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@Emslife
Um, I am pretty sure Ilya Rozanov is at the same club as me
[A blurry picture of Ilya in a black button-down, behind the DJ booth, surrounded by women]
↳ @Mainrozgrl
Omg, he looks SO good!! Do you have more pictures?
@HockeyTea
Spotted: a few Centaurs celebrating their win tonight
[A picture of Ilya Rozanov and Troy Barrett skipping the queue]
[A picture of Troy Barrett by the bar]
[A blurry picture of Ilya in a black button-down, behind the DJ booth]
↳ @Centaursdaily
Ilya literally played 21 minutes of hockey three hours ago, how is he still standing
@Emslife
Guys Rozanov is much hotter in real life, and he is STRONG
[A video of Ilya hugging a girl and lifting her up]
↳ @puckbunny91
….um who is that girl
@NHLGossipGirl
More pictures of Ilya Rozanov celebrating tonight in NYC.
[A picture of Ilya Rozanov and a girl, she is pushing his sweaty curls from his forehead]
[A picture of Ilya Rozanov leaning down while a girl whispers into his ear. Ilya is grinning]
↳ @OffIceInsider
Knew they would be divorce before the end of the season
↳ ↳ @Hollanov5eva
It’s literally just a friend probably
↳ ↳ ↳ @OffIceInsider
Girl…. look at all the pictures together
↳ @R.Sports
Didn’t Hollander score the winning goal today?
↳ ↳ @Natknow
Yes
↳ ↳ ↳ @charliecharls
Damn, and Roz is behaving like THAT? Once a ladies' man, always a ladies' man.
↳ @Puckopinions
Rozanov should be celebrating his husband, without him they would not have won, instead he is dancing with GIRLS?
↳ ↳ @Goaliegrace
I know right?! he wasn’t even on the ice when Shane scored that goal
↳ ↳ ↳ @xgnerd
Because he was on the bench?
↳ ↳ ↳ ↳ @feralforhollz
So? If Hollander was my husband I would be on the ice sucking his dick after every goal
↳ @bradsbrad
lol figures, barrett joins the centaurs and rozanov is back to his old ways, once a party boy always a party boy
@NHLGossipGirl
Video from tonight!
[A video of Ilya and a girl dancing face-to-face, laughing and singing the lyrics to each other]
↳ @Yellow.Bears
I thought he left his party era in Boston…..who is that girl??
↳ @Juliasummer
idk man…
↳ @bugincognito
She is literally singing the lyrics to him 😭
↳ @justjules
I’m sorry but if my husband danced like this with another woman, I would lose my mind??
↳ @tyleronmain
Knew Hollander was too boring for Roz
↳ @Ryan95
As if virgin Hollander could tame the legendary Party Boy Roz!
↳ @rinkbuzz
Weren’t there rumours last month about a tense locker room in Ottawa because of Roz and Hollander?
@HockeyDeux
HockeyDeux EXCLUSIVE! Ilya Rozanov seen celebrating amidst rumours of a split from his husband Hollander at a club in NYC with long-time flirt Svetlana Vetrova.
[A picture of Ilya Rozanov holding Svetlana’s hand above her head while she twirls underneath it]
[A picture of Ilya Rozanov and Svetlana Vetrova bent over someone’s phone, laughing]
↳ @hollanovcentral
GUYS they are literally childhood best friends!! She was at their WEDDING pls!
↳ @Bears4life
Ah the return of the puck bunny!
↳ @Rozzysmile
If Ilya is suddenly single, I respectfully volunteer as tribute
↳ ↳ @ilyaslefttigh
Girlllll you and half the continent
↳ @Hollanovnation
Guys??
↳ @Markstheman
Hollander was too boring for him, knew it
↳ @shane4ilya
Did you know married people are allowed to have friends?
↳ ↳ @tyty
Friends with their ex-fuck buddy
↳ @icingmythoughts
Something feels off
↳ @Saminthecity
I remember Svetlana, glad to see Roz never lost her!
↳ @Centaursdaily
Where is Shane?
↳ ↳ @HockeyDeux
According to several sources, Shane Hollander is not with Rozanov tonight
↳ ↳ ↳ @Shanesnumber1
SHANE COULD BE TAKING A SHOWER
↳ ↳ ↳ @amerliasayshi
Maybe Hollander hasn’t arrived yet?
@CentaursUpdate
Friendly reminder NOT to trust HockeyDeux. Most of what they post is NOT confirmed and FALSE
↳ @itsjordyn
Sure, but Rozanov’s history does not lie
↳ @HollanovTruther
Cannot wait for Ilya to post a picture tomorrow with Shane and make you guys look ridiculous
* * * * * *
Ilya feels so fucking good. His entire body arches, the satisfying kind that settles deep into his muscles after a game where he has given everything he has, and then some. His legs are heavy; there is a bruise blooming along his ribs from where he got checked into the boards halfway through the second period, and his left shoulder is probably going to be stiff tomorrow morning. He can feel the game everywhere in his body as he climbs out of the car with the rest of his teammates, but underneath the exhaustion he is still buzzing with the same rush of adrenaline that has been coursing through him since the final minutes of the game.
The fucking won.
It had been close, closer than Ilya would have liked. The Admirals had been relentless all night, and by the third period, both teams were desperate for a goal. The Centaurs had tied the game late, and Ilya had been sitting on the bench waiting for his next shift when Shane got the puck.
Ilya had seen Shane score hundreds of goals. He had watched him score from almost every possible angle, had watched him score against Ilya’s own teams more times than he cared to admit, and had spent a significant portion of his life pretending not to be completely fascinated by the way Shane played hockey. Ilya knew how fast Shane was, knew how easily he could change direction without losing speed, knew the little shift in his posture that usually came right before he decided he was going to stop looking for a pass and take the puck to the net himself.
Still, sometimes Shane did something that made Ilya wonder what the fuck anyone was supposed to do to stop him from scoring.
