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Shane has spent the majority of his life in locker rooms. He's been on hockey teams since he was five. He knows everything there is to know about playing the sport and being on a team. There is almost no reason he should be so fucking anxious about his first official practice with the Centaurs tomorrow. They've had a few preliminary practices that have mostly been logistics and weight room training, but this would be their first time changing into their gear and getting on the ice.
Shane likes the guys. He's met them all countless times at this point, in both casual and professional settings. They work well together; they get along great; no one has said anything upsetting about Shane's relationship or sexuality — it would be ridiculous if they had, given that the majority of them had been at Ilya and Shane's wedding, not to mention a couple of them were queer themselves.
Objectively speaking, Shane has every reason to be chill about this entire season.
Except, of course, he's not. He's freaking out a little bit only because the last time he was in a locker room with a team that had allegedly been like a family to him, they had accused Shane of being a liar who threw games for his boyfriend. They had accused him of sabotaging a playoff game for Ilya.
Even in those years when they'd known he was gay, just not with Ilya specifically, they'd toed around his sexuality like it was some kind of disease. They'd stopped asking about his dating-slash-sex life, the way guys always joke about bagging women, and they'd always cast sideways glances at each other if they'd overheard JJ or Hayden mention anything in support of Shane's sexuality. They'd consciously turned away from him in the showers, like Shane wouldn't be able to control himself at the sight of their soft dicks and mediocre bodies. They'd made passive-aggressive jokes about how uncomfortable Hayden must be sharing a room with Shane on roadies.
Since the moment Shane had come out to the Voyageurs — people he'd considered close, good friends — that locker room had felt suffocating. He'd never felt 100% himself around his team, for obvious reasons, but after that, he hadn't felt like he'd been able to relax at all around them.
He knows deep down the Centaurs locker room will not be like that. He's certain of it. But, fuck, he feels like he's going to be sick at the thought of changing clothes in that room with all of them tomorrow, wondering if any of them are secretly uncomfortable about Shane's, or any of the other out players', attraction to men.
Having Ilya with him this time around is making it both better and worse.
Better because no one makes him feel safer than Ilya. He knows that no matter what, Ilya will put him above anything, and even if their teammates ever tried to make so much as a joke that upset Shane, Ilya would shut it down immediately. It's an immense comfort having Ilya in his corner, especially considering Ilya is their captain, and Shane knows how much respect the team has for him.
But having his husband in that same locker room feels like it might make things worse for Shane, too.
In their time since getting married, they've become quite codependent. It's as though they feel like they must make up for all that time they spent separated, and they rarely leave each other's sides unless necessary — one time Shane went to the bathroom and by the time he'd returned, Ilya had pulled him close with a soft missed you. Shane hadn't even blinked because, yeah, he'd missed Ilya, too, for all of five minutes.
They no longer have to hide their affection for each other, and because of that, they've become very touchy. Always holding hands, hooking fingers in one another's belt loops, curling an arm around the other's waist, brushing stray eyelashes off cheeks.
They do all of these things mostly in the confines of their own walls, but even as they've stepped out into public more, they can't help but reach for each other in small ways — bumping shoulders at the grocery store, grazing fingers when they pass each other drinks at one of Bood's barbecues, playing footsie under the table at restaurants. They are mutually obsessed with each other, and Shane can't lie, he fucking loves it. He loves his husband more than he ever thought it was possible to love another person.
This is part of why he's so nervous to be in a locker room with Ilya and an entire group of other men. It's inevitable that he and Ilya will hold hands, flirt, touch innocently, tease each other.
And that is something he has no experience with.
At the two team parties they'd gone to over the summer, Shane and Ilya had been able to keep the PDA to a minimum — both times, that restraint had led to one of them sucking the other off before they'd even gotten back home, but that's beside the point. This would be almost every day in the locker rooms. Even if their teammates were fine with the occasional touch or flirty comment, it would have to get old when it occurred as often as Shane and Ilya did it.
Shane was anxious at the idea of being too… gay around them. Sure, they were supportive and sure, they had no problem with Troy and Harris, but this still felt different. It felt like Shane and Ilya would be much more in their face about it, even without trying to be.
He knows he's been on edge about this all week, even more so today now that practice is less than 24 hours away. And he knows Ilya noticed, too. Shane's honestly surprised that it took Ilya until 1 pm to ask about it.
"Sweetheart," Ilya says quietly, wrapping his arms around Shane from behind as he stands at the kitchen sink, washing dishes. "What is wrong? You are going to scrub a hole through that mug."
Shane blinks, pulling the sponge away and looking at the very clean mug in his hand. He rinses it out and sets it aside, picking up a glass instead. "I'm just… thinking. About tomorrow."
"What about it?"
Ilya's hand slips beneath the hem of Shane's shirt, his warm palm spreading out over Shane's abdomen. It's not meant to be remotely sexual — it's just that they both love any skin-to-skin contact they can get. His thumb runs back and forth, the soothing touch giving Shane enough courage to speak his mind.
"Do you think…" Shane says, focusing too intensely on washing the glass, "that, um, the team will care? About us, like… being in the locker room together? Because we're married."
Ilya's moving thumb pauses. Shane can feel him inhale, then exhale, Ilya's chest moving against his back. Without a word, Ilya takes the glass and the sponge from Shane's hands, sets them in the sink, and then runs their hands under the water to clear the soap. He shuts the tap off and reaches for the towel, drying them both off. Shane almost smiles at how Ilya does everything for him, rather than just telling him to put the dish down.
Ilya steps back just enough to place his hands on Shane's hips and spin him around, eyeing him curiously. "What do you mean, moya lyubov(my love)?"
Shane twists his mouth to one side, fiddling with the edge of Ilya's sweater. "I was just wondering if we should, like, establish rules with how much PDA we do. I worry that being too… touchy might make people uncomfortable. Especially if we're doing it every day."
"They will not care," Ilya says gently. Shane looks up.
"How can you know that?" he asks. "I mean, yeah, they don't care at team parties, or whatever. But this is work. It's not… professional to be flirting or touching or whatever so much, you know? And especially with how much we both do it. It's got to get old quickly, I mean…"
Shane closes his eyes, furrowing his brows in frustration. He hates that he's so scared about this, but he thinks he has a point. He's right to at least consider that their teammates might not want to see that in a professional environment.
