Melan

Why do all my social media acc turn into Hollanov accounts suddenly 😭 (no regrets)

[argillaforma]

it’s actually so important to me that ilya isn’t like a fuckmachine 2000 that just has endless stamina and knows how to hit all the good spots on the first try with his cucumber sized penis. sure that’s what he wants you to think but he is literally just a guy sometimes he cums in four thrusts because he can’t help it and it takes longer than he would like to get hard again and his dick is 6 inches maybe 7 on a good day and he gets a leg cramp that kinda kills the mood and maybe his eye does a weird twitchy thing when he orgasms

[melancholy1410]

To be fair, Ilya does have great stamina, just not with his lover Shane.

[snowsmoked]

This is Luca Haas and no one can convince me otherwise 🙂‍↕️ Ilya sees this and immediately takes him shopping. “Shopping for what?” “Cool stuff, Shane, you wouldn’t understand. Come on, Haasy.”

[melancholy1410]

Imagine this prompt is how the Hollanov wedding is announced post outing.

“Shane Hollander!”

“Oh no.”

“Question for the internet: What was your biggest impulse purchase in the last 12 months?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Engagement rings.” Shane smiles slightly and walks away.

[giantmultifandommasterlist]

"Heated Rivalry" Fic Recs (Crack Fics/Fluff)

Fanart by @wilmvandrr

Hurt/Comfort and Angst with a Happy Ending Fics

Crack Fic/Fluff

typing... (10/10) by @shaneviews

~  Shane Hollander receives a thirst trap from an unknown number - and absolutely should not reply, especially considering how much he and Ilya Rozanov can’t stand each other in real life.

In Close Quarters (5/5) by Anonymous

~ Shane Hollander's next door neighbor is a menace who always opens the door shirtless. Shane is really nonchalant about this (he is not).

chirp, chirp, swing by @bananzie

~ Ao3 user accessible only. Five times Shane chirped back at comments about his relationship, plus the one time he threw hands.

mistaken identities (4/4) by @SleepingWave

~ In which Shane gets a text from an unknown number. Stranger to friends to lovers, crack treated seriously.

and it was all yellow by @belowtherabbithole

~ Shane keeps getting random packages sent to his door for an Ilya Rozanov. Problem is - he has no idea who that is. It's really frustrating. Lucky for him when they do meet, Ilya Rozanov is a tall, blonde, gorgeous model. Hm. Less frustrating.

My Girl by @fujobear

~ Shane has an embarrassing crush on his co-worker, Ilya. Unfortunately, the said co-worker already has a girlfriend he loves to flaunt. That's what Shane thinks, at least.

Hello, Mechanic? by @fujobear

~ Shane Hollander works in an auto repair shop. Ilya Rozanov owns a ton of spare sports cars and has a lot of free time. OR Ilya comes up with increasingly absurd reasons to bring his car to the autoshop to see the hot mechanic.

to be loved and to be in love (3/3) by @SuchASeeweedBrain

~ Childhood friends to lovers AU! Instead of taking her own life, Irina Rozanova takes her youngest son and flees to Canada in the middle of the night. It only makes sense for her to flee to Ottawa. Her son really only wants to do one thing, and that's play hockey. So it only makes sense for her to find him a team for talented young players. There just so happens to be another very talented young player already on that team.

cerulean (2/2) by @neostar

~ University AU! Shane sucks at Economics, and Economics major Ilya goes out of his way to help. (It's not because Ilya likes him, surely not.)

baby, do you want to come home with me? (3/3) by @masqueraders

~ University AU! Ilya keeps fucking his roommate accidentally. Friends with benefits to lovers.

i see the moon in his eyes, i'm paralyzed by @thoughtsechos

~ University AU! Four times Shane accidentally flirted with people and the one time it wasn't an accident. Starring autistic Shane and the horrible reality of living in a world surrounded by neurotypicals.

i just want you to come inside by @miss_milleni

~ University AU! Shane reads Men's Hockey RPF and tries using different fan fiction tropes to get Ilya's attention. It doesn't go as smoothly as he imagines. Thank fuck for Rose Landry.

i only threw this party 4 u by @ratherunnecessary

~ Ao3 user accessible only. University AU! Shane comes out. Shane finds out every not-straight man he knows is into him.

Emergency Contact (3/3) by @shanviews

~ Vancouver General Hospital has very strict rules about workplace relationships, and Dr. Shane Hollander and Dr. Ilya Rozanov follow every single one. The only problem is that they’re married. And no one knows.

hidden in plain sight (my love) (4/4) by @lastdanceandgo

~ Shane is a struggling actor who works at a coffee shop, trying and failing to get his personal life together. His life is already complicated enough when Ilya Rozanov - a hot, eyeliner-wearing, definitely straight musician - moves into the apartment across the hall. Around the same time, anonymous gifts with handwritten notes start appearing outside Shane’s door.

Who Do You Love by @dabforpalermo

~ 5 times Hollanov tries to come out publicly and it fails miserably, and one time it finally sticks.

Baby, Bend Over (8/8) by @TemporaryAltars

~ Yoga Instructor! Shane is convinced that Ilya Rozanov—captain of the Boston Bears and Shane’s newest student—hates him. Ilya joined Shane's yoga class specifically to get closer to the hot instructor, but every attempt at flirting only seems to make things worse. Neither of them has any idea the other is completely in love with them.

Human Resources (2/2) by Anonymous

~ Shane Hollander is a Cupid trying to mantain his flawless two-hundred-year-long track record. Ilya Rozanov just won't stop sleeping around. (Reminds me of Good Omens, the Good Place, Miracle Workers. Big fan of heavenly bureaucracy.)

Moon Child (3/3) by @dreamersreality

~ In the winter of 1923, Shane Hollander is unknowingly courted by a werewolf.

Hampstead by @outroscenery

~ Shane and Ilya are presidents of their own respective fraternities and Shane has the stupidest idea to fall for his rival (feat. a pining Shane and whipped Ilya.)

easier (honey, there is no right way) by @duquesademiel

~ University AU!  Five times Shane and Ilya hooked up for Shane to learn, and the one time they went on a date instead.

Lily and Jane's Reddit Adventures by @BetterNameToCome(Spoon Deficiency)

~ Multipart (6 so far) series in which Shane and Ilya both take to Reddit to vent their frustrations about their decades long situationship under pseudonyms. Naturally, they become famous.

Freckles (9/9) by @winterschild

~ University AU! Ilya Rozanov, captain of his university hockey team, sees a boy with freckles and he absolutely needs to flirt with him.

ruin the...rivalry? (5/5) by @MoonyM77

~ Road Trip AU! Recently traded to the Ottawa Centaurs, Shane Hollander was having a pretty terrible year. A year that was made even worse when his biggest rival, Ilya Rozanov, unexpectedly joined the Centaurs at the same time. Unable to put their rivalry aside, tensions are high both on and off the ice. The team decides to take matters into their own hands and devises a plan to make them get along once and for all.

Boyfriends with benefits (4/4) by Anonymous

~ University AU! According to Ilya, Shane is the best boyfriend anyone could ask for. If you ask Shane, he’ll tell you they are just fuck buddies.

say something batshit crazy (i'll do it, don't you make it) by @yrsaffectionately

~ Social Media AU! Ilya joins stan Twitter on a burner account. Pretty OOC for all characters but genuinely made me laugh.

treat me like an afterthought (4/4) by @lupuswrites

~ A meet-ugly turned friends with benefits frat boy college au. Shane is convinced he’s nothing more than just another hookup on Ilya’s extensive roster. Ilya’s spent his whole summer plotting on how best to lock Shane down. Misunderstandings, emotional constipation, and terrible communication skills have nothing on Ilya Rozanov's persistence when it comes to getting his man.

as you are by @afterglows

~ University AU! Shane catches feelings for his college hookup, and doesn't know what to do about it.

heated, realistically by @abitchforlasagna

~ Shane's friends don't believe that slightly socially awkward, normal-guy Shane is dating the famous, flirty hockey player star Ilya Rozanov

Can I get Shane's number? (2/2) by @MsMonserrat

~ Troy just joined the Centaurs. He's not doing well mentally, but a friendship with Ilya Rozanov improves his self-worth slightly. He musters the courage to ask Ilya something....for Shane's phone number. or... Watch Ilya Rozanov lose his mind over the idea that Troy Barrett wants to date his boyfriend.

Shane Hollander's PDA Agenda (2/2) by @virtual_typewriter

~ After Shane tells Ilya "don't touch me" during a stressful moment, he embarks on a mission to heal his husband's heart one PDA at a time.

i got my sights set on you by @rosepetal

~ Office AU! Shane has a secret admirer.

Gooey (4/4) by @genesisofmoderntimes

~ Office AU! Shane hooks up with a hot stranger at an office party, and spends the next months wondering why the new marketing guy won't send him any of the invoices on time. Ilya thinks Shane has forgotten him, and decides to be very petty about it.

tongues-a-wagging (4/4) by Anonymous

~ Barstool Sports Canada reports that Montreal Metros captain Shane Hollander has started learning Russian from new teammate and Russian rookie Sergei Dovonchezky. Ilya has some thoughts. None of them are particularly kind. (Ilya's POV is pretty angsty, but overall very cute and fluffy).

but daddy i love him (2/2) by @rachelrae

~ What if Shane gave Ilya permission to soft launch their relationship. Ilya is, of course, thrilled and immediately starts telling everyone around him. Problem is, no one believes him!

He's NOT Boyfriend Material (5/5) by @jiezieisinadaze

~ Centaurs University’s Shane Hollander, crowned “Most Boyfriend Material” by a campus-wide vote, and Ilya Rozanov, the university’s hot Russian hockey star, who decides the only fair way to test the title is to date him himself.

