilya’s face like he was winning the battle. “What?”

“We could have some fun.”

Eyes widening, Ilya ducked to the side with a surprised squawk when Shane pelted a cherry tomato at his head. “Security! Ow!” he yelped, swatting away another two food missiles flying at him like he was a culinary goalie. “I’m being attacked! 911! Shane’s mother, why are you not here today? Help!”

Laughing, Shane reared his arm back to pelt a piece of bell pepper, only stopping when Ilya waved a white napkin in the air as a truce. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Shane boasted, his bravado deflating when he realized the mess he’d just made.

Ilya wordlessly picked up the scattered food scraps for him, dumping them onto his burger wrapper. “There we go. You are still the good boy.”

Shane offered Ilya a wry smile, dragging his gaze away when his phone dinged from the pocket of his robe. He took it out, smile fading as he read the notification.

“What is it?” asked Ilya, taking a swig from his drink. “No longer in the running for most boring player at next awards show?”

“What? Shut up,” Shane said distractedly, unlocking his phone to read the whole message. “Jesus, what a fucking asshole,” he muttered at the chunk of text on the screen, quickly tapping out a reply.

Ilya scratched the back of his neck, feigning nonchalance for all of five seconds before moving from his sofa to plonk down next to Shane. “Who's the asshole?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Angling himself away from Ilya’s obvious snooping, Shane finished his reply and hit send. “Nobody you need to concern yourself with,” he replied, tucking the phone under his leg.

“Ah, nobody he says,” Ilya hummed, pursing his lips. “Is this why you look like you want to murder someone?”

Shane sighed in exasperation. “No, I don’t. It was just Hayden, okay?” Instead of getting Ilya off his case, Shane was confused when it suddenly appeared as though the guy had sucked on a massive lemon.

“Interesting,” Ilya sniffed, crossing his arms even more defensively. “Hayden Pike is an asshole to you now. Good to know. I guess anybody can just be asshole to you these days, Hollander.”

“… what the hell are you on about, Rozanov?” Shane had no clue why Ilya was suddenly acting like someone had pissed in his drink, but now it was pissing him off.

“Nothing.”

“Oh my god. Not that it’s any of your business, but Hayden wasn’t being an asshole. He was telling me about some passenger on the flight home from his honeymoon who was being a jerk. The guy was drunk and kept hitting on Jackie then almost spilt a drink on her.”

“Oh.” Ilya loosened his arms, looking almost sheepish. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she was fine.” Shane allowed himself a huff of amusement. “Hayd said Jackie threatened to shove the guy’s head so far up his ass he’d be a one-man human centipede. He left them alone pretty quick after that.”

Ilya snorted. “I’d say she is my new favorite Pike, but I did not have one to begin with.” He put his hands up in mock surrender when Shane half-heartedly shoved at his shoulder. “So…” said Ilya, fiddling with the hem of his robe as he aimed for a casual tone. “No other people in your phone being assholes at the moment then?”

It took a full ten seconds for Shane to find the switch for the lightbulb over his head. His lips curved into a pleased smile. “No. Just you for now.”

“Okay.” A flicker of the same smile passed over Ilya’s mouth before he tamed it into something more aloof. “The Pike wedding,” he said, kicking his legs up onto the table and sinking deeper into the sofa, “you were best man, yes?”

“Yeah.” Shane allowed himself to get more comfortable, turning more towards Ilya. “It was a nice wedding. Food was good. People danced. Everyone had a nice time.”

“Mmm, yes, very thrilling. Someone alert the press.”

“Fuck off! You asked.”

“I asked about you, not sad plate of dry chicken and Hayden Pike doing the robot.” Ilya rested an arm behind his head, tugging at his ear with his finger. “Did you end up choosing the blue tie or the black?”

Shane’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “The blue one. How’d you know the colors? There’s no photos up yet.” He paused as a memory washed over him of the last time they’d slept together a few months ago. Ilya had taken a shower and returned to Shane stressing over a text message from Hayden, needing his final decision about tie colors. Ilya had made a crack about wearing the black one because ‘black was for funerals and Pike’s wedding would be just as fun’. So of course, Shane had secretly chosen blue out of spite, and not because Ilya had also mentioned Metros blue looked good on him, and...

“Wait, you remember me telling you that?”

“You were naked at the time,” Ilya shrugged. “Was a good memory.”

Warmth flooded Shane’s cheeks. “Huh, that’s funny because I recall it a bit differently. It was more like, Hollander,” he put on an imitation of Ilya’s voice, “you are so boring you even make stress boring.”

Ilya let out a delighted laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. “Wow, that is a very good copy. You should be more like me all the time. Might make you more exciting, eh?”

“I don’t think the world’s big enough for two monster-sized Ilya Rozanov egos,” Shane teased. He darted his eyes from Ilya’s piercing blue ones to the cupid’s bow of his lips and back again. “Besides… you’d probably wither up and die if you couldn’t be a total shit about how ‘boring’ I am.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” he reflected. Ilya let himself appreciate the pink tinge on Shane’s face, still annoyed the make-up artist on the shoot had covered up so many of his freckles. It was like they had taken the Starry Night painting and then blurred out all the constellations. Ridiculous.

The admiring silence between them was broken by Antony re-entering the room, causing them to shift away from each other on the couch.

“Crisis averted, we’re ready for you back on set,” said Antony, eyeing the new seating arrangement with a flicker of intrigue. “Unless you guys want a few more moments?”

“No, uh, we’re good thanks,” Shane replied, hastily grabbing their mess on the table to dump into the trash. “Rozanov was just having trouble with his phone apps. Had an alarm dysfunction, couldn’t get it up,” he added, turning his head to hide the smug grin on his face.

Ilya snorted softly, helping Shane with the trash. “Well done, Hollander,” he murmured. “Gold star for you.”

* * *

2014

“Hey! Hey, buddy! You gotta look at this.”

Shane glanced up from where he was getting dressed at his locker after training to find Hayden waving his phone around, chuckling to himself. “Dude, if you’re trying to jump scare me again with another shitty Halloween video, you’ve really got to practice being more subtle.”

“It’s not another Halloween trick, I promise,” said Hayden, sitting down on the bench next to Shane. “Although I guess technically you could call it a jump scare given the content,” he grinned.

