Chapter Text
“Ilya.”
“Mama.” He called out even before opening his eyes. He would recognize that voice anywhere. His body responded long before he could.
“Ilya,” He heard again, the same soft, tender voice that sounded so beautiful he wanted to hear it until the day he no longer would get to. Ilya suddenly shot his eyes open, to find himself in a small, but lean body, already taller than the boys his age. His age. 12. It came to him, at an instant. He was in bed with his mother, curling up to her. He remembered that night, he had sneaked into her room when his father was away. He had not been allowed to sleep with her since he was 7, but he always had snuck in when he was away. He craved those moments with his mother, where he could feel her beating heartbeat even if it was just for brief hours.
“Mama…?” Ilya whispered softly, looking up at his mother’s blurry face, immediately tearing up. Why couldn’t he see her? He missed her so much. It had been years since Ilya had seen his mother’s face. In all his dreams she was either far away, or her facial features were blurry. His memory was failing him. He hated it. Then, it hit him. Which day this was. Which day he was dreaming of. Dread and horror rushed to Ilya’s face. “Stay here… Stay here, with me, in my arms, please. Please. Let’s– Let’s spend the day together, we go– We go somewhere, another city, I will convince Andrei to come with us, and he will want to. I don’t have to train today, I don’t have to workout. I don’t have to– Leave you. Please.”
“Ilya, я тебя не понимаю.” Ilya, I don’t understand you. His mother’s voice called out softly, sounding farther away as she looked away.
“Mama!” Ilya cried, his entire body shaking. “I– I am here, please… Please stay.” He sobbed, but her mother left the bed slowly, moving towards the room. At an instant, Ilya threw himself out of the bed, running at the door to stand in front of her. “Mama, please…”
“Я не говорю по-английски, Ilyusha.” I don’t speak English, Ilyusha. He heard her again, her face all blurry.
Suddenly, Ilya’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t been speaking in Russian. “Mama, but–” He stopped, blinking again. Again, in English. Why couldn’t he switch to his native language? The words refused to come to him, like they were punishing Ilya for leaving, for no longer using Russian as much, for starting to feel comfortable with English.
“Mama, please, don’t– Don’t leave! We can– We can be together. We can be– We can run away.” He held her hands tightly. “Mama, please!”
“Ilyusha, иди на утреннюю тренировку. Я пока приму ванну, солнышко, ладно?” Ilyusha, go to your morning practice. I am going to take a bath, my sun, alright? He heard his mother whisper, her voice so weak, and so tired. So tired.
“Mama, you can’t! You have to stay with me! Right here!”
“Солнышко моё, папа скоро придёт. Он рассердится, если услышит эту западную речь. Давай, переключайся, иди на тренировку. Всё будет хорошо.” My sun, your father is going to come really soon. He will be mad if you are speaking that Western language. Switch, go to your practice. It’s going to be alright.
Ilya found himself sobbing, whimpering as he tried to hug his mother, suddenly a loud alarm blaring. He tried to hold onto his mother, but suddenly, Ilya felt himself being slammed away by a force much, much stronger than his 12-year-old body, away from his mother, away from his family estate, away from his fragile body.
The alarm still blaring, Ilya suddenly woke up, found himself in his house in Ottawa, with Shane just waking up in his arms. He reached with one hand, and turned off the alarm on his phone. Almost upon instinct, Ilya pressed his lips on Shane’s neck for comfort, his hands finding Shane’s automatically, his thumbs running through his knuckles to soothe himself.
“Серьёзно, Ilya… 0-5?” Mhm… Seriously, Ilya 0-5? He heard Shane speak in Russian, impeccable Russian. “Ты начинаешь расслабляться.” You are slacking off.
Ilya tried to pull away, finding himself unable to lift his head up. Exhaustion had tripled over him, rendering his limbs. Instead, he saw Shane pull away in a disgusted manner and continue. “I chose you because you were my equal.”
Ilya’s breath suddenly hitched, hearing the words he was terrified of hearing from Shane. He was confused, he didn’t know what happened. Which game had he lost that bad? He tried to wreck his mind, nothing was coming to him. Nothing. How the hell did he screw up so much so that he had managed to lose the one thing, one thing that brought him comfort in his life?
“Shane, no, I–” He teared up, barely forcing himself to sit up, his gaze fixated on the ground.
“Against Latvia, really?” Shane’s voice distorted into something else, deeper. Suddenly, his head snapped up, to stare at his father’s face and body instead, dressed in his medals. Sochi. He looked around at the sudden change of scenery, it was like he had been snapped back into the room where the same conversation had taken place. Overly luxurious chandeliers, a fairytale double bed, and his father, wearing all his medals for the gala conducted by the Russian government.
