Chapter Text
“It’s a good idea,” Shane said, aware that it was probably the sixth time he’d said it since they left the house.
“Nervous?” Ilya teased, “do you miss your boyfriend?”
“Shut up,” Shane bit back. Watching Ilya’s hand on the stick. The car was automatic but he still would keep one hand ready to switch gears. Shane wasn’t at all distracted by Ilya’s forearms or rolled up sleeves. “I’ve had the same roommate for most of my career.”
“I bet Hayden misses you too.”
He did. He texted Shane a rant the last Montreal away game. Buckley left his floss on the side table. Who does that?
“It’ll be good, I’ll get to know all the team and you know, establish myself.”
“Establish?” Ilya glanced at him, “second best hockey player in the league needs to establish what?”
“First player, asshole. And that I’m not just the captain’s husband.” Although the idea of sharing a room with Ilya on the road had been the forefront of his fantasies all summer. Next road trip he reminded himself. They’d barely spent a moment apart since they’d gotten married. Making up for lost time as it were.
“But your husband is so hot,” Ilya pointed out.
“Yeah I’m obsessed with him, I don’t know how I’ll go two weeks without getting railed.” Shane said, almost absently, watching the muscles play under Ilya’s skin as he turned the wheel.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Ilya pointed out.
“How are we supposed to fuck without a room?” Shane responded, slightly wishing they had a room right now.
“You don’t think I can figure that out?” Ilya snorted.
When Shane had heard Wiebe’s plan he assumed that Ilya was already mapping ways to fuck him all over the Continient without actually using a hotel room.
“You can’t go two weeks without fucking me anyways,” Shane heard himself saying, and instantly felt like he’d chosen the wrong dialogue option. He should’ve said something like I’d like to see all the ways you can figure it out or maybe not sharing a room has never stopped us before.
Ilya let out a laugh, “Please, you beg for me all the time.”
“I’m not the one who can’t go more than a day without jerking off —” shut up Hollander, SHUT UP “I can totally go two weeks without fucking.”
There’s a moment that stretches into eternity, they’re both too far gone now. The gloves are off.
Ilya smirks at him, he huffs out a sigh.
“You’re going to break first.”
“The fuck I am, Hollander.” Ilya pulls smoothly into the parking lot. “When you beg for my cock it will be sweeter than usual.”
“Fuck you Rozanov, and your cock, I’m not going to beg for anything.” Shane said bitterly, feeling the competitive nature that their entire souls were comprised of lock into place.
Ilya lets out a bark of laughter as he parked. Shane pushed open his door and went to the trunk, grabbing both the bags.
“No, Shane, not my bag,” Ilya tried to grab for his bag, but Shane was faster, swinging Ilya’s out of reach and knocking the trunk shut with the other bag. Ilya reached out for Shane’s bag, but Shane threw them both over his shoulders, and walked towards the team bus.
“Hollander!” Ilya shouted after him. Shane picked up the pace, the bags slapping against his back as he moved.
Ilya caught up to him, scooping Shane over his shoulder, the bags tumbled forward towards the ground, and Shane did his best to keep from dropping them.
“What the fuck! Rozanov! Put me down!” Shane’s arms were trapped between the bags and Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya half jogged over to the bus like Shane and their collective travel equipment weighed nothing to him.
They were early, because of course they were. Shane wanted to be thirty minutes early and Ilya didn’t want to let him out of the shower so they settled on a respectable fifteen minutes early. The rookies were already clustered in the back of the bus, swapping improbable tales of sexcapades from their days off leading up to the roadie.
“What are you doing?” Ilya asked, as Shane settled into a seat.
“Sitting?” Shane patted the seat next to him, and Ilya looked at him in disbelief.
“Right by the front? Near the coaches?” Ilya leaned forward, “Hollander, we drive to Buffalo, not the airport.”
“What?” Shane leaned in, “Why what's wrong?”
“You nerd, stand up.” Ilya moved to the center of the bus, far away from where the coaches would sit. Shane scrambled to follow him.
“You’re the captain! Shouldn’t you be near the coach in case he needs to talk to you?”
