Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Ilya tossed back four ibuprofen as he glared around at the detritus all over his home.

Detritus was a good word. Carmichael knew a lot of big words for someone who'd had so many concussions, and he liked to teach them to Ilya. The guy had gone to a big deal university, so it made sense he had a big vocabulary, even in a language as stupid as English. Ilya had learned detritus just a few weeks ago, originally in reference to the chaos that was Marley's locker.

And it was a fitting word for all the shit strewn around his house this morning. Fucking animals. Boston's hockey team probably should have been named for some kind of wild animal. But Raiders also fit, since they'd effectively raided his house, then destroyed it.

Ilya was too fucking hungover for this. He pulled an electrolyte drink out of the refrigerator, almost smiling when he saw the row of Shane's ginger ale cans lined up next to the row of Ilya's Coke cans.

The regular season was over for the Raiders, them having beaten the Admirals last night in their final game. It was always nice to send Grandpa Hunter home sad. Even if Ilya did owe his relationship at least in part to the old man.

Shane was in Anaheim and would play his final regular season game tonight. They both had more hockey to play, since both their teams were in the playoffs. But they were just a little closer to being done. A little closer to another trip to Shane's cottage, where they would be almost entirely alone and could freely be together. The only other people they planned to see were Shane's parents, and they still got to be a couple around them, thank fuck.

And every day took them a little closer to Ilya moving to Canada, closer to the love of his life. He was starting to feel nostalgic about Boston. He’d grown up on this team, in this city. But nostalgia had nothing on his love for Shane.

From the pocket of his joggers, Ilya's phone buzzed. Drink in hand, he shuffled to his couch and flopped down, pulling it out to check the notification.

St-Simon had made a group chat that was just him, Marley, and Connors and named it StSimon Sez Fucked Up. What the fuck?

Cold dread slithered along Ilya's spine. Which was ridiculous. St-Simon had probably broken some dumb art piece Ilya's decorator picked out that he didn't give a shit about.

Ilya's phone kept buzzing, mostly likely Marley and Connors bickering, as usual. They were worse than any old married couple in any movie Ilya had ever seen. He ignored them and clicked the link, that same ominous feeling hanging over him.

The video was of Connors sitting just about where Ilya was right now. He was talking and gesturing animatedly, bottle of Sam Adams in his hand. Because St-Simon said to listen too, Ilya paused the video and turned his phone's volume up. He dragged his finger across the screen to start it over.

Connors was rambling on about some threesome he had recently. Why the fuck did Ilya need to listen to this? He'd heard the story twice already. And why the fuck was St-Simon recording and posting it? Sure, the guy was probably the most active Raider on social media. But who cared about Connors's probably-made-up threesome?

Then, in the background, a very loud, very distinct voice could be heard. Probably the person sitting on the other side of St-Simon and his recording phone.

The voice had a Russian accent.

"I need to tell you somethin’, Marley," Ilya's voice in the video said, only slurring a little. "But is a secret. You cannot tell anyone else."

"Sure, man. You can tell me anything, Rozzy. You know that." Marleau's voice was more slurred than Ilya's. "I won't tell a fucking soul. Have I told anyone about that night in Miami—"

"Shut up. I don't want to talk about that night," Ilya interrupted.

Yeah, that night in Miami had been…unfortunate. But in Ilya's defense, he'd been a stupid 19-year-old rookie. And it had cemented Marley as his best friend on the team.

"Then what's up?" Marley asked on the video.

Ilya realized he was listening like he had no idea what he was about to confess to his alternate captain. His memories of that point in the night were hazy, and he definitely didn't remember this conversation with Marleau.

At this point, whatever Connors was saying sounded like static to him as he listened to his own voice. "I need to tell you something about Jane."

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. This could not be good. No no no, fucking fuck.

"Jane is not really Jane."

Yeah, this was bad. This was so fucking bad. Shane was going to break up with him.

"OK. Who is she?"

"She is not she. She is he."

Forget breaking up with him. Shane was going to straight up murder him. He would get Yuna to help, and the two of them would definitely get away with it. They were too fucking smart not to.

And Ilya absolutely fucking deserved it.

"What?" Marleau sounded more drunk-confused than not understanding the implications of what Ilya just said.

"Jane is man."

"You've been blushing over texts from a dude? I thought you were, like, fucking Jane all this time." Drunk Marleau really was a dumb motherfucker.

