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Ilya was content.
It was such an underrated emotion, he thought, for how calming it was.
Over the years, he’d experienced a range of emotions. Devastating heartbreak upon finding his beautiful mother. Paralyzing fear when seeing Shane motionless on the ice, a vision that still haunted him so many years later. Earth-shattering peace the first time he fell asleep at the cottage. Intense giddiness the day he brought Anya home. Overwhelming joy the day that Shane had promised, in front of all of their family and friends, to love Ilya forever.
But now, the smell of a bonfire wafting through the air, the sound of his teammates – his husband – talking and laughing, the cool breeze of a September Ottawa night wrapping around him, contrasting the warmth that radiated from the fire, Shane absentmindedly twisting Ilya’s wedding ring while he talked to Troy. Ilya stared up at the clear night sky from where he was slouched in an outdoor chair and just breathed.
Yeah. Ilya was content.
He was happier than he had ev –
“We should play Never Have I Ever.”
Harris’ voice reached into whatever oasis Ilya had slipped into, prompting him to slowly re-emerge and join the activity happening around him.
There were murmurs of assent following Harris’ statement.
“Fuck yes!” said Hayes. “I want to find out some of the shit that Roz has done. We should all just say the most unhinged things we can think of to see if he drinks.”
“You fuckers all so boring that you have nothing of interest to contribute?” Ilya questioned flatly, rolling his head sideways to squint at the other man. But he pushed himself back up to a sitting position and flicked his eyes to Shane. “Let’s not.”
“Worried you’re gonna let something slip in front of the hubby?” Troy quipped, smiling stupidly – and drunkenly – from where he was leaning against Harris.
Ilya narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything –
“Wait, which one is Never Have I Ever?”
Ilya groaned the loudest out of all their team members and turned to Shane.
“Oh my god, Shane, you are so boring. Is in the name!”
Shane huffed, but whatever retort he was about to lob back at Ilya was interrupted by Harris jumping up and excitedly exclaiming, “I’ll get more cider for everyone! Shane, everyone takes a turn saying something they have never done. If someone has done it, they have to take a drink.”
Shane scrunched his nose and Ilya wanted to squeeze something. Preferably his husband. Fucking. Cute. “Oh, I don’t know. That sounds like a lot of drinking.”
“Mm, no, not for you, Моя любовь.” Ilya smirked before clarifying, “This is when it pays to be boring.”
Shane nodded thoughtfully. “Okay… then I guess I’ll just wait for something bad that you’ve done to get brought up so I can keep it in my back pocket the next time I need to win a fight.”
And oh fuck. Ilya’s eyes widened. He had done… well, not a lot, but many things that he would be fine with Shane never finding out about. And depending on what everyone knew… Shane might be winning a lot of fights in the future. For sure he would at least have some ammo.
Bood snickered. “Wow, never thought I’d see the day Ilya Rozanov was scared of anything. It brings me such joy to know that the threat of being put in the dog house by Hollander is enough to have you sweating.”
“I am not sweating,” Ilya muttered, and tugged the neck of his sweatshirt away from his suddenly clammy – when did that happen? – neck. “Is stupid game.”
Harris, who was returning with enough ciders for everyone around the bonfire, gasped. “Ilya! Never Have I Ever is a drinking staple! How are you ever going to be Canadian if you don’t like Never Have I Ever?”
Ilya scoffed and waved a hand at Shane. “I don’t remember the game coming up in any practice exams for Canadian citizenship test. Besides, good Canadian boy Hollander did not even know game!”
“Fuck you, yes I did. I just needed some clarification, but I’ve definitely played before.”
The look Ilya shot at him clearly said But have you really? Shane huffed a breath.
“Come on, Roz, let’s play!” Bood said boisterously. “It’ll be fun.”
“For you, yes. You are no fun after having a baby. Luckily you make a very cute and perfect baby, so is okay, you have an excuse.”