Dragging his hoodie over his head, Shane rolled his eyes when he realized Hayden was still trying to shove the phone in his face. With a sigh, Shane snatched it out of his hands and found a YouTube video ready to play. The paused image was of a hockey rink and what looked like a Montreal and Boston game according to the color of the jerseys.

“Is it a compilation video of injuries or something?” Shane asked in confusion. “Because I don’t need to be seeing all that when we have a game soon.”

“Not quite,” Hayden retorted, leaning across to hit the play button. “Just watch.”

Fighting the urge to let out another exhausted grandpa sigh, Shane focused in. Some love song he vaguely recognized from the TV started up as he was shown in a face-off against Rozanov. They were grinning at each other before Shane hit the puck away. He nearly threw the phone across the room when a clip of Rozanov in an interview suddenly cut in, with dialogue over the song.

“Yes, Hollander got one over me in the first period,” Rozanov’s voice rang out, “but only because his chirps are so boring, I nearly fell into a coma.” He winked at the camera before it changed to video of them from their second ad campaign. They were obviously only advertising the CCM clothing but with the way it was spliced together with close-ups of their eyes and biceps and their breathing matched to beats of the song, it almost came off as erotic.

“… what the fuck?” Shane exhaled under his breath, flinching when Hayden whacked his arm.

“Wait, that isn’t even the best part!” Hayden said gleefully. “Keep watching!”

There were more shots of the two of them on the ice, then Shane clearly mouthing the words ‘what an asshole’ during a match, paired with a shot of Rozanov blowing him an over-exaggerated kiss from the penalty box. Shane quickly shoved the phone into Hayden’s chest when it cut to another clip of him and Rozanov presenting the award in Vegas a few months back taking the on-stage selfies.

“Where did you even find that?” Shane said with a nervous laugh, grateful that no one else in the locker room was paying them any attention. “It’s absurd, I mean why would anyone even make up a music video like that about us? We’re… we’re fierce competitors!”

The song kept playing for a few more seconds until Hayden turned it off with another snicker. “I know. They shouldn’t be wasting a perfectly good John Legend song on this ‘Hollanov’ bullshit.” Hayden glanced up from the screen to find Shane staring like he’d just asked him to recite the anthem backwards.

“What the hell is a Hollanov?” Shane exclaimed, already offended on principle.

“Hollander,” Hayden replied, holding out one hand. “And Rozanov,” he continued, holding out his other hand before slapping them together like he was crushing a bug. “Ergo, Hollanov! It’s your relationship name the fans made up. Or at least that’s what Jackie explained to me. Hey, did you know we’re ‘Shayden’? Way cooler. Actually, Jackie sent me a Shayden video set to that Sam Smith song. Lemme find it, it was actually pretty well made.” He paused when Shane slapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

“Hayd… I understand you’re saying words right now, but none of them are making sense as complete sentences,” Shane implored, swallowing roughly. He took his hand away and gnawed at his bottom lip. “What, uh, what did you mean about relationship names?”

“Don’t stress, it’s just a fan thing. I guess it’s nice they’re engaging with the sport in their own way,” Hayden smiled. “They do it with so many random players.”

“They do?”

“Yeah! Like I said, there’s Shayden videos. Videos of you and the Russian demon, god only knows why. Ooh, some of you and JJ.”

Shane visibly relaxed about ten per cent of his hunched shoulders. “Really? So, like, they could be of any two people together for no reason?”

“Exactly. I’ve literally seen one of our coach and that ref he always gets into a beef with during home games.” He grinned when Shane let out a huff of laughter. “Jackie once showed me a pretty funny one of Rozanov and Marleau set to some Beyonce song.”

“Oh,” Shane replied, suddenly not so amused anymore. “Cool.”

“Yeah, all these clips of them stumbling out of nightclubs drunk and…”

“I’m gonna head home,” Shane cut in, standing abruptly and nearly knocking the phone out of Hayden’s hand with the swing of his gear bag. “My mom’s expecting a call from me soon, and I need to answer emails, so yeah.” He gave Hayden a tight-lipped smile. “See ya tomorrow.”

He barely waited for a reply before rushing out.

Shane wasn’t lying. Once he got home, he did phone his mother for a solid four minutes and wrote one very important email back to his meal prep chef (‘Sounds good!’ with a thumbs up emoji – that part was vital). But he also sank into the corner of the couch and made the dumb decision to look up the ‘Hollanov’ video on YouTube, which he found, along with about three million others.

“What in the actual fuck?” he breathed out, slightly horrified but also concerningly… curious. Against his own better judgement, Shane found himself watching a few videos in a row. He only stopped when one of them somehow turned into a love triangle featuring himself, Rozanov and Hayden set to some song called ‘The Boy is Mine’. It featured way too many clips of Rozanov and Hayden trying to knock each other out Looney Tunes style on the ice while Shane exasperatedly intervened.

He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the wild imaginations people had. There really was a whole other world out there! One he definitely didn’t need to know any more about, that’s for sure. He was done.

Shane glanced at the clock on the wall and thought about getting his dinner ready. Or maybe reviewing some game tape.

Instead, like a completely sane person, he decided to send Rozanov the link to the first video he’d watched.

Jane
Have you ever seen this before?

It took less than ten minutes for him to respond.

Lily
No.
Very interesting.
Did you make this yourself Hollander? I am flattered.

Jane
No! Shut up asshole. Hayden found it earlier. I just thought it was funny because people can really make something out of nothing.

Lily
What is funny?
That we look hot in a video together?
That isn’t funny that is just facts.
Maybe you should ask Pike why he’s watching sexy videos of us.

Shane’s face turned pink as he sat there writing and re-writing a response. He jumped when ‘Lily’ suddenly appeared on his screen as an incoming call. Shane stared at the phone like it was a bomb waiting to explode – they never really did calls, so he didn’t know the protocol. Should he pick up? Why the hell was Rozanov calling anyway? … why did he feel the strange urge to brush his teeth first before he answered?

He almost felt a sense of loss when the ringing stopped, making the decision for him. Shane fixated on the message thread before him, nearly shitting himself again when another Lily call came through. “Don’t be such a chicken,” he sighed in frustration, jabbing his thumb on the green button. “Hello?”

“Hello, Jane.” Rozanov’s voice was dripping with amusement. “I see you are having a little movie night?”

“What? No, I only saw that one,” Shane lied, sitting up straighter on the couch like that would help his cause. “I had no clue those kinds of videos were even a thing.”