I'll Talk (Like You're Listening) (2/2) by @OpalApparition

~ Over the years, Shane leaves messages to Ilya’s voicemail believing that the Russian man will never hear them. At least, that’s what he thinks.

thinking about you (craving us) by Anonymous

~ Shane accidentally 'kidnaps' mafia boss! Ilya while attempting to help Hayden prank a friend. Chaos ensues.

sweet locker by @seariarly

~ Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov play on the same team in college. However, for some inexplicable reason, Rozanov seems to hate Hollander's guts. Little does Hollander know that the one whose been leaving him love notes in his stall has been Rozanov all along.

Accidental Major in International Relations (4/4) by @wolliwillow

~ University AU! Shane Hollander shows up to university excited for another year of being the best at what he does. Unfortunately, the man who beat him at last year's World Prospect Cup is also there, and Ilya Rozanov hasn't gotten any less annoying. Or any worse at hockey. Now if only Shane could focus on the ice, and stop thinking about nice hands, pretty lips, and the sound of his name in a Russian accent.

that's that me espresso by @abitchforlasagna

~ Coffee shop AU! Shane keeps mispronouncing Ilya’s name to ridiculous levels in the hopes that the hockey player will notice the number written at the bottom of the cup.

a simple case of mistaken identity by @LiarsandThieves22

~ After becoming a bit obsessed with solving the Mystery of Boston Lily, Hayden thinks he finally has it figured out. She must work for the Boston Raiders. Now all he has to do is find her next time he's in Boston and tell her that her and Shane shouldn't have to hide their relationship.

hot mics and hot rivalries (or how i learned how to stop worrying and let my boyfriend out us on national television) by @pucksandpower

~ Shane is wearing a hot mic, and can't get Ilya to stop dirty talking him on live air.

boys on film (for your eyes only) by @myohmoony

~ Shane works in a film shop. Ilya is trying out nudist photography as a new hobby.

Shane Hollander and his increasingly odd days at the Canadian Tire by @gargoylegrave

~ Shane works at Canadian Tire. He is curious about the purchases of their new regular.

Best Laid Plans and the Best Man by @Strawberrysmilees

~ Wedding planner AU! Shane is the CEO of Hollander Events organizing Kip and Scott's wedding, and Ilya is the infuriating best man.

Cigarettes After Sex by @shaneviews

~ Shane begins sending letters to Ilya Rozanov, his next-door neighbor, in an attempt to stop the constant cigarette smoke from drifting into his apartment. The idea was to solve the problem, not start a war.

Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores (2/2) by @MindelanKid

~ Hockey star Ilya Rozanov has a usual post-game routine: throw on his sluttiest leather jacket, go to any bar that’s open, and let adoring fans buy him shots of terrible Canadian vodka until he forgets whether he won or lost. One night, a freckled busboy brings him a glass of water. To Ilya’s chagrin, in a world of things he wants, Shane Hollander might be what he needs.

on the run by @validvali

~ Shane is Anya's dog walker and occasional pet sitter. Her owner, on the other hand, makes being professional extremely difficult.

Show Me How My Body Works by @Infinitely_Odd

~ It's the festive season, and university student Ilya needs a job. Lush is hiring. Also Known As: Ilya: World's Worst Lush Employee

(ass)ine confessions by @badmetaphors

~ Ilya waxes poetic about Shane while doped up after an injury. Hayden is the unwilling audience.

Dear Future Husband by @yearnology

~ Shane Hollander accidentally becomes the internet’s favorite “work wife.” Ilya Rozanov thinks this is the funniest thing that has ever happened and commits to the bit with horrifying sincerity.

Integrating My Way Into You by @modudu

~ University AU! where Shane becomes Ilya's math tutor.

The Romance of Somewhere Where Trains Go Direct by @billowyy

~ Shane starts learning Russian because one of his rookies doesn't speak a lot of English, and he tries to convince himself that it's the only reason why.

you're a wag now, enjoy it by @peiceabread

~ Ilya expects the "Metros Queens" group chat to be a trap. Shane worries it's a forum for judging him. Instead, they find brownies, hair product recommendations, and a surprising amount of support for their relationship.

Ottawa Centaurs - The Mockumentary by @LunarMoonstone

~ Ao3 account accessible only. Office style screenplay of the Ottawa Centaurs reactions to Hollanov.

GRWM: Ilya's Version (ft. The Most Exhausted Man in Canada) by @slec

~ The one where Ilya becomes a beauty influencer using Shane’s $300 moisturizer, and Shane tries (and fails) to remain invisible.

ilyuca81 (otherwise known as lucarosanov) by Anonymous

~ Social Media AU! Luca Haas tries very hard to not let anyone know about his dark (read: embarrassing) past. Unfortunately, the fans are ready to let people know for him. Or, Luca used to run a tumblr blog for Hollanov and the internet goes wild.

all eyes on you by @lanallite

~ Shane’s Calvin Klein campaign goes viral, not only in the hockey sphere, but all over the internet. Ilya tries (and fails) to not show his jealousy.

Vanilla Sweetness Like I'm Sixteen (2/2) by @sunsetmagnolia

~ Coffee Shop AU! In which Ilya is a menace at his local coffee shop, but only to Hayden.

Too Much Ain't Enough by @isuiji

~ Shane secretly learns Russian over ten years (because he's very interested in the language...no other reason).

you were reckless, you were hungry, you were real by @rosemontstreet

~ University! AU. Ilya is the university hockey captain and Shane's Philosophy tutor. This fic perfectly encapsulates Shane's neurodivergence.

the snoopy expert by @pado_hyuck

~ Shapeshifter!AU. Ilya isn't sure why a dog that looks like a western cartoon keeps following him, but he will always welcome a visit from Snoopy.

a double double by @hightowered

~ Shane knows the coffee will be bad, the donuts will be wrong, and the order will be missing something. Ilya doesn’t care. He just wants to see what Tim Hortons is like. (Endorsed by me, a Canadian making this masterlist)

family affairs by under_the_bracken

~ Ilya is left at the table with Shane's father. They talk.

Ilya Rozanov is the World's Biggest Troll by @frizzyanya

~ 5 times Ilya Rozanov told his Boston Teammates that he was hooking up with Shane Hollander and they didn't believe him, and 1 time they finally do.

Lost in Translation by @yeanology

~ 5 times Ilya's Russian chirps at Shane were hilariously mistranslated, +1 time they weren't.

not as dumb as you look by @CherrryBlossoms

~ Shane comes out to Hayden. Or more specifically, Shane comes out as Ilya-Rosanov-sexual.

All My Homies Hate the Montreal Voyageurs by @lazydisposition

~ A video from the Voyageurs locker room before Game 4 of Ottawa vs. Montreal leaks. The Internet flames the Voyageurs for homophobic hate speech.

I said nobody knows you by @rachelrae

~ The Ottawa Centaurs have their own theories about what their captain gets up to in his free time. Wyatt Hayes organizes a bet about it. If only getting an answer out of Rozanov would be easy.

r/HockeyConfessions by @farahist

~ 5 times Ilya goes to Reddit for answers and the one time he got help from Shane himself.

Hayden Pike, Noted Ally by @eden22

~ Hayden accidentally sees the dick pic that Ilya sent Shane, and assumes that Lily is a trans woman (and goes about proving his allyship to Shane).

home, where my music's playing by @Mathgeek12

~ The Centaurs stage an intervention to find out why Ilya missed practice and came back the next day so happy. Hollanov relationship reveal.

So, you like New Yorker? by @oxfordcommachameleon

~ While Shane is outside with his mother, Ilya finds unexpected understanding and warmth in a quiet kitchen conversation with the man who helped raised the boy he loves. Set during season 1 finale.

snapshots by @luminvies

~ Social media AU. The only thing the media knows about famous model Ilya Rozanov's secret boyfriend is that he exists. Shane is happy to keep their relationship private, until he isn't.

fall in love again and again by @galactictsukki

~ College AU. Ilya keeps interrupting Shane's dating prospects accidentally, and then keeps doing it less than accidentally.

Everywhere I'm Not by @paperwhitepen and @phoebefanforever

~ Shane Hollander is a famous hockey player. Ilya Rozanov is a Twitch streamer on the rise with a very one-sided beef with the Montreal Metros’ captain. Under the username GingerAle24, Shane becomes a regular in Ilya’s streams. Ilya has no idea he’s talking to the very same player he’s always losing against.

Line Change by @Oaks118

~  Instead of turning him down, Ilya and Shane become fast friends at the Prospects Cup. Their relationship (and how they hide the truth) completely changes when the media poses them as best friends instead of rivals.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov Read Thirst Tweets by @rinpanna

shane hollander boy kisser confirmed ! by @chuyasexual

~ In 2021, Shane Hollander reveals his relationship with former rival Ilya Rozanov to the shock of chronically online people worldwide, who’ve spent the last decade convincing the world he’s secretly in love with his teammate Hayden Pike.

Blundering Confession by @Buyerei

~ Shane recovers from a concussion and accidentally confesses his love for Ilya (while drugged out of his mind).

Ilya Rozanov's Free Rhinoplasty Service by @strawberrv

~ Ilya punches one of his teammates for saying racist shit about Shane.

Worst Sleep That I Ever Had by @plinys

~ Shane ends up with temporary amnesia after an injury and minor surgery and wakes up to find a handsome stranger by his bedside

connection by @isuiji

~ Crack fic social media AU in which Shane tries to find his one night stand on Twitter.

All the changes came my way by @WhimperSoldier

~ Yuna-centric fic with Married!Hollanov and a delightful amount of found family.

The Ottawa Centaurs' Relationship Chart by @leialoo7

~ Shane and Ilya are thrilled to be on the same team this year but can't resist a little on-ice fighting. The team is very concerned.

Young and Hopelessly Smitten by @jukoist

~ Ilya and Shane become childhood best friends at a hockey camp. This changes everything.