"Shane…" Ilya whispers, but Shane opens his eyes and shakes his head. He looks at the cross necklace sitting in the center of Ilya's collarbones, lying over his navy blue sweater — which, now that Shane really looks at the garment, he's pretty sure it's one of his.
"I think we should have rules," he says again. "When we're in the locker room and on the ice, we should keep the touching to a minimum. Probably none at all, honestly. And no serious flirting, or talking about, like… sex, or whatever. I know there's always teasing comments made, and that's probably fine unless someone says something. But we should… be conscious of everyone else, you know?"
Shane's eyes flick up to Ilya's, unsure of what to expect. He's looking back at Shane with contemplation and just the barest hint of a frown. Ilya takes a deep breath.
"Shane, I do not want to hide anymore," he says quietly. "I trust our team. I know they will not care. Maybe tease us a little about being— ah, what did Yuna call us? Codependent? They will joke, but they will not be uncomfortable."
"But—"
"But," Ilya says pointedly, "I know why you are nervous. I know why you are thinking this. So maybe we… compromise?"
Shane swallows hard, nodding. "Compromise how?"
Ilya tilts his head to the side, thinking. "In the locker room, we can keep touching to a minimum to start. But maybe, we allow little things. Flirting, kiss on the cheek, touching as we walk by. Nothing crazy, hm? As time goes on, you will see that they will not care and then we can do these things more. Maybe real kisses, hugs, whatever. Baby steps, yes?"
It fills him with dread, a little bit. The idea of kissing his husband in a room full of their closest friends and wondering if any of them are silently objecting. But… he knows what hiding their relationship did to Ilya — to both of them. He doesn't want to put either of them through that again.
"Okay," Shane whispers, nodding. "You're right, yeah. Baby steps."
"Okay," Ilya echoes, the tension in his shoulders softening a bit.
"We probably still shouldn't shower near each other, though," Shane adds.
"Oh, you think you cannot handle that?" Ilya asks, a cat-like grin spreading across his face. Shane rolls his eyes — they both get aroused quickly by one another, so Shane isn't sure why Ilya is acting like it's only him.
"And we probably shouldn't room together on road trips."
Ilya's smile vanishes. "Ah, no," he says firmly.
"What?" Shane frowns. "Ilya, it's— that's unprofessional."
"I don't care," he says. "We have not slept apart since before we got married; we will not start now. Plus, that is free time. We are not at work when we are in our own rooms, so what we do and where we sleep does not matter to anyone else."
Ilya has a point, but the implications of them rooming together could be enough to make people uncomfortable.
"Solnyshko(Sunshine)," Ilya says. "I understand everything else, yes? But this is— I do not want this. You do not want this. We do not need to be professional in the hotels. We are not rooming separate. Plus, costs more money for team, anyway, so."
Shane's lips twitch into a frown, but he nods. Ilya is right — neither of them wants that. "Okay," Shane agrees, pushing down the discomfort. "But if anyone seems weird about it, I'm changing my mind about that."
Ilya sighs softly, but agrees. He tightens his grip on Shane's hips and pulls him closer, tucking his face into Shane's neck. "I am sorry that your old team was so horrible that you have to worry like this. Was not fair to you," he murmurs, peppering soft kisses against Shane's skin.
"I know," Shane replies, just as softly. His arms curl around Ilya's shoulders.
"These guys will not hurt you like that," Ilya promises. "You will see."
1.
The start of the season is… slightly underwhelming. Admittedly, Shane had thought that, based on their practices and having the top two players in the league on one team, they would've been crushing it.
Their first three games have been one win, two losses. Both of which were close in score, but losses nonetheless. They're finally getting out of Canada, though, which Shane feels slightly optimistic about — partially because their game tonight is against Tampa, who hasn't won a game yet this season.
Their flight landed just an hour ago, and they've finally made it to the hotel. The team waits around for Wiebe to retrieve all the room keys, everyone excited to finally be in some warmer weather. From what Shane has overheard, several of the guys plan on hitting the pool tonight because even though the sun is meant to set in an hour, it's still decently hot outside.
"Alright," Wiebe says, approaching the group, a handful of keys enclosed in envelopes. "Haas and Young, room 410. Dykstra and Hayes, 411. Hollander and Rozanov, 412—"
Whoever Coach called out next is drowned out by their teammates collectively cooing, "Oooooh," like teenagers making fun of their friends for having a crush. Shane is pretty sure he hears someone say, "Good thing you brought headphones, Haasy."
Shane doesn't mean to, but his entire body locks up with tension. He feels stiff as he reaches for the outstretched envelope their coach is holding out to them.
"Ah, shut up," Ilya says instantly, his voice a perfect mix of playful and serious — like he's not mad about the teasing, but he's also serious about them stopping. "You are all just mad you do not get to bring your partners on roadies."
"Too right, brother," Bood nods, taking another key from Coach. "Man, I miss Cassie."
"You saw her this morning, you know," LaPointe tells him.
Bood places a hand over his heart, as if it hurts. "Too long."
LaPointe snorts. "It's a good thing we only have to worry about one couple around here," he says. "I think I would die if everyone had a plus one."
Somehow, that doesn't make Shane feel better. Ilya's arm presses against Shane's, and it takes everything in him not to move away.
"Come," Ilya says softly, nodding towards the elevators.
"Are you— should we talk to Coach about the rooms? I don't want anyone to be—"
"Sweetheart," Ilya interrupts softly, only loud enough for Shane to hear. "Let's talk in our room, yes?"
So far, they'd both done a good job at keeping PDA to a minimum. There had been a small handful of teasing, flirty comments from Ilya, though they were no crazier than ones any of the guys would say to another teammate, so Shane never felt like they were enough to raise alarms. Ilya usually sticks to bumping his arm or knee against Shane's, which barely draws any attention. There had only been one time when Ilya had dropped a quick kiss to Shane's shoulder before heading into the showers, leaving Shane on the bench, but the locker room had been half empty at the time.