“Oh yes, they are very popular,” Ilya replied matter-of-factly, the flicker of a lighter going off in the background. “Me and you, me and Marly…”

“That’s nice,” Shane muttered under his breath.

Ilya took an inhale of what Shane assumed was a cigarette. “Very spicy one of me and the Raiders logo too.”

Shane huffed out a startled laugh. “How in the hell does that work?”

“With big imagination and a lot of prep time.”

“Jesus,” Shane said with another laugh. “Hang on, I thought you said you hadn’t seen the video I’d sent you. Why have you watched so many others?”

Ilya took another puff of his smoke. “I see them on Twitter when I am bored. Did you know there is one that lists the top ten times you have called me an asshole?”

“What? No way.”

“Is true.”

“No, I have no doubt it’s true. I’m just surprised there’s only ten instances. Should be at least five hundred by now.” Shane grinned to himself when he heard Ilya let out a pleased chuckle. “So, uh, is there a top ten collection of you calling me boring too?”

“Yes. Is very boring.”

“Hilarious.” Shane licked his bottom lip, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “Are we doing that too much you think? The name calling? Should we be worried that people are picking up on patterns – not that it means anything or whatever, I’m just…”

“Hollander.”

“Yeah?”

There was a brief silence. “Do you want to stop with the name-calling?”

“No. Do you?”

“Give up my one true happiness in annoying the shit out of you? I don’t think so.”

Shane laughed softly along with Ilya. “Okay, then it’s settled.” He turned his head, letting his cheek nuzzle closer to the phone, trying to remember the feel of Ilya’s skin against his. “Nice doing business with you, asshole.”

“You too Mr Boring.”

There was a lingering pause in the conversation where they listened to each other breathe, which should have been weird but was oddly comforting. Then Shane felt weird about how weird it wasn’t and freaked himself out. “Um, well, in the spirit of being boring, I should really go and eat my grilled fish and broccoli.” He couldn’t help grinning when Ilya let out a pained groan.

“Oh my god, Hollander, one greasy takeout will not kill you.”

“It actually could. Do you not know the stats on heart attacks caused by junk food?”

Ilya let out a low whistle. “Wow, statistics, very hot.”

“Shut up.”

“How about you tell me the percentage of clothing you have on right now?”

Shane could practically hear his eyebrows waggling through the receiver. Embarrassingly, it was almost working on him. “Get off the phone, idiot.”

“I will get something off, don’t you worry.”

“Goodbye, Rozanov.”

There was a throaty laugh on the other end of the line. “Goodbye, Hollander… I will, uh, I will see you after the game this week, yes?”

The almost hesitant change to Ilya’s voice made Shane’s chest feel warm. “Yeah,” he replied fondly. “I’ll see you then.”

* * *

2016

“What do you think?”

Shane finished swallowing the protein ball, immediately diving into the container Ilya was holding for another one. “They’re amazing. Where’d you buy them from?”

“I made them,” said Ilya, grinning when Shane rolled his eyes.

“Fuck off, no you didn’t.”

“I did! Pinky promise, Hollander.”

Shane swatted away Ilya’s little finger waving in front of his face. “Okay, I’m just meant to believe you’re suddenly a baker on your days off?”

“What? A man cannot have hobbies?” Ilya plucked one from the container, wrapping his lips around it to take a bite. He held back a smirk as he noticed Shane’s eyes flit down towards his mouth. “Wow, you were not wrong,” he enthused. “My balls are amazing.”

Scoffing, Shane quickly glanced around the locker room, making sure they were still alone. “I changed my mind actually,” he murmured. “Your balls suck.”

“You have been known to do that to them, yes.”

A reluctant grin made its way across Shane’s face. “You’re an asshole.”

Ilya reached across to swipe a few crumbs from Shane’s bottom lip, concentrating on the way Shane’s eyelashes fluttered at the gesture. “And you are boring,” he teased, dropping his hand and stepping back when they heard someone approaching.

The league rep poked her head around the corner, becoming amused when she saw the two professionals looking awkward in each other’s presence. “The media are ready for you,” she said. “They’ll be happy to see the rivalry’s alive and well,” she added, noting the distance between them. “Just don’t kill each other on camera, okay? We’ve still got a charity match to play.”

“No promises,” Ilya replied.

Shane shook his head, hiding a smile as the rep exited the room. He turned to the open locker, fixing a stray tuft of hair in the small mirror taped up. He and Ilya had arrived at the rink two hours earlier than the other players to go through one of his least favorite things about the game. Answering the same, repetitive questions they always did when doing press together.

“What do you think the first question will be?” Ilya wondered, putting the food container away. He scoped himself out in his own mirror, deciding to undo another button on his white dress shirt.

“Something revolutionary like, ‘How do you think your rivalry will affect your game playing today?',” Shane replied, imitating the one insufferable, pretentious guy from the hockey podcast they both hated.

Ilya snorted. “Ah, yes, starting off strong. You and this podcast man must have attended the same school for boring people.”

“And you must’ve graduated there too if that’s the only insult you’ve got up your sleeve, ass—” Shane paused, realizing his own hypocrisy mid-rant.

“No, please, go on,” Ilya encouraged with a sly grin. “What is this new, never heard before name you wanted to give me, hmm?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, Hollander, you can tell me.”

“Ass… tronomically annoying dickhead. There, you satisfied?”

Walking slowly towards Shane, Ilya leaned in closely until his lips were nearly brushing his ear. “Perhaps later I will be,” he murmured, hearing Shane let out a shaky breath. “You still haven’t told me your room number.”

“I will,” Shane said quietly, turning his head so Ilya’s mouth grazed against his cheek. “On one condition.”

“And what is that?” Ilya asked, making Shane shiver. He slid his hand across Shane’s ribs, two fingers disappearing into a gap between the shirt buttons to gently stroke the soft skin on Shane’s belly. “You want to wear my jersey in bed? It’s okay, I will let you.”

“No,” Shane smirked, running his hand up the back of Ilya’s suit jacket until he met the tuft of curls at the base of his neck. “I want to see if you can go the rest of the day without calling me boring,” he said, giving Ilya’s hair a playful tug.

Ilya slowly leaned back to assess the teasing look on Shane’s face with one of his own. “Only if you stop calling me asshole for the same time,” he replied. “Is only fair.”

Dropping his hand from the soft curls, Shane held it out in the small space between them for Ilya to shake. “Deal.”