He recognized his father’s stern frown immediately, travelling around his messy hair, his naked torso, and the sweatpants that were riding low. He knew it was a disgusting, unforgivable look for his father, but Ilya was tired. He felt so tired.
Worst of all, he was in a dream he couldn’t get out of. One he couldn’t click into Russian, and everything around him stayed in Russian.
“You are never ashamed enough. No discipline. Utterly sloppy. Look at yourself, relaxed, and for what? To lose an entire season?”
He heard the alarm blaring once again, louder this time. Fast approaching. Just outside the door. All he would need to do was to walk out on his father.
But he was right in front of him. He would not say no to him. He was already sick. He needed to stay silent, obedient if he didn’t want to get punished.
“I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this…” Ilya mumbled by himself. His father approached him once again.
“Take a shower. Fix your hair. We have the prime minister to meet, don’t you think you at least owe it to him to shape up?”
“Father, let me rest, I can’t–” Ilya shut his eyes tightly, burying his face into his hands.
“Can’t even speak Russian.” His father spat. “Still lazy. You always were. You would lie down in bed for hours, and hours without doing anything. I could not make you happy. You were always ungrateful. Never appreciated the things I sacrificed for you. Contained in your room whenever you weren’t on ice, or working out. I gave you everything, Ilyusha.” His father spat, clearly pitying him. “A smile. Was that so hard to put on your face?”
“Enough!” Ilya screamed at him, pained and trapped by the ghosts of his past, literally. “Stop!”
“You were always numb through punishments. That’s why they never worked on you. You are worthless, Ilyusha. Always was. Why didn’t you take care of me? Why didn’t you ever care?”
Ilya stood up, swaying a little, tears in his eyes. “Because I am like my mother! The mother you hated! The mother you married because you took a young, promising figure skater as your wife and trapped her in this estate! You hate that I look so much like her, don’t you?! Well, I am maybe too much like her! I am depressed, father! I am fucking depressed and I don’t know what to do with it! I don’t know how to handle it, because of you! Because you always denied help for mama! Maybe if she were here, she would help me out! You took her from me! And then– No.” Ilya moved towards the door. “You should have stayed alive. You should have suffered more. But no, no. you got the chance to rest and left behind two fucked up sons, instead of a legacy! You wanted Andrei to be like you, and he got lost so much that he turned out to be a drug addicted police officer! You wanted me to be like you so much that I ran to another country. I will say it again, I will never be like you, but I am afraid I am way too much like my mother. Rot in hell.”
Ilya rushed through the door, at the blaring alarm and the second he took a step forward, his center of gravity shifted, and he found himself awake, Shane in his arms on the couch.
“Shane…?” He whispered softly, earning a happy ‘mhm’ before Shane turned around, smiling wide at him.
“Awake… You really have to change your alarm ringtone. It’s aggressive.”
Ilya took a few moments to come to his senses, to get over the nightmare that almost rendered him to nothing. His concern, and worry shifted into something soft watching Shane’s heart eyes and frown staring at him. It was easy to forget when Shane was there. It was easy to heal when Shane was there.
“Is aggressive alarm not good, kitten?” Ilya blinked, finding himself smiling at Shane’s annoyed frown. He really did look like an angry kitten.
“I prefer kisses.” Shane frowned further, earning a kiss from Ilya instead.
“Mhm… I will keep that in mind.” Ilya whispered, finding himself smiling lazily. “We have an hour.”
Immediately, after he saw that he saw Shane’s eyes sparkle with mischief and a clearly, bad idea.
“We have to get ready and get changed, we are the hosts, Hollander.” Ilya snorted.
“Get ready for what? Runway? This is perfect already. And I put on a Bears shirt, give everyone a heart attack, easy.” Shane smirked deeper. “Plus, I love the view of you in sweatpants and nothing under it.”
Ilya laughed, pulling him closer. “The team will be traumatized.”
Shane sighed dramatically. “Okay, if you must.” He plopped himself back onto the back of the couch. Ilya got up with a grin, shaking his head and took a step towards the bedroom, then stopped, turning on his heels.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Well, apparently not!” He exclaimed, extending his arms onto each side dramatically, in a huff.
“You fucking brat…” Ilya laughed hard and reached down, grabbed Shane’s waist and lifted him, throwing him over his shoulder like a bag. Oh, how easy it is to laugh with him. He makes it easier, he makes everything lighter.
“Oh, wait, this– Since when are you this strong– Rozanov, have you been working out more so you can lift me?!” Shane exclaimed loudly, dropping a kiss on Ilya’s back as he sagged over it uncontrollably.