Ilya had even managed to keep the usage of pet names low, only calling Shane sweet things when no one was around to hear.
All things considered, there had been nothing to cause concern until this. Which is maybe why it was making Shane so tense — he'd been lured into a false sense of safety. Not on purpose, of course. He knows none of the other Centaurs have any idea what's going on in his head. But still, he'd been made to believe that no one had any opinion on him and Ilya, good or bad.
That bout of teasing, that "we only have one couple to worry about," was enough to set him all the way on edge.
He keeps his eyes trained on the floor as he follows Ilya to the elevator, leaning against the wall. A handful of their teammates go up to the fourth floor with them, but Ilya subtly steps in front of Shane to shield him from any attention. It's a small separation from everyone else, but it's enough for their teammates to ignore Shane for the short ride.
Even once they're shut in their own room, Shane doesn't relax. Ilya takes both of their duffel bags and sets them on the ground before cupping Shane's face.
"Moya lyubov," he says softly. "They were teasing."
"I know," Shane whispers. "But, like… you don't think there was any truth to it? You really think none of them care that we're… rooming together? Sleeping together?"
"I really think that none of them care that we are rooming together," Ilya parrots back simply. "In fact, I was not joking when I said they are jealous. They are all away from their wives and girlfriends. Troy does not even have Harris here. They miss their families. But we—"
He leans forward and presses his forehead to Shane's. "We are very lucky. Even on road trips when we are away from home, we get to sleep in same bed. We always have home with us. Yes?"
Shane softens at those words. We always have home with us. That is exactly how it feels to constantly have Ilya by his side, especially after all this time of being forced to stay apart.
"Yeah. We're lucky," he agrees quietly.
"And this is not professional time. Right now, we are not superstar hockey players. We are just us, and we are allowed to share a bed because we are married. Okay?" Ilya says, using his palms to lightly squeeze Shane's cheeks together.
"Okay," Shane whispers. "But."
Ilya frowns. "But?"
"But we're not fucking," Shane says seriously. "I will not let them overhear us. I can't be sore tomorrow anyway, but even after the game tomorrow. No way."
"What if we win?" Ilya pouts.
"Nope."
Ilya looks genuinely put out, but they'd agreed on compromise. If Ilya insists that they're staying in the same room, then this will be Shane's boundaries. Nothing can sway him on this.
"What if we fuck in the shower? Water will cover the noise," Ilya says, tilting his head towards the bathroom.
Shane blinks. Well—
"Maybe," he says. "But you're still covering my mouth."
Ilya looks pleased, a smug smirk painting itself across his face. "Oh, you just cannot contain yourself, ah?" he teases, leaning in so that his nose brushes Shane's. "I just make you feel so good that the whole floor will hear you?"
Shane flushes, placing his palms on Ilya's chest and pushing him away. "I changed my mind. No sex," he says, though they both know it's probably a lie.
He heads towards the bed, and Ilya is right behind him. "Whatever you say, solnyshko."
2.
Unfortunately for Shane, Ilya has enlightened him to the wonders of flavored, sugary coffee. It always irks Shane in the back of his mind, because he does think about the empty calories that add up from the syrup and the almond milk. But he has to admit, it does taste better than black coffee.
Especially at an 8 am debrief of their game from the night before.
Normally they would schedule it for later, but they have a flight to Denver at 3 pm, so Coach had ordered them to be in the Centaurs media room bright and early.
They're in chairs scattered around the room, all facing the large screen at the front of the room. Coach is still setting it up, but everyone seems to be too tired to engage in too much conversation — Shane and Ilya included.
They're sat close enough that their arms are pressed against each other, their fingers intertwined and resting on Ilya's thigh. If Shane were more awake, he might've felt a little weirder about the display of affection, but as it was, he just wanted the closeness of his husband after being dragged out of their bed at 7 am.
It's because Shane is so exhausted that it takes him so long to notice it — or maybe Luca Haas hadn't been staring at their joint hands for that long. But judging by the slight tilt of his head and the way he keeps blinking at their locked fingers, or the fact that Luca ends up staring for the full four minutes Shane watches him, growing tenser by the second, Shane is willing to bet Luca has been staring for a while.
There's nothing super judgmental about the rookie's stare, but it doesn't change the fact that he's definitely, blatantly staring. There's also nothing entirely… supportive about the stare. No flicker of a smile, no sparkle of the eye. Just a flat… blank stare.
Until he blinks hard, like he's coming back to himself, and his eyes flick up to meet Shane's. In an instant, Luca goes red, and he looks away. Like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.
Shane's stomach turns uncomfortably.
He's fairly certain Luca isn't homophobic. He's never been anything but outwardly supportive of Shane and Ilya, or Troy and Harris. Plus, if Ilya's theory is anything to go off of, he's pretty sure that Luca is queer in some regard.
That doesn't change the stare, or the look of embarrassment when he'd been caught.
So maybe he wasn't homophobic. But maybe he'd still been judging. Maybe he'd been wondering how Shane and Ilya could be so attached at the hip despite spending every waking moment together. Maybe he'd been put off by the casual display of affection in a work setting, because so far, Shane and Ilya had done a good job at keeping it to themselves or keeping it subtle enough to be ignored.
Maybe he'd been outwardly supportive because he'd been too scared of Shane and Ilya to be honest about finding it gross or inappropriate.
Without thinking, Shane's hand slips from Ilya's.
He switches his coffee cup into that hand so that Ilya isn't able to take it again. If Ilya finds this odd, he doesn't say anything. He does, however, drop that hand onto Shane's thigh, just a few inches above his knee. It's just as casual as holding hands, but somehow, it feels even more intimate.
Slowly, Shane shifts his leg away until it becomes too awkward for Ilya to keep his hand there. It falls away. He glances at Shane, something in his eye.
"Okay?" he murmurs, almost silent. In probably the least convincing manner possible, Shane nods once. Ilya slings an arm around the back of Shane's chair, not missing the way he tenses. But technically, he's not touching Shane, only his chair, so Shane says nothing.