Ilya slid his hand out from Shane’s shirt in exchange. “Deal.”

They stood there grinning stupidly at one another, holding hands.

“Maybe you can tell your podcast buddy how delicious you think my balls are.”

“Shut up, ass-sssssss…” Shane clamped his mouth shut, as his sentence trailed off into an impression of a deflating balloon. “Fuck.”

“This is going to be very fun,” Ilya declared.

* * *

The league rep at the side of Shane and Ilya’s table chose the most eager hand waving around to kick off the questions.

“Bronson Shaw from What the Puck?! podcast,” the hand-waver announced in a grating voice. He lowered his head to check the notes app on his phone, missing the way Shane and Ilya shared an amused glance between themselves. “I know this match is for a good cause, fellas, but do you think your rivalry will ignite some uncharitable action tonight?”

“Wow, that is a great question, Brandon, I have not thought about this before,” Ilya deadpanned, mouth twitching when he heard Shane huff a quiet laugh through his nose.

“Uh, it’s Bronson.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t think things will get ugly per se,” Shane chimed in, “but I like to think I can distract Rozanov enough on the ice to get a few shots in.” Shane ignored the scoff to his right, keeping his eyes trained on the media pack in front of them. “Montreal’s chirping game is unmatched.”

“Is that so?” Ilya mused, pursing his lips together in thought. “All this time I thought you were singing terrible lullabies to send me to sleep, Hollander.”

“Maybe you just need more stamina if you’re that tired out there, old man.”

“Oh, I have plenty of stamina, don’t worry,” Ilya said lowly into the mic, wiggling his eyebrows at the snickering crowd while Shane rolled his eyes.

Another hand went up. “Speaking of stamina,” the journalist began after introducing their credentials, “are either of you concerned about being forced to play this match in the middle of January? I can imagine if anyone gets injured it would be frustrating given it’s not a real game.”

“It’s never a problem to have the chance to raise money for charity, especially when it’s for a children’s hospital,” Shane replied, unable to hide the slight wrinkle in his brow at the blunt phrasing of the question.

“Hollander is right,” Ilya nodded, pausing for effect. “Please make sure you have recorded that; I will not be saying it ever again.” He threw a quick grin towards Shane before continuing. “But yes, all players are happy to be here. And we are always happy to see Montreal lose. Respectfully.

“Respectfully, we’ve beaten you in this charity match three years in a row now,” Shane cheerfully piped up. “You need me to remind you of the data?”

“Ugh, Captain Numbers over here,” Ilya sighed, waving his hand in a shooing motion. “You are very b—,” he caught himself when Shane’s eyes lit up. “Uh, very bad at not being human Wikipedia page.”

Shane’s lips twisted in a smirk. “Is that right?”

“Whatever, who cares. Next question, we still have warm-up to get to,” Ilya sniffed, pretending to be very busy with taking a sip of water from the glass in front of him.

“Wow,” Shane hummed, offering an innocent look to the media watching their back-and-forth. “Someone’s acting a little like a… gosh, how would you describe it?”

“An asshole?” Bronson muttered a touch too loudly.

Shane bit down on a grin, turning to Ilya as he spoke into the mic. “You said it, not me.”

The questions continued for a short while until a reputable sports journalist raised her hand for the final one. “Obviously we’ve heard a lot about the infamous Hollander and Rozanov rivalry today, but in the spirit of being charitable, what would you say each other’s best qualities are?”

Ilya and Shane glanced at one another, making everyone laugh when they both made a ‘you go first’ gesture.

“Well,” said Ilya, giving Shane a hearty clap on the shoulder, “he is the second-best player in the league, which is much nicer than third, yes?”

“You’re delusional if you think you’re first. Must be all your concussions,” Shane quipped, gently whacking Ilya’s arm away.

“That is not very charitable of you,” Ilya reprimanded, licking his lips. He smiled when Shane’s eye movement made the most imperceptible of dips to his mouth like he knew it would. “Did you forget to bring your ‘Most Polite Canadian’ trophy today?”

Breathing out a huff of bemusement, Shane smoothed down his tie before addressing the media. “I suppose if we’re being charitable,” he offered, “then I would say that despite what Rozanov presents on the outside, sometimes he’s full of surprises. Including some hobbies, which he might tell you about one day.”

“Is true, I am currently the world record holder for most handsome person to win hot dog eating competition,” Ilya said solemnly, earning another eye roll from Shane.

“Did I mention he’s modest too?” Shane added for the crowd. Chewing on his bottom lip, he gave Ilya a more earnest look. “Honestly, though, it was really special to watch Rozanov interact with all the kids in the team visit to the hospital this morning. He was kind and gentle with them, made them really feel seen. It’s nice when someone can offer you that.” Shane fought the urge to reach out and grab Ilya’s hand when he saw the look of stunned awe flicker across his face at the admission.

Ilya cleared his throat, shaking his head with a brief laugh. “Is this the part where trap door opens up beneath me for the prank?” he asked, pretending to look down at the floor in concern. “Seriously, though, Hollander does not realize he was lighting up all the children’s faces today too. Some people might say he is just Mr Hockey Facts – not me, of course,” he quipped to the sound of the media scoffing. “But those kids were so happy to listen to him. Don’t tell Hollander I said this,” he added, throwing a wink towards Shane, “but he can be very interesting sometimes. Knows how to make people curious.”

Shane could feel how hot his face was as he ducked his head away from Ilya’s grin, tempering down his own ridiculous smile.

“Thank you, everyone!” the league rep called out. “That’s all we’ve got time for today. These two need to start getting ready for the game.”

Ilya and Shane made their way out of the media room and back towards the lockers. Checking that the corridor was empty, Ilya softly nudged Shane’s arm with his elbow as they walked side-by-side.

“I think we are doing very well with our deal so far, yes?”

“I think so too.”

“… you still didn’t tell anyone how nice my balls are though. That’s upsetting.”

“Shut up, dickhead.”

“You’re cheating, Hollander. That is the same family as asshole.”

“That excuse wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, and you know it.”

“Court of law,” Ilya smiled, shaking his head. “You are being very b-word I cannot say right now.”

“Brilliant?”

“Hmm, bratty perhaps.” He ducked closer to Shane’s ear. “Don’t worry, I like it,” he murmured.

Grinning, Shane took his phone out of his jacket pocket and wrote a quick text. Ilya’s eyebrow raised when his own phone beeped.