“Eh, have been since… 2013. You gain more muscle mass. I train more.” Ilya hummed, plopping Shane to the edge of the bed and grinned at him, going to his closet, looking at the options. For someone who barely had enough energy to tidy around, Ilya had a very organized closet. He knew Shane would be proud of it, that’s why he had mainly done it, for Shane to be able to find things when he either wanted to steal his clothes, or find his own in there.
There was a whole business section dedicated to suits, all pressed and prepared. One part was for formal occasions, for summer, winter, a whole section for sports clothes and most importantly, the part Ilya used the most was the team merch he had for years from Boston and now Ottawa. Finally, Ilya decided on a pair of Centaurs sweatpants, black with red stripes running down the sides, and thankfully, instead of the horrible logo, they had settled on a capital and in red CENTAURS in their signature font below the right front pocket, and… He turned on his heel, staring at Shane who had tilted his head, watching Ilya still from bed with great interest.
“Where is your shirt from last night?”
Shane blinked a few times, looking around before snapping his fingers and went into the bathroom, throwing it to Ilya from there.
“Ilya– Do not put that on! No traumatizing!” Shane called out just as Ilya moved to. “I swear, you thrive on chaos.”
“Correct.” Ilya shrugged. “Chaos and you. Thriving on you is very good.” He threw Shane’s shirt into the laundry basket instead, and grabbed a V neck shirt for himself. “Sweetheart?”
“Mhm?” Shane had plopped himself into the bed again, like he was just enjoying swimming in Ilya’s perfume. Ilya grinned, watching him. Shane still hadn’t moved. Very uncharacteristic of him. Then, he did a double take, watching Shane slither and melt further into Ilya’s scent in the bed without even him realizing it, like he wasn’t aware to abandon that comfort just yet. Ilya walked over slowly, and leaned over the bed, his hand resting on the sheets next to Shane and his smirk deepened.
“Do you want me to choose what you’re going to wear?” He hummed, leaning to suck on his bottom lip.
In less than a second, he watched Shane shiver as color rushed to his freckles and look away from his eyes, down to Ilya’s crucifix, taking in a sharp breath like he needed a moment to admit what he wanted to himself, and then looked up at his eyes, nodding. The small piece of control he wasn’t ready to have yet. Ilya knew if it was any other dominant they would have gotten off on the idea of stripping it away, but for Shane, it was different. It always had been. The man’s entire life was control, and control was how he was going through the day even if he didn’t like it. To strip Shane from his schedules, his control would have been as detrimental as reducing him to nothing. So Ilya had never offered it, instead, he had noticed the signs. First it was watching Shane be utterly unhappy with his macrobiotic diet, but because it was his way of having control over his nutrition intake, Ilya hadn’t said anything. Instead he had started to stretch it slowly. He knew what he was doing. Shane knew what he was doing, but the fact that Shane had refused to say anything about it and let him continue doing so was a huge accomplishment. This? This was something similar to that. Then, right at that moment, Shane’s gaze locked onto his once again, and gave him a small, shy nod.
Got it, Ilya thought. Not the time to tease him about it. Instead, he dropped a soft kiss on his lips and pushed him off again. He moved to his closet, grabbing a pair of pants he knew would fit Shane and… His hand stopped at the blue long sleeved shirt Ilya had stolen from Shane’s cottage, but instead, he grinned, choosing chaos. He grabbed a black hoodie from Centaurs merch, a rather simplistic one. One arm had 81, and the other had the logo. On the back, he knew there was a ROZANOV 81. Without giving himself a chance to overthink, Ilya spun around, giving them to Shane.
“Oh.” Shane’s grin widened, biting his bottom lip.
“You are mine.” Ilya casually said, fixing his hair.
“Asshole.” Shane slapped him lightly with the hoodie in the chest and put them on, still smiling.
“Boring!” Ilya blew raspberries at him, watching Shane disappear into the bathroom, no doubt to do his hair. After deciding it was enough antagonizing his boyfriend for that hour, Ilya went downstairs, putting out the cooler and beer. By the time he was finished arranging the couch and yard set out in his backyard, he heard the ring. Finding himself actually excited, Ilya opened the door for the team to pour in, hugging him one by one.
“Congratulations baby!” Hayes whistled. “What a fucking game!” Ilya smirked in response as he stepped inside.
“There is an open kitchen, put whatever you have either outside or into it. It’s your place.” Ilya called out at his main roster, grinning.
“How are the knuckles?” Dillon was next, patting his shoulder.
“Oh, fine. I’ve had worse.” Ilya flexed his hand, barely feeling any sting.
“3-2, Roz! Fucking beauty.” Bood hugged him, Ilya returning it immediately, looking over to Luca who was holding a tray with both hands, still clearly shy. Instead, Ilya wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him into the kitchen/living room.
“And fucking Haas!” Ilya laughed. “His first goal in the NHL! Beauty, too. Textbook passes!”