Shane had picked up the puck near centre ice and immediately accelerated. One of the Admiral’s defensemen had managed to get in front of him, but Shane had pulled the puck across his body at the last possible moment and slipped past him without slowing down. The second defenseman had come across to cover, forcing Shane towards the outside, and for half a second it had looked like Shane had run out of room. Instead, Shane had shifted his weight, pulled the puck back towards himself, made a turn and cut inside so quickly that the defenseman could not keep up with him. By then, the goalie had already committed, dropping low, because any other player would have fucking shot the puck by now. But Shane had held onto it just long enough to pull it around the extended pad, before flicking into the narrow space above the goalie’s blocker.
The Centaurs’ bench had exploded, everyone shouting and banging their sticks against the boards while Shane disappeared beneath the teammates already on the ice. Ilya had been laughing as he watched them crush Shane against the glass, his heart pounding with a familiar rush of winning and something warmer that had very little to do with hockey.
Ilya had wanted to grab Shane and kiss him. Which was perhaps not the most professional reaction to watching a teammate score the winning goal, but Shane was his husband, so Ilya thought he could be forgiven. There had been a time when wanting to kiss Shane had meant swallowing the impulse so quickly and completely that nobody could possibly notice it. Now the only thing stopping him was the knowledge that there were cameras pointed at them from every possible direction and that Shane probably did not want their post-game interview to be about Ilya sticking his tongue into his mouth on the ice.
So Ilya had waited until they were in the dressing room, when everyone was still loud and happy from the win, and the room smelled like sweat. Shane had been sitting in his stall, still flushed from the game, when Ilya had walked up to him and bent down to press a kiss into his damp hair. “Beautiful,” Ilya had murmured in Russian.
He had meant the goal, mostly, but also just Shane. Shane had looked up at him with a smile, and Ilya had squeezed the back of his neck before moving away to finish getting changed.
They were in New York with a win behind them, a day off tomorrow, and absolutely no reason for Ilya to go back to the hotel and sleep, especially not considering Svetlana was celebrating her birthday in a club downtown.
She had called him weeks ago that she was going to be in New York celebrating, and the coincidence of the Centaurs playing the Admirals on the same night had been too perfect to ignore. Ilya had promised he would be there, even if they had lost. But they hadn’t, so a few of his teammates decided to join him, everyone far too awake to immediately go back to their beds anyway, and Shane had said he would meet them later.
Ilya hadn’t tried to convince him to leave with them. Shane had played hard, and Ilya knew that after games like that he needed some time before he wanted to be around more people. So, before leaving, Ilya had curled his hand around the back of Shane’s neck once more and squeezed gently, “See you later, sweetheart”. Shane had flashed him a smile and nodded before Ilya had let him go.
The line outside the club stretches halfway down the block when they arrive, people huddled together beneath the lights despite the cold, but Ilya and the rest of the Centaurs are led past it and through the entrance. The club is already packed, the music loud enough that Ilya can feel the bass through the soles of his shoes as they make their way farther inside. There are bodies everywhere, people crowded around the bar and pressed together on the dance floor. It is hot, especially after the cold outside, and Ilya can already tell that his shirt is going to be sticking to his back within the hour.
He fucking loves it.
It is something Ilya has only recently realised about himself, which is funny considering how much of his late teens and early twenties he spent in places exactly like this. There had been years when going out was simply what he did whenever he wasn’t playing hockey. Clubs, bars, parties, whatever was available and loud enough to keep him entertained until three or four in the morning. He had liked drinking, liked dancing, liked being surrounded by people, and had definitely liked the ease with which being Ilya Rozanov in a club usually ended with somebody attractive going home with him.
But there had been something else to it, something Ilya hadn’t understood until last year. He had gone out because the alternative was being alone with himself, and being alone with himself had not always been a particularly nice place to be. Ilya had been very good at having fun when he was miserable. For a long time, he had not even realised those two things could exist at the same time.
Then there had been Shane. Once they had admitted they loved each other, Ilya had lost most of his interest in spending free nights in cubs. There had never been enough time with Shane anyway. Their schedules were ridiculous; they lived so far from each other and every free day became something to protect. If they could physically get to each other, they did. If they couldn’t, Ilya would much rather spend two hours talking to Shane on the phone than go out. For a while, Ilya had assumed that meant he had grown out of clubbing altogether.
But now that Shane is his husband and they actually live together, and everyone knows; now that seeing him doesn’t require checking two NHL schedules and calculating driving time, Ilya has discovered that he still really fucking likes going out. From time to time. He likes bars, he likes clubs, he likes getting a little drunk with his friends and dancing to music that is too loud. He likes the strange temporary camaraderie of a dance floor, everyone moving together without needing to know anything about each other. It turns out that once he removes the part where he had been trying desperately not to think about his own life, there is still plenty left that Ilya genuinely enjoys about going out. Maybe even more now, now that he has Shane to go home to.
Ilya is smiling as he turns to say something to Troy, who has been directly behind him, and discovers that there is nobody there. He looks around, and the group has somehow disintegrated almost immediately after entering the club. He can see Holmberg and Young disappearing towards the dance floor, and LaPointe has apparently already found someone he knows. Ilya isn’t particularly surprised. They had all been restless after the win, and trying to keep a group of hockey players together in a nightclub is a fucking impossible task anyway.
Ilya spots Troy and Luca at the bar a moment later, although Luca has clearly abandoned Troy as well and has no intention of socialising with his teammate. Luca is leaning against the bar talking to a man, his body angled toward him and a smile on his face that Ilya recognises immediately. Luca had been quieter and shier when he first joined the team, but Ilya has since discovered that this version of him does not survive long once they go out. Back home, Luca is apparently quite the party boy, something Ilya had found extremely entertaining when he first heard of it.