“Hotel room number - let’s call it a draw,” Shane said quietly, looking up at Ilya through his eyelashes. “Has another thing in there starting with B… Bed.”

“… I am not thinking very charitable thoughts right now, Hollander. Just so you know.”

“That’s good. Neither am I.”

* * *

February 2017

“Sveta, please,” Ilya begged in Russian. “You can stop laughing any time now.”

He held the phone away from his ear as Svetlana let out another hearty cackle. “Okay, this is not helping. I am friend divorcing you. Goodbye.”

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry,” Svetlana replied down the line, catching her breath. “But how did you not realize you’d invited your Jane over on Valentine’s Day?”

Technically, Ilya was aware that today was Valentine’s Day, given that half his teammates hadn’t shut their mouths about the dates they were taking their partners on. But he was also very much a fucking idiot who didn’t think about this fact two weeks ago when he’d invited Shane to come over the night before their game in Boston.

“It is all the fat little baby’s fault,” Ilya sulked, opening his sliding door to step outside for a smoke. “Stupid cherub with its bow and arrow and overpriced chocolates.”

“Yes, blame Cupid and capitalism and not your sex-rotted brain,” Svetlana said knowingly.

“I cannot help if Jane thinks I am an irresistible sex god,” Ilya quipped, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. “It is a large burden I must carry. Some might even say I have an enormous burden.”

Svetlana scoffed. “And some might say you need a Cupid arrow shot through your ‘large burden’ to practice humility.”

“You’re very mean to me you know.”

“My Valentine’s gift to you, sweet Ilyusha,” she loftily replied.

Ilya nearly choked on his next cigarette inhale at the mention of a gift. He’d actually bought something a short while ago to give to Shane next time they saw one another. It was a joke present Shane would be pissed at but also hopefully enjoy, except now it was going to look like a Valentine’s Day gift because Ilya was apparently too dumb to read a calendar properly.

“You know,” Svetlana continued, filling in the silence, “you could always cancel the evening if you’re that concerned.”

“No,” Ilya cut in too quickly, clearing his throat. “I mean, uh, it would be rude to cancel at such short notice. Jane will be here in,” he checked his watch, eyes widening at the time. “Fuck, in one hour. I need to shower and clean the kitchen and try to pretend a random saint is not out to ruin me.”

“Maybe… no, never mind.”

Frowning, Ilya stubbed out his smoke in the small puck-shaped ashtray he kept outside. “Since when do you keep your thoughts to yourself, hmm?” he queried, heading back into the house. “Maybe what?”

“I was going to say maybe it might not be a bad thing spending Valentine’s with Jane,” Svetlana carefully responded, as if not to spook him. “I know you keep telling me it’s only casual, but for this many years, Ilyusha? Surely it must be something more by now?”

Ilya leaned against the kitchen counter, running a hand through his already unruly hair. There had been a definite energy change between Shane and himself after the recent All Stars game, he could admit it. But it still didn’t mean there was any certainty for the future. It’s not like the two of them could walk hand-in-hand down the street or go to a club and make out on the dancefloor. They were still Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander, rivals on the ice and chained to a sport with very antiquated ideas of what relationships between people should look like. Not to mention the Russia of it all.

“Yes… no… I don’t know,” Ilya said quietly. “It’s complicated.”

“Okay, I won’t keep pushing,” Svetlana promised. “Go and get your sex dungeon prepared,” she teased, lightening the mood.

Breathing out a laugh, Ilya made his way to the ensuite in his bedroom. “Sveta, please, I am classier than that. It is a sex palace.”

“You’re disgusting. I love you, have fun.”

“Love you too.”

Ilya hung up the phone, throwing it on the bed as he passed by, trying not to think about how infuriatingly stressed he still was. Because if he was stressed, he could only imagine how anxious Shane was.

* * *

The doorbell rang at 7pm on the dot. Ilya opened it to find Shane standing there, holding onto a small satchel bag and smiling brightly at him like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Is he on drugs? Ilya thought as he stepped aside to let Shane in.

“Hi,” Ilya said, waiting for Shane to toe off his shoes before putting a hand on his waist to lean in for a kiss. “How was your flight?”

“Good! No turbulence so that was a plus. We checked into the hotel not long ago.” Shane beamed, giving Ilya another peck on the lips before leaning back. “How are you? Have you repainted since I was last here?” he added, looking around the entryway. “It looks different. Not in, like, a bad way or anything! It’s amazing. I really like your house.”

The babbling combined with the white-knuckled death grip Shane still had on his bag strap clued Ilya into realizing that Shane did in fact have many cares in the world.

“Shane,” said Ilya, trying to catch his gaze.

“… I was thinking about painting my place too,” Shane kept rambling. “Did you know there’s certain color schemes that help soothe migraines? I don’t really get a lot of migraines, but if I did in the future that’d be a help, I guess… Is it a bad omen to pre-empt a migraine?”

Ilya gently pried the bag from Shane’s grip, then placed his hand on Shane’s cheek to guide his focus back. “I did not know today was Valentine’s Day when I made plans, okay? I think it might be important we both understand this.”

Shane stared at Ilya for a moment before blowing out a deep breath like he’d just ran a marathon. “Oh Jesus Christ, thank fuck for that,” he blurted out, bending over with his hands on his hips to compose himself. “I was trying so hard to be cool about it.”

“Yes, I could tell by the way you were shooting out sentences like machine gun,” Ilya replied with a fond smile, happy when Shane managed a short laugh. “Cool as a cucumber, as they say.”

“Definitely what I’m known for being,” Shane said wryly. He took another calming breath before straightening up to face Ilya. “I’m sorry for stressing out.”

Ilya took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “You are not the only one, don’t worry.”

“When I realized what the day would be it just took me by surprise because we’re not… y’know. And instead of clarifying things with you, I thought I’d spend two weeks panicking myself into an ulcer instead.” Shane laced their fingers together properly, belatedly noting that Ilya’s palm was sweaty. “So, you were stressed as well, huh?”

“At the risk of sounding too sexy, I nearly shit my pants today, yes. But let us just treat this as a normal Tuesday.” He gently yanked Shane closer, meeting his smiling lips with his own. He felt Shane sigh into the kiss as he cupped his jaw, greeting him the way he wanted to five minutes ago without the added heartburn.

“Mmm, hi,” Shane murmured, running his hands through Ilya’s curls.