Apparently so was Drunk Ilya.

"No, Marley. I told you, Russians do not blush. And they are not just texts with Jane. I have best sex of my life with Jane. But not Jane. Jane is fake name so no one will know he is man."

And there it was. Ilya's cause of death. He should probably just buy a gun and give it to Shane to kill him with because he fucking deserved it.

The only thing he could hope now was that he didn't tell Marleau who Jane actually was. It would also be nice if neither of them mentioned Montreal, but at this point, Ilya didn't have much faith in his drunk self from the previous night.

"So…you've been fucking a dude all these years?"

"Yes. A very wonderful dude who is love of my life."

Maybe Shane would appreciate that part and forgive him?

No, probably not.

"But I've seen you with your tongue down a chick's throat and your hand up her dress. You can't be gay."

Shane was going to love that reminder.

"This is bi-erasure, Marley. But I haven't been with woman in many years. Only Jane."

"So you, like, like both?"

"Yes, Marley, I am bisexual. It is a thing." Drunk Ilya in the video sounded very impatient.

"OK, wait, I have so many quest—"

The video ended, then looped around to start again with Connors waving his beer around.

Ilya sent the message, then threw his phone across the couch and dropped his head back against the armrest. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" He bellowed several more profanities, in both English and Russian. Called himself all manner of insults. His phone buzzed repeatedly, the sound irritating him as his friends undoubtedly had questions for him.

Fuck them. He needed to think. He needed to strategize. But he was too fucking hungover to think or strategize. Strategizing was really more Shane’s thing. Ilya wracked his brain, trying to remember any of the recorded conversation but it was all blank in his memory.

He was never drinking that much again.

He needed Yuna to help him figure this out. She would know how to get Shane to understand and forgive him. He hadn't said Shane's name, and neither he nor Marley referred to his Montreal Girl. The only clue he'd given as to Jane's identity was something Shane had in common with half the planet.

He needed to call Yuna. Probably Farah too. Shit, would she even want him as a client anymore? Shane was the one who'd initially introduced them, after Ilya left his Russian agent.

Shit, Russia. Good thing he had no interest in ever going back there again. There was no way he safely could now.

He needed Shane. What time was it even?

He forced himself to move, grabbing his phone. The group chat was still going but he ignored that in lieu of checking the clock. A little after ten, which meant it was a little after seven in California. Shane would be up, doing his run before going to morning skate. He was chronically offline, so he wouldn't have seen it. The fact he hadn't called Ilya yet was a good sign he hadn't heard about it from someone else either.

Before he could stop and think about what he was going to say, Ilya tapped on Jane's contact and called him.

"What are you doing up? I figured you'd be sleeping off a hangover until at least noon," Shane said by way of a greeting. He sounded a little breathless, like he might still be on the hotel's treadmill. The faint background noise Ilya heard could be the exercise machine.

"I am sorry, Shane. I fucked up." A lump that felt suspiciously like it could be tears pressed on the back of Ilya's throat. “Please don’t leave me, Shane. I love you so much and I don’t think I can survive losing you again. I am so sorry. I will do any—“

“Rozanov!” Shane barked in his Captain Hollander voice that Ilya usually found irresistibly sexy.

It was a testament to how truly panicked he was, that he didn’t get even the tiniest bit of interest from his cock. On a normal morning, he’d be half hard from that one word alone.

“Shane, I love you.”

There was a heavy silence. Then the hum of the treadmill cut off and the silence grew even more oppressive. Ilya’s knee started bouncing, his fingernails digging into his palms as his hands clenched in tight fists.

“Did you fuck someone else?” Shane’s voice was colder than Ilya had ever heard it. It gutted him.

“No, Shane. Of course not. I would never—“

“Did you tell someone about us? Someone who can't keep a secret?” His voice was a tiny bit less frosty. But not much.

“No, I would not do that. We have a plan. I know this.” Ilya’s heart pounded in his chest like he’d been running right along with his boyfriend.

His boyfriend who was taking slow, deep breaths that whispered through the phone. The way he did to ward off a panic attack.

After the silence got to be too much for Ilya to bear, he said, “Shane?” in the smallest voice he remembered ever using.

“Yeah. I’m still here.

“Please remember I love you and would never do anything to hurt you and I am very sorry and will do whatever you need to make this up to you.”