There had never been any announcement about the other part either. Luca had never told the team he was into men. He had simply started chatting up men when they went out together, making it increasingly obvious what he was doing, and everyone had noticed and continued with their night. The most attention it had received was the same kind of chirping any of them got when they were being particularly unsuccessful with someone at the bar.
Ilya likes that, likes his team. Especially since his own coming out had involved a statement and explanations and so much media attention, that there is something so satisfying about Luca deciding, whether intentionally or not, that he doesn’t owe anyone anything of that. He likes men, his teammates know, and nobody needs to gather in a circle and talk about it.
Luca catches Ilya looking and gives him a questioning lift of his eyebrow. Ilya just grins and turns away, leaving him to whatever he is doing.
He scans the club again, this time looking beyond the dance floor and finally spots the group gathered in the section behind the DJ booth. He is not surprised by it. If anything, it is exactly what he expects of Svetlana on her birthday. Ilya makes his way towards the DJ, slipping between groups of people until he reaches the security guard standing by the entrance. It only takes a few seconds before he is waved through, and he has stepped behind the DJ booth when Svetlana looks across the crowd and sees him.
“Ilya!”
Her face lights up, and she comes towards him with her arms already outstretched. Ilya laughs as she throws them around his neck, his own arms immediately wrapping around her waist as he pulls her into a hug and lifts her slightly off the floor and sways her from side to side, earning a laugh that he can barely hear over the music.
“Happy birthday!” he shouts to her in Russian as he sets her down.
“Congratualtions on winning!” Svetlana grins back.
Her hands remain on his shoulders as she leans away from him, looking him up and down with an expression of exaggerated consideration. Ilya lets her. He knows he looks good. The black shirt he is wearing fits tightly around his shoulders and arms, the first few buttons undone because Shane had watched him getting dressed earlier, and Ilya had liked the look on his face when he had seen Ilya’s chest. Ilya had considered undoing another one just to see what Shane would say, or do, but he had decided he could save that for later.
“You look good!”
“Easy,” Ilya says, leaning closer so she can hear him. “Don’t let my husband hear you say that.”
Svetlana laughs, “I am sure Shane is happy to agree with me!” And then adds, “As if he wouldn’t ogle you”
Ilya grins because that is true, and because there are few things in life he enjoys more than being ogled by his husband.
Svetlana looks around, as if Shane might have somehow been hidden behind Ilya this entire time. “Is Shane here?”
“Not yet. He will be here later”.
Svetlana grins and gives him a wide, toothy grin, the same one Ilya has known for so long that seeing it immediately makes him feel as if she is about to get him in trouble.
“Great. That means I can dance with my best friend before his husband comes and steals him away”.
Before Ilya can answer, she has already caught his hand and pulled him farther into the group. Someone presses a shot glass into Svetlana’s hand and another into Ilya’s, and they turn to each other automatically. They bump their glasses together and look each other directly in the eye before drinking. The vodka burns pleasantly on the way down, and Svetlana makes a satisfied sound before putting her empty glass aside.
Ilya gets another drink, and when he turns around, Svetlana is already dancing. She catches his free hand and pulls him towards her, and Ilya goes easily, laughing when she immediately starts moving with enough enthusiasm that someone behind her has to step out of the way.
There has never been much ceremony to being around Svetlana. They can go months without seeing each other in person and still fall back into the same rhythm within minutes, as if whatever time has passed between visits simply folds itself away. She knows too much about him for either of them to bother pretending to be anything other than exactly what they are, and Ilya knows her well enough to recognise what she is going to do from the slightest change in her expression.
Thirty, though.
Ilya looks at her as she dances in front of him and finds himself thinking about the number again. Thirty is not old, but it feels important somehow. Maybe because he remembers so clearly when thirty seemed impossibly far away, an age that belonged to real adults who owned homes and knew what they were doing with their lives. Now Svetlana is thirty, Ilya has already passed it, and somehow they have become adults.
Svetlana knew him long before he became anything close to the person he is now. She knew him before Boston and before Shane, before Ottawa, before therapy, before he had ever considered that one day he might be married to a man and have the entire world know about it. She knew him when his father's house was still home, even when Ilya spent most of his time thinking about how badly he wanted to leave it. She knew him when hockey was the clearest way out he could see, and North America existed in his head as somewhere far enough away that maybe he could become somebody different there.
She has seen so many versions of him that sometimes Ilya wonders how strange it must be from her side.
The angry teenager. The arrogant young hockey player who thought wanting something badly enough meant he could outrun everything else. The twenty-year-old who went out constantly and surrounded himself with people because silence had a way of making thoughts too loud. The version of Ilya who first met Shane and had absolutely no fucking idea what that meeting was going to do to the rest of his life.
And during all of it, somehow, Svetlana remained Svetlana. One of the smartest and most gorgeous women he knows and the only person who knew more about hockey than his husband.
Svetlana reaches for his hand and spins herself beneath his arm, laughing when Ilya deliberately keeps hold of her long enough to make her turn again. When she faces him, slightly off balance, she shoves at his shoulder and Ilya laughs, catching her hands before she can do it again.
There had been a time when Ilya thought leaving Russia meant leaving almost everything behind.
Some of it he had wanted to leave. Some of it he had needed to. There are memories of Russia that Ilya has no desire to make beautiful simply because enough time has passed since he lived there. His father does not become kinder in memory. The loneliness does not become less lonely. The parts of himself he learned to hide do not become easier to forgive simply because he eventually found somewhere he could stop hiding them.
But Russia had never been only those things either. It had been his mother. It had been winter mornings and food he still makes when he misses home, songs he knows every word to even if he hasn't heard them in years, jokes that are only funny in Russian and memories that still make him laugh when they surface unexpectedly. There had been people he loved there, pieces of a life that had been good even when so much of it had not been. And Svetlana is one of those pieces.