“Hello again,” Ilya replied, kissing slowly down Shane’s neck. “Will we talk about paint samples now, or…?”

Shane snorted, giving him a half-assed shove away. “Shut up.”

Grinning, Ilya kept hold of Shane’s hand and swung the small bag over his shoulder with the other as he led them into the living area. “Make yourself comfortable,” he gestured, putting the satchel beside the couch.

Shane plopped down in the middle, adjusting the cushions behind his back. He frowned when something rattled, fumbling around until he pulled out a small, gift-wrapped item that had been shoved behind the pillows. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to crush it,” he apologized, holding it out for Ilya to take.

“Fuck,” Ilya whispered. He’d meant to hide the present properly after going back and forth about giving it to Shane and ultimately deciding not to, but obviously Cupid had it out for him again. “I am going to throw that stupid fucking baby into the ocean,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“… What?”

Ilya dropped next to Shane with a weary sigh, nudging the gift back towards him. “The present is for you, but it was not exactly a present for today if that makes sense.”

“For me?” A tiny smile crept up Shane’s face. “What is it?”

“Have you never received a gift before, Hollander?” Ilya quipped, lounging back as casually as he could while his heart hammered. “Open it and find out.”

He carefully untied the ribbon. “I’m guessing you didn’t wrap this yourself,” he teased. “It’s too nice.”

“No, the lady at the expensive store did.”

Shane undid the paper without ripping it, becoming amused when he found a box with the M&Ms logo on it.

Ilya grinned. “Best shop on the Vegas strip next to big, fuck-off Coca Cola monstrosity. God bless America.”

“I swear, if you’ve printed your face on the candy…”

“That would have been hysterical, but no.”

Shane opened the box and lifted out a plastic bag filled with chocolate, but instead of the usual M logo there were different letters of the alphabet on each piece. “Okay, I can see an ‘O’, ‘G’, ‘R’.” He looked up to find Ilya smirking at him. “Am I eventually going to spell out the word ‘orgy’? Are these sex-themed chocolates?!”

“Another great idea, but also no,” Ilya said with a laugh, twirling the discarded ribbon around his finger. “Try again.”

The chocolate clattered around as Shane spun the bag a few times for a closer inspection. He mouthed the letters to himself, rolling his eyes at Ilya when he worked out the repetition of them all. “Did you just get the same six letters printed out over and over to spell ‘boring’? You’re such a fucking asshole!” he exclaimed, trying his best to sound annoyed.

Ilya burst into laughter, bracing his hands over his head when Shane whacked him with a pillow. “Am I not the best at giving gifts? You’re welcome!” He reached out to playfully pinch Shane’s cheek. “You can throw them out if you want. I know they’re not part of your special no fun diet.”

“No, I want to keep them,” Shane replied, cradling the bag to his chest like it was made of gold. He smiled shyly at Ilya. “Thank you. I’m just going to, um…” He glitched for a moment, then stood up to walk the few steps to his bag.

Ilya watched as Shane put the chocolate away and rummaged through one of the pockets before returning to the couch. He raised an eyebrow at the way Shane was fidgeting.

“I may have a small gift for you too,” Shane admitted, holding his fist closed on his lap. “Not, like, a Valentine’s thing either,” he stammered, “I’ve been carrying it with me for a few weeks now and – here, just take it.” Shane grabbed Ilya’s right hand and dropped something into it.

Looking down, Ilya saw a bracelet made up of black, yellow and red plastic beads with a row of white ones in the middle that displayed a word. His whole face lit up like a Christmas tree when he discovered that it spelt out ‘asshole’.

“Custom made jewellery just for you,” Shane said, grinning even wider when Ilya slipped the bracelet over his wrist next to his luxury sports watch. “Jackie was helping the girls craft things when I went over for dinner recently and I couldn’t help myself,” he explained, chuckling at a memory. “Ruby asked me what it said, and I panicked and told her it was another word for nice.”

“Ah, so you are corrupting the youth?” Ilya joked. “Naughty Uncle Shane.”

Shane ducked his head, suppressing a smile “Very naughty actually.” He slipped his finger under the beads, tickling Ilya’s skin as he tugged at the elastic. “I didn’t realize Ruby had copied the letters to make her own version. Hayden texted me the next day asking why his daughter proudly gifted him a bracelet calling him an asshole.”

Killing himself laughing, Ilya smushed his hands either side of Shane’s face and gave him a loud, smacking kiss. “Perfect! I love it even more now.”

“I’m glad,” Shane replied, thriving under the praise.

Ilya lifted his hand to brush back a strand of Shane’s hair. “Are you hungry? I can feed you something more than M&Ms if you like?”

Shane nodded. “Sure, I could eat.” He paused for a moment as a thought came to mind. “Maybe not a tuna melt this time though.” He pressed his lips together, holding back his giggle at Ilya’s pretend gasp of indignation.

“Too soon, Hollander,” Ilya scolded, taking off the bracelet to jokingly fling at Shane. “Here, I think this belongs to you tonight.”

* * *

July 2017

Moonlight shone through the cottage windows as Ilya quietly padded out of the bedroom, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a superhero cape. He found Shane standing at the kitchen counter dressed in only his boxers, staring out towards the lake with a contemplative look on his face.

“Shane?” Ilya softly called out, trying not to scare him. “Everything okay?”

He only startled a fraction before turning to meet Ilya with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Ilya kept shuffling his way over until he was behind Shane, curling his arms around him so they were both engulfed in the blanket, the warmth of Ilya’s bare chest against Shane’s cool skin.

“I was a bit lost,” Ilya sleepily replied, burrowing his nose into Shane’s hair. He still smelt strongly like woodfire. “One minute I was little spoon and the next I wake up and my big spoon has found another kitchen.”

Breathing out a soft laugh, Shane slipped his arms over Ilya’s to hold him closer. “I can see why that would be upsetting,” he hummed. “This little spoon gig is pretty nice.”

Ilya took another deep inhale of the smoky scent in his hair then slid his nose down to Shane’s jawline. “You still haven’t told me why you’re up. Too many loud thoughts in your head?”

“You’re gonna think it’s weird,” Shane said ruefully.

“Try me.”

“I was thinking about vegetarian lasagna.”

“… okay, maybe a little bit weird,” Ilya said, giving Shane’s waist a playful squish. “Did you have bad nightmare about Gordon Ramsay yelling at you? I’ve had that one before, except was more of a sexy dream than a bad one.”