Shane’s sigh came through the phone as static. “OK, tell me what happened.”

“Raiders were at my house last night. We drank a lot. And because is my last season there, I drank…” Why was it so hard to admit this next part? Shane didn’t have a problem with him drinking, as long as he behaved.

Except he hadn’t behaved. “I drank too much. I do not remember things. But St-Simon, he… he posted stupid TikTok of Connors, but it also picked up me talking to Marley.”

“Ooooh-kaaaay. But you didn’t out us? Did you mention me at all?”

“No.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. “I did not say your name.”

“What does that mean?”

“I told Marley that Jane is man. And that he is love of my life.”

The next five seconds were possibly the longest of Ilya’s life, waiting for Shane’s reply.

“And you’re positive you didn’t say my name? Did you say I live in Montreal?”

“No! No, I swear to you, Shane. I did not say anything about you except that you are a man who I love very much. And I told Marley I am bisexual.”

“So you came out to Marleau.”

Ilya was too restless to keep sitting, so he got off the couch and paced back to the kitchen. He needed something in his stomach. Something greasy.

He leaned back against his counter, legs crossed at the ankles, and put Shane on speakerphone. As they kept talking, he opened a food delivery app and started ordering breakfast from his favorite 24-hour diner.

“I suppose, yes. That is what I did.”

“And then you came out to twitter by accident.”

“Yes, Hollander, that is what happened. Was TikTok, but close enough.”

Shane made an impatient noise.

“Are you mad at me?”

Another endless pause. “I’m frustrated. This wasn’t our plan.”

“I know.” Yeah, he was going to need an extra order of bacon.

“So we’ll have to modify our plan. We need to call Farah. And my mom. They can help us figure out what–”

“Shane!” It was Ilya’s turn to interrupt in his Captain voice.

Shane fell silent.

“Breathe, Shane. Do not have panic attack.”

He waited while Shane took several slow breaths. Ilya added two more side orders of toast to his cart, added a 100 percent tip, and tapped to place the order.

“OK. OK. I’m OK.” Shane took a few more deep breaths. “If you hang on a minute, I’ll call Mom and she can help us come up with a strategy.”

“Don’t you have morning skate?”

“Fuck.”

“Is OK. You have game to play. I have situation to fix. That technically, as far as anyone else know, doesn’t not involve you. Only you, me, Yuna, David, and Farah know you are Jane. Yes?”

“Yeah, OK, you’re right. I have to go to fucking morning skate.”

Ilya chuckled. “Shane Hollander upset he has to practice hockey?”

“Fuck off.” Shane’s voice was all affection.

“I will call Yuna. We will call Farah. Three of us will come up with statement. And you will kick Anaheim’s ass. Then we will both have amazing playoffs, though mine will be slightly more amazing, of course.”

“Fuck you, Rozanov.”

“And we will play each other for conference championship, which Boston will of course win.”

“Once again, fuck off.”

“And I will lead Boston to one more cup before I leave.”

“No, pretty sure you’ll still be at one cup and I’ll be leading Montreal to our third cup in four years.”

“Umm, no.”

They were both silent for a beat, then Ilya said, “It will be OK. Yuna is smart. Farah is smart. They will not let anything happen to Canada’s golden boy. Or to his secret boyfriend.”

“OK.”

“OK?”

“Yeah, OK. What else can we do, right?”

Ilya got another Gatorade from his refrigerator even though he hadn’t finished the one on the coffee table. Shane was being surprisingly chill about this. For Shane. “And we are OK? You are not mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you. For reasons I will never understand, I’m too ridiculously in love with you.”

“Is because you are hockey robot and I am best player in MLH.”

“Second best.”

“Ummmm, no. I don’t think so.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Ilya found himself grinning. “Yes, but I am your asshole.”

“Unfortunately.”

“And your asshole is mine.” He could feel himself grinning wickedly, despite being alone in his house. Hopefully he was also making Shane grin.

“Jesus christ.”

“You are blushing, aren’t you? Let me Facetime you. I want to see you blush.” Ilya tapped at his phone to get to that screen.

“I can’t. I need to shower and I have to be ready to leave in twenty minutes.” Shane sighed. “I”m sorry.”

“Send selfie?” It was better than nothing. Fuck, he missed his boyfriend.

“You’ll delete it, right?” He could practically hear Shane chewing on his lower lip.