Just One Chance by @SuckonLarrysDick

~ College/University AU where Ilya is the captain of the hockey team, who may or may not have a crush on Shane Hollander.

The Montreal Girl by @some1_around

~ Five times Ilya lied (but not really) to his teammates about Shane, and one time he didn’t have to.

COMPANION PIECE:

The Boston Boy by @some1_around

~ Five times someone asked who Lily was, and one time Shane told the truth.

Let it be infinite while it lasts by Anonymous

~ Married!Hollanov, Shane has Alzheimer's.

love me, hate me by @farahist

~ Grad student Shane is Ilya's #1 hater on Twitter. Social media AU.

I'm Reading Your Lips (You're Speaking My Language) (4/4) by @some1_around

~Despite an inauspicious start, when Russia’s Ilya Rozanov learns that Canada’s Shane Hollander is fluent in Russian at their first World Junior Championships tournament, it changes everything and sets them on a different course. Instead of being branded as rivals from the very beginning, Ilya and Shane start off as friends.

please leave a message by @Ravenesta

~ Ilya or 'Lily' is accidentally added to the Montreal Wives and Girlfriends groupchat.

golden-rayed lily by @.marigoldens

~ Ilya and Shane sending each other flowers starts out as a joke after a loss/win, and then becomes like a confession.

[melancholy1410]

LOOK AT THIS HOLY BATCH OF FIC RECS!! 😭🙏 it’s so delicious omg that’s a whole months ration!!

[porcelainbae]

[goldenraeofsun]

5 times Rozanov makes fun of Scott for being old + 1 time he makes fun of Scott for being gay.

Rozanov is uncharacteristically silent during warmups, and a quiet Rozanov is never a good sign. 

When Scott gets into position for the face-off, he has to consciously tell himself not to tense up. Whatever homophobic bullshit Rozanov spews can’t be worse than Twitter after the Admirals’ cup win. Scott can take it. He just needs to keep his head in the game. Think about the play, not what-ifs. Win the face off and wipe that self-satisfied grin off Rozanov’s face. 

The referee, Hal, raises his arm. “Welcome back for another season. Play nice, you hear me? That means you, Roz.”

Rozanov winks up at him, and Scott nods, determined. 

“Showtime, guys,” Hal says as he lifts the puck.

“They heard your knees creak in cheap seats, Hunter,” Rozanov chirps as it drops. “What are you on, knee replacement number three?”

Scott freezes as the puck drops.

What the fuck? Nothing about cocksucking? No slurs? No digs at Kip?

A fraction of a second too late, Scott takes off down the ice, not bothering to waste his breath with useless swears. 

Throughout the rest of the game, Rozanov keeps chirping. But all his jabs are still about Scott’s age. Well, he gets in one about how New York City always smells like pee, which actually startles a laugh out of Scott. But the rest are bafflingly predictable. Does Hunter have a spot reserved yet in the nursing home? Rozanov is hearing from his grandma they are going fast. Is Hunter getting tired? It must be past his bedtime already. 

With two minutes left, Scott fumbles a pass, and Rozanov shouts delightedly, “How did you miss that? Does your boyfriend know he is dating blind old man?”

It’s the first time Rozanov has mentioned Kip at all during the entire game. And, as Scott watches Jalo pancake Rozanov into the boards, Scott can’t find a single homophobic insinuation in it.

The game ends 5-7 Bears.

Two hours later, Scott is sitting with Kip in a booth at Kingfisher, mostly over the loss but not over Rozanov’s weird behavior.

“Okay,” Kip says slowly as he spins his half-gone whiskey sour between his hands, “So you’re mad that he didn’t say anything mind-blowingly offensive?”

Scott huffs out an annoyed breath. “Obviously not. I’m annoyed because I can’t figure out what he’s up to.”

“Who says he’s up to anything?” Kip asks, his tone horribly reasonable.

Scott scowls. “It’s Rozanov. He has made it his professional goal to be the top chirper in the league. He once brought up Carter’s second cousin in a chirp.”

“The yoga influencer?”

Scott nods. “She’s… bendy.”

Kip rolls his eyes. “Babe, I think you’re overthinking this.”

“I’m not,” Scott says stubbornly.

Kip laughs. “Actually, I’m pretty sure you are. Because I can tell you’re not going to let this go until you get to the bottom of it, even though Rozanov is not worth it.”

“But –”

“And we both know he’s not worth it.”

“No, but –”

“See?” Kip says, laughing. “He wants you to get all up in your head about it. And you’re letting him.”

“I’m not letting Rozanov do jack shit,” Scott says, offended.

Kip just throws him a fond look as he leans in to kiss Scott on the cheek. “How about we head home, and I make you forget all about Ilya Rozanov?”

Scott actually hesitates, torn between winning the argument and succumbing to Kip’s admittedly superior plan. 

“Oh my god, seriously?” Kip demands, incredulous.

“What? No, we’re going. We’re going!” Scott says as he jumps to his feet and drains the last of his beer. 

“That’s what I thought,” Kip says smugly on their way out.

* * *

The Admirals barely win yesterday’s away game, 3-2, against the Bears, and both teams have some pretty embarrassing fumbles. Carter whiffs the first play at the last second for some inexplicable reason. The Bears’ right wing gets into it with Breezy, and they both get stuck in the sin bin for too fucking long.

The second period doesn’t fare much better.

The only saving grace is that Gillis scores a great, clean goal in the third period, and they don’t have to slog through overtime.

Thank god today is a rest day. Scott has zero plans, except to make Kip breakfast in bed. Scott loves his boyfriend, but Kip could sleep through an air raid siren if it blares before noon, especially after a late night at Kingfisher, which is where they ended up after the game. Scott, though, has always been an early riser. Up with the sun, and all that. 

He puts on ESPN, letting it drone on quietly in the background as he pulls out bowls and a whisk. 

Scott only looks up as the coverage moves on to a recap of last night’s hockey game and a post-game interview with the Bears’ captain. Sighing, Scott increases the volume to catch the tail end of the reporter’s question: “... your second game against the Admirals, a win and a loss. Do you think the Admirals have lost their edge after the bombshell of a Stanley Cup finale?”

Scott’s jaw clenches, his temper spiking with a familiar irritation. What complete bullshit. Scott is exactly the same captain as he was before he pulled Kip onto the ice. If anything, he’s a better leader without that metric ton of fear and stress on his shoulders he carried for years.

Also, would it kill Rozanov to wear a shirt for one of these things?

On the screen, a bare-chested Rozanov shrugs. “Could have been that. Could have been many things. Maybe Scott Hunter didn’t drink his special smoothie this morning. Who can say?”

Droplets of egg fly all over the marble countertop as Scott stares, open-mouthed, at the television. How the hell does Rozanov know about his blueberry smoothie? 

The reporter isn’t done. “What do you have to say to the players who doubt Scott’s capability to lead his team now?” 

Rozanov’s eyes narrow as he looks directly into the camera. “I say, Admirals’ management holds the old man’s contract.” He waves his hand dismissively. “If you have issue with senior citizens out there playing full contact sport, breaking hips, that is not my problem. Not my team.”

Despite himself, Scott smirks. That is definitely not what the reporter was getting at. 

“No,” the reporter says hurriedly, “I meant –”

Rozanov makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “Hunter has not scored any goals in last three games. Did you notice that? Much more interesting hockey topic than this, if you insist on talking about Hunter and not how me and my team won the damn game.”

Scott glares at the screen. Just when he thought Rozanov could be a quarter of the way decent. Scott had ten assists in those three games! So he wasn’t the one to personally shoot it into the net, that didn’t mean he was going through any sort of dry spell. 

Fucker. 

* * *

Halfway through the season, and it’s time for the All-Stars game.

“Hunter!” a voice rings out cheerfully. “And boyfriend!”

Scott’s shoulders are hunching by his ears before he even registers the accented source.

“Oh, hi?” Kip says confusedly, turning to greet Rozanov, who should be looking ridiculous in an orange, surf-themed Hawaiian shirt. Annoyingly, he somehow pulls it off. The Eastern Orthodox cross on his chest glints in the overhead lights from the hotel chandelier twinkling overhead.

“Don’t call him, ‘boyfriend’,” Scott grumbles. “He has a name, you know.”

Rozanov adopts an innocent expression that fools absolutely no one. He turns to Kip. “What should I call you? Mr. Grady?” 

Scott scoffs. Even when Rozanov was a rookie, and Scott was the top scorer in the league and new captain of one of the most promising teams in the division, Rozanov never called Scott “mister” anything. No, it was always “Hunter” if he was feeling generous or “old man” if he was feeling like his usual asshole self.

Rozanov asks Kip, eyebrows rising. “Do you want to be called Mr. Grady?”

Kip laughs. “God, no.”

“Really, Rozanov?” Scott despairs. Can’t he leave Scott alone for once in his career?

Rozanov crosses his arms over his chest. “Or just Grady?”

Kip grimaces. “That makes me sound like a hockey player.”

“And you are not hockey player,” Rozanov agrees.

“He could be, if he wanted to!” Scott butts in before the sheer stupidity of the thought catches up with him. He flushes a dull red. God, this is what Rozanov does to him. At least Kip already knows Scott’s a little bit of an idiot when he gets riled up.

Kip pats his shoulder. It feels awfully like pity.

Ugh, fuck Rozanov, who is still speaking to them. “Kip will need a good teacher,” Rozanov says seriously. “Not a dinosaur who will only teach him old-timers hockey.”

“And, let me guess, that’d be you?” Kip says, eyebrows rising. Scott can tell from the way his mouth is twitching that he’s fighting the urge to laugh.

“No,” Rozanov shakes his head, “I am a professional hockey player. I do not have time. You should ask Hunter. He is going to retire soon, Да? Will have plenty of free time if his knees don’t break first.”