Shane let out an affectionate scoff, rolling his eyes. “No, nothing like that. It was because of the burgers, and how I made too many. Then I remembered I wanted to make you lasagna one night, but I was worried about the size of the recipe.” He traced his fingers over Ilya’s arm in a self-soothing fashion. “Then one thing led to another, and I came out here to look at all the food I’d bought and ended up getting overwhelmed.”

Ilya remained quiet, breathing into Shane’s neck and gently swaying them from side to side.

“It’s all right, I can hear how bizarre it sounds,” Shane murmured. He closed his eyes, keeping them closed when Ilya gently manoeuvred him around in their blanket sanctuary so they were facing one another.

“Shane, look at me please,” Ilya said, kissing the side of his mouth. He waited for Shane to respond before continuing. “I would eat one hundred lasagnas, or a million burgers, if it meant I could stay here with you.”

“Yeah?” Shane said softly, gazing into his eyes.

“Yes,” Ilya replied. He pressed his forehead into Shane’s like he could mind-meld the reassurance. “You said we should try being honest with each other, so I am being honest.” He leaned back, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. “I am also being honest about Gordon Ramsay, so maybe you could scream at me when you cook next time?”

Shane slipped his hand up Ilya’s chest to pinch one of his nipples. “You’re such a dickhead,” he said with an exasperated laugh.

“Yes chef, keep talking dirty to me.” He grinned at Shane, leaning in for another kiss. Ilya felt satisfied when Shane became more pliant and relaxed in his arms. “You will still be honest with me also, yes?” he murmured. “Let me know if anything is wrong?”

Licking his lips, Shane nodded, grabbing Ilya’s hand to tug him along as he led them down the stairs and over to the large couches. He curled up next to Ilya in the corner, placing his legs over his lap while Ilya fixed the blanket to cover them. “I promise that nothing’s wrong,” Shane said, resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder to look up at him. “When I said I was overwhelmed, it was actually in a good way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean in the way that everything has already been better than I could’ve possibly imagined, and we’ve still got so much more to go.” Shane plucked at a frayed edge of the blanket. “I never thought we’d get this much time together.”

Ilya nodded, placing a gentle kiss on Shane’s hairline. “Me either. But I’m glad we did.”

“I have so many other plans for us while you’re here.”

“Mmm, I am hoping a lot of them involve no clothing.”

“Well, obviously,” Shane replied, reaching his hand around to grab Ilya’s ass under his boxer briefs. “But there’s a lot of other fun activities we can do here as well. Like kayaking and hiking and chess and…”

“Hollander.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you make little checklist on your computer of activities?”

“… No.”

“You did, didn’t you. Have you printed it out? Is it color-coded?”

“No!”

Ilya gave him a shit-eating grin. “I’ll bet you got hard thinking about shopping list to make as well.” Shane retaliated with a slap to his chest, which he cheerfully accepted. “So boring,” Ilya said, his voice laced with affection.

“God, you’re a fucking asshole,” Shane muttered, burying his face in Ilya’s neck to disguise his smile. He mouthed at Ilya’s pulse point, making him shudder when he gave it a gentle, teasing bite.

“Do you want to know another time you have been very boring?” Ilya asked in a low, sleep-addled voice, gliding his fingers back and forth over Shane’s arm.

He hummed into Ilya’s shoulder. “Let me guess – all the time?”

“You would think so,” Ilya retorted. “I have typed the word into my phone enough times that it’s automatic.” His other arm curled more protectively around Shane, cuddling him closer. “As we have already seen, you drive a very boring car.”

“If we’re playing this game, can I start listing times you’ve been an asshole as well?” Shane wondered, pinching Ilya’s side where he knew he was ticklish.

“You didn’t let me finish, Hollander. You picked me up in the saddest car in the world, but I still wanted to fuck you in the back seat the whole drive here.”

Shane lifted his head. “Oh,” he said, meeting Ilya’s cheeky grin with his own pleased one. “Well in that case, I’ll tell you a secret.”

“Yes?”

“I was hoping you’d be more of an asshole about the car because I was tempted to pull off the side of the road midway here and blow you.”

Ilya’s hand stilled on Shane’s arm. “We are going to have to get back in the car right now,” he joked, pretending to hoist Shane up. “Come on, let’s go, hurry up.”

Laughing, Shane clamped his legs tighter over Ilya’s to stop him from moving. “I wouldn’t go out there at this time of night, the loons might get you,” he said in a mocking tone.

“Stupid fucking demon birds,” Ilya scowled, still pouting when Shane kissed his chest.

“It’s okay, I’ll protect you,” Shane vowed.

They lay on the couch in comfortable silence, heartbeats in sync with each other. Shane watched the glint of the moonlight hit the lake while Ilya took in the shadowy sway of the trees through the window. He let out an involuntary shiver, smiling to himself when Shane wrapped the blanket tighter around their entwined bodies.

“I like that,” Ilya quietly admitted.

“Hmm?”

Ilya pressed his lips against Shane’s forehead. “I like that you want to protect me,” he breathed out. “Is nice. Like,” he paused, swallowing roughly to collect his thoughts. “Like at the fire earlier, talking about my family. You make it easy to want to share.”

Eyes shining, Shane cupped Ilya’s jaw. “I feel the same way about you,” he whispered.

They both leaned in, mouths meeting in a gentle yet intense kiss.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Shane murmured.

Ilya nodded. “Can I still be little spoon?”

“Anytime.”

* * *

2022

“Would you ever want to get married again?”

“Are you asking me for a divorce, Hollander?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

Ilya grinned at Shane as they tipsily strolled hand-in-hand through the city, the Montreal nightlife buzzing around them. Even after being out as a couple for a while now, it was still thrilling to have the freedom to do something so normal in public. They’d spent the evening partying at Hayden and Jackie’s house, among host of other guests, for the Pike’s vow renewal ceremony. But they’d decided to call it a night when Hayden had busted out the worm on the dancefloor, nearly busting his neck in return.

The uber was meant to take them back to their hotel, but Ilya had spied a hot dog cart out the window ten minutes from their destination, catering to the drunken nightclub masses. So now they were walking the rest of the way after sending the driver off with a tip, two hot dogs down for Ilya and Shane’s lips tasting like mustard and ketchup from where he’d been kissed.

“Technically,” Ilya mused, swinging their hands between them, “if we got married again it would be for the third time.”