For years, Ilya had been so focused on getting away that he hadn't understood there could be a difference between leaving and abandoning everything that came before. He had wanted distance from the things that hurt him, and sometimes that had made it easier to put distance between himself and everything else as well. It took him longer to understand that he was allowed to keep what he loved. That building a life somewhere else did not require pretending there had been nothing worth loving in the first one.
The song changes, and Svetlana’s eyes widen. Ilya recognises it at almost the same moment. It is a song they used to listen to years ago, one Ilya hasn't thought about in a long time, but the words come back almost immediately. Svetlana starts singing them at him, loudly and badly, and Ilya joins her, equally loudly and with considerably more confidence in his abilities. He is probably not any better.
They dance facing each other, singing the lyrics back and forth, Svetlana laughing whenever one of them gets a word wrong. Ilya takes another sip of his drink and sets it somewhere behind him when holding it becomes inconvenient, then catches her hand again and raises it over her head. Svetlana turns beneath his arm, her dress moving around her legs, and Ilya pulls her back towards him when she finishes the spin.
It is strange to remember how different this used to feel.
There had been nights in Moscow when Ilya had danced until his clothes were damp with sweat and his legs hurt, drinking whatever somebody put into his hand and looking for the next thing that might keep him from thinking too hard. He had genuinely enjoyed himself sometimes. Ilya knows that. He isn't interested in rewriting every good memory from his twenties into something miserable just because he understands himself better now.
But there had always been a restlessness he could never quite satisfy, no matter how late he stayed out or how much he drank or who he took home afterwards. There is none of that tonight.
He has a husband who will be here later, who smiled at him from the dressing room before Ilya left, and who will eventually go back to the hotel with him. Tomorrow they will wake up together, probably later than Shane would prefer if Ilya succeeds in keeping him here long enough. Eventually, they will go home to Ottawa and their boring life.
Ilya loves that boring life so much that sometimes it still surprises him. It does not make this any less fun; if anything, it makes it better.
* * * * * *
There had been a time when photographs of Ilya at clubs or bars could throw off Shane’s entire night. He would see another blurry picture online of Ilya smiling, surrounded by women, and jealousy would settle so heavily in his chest that he hardly knew what to do with it. Shane had expected that once they were actually together, once Ilya was Shane’s boyfriend, he would no longer be jealous, because Ilya was officially his. But even then, the jealousy had not stopped.
Back then, Shane could be sitting in his apartment in Montreal while Ilya was somewhere in Boston or Ottawa, and one casual mention of going out could leave something unpleasant twisting in his stomach. He would imagine Ilya at a bar or a club, smiling, drawing people towards him without even trying.
Women had been the easiest thing for Shane's brain to fixate on. He knew what Ilya's reputation had been, knew there would always be women trying to flirt with him when he went out, and sometimes Shane would find himself imagining it despite knowing that Ilya wasn't going to do anything. It embarrassed him enough that he rarely admitted to it, especially because there was nothing reasonable he could ask Ilya to do differently. Shane wasn't going to tell him not to go out. He wasn't going to demand updates all night or ask who he was talking to. Ilya had never given him a reason to behave that way.
It took Shane a long time to understand that the people themselves had never really been the problem. He had been jealous because they got to be there.
They could stand beside Ilya at a bar. They could dance with him without checking who might be watching. They could make him laugh, touch his arm, and have photographs taken with him, and none of it had to mean anything. Shane had spent years wanting something as simple as being able to walk into a room with Ilya and leave with him again. Instead, they had become experts at arriving separately, leaving separately, and pretending that whatever happened between those two moments didn't matter as much as it did.
There had been nights when Ilya was out having fun somewhere, and Shane desperately wanted to be there with him, but couldn't be. Not without questions. Not without risking everything they had worked so hard to keep hidden. It was difficult not to resent the people who never had to think about any of that. Luckily, things are very different now.
Shane steps out of the car in front of the club and adjusts the cap on his head, glancing towards the line outside as he makes his way to the entrance. He can already hear the bass from inside, muffled by the walls but still loud enough that he knows exactly what he is walking into.
His husband has been in there for a while without him, and Shane doesn't care.
Well, he cares in the sense that he wants to see him, touch him, and he desperately wants to kiss him. Shane had stayed behind because he needed the extra time after the game, a little while where nobody was shouting and touching him and trying to celebrate the goal he had scored. The dressing room after a win could be almost as loud as the arena, and after the adrenaline had started to fade Shane had felt the familiar need to be quiet for a while before deliberately putting himself inside a crowded nightclub. And Ilya knew better than to rush Shane.
It helps that jealousy isn't really something Shane associates with Ilya going out anymore. There is no part of him wondering who Ilya is talking to inside or who might be trying to flirt with him. Someone almost certainly is. Shane has seen people flirt with Ilya while Shane is standing directly beside him, sometimes even after noticing the wedding ring on Ilya's hand.
If anything, Shane finds it kind of funny now, and secretly kind of hot. He likes watching people look at Ilya and knowing Ilya is his.
Maybe that is a little possessive, but Shane doesn't particularly care. Ilya is handsome. Extremely handsome, actually, and Shane has long since accepted that other people are going to notice. He still sometimes catches himself staring at Ilya when they're doing something completely unremarkable at home, struck by the fact that the man standing barefoot in their kitchen complaining about something is the same one Shane used to dream about. Other people can look as much as they want. Shane knows what happens when Ilya looks back at him.
There is something deeply satisfying about being in a crowded room where everyone knows who Ilya is, where plenty of people would happily take even a few minutes of his attention, and knowing Shane doesn't have to compete for it. He can catch Ilya's eye from across the room and watch his expression change. He can touch his waist when he passes him, or put a hand on the back of his neck, and Ilya will lean into it without thinking. Sometimes Shane only has to give him a look before Ilya excuses himself from whatever conversation he is having and comes over to find out what Shane wants. Shane likes that more than he probably should.