“Thanks to you.” Luca laughed, much more relaxed as he played the tray on the island. “You have a lovely home.”
“Ah, it’s nothing.” Ilya wavered his hand. “Am still settling in. How are you guys? How was last night?”
Dykstra casually jumped on the kitchen island, sitting on it. “Pretty chill. I watched Dillon tongue fuck a fan.”
“Freak.” Dillon called out immediately. “I was celebrating my win! Plus she dissected my play!”
“Everytime I tongue fucked someone who dissected my play…” Ilya whistled, earning laughs from all around.
He leaned on the back of his couch, staring at his team and how comfortable they already were in his house, accepting it as their own. Ilya had always been a person who liked sharing his space with people, someone who surrounded himself with people he trusted and loved instead of opting for silence and privacy as Shane had. He had done the same with Bears, but it had not been the same. Not really, like there was a privacy glass between them. He knew Bears loved him, and respected, but he also guessed all teams were like that. Never really close, just enough for their dynamic to click. At least he thought until the Centaurs. It was unbelievable and completely unhinged how close they already were in a month when the season had not even fully started yet. It showed potential, great potential. He watched them unpack the appetizers, snacks and everything they brought, Bood taking over the barbecue naturally.
“Hey, Roz?” Ilya got stripped from his thoughts when Wiebe called out, staring inside the fridge.
“Mhm?” Ilya turned to him.
“Are you into ginger ale now?” He called out, teasing.
“What? No.” He scoffed. “Is for Hollander.”
“Hollander?” Wiebe blinked, surprised.
“Yeah, he comes over often. Actually…” Ilya shrugged, glancing at the stairs, apparently the perfect moment Shane had chosen to come down and Ilya tried not to smirk thinking of how many times Shane must have overthought his entry.
“Hey.” Shane called out, walking over to them, Ilya’s hoodie very clearly shining on him. “Mind if I have one of that ginger ale, Wiebe?”
“Shit, Hollander!” Hayes exclaimed. “Hi!”
Ilya watched Shane chuckle, his signature smile. “Hi Hayes.” He walked over, taking the ginger ale from Wiebe, cracking it open.
“He stayed over last night.” Ilya shrugged, wrapping an arm around Shane as he greeted everyone by name, not pulling away until Shane pulled himself off of him.
“Good game last night by the way.” Shane leaned over the island, resting his elbows on it as Bood patted his back in recognition.
“You too, Holly.” Hayes smiled. “You staying over for food?”
“You bet. I’ll probably be here tonight too before heading up for morning skates tomorrow. You know, spy on Roz’s next plan of insanity.”
“You know about that?!” Dykstra gasped.
“I saw the photos Harris posted from the locker room just now. It was hung up on the wall. You guys are not subtle.” Shane let out a short chuckle, sipping his drink. “Is he coming by the way? The introduction and animation was crazy. I don’t think Montreal would ever spend the effort to do so.”
“Oh, he can’t make it today.” Dykstra continued. “I’ll tell him though.”
“Appreciate it.” Shane nodded casually.
“Hey, Roz?!” Bood called out from outside, standing in front of the grill. “How the fuck do you light this shit? This is some latest technology shit!”
“No idea!” Ilya called out, looking at Shane expectedly as he rolled his eyes in response.
“Asshole, told you to learn how to use your own grill.” Shane groaned and took a big sip out of his ginger ale.
“Why would I when I have my boring best friend to do it for me?” Ilya smirked instead, earning a loud groan from Shane and another eye roll in front of everyone as he went outside to help Bood. They watched Shane explain to Bood how to use Ilya’s grill, with great interest. Bood seemed to be as shocked, but he seemed to have pulled himself together much quicker.
“You guys are really close, huh?” Dillon asked. “Plates?”
“Second cabinet from top left.” Ilya automatically said. “Yeah, I have been saying. Guys, look–”
“We don’t care, Roz.” Wiebe immediately said. “Actually, it must be good to have someone to talk to when you’re so high on top.”
Ilya breathed, his shoulders relaxing. “It is. He is weird at social interactions though.”
“Eh, can’t be weirder than Haas.” Hayes said, placing his hand on Luca’s back.
“I’m not weird, fuck off.” Luca rolled his eyes. “Just– I never thought I would get to see my two idols in the same room together, you know–”
“Oh, star-crushed!” Ilya cooed, like the asshole that he was.
“Leave him be, Rozanov! And it’s starstruck!” Shane yelled from outside, saying something to Bood who nodded and patted his shoulder in response. Then, Shane walked back in. “It’s his first month as a rookie! Let the guy fucking adjust. What were you even doing in your first month as a rookie?”
You know what I was doing. Ilya wanted to say, but decided not to.