“Yes, Hollander. I will delete picture.” Unless it was really sexy. Something hot enough to inspire his imagination when he jerked off thinking about Shane. He kept those in the secret folder on his phone, along with the pictures from the MLH awards four years ago, when they had presented together.

Looking back, that night had been one of the turning points in their relationship. Ilya was glad he hadn’t deleted those pictures the next day. Even if Shane had been going through an unfortunate haircut phase at the time.

Because honestly, he’d been going through that phase pretty much the entire eight years they’d known each other. Until he hired his stylist.

Inspired by Rose Landry. Ilya was definitely not a fan of how she and Shane met, but he did appreciate that she was a good friend to his boyfriend. And if it weren’t for her, Shane would probably still have those awful bangs and wear athleisure everywhere.

Then, a horrible thought occurred to Ilya. “What if… what if Centaurs do not want me?” Shit. That would ruin their plan. The careful plan Shane had stayed up all night to come up with because he loved Ilya that much. Because he didn’t want to be so far apart anymore.

He loved his Shane so much, sometimes it was almost overwhelming.

Shane didn’t answer right away, giving Ilya more time to worry. He took several gulps of his drink, just for something to do. He emptied the bottle, threw it in the recycling, then leaned his elbows on the counter and shoved his hands into his hair. “Shane?” He could hear the despair in his own voice.

What if Boston didn’t want to re-sign him either, and Ottawa didn’t want a bisexual player, even one as good as Ilya Rozanov? What if no other team would sign him?

He could not go back to Russia. But what other choice would he have?

“I don’t know. Fuck. I don’t know, Ilya. Maybe talk to Mom and Farah about it?” Shane’s voice had that edge that said he was barely keeping himself from a panic attack.

And it was Ilya’s fault. He was responsible for his boyfriend being miserable. And he was three time zones away and couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t hold the back of Shane’s neck and massage in the way that calmed him. Couldn’t hold him tight, using the pressure of his arms to ease the panic. All he could offer was another pathetic, “I am so sorry.”

“I know. I… it’s not your fault.” Shane sighed. “I mean, it is a little. But St-Simon should watch what he posts before he posts it. And if anyone can figure this out, it’s my mom.”

“Yes, Yuna will terrify the Centaurs into wanting me.” Ilya chuckled. No one was more formidable than his hopefully-future mother-in-law.

“They’re terrible. I’m pretty sure you could come out as queer, a devil worshipper, a baby killer, and part alligator and Ottawa would want you.” Shane’s tone was flat.

Ilya laughed again. “Wow. Good thing I’m just bisexual.”

“And a menace.”

“A menace you’re in love with.” Ilya stood up straight and scratched at his chest. Shane was right. This was a hiccup, but it would not ruin their plan for him to move to the Centaurs.
It couldn’t.

They had worked too hard to get to this point. It might kill Ilya to play anywhere else next year. Except maybe Montreal, but that was an impossibility.

“Yes, very much in love with you. But I really do have to go.” Shane sounded as disappointed about it as Ilya felt.

“You will FaceTime me after game?”

“I’ll try. It’s going to be late, though. After midnight for you.”

The sound of a door opening came through the phone. A moment later, Ilya heard it close again. Shane must be leaving the gym.

“I don’t care. I need to see your freckles.”

Shane chuckled. “OK. I will.” A pause, then, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Thank you for understanding.” Ilya wasn’t looking forward to the media storm he was about to deal with, but as long as Shane was still there at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. Raiders management was sure to be pissed about his accidental confession, especially given the timing, right before the playoffs. If people talked about queer players being a “distraction” during the regular season, they’d definitely say he was one now.

But fuck them. He was the second best player in the league. He’d say they could suck his dick, but they couldn’t. He was way too good for them. The privilege of sucking his dick belonged solely to the best player in the MLH.

“I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to be your boyfriend.”

“Bye, Shane.”

“Bye, Lily.”

Chuckling, Ilya ended the call. He checked and saw his breakfast should be there in ten minutes.

Wait, had Shane said he loved Ilya after he left the gym? Out in the hall?

He opened his text thread with Jane.

Laughing, Ilya set his phone down. Only to have it ping with a new text message. Yuna had texted him and Farah.

He at least needed to get his food so he could eat while they talked. He couldn’t deal with the fallout on an empty stomach. Then he would call his surrogate mom and his agent. And trust they could fix his fuck up.