Ilya does too, which is why Shane doesn't feel particularly guilty about it. They can both be possessive; they deserve it. Now that they no longer have to hide it, Shane has discovered there is something fun about letting that part of himself exist without immediately examining it for signs that something is wrong. Wanting his husband's attention isn't the same thing as being afraid someone else can take him away.
The security guard waves him through, and the music gets louder as the door opens in front of him. Shane can already feel the bass vibrating beneath his feet as he steps inside, surrounded almost immediately by heat, bodies and noise.
Clubbing has never been something Shane would choose to do on his own. He doesn’t hate it, exactly, but there are a lot of other things he would rather do with a free night than stand in a room where the music is so loud that having a conversation requires shouting into someone’s ear. As he makes his way over to Ilya, there are people pressed together everywhere he looks, moving around each other with drinks held precariously above their heads, and Shane has to turn sideways a handful of times just to get through the crowd without someone spilling something on him.
Clubbing had only really become enjoyable because of Ilya. During their honeymoon, they had gone out one night. Both of them had been pleasantly tipsy by the time they ended up in a club, and Shane had discovered that clubbing became significantly more appealing when he was doing it with his incredibly attractive husband. There had been something freeing about being able to stand in the middle of the dance floor with Ilya and touch him without having to pretend there was another reason for it. He could put his hands on Ilya’s hips or lean in and kiss him because nobody cared. Shane had instantly understood the appeal of clubbing better after that. Not enough that he would ever be the person suggesting they go clubbing after a win, but enough that when Ilya had wanted to go out, Shane sometimes found himself wanting to go with him
Dancing with Ilya wasn’t limited to clubs anyway. Now that they were officially living together all year round, Shane had found out that Ilya danced all the time.
He danced while he cooked and while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing each morning. He wasn’t always full-on dancing, but at the very least he swayed back and forth. He danced when music was playing and sometimes even when there was no music at all, seemingly hearing melodies in his own head.
It rarely stayed a one-man performance.
The first few times Ilya had grabbed his hips in the kitchen and started moving them to whatever song was playing, Shane had immediately become aware of every part of his own body. He had never considered himself a particularly good dancer. He understood what he was supposed to do in theory, but knowing where to put his hands or how much he was supposed to move suddenly became impossible the second Ilya was standing in front of him. Ilya, of course, had not cared at all.
He would put both hands on Shane's hips and move them for him, grinning like Shane was doing something much more impressive than standing in their kitchen and attempting not to look completely ridiculous. Sometimes Ilya would sing along badly, changing the lyrics to include Shane's name or whatever they were making for dinner, until Shane was laughing too hard to worry about whether he was dancing correctly. And, eventually, Shane had stopped thinking about it so much. It is difficult to remain self-conscious when Ilya is looking at Shane with a wide, toothy grin, and his eyes full of love.
There are nights when Shane comes home irritated about something, usually something stupid that has managed to follow him home from the rink, despite his best efforts to leave it there, and Ilya notices almost immediately. Sometimes he lets Shane be grumpy. Other times, he puts on the most obnoxious song he can find, in an effort to get Shane out of his head. And Shane always knows what is going to happen next.
Ilya will appear in front of him with an expression of exaggerated seriousness, already moving to the beat, and Shane will tell him no before Ilya has even reached him. This has never once stopped his husband. He catches Shane's hands or wraps his arms around his waist and keeps dancing until Shane either joins him voluntarily or gets dragged into it anyway.
It is extremely annoying. And it works every time.
Shane will be trying very hard to maintain whatever mood he has decided he is entitled to while Ilya dances terribly on purpose, and then Ilya will do something so stupid that Shane starts laughing despite himself. Once that happens, there is no recovering. Ilya looks unbearably pleased with himself, Shane calls him an asshole, and five minutes later they're dancing together, having fun.
Everything is easier with Ilya. Maybe not everything; being married to the hottest and most loving person Shane knows has not magically removed every difficult thing from Shane’s life.
But being himself is easier with Ilya. Shane has discovered there are a surprising number of things he enjoys because he is doing them with his husband. Ilya has a way of reaching for his hand and making Shane want to follow him. Somehow, things that once felt awkward or exhausting become fun simply because they are shared with Ilya. Being with Ilya has made Shane braver. He trusts Ilya enough to take a step out of his comfort zone, because he knows, with complete certainty, that whatever happens next, Ilya will be right there beside him.
It takes Shane less than a minute to find Ilya. He is dancing with Svetlana at a private section behind the DJ; even with his back partially turned toward Shane, he can see how much Ilya is smiling. Shane only has to give his name to the security guard before he lets him through to the private section. Shane stops near the railing instead of going over immediately.
It is nice to see Ilya and Svetlana together. He knows how much their friendship means to Ilya. Shane has heard enough stories about the two of them over the years that he can almost picture memories of Ilya’s childhood, despite not having been there. He also knows Svetlana understands a side of Ilya that Ilya will never have to explain to her. She knew him long before Shane did, before he moved to Boston, and Shane is glad that Ilya still has someone in his life whom he has shared a childhood with.
Years ago, photographs of Ilya and Svetlana in this setting would have left an unpleasant twist in Shane’s stomach. Now, though, watching Svetlana put both hands on Ilya's shoulders as she leans towards his ear to say something, Shane feels nothing except amusement when Ilya apparently doesn't hear her and bends down farther.
It helps that Shane knows Svetlana now, of course. Mostly, though, it helps that he knows Ilya. Not the version of Ilya that Shane had tried to piece together from photographs and interviews and whatever scraps of information he could collect without admitting how badly he wanted them. Not the Ilya everyone else gets to know, either. Shane knows what Ilya looks like half-asleep, sick, irritated, anxious, drunk, happy, and so tired after a road trip that he falls asleep with his head in Shane's lap before they have even finished watching whatever movie Ilya insisted on putting on.
And Shane knows the way Ilya touches people.