"Hey," Ilya whispers, leaning a little closer. "What is—"
"Okay, there we go," Coach Wiebe says, finally getting the screen to light up with footage from their last game. Ilya falls silent, though with obvious reluctance. He keeps his arm around the back of Shane's chair the entire debrief, though he never touches Shane again. It both helps calm him and drives him crazy.
He feels… silly. Stupid, even. He shouldn't care about what anyone thinks, let alone a 23-year-old kid. But he's so haunted by his past teammates and how they alienated him. Shane isn't sure he'd survive it again if the same thing were to happen with the Centaurs — especially if it happened to Ilya, too, because of Shane.
Almost two hours later, they're finally freed from the meeting with the instructions to return to the facility by 1 pm. Ilya mercifully waits until they're in the car before asking, "Are you okay?"
Shane reaches over, lacing their fingers together again. It's a relief, as though they hadn't been inches from each other all morning. But to actually touch again, without any fear of prying or judging eyes, it soothes him like nothing else can.
"Yes," Shane says honestly.
"Okay," Ilya says slowly. He hasn't even turned the car on. "Were you okay? During the meeting?"
Shane deflates slightly. He doesn't want to throw Luca under the bus, but there's no way around this question without lying. And Shane hopes that Ilya has a better explanation for why the kid might have been staring.
"Before Coach pulled the footage up, I saw Haas staring. At us holding hands," Shane says quietly. "It's probably nothing, but it just made me feel… weird. Like he was judging, maybe."
Ilya hums. "Staring how?"
"I mean, he almost looked like he was zoned out?" Shane says. "But he was definitely looking at us. And when he realized I'd caught him, he turned bright red. Like— almost like he'd been caught doing something bad, I think. I don't know."
Ilya pulls Shane's hand closer, trapping it between both of his. He kisses Shane's fingertips. "Can I tell you what I think, moya lyubov?"
"That I'm crazy?" Shane asks, only half teasing.
"No," Ilya says earnestly. "You know my… theory about Luca, yes?"
Shane nods. It had been after the first barbecue at Bood's house that Ilya had told Shane he was pretty sure that Luca was gay — not even bisexual, Ilya had said. And that he probably (definitely) used to have crushes on both Shane and Ilya. Shane hadn't thought much of it at the time because he didn't really know the kid, but after a few months with the team… it's not the craziest theory.
"I think, maybe, it is a bit… surreal. To see something like our relationship on a team, in a locker room, in the league. Is like when we saw Hunter kissing Kip, yes? Was so shocking, almost impossible to believe," Ilya says. "I think maybe, assuming I am right, it is just shocking in a good way for Luca to see this. Especially on his team, between two players he grew up loving."
Shane swallows hard. That makes sense. It's not crazy, assuming Ilya is correct about Luca being queer.
"What if you're wrong?" Shane frowns.
Ilya tilts his head, his expression almost saying Be serious.
Shane snorts. "Okay, asshole," he says, shaking his head. "Okay, fine. Yeah, maybe it was just that. I just didn't want him to feel weird."
"Sweetheart, I know he is a baby but is not his first day on Earth," Ilya says gently. "We were holding hands. Plus, it is honestly more likely that he was just tired and actually zoned out rather than staring at two people holding hands."
Letting out another quiet laugh, Shane nods. "Yeah, probably. Sorry, I know it's… stupid to think everyone is, like, against us, b—"
"Is not stupid," Ilya says easily. "Not after everything you went through."
Shane's throat goes tight. He loves Ilya so much. Because Shane thinks, objectively, it is at least a bit silly to assume Haas had genuinely been disturbed about some hand-holding. But Ilya doesn't hesitate to validate Shane's feelings, because… yeah, after everything Shane went through, of course there's some lasting trauma.
"Okay," Shane whispers. He jerks his head towards the steering wheel. "Let's head home."
Ilya finally turns on the car, but not before leaning over the center console and giving Shane a sweet kiss on the mouth.
3.
Shane is, somehow, even more of a lightweight than most of the rookies. It comes with the territory of rarely drinking, especially during the season, and having a husband who only buys him strong, high-quality vodka drinks. That's why one drink has Shane's mind pleasantly fuzzy.
They're out celebrating a win against Montreal, and because they have the next two days off, Shane had allowed himself to imbibe a little. Plus, he'd scored a hat trick against his former team. He'd been on such a high that after his third goal, he'd smacked a kiss to the outside of Ilya's helmet and hadn't even cared about the eyes on them.
Ilya, of course, had been ecstatic about that. And now, he is almost three drinks deep — which means he's only slightly drunker than Shane.
Most of their team is on the dance floor or at the bar or… somewhere. Shane has no fucking clue, honestly, and he doesn't care. Because he is tucked into the corner of a booth in their VIP section with his husband, who is wearing a partially unbuttoned shirt and is looking at Shane like he's a meal.
Shane isn't so drunk that he's completely unaware of their surroundings and the eyes on them, but he is buzzed enough to allow Ilya to be glued completely to his side, his large hand high on Shane's thigh beneath the table. Every few minutes, that hand would slide up a few inches — way too close to his dick for public decency — squeeze once, and then return to a safer spot. It's driving Shane mad.
Tanner Dillon and Bood sit across from them, Bood's wife under his arm. Their casual affection also helps Shane feel a little more comfortable about Ilya being so close. Even when Cassie and Bood get up to dance, Shane doesn't even have it in him to feel suddenly awkward about Tanner basically third-wheeling.
"Oh, you do not want to go dance, solnyshko?" Ilya teases, his hand sliding higher again.
"Absolutely not," Shane snorts, looking at his husband. The lights are dim, and flashes of pink or blue illuminate Ilya from behind.
"I think it could be fun," Ilya says, his voice barely audible over the music. "You do not want to dance with me?"
"I'm not a good dancer," Shane says, grinning. He doesn't want to dance — he barely wants to be in this club. He wants to take his husband home and rip off all his clothes, and ride him until they both pass out. He wants Ilya to hold him down and make him—
"Damn, Hollzy," Tanner cackles from across the table. Shane's attention snaps to him — admittedly, he's forgotten their teammate was even here. Not to mention, Young was now sitting beside him, and Shane has no idea when he appeared. Tanner shakes his head, leaning back on his side of the booth. "Those are some fuck me eyes if I ever saw 'em."