“For what? Hockey emergency?” Ilya stepped back and gestured towards the window seat. Shane sat down, frowning up at Ilya. “There will not be a hockey emergency, my garage door opener.”
Shane glared up at Ilya, and pulled his headphones on.
Ilya went to greet the rookies, instead of making them come up to him. Shane used to sit right by the door so that he could be sure to say hi to everyone. Ilya’s leadership style was closer to his personality. Charming and fun. The rookies were awed by his record, and ready to be pulled into his orbit. The team members he’d played with last year had a bevy of inside jokes with him.
Shane hadn’t been new to a team in over a decade. Sure his reputation preceded him, and more than half of the team had met him at the wedding, but he was still trying to figure out who he was outside of Montreal. Maybe what kind of leader he could be when he wasn’t trying his best to be so damn perfect all the time.
Some players were dropped off by their partners, kids waving emphatically from backseats. Harris parked his truck and walked Troy to the bus, kissing him goodbye as the players outside took a break from stacking their luggage to whistle at them.
Troy was still blushing as he got on the bus, pointing to the seat in front of Shane, “can I sit here?”
“Of course,” Shane said, pulling down his headphones. “Harris isn’t joining us?”
“Not on this one, he’ll be on the December roadie I think,” Troy smiled, “I owe him a trip to Kingfisher.”
“I’ve never been,” Shane said, not at all jealous that not only Troy got to go, but he got to go with Ilya.
“Harris thinks we should have a triple date the next time we play the Admirals.”
Shane thought about a tiny dive bar in New York, packed with all the currently active openly out NHL players having drinks. “That’d be nice.”
“Everyone!” Wiebe shouted as he came onto the bus, “settle down, we’ve got a long way to go to Buffalo.”
Ilya slid back into the seat next to Shane, knocking their knees together. The scent of him, any version of it, always comforted Shane, Ilya had skipped cologne and Shane could smell the warm smell of his skin. He exhaled hard and reminded himself two weeks.
“Now, everyone get comfortable, you’ll see the roster for rooms in your emails. You might notice that instead of your usual roommate assignments we’ll be doing a rotational. Who has been on a team that has done rotationals before?”
Shane glanced around, trying to spot a few hands. He heard it was something the Admirals did, but he’d been with Montreal almost his whole career.
Ilya had his hand partially up. Shane quirked his head at him, noting and putting it away to ask about later.
“We have a couple new members on the teams, and new rookies coming up. This is a great way to learn about your team. We have a real shot at the cup this year but the only way we’ll get there is if we learn how to click. Don’t worry though, the logistics of doing a rotational is actually quite annoying, plus figuring out how to get a bus and keep us off planes as much as possible,” another one of the inside jokes, but this one Shane knew about. He’d screenshotted the instagram messages and saved them deep in his phone. Ilya reached out with his pinky and grabbed Shane’s, the reassuring press of Ilya’s wedding band against Shane’s skin kept him from frowning. “It’ll just be for this roadie and not even all of it - we’ll fly to the West Coast. If you have any issues with your roommates please let me know.”
Bood raised his hand, and at Weibe’s nod he stood up, “I just want everyone to know that Evan snores like a runaway pig, so if you need earplugs I have extras.”
“Hey!” Dykstra said, as the team laughed.
~
Ilya can admit, at least to himself, when he’s fucked up.
He has unfortunately, fucked up on a major scale.
Oh yes, my husband who likes self denial and control and being rewarded for being a good boy, no sex for two weeks.
Idiot.
Their honeymoon coinciding with ending an eleven year long distance relationship of varying intensity and increasing commitment has meant that Ilya has barely needed to jack off for the last few months. All he needs to do is look at Shane and Shane is in his lap. He’s never felt so fulfilled and starved in his life. It's like he’s drinking salt water and no matter how much he drinks he’s still just so thirsty.
Entirely too thirsty to walk into the nondescript hotel gym and find his husband doing downward dog in front of the finger printed mirrors.
Not even Tanner Dillon falling over on the next mat could distract Ilya from Shane’s ass.
“Fuck!” Tanner hissed.
Shane came out of the pose, “I think you need to widen your feet maybe?”