Ilya has always been tactile. Shane had noticed that long before he was ever allowed to be openly included in it. Ilya hugs his friends tightly and throws his arms around his teammates after goals. He slings an arm over someone's shoulders when he's talking to them and reaches out to squeeze a shoulder when he passes. Sometimes Shane thinks Ilya could probably have an entire conversation through touch if nobody stopped him.
Svetlana has always been included in that. Ilya catches her when she dances towards him, lets her lean against his side when she laughs, takes her hand when she reaches for his. There is an ease to it that comes from knowing someone for most of your life, and Shane can see it in both of them. But Shane also knows the difference. It is something he learned slowly, unconsciously, over the years.
Ilya puts his arm around his friends, but when he puts it around Shane, his hand rarely stays where it started. It settles lower on his waist, fingers spreading against his side, or slips underneath the hem of Shane's shirt until warm skin presses against warm skin. If they're standing somewhere crowded, Ilya has a habit of hooking his fingers through one of Shane's belt loops, keeping him close often without noticing he is doing it.
When Ilya hugs him, he doesn't only wrap his arms around him. He pulls Shane completely into his body, chest to chest, hips pressed together, like even the few inches that might normally exist between two people are unnecessary. There is almost no concept of personal space between them anymore.
At home, Ilya will walk up behind Shane while he's making coffee and press himself along the entire length of Shane's back, chin finding his shoulder while his arms circle Shane's waist. He'll wedge himself beside Shane on a couch that has more than enough room for both of them or stretch across him until Shane is trapped underneath most of his weight. If Shane is standing at the kitchen counter, Ilya seems to regard the small space between Shane and the counter as an invitation rather than an obstacle.
There are touches Shane knows nobody else gets because Ilya has told him as much, and others Shane simply knows because of the way Ilya gives them to him, such as the hand that settles possessively on Shane's hip when someone else has his attention. Fingers brushing the skin at the back of his neck before curling into his hair. Ilya's thumb moving beneath the waistband of Shane's pants when they're standing somewhere nobody can see it. The casual squeeze of Shane's ass as Ilya passes him in their kitchen, usually followed by an expression of exaggerated innocence when Shane turns around. Across the room, Ilya and Svetlana are still dancing, though now also screaming lyrics at each other.
Ilya looks ridiculously good tonight.
Shane had noticed the shirt when Ilya was getting dressed earlier; it would have been difficult not to. It is black, fitted closely enough across Ilya's shoulders that Shane had watched him pull it on and wondered whether the seams were actually designed to accommodate someone built like him. The sleeves stretch around his upper arms whenever he lifts them, and the first few buttons are undone, exposing the top of his chest and the thin chain around his neck. Shane had approved of the number of open buttons before Ilya left, although looking at him now, he thinks he might want to get his hands on Ilya soon and open some more.
Ilya's curls are damp around his forehead and temples and already falling back into his face after Svetlana attempted to push them away, and there is a flush high on his cheeks from the heat and dancing. His shirt has started to cling slightly between his shoulder blades. He has a piece of gum in his mouth, and every so often Shane catches the movement of his jaw as he chews it while listening to Svetlana.
Shane watches Ilya take another sip of his drink and has the sudden, very specific desire to put his mouth against the hollow of Ilya's throat. He wants to blame this impulse to the shot he took before leaving the hotel, but deep down, he knows that one shot isn’t enough to excuse his urge to kiss his husband's sweaty skin.
Sometimes Shane still can't believe how attractive his husband is. It isn't as if this is new information. Shane has been attracted to Ilya for most of his adult life, including a significant number of years when he had been trying very hard not to examine that attraction too closely. He has seen Ilya naked more times than he could possibly count by now. He wakes up beside him almost every morning. There should probably be some point at which Shane becomes accustomed to the broad shoulders and strong legs and unfairly handsome face, but apparently marriage has done nothing to help. If anything, it has made the problem worse.
Because Ilya is his. Sure, everyone here can look at Ilya. Shane isn't naïve enough to think they aren't. He has already noticed several people doing exactly that, and he can't even blame them. Ilya is dancing beneath flashing lights with his shirt half-open and his curls falling into his face, looking happy and flushed and completely comfortable in his own body.
But Shane gets to walk over and touch him, because Ilya is his husband. Almost a year into his marriage, and there are still moments when the word still gives him a small rush of satisfaction. Husband. Not friends. Not whatever careful collection of lies they had once needed to make their relationship fit into the rest of their lives.
Shane gets the wedding ring on Ilya's finger and the sleepy kisses in the morning. He gets Ilya stealing his side of the bed despite having his own perfectly good side. He gets to argue with him about groceries and kiss him in their kitchen and listen to him complain when Shane opens the curtains before Ilya has decided the day should begin. He gets the private jokes that make no sense to anyone else and the Russian endearments that Ilya murmurs against his skin when they're alone. He gets to go home with him tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after that. That is the part Shane likes best.
Although, at this particular moment, the fact that he gets to put his hands on Ilya is ranking pretty fucking high. He wants his hands on Ilya’s broad shoulders, wants to feel those muscular arms wrap around him. He wants his fingers in Ilya’s curls, wants to run a hand down the hard line of his back beneath that stupidly tight shirt; he wants to be close enough to smell Ilya’s cologne and the sweat from dancing. Shane needs to get his hands on his husband, right now. He brings two fingers to his mouth and lets out a sharp whistle.
Ilya turns immediately. The response is so fast that Shane feels a ridiculous little burst of satisfaction. There are dozens of people around him, music loud enough that Shane can feel it vibrating through the railing beneath his hand, lights moving across the room, and Svetlana standing directly in front of him. Still, Ilya hears one whistle and turns towards it. Ilya’s eyes find Shane’s in an instant, and a grin spreads across Ilya’s face as he makes his way over.