Instantly, Shane tenses. He feels like cold water has been dumped on his head. Obviously, he's aware that he and Ilya are not invisible. They are capable of being perceived by anyone around them. It's just that Shane forgot, briefly, that the majority of the people around them are their teammates.
It's no secret that Shane and Ilya fuck — they're married after all. There have even been the occasional teasing comments about how their room neighbors when they're on roadies better have headphones, despite the fact that Shane and Ilya have yet to do anything beyond sucking each other off in the showers on those nights.
And they're not even at work right now, which means there's no obligation for them to be professional. It's just the sudden reminder that they aren't alone that flips Shane's mood like a coin. He's already in the corner of the booth, so he can't back away from Ilya, but his husband reads Shane like a book. He leans away — Shane hadn't even realized he'd leaned closer — and turns to Tanner with an unimpressed look.
"I am surprised you know what fuck me eyes are, considering no one has ever given them to you," Ilya says flatly. Under the table, his hand travels to Shane's knee, and he smooths his thumb back and forth against the curve of it.
Young cackles when Tanner's jaw drops. "Man, fuck you!" he says, only partially offended. "Lots of people want to fuck me."
"Right," Ilya says. "And that is why you are here like a creep, watching me flirt with my husband after he scores three goals tonight."
"Dude—"
"Maybe more girls would fuck you if you scored like Hollander."
Young is out of breath, leaning against Tanner's shoulder and making them both shake from the force of his laughter. "Bro, he got your ass so good," Young says in between gasps.
"Oh, my— watch out, I'm going to find a girl."
"Good luck," Ilya calls. "I am sure you will need it."
Young sits back down after letting Tanner out of the booth, still beaming. "Damn, Cap, that was—"
"You, too, Young," Ilya nods towards the bar. "Give me a minute to flirt with my husband in peace."
Young is back on his feet without another word, saluting in their direction. "Have fun with that, brother," he says easily, disappearing into the crowd.
Like it had been nothing, Ilya had managed to disperse the people around them just so they could continue flirting. Shane almost feels guilty, except… it was kind of hot. And now that the only eyes on him are Ilya's, that sudden sobriety seems to melt away. The fuzziness that had taken over his brain before creeps back in.
"You didn't have to do that," Shane says quietly, turning his body slightly towards Ilya. "It wasn't a big deal."
"He was annoying me," Ilya returns easily, shrugging. "I want to flirt with you. I cannot do this if you are worried about that idiot. Plus, no one deserves to see your fuck me eyes but me."
Shane grins. "Well, they're only for you, so…"
"Ah, so you do want me to fuck you," Ilya says, his eyes dropping to Shane's mouth.
He watches closely as Shane's lips form the word, "Obviously."
"Finish your drink, and then we leave?"
"You just want to sit here for a little bit longer and make me blush some more, huh?" Shane asks. He knows there's no other reason Ilya would insist Shane finish his drink — it's not as though they cared about getting their money's worth.
"Mm, yes," Ilya says. He leans a little closer, his hand creeping up Shane's thigh. And since there's no one around them to make Shane second guess himself, he allows it.
4.
They're more than halfway through the season, and Shane is finally beginning to really understand why Ilya had been so sure that none of their teammates would care about their marriage or any displays of affection. Over time, Shane has been able to open up a little bit.
He squeezes Ilya's shoulder when he leaves him on the bench and heads to the showers; he kisses Ilya's head sometimes whenever he's standing over him, though that's usually when the locker room is less full; they're constantly holding hands or looping one of their arms over the other's shoulders, which has become second nature at this point.
No one ever says anything. No one's eyes linger in disgust or discomfort. No one whispers comments to other players.
No one cares.
Honestly, no one even really teases them about all of those casual touches. Occasionally, they get comments related to their sex life — usually only when one of them comes in with a visible hickey, or Ilya has scratches on his back — but it's nothing crazier than any of the other guys would receive, so Shane is able to let it roll off his back.
He's gotten relaxed enough about the whole thing that after their last game in Pittsburgh, he and Ilya had been able to have sex in their hotel bed, without being way too distracted about someone overhearing them — granted, Shane did have his face stuffed into a pillow, but regardless.
All that is to say, Shane has gotten decently comfortable with showing Ilya affection around their team. It helps that Ilya lights up like a fucking Christmas tree about it, always beaming at him when Shane kisses his head or intertwines their fingers. It's so fucking cute that it only makes Shane want to do it more.
Which is why, as Ilya sits on the bench in the center of the lockers after practice, Shane doesn't think twice about stepping up behind him and tossing an arm over his shoulder, resting his palm on Ilya's chest. They've already gotten dressed, but Ilya is chatting with Bood as they wait for a few of their teammates to finish up as well. Ilya's hand comes up and curls around Shane's wrist, and he tilts his head back to meet Shane's eyes. His smile brightens.
"I'll wait for you in the car?" Shane asks quietly.
"Da, okay," Ilya whispers. "We still need to go the store, yes?"
"Yeah, but it's just to pick up, like, two things. I could run in so you don't have to park."
Ilya pouts dramatically. "But I will miss you."
Shane snorts. "Alright, you baby." He leans down and quickly brushes his lips against Ilya's forehead. He hasn't even pulled back all the way when Ilya squeezes his wrist lightly and pouts, eyes flicking intently to Shane's mouth in a silent plea. Shane hesitates for just one second before figuring the locker room is empty enough, and practice is over. He swoops down and gives Ilya a quick kiss.
When he stands, Ilya is beaming again. "I will be out in—"
"Damn, Hollzy, you really got that man whipped," Bood interrupts, adjusting the hoodie he'd just pulled on.
Shane and Ilya's attention both snap to him. Shane's instinct is to tense up, but Bood is smiling. Shane tries to smile, too. "The feeling is mutual," he says lightly.
"Man, I don't know," Bood shakes his head, clearly teasing. "Roz looks at you like he wants to fall to his knees and worship you every time you walk into the room."