Wiebe whistled. “I won’t get used to you swearing, Hollander.”
Shane grinned at him as Ilya answered automatically. “First three months? I was in gym or ice 24/7. Fourth month? At every club in city with Marlow.” He winked.
“Oh, right, your famous playboy phase.” Shane teased, annoyed as he reached, stealing a carrot, dipping into the hummus apparently Hayes had brought.
“Was not phase! Lifestyle!” Ilya protested. “Fuck you, I’m going outside!”
“Go annoy Bood.” Wiebe snorted.
“Oh, I plan to!” Ilya yelled, leaving dramatically, grabbing a beer on his way out.
Shane leaned onto the island again as he watched conversation break out all around him naturally on varying topics, and his gaze landed on Luca who looked to be very interested in one of the dips. He slowly made his way over to him, placing a hand on his back.
“How are you though? Are you adjusting?” Shane asked, genuinely interested.
“I…” Luca looked at him, gulping hard. Holy shit, Shane Hollander is talking to me. Shane could read his expression. He had to learn how to read people to not miss social cues from a young age, and it had grown to be the most natural thing at that point. “Sorry, holy shit!” Luca chuckled nervously. “Just– The game last night is just now hitting me. It’s something to grow up dissecting you and Roz’s plays, and… Something else to witness you two play in person.”
“It was intense.” Shane commented thoughtfully, earning a nod. “Not all the games will be like that.”
“It was intense in a good way though. I know not every game will be like that, but… I feel so honored to be able to get to play on the same team, or on the same level as you two. To be here, talking to you so casually, in Ilya Rozanov’s home… It’s a lot.” Luca admitted.
“I can guess. Do you drink?”
“Uh…” Luca mumbled. He did, but he wasn’t sure what was acceptable with Shane.
“You do.” Shane patted his back, earning a nod. “I was too shy to drink with my team, too. Not that I drank often, but… At the rookie awards Scott Hunter asked me if I was drinking and I went red and said ‘I wouldn’t indulge in front of you Mr. Hunter’. Now because of that he keeps calling me Rook.”
That seemed to get a laugh out of Luca, helping him relax.
“Drink if you want to. Don’t if not. Honestly, Haas, no one will mind.”
“Thanks…” Luca smiled.
“No problem, kiddo. Also, incredible play last night. Mind if I say something I noticed?” Shane watched Luca’s eyes go wide with excitement and happiness, interpreted that as approval and continued. “You are already watching where the puck will be, that’s amazing. That’s not something anyone can teach. You’re dragging your left foot a little, that’s slowing you down. You should focus on taking more space on the left wing, there were a few pockets you could have taken which would lead you to a goal, but I saw you hesitant. It would have been 5-2. Drapeau was already distracted with Roz. Don’t be. Some cockiness is good, Roz will appreciate that as long as you don’t go overboard with it and cause your team a pass.” Then he continued with every small nuisance he detected through each period, until the other conversations died out around him and by the time he was finished, everyone had been listening to them.
Of course, it was Shane Hollander who made it look like he was going to make a small comment, and give him a full rundown of his play from memory. It meant Shane Hollander had paid attention to Luca Haas so much so that he did. Half the team would even struggle remembering a quarter of what Shane had just said without the tape in front of them.
“Holy shit…” Luca smiled. “Fuck, thank you so much! I will work on all those.”
“We knew you were the best player out there, but this?” Wiebe blinked. “Holy shit, Hollander.”
Shane suddenly seemed weird, and shy rubbing his face. “Uh, it’s… Just hockey.”
“No, no, no.” Hayes wrapped his arm around Shane’s shoulders. “What we play is hockey. What you do is fucking artwork.”
Shane chuckled nervously, ducking out of his arm. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just analyzing. I have been doing it for years.” He looked at Luca. “It’s good to have someone who appreciates it.”
“Wait, you’re saying Montreal has not been–” Dillon started.
“It doesn’t matter.” Shane said, too quickly just as Ilya called out from outside.
“Come and touch grass you fuckers!” He yelled. “Bring out food too! Hollander, cut-something! Forks and shit!”
“Cutlery!” Shane called out, carrying everything else outside with the rest.
Over the next hour, they all seemed to settle into a rhythm, Shane watching everyone connect on a level he never would have thought was possible in Montreal Voyageurs. He had been watching them talk about their own lives, their kids and recent shows they liked to watch. Most importantly, when it inevitably switched to talk about yesterday’s games and what they could improve, Shane found himself tensing up, glancing at Wiebe, half-expecting him to combust into slurs, degradation and yelling like Theriault. But weirdly, what he got instead was Wiebe doing what he was doing as a Captain to Montreal, pointing out and correcting them immediately. He leaned back on his chair, glancing at Ilya next to him for a moment who had his eyes already on him, silently asking ‘Are you okay?’ and Shane gave him a silent nod, listening.