Once Ilya is within reach, Shane hooks his finger through his belt loops on either side of Ilya’s hips and pulls him in. Ilya laughs and kisses him, throwing his left arm over Shane’s shoulders and pulling him in closer. One of his hands comes up to cup Shane’s jaw, a warm palm fitting against his face as a thumb presses lightly near the corner of Shane's mouth. Shane opens for him almost automatically, and Ilya deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against Shane's. He tastes like vodka and gum.
Shane tightens his fingers in Ilya's belt loops and pulls him closer, until there is almost no space left between them. Ilya's other hand finds Shane's waist, fingers spreading over the thin fabric of his tank top, and for a few seconds Shane forgets that there are other people around them at all. Shane barely gets an inch away before Ilya kisses him again, lighter this time. Then again.
Shane smiles against his mouth, “Hey, handsome”.
Ilya’s smile softens, and Shane bumps their noses together before pressing one more kiss to his lips. He can tell his husband has already had a few drinks, evident from his loopy smile. “Having fun?”
Ilya nods, and then kisses Shane again. Ilya’s hands move to his hips, and before Shane has fully registered what is happening, Ilya is already pulling him away from the railing and back towards the moving crowd. Shane goes willingly.
Ilya doesn’t get them very far before Svetlana intercepts them with three shot glasses balanced carefully in one hand.
“There you are,” she says, pressing one of them into Shane’s hand before he can object. “I was beginning to think Ilya wasn’t going to share you”.
“I wasn’t,” Ilya says immediately, wrapping an arm around Shane’s waist.
Shane laughs as she hands the last shot to Ilya. “Do I get to say no to taking this shot?”
“No,” both of them answer at the same time, and Ilya shoots him a wink.
Svetlana clinks her glass against theirs with a triumphant grin. “To me”.
“Happy birthday,” Shane and Ilya shout right before knocking the shots back. The vodka burns on its way down, and Ilya makes an exaggerated face of disgust.
“Terrible vodka”, he declares.
Shan smiles and secretly agrees. Years ago, vodka simply tasted like vodka. But somewhere between becoming Ilya’s boyfriend and his husband, he had apparently become enough of a snob to tell the difference too.
Svetlana snorts, then plucks another drink from a tray nearby and hands it to Shane. “Here. Something that doesn’t taste like paint thinner”.
“Thanks,” Shane says, taking a sip.
"You’ve got some catching up to do," she says, nodding towards Ilta. "Lord knows how many drinks he has already had".
"Excuse me," Ilya says, sounding deeply offended. "I am celebrating my best friend’s birthday," he grins, winking at Svetlana.
"Mmhm." Svetlana gives Shane a knowing look.
Ilya laughs and pulls Shane into the crowd. Svetlana catches Shane’s eye as they leave and gives him a grin that suggests she finds something about this extremely amusing, but Shane doesn't get a chance to ask what. Ilya has already turned towards him, placing a kiss on his jaw, one hand firm on Shane’s waist as he starts moving with the music.
A familiar melody drifts through the speakers; Shane has heard this song enough times in their home to recognise it almost instantly. Ilya grins a big, toothy grin at him and sings, “baby, here’s my husband” instead of the actual lyrics. Ilya is looking so impossibly fond as he nods toward Shane like he is presenting him to the entire club. Shane huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as Ilya beams at him.
Shane rests his hands on Ilya's shoulders and lets Ilya pull him closer. The distance between them disappears quickly, their bodies instantly moving together in sync. Ilya is smiling at him, his curls falling forward as he ducks his head closer to Shane's.
Shane slides one hand into Ilya’s curls. They are exactly as soft as he knew they would be and damp at the roots, and Ilya leans into Shane's fingers as if the touch is something he has been waiting for. Shane pushes the curls away from his forehead, then leaves his hand at the back of Ilya's head as Ilya bends to kiss him.
Ilya cups his jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over Shane’s cheek before slipping to the side of his neck, holding him there as their mouths part. Ilya’s mouth is impossibly soft, and Shane melts into it without thinking, his fingers tightening in Ilya’s curls. When they separate, it is only to breathe. Ilya’s forehead brushes Shane’s, his thumb stroking absentmindedly beneath Shane’s ear before he leans in again for another slow, lingering kiss that leaves Shane smiling.
They stay like that, dancing closely together, until someone presses another shot into Ilya’s hand. Ilya knocks it back in one smooth motion, and Shane cannot help watching the movement of his throat as he swallows. Ilya catches him staring; a slow grin spreads across his face, his eyes bright with mischief. He lifts the empty shot glass between two fingers and tilts his head in a silent question, one eyebrow raised.
“Not a full one,” Shane says. His tolerance for alcohol is not as high as Ilya’s, and with two shots and a drink in his system, he is already on his way to being drunk.
Ilya nods solemnly, as though they have struck a very serious bargain. Then, he grabs another shot and downs it, sliding a hand around Shane’s waist before kissing him. Ilya tilts his head slightly, deepens the kiss, and Shane follows, opening for him without thinking. Then, Ilya lets a small sip of the shot pass between them, warm and sharp on Shane’s tongue. Shane makes a quiet sound of surprise into the kiss, but does not pull away as Ilya passes the shot between them.
By the time they pull apart, warmth has spread pleasantly through Shane’s chest, and he honestly cannot tell how much of it comes from the alcohol and how much comes from his husband. Shane thinks that if someone took every drop of alcohol out of his bloodstream right now, he would still feel intoxicated.
The song changes into something with a heavier beat, and Ilya's hands move lower on Shane's hips as he draws him closer. His thigh slides between Shane's legs, not enough to be obscene but enough that Shane feels the heat of it immediately, and Shane tightens his arm around Ilya's shoulders.
He lets himself follow Ilya's rhythm, grinding on his thigh, rolling his hips against Ilya’s while one hand is still tangled in his curls. Shane’s other hand slides down over Ilya’s shoulder and rests against his chest. He can feel Ilya's necklace beneath his palm, cool against skin that has become warm from dancing. Ilya’s hand hovers over his ass, giving it an occasional playful tap in time with the music, his grin growing every time Shane rolls his eyes.