Shane smiled, recalling the chaotic yet oddly romantic ceremony thrown together by the Pike kids a couple of years ago. “They do say third time’s a charm.”

“Well, whoever ‘they’ are, hopefully they’ll remember to bring chairs,” said Ilya. “Too many people moaning about sore feet last time when I was busy trying to ravage you.”

“The chair thing was definitely our fault,” Shane reminded him, grinning when Ilya blew a raspberry at him.

“We don’t need another wedding,” Ilya boldly declared. “Was already perfect, because we are the best.” He leaned over to kiss Shane’s cheek. “Unless of course my beautiful husband wants one, then I will marry you one thousand times.”

“One thousand, huh?”

“You don’t think I am serious?” He let go of Shane’s hand to cup both of his around his mouth like a megaphone. “Attention everyone in Montreal!” he yelled out to the smattering of people around them. “If I could marry my very sexy husband every day, I would! Chairs or no chairs!”

Shane’s face flushed bright red as he tried to grab onto Ilya’s arm. “Can you stop!”

“Look at this man!” he continued to shout, ducking away from Shane with a grin. “Look how devastatingly handsome he is!”

Someone wolf whistled ahead of them, which made Shane blush even further. He snorted when Ilya’s smile suddenly faded.

“Okay, no more looking, that’s it,” Ilya called out, pointing with an air of drunken menace at the whistling culprit. “Put your eyeballs away from my Shane.”

Shane slipped his hand back into Ilya’s, steering them down another street. “You’re an idiot,” he said affectionately. “But you’re my idiot.”

They reached the hotel a short while later, crossing through the foyer to the elevator. An older couple got on with them; both dressed up in elegant clothing. The man held onto his wife’s hand, smiling at Shane and Ilya.

“Good season so far, boys,” the man said after a beat, unable to help himself after recognizing them. “I think the Centaurs are going great guns.”

“He’s being very restrained right now,” his wife added in an indulgent tone. “We haven’t lived over in Ottawa for years, but I think he might be the team’s biggest fan.”

“Thank you,” Shane politely replied.

Ilya swung his arm around Shane’s shoulders. “Yes, we are the most amazing team in the world, this is true,” he proudly boasted.

The man laughed. “My buddies here keep trying to put me onto the Metros, but I said no damn way – no offence,” he added, glancing towards Shane.

“Absolutely none taken,” Shane quipped.

“It’s so lovely to see the two of you married and playing together,” the woman said, placing her hand over her heart as she beamed at Ilya and Shane. “And if I might be so crass, anyone who doesn’t think so can just piss off.”

Shane burst into delighted laughter along with Ilya. “We think so too,” Shane grinned, looping his arm around Ilya’s waist.

They took a photo with the couple before hopping off the elevator, much to the man’s joy, and made their way to their hotel suite. Shane scanned the room key, walking inside and rambling away to Ilya about remembering to brush their teeth when he turned around to discover he was alone. His face scrunched in confusion when there were a few quick thumps on the closed door.

“Ilya? What the hell…”

Shane swung the door open to find Ilya leaning up against the frame, two more shirt buttons undone, giving him his best sultry look.

“Thought I might knock like old times,” said Ilya with a wink. He broke into a laugh when Shane dragged him inside by his collar before pushing him against the wall for a kiss.

Running his hands up Ilya’s chest, Shane’s nose smushed against his cheek as he angled the kiss deeper, letting out a soft moan when Ilya grabbed his ass with both hands. “You taste like hot dogs,” Shane complained, as he licked into Ilya’s mouth. “So fucking gross.”

“Oh, poor little thing,” Ilya taunted, breaking away from the kiss to lightly push Shane towards the bed. “Seems like you are hating it so much.”

Shane glared at him with all the power of a pissed off kitten. “I do hate it; you don’t know my life.” He grabbed the back of Ilya’s neck, yanking him in for another kiss to immediately disprove his point.

They tried kicking their shoes off as they kept stumbling across the room, lips vacuum-sealed together, causing them both to trip over each other. They let out panicked yelps as they landed in a heap on the carpet in front of the bed.

Ilya lifted his head, checking to make sure he hadn’t squashed Shane after falling on top of him. “Are you okay, solnyshko? Maybe we need hockey padding in here too?”

“I’m fine,” Shane grunted, heaving himself up into a sitting position against the foot of the bed. Ilya sat beside him as they caught their breath. “We used to be a lot sexier at doing that,” he said, turning to Ilya. They both broke into a fit of giggles.

“You know what is worse?” said Ilya, rubbing his hand over Shane’s thigh. “How much money we get paid for our balance and agility.” He snorted out another laugh as Shane’s eyes widened like he’d only just remembered their careers.

“Don’t tell our coach,” Shane whispered before breaking into another loud cackle.

They took a moment to calm themselves down, Ilya sliding his hand into Shane’s as they leaned against one another’s shoulders on the floor, tired but content.

“I was so nervous that first time we hooked up,” Shane confessed, wiggling his foot across the carpet until it was nestled under Ilya’s calf.

“No shit,” said Ilya, lips curving into a smile at Shane’s huff of indignation. “You were cute though.”

“Yeah?”

“Very boring too.”

“God, I hate you.”

Ilya chuckled, pressing a kiss onto the top of Shane’s head. “No, you don’t understand. I had this person in front of me with stunning freckles and such a good mouth. Then you stopped to fold your clothes before sex like boring senior citizen. And do you know what I thought?”

Shane lifted his chin, glancing up at him. “What?”

“I am the luckiest man in the world. And I am in big, big trouble,” he said softly.

A rush of warmth tingled under Shane’s skin. “It was the same for me as well. The more I called you an asshole, the more I stressed myself out because I could feel myself falling harder every time.”

“Even when you yelled it at me?” Ilya teased.

“Especially then.” Shane lifted his free hand and cupped Ilya’s face, tracing his fingers over the mole on his cheek before bringing him closer for a kiss. “I love you so much,” he murmured against his lips.

“I love you to infinity,” Ilya said reverently.

Shane pulled back, smiling dotingly at his husband. “Wow, infinity. You trying to one-up me, Rozanov?”

Ilya grinned, caressing his thumb over Shane’s wedding ring. “Is not my fault you only know boring words, Hollander.”

“Such an asshole,” Shane muttered with a satisfied sigh, crawling onto Ilya’s lap to keep kissing him.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”