Jesus Christ.

Kip gives up his battle, dissolving into giggles.

“Are you done?” Scott gripes, bristling like an angry cat and unable to do anything about it.

“Are you?” Rozanov shoots back.

“I’m not retiring.”

Rozanov sighs with mock-sorrow. “So you will just die next season, then?”

As Scott opens his mouth to retort, Kip says loudly, “You can call me Kip.”

“Hello, Kip,” Rozanov says over Scott’s indignant splutters. “If you get tired of prune juice and early bird specials, let me know. I can hook you up.”

“You can? With who?” Scott demands, outraged, as he takes a small step in front of Kip, half shielding him with his body. How dare Rozanov. What exactly he’s daring to do is still unclear but –

“Rozanov!”

They all turn to see Shane Hollander jogging towards them. “What the hell? You were supposed to be at the restaurant twelve minutes ago for the Foundation meeting.”

“Look who I found,” Rozanov says proudly, gesturing to Kip and Scott. 

“Congratulations,” Hollander says flatly. He gives Scott and Kip a stiff nod in greeting before turning back to Rozanov. He does a double take. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Rozanov plucks the offending orange fabric between two fingers. “A shirt? Why? What is wrong with it?”

“Other than everything?” Hollander says, eyebrows raised. “You realize this year we’re in Chicago and not Tampa, right? It’s not exactly aloha shirt weather out there.”

“Hawaiian shirt is lucky shirt for All-Stars.” Rozanov leers at him as Hollander opens his mouth to retort back. “Last year was very lucky All-Stars for me, you see.”

Scott grimaces. Nobody really cares about the All-Stars outcome; a quarter of the guys try to get out of it, anyway, to have the weekend off. Judging by Rozanov’s waggling eyebrows, he must not be talking about a score on the ice.

“Shut up.” Hollander shakes his head, but the corners of his mouth lift into a slow smile. “After this, you’re never giving me grief for my wardrobe choices again.”

“‘Give grief’?” Rozanov repeats, sounding the words out. “Yes, this is good phrase. Your clothes do make me feel like someone died, yes.”

“Oh my god,” Hollander mutters. “I don’t know why I even try.”

“It is good you don’t,” Rozanov says cheerfully. “I give thanks before every Foundation press event for your stylist.”

“You have a stylist?” Kip interrupts.

Hollander turns to him, going a bit red. “Uh, yeah,” he says, embarrassed. “Rose recommended someone to me, and it just worked out, I guess.”

Scott blinks. That’s right; Hollander dated Rose Landry for a hot second last year.

“Are they taking new clients?” Kip asks.

“I’m not sure,” Hollander says, a little taken aback by Kip’s enthusiasm. “But I can ask? Leah’s been great.”

Kip beams at him. “I’ve been telling Scott for ages that he could branch out a little bit – not that I don’t love you in those black suits!” he says reassuringly. “But there are so many more options out there you know?”

Scott’s stomach sinks.

Rozanov looks like the Stanley Cup just fell into his lap.

“I’m gonna go get us checked in,” Scott says gruffly before Rozanov can get one more word out.

Kip catches up to him as the receptionist is handing over their room keycards. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Rozanov isn’t nearly as much of a dick in person. He’s hilarious.”

Scott glares. “You take that back.”

“Come on, I’ve watched your games. You have laughed at his chirps, just when he can’t see.”

Scott takes off for the elevators, hiking his backpack higher on his shoulder. “You can’t prove anything.”

Kip grins. “I mean, I don’t blame you for not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But props to him for not saying anything offensive or weird about us.”

“That’s a low bar,” Scott says, internally cringing at how weak his argument is.

Kip’s eyebrows rise as the elevator dings. “One the majority of hockey players have not met.”

Scott sighs as the doors close behind them. “So he’s not a complete jackass. So what?”

“So,” Kip says, “I think he actually likes you.”

“What?”

Kip purses his lips. “He called us over, right?”

“Uh huh,” Scott says, not at all sure where Kip is going with this.

“At All-Stars, where the who’s who of hockey is gathered in one hotel,” Kip says slowly. “Hell, he was meeting Shane Hollander.”

“Yeah, they have that charity together.”

Kip waves off his excuse. “What I mean is, anyone could have walked past us, overheard us.”

“Yeah?” Scott says, still nonplussed.

The elevator doors open at the 11th floor, and Scott squints down at the paper keycard sheaf with 1126 written in a loopy penmanship.

Kip hums. “It was a very public space.”

“So?”

“It’s like you’re being purposefully dense,” Kip teases. “All I’m saying is Rozanov deliberately had a loud conversation with us in the middle of a crowded entryway while literally anybody could have seen him being friendly with us.” Kip’s tone turns serious. “Every other time some hockey player wanted to express support, they pulled you aside, right? Or privately emailed you? And none have talked to me too, except for Carter and Huff, of course.”

Shit.

“Some guys Tweeted their support,” Scott says through gritted teeth. He slaps the key against the door with much more force than necessary.

Kip rolls his eyes. “But you get what I’m saying, babe?”

Scott lets the door fall closed behind them. “I do,” he says slowly. “But, really, of all people, Rozanov is the loudest ally? Are you shitting me?”

Kip runs over to the king-sized bed and hops on it. “I’d much rather have him on our side than Team Homophobe.”

Scott makes a face. Enough talking about Rozanov. The first event isn’t until four pm, so they have two hours before Scott has to be at the rink, and he has plenty of ideas about what to do in the meantime, and absolutely zero of them have to do with Ilya Rozanov.

* * *

Boston. Why, of all places, did Kip want to go to Boston?

Yes, it has the Freedom Trail. Yes, it has some of the best museums in the country. But Philadelphia is right there – or Washington, DC. Hell, Scott would rather do a weekend getaway in New Jersey. At least Jersey’s a NJ Transit stop away from NYC.

Boston, with its four-hour drive, might as well be on the fucking moon.

But this is what Kip wants to do for his Spring Break, so to Boston they go, especially since, remarkably, Scott has two days free of games. He has to hustle back to New York late Tuesday night, but he’ll make it work.

“I hate Boston,” Scott says as they leave The Paul Revere House. 

Kip tugs him closer. “I know, baby.”

“Why is it still so cold? It’s April!”

“It’s only 16 degrees warmer in New York,” Kip says. “Really, I don’t know why you hate Boston so much.”

“I don’t get why you don’t hate it,” Scott grumbles. “You say you’re a real New Yorker –”

“So are you.”

Scott throws him a look, and Kip’s eyes twinkle. He knows Kip’s true feelings about people from upstate calling themselves New Yorkers; even though Scott is clearly from New York. It’s right there on his driver’s license. But Kip loves him, so he keeps that kind of talk to a minimum.

Scott complains, “Aren’t New Yorkers supposed to hate Boston?”

Kip laughs. “That’s more about baseball than anything else. Just don’t root for the Red Sox around my dad, or you’ll be sleeping on the stoop for the rest of the night. In 2004, I think he had a nervous breakdown after the curse broke.”

Scott sighs. “I’m gonna have a nervous breakdown if the Bears make it to the playoffs over us.”

“It’s looking good for them, right?” Kip says as they wait at the next light to cross.

“Mm hm,” Scott agrees. “They’re playing the Voyageurs tomorrow. Should be neck-and-neck.”

“Do you want to go?”

Scott shakes his head. “This weekend is supposed to be about you, Kip.” Scott pulls him even closer and presses a kiss to his stubbly cheek. “Two hockey-free days.”

Kip shrugs. “I could do some hockey. After dragging you all the way to your least-favorite city in America.”

“You’re sweet,” Scott says as they head into the car Scott ordered. A speedy fifteen minutes later, they arrive at a trendy place Elena recommended for dinner. The portions are tiny but delicious. As Scott quietly starves over five courses, at least Kip seems to be having a good time.

“Okay,” Scott says as they hover in the tiny plastic entryway after they’d paid and bundled up in their heavy coats. “I’m, uh, still hungry.”

Kip looks up from his phone. “Oh my god, me too.” He reaches up to kiss Scott squarely on the mouth. “I love Elena, but she eats like a bird sometimes.”

“Don’t hate me –”

“I would never.”

“But there’s a sports bar around the corner? And it looks like the Buffalo-Edmonton game is starting.”

Kip laughs loudly. “So much for a hockey-free weekend, Hunter.”

“We don’t have to go!” Scott says at once. “If you want to go somewhere else, anywhere else, we can!”

“No, you will literally combust if you don’t see a hockey puck within 48 hours,” Kip teases.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Kip says as he pushes open the plastic door onto the street. “I know what I got into when I fell in love with you.” The Boston wind hits them like an icy slap to the face, and Scott swears loudly.

Smithfield Bar is raucous, smells like stale beer, and, for some reason, still has St. Patrick’s Day decor up. They take a pair of stools by the bar, and Scott avoids making eye contact with the aggressively large leprechaun leering down at them among the top shelf liquor.

He grabs a Stella for himself, a whiskey sour for Kip, and a plate of fries for them to share. They settle in, and when Buffalo scores the first goal, Scott gives a loud whoop. He might captain the Admirals now, but Buffalo was his team growing up. Plus, his guys aren’t around to rib him for rooting for one of their conference rivals.

By the end of the second period, Buffalo is leading 5-0, and it’s looking to be an embarrassing shutout for Edmonton. Scott grabs Kip and kisses him square on the mouth. “What the hell was that play?” he demands, pointing as the replay shows on the nearest screen. “I had no idea Morris had it in him!”

On the next stool over, the guy grumbles, “Figures the fag doesn’t know shit about hockey.”

Scott whips around as, next to him, Kip freezes. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice deadly level.

