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Ilya watches his husband arranging vegetables into perfectly straight lines. The dip in the centre of the tray, Ilya made last night, so he knows it will taste good at least. Shane makes a pile of tomatoes and a pile of radishes, and he lets them be messy, fall down into the space where the carrots and celery lay. Ilya gives his husband a gold star because he's trying.
Ilya watches from the bottom of the stairs because he knows as soon as Shane sees him wearing Hilary Knight's Team USA jersey, the lazy peace of their day off will be broken. But that's exactly what Ilya is hoping.
The doorbell rings. Their guests are early.
Not Yuna and David, because Ilya hasn't received a single text yet, never mind the four David usually sends. No, if those high pitched voices calling out for Anya are what Ilya is hearing, the Pikes have arrived.
Too bad about that kitchen blowjob. Ilya was looking forward to it.
"Welcome, Pikes!" He opens the door and his arms wide. Pike unburdens himself and loops a big red bag of kids supplies over one of Ilya's blue-clad arms before he notices exactly what it is Ilya is wearing.
"What the fuck, Rozanov?"
From the kitchen, Shane calls, "Swear jar!" They have a Mason jar of their own on the kitchen island, already piled high with Pike's loonies and toonies because when he's not here with the kids, he's here with Shane on the couch and yelling at their television.
"You like?" Ilya does a spin so Jackie and Pike can see Hilary Knight's name and number on the back. "She signed it for me!"
"They're gonna take away your passport, you maniac."
"No, they love me! The prime minister invited me and Shane to his Christmas party."
"Shut up." Pike puts a hand on Arthur's head and manoeuvres him past Ilya and into the house. "Shane, tell your husband to stop bothering me."
"Ilya, give Hayden a hug."
He gives Pike a grin, and it's met with a scowl.
"Hi," Jackie says. Ilya takes Amber out of her arms for a cuddle, and they hug, turning his cheek for Jackie to kiss. "I'm sorry our husbands are like this."
"We suffer more than a Russian winter." The girls have run ahead and out into the backyard with Anya. "I see you are with the home team." Jackie does her own spin so Ilya can see the number on the back of her Team Canada jersey. "Clarky, nice. I can ask her to sign this for you, if you like. The Centaurs and the Charge are doing Christmas party for social media this year."
"Would you? Oh my god, Ilya, that would be incredible."
"Easy," he says. "You leave jersey here tonight. I wrap it up for Christmas."
She takes the kids' bag from his hold. "Can I drop this in the guest room? It's extra clothes, socks, you know the drill."
"Of course. Amber and I will go say hello Anya, yes? And then I will go torment our husbands."
The twins are already outside, where they've dragged Anya's box of toys onto the patio. Ruby is tossing a ball for Anya to fetch, and Jade is clipping all the leashes and collars together into a mess Ilya will have to clean up later.
He finds Shane and Pike in the living room, rearranging the table for all of the snacks. Arthur is upside down on the couch, remote control in hand, stabbing furiously through the channels. Ilya steps up behind the couch and unties his shoes before he makes even more of a mess.
"Are you in charge, little man?" he asks. Arthur stops stabbing and looks at Ilya, motorsports playing on the TV.
"Mommy's in charge," he says.
"This is Uncle Shane's house, Arthur. I think he's the one in charge," Pike says.
"Was my house first." Ilya frowns. "Why do you think Shane is in charge?"
Shane's voice comes out low. "Ilya."
"Oh, gross, Rozanov." Pike walks away.
"I am in charge," Ilya tells Arthur, tickling his feet where they're kicking the couch cushions. "Which means when I say we get to eat popsicles before dinner, everyone listens to me."
"Popsicles!" Arthur holds out his arms, and Ilya tosses him over his shoulder. They make it as far as the island before Shane notices and Ilya finally gets the reaction he has been waiting for all morning.
"Rozanov! What the...fudge are you wearing?"
"Thank you!" Pike shouts. He carries the vegetable tray back into the living room. "Glad to see someone is on my side."
"I am supporting my team, Hollander."
"The eff you are." Shane eyes him up and down, and Ilya knows he's trying to talk himself into whatever ultimatum he thinks will get Ilya out of his Team USA jersey.
His loyalty had started out of genuine love. Ilya lived in Boston for many years. Svetlana was born in America. They were a good team, especially on the women's side, and fun to cheer for. Ilya had needed something to cheer for after Russia let him down in 2014.
But the first time he wore his USA jersey to watch a game with Shane, that's when it became more than fun. It became foreplay. All those fans who were disappointed to learn their rivalry was never real should be in the Hollander-Rozanov living room when Team Canada played Team USA. His husband was in fine form when Ilya wore the red, white, and blue.
"I despise you," Shane says in Russian, swiping a popsicle from Ilya's hand, ripping it open with a particular malice, and sucking it down like he wishes it were something else.
"I despise you more, my love," Ilya responds in kind.
Once Jackie joins them in the living room, and Anya chases the kids back inside, Yuna and David have arrived with more food, and it's time to eat. Shane gets the finger foods out of the oven, while Ilya gets the kids set up with the plastic plates they keep in the cupboards just for them and a mountainous stack of napkins. He delivers Molsons for David and Pike, a can of that horrendous vodka cooler for Jackie (only because he loves that woman very much), white wine for Yuna, and he pours Shane's ginger ale into an icy pint glass from the freezer.