“Not all games are going to be like last night.” Ilya said, stating the facts. “Last night was huge exception, I need to be honest. I am not going to be as aggressive as I was, only against Montreal.”
“I agree.” Wiebe said immediately. “I do not want us to be an aggressive team, we are going to strategize and find our own playstyle. We are still rebuilding, I don’t want to discourage you, but also, it’s important to manage expectations. Roz. Wait, Montreal?”
The gazes fell on Shane just then, who was stuffing his face in grilled mushrooms and swallowed his bite, nodding. But it was Ilya Shane who was looking at like ‘It’s your choice what you share.’
“Things are… Tense.” He admitted finally, taking a sip of his ginger ale. “Alignment conflict.”
“What happened?” Luca asked softly, careful.
Shane rubbed his face, breathing a few times. He found Ilya’s hand settled on his back in comfort, and immediately leaned back into it.
“I'm a neutral.” He whispered expecting the worst, the slurs, the screams, gasps, and everything negative that came along. But when he looked up, he saw the team was staring at him with surprise, but there was nothing else there, like they were giving Shane the space to speak about it.
Ilya is so lucky to have this team. He thought before he even found the chance to stop himself.
“It wasn’t a secret. It’s just in my medical files. I am a really private person, so I don’t promote it.” Shane said firmly, his voice surprisingly steady with anger peeking through, instead of his panic and anxiety about it. “Coach Theriault outed me to the team hours before the game with no reason, I think he was just pissed off and that’s all it took for half the team to turn against me.”
“Shane, what the fuck…?” Bood said softly, concern growing on his face, then he thought about it. “Drapeau, Comeau and… Gagnon.” He continued. “Those motherfuckers ganged up on you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Shane said quickly. “I punched Comeau in the locker room, Theriault… He took Comeau’s side.”
“I knew.” Ilya cut in. “That’s why I pressed on those fuckers last night.”
“Is that why you dropped that bad?” Wiebe asked Ilya, earning a nod.
“He told me what happened and I saw red. I couldn’t help it. High level shit. Those fuckers who call themselves dominants should be fucking ashamed. It’s everything wrong with this fucking society. Years of C don’t matter shit when you’re ‘technically’ less. Fucking assholes.” Ilya groaned.
That seemed to earn a nod from everyone else, then apologies rose for Shane.
“It’s fine. My agent is handling it.” He quickly said and Ilya took reign over the conversation.
“What matters… That’s why I played like that last night. I won’t be playing like that. If I do that, I will be done by November. That’s why we need season to start so we see where we are realistically.”
After that, no one else commented anything negative, just focused on the possibilities they could do as a team, Shane chiming in occasionally with his own insights as he grew even more comfortable, even joking around with the team a little.
The one small thing was that, he could not stop thinking how good this team would be if he was a part of this team too while very well knowing that could never possibly be the case.
—---
November 2017
They were in mid-November, the season was in full swing, and it had been a month since the Opening Night. Shane was thankful for Farah, and whatever she did, because after that, Theriault had come into the locker room before their first real season game and only said one single sentence with great discontent. “Alignment talk stops today.” And after that, it had grown quiet in the locker room. Shane would be more than glad if it was that way until the season ended and he could go to the cottage again with Ilya, and actually meet up with Farah to conclude the charity paperwork, but he always did dream. He might not possess the highest social IQ, but when it comes to hockey, he noticed everything single thing, including how the team had really started to question his calls. It first started in practice, with him repeating his corrections twice, running the drills over and over again for the stubborn players to simply not give a fuck about his orders. As weeks passed, it had slowly bled into them questioning or mocking Shane’s analysis, and how often it took Theriault to back him up for his teammates to listen. Even worse, locker rooms were a fucking shit-show, a debacle. He would call out mistakes, throw encouraging speeches, only for sneers to be thrown in his face as response.
Between everything that was happening in his team, Shane had found himself trying to control every aspect in his life, including his diet, and his schedule with Ilya –which was a mess by itself. He knew Ilya had been losing miserably, no matter how many goals their first line got, their second line was weak, too weak without a proper center and a better right wing. He had been pulling more ice time, leaving him an exhausted mess –too exhausted to drive for two hours to see his soulmate. Shane knew he was already bordering on injury, their team doctor Terry keeping him in one piece. He couldn’t ask more of Ilya than what he already had. So instead, Shane tried to drive down either after a game, or early in the morning despite both of them knowing they would not have too much time to themselves. They both still had workouts to keep up, sponsorship meetings to go through, and often now, even for Ilya –thanks to Farah– photoshoots that forced the two apart. If Shane managed to drive down, their day would be as such, Shane would spend two hours to drive to Ilya, they would have breakfast for thirty minutes while both of them rewatching their games from the previous nights as a part of their captaincy duties, and their workouts would start which either took place in Ilya’s home gym, or the Centaurs’ gym. They would technically be next to each other, but too focused on their reps and specific order that there would be any talking. Then, it would be lunch, always mixed with Farah, often followed by them going through their emails for the next hour. If it was a game night, Shane often would have to leave immediately to go to his team meeting, and if it wasn’t, Ilya would have to. And for some pure chance both of them were free, they would barely have two hours to themselves before they had to count in time it took for them to recover, and for Shane to drive back so he could get his rest so his usual schedule could start all over again at 6am the next day.