“You did it so smoothly,” Tanner stood up, and watched intently as Shane did the motions again, perfectly and beautifully. Tanner frowned, hitching his hands on his hips, he stretched his arms out to try and replicate Shane’s stance.
“Dillon, bend your knees.” Ilya said, because Shane is not a great coach when it comes to explaining things. His body is built for action, instinctive and powerful. Too much of the motion is self explanatory for him, he doesn’t know how to translate to lesser mortals.
“But he didn’t —”
“Like this,” Ilya demonstrated the introductory way to get into the downward dog pose. Tanner’s eyes flitted between Shane and Ilya, before copying Ilya and getting into the stance properly.
“That’s what I was doing,” Shane says, upside down and shaking his hair out of his eyes. A polite little menace to society.
“Do the rest Hollander.” Ilya huffed.
Tanner’s arms crumpled in Cobra pose, but he quickly corrected, lifting himself up and trying to lift his head like Shane.
“Do not match Hollander, he is more flexible than you.” Ilya demonstrated a less intense version of Cobra pose. “He has been doing yoga for ten years.”
“He is right here,” Shane said, lifting himself back up into “Now we repeat it--
“Again?” Tanner’s voice sounds shaky and a little horrified.
Shane takes them through the rest of his routine. Ilya knows this one to be Shane’s light lazy morning yoga and not the more intensive work he does on his own. At least he tried. Ilya has spent enough time ogling his husband in practice and googling yoga to be able to bridge the gaps for Tanner.
They’re in corpse pose for less than a minute before Tanner starts snoring.
“Why are you doing yoga with Tanner?” Ilya asked as he propped himself up to look over their sleeping teammate.
“He was asking me how I’m so focused on the ice,” Shane mirrored Ilya’s stance “how’d you sleep last night?”
“Fine, Holmber snores.” Ilya shrugged like the emptiness of the bed didn’t have his brain clawing its way out of his eyes.
Shane didn't look convinced but he did look concerned “if it’s hard —“
“Not here,” Ilya gestured towards Tanner with the side of his head.
“Right. Same road rules apply.”
“Oh so phone sex doesn’t count?” Ilya asked, loving how the concern changed to besotted annoyance.
“You asshole.” Shane stood up and brushed his hands on his shorts before offering Ilya a hand.
“No, is you.” Ilya let Shane pull him up and used the momentum to nudge him towards the wall of mirrors.
“Ilya….” Shane trailed off, but the smile didn’t drop from his face, “you’re just going to get yourself worked up.”
“Is beautiful day in a shitty town, I missed you last night.” Ilya said, dropping his hands to Shane’s waist. He leaned in close, enjoying the curve of Shane’s smile and the knowledge that as soon as he kissed him the post workout adrenaline would take over.
Tanner snorted and lurched upright “I’m awake.” He announced sternly as if he was used to denying it.
Shane slipped out of Ilya’s hands, throwing a triumphant smirk over his shoulder. “See you later hubby.”
“Shane Hollander is the asshole!” Ilya called after him before looking down at tanner. “You like yoga?”
“I don’t get how it helps him with scoring,” Tanner leaned back on his elbows.
“You’ve never asked me how I’m good at scoring,” Ilya pointed out, he was currently neck and neck with Shane again.
“Well you’re you.” Tanner shrugged, “When you first joined the team I wasn’t sure why you even came. I figured we’d just keep on as we were. But I don’t want to be the reason why we don’t get a Stanley this year.”
“Hmm,” Ilya nodded, “Yoga helps him focus his mind, concentrate. Do you feel your mind is loud sometimes Tanner?”
Tanner pondered that for a moment, “I guess.”
“It also makes him flexible as hell, your wife will appreciate it.” Ilya patted Tanner’s shoulder and went to the treadmill.
~
Playing Buffalo is … well it’s playing Buffalo. Tanner is on his right, and an American rookie from Minnesota named Mikey Dulane is on his left. He wishes he could’ve scored with them rather than despite them, but it’s early enough in the year that he’s sure they’ll figure it out. Tanner is eager to improve.
It makes no sense to wish he was playing on a line with Bood or Haas. Troy and Ilya are basically bonded at this point. Wiebe is trying to build up a whole team, not just rely on the fact that he has the two best Centers in the whole league.