The guy eyes Scott up and down, sizing him up. The barfly’s decently built, but, as Scott is a professional athlete in a high contact sport, he could definitely take him. Easily.

Evidently the guy is too drunk or too stupid to come to the same conclusion. “I said, shut up, and let the rest of us enjoy the game in peace. Nobody wants to see that,” he says, his gaze darting derisively between Scott and Kip.

Scott glances back at Kip, who seems pretty torn between letting his boyfriend wail on the homophobe and ignoring him.

The bartender takes a step closer and clears his throat. “Come on, Rich. They’re payin’ customers, just like you.”

Rich, apparently a regular, grunts in response.

Still rankled, Scott reluctantly sits back on his stool. It really wouldn’t be a good look if it got out that the Captain of the Admirals beat up a random guy at a sports bar in Boston. And this isn’t Scott’s crowd; he isn’t at Kingfisher, among friends. Who knows how the rest of the bar would react? As long as Rich shuts up and lets the rest of them enjoy the game in peace, Scott won’t have a problem with him. 

But then –

“Bunch of fairies.”

Okay, that’s fucking it – Scott leaps to his feet, but a hand on his shoulder holds him back. He turns, about to tell Kip to let him handle this, when someone – who is distinctly not his boyfriend – says, “We have problem here?”

Fucking hell.

Rich’s eyes go wide. “You’re Ilya Rozanov!”

“Is me,” Rozanov says good-naturedly, but his eyes are as cold as ice.

Scott shrugs off Rozanov’s touch. “I was handling it,” he says stiffly.

“Oh, I am sure you were,” Rozanov says, his tone still light. “But this is my city, my people. And us Bostonians, we do not always fight fair, no. Not like uptight New Yorkers like you.” His expression hardens as he moves to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Scott, clearly gearing up for a very unfair fight indeed, if the idiot doesn’t back down. 

Kip laughs loudly.

Rich flinches.

“I see you have not recognized my ancient friend here,” Rozanov continues. “So let me introduce you. This is Scott Hunter –”

Rich’s eyes impossibly widen further.

“He is captain of pretty good hockey team,” Rozanov says. “Not sure if you have heard of them, though.”

Scott grimaces. Trust Rozanov to be a fucking asshole off the ice too. He coughs. “I think he gets the picture.”

“I do not think he does,” Rozanov says, his words as sharp as glass shards. “Because I am also captain of pretty good hockey team – best, actually – and if any of them said what you did, I make them do bag skates until their feet fall off.”

“Jesus, Rozanov,” Scott mutters. “Really?”

Rozanov shrugs. “Management would be annoying if I punched out their lightbulbs instead.”

Behind them, Kip suggests, “You could make it look like an accident.”

Rozanov twists around to see him properly. “Too much work for me. Much rather make them better players and suffer at same time.”

Scott smiles. “Not a bad strategy.”

“Best strategy,” Rozanov corrects, puffing out his chest.

“Oh my god,” a familiar voice says, “I leave you alone for two minutes, and you’re already getting into it with Scott Hunter?” 

They all turn to see Shane Hollander making his way towards them.

“You’re in Boston too?” Kip says, surprised.

“Somebody’s got to kick this guy’s ass tomorrow,” Hollander says as he elbows Rozanov in the ribs. Rozanov dances away, scowling.

“No fucking way,” Rozanov argues at once. “If anybody’s ass is –”

Loudly, Hollander cuts him off, “What are you doing in Boston? You’re not here to see the game, are you?” 

Kip explains, “Spring Break.”

“Sounds like fun?” Hollander says dubiously. “It’s barely spring out there, though.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Scott says miserably. 

“The power went out in Ilya’s building, so we came to watch the game here where there’s actual heat,” Hollander says, jerking his head towards the screen, where the third period has already started in earnest. “Want to join us?” he asks.

“Oh,” Scott says with a glance at Kip, who shrugs. He looks to Rozanov next, who actually doesn’t look put out at the idea of spending the next forty-five minutes together to wrap the third period and watch the post-game analysis. “Sure.” He turns around to grab his half-empty beer, noting the empty stool next to his. “Where’d that guy go?”

“He fled like scared little mouse as soon as he saw Hollander,” Rozanov says gleefully.

“Who?” Hollander asks as they weave through the tables to a booth along the back wall.

“A homophobe,” Kip explains with a grimace.

“Oh,” Hollander says, his eyes narrowing. He turns to Rozanov. “Did you punch him?”

Scott blinks as Kip lets out a surprised bark of laughter. That was Hollander’s first question? Apparently Rozanov’s allyship is more widely known than Scott thought? Or maybe Rozanov and Hollander are better friends than he thought. After all, they are hanging out the night before a big game where they will face-off for a spot in the playoffs.

“Why do you look to me like that?” Rozanov demands, full of over-the-top offense. “Hunter is right there!”

“Hunter has gotten into three fights this whole season,” Hollander says dryly. “You got into three fights during your last game.”

“Is exaggeration,” Rozanov protests as they sit down.

“Fine. Hunter, what was it?” Hollander asks. “Two fights, right? I was rounding up.”

“Oh my god,” Rozanov groans. “I am surrounded by most boring hockey players in the league.” He turns to Kip. “You, you seem more exciting. Entertain me.”

“Afraid not,” Kip says sympathetically. “All I’ve done is drag Scott from museum to museum. We did the Paul Revere House this afternoon.”

Rozanov lights up, and Scott inwardly groans. “Ah, looking to relive your childhood, Hunter? Missing the old days before electricity and inside plumbing, eh?”

* * *

To Scott’s infinite irritation and dismay, Kip and Rozanov strike up a friendship after that night in Boston. He’ll hear Kip giggling at his phone, see him lean over the bar to show his screen to Kyle, and then watch as he begrudgingly shows Scott too.

“It’s just because you get in a mood if you know I’m talking to Ilya,” Kip says apologetically after it happens for the fifth time that night.

“I don’t get in a - a ‘mood’!” Scott splutters. Fucking… Ilya.

Kip raises his eyebrows and sips his whiskey sour.

Scott grimaces. “Really?” he huffs out an angry breath. “Of all the guys in the NHL, you had to befriend the one who regularly calls me a dinosaur?”

“Well, yeah,” Kip says like it’s obvious. “Much better than the guys who regularly call you a cocksucker.”

Scott’s frown deepens.

“Hey,” Kip says gently, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard over the music but not loud enough to be overheard. “If it really bothers you, I can stop. But, I have a theory why Rozanov keeps calling you an old man.”

“Because he’s an asshole?” Scott grumbles.

Kip grins. “Oh, sure. But mostly, I think he sticks to it because he knows you’re not that sensitive about it.”

Scott frowns.

Kip sips his whiskey sour. “Rozanov is observant. You’ve said so yourself. He notices everything on the ice, and a decent amount off it.”

Scott just hums.

“If he wanted to poke you where it really hurt, he could,” Kip says seriously. “He’s still never brought up our relationship or your sexuality in his chirps, has he?”

“No,” Scott says begrudgingly.

Kip waves his hand as if saying, there you go.

“I still don’t like him,” Scott says firmly as he takes a bracing pull of his beer.

“Literally nobody is asking you to,” Kip says with a little grin. “But you know me, I can’t resist a messy gay.”

Scott chokes. “Rozanov is not gay.”

Kip stares at him. 

“He’s not!” Scott struggles to find the right words. “He’s just… European.”

Kip has to muffle his loud laughter into Scott’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, I love you, but your gaydar is shit.”

“He’s not gay!” Scott protests. “He’s slept with, like, half the single women in Boston. And a decent amount of the married ones too, if you believe the rumors.”

“Fine,” Kip acknowledges, “he’s bi, then.”

Scott just shakes his head as he takes a long pull of his beer. 

“You’ve really never gotten that vibe from him?” Kip asks curiously.

“No.”

Kip studies him for a long moment. “Bet.”

Scott barks out a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“I bet that Rozanov isn’t as straight as you think,” Kip says confidently.

Scott throws back the rest of his drink. “And what will I get if I win?”

Kip leans in. “I’ll let you buy that new vibrator and keep it in under my clothes at your next game.”

Scott goes furiously red in an instant. “Really?” he breathes.

“Mm hm.”

He pulls back, frowning. “And what do you get if you win?”

Kip taps his chin in thought. “Another daytrip to the Met.” 

As Scott theatrically groans, Kip leans in close. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his warm breath ghosting against the shell of Scott’s ear. “I’ll bring it there too.”

Scott slaps a hundred dollar bill on the table for their drink and drags a giggling Kip out of the bar. He has a sex toy to buy and a genius boyfriend to fuck within an inch of his life.

* * *

Scott shakes Shane’s hand, saying, “Good game, Hollander.”

Shane makes a face, but he takes Scott’s hand anyway with a forced smile.

The Admirals are heading to the next round in the playoffs, and the Voyageurs aren’t. That has to sting, but Shane doesn’t look nearly as annoyed at the results than he had when he rushed onto the ice, fifteen minutes late for warm ups. He had to know this was a likely outcome, with Pike out with an ankle injury, and Drapeau freshly back from tendon surgery.

While Scott's teammates boisterously troop back to the locker room, his skates back to the front of the line. “Hey,” he says to Shane, “A couple of us are heading to Kingfisher after. Do you want to come?” 

He had a decent time hanging with Shane at that sports bar in Boston. It was basically the first time he’d ever seen Shane loosen up, even though he only drank two ginger ales and had a single sip of vodka that Rozanov insisted on ordering for him. The kid had a crazy high hockey IQ that Scott wouldn’t mind poking at more.

Shane blinks. “Sure? I’ll ask Ilya if he wants to go, if that’s OK.”

Scott doesn’t bother hiding his frown at Rozanov’s name. “He’s here too?”

Shane grins and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “We knocked the Bears out of the playoffs two weeks ago, so I told him to mope around New York instead of moping around Boston for a change.”