"Why don't I get a frosted glass?" Pike complains.
"Are you the one who sucks my—"
"OK!" Shane grabs Ilya's hand and pulls him over the back of the couch. It's only his natural God-given grace that keeps Ilya from spilling his vodka as he lands in his husband's lap. "Let's watch the pre-game, and then we'll go around the room, and everyone can tell us who they think is going to win today."
Team USA has already won the first three games of the Rivalry Series. They watched game three at Bood's house with the rest of the team, when USA won 10-4 and Shane refused to even get in the car with Ilya. He had to change his Team USA shirt before Shane stopped pouting and let him to drive them home. Ilya loves MPP and Stace—the old marrieds of hockey have to stick together. They have become good friends of theirs since volunteering at camp, but Team Canada didn't look great this year. Ilya is genuinely worried about his husband's mental health if Canada can't win in Italy next year.
The game has just started when Ilya feels Shane's hand sneak under his jersey. For a moment, he thinks Shane might be angling for Ilya to take it off, but the hand is searching, not pushing. He makes a little humming question sound, and Ilya looks up to watch the mood change pass over Shane's face as he runs his warm hands over Ilya's bare skin, and then lower, scratching his fingernails through the curly hair on Ilya's belly, and then his fingers sneak underneath the waistband of Ilya's sweatpants.
"Nothing under here either?" Shane whispers in Russian.
The rest of the room is occupied with the food, and Ilya knows that if he puts his hands on his husband, Shane will let him. He knows that he can get away with a kiss in this moment, with a bite on his neck, maybe a hand cupped gently over the hardening bulge in his sweats. But their friends expect that kind of bad behavior from Ilya. Shane's fingers in Ilya's pants are even more questing than usual. Something has fired up his husband, and Ilya wants to know what it is.
Still in Russian, Ilya murmurs, "You like me in these colours, Hollander?"
When Shane barks a laugh and spits, "Fuck you, Rozanov," Pike sits up in his seat.
"Hey! I heard that," Pike says, finger pointed at Shane. "I know what that means. Don't go starting anything while I'm sitting on your couch."
An alarm on Shane's phone goes off. Ilya grabs the phone from Shane's pocket to silence it, then pulls himself up to save whatever is still in the oven. He drops a kiss on Shane's forehead as he stands and grabs Pike by the shoulders to give him a shake.
"Wouldn't you like to know what we've done on this couch," he says, walking away to the sound of Pike's groans.
The kids boo every goal from the USA, and even though there's only one answer from Canada, the crowd in the Hollander-Rozanov living room goes wild. When Hilary Knight gets the empty net to put the game away for good, Shane throws his balled up napkin at Ilya's head while he does a dance in front of the TV.
"My liege!" he crows, and the kids boo him, too.
When the game is over and the house is quiet, save for the low hum of the dishwasher, Ilya finds his husband picking up Anya's toys outside in the backyard.
"You should make our daughter clean up her mess," Ilya calls out from the open door.
"That would be a good trick, Rozanov."
Shane has taken off his Team Canada jersey, maybe even put it away up in the attic where he won't be reminded of the disaster that was this Rivalry Series. But Ilya isn't ready to put the game away just yet. Less than two months until they fly to Italy, and he knows his husband is worried. 2026 will be Ilya's first Olympics as a Canadian because the MLH refused to release the players. Now Shane will be the captain of the team looking for redemption. They will be expected to win gold. It is always expected from Canada.
This country is fanatic about hockey, but not in the same way as Russia, Ilya thinks. He doesn't feel the same pressure, even though he hears opinions from every cashier, server, and driver in Ottawa. When he played for Russia, when his father was alive, Ilya had to win. Anything less than gold wasn't an option. In Canada, they want to win. They want an excuse to be patriotic because hockey is what holds them together.
Ilya walks up behind Shane and wraps his arms around his shoulders. He pulls Shane back into his body, sharing his warmth on this chilly December night.
"It will be OK, my love," he whispers. Shane hums a sound that isn't yes or no, but it means I love you all the same. "There is still so much time to peak before February. We will beat those ugly American men, and I know that my knight Hilary will score many goals, but I believe that les capitaines Canadiens will bring home gold for us, yes?"
"You are relentless." Shane laughs.
"But that is how you win gold medals, no?"
Shane turns in his arms, and Ilya leans in for a kiss, but Shane's lips turn up in a smirk instead. "You can take this off now, Ilya." He grabs at the jersey, but not with their familiar urgency. He doesn't want Ilya naked; he wants the red, white, and blue gone from his sight.
Ilya laughs because there weren't any orgasms for either of them the night Canada lost 10-4. He pouted and whined until Shane went to sleep in the guest room, and finally, Ilya had to give up his teasing because it's just no fun if he can't curl up in his husband's arms afterwards.
"You want the neighbours to see?" Ilya asks, holding his arms up to let Shane strip him bare in the backyard. He can handle this wimpy Canadian winter.
Shane tosses the Team USA jersey over his shoulder, where only Ilya can see it land, crumpled in their snow-covered garden.
"Take me to bed, Rozanov."
With his hands under Shane's knees, Ilya lifts him into his arms, and they kiss all the way back into the house—or at least as far as the couch. It will have do for now because Ilya cannot wait.