“It’s a bummer there was no power play,” Shane said.
“Aww, my husband wants to play with me,” Ilya said. “We won, is this not enough for you?”
“Call me greedy,” Shane shot back. He knew better than to actually look at Ilya when they were in the locker room together.
Ilya leaned forward, and Shane pushed his face away before he could say anything, “you’re the worst.”
“You love me,” Ilya sing-sang back to him before standing up in the center of the room on a bench, “Listen up everyone!”
Shane hoped to every higher power in the universe that when he turned around Ilya at least had pants on, maybe a shirt.
He got half of what he wanted, sweat dripped down from Ilya’s curls down his bare chest, his eyes were bright with victory, and he was a fucking asshole
Two weeks Shane reminded himself stubbornly.
“We destroyed them out there, did you hear how sad the crowd was? All thanks to teamwork and those beautiful goals. Me, with assistance from Haas—” He held out a hand and Haas high fived it “Barrett,” he pointed to Barrett who had nothing but a towel on and was across the room, “and of course my husband with two goals—”
“I have a name,” Shane pointed out, as the team cackled at them, sending up some wolf whistles.
“Yes, it is Hollander-Rozanov.” Ilya conceded, and Shane rolled his eyes, “Now we can’t stay up too late partying and celebrating —” Ilya gestured towards the players most likely to go party “— because we do this all over again in Ohio in two days. Do not embarrass me in Ohio.”
Ilya came down from his stand and went to talk to some of the players, shooting Shane a wink over his shoulder.
“Hollander,” one of the assistant coaches poked his head into the room, “the news wants to talk to you.”
“Sure, one second,” Shane said.
“Great, Bood they want you too.” Bood nodded and stood up, following the assistant coach into the scrum.
More than half of the interviews he’s done for the year have had some sort of question about his love life, and how playing with his husband is affecting his game. Farah had helpfully provided a list of non-answers for him to spew out but it’s not needed that night. Instead they ask about his two goals, his expectations for the season, and his thoughts on the next game. It almost feels normal.
His normal for ten years has been a deep closet and Montreal. The bus is similar but instead of Hayden it’s Wyatt telling him about the comic book shops he has picked out in Seattle for their day off. Ilya is standing up near the front of the bus because Luca had waylaid him with some questions, but he kept shooting hot looks at Shane whenever Shane rotated his wedding ring with his thumb, so of course Shane keeps doing it.
Once he’s back in the hotel room he’s ready to melt into the floor. There had been a conversation about what to eat and who wants what but all Shane wants is room service and to watch a pass he missed to figure out what went wrong there.
“Are you watching the game? Right now?” Tanner asked.
Shane looked up from the ipad and tugged his hoodie string out of his mouth, “Yeah?”
“You scored two goals,” Tanner pointed out.
“I like to look at the footage when it’s new, so I can figure out if there’s something I can improve on.” Shane refused to blush, or feel weird about it. Sure he knew that the newer rookies had been warned about his attention to detail. But there was only so much he could do to avoid being called a wet rag.
Tanner stood for a moment, before approaching the otherside of Shane’s bed, “like how?”
Small talk over dinner might be beyond him at the moment, but hockey never is. He grabbed one of the pillows and set up the ipad next to him so Tanner could sit on the otherside of the bed.
“Look, here,” Shane hit the rewind to get back to where he’d gotten the puck before losing it, and walked Tanner through what had been going on in his head, what he’d been trying to do as best as he remembered it, and where it fell apart.
The footage kept going, Tanner winced next to him, “ah man that was an obvious pass I missed.”
“Sure, we all miss passes, but why? And can you fix it?” Shane said, chewing on his hoodie string again, “no offense obviously.” He added, knowing how huffy people got when asked can you fix it.
“I mean I could’ve —” a familiar knock at the door interrupted Tanner.
“Oh, it’s Ilya.”
“He must be grabbing us for dinner.” Tanner said, pausing the ipad and setting it on the side table for Shane.
Shane took a moment to ramp himself up. Dinner with teammates two nights in a row. He used to do it all the time on the road. Well… occasionally, maybe, in the early years.