Scott grins back. Maybe the loss knocked Rozanov down a peg – but Scott isn’t too hopeful. “Yeah, bring him. I can rub the win in his face too.”

“Only you two,” Shane mutters as he stakes off.

Scott, Carter, Huff, and Kip all troop down the street to the F train, since a car would only get stuck in post-game gridlock traffic all the way to 23rd Street for the next hour. They gamely sign autographs for fans in the subway and pose for selfies until they have to resurface to street level.

Kingfisher patrons all cheer as they walk in, and there is truly no greater feeling in the universe, fresh off a playoff win, his boyfriend plastered to his side, surrounded by his friends.

When Rozanov and Shane arrive, Scott is already two drinks in and chatting loudly with Elena, Kyle, Carter, and Kip at the bar.

“Drinks are on me for the losing team captains,” Scott crows.

Rozanov crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs, “Big words for tipsy gay man.”

Their whole group goes quiet at Rozanov’s threat. Scott sits up on his stool and places one foot on the floor, ready to toss him out onto the street if he needs to. “Hey,” he says in warning, his eyes flashing. “Don’t do that here. Not to me.”

The entire bar seems to hold its breath.

“Is okay,” Rozanov says as he slings an arm around Shane. “My boyfriend is also gay man, and he will need several drinks before he can fight you again since he is least violent, most boring player in the NHL. You will be on even lawn.”

Scott trips on nothing. Kip snorts into his drink, and Kyle’s mouth falls open. Carter’s eyes have gone as big as the coaster under his beer glass.

Scott’s gaze flits between Shane and Rozanov. Rozanov, sure, he could totally see him pulling a gigantic lie out of his ass like that to fuck with all of them. But Shane, Shane’s a good Canadian boy. Never bad-mouths another team, if he can help it. Never puts down other players or captains, with Rozanov being the notable exception. Doesn’t lie, from what Scott can tell from his numerous interviews.

“Even turf, Ilya,” Shane says into the dead silence. “The idiom is ‘even turf’.”

That’s not a denial about the gay thing.

Rozanov, for his part, looks absolutely thrilled at their reactions. 

Shane turns to Kyle, who has managed to pick his jaw up off the floor, and says, “A ginger ale and whatever your most expensive vodka is for this asshole over here. And he will be paying.”

“No! Hunter just said it is free!”

In a voice as flat as the rink in Madison Square Garden, Shane drawls, “I’d be shocked if it was still free for sore losers.”

“Who is sore loser here?” Rozanov demands, and his eyes are fucking twinkling. “If anything you are sore loser after last –”

“Absolutely not,” Shane cuts him off severely, and Rozanov’s mouth snaps shut. “Do not go there.”

“Holy shit,” Carter breathes. “Ilya Rozanov, whipped. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“If anyone could do it, it’s Hollander,” Huff calls from a nearby booth.

Rozanov rounds on them. “I am not whipped.”

“Oh yeah?” Scott challenges, enjoying himself now. “You wanna finish that earlier thought?”

Rozanov turns back to Shane, who simply shakes his head. With his mouth set in a mulish grimace, Rozanov knocks back the double vodka Kyle just set down in front of him. 

Scott loses it, ugly cackling like there’s no tomorrow.

Eventually, the shock dies down, and everyone resumes their conversations. Scott finds himself next to Rozanov and Shane after Kip gets up to use the restroom. “Okay,” he says. “I have to ask, how did this happen?”

Rozanov glances at Shane, and Scott truly would never believe Rozanov would ever defer to his career rival about anything, except he’s seeing it in front of his very eyes. “Many years ago,” Rozanov says quietly.

“Holy shit. Before All-Stars – last year’s All-Stars?” Scott amends.

“Way before,” Rozanov supplies as Shane nods. 

“Ilya talked me into coming here tonight,” Shane says as he spins his glass full of Canada Dry between his hands. “He’s been texting Kip for a while, and obviously you’re a good guy, so I knew it would probably be fine. But we’re not ready to do anything official yet,” he says. “This is just… testing the waters.”

“Well, you’re in good company,” Scott says bracingly. “Don’t worry. I’ll text Huff and Carter that this doesn’t get out to the rest of the guys.”

“Please,” Shane says.

Rozanov bumps shoulders with Shane. “I told you it would be alright, котёнок.”

Shane shrugs. “You know me.”

“You worry too much.”

“I do.”

Scott blinks. “I think this is the longest I’ve seen you guys talk without fighting.”

Rozanov grins. “Will not last.”

Shane mutters, “Because you have a pathological need to bait everyone around you.”

“Bait? I do not bait! I just point out totally true facts. Is not my fault my English is not good enough for –” he frowns before he snaps his fingers, “nuance.”

“Uh huh,” Shane says, a small smile playing around his mouth. “But you’re fluent enough to chirp Scott about the details of hip dysplasia.”

Rozanov laughs. “You are just jealous because you cannot chirp.”

“I don’t need to chirp,” Shane sniffs. “My playing speaks for itself. Unlike some people’s.”

“Boo,” Rozanov jeers. “You do not know how to have fun at hockey games. So boring, Hollander.”

Shane rolls his eyes.

“Ilya!”

Rozanov leans back to see Kip waving from the other end of the bar. “Elena actually wants to hear about your ridiculous car collection. What’s the newest one you bought, again?”

Rozanov hops up from his seat like someone lit a fire under his ass, grinning broadly. He takes one step, rethinks it, does a u-turn, presses a kiss to Shane’s cheek, and finally leaves them. 

“Never tell him this,” Scott says in an undertone, “but I think you guys are cute together.”

Shane laughs. “That’s what my mom said after she got over the shock.”

“He’s met your parents?”

“Yeah,” Shane says, smiling at the memory. “After, he said he could see where I get my boring from. He likes my mom, though. But I think that’s just ’cause he’s a little scared of her.”

“Does he call you boring a lot?” Scott asks.

Shane laughs. “About as often as he calls you old.”

Scott leans back in his seat, thoughtfully surveying Rozanov down at the other end of the bar. “So all the time, then.”

“All the time,” Shane echoes with a grin. “But it doesn’t mean anything. Not really. He admires you, you know?”

Scott guffaws. “What? Rozanov, admire me?” he says, incredulous. “Why don’t you pull the other one?”

Shane shakes his head. “When you came out, it changed things for us.”

Scott blinks. Shane did send him that long, very stilted email the day after he came out. Scott figured Hollander did it because he’s a good Canadian boy, and that is what good Canadian boys did. But, sitting in front of Shane now, in a gay bar in New York, that email probably has a lot more between the lines that Scott didn’t pick up on.

Shane stares down at the glass between his hands. “We wouldn’t be coming out to anyone, if you didn’t do it first. So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Scott says, and the words don’t convey nearly enough weight for all that Shane is telling him.

They each take a drink, and Shane’s shoulders lose some of the tension they’d been carrying ever since Rozanov dropped the ‘boyfriend’ bomb. 

“After you gave that Sports Illustrated interview about coming out,” Shane lowers his voice conspiratorially, “Ilya bought it the next day. Read it twice.”

Scott cracks a disbelieving grin. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Shane says, shaking his head. “He said it was to improve his English, but then I caught him trying to make that blueberry smoothie you mentioned.”

Scott doubles over laughing. 

Shane sits back in his seat, looking incredibly satisfied with himself.

Scott calls, “Rozanov!” 

Rozanov’s head pops up from where he’s huddled with Kyle, Kip, and Elena. “What?” he asks, looking disgruntled at the interruption.

“What’s this I hear about you reading all my interviews? And trying to make my smoothie?”

“What?” Rozanov yelps. “Shane!” he points a finger, looking utterly betrayed as Kip howls with laughter.

Shane raises his eyebrows and lifts his glass in a toast. “You shouldn’t have made me late for warm ups, asshole. I told you, you’d regret it.”

“Wait,” Kip says as he taps Rozanov’s bicep to get his attention. “Is this why you asked how many bananas go into Blue Moon Over Brooklyn as soon as you got my number?”

Rozanov remains haughtily silent.

Holy shit, Scott has never laughed this hard in his life. He is never going to let Rozanov forget a single second of this moment. “Hey, Rozy, I’ll,” he forces out as he gasps for air, “autograph your Sports Illustrated next time I head up to Boston. Anything,” he snickers, “for a fan!”

“I hate you all,” Rozanov declares before he loudly demands another vodka.

Scott lowers his voice and says to Shane, “I don’t know how you do it. With him.” 

“He can be surprisingly sweet,” Shane explains, ducking his head.

Behind Shane, he watches Rozanov, vodka in hand, start towards them. “Is that before or after he calls you boring?”

Shane’s nose scrunches as he thinks. “Kinda in the middle?”

Rozanov arrives and leans in, squeezing into Shane’s personal space. “Is okay, you can keep talking about me.”

“We weren’t talking about you,” Shane denies at once.

Rozanov raises his eyebrows. “What were you talking about then? Bland New Yorker articles? Final question on last night’s Jeopardy?”

“There he goes again,” Scott sighs.

“What?”

“Scott can’t believe my boyfriend calls me boring all the time,” Shane explains.

“Why? Is true?” Rozanov says, puzzled. “You are boring.” He leans in closer. “And beautiful – with beautiful freckles. And second best at hockey in all the league. And, yes, you have weak backhand, but I overlook this because you have the best ass in all of Canada.”

“Man,” Scott marvels as a blushing Shane dodges the messy kiss Rozanov is trying to press to his face, “you are like the king of mixed signals.”

Rozanov shrugs. “I keep things interesting.”

Kip appears at Scott’s elbow and quickly presses himself to Scott’s side. “You sure do, buddy.”