It was suffocating for them both, they were aware of it, but there was simply nothing they could do. They were technically two hours apart, but it turned out to be a Captain of a team who refused to listen to you and a Captain of a team who was still rebuilding took the existing free time they had right out and not only was it thrown out of the window, but crushed by a Zamboni.
One morning, however, that changed when Shane opened his eyes in the morning, and found a pair of strong arms holding him tightly. Confused, he rubbed his eyes a few times to see Ilya running his hand through Shane’s hair with a lazy smile.
“Morning…” Shane mumbled, reaching to kiss him longingly. “Did you– Ilya, did you drive here?” Shane whispered, afraid to ask.
“Mhm,” Ilya nodded, pressing his lips on Shane's neck, inhaling his perfume. “I’m not playing today, and Wiebe told me if I don’t skip the optional practice tomorrow, he will find me, tie me to the bed and leave. Told him it was kinky, he told me to go fuck myself and left…”
Shane climbed on top of him, suddenly hugging his neck tightly.
“Ilya…” His voice shattered. “We–” He took a sharp breath. “We get… One and a half days to ourselves?”
Fuck. Shane had Ilya to himself. After a month.
“One and a half days, my love.” Ilya smiled at him, cradling his chin to kiss him deeply.
“Thank fuck…” Shane exhaled, plopping his body on him. “What time is it…?”
“6:15.” Ilya mumbled.
“Okay, 15 minutes of make out session, and workout…” Shane mumbled by himself, starting to kiss Ilya deep, fast and longing –only for Ilya to push his chin lightly away.
“Since when do you workout before breakfast?” He asked suspiciously as Shane sucked on his bottom lip.
“Uh, new shift from the team doctor.” Shane said, like he didn’t think about it that much, the most natural thing as he moved to kiss a line down Ilya’s throat to settle on his collarbone, dragging his teeth along. “Ilya, come on, I fucking need you.” Shane moaned loudly, pressing his body against his.
Ilya wasn’t responding to his touch as he usually did.
“Oh, I need you too.” Ilya groaned, keeping his hands planted, one on his chin, one on Shane’s waist. “But this first. Your workout regime as it always is, right? In the regular season?”
“No, the team doctor bumped it up to double-intensity this season, Ilya, come on–” Shane’s hand moved to his peck, his lips tracing the veins on Ilya’s neck.
A heavy rock settled deep into Ilya’s core, his eyes widening. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, why would they shift it now after learning he was a neutral. It had to be on purpose to hurt his performance without a lawsuit. Was that what was happening? How come Shane wasn’t aware of it? To keep up with that much workout he’d need so much more fuel. The ones his macrobiotic diet did not provide for. How long has this been happening? Ilya tried to breathe as his instincts flared. He had to fix this. Whatever shit was happening, Ilya had to fix this. How come had he not noticed this sooner?
Ilya felt everything flare in him, and the worst thing was, he wasn’t even sure if it was his dominant, soulmate or just boyfriend instincts –probably all three, he thought.
“Anchor, Shane.” Ilya said firmly, pulling his pause safeword, watching Shane stop immediately. Pause and breathe. He slowly got off of Ilya, watching him carefully.
“You’re not keeping up the bird food, are you?” Ilya asked, grabbing his phone to text someone.
“Oh. My. God. Ilya, it’s fine! Can you listen to me for one second?” Shane sat up in bed, looking at him. “I’m fine. Who are you texting?”
“Terry. Centaurs team doctor. I don’t trust Montreal.” Ilya said, his eyes fixed on the phone as he tried to type, but his mind didn’t seem to be working.
“Neither do I. Ilya, can you stop for a minute?”
Dear Terry. Help. Montreal fucked Hollander. Urgent. No, that would not work. He sighed, quickly deleting the text, and just as he started to write another, he heard it.
The safeword.
“Reset.” Shane said firmly, pissed off which seemed to get Ilya’s attention. After staring at Shane’s eyes for a second, he dropped the phone aside. “Good. Now, look at me, do I seem worse?”