“Did you guys already go out?” Tanner asked.
“No, the team is waiting for you downstairs, they want to go to Duff’s. I ordered for me and Shane.” Ilya stepped through the entrance way, holding a paper bag.
Shane could’ve cried with relief as Ilya set the bag down on the table.
“Ah, a romantic dinner on the road?” Tanner joked, “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be back in an hour or two!”
The door clicked behind him and Ilya smiled over at Shane, “he thinks we’re fucking.”
“I mean, we’re married.” Shane walked over to the table, “it’s not out of the realm of possibility. If you’re ready to give in?”
“You first,” Ilya kissed him lightly, like the tease he was. Shane couldn’t help the fond rush of affection that flooded him.
“How’d you know I didn’t want to go out?” Shane asked.
“Wishful thinking, moya lyubov.” Ilya smirked at him, his eyes raking down Shane’s body until Shane huffed and began to pull the food out of the bag.
Their dinner was surprisingly good for delivery, a solid compromise of healthy protein but cooked in butter with all the trimmings of a delicious meal.
They do end up in bed eventually. Shane nestled into the pillows with Ilya laying on his chest. He could fall asleep like this, he really could. With all the fantastic pressure of Ilya’s weight pressing down on him, the smell of his husband’s hair.
As far as he’s concerned his fingers belong in Ilya’s curls, scratching lightly at his scalp.
“What’s wrong?” Ilya asked, pressing a kiss against Shane’s chest, “usually I am the one who is so — what’s the word again?”
“Introspective?” Shane answered automatically, before his brain caught up to him, “hey I can be deep sometimes.”
“I love it when you let me deep,” Ilya said, arching a brow and Shane can't help but huff out a laugh and shake his head at that.
“You asshole.”
“No, in your asshole.” Ilya clarified, his lips smacking against where Shane’s shirt has dragged down against his clavicle. Shane pondered the question.
“I don’t know,” Shane twisted a lock of Ilya’s hair, “it’s weird. My first roadie without Montreal.”
Ilya folded his hands across Shane’s chest, propping his chin on his knuckles. “Is different.”
“I’m not — I like the centaurs, I love playing with you obviously. Being with you.” Shane looked past Ilya to the brown bag that Ilya promised to take to the hallway garbage so they wouldn’t have a lingering salmon smell in the room. “Never in my wildest fantasies did I imagine cuddling with my husband on the road after a good game.”
“Me either, winning makes you horny, I assumed we would be fucking all the time.” Ilya smirked and Shane shifted his leg to wrap around Ilya’s hip.
“Well that too. It seemed like a stretch that any team could afford both of us.” It was Shane’s turn to give Ilya a cocky little smirk, “we’re unbeatable together.”
“Hollander, are you trying to get me hard?” Ilya kissed Shane’s chin.
“Like I need to try with you,” Shane tugged Ilya’s hair, before smoothing it down, “Tanner could walk in at any point.”
“Fine,” Ilya rolled his eyes, before settling back down, “Do you miss them?”
“Hayden, definitely,” he grinned at Ilya’s frown, “J.J. too. But no, it’s not that.”
“No?”
“I just,” he sighed, “it still hurts so much.”
“Ah, sweetheart,” Ilya’s voice dropped, and Shane had to look up at the ceiling instead of him, he could feel his eyes filling up, and he didn’t want to shed any tears over them.
“It’s stupid.” He said, looking up at the white plaster. Ilya stroked his hair back. “I just thought I’d play with them my whole career. I knew it’d be rough when they found out about you but…”
“Shane,” Ilya shifted over him so that he eclipsed the plaster. “Shane, they were your friends for many years. You are allowed to still be upset. Is only been six months.”
“I know,” he said, leaning into Ilya’s hand as Ilya’s thumb rubbed under his eye. “I know that, and obviously I’m happy. I mean we’re married and hockey is so much fun again. I don’t have to carry it all by myself, but it just… sucks.”
“Yes, it sucks a lot.” Ilya nodded, “And now they suck, without you.”
Shane snorted at that, wiping at the eye that Ilya didn’t have his finger under, “stop that doesn’t make me feel better. I want Hayden and J.J. to do well.”