“Hunter, I need fresh air. You come with me,” Rozanov commands. “Kip, tell Shane how to make good smoothies. Shane’s taste like shit.”

“Hey –” Shane starts hotly as Scott protests, “You can’t boss me around like that.” 

Rozanov hums. “I will make it worth your while.”

Scott makes a face. “Gross. No thank you.”

“Not like that,” Rozanov drawls. “What a dirty mind you have, old man.” He turns to Kip, eyebrows raised, like are you hearing this too?

Kip gives Scott a little push off the barstool. What a traitor. 

Scott begrudgingly gets to his feet, telling Rozanov, “Just promise me you’re not going to shove me down a manhole because you’re out of the playoffs.”

“As if you need my help breaking all your fragile knees and hips,” Rozanov says imperiously. “Come.”

Shane opens his mouth. “No –”

“No cigarettes, yes,” Rozanov says impatiently as he ushers Scott out the door with his free hand not clutching his vodka, “I know, Hollander!”

Outside, Scott inhales a deep breath and shoves his hands in the pockets of his light jacket. Summer is coming late to New York.

“Your city still smells like piss,” Rozanov mutters as they lean against a waist-high cement planter full of mostly-alive plants. 

Scott laughs. “Like Boston is any better.”

“At least Dunkin’ smell covers it up.” Rozanov tilts his head upward, studying the star-less sky. Between the light pollution and the clouds, he can’t be looking at anything especially interesting.

“So… why exactly did you drag me over out here?” Scott asks as the seconds of silence tick on. “It can’t be only to badmouth my city.”

Rozanov exhales a deep breath. “Wanted to explain myself. About that magazine.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “It’s not that embarrassing,” he blatantly lies. “Now that I know you’re… you.”

Rozanov huffs an irritated breath. “I read your stupid interview because I wanted to see what you had with Kip. Know what I was missing out on, what could be possible with Shane.”

Oh, fuck. What the hell can Scott possibly say to that?

But Rozanov isn’t done. “Because I want to share stupid things about my lover – probably not his disgusting smoothies since you already did this – but,” he sighs heavily, and Scott, to his horror, actually starts to feel a twinge of sympathy for him, “I can’t tell anybody how he has specific order for putting on his socks every morning. How he can do terrifying wolfbird call.” He takes another pull from his vodka. “How hockey is his life but how hockey does not give him enough back.”

Scott swallows. Jesus, why did he leave his own drink at the bar? “Do you have any plans to come out?”

The corners of Rozanov’s mouth curl in a sly smile over the rim of his glass. “You are not as stupid as you look.”

“Rozanov.”

He holds up his free hand in a gesture of surrender. “Fine, fine. I will play nice,” he says, nearly gagging on the last two words. “But yes, we do have plan. Between Yuna and Shane, it has too many steps, but we have plan.”

Scott exhales a slow breath. “I had a plan too.”

“Yes, yes, everyone and their brother saw that kiss,” Rozanov says impatiently. “I did not know you were such a drama queen.”

“Kissing him after the cup final was not the plan,” Scott says. 

Rozanov straightens, his eyes bright and alert despite all the vodka. “No?”

Scott shakes his head. “I was going to a press junket. Sports Illustrated, Men’s Health, and the like. Maybe a few late night shows.” He shrugs. “But you know what they say about best laid plans.”

“No? I do not?” Rozanov says, brow furrowing. “What is this?”

“Oh,” Scott blinks. “‘Best laid plans’ means that, no matter how well you prepare for something, things can still go off the rails.” He shrugs. “It did for me. After the cup win, when I was surrounded by everyone else’s wives and girlfriends – I just snapped. I couldn’t not celebrate with him, you know?”

Rozanov nods thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see that happening for me too.”

“Plans are good, but,” Scott runs a hand through his hair, “if they’re not working, don’t let them limit you.” He gestures to the bar through the front window. “It looks like you’ve got something special with him. Don’t let anyone, including yourselves, put up made up obstacles. God knows, coming out is hard enough without them.”

“Yes, he is very special,” Rozanov says quietly. “And there are many obstacles.”

Scott claps his hand to Rozanov’s shoulder and squeezes. “Come on, you’re a smart guy. You’ve got this. You just have to use that brain of yours for something other than chirping, for once.”

“Fuck that. I can do both.” Rozanov drains his glass. “Is not that easy to get rid of my chirps.”

Scott chuckles. “I figured as much, but an old man can dream.”

“Ha!” Rozanov exclaims, delighted. “You called yourself an old man. Is true!”

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it now. It’s never happening again.”

Rozanov simply laughs as he tugs Scott back inside Kingfisher, shouting, “Everybody listen up! Hunter just admitted he has two feet in the grave already!”

[chocolate-smash]

okay I can’t keep it in anymore. Shane may be autistic, but he simply Would Not have a problem with things being too bright or loud. This boy plays HOCKEY, he is a SENSORY SEEKER, there is NO SUCH THING AS TOO BRIGHT AND LOUD. In my HEART OF HEARTS I know that this man used to stand in the middle of arcades as a child and soak in all of the different sounds and lights and flashy bits and finally feel like he’s getting enough sensation to settle into his own skin. He sleeps under 2 weighted blankets and preferably also another giant 250lb hockey player. He’s not having a problem with too much noise and stimulation. He plays recorded crowd noises from other sports games to focus on stuff. He’s fine sitting in wet clothes for an hour if that’s how long it takes to finish sexting before he gets changed. He’s a SENSORY SEEKER. LET HIM SEEK.

[anya-hollander-rozanova]

Ok but Cliff Marlow somehow managing to get into Ilya's phone after the Tunameltdown in the middle of the Hollandry crashout, and getting Montreal Jane's number.

The entire Boston roster piling behind Marly as he types, trying to decide what to say that could save them because their captain has been possessed by the spirit or a soviet military trainer with knife shoes and if they are forced to make double bagskates again they will either puke or die or both.

So Shane Hollander wakes up one day to a message from an unknown number like "Hello Miss Jane ma'am this is Clifford Marlow I don't know if you have heard of me I am sorry to be a bother I'm just wondering if you could give my good friend Ilya another chance, I promise that whatever he did he won't do again, we will help we will teach him to cook and clean and do laundry and he will cook you the best sandwiches ever if you only give him a chance only if you want of course if it's not too much of a bother Miss Jane please and thank you" and he goes through the seven stages of grief in like 4 seconds before it's even 7am. They manage to add the link to a very big spa gift card that they all chipped in to buy because at that point they're desperate.

[melancholy1410]

“Marlow if we do this and Roz finds out we’re all dead.”

“Dude, we’re currently dying too. I saw you throw up this morning. You didn’t even drink yesterday. ”

“We’re so fucked.”

[lem0nademouth]

lisa hayes is also a massive comic book nerd and her and wyatt met at a con where they were the only two cosplaying from a niche comic that had like a 10 issue run and it was truly love at first sight and now every halloween they dress as a comic book dynamic duo but it’s never the same duo twice

[argillaforma]

the whole boston team knowing about montreal jane and they think that ilya rozanov who can pull any girl he wants must have found a real baddie the way he keeps coming back for more and then hard cut to shane hollander on a friday night drinking tea and reading the same hockey book for the fourth time who when ilya texts him asking what are you wearing? texts back my new organic cotton pj set and ilya texts back i'm so hard tell me more

[crumplelush]

that bit in the books where ilya’s fantasy is shane in old man pyjamas with the top unbuttoned so his chest is on display, and then shane’s fantasy is them fucking at centre ice

[actuallysara]

shane bagged ilya this. shane turned ilya into a wife that. WRONG. ilya locked himself down. that boy couldn't wait. he was marking down the days on the calendar. he put that leash in shane's hands. you love me back? GOOD. now you can finally see what loverboy3000 is really capable of hollander. you are not ready.

[quillquiver]

They’re going through Yuna and David’s movie collection when Ilya comes across a VHS with ‘Shane - Bell Center 1994’ written on the sleeve and insists they watch it.

Shane isn’t super into the idea. “My parents don’t have a VHS player.”

“Is literally right beside your knee, Hollander.”

“Well, it’s boring! Why do you want to see a dumb recording of me as a kid anyway?”

“Because it’s adorable?” Ilya says incredulously. “And you are adorable?”

“Oh, I forgot we had that!” Yuna exclaims, coming to sit on the couch with her glass of wine. “God, I miss those days. Shane was the cutest timbit.”

Timbit, Ilya mouths to himself, his fingers curling around the tape. This is Shane as a timbit? In all his tiny little hockey gear at the Bell Center? Ilya needs to see it. “Shane.”

Shane looks at him and sighs.

They put the tape in.

Ilya almost dies as the grainy screen resolves itself into an MC and a tiny Shane, dressed in his hockey gear. His helmet is crooked on his head, his stick tap tap tapping against it as he stares at the interviewer, determined. His cheeks are big and round and pink from the cold of the ice, and though Ilya cannot make out his freckles, he knows from pictures that they’re there. The MC crouches down and a packed Bell Center is visible behind them.

“And here we have number 24, Shane Hollander!” The MC says in heavily accented English. “Let’s give him a round of applause. Shane, how are you feeling tonight, are you excited to be here?”

“Um. Yes.”

“And how old are you, Shane?”

Little Shane closes his eyes for a moment, taking a big, deep breath before reciting: “My name is Shane Hollander and I’m a hockey player. I am three years old and I go to Glebe Co-operative Nursery School in Ottawa and my mommy and daddy are Yuna and David. And I’m three.”

The MC laughs a little. “That’s a great introduction, Shane, thank you. Do you have anyone here with you tonight, cheering you on in the audience?”

Shane’s eyes open, but he doesn’t break out into a toothy grin. No, instead, Shane—serious, no-nonsense Shane—nods and leans in to the microphone like he’s giving a post-game interview. “Yes, my mommy and my daddy.”