“Asshole,” Shane mouths.
Ilya laughs at him, completely unapologetic.
He catches Shane’s wrist and spins him around and pulls him straight back into his chest before Shane has fully turned around again. Shane can’t help laughing, stumbling the last half-step as Ilya steadies him with a hand on his waist.
Shane’s back is now against Ilya’s chest, their bodies fitting together with practised ease. Shane lets his head fall back for a moment onto Ilya’s shoulder and places a soft kiss on his jaw, while Ilya’s other hand slides across his stomach to keep Shane close.
The beat slows down, and Ilya starts moving with it, guiding Shane with gentle pressure from his hands. Their hips rock together in an easy rhythm, Ilya swaying behind him, occasionally letting his own hips brush forward just enough to make Shane laugh under his breath. Shane rolls his eyes without any real annoyance, lifting one arm to hook it around the back of Ilya's neck as they keep moving. Ilya presses a quick kiss beneath his ear, grinning when Shane nudges him back with his shoulder. They stay like that, smiling at each other. Every time they drift apart, Ilya catches Shane’s hand or his waist and pulls him back in again, neither of them wanting to spend even a fraction apart.
* * * * * *
@Emslife
Okay soooo… I got blackout drunk last night and turns out I took WAY more pictures from last night
[A picture of Shane Hollander in a white tank top, backwards cap and sunglasses leaning against the railing behind the DJ booth]
↳ @Hollanov5eva
WAIT HE WAS THERE???
↳ @CentaursUpdate
HE WAS LITERALLY JUST LATE
↳ @Shanesnumber1
I TOLD YOU HE WAS TAKING A SHOWER
↳ @oliviarambles
So... everyone divorced them for nothing?
↳ ↳ @cassportsfan
Looks like it
@Emslife
GUYS LOOK AT THIS
[A video of Shane whistling. Ilya immediately turns around, grins and walks over. Shane hooks his fingers through Ilya's belt loops and pulls him into a kiss]
↳ @shane4ilya
SHANE WHISTLED AND ILYA JUST CAME RUNNING 😭
↳ @horn4roz
PULLING ROZANOV IN BY HIS BELT LOOPS?????? he walks ilya like a DOG!
↳ @Cassyonthego
Yesterday: "They're getting divorced."
Today: Shane Hollander literally summoning his husband with a whistle.
↳ @lucybz
...okay that's kinda hot
@NHLGossipGirl
More pictures from last night!
[A picture of Shane standing next to Svetlana smiling. Ilya has an arm around Shane's waist from behind, his head resting on Shane's shoulder as he kisses his neck]
↳ @Hollanovcentral
SHE WAS LITERALLY THIRD WHEELING THEM 😭
↳ @Yellow.Bears
Okay maybe I owe Svetlana an apology.
↳ ↳ @shane4ilya
Maybe???
@Emslife
Found another one!!
[A picture of Shane talking to Svetlana. Ilya stands beside Shane, staring at Shane's lips instead of listening]
↳ @ilyaslefttigh
loverboy is looking at his husband like he invented oxygen
↳ @Mainrozgrl
He's sooooo down bad
↳ @itgirlhollander
Until what time were they at the club?
↳ ↳ @Emslife
Not sure, the last picture I took was around 3.30am?
↳ ↳ ↳ @aidenaidz
Roz turned the hockey robot into a party boy, who knew it was possible!
@HockeyTea
Another video from Hollander and Rozanov in NYC last night!
[A video of Ilya dancing with Shane. Shane has his back to the camera. Ilya steals Shane's backwards cap. His shirt rides up, revealing his deep V and happy trail.]
↳ @shanenation
HELLO???
↳ @russianrocket81
Can we talk about the happy trail???
↳ ↳ @Hollanov5eva
Respectfully, I cannot focus on anything else.
@Rozzyupdates
WAIT!!!! Pause the video at 0:14.
[A zoomed-in still of Ilya's hip. Just above the waistband of his trousers, a tattoo reading "SH" is visible.]
↳ @russianrocket81
THAT'S A TATTOO
↳ @Shanesnumber1
IS THAT SHANE'S HANDWRITING???
↳ ↳ @Mainrozgrl
NO FUCKING WAY
↳ ↳ ↳ @Hollanovnation
I'M PRETTY SURE IT IS 😭
↳ @Hollanovera
YOU GUYS SPENT YESTERDAY ACCUSING THIS MAN OF CHEATING
HE HAS HIS HUSBAND'S INITIALS TATTOOED ON HIS HIP
↳ @archiveroz
The placement is CRAZY work
↳ @BradBrad
I know too much about these men. Let’s stick to hockey maybe?
@HockeyTea
Another video of Roz and Hollander from last night.
[A video of Shane and Ilya dancing together. They're completely wrapped up in each other, laughing, stealing kisses and dancing]
↳ @Hollanovcentral
This is the same couple you all divorced yesterday.
↳ ↳ @HollanovTruther
Never doubted them for a SECOND!!!
↳ @Shanesnumber1
The funniest part is Shane literally walked into the club, whistled once, and Ilya abandoned everyone to go make out with him and grind on him
@HockeyDeux
HockeyDeux would like to clarify that reports of a pending divorce were based on information available at the time.
↳ @Hollanov5eva
The information: five blurry pictures and your imagination.
@ShaneDefenseClub
Anyway, congratulations to Shane Hollander for surviving his divorce
@IlyaRoz81 on Instagram stories
[A 0.5x picture of Shane Hollander-Rozanov taken from above. Shane wearing a backwards cap and sunglasses, pulling the side of his top lip up in a snarl, looking up. He has a shot in his hands]
@HollanovNation
All this “Hollander turned a hoe into a housewife” whilst actually maybe it goes both ways because Rozanov is just clubbing and dancing nasty with his husband
(This tweet has been liked by IlyaRozanov81)