Ilya leans back against Shane's hip and squeezes his wrist again. "Yes, he does like when I fall to my knees," he says, making Shane's cheeks flame red. He smacks Ilya's chest, causing his husband to laugh.
Bood turns away and waves a hand in their direction. "Man, no one wants to hear about all that," he says.
And now, Shane can't help but go a little rigid. Before, he could see it in Bood's face and hear it in his tone that he was joking. Plus, the whipped comment itself was nothing negative. This feels… different, and now Bood is grabbing a few things from his locker so Shane can't see in his expression if he means it or not.
He tries to pull his hand away from Ilya's, wanting to slip from the room, but Ilya tightens his grip.
"Homophobia is a bad look for you, Bood," Ilya says, his voice doing that thing again where he's not completely serious but he's not completely joking either. Bood glances over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised.
"Who's being homophobic?"
"You," Ilya says, sighing softly. "Everybody else can talk about sex all they want but I say one thing about my beautiful husband and you are silencing me? Very mean, I will be talking to Wiebe about this."
Bood tilts his head at Ilya, looking unimpressed. "You know damn well that's not what I meant," he says, unmoved by Ilya's threat.
"No, is fine. I mean we have witnesses, so you can pretend you are innocent all you want." Ilya shakes his head, tsking. His thumb is smoothing small circles over the bone of Shane's wrist.
Bood shakes his head, smiling and holding up his hands innocently. "Hey man, if you wanna talk about sucking dick, don't let me stop you. Be free, my guy," he says. He starts to turn back towards his bag before he looks at Ilya again, his smile turning conspiratorial. "Just remember that means it's your husband's dick we're thinking about."
The tiny smile that had been playing on Ilya's lips vanishes. "Ah, no," he says quickly. "You will not think about my husband's dick."
"You brought it up, dude."
"No one thinks about my husband's dick but me."
"Yeah, uh," Shane interjects. "I would also like people to not think about my dick?"
Bood shrugs, sucking his teeth. "I'm just saying I don't talk about my sex life with Cassie because I'm not letting these rookies think about her like that, but more power to you, Roz. Talk about your husband all you want, I'm not stopping you."
Ilya frowns. "Okay, homophobia wins this time."
Bood snorts. "Please. You know nobody in here cares about that," he says easily, shouldering his bag. He clears out with the few remaining teammates, leaving Shane and Ilya alone in the locker room.
Ilya tilts his head back and looks at Shane. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I do not know if I helped much that time."
Shane laughs softly. "You did," he says. "I think it was, um… nice to actually hear someone else say that they don't care about us being… gay, or whatever. Though, maybe less talk about my dick in the future?"
"Is a nice dick."
"Great," Shane deadpans. He leans down and kisses Ilya again. "But it's only for you, so."
Ilya hums, his eyes sparking with heat. "Are you sure we need to go to the store?"
Shane snorts, straightening up. "Yep," he says, walking away and leaving Ilya on the bench. "Let's go."
5.
The season was over for the Centaurs. They did make it to the playoffs, but Carolina had ended up bumping them out in the first round. Shane wasn't as upset about it as he expected. If anything, he was impressed that they'd managed to go so far with all the media scrutiny around them and the kinks they'd needed to work out with two star centers on the same team.
It helps his ego that Montreal didn't make it to the playoffs at all.
As a celebration for a well-played season, Shane and Ilya were hosting a team party in their own house for the first time. It had taken a while for Shane to really open up to letting their team into their home — he'd only hosted one party for the Voyageurs, and it had felt like he was crawling out of his skin for the next four days in his apartment.
Ilya had suggested, though, that they keep the majority of the party outside and in the kitchen, keeping their living room as untouched as possible from their teammates. It helped ease Shane into the idea of having so many people in his space.
Their backyard was big enough for everyone, and the back door was just off the kitchen, so it worked out well. Plus, unlike several of the Voyageurs, their current teammates actually respected Shane and Ilya, and listened to them when they said certain spaces were off limits.
By now, the sun had set, and most of their teammates were sitting around the fire pit Shane had gotten installed in their yard. There were mismatched chairs and benches surrounding the tall flame, everyone having their own conversations. Ilya and Shane have been practically glued together all night, rarely further than a few feet away from one another.
"I'm going to grab a drink," Shane says softly. "Do you want something?"
"Mm, another beer, please," Ilya nods. Shane drops a kiss onto Ilya's head as he stands, walking up towards the house. A few of the WAGs are in the kitchen, picking over what's left of the charcuterie board that Cassie had brought and talking amongst themselves.
"Shane," Lisa says, leaning her elbows on the counter. "If we make WAG hoodies, do you and Ilya want in on it?"
"Depends," Shane says, pulling two beers from the fridge. "Is it going to have our ugly ass logo on it?"
The girls break out into giggles, but Lisa shakes her head. "Definitely not. The team name, though, and then your partner's name and number on the back."
Shane hums, thinking about how much Ilya loves it when Shane wears his jersey in bed. Despite their hyphenated names, it still does something for Ilya to see Rozanov painted across Shane's shoulders. And hell, Shane can admit it does the same thing to him when Ilya has Hollander on his back.
"Yeah, we'd be into that," Shane nods. "Is Harris getting one?"
"We haven't asked yet, since we just started talking about it, but I imagine he will," Lisa nods. "I'll let you know when we have a design and whatever picked out."
"Sure thing," Shane says as he pops the caps off the beers. Then he points towards the back door. "Do you need me to find some extra chairs so you can come join us?"
"No, we're still scrounging around for food in here," Lisa says.
"Plus, I was getting eaten up by mosquitoes earlier," Cassie pouts, looking down at her legs. It was warm enough during the day that most of the people were in shorts, including her. Shane laughs softly.
"There's bug spray in that drawer right there if you change your mind," Shane says before slipping through the door again. He crosses the yard and hands Ilya one of the beers. Across the firepit, Troy is turned sideways on his bench so that his legs are thrown over Harris's thighs. Just a few feet to the left of them, Dykstra's girlfriend is sitting on his lap. The way no one bats an eye at that is what causes Shane to push Ilya's hand off of his own thigh and settle right there in his lap. He feels slightly awkward, because it's not as though he's significantly smaller than Ilya, and because it's in view of their entire team, but the way Ilya's smile widens and his eyes glitter makes it worth it.