“And are they big Metros fans?”

“Yes.”

“What about you?”

“Yes, too. They’re gonna go all the way this year. They have all the pieces for a winning team.”

“That’s what we love to hear, Shane, we agree and we love the confidence. Can we expect to see you on the ice someday? Do you want to be a hockey player when you grow up?”

“Yes, I’m a hockey player.”

“Do you want to play for Montreal?”

“Yes.”

“Can we get some encouragement for the team from you, Shane? Maybe a Go Metros Go?”

This, Shane takes extremely seriously. Ilya watches him nod with all the solemnity of a general going to war, and then releases his own tiny, passionate battle cry: “Go Metros Go!”

“Shane Hollander, everyone, let’s give him another round of applause!”

Ilya watches Shane stick out his little hand and the MC laugh a little as he shakes it, before tiny Shane toddles back to his parents on his skates. The mic picks up, Mommy can I skate again nowww? before the tape stops.

Ilya is going to fucking die. He already feels as if his heart is too big for his body, his fingers pressing into his knees to keep from grabbing Shane and doing—something to him. Kissing him or hugging him or fucking. Eating him. Consuming him. Crawling inside of him.

Shane is curled up beside the couch with his hands covering his face in embarrassment and Ilya is sitting less than a meter from him, dying of retroactive cuteness.

“You were so pissed when we told you that your turn to skate was done,” Yuna murmurs fondly. “Full meltdown.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Shane mutters, shaking his head in his hands. “JP made fun of me.”

Yuna scoffs. “JP was copying his parents, because they were pissed that you were better than him. And that we were out of towners but got the interview.” She raises a brow. “And now look: you’re a professional hockey player and JP is probably working at some office back in Trois Rivières and hates his life.”

“Mom, seriously?”

“What?” Yuna asks, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. “His parents were assholes. They made an asshole. I won’t apologize for that.”

Ilya takes the opportunity to crawl closer, slinging an arm around Shane’s back. He presses one kiss, then two, then three to Shane’s cheek. “Shane,” he breathes.

“Mm?”

“You were cutest fucking tiny hockey player in the entire world.”

Ilya feels Shane’s blush against his mouth. He kisses it again. “Fuck off,” Shane mutters, cuddling into him. He turns to press a soft, barely there kind of kiss to the corner of Ilya’s lips, burying his pink, hot face into his neck. “I was too serious. They called me a robot and did that stupid dance at me.”

“Well, they’re idiots. Hockey is serious, so you are serious, and they were probably ugly.”

“Ilya,” Shane laughs. Ilya feels his huffed breath in the juncture of his own neck and grins, thumb moving up to caress the small hairs at his nape.

They’re still too far away.

Ilya shifts, immediately attacking Shane’s face with kisses the minute he becomes visible. Shane laughs, shrieks, says stop even as he pulls Ilya closer, until they’ve toppled over onto the carpet.

Shane pulls back to look him in the eye, chewing his lip. “I think my parents still have some camcorder home videos of me.”

This is the best news Ilya has ever heard.

[melancholy1410]

[lavenderprose]

Crucially #myshane plays to his twentieth season which is just long enough to have the experience of meeting Ottawa's new draft prospect, also named Shane, and to smile and jokingly say, "Hey nice name," and for the rookie to gulp and say, "Thank you sir I am named after you" and that makes Shane sit in his stall and stare at the floor between his skates for. Significantly too long to be healthy.

[shanehollandersautismswag]

what if shane started doing yoga to increase his flexibility because after his first time with ilya his hip flexors hurt more than anything else. but he loooooved getting folded in half like that so much (and the look that ilya always gets when they’re pressed that much closer to each other) that he decided he just needed to get better at being bendy and yoga seemed like a good way to do that. so he asked both the goalie AND the physical therapist for the metros on ways to improve flexibility, especially in his hips, but then he had to come up with a reason why he was asking on the spot bc he obviously couldn’t just tell them it was so he could be better at bottoming for his arch fucking rival and it’s not like he was going to change positions on the ice and start playing goalie, so he panicked and made up something about bad hips running in his dad’s family and he didn’t want to have to get a hip replaced in his late 30s so he was trying to get ahead of it.

so the pt gives him some specific stretches to do (some of which will also improve his already impressive back arch) but also recommends he take up yoga, and shane rolls his eyes about it later in his car (because doing it in front of the pt would be rude) but then he figures “what the hell, can’t hurt to try” and finds that he actually really likes it. it makes his brain calm down a bit, it’s not totally quiet up there but it feels more like a manageable trickle of thoughts instead of the uncontrollable tsunami that his brain usually feels like. it’s nice, he can focus on the stretch of his muscles and the way that the constant vice-like pressure in his chest loosens a bit. plus, if it will make his hookups with ilya even better, it’s gotta be worth it.

of course, ilya has no idea that shane took up yoga essentially for him, and shane’s never going to tell him because he knows ilya will tease him about it for the rest of their lives. but every time that ilya pushes his knees up to his chest when they’re getting down and dirty he gets a little spark of satisfaction and accomplishment in his chest knowing that he did this for them, he put in the work to make these moments even better. he’ll put up with ilya’s chirps about how boring he is when he does his yoga because he knows it’s so worth it.

[melancholy1410]

And after tuna melt he stopped doing yoga, because it reminded him too much of Ilya. without him he become stiffer, physically and metaphorically.

He cried in his first yoga session post Rosegate.

[snowsmoked]

Like everything in his life, Shane is very pragmatic about sex.

First it’s planning their meet-ups months ahead. Shane has time to plan his outfit, do a pre-workout, and complete his prep routine. When he’s hosting, the temperature is perfectly set, lights low, fresh towels set out on the counters. When Ilya’s hosting or a hotel, he builds in time to do everything he needs beforehand.

Once they’re married, that changes. Living together means things can be a lot more spontaneous (which he loves) but he also likes to know The Plan™️.

And once they’re married, Shane has no problem asking for what he wants so he can plan out his day and routine. It’s not particularly sexy, but he guesses that’s married life.

“Ilya?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to eat me out after the Canada match tonight?”

They had both been rooting for Canada at the world cup - Ilya even got them jerseys.

Ilya chokes and Shane frowns at him. “You okay?”

“I - just - what?”

“Well I’m going to do a full shower after my physio session with Amelia - I should be done by the time the Canada game starts. Oh - and I meant to ask if you liked those new frozen meals Lyn brought over. They’re a new brand.”

“I - yes, please Shane if I ever don’t want to eat you out, I have been replaced by aliens.”

“Okay, cool. And the meals?”

“Gross,” Ilya said. “But normal gross.”

~*~*~*~

“Ilya?”

“What?”

“Can we fuck on the couch tonight? With the fire going?”

Ilya grit his teeth and for a second Shane thought he would say no.

“Of course.”

“Maybe around 8? I bought 2 hour logs and the fire needs to be completely out by bedtime.”

“Okay.”

~*~*~*~

“Ilya!”

“Shane?”

“Look at your messages! I want to try that position. Maybe after we get back from our afternoon skate?”

~*~*~*~

“Ilya?” Shane asked through his cars bluetooth. Ilya was cooking and keeping him company on the phone as he drove back from an optometrist appointment. Much to his husband’s (fake) disappointment, his slight nearsightedness still didn’t need glasses for anything besides reading comfortably.

“Hm?”

“Did my package get delivered?”

“A package did. I put it on side table for you.”

“Can you go ahead and open it? I wasn’t sure what size to get so I got a few options. I want to try them this weekend - maybe Saturday? If they don’t fit, I’ll need to do another order tonight for 3 day shipping.”

He heard Ilya take a deep breath. He hated to give him another thing to do on top of making dinner, but he wanted to make sure they had the right sizes before they wanted to use them.

~*~*~*~

“Hey Ilya?” Shane said quietly, so the other people at the stuffy fundraiser couldn’t hear.

“Yes?” Ilya, his hand coming up to run through the back of Shane’s hair.

“I’m exhausted. Can we do shower blowjobs when we get home tonight?”

Ilya hand stuttered in his hair. Shane hated to disappoint him but he was too tired for his prep routine, his post routine, and cleaning the sheets. Or even getting up for Ilya to do it. Shower blowjobs had excellent clean up time and he could fall right into bed afterwards.

“That sounds perfect,” Ilya said, a little roughly.

~*~*~*~

Shane was going to kill him. Murder him. Like a sniper - out of the blue, at any given moment, Shane might call out to him all softly and then ask for hottest sex imaginable (all sex with Shane) AND THEN plan it for later, leaving Ilya incredibly worked up.

The worst part was Shane did not even know he did this to him - for Shane, it was just planning - run at 6, breakfast at 8:15, workout at 8:30, shower at 10, fuck husband at 10:45, off ice training at 12:15, etc. It drove Ilya insane.

But Ilya didn’t want to mess it up by acting on the extreme horniness he felt every time his husband causally planned out mind blowing sex. He knew routine was good for Shane’s brain and it would mess the routine up if Shane asked to pencil in a blowjob at 3:15pm and Ilya dropped to his knees right then. So he had to wait and wait until the clocked ticked down for their scheduled appointment. He loved it.

[aemelia]

Opinion: I'm Not A Jealous Person I Just Hope Every Girl Who Talks To Him Dies // @hollanovbingo

[gaynehollander]

It always baffles me when people think Shane would be constantly annoyed by Ilya's antics and bravado. Like, Shane? Shane Hollander? The same man who started salivating when rookie Roz said he was going to score 50 goals? The man who gets so hard over Ilya sexting him right before a game that he could storm into the visiting locker room and ride his man right there? The same Shane Hollander who happily accepted a blowjob while his best friend tried to have a deep and genuine conversation with him about his wife's difficult pregnancy? Nah, that dude is a peak enabler who loves his asshole husband.