Ilya forced himself to breathe, running his eyes over Shane slowly, like he was inspecting everything. Then, next was his hand, running through the body he knew so well, going through every muscle and crevice. “No, you seem… Even stronger.” He finally whispered, exhaling the breath he had been holding.
“Yes, yes I do.” Shane cupped his cheek. “Breathe, Ilya. I’m fine because I’m not following the same diet.”
“You– Stopped the bird food?” Ilya blinked because he simply knew it was impossible. Not when Shane was under so much pressure.
“No! No, it’s still the superior diet, just… Added in some more carbs, and actual meat, okay? When the team doctor switched the regimens he told me it was because of my alignment. Like I don’t know any better. So I talked to Farah, who recommended me to someone in New York. And we adjusted. I’m fine, because I don’t trust Montreal either and I’m “cheating” on what they gave me, Ilya. I shifted the workout to before breakfast, because two hours after the smoothie, I have an additional breakfast at 10 with real carbs and real protein.” Shane said sharply with confidence.
Ilya inhaled sharply as relief rushed his system, and his vision cleared. He really had been holding his breath. Fuck. He thought. Shane is fine. He is more than fine. Ilya’s system had just gone on overdrive. There had been a fucking month since he had seen his soulmate. One month which had felt like half a year in exile. One month where relief had not entered Ilya’s body once, not when Shane was alone in Montreal to deal with whatever shit his team was giving.
“Ты в порядке.” You’re alright. Ilya switched to Russian automatically, without even realizing it at first. He buried his face in Shane’s neck, breathing deeply. He didn’t need to go into overdrive.
“Я в полном порядке.” I’m completely alright. Shane’s no accented Russian penetrated his ears, causing Ilya to chuckle automatically, and finally let go of him to plop himself back onto the bed.
“Okay, okay…” Ilya whispered. “Okay.”
Shane leaned down, kissing him gentler this time, taking his time. Ilya kissed back, breathing shakily.
“Okay, here we go…” Shane whispered softly, running his hands around Ilya’s cheeks. It’s been a month, Shane thought by himself. He looks different. Instead of saying that to Ilya, he lied down with him and ran his hand thoughtfully through Ilya’s curls, trying to figure it out himself. Finally, he decided to ask. “Ilya, is everything okay?”
“Da, yes.” Ilya, watching Shane lie down again with him. “Team is okay. We’re used to losing.” It sounded quick, a little too quick.
“Mhm,” Shane whispered. “Okay, but will you talk to me if there is something happening? Your team is yours, but… We, I think, are a team too, no?”
In response, he saw Ilya’s face light up, pulling him into a kiss. “We are, sweetheart. Just… It has been so long. And it was just one month. We called, Facetime, texts… And we are a mess.” Ilya mumbled, kissing Shane over and over again, like he was unable to stop. It deepened each time, deeper, more longing. Shane’s eyes shuttered close, moaning against him.
“We are a mess, fuck…” He whispered. “Ilya, how are we going to survive through the season?”
“I don’t fucking know,” Ilya cooed in his ear. “I feel lost, but it’s easier. Now. With you here.”
“It is easier.” Shane nodded, pressing his forehead against Ilya, pulling him even closer when Ilya curled his arms and legs around him in search of comfort.
“Can we rest a bit?” Ilya asked silently, like it hurt him to ask, his face in the crook of Shane’s neck. “I’m exhausted.”
Shane took a glance at the clock. 6:30. In less than a second, his entire day flashed in front of him. His responsibilities, his schedule that he kept up to date by the second. The one that he had not strayed away from not even for one day. Then, his gaze fell on Ilya, the built 6 '0 Russian man curled up around his entire body in search of body contact, the man he was in love with, whose eyes were already closing. Ilya had driven to Montreal in the middle of the night. The second he learned he was not required to be in Ottawa, Ilya had appeared in his city, his arms. Something deep in Shane tugged him towards Ilya, the sense of need radiating like no other –and this time the source was Ilya himself. His soulmate was asking for comfort, after losing over and over again, after spending every waking time he had on Ottawa Centaurs, trying to build a legacy from scratch after giving everything he had in Boston to be close to him.
Shane could give him time off his schedule in return. He didn’t think he would be able to pull away, anyway, not when just thinking about everything Ilya must have been going through, being unable to talk about it –probably not to burden him– made Shane want to sob.
“Sounds good,” He said instead with a broken smile, glad Ilya’s eyes were already closed so he didn’t see it. “Why don’t we rest, and when you wake up… I will be here.” Shane found himself whispering in his ear, pressing his lips on Ilya’s curls, then resting his cheek against them.
“Don’t go anywhere…” Ilya mumbled, seconds before he started snoring on his boyfriend.
—-----------