"Hi, moya lyubov," he whispers. "Thank you for the drink."
"No problem," Shane says, curling his arm around Ilya's shoulders. "The girls inside are talking about making WAG hoodies. I told them we'd both want one."
"Oh, yes?" Ilya asks, tilting his head back to look at Shane. In the amber firelight, he looks so pretty. His curls look like straight gold, and his eyes almost look green. There's a softness in his expression that almost has Shane melting into him.
"Do you guys think Hollzy and Roz will, like, explode if they aren't touching at all times?" Chouinard says, popping their little bubble. A few of their teammates laugh. Shane tries to remain unbothered — they're not doing anything some of their teammates wouldn't do with their respective partners — but the jab at their codependency still pokes at him.
Because why is it only ever them that gets called out?
Sure, they do reach for each other more than Bood does for Cassie, or Wyatt does for Lisa. But is that so bad? Aren't they allowed to do so, especially in their own house?
He doesn't move off of Ilya's lap, but he does straighten up a bit, his body tensing. Maybe after another minute or so, once the attention is off of them, he'll slide off and sit beside Ilya again, leaning against him or holding his hand. Though he supposes that still counts as touching him, so long as it's not in everyone's face, no one should have anything to say.
As if anticipating his moves, Ilya's arm tightens around Shane's waist.
"You know, Nicholas, I could make you feel veeerrryyy bad right now," Ilya says lightly. Shane can tell by the grip on his waist, though, that he's irritated.
"Oooh, you got full-named," Holmberg hisses, covering his mouth to hide a smile.
"You're in trouble," Young sings.
Chouinard blinks at Ilya. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you are making fun of me and my husband for being so touchy, but I should remind you that we spent years hiding our relationship and the world was very unfair to us. And now you are trying to tease us while we are surrounded by friends, in our own house," Ilya says. "I know you do not mean anything by this, you are just joking, but… is not that funny. Not to me."
On the other side of the fire pit, there's still some quiet chatter from people who aren't a part of this conversation. But on their half, it's silent. Until LaPointe says, "Damn, he kinda got your ass."
Chouinard punches him in the arm, but he has the decency to look a little embarrassed. "No, you're right man, that's my bad," he says, nodding. "I didn't mean anything by it, but I'm sorry. Cuddle all you want, dudes, you definitely deserved it after everything."
"Thank you," Ilya says, his hold on Shane easing up. "You are lucky we are done with the season, or Nick would have gotten you all bag skates for this."
"Bruh," Young says, glaring at Chouinard.
"Why are you— fuck off, kid," Chouinard pushes his face away. "How was I supposed to know cuddling was a sore subject?"
Young says something back, but Shane is too busy turning Ilya's head and connecting their lips in a soft kiss. This time, he doesn't care at all who sees. Nick was right; they do deserve this. And Ilya was right, too — they're surrounded by friends, and they're in their own house. This is the safest possible place for them to be themselves, and Shane is so exhausted fighting his own brain to let himself fully enjoy his husband.
It's just a short, simple kiss, because if he does too much, he will get hard in front of everyone. He pulls back and smiles at Ilya.
"You're so hot when you're angry, you know," Shane whispers. "Thank you for that."
"Of course," Ilya murmurs back. "I do not care if they tease us, not really. But I know you do, and I will always make sure you are comfortable first. Okay?"
"Okay," Shane grins. "And, for the record… I think I'm starting to care less about them teasing. I think… they've proved why I can trust them. I know they don't mind seeing us together like this. Plus, I don't know how to not be like this with you, so."
"Ah, because I am so irresistible."
Shane snorts, but he doesn't even deny it. Isn't that how their entire thing started? Because Shane hadn't been able to resist Ilya that first night in Toronto, giving him his room number without any convincing?
"Thank you for being patient with me this season," Shane says instead. "I know it wasn't easy… the way I pulled back sometimes."
"Sweetheart," Ilya mumbles, dropping a kiss to Shane's jaw. "If you had really wanted no PDA, I would have said yes. As long as we are together, even if we are not touching at all times, I am still so fucking happy."
Shane grins. "Mm, but I'm so irresistible, too, right? So you just want to be on me aaalllllll the time?"
"Yes, obviously," Ilya says. He kisses Shane's cheek one last time before taking a sip of his beer and turning to one of the conversations around them — something about a movie with tornadoes and… sharks? Shane tunes it out, leaning his cheek against Ilya's curls.
He catches a few of his teammates' eyes around the fire, but none of them seem to care in the slightest about Shane's position on his husband's lap. And, Shane thinks, even if they did, it wouldn't matter to him.
+1.
Shane can count on one hand the number of times Ilya has woken up before him. Today is not one of those days.
They'd stayed up well past midnight, celebrating Ilya's birthday, and Shane had worn his husband out. Granted, he'd also worn himself out, which is why it was nearing 9 am, and Shane was just now waking up. Normally, even during the summer, he'd be up at six or seven in the morning to go for a run with Anya, but this morning, he curls closer to his husband.
Ilya's body is littered with hickies and bite marks and scratches, all courtesy of Shane. Their newest matching tattoos — each other's jersey numbers — have been fully healed for a few days now, and Shane had no idea how possessive seeing 24 on Ilya's hipbone would make him. There are three hickies alone surrounding the tattoo, which Shane had given him in between murmured Mine's.
Shane traces his palm up Ilya's chest, his heart overflowing with love for the man beside him. They've been married almost a full year now, and it's so fucking surreal. He's so, so happy. He'd thought coming out would mean the end of his life, his career — let alone being outed — but in a very weird, very twisted way, it's the best thing that's ever happened to him.
As much as he wants to let Ilya sleep, he's suddenly desperate with the need to kiss him. Shane moves slowly, sitting up and swinging one knee over Ilya's hips. He straddles him, gentling his weight onto his husband. He leans down and attaches his mouth to the side of Ilya's neck, licking over the skin. His lips travel over the expanse of his collarbones, across the top of his chest, up to his jaw.