“I am surprised at Hayden, he is decent still without you to carry him. The rest of the team,” Ilya rolled his shoulders in a shrug, “they hurt my husband and they’re dead to me.”
Shane’s heart felt warm in his chest, “so are you mad at every pundit and most of the population of Montreal?”
“I think we have queer Montreal, which is the only part I’ll forgive. And the place with the chicken parm you took me too, the owner asked for your autograph. She is safe from my anger.”
“Ilya,” Shane tried for reproachful but probably smiled too much for it to be right.
“You can work on forgiveness, and I will hold this grudge for you.” Ilya brushed another tear away. “Poutine is not as good as they say it is.”
“You take that back,” Shane said laughing, “it’s cheese and gravy, what’s wrong with that?”
“Says you,” Ilya gestured towards the brown bag, “we eat salmon like bears but now you want cheese and gravy?”
“Ilya,” Shane dropped back his head. Ilya took the bait and kissed his neck.
“Okay, fine, poutine is great, and J.J. is decent too. Montreal will not make the playoffs without you and then they will come crying back to you.” Ilya shook his head, “but it will be too late by then, you will be focused on the cup. Svetlana thinks we can beat any team in the west this year.”
“If both my mom and Svetlana are saying it then it must be true,” Shane agreed, and then let Ilya distract him from his feelings until Tanner came back.
~
Shane’s hair is wet when he comes to collect Ilya for breakfast the next morning. While Ilya wouldn’t have minded a rolling romp in Shane’s room while Tanner was out for dinner, cuddling and talking about their feelings was actually fantastic. It kept him warm and cozy all night especially when Shane texted him Spasibo with a picture of himself curled up in the bed.
Wet morning Shane was a different story.
“It is too early for you to look so hot.”
“You want to crack instead of going to breakfast?” Shane smiled and rolled his head, “I’m feeling pretty limber, I bet you could bend me in half.”
“Asshole, the meanest husband. Holmber is still asleep but I can kick him out.”
“Come on, let’s grab breakfast,” Shane grabbed Ilya’s hand and threaded their fingers together. “Did you sleep well last night?”
“Yes, but my bed is cold without you in it.”
“It’s kinda wild that we’ll get to spend most of the season in the same room.” Shane bumped his shoulder against Ilya’s, “do you think Wiebe would make this an annual thing? First roadie of the year is always a rotational?”
“I will protest.”
“I think it’ll be good.” Ilya was horrified to note that he actually sounded like he was being honest about it, unlike two days ago. “I mean, Tanner and I reviewed footage this morning and did yoga.”
“You got Tanner up?”
“He woke up to my alarm.”
It’s irritating that Shane would actually be a very good captain. Ilya’s depression is on a tight rope where he reminds himself constantly that he is actually a good captain and doing a good job. He pulled the team together last season with nothing more than drive and Troy’s personal redemption journey. Now he has Shane and a team on the second line and they’re a hair’s breadth away from invincible. Maybe Shane’s annoying attention to detail paired with Ilya’s lead by example style means that they make one super captain.
“You can’t have my C.” Ilya said as they stepped into the breakfast room.
“Well then you’d better watch out.”
A few players are clustered around Troy, his phone held aloft so they can all see the small screen. They shush each other, and smack Troy’s shoulder so his phone almost drops into his oatmeal. Not the greatest sign.
“Oh what now?” Shane asked.
“It’s not you guys,” Troy picked up his phone, and rewound, “It’s Bood.”
The video is a compilation clip of the last night’s scrum, it’s Bood looking increasingly annoyed with a reporter before he bust out and said;
“I’ve never been asked what it’s like to play with straight players before, I don’t know how this is any different. I think the real question should be why the Centaurs is the only team in the league where players feel comfortable being their whole selves, and not keeping themselves trapped in the closet or whatever. Statistically speaking it’s impossible that the Centaurs and the Admirals are the only teams in the league with queer players.” The reporter started to respond, but Bood cut them off, “also while we’re at it, they’re not gay. If you’re going to refer to them in the collective you need to remember that only two of them are self-identified as gay. If you want to talk about the openly queer men on this team you need to remember that one of them is bisexual, and he wouldn’t appreciate the erasure. Thanks for coming.”