He knows Ilya wakes up when he grumbles quietly, his hands blindly finding Shane's waist.
"Good morning, solnyshko," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
"Good morning, baby," Shane whispers back. "Happy birthday."
"Mm, thank you, sweetheart." He cups the back of Shane's neck and lifts his head up enough to kiss him on the mouth. It's slow, because they have enough time before they need to get up. When Shane does pull back, Ilya peers up at him with sleepy, soft eyes. "You are my favorite gift."
"Oh? So I guess I should return what I got you, then, hm?" he asks, though he couldn't even if he wanted to. For Ilya's birthday this year, Shane had flown Svetlana out to Ottawa. She'd arrived last night and was currently in a nice hotel near the airport, all on Shane's tab. Later, after Shane's parents arrived but before everyone else was here, Shane would run out to pick up the cake and bring Svetlana back on the way.
"Well, I did not say that," Ilya teases. "What time is it?"
"Just after nine," Shane says. "We have about four hours until my parents get here, then another four until the team comes over."
"Ah. So what I am hearing…" Ilya trails off, his palms gliding down Shane's back until his hands are firm on his ass. In one swift motion, Ilya rolls them so that his weight is pressing Shane into the mattress. "We do not have to get out of bed yet."
"Nope," Shane says easily, arching up into Ilya's touch.
Shocking no one, they barely spend a moment apart all day, save for the hour that Shane leaves to pick up the cake and Svetlana. Ilya hadn't specifically asked for his husband to always be within arm's reach, but Shane had granted it anyway.
No one teases them or makes any comments — in fact, several times, people point cameras in their direction to capture some of the sweet moments between them. Shane has lost count of how many times he's drawn Ilya in for a kiss, waiting until a flash goes off to pull away.
Before it gets too dark for the natural lighting to evade them, they light candles on Ilya's cake. He stands at the head of their patio table, smiling fondly as everyone sings that horrible birthday song. When Shane leans a little closer and tells him to make a wish, Ilya looks at him for a few seconds before he cups Shane's face and kisses him hard in front of everyone.
"Oooooh."
"Get it, Cap!"
"Haasy, cover your eyes!"
Shane smiles against Ilya's mouth, throwing up a middle finger in the general direction of their guests. Some of them laugh; Shane vaguely registers another camera flash going off. He pulls back before Ilya tries to do something like deepen the kiss — not that Shane would object all that much, honestly. He places a hand on Ilya's face and turns his head back towards the cake.
"Okay, now make a wish that doesn't involve me taking my clothes off," he whispers, the words only loud enough for Ilya.
"Ah, but those are the best wishes," Ilya pouts. He obeys, though, leaning down and blowing out his candles. He sneaks in one more kiss on Shane's cheek before reaching for the knife to cut the cake.
Beer, wine, and cocktails are flowing freely the entire night, even for Shane — he's keeping himself somewhat in check, only because he knows that if he gets too drunk while Ilya looks this good, he's going to end up kicking people out too soon.
They're past sunset, the stars shining above them and Shane's parents already departed back to their own house, when Shane's insatiable need for his husband starts to shine through.
"Blyat, the sun is gone and I am still sweating like crazy," Ilya says, tugging at the front of his t-shirt for some airflow.
"You could just take it off," Shane suggests lightly, trying not to sound too eager. If he did, he wouldn't be the only one. Some of the guys had played a makeshift game of soccer earlier, and a few of them removed their shirts and never put them back on. Plus, they had opened the hot tub for tonight, and it was currently being used by a few of the rookies.
Ilya's eyes cut to Shane, and he smirks. "Mm, yes, of course," Ilya says, nodding seriously. "You want me to take my shirt off, so I am not hot. Right."
"I'd hate for you to overheat, you know?"
"How thoughtful of you, moya lyubov," Ilya says. He sets his vodka down and reaches behind his head, tugging off his navy blue shirt. He tosses it over the wooden railing of their deck and reaches for his drink again. As soon as Shane's eyes land on Ilya's chest, he realizes what a horrible mistake he's made by suggesting this.
"Damn, Cap," one of the rookies calls from the hot tub behind Ilya. It's loud enough that everyone in the vicinity turns towards Ilya. "You get attacked by a bear or something?"
From what Shane can see, Ilya is still covered in hickies and even some faint teeth marks, but he knows that Ilya's back — the side of him that's facing everyone else — is scratched to all hell from Shane's nails.
"Jesus, Ilya," Svetlana cackles from where she's talking with the WAGs.
"Bro, what the hell…"
"Cap, there's no way that doesn't hurt."
"Is that a bite mark?"
Shane's not sure who is saying what at this point; everyone's voices overlapping, but it's Bood who finally directs a blatantly teasing comment towards Shane: "Hollzy, do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Shane glances at Ilya, whose shoulders are slightly tense and some of the happiness in his eyes has dimmed. He looks ready to jump to Shane's defense, like he had been doing all season, but Shane just grins. He steps closer and loops a hand around the back of Ilya's neck before looking around his shoulder at everyone's faces — a mix of shocked, teasing, and amused.
"It'll be even worse after tonight," Shane says easily. Everyone laughs, claps, cheers, or some variation of the three, but Shane's attention has shifted back to Ilya. He's studying Shane, the tension in his shoulders deflating by the second as he realizes Shane isn't upset.
"Oh, you are going to mark me up even more?" Ilya says, his smile coming back to his face. "You are so possessive, moya lyubov."
"Yeah, well," Shane shrugs. His hand slips away from the back of Ilya's neck and slides down his chest, resting on one of his pecs. Shane's thumb brushes over a hickey, his mouth watering at the idea of giving him more. "Gotta remind everyone that you're mine."
"Oh, I think everyone knows," Ilya chuckles. "You made that very clear when you told our whole team that you're going to fuck me tonight."
"Good," Shane says easily, leaning up to kiss Ilya. He doesn't care if anyone watches, not even when Ilya deepens the kiss and slips his tongue into Shane's mouth. If they both weren't set on being good hosts, Shane would tell them all to go home already. As it is, he just leans against the railing and kisses his husband.
Right where anyone can see.