The clip ended on Bood stepping away from the scrum.
“Wow,” Ilya said, “I thought I couldn’t love him more and look at him, surprising me every day.”
Troy restarted the clip, “did you see the part where he glares at the reporter.”
“See this is why he’s got that A.” Dykstra said.
Shane was quiet next to him, his eyes intent on the little screen as he watched the interview start from the beginning.
Bood walked in, and immediately saw them clustered around the phone, “Aw fuck.”
“Thank you for not erasing me Bood!” Ilya said, doing his best to make sure no tension or anxiety built. “You marry one man and suddenly all of your years of spending time with beautiful women disappears."
That got him a glare from Shane.
“Shut up,” Bood said, pulling a chair out at the table, “Reporters have been blowing up my phone all morning. How do you guys handle this?”
“Our agent gave us a list of comments to make,” Shane said in his level factual voice.
“You guys share an agent?” Dykstra said, “Why is that adorable?”
“We are adorable,” Ilya reached over Troy to hit replay on the video.
“Don’t do that,” Bood reached over and took Troy’s phone, turning off the video and putting it screen down on the table. “Listen, it just got a little annoying that we’ve won most of our games this season and all they can do is ask us what it’s like sharing showers.”
“Did they ask that?” Shane sounded horrified. Ilya grabbed Shane’s hand under the table, to reassure him, or just let him know that they were in this together.
“Aw fuck,” Troy said.
And well, Troy was with them too.
“Yeah, it’s not like I could tell them that it’s just the same as showering with any other players except Shane and Ilya stagger their showers.”
“You noticed that?” Shane’s freckles had the sudden backdrop of red flushed skin.
“Were we not supposed to notice?” Dykstra offered a sympathetic smile, “maybe you shouldn’t tell each other in Russian when you’re going in.”
“You speak Russian?”
“Context clues,” Bood said sagely.
“Hayes told us,” Troy added. “I mean, he said not to say anything because you two probably didn’t want us asking about it.”
Shane’s head sank slowly to the table.
“Ah no,” Ilya rubbed his back, “Shane, is better than the alternative, yes?”
“I’m going to die, right here.” Shane held up a hand, “I’ll be okay in a second.”
“If it helps I totally get it, I wouldn’t want to shower with Harris and ten other witnesses.” Troy shivered, “I don’t know if the immediate reaction or the jealousy would be worse.”
“Yeah, if I had to shower with you all and Caitlin I’d literally kill all of you for being there.” Dykstra added.
If Ilya had any suspicion that anyone on the team found Shane hot he’d have to do the same.
“Is it a jealousy thing? How are you okay with people showering with your husband all the time then?” Chouinard asked.
That snapped Shane out of it, his head came up and he turned to look at Chouinard. “I do not understand how none of you can handle being around Ilya when he’s naked. I mean I get you’re all straight but…”
Shane shifted to look at Troy. Troy held up his hands, “Ilya is not my type.”
“Hey!” Ilya straightened his back and gestured to his body, “I am everyone’s type!”
Troy waved towards Ilya’s body, “you’re hot and all but the big top energy does not do it for me.”
“What?” Shane sounded offended on his behalf, which Ilya appreciated.
“Do I even want to know what’s going on here?” Wiebe asked, hitching his hands on his hips.
“You really don’t.” Chouinard propped his hand on his chin. “I regret being here.”
“What’s top energy?” Dykstra asked, “Can I ask that? Is it rude to ask?”
“Just get your breakfasts before you ask each other questions about sex,” Wiebe pinched the bridge of his nose, and the players got up from the table to go to the buffet.
Shane seemed to have largely recovered, but Ilya planned on cornering him soon to check in. As they jostled to line up, Ilya turned to Troy, “is that why you always shower with me and not with Shane?”
Troy at least looked apologetic before saying, “I’m happily in a relationship with Harris.”
“But?” Ilya prodded.
“Shane is a total babe.”
Ilya nodded, “this is true, he’s a babe. You are lucky you have Harris or else this conversation would be different.”
“I am so lucky I have Harris, and this doesn’t even scratch the top fifty reasons.”