“And just for that,” Bood grinned widely, showing all of his teeth. “I think I’m going to kick us off.”
Ilya definitely did not like the look in Bood’s eyes and narrowed his own suspiciously at his alternate captain. But he looked over at Shane who was smiling happily, obviously looking forward to whatever was about to happen and Ilya sighed.
For Shane, Ilya could do anything. So, for Shane, he would endure a stupid game of Never Have I Ever. The players still remaining at the party got comfortable around the fire, and an air of anticipation fell over the group as everyone leaned in, eyes on Bood.
“Never have I ever…” Bood was smiling so hard, it was almost hard to understand him as he fought to get the words out. He took a deep breath, attempting to regain his composure, and tried again. “Never have I ever gone down the Boston cop slide and, somehow, come out of the other end without any pants on.”
If anyone asked, Ilya was blaming the fire for how his cheeks heated as everyone’s eyes flew to him.
“I am going to kill Cliff Marleau,” he muttered darkly, taking a reluctant swig of vodka. “When did he even tell you this?”
“It’s true?” Harris clarified with a screech, and then promptly fell backwards from laughing so hard. Maybe Troy needed to cut him off. Bood just smirked.
Shane, however, looked horrified. “What the hell happened to your pants in the span of 30 seconds?”
“Was hot day. I had on shorts that were… a bit short. Skin kept sticking to the slide and –,” he glowered at the laughter that rung out around the fire, but had to duck his head to hide his twitching lips when Shane, the only one not laughing, shrieked,
“AND?”
“Well, I needed less… what is the word, Marly explained it to me… ah, traction. I needed less traction and if my shorts were on I could not make them stay down. Shane, I was in desperate times. Was stuck 1/4 of the way down the Boston cop slide!”
Luca stared at him. “So you rode your shorts down the slide?”
Dykstra choked on his own spit. “What the fuck, Haas. Don’t say it like that. And of course he didn’t –,” he trailed off at the somber look on Ilya’s face. “Oh what the fuck, Rozanov?”
“Was STUCK!” Ilya reiterated while Troy, Harris and Hayes roared with laughter. Dykstra was shaking his head and Luca looked like he was contemplating every decision that had led him to this moment. Ilya turned pleading eyes to Shane. “Surely your perfect, handsome husband gets some points for… what is word… new thinking?”
“Inventive?” Shane rolled his eyes. “You didn’t invent anything Ilya, you just got naked in a public park because you were wearing slutty shorts.”
Ilya grinned. “You are just mad because I have never worn slutty shorts for you, I think.”
Shane huffed and grumbled, “I’d strangle you with them if you tried.”
“Okay, let’s move on,” Hayes suggested.
On cue, everyone looked expectantly at Bood again who laughed and clarified, “That was my only Ilya Rozanov trivia.”
“Are these all going to be about me?” Ilya asked. Because if so, fuck. They might be here for a while, depending how much these fuckers knew.
But no one seemed to have anything to contribute, so maybe –
Ilya’s sigh of relief hadn’t even drifted off when Troy piped up, “Oh, I have one!”
Ilya’s mouth dropped open in betrayal. “Troy! I was your first friend on the team when you came to Ottawa!”
Troy just grinned and Ilya let his face fall into his hands. “Never have I ever gotten scared and started running away when someone yelled “the british are coming”.”
“Hey!” Ilya’s head snapped up. “You would have if they were all holding guns and riding horses. What is wrong with America? Why are they always, always finding reasons to… play things out from the past?”
Wyatt, who was drunkenly laughing up at the sky, supplied, “Reenactments?”
“Da. Sure. Whatever,” Ilya said flatly. “Stupid no matter what it is called. And coming from out of nowhere. Scared the shit out of me.”
“Too bad you had to run past the 12-year-old who was recording.”
Shane barked out a sudden laugh.
“Shane,” Ilya warned.
“He even paid that kid $100 not to post the video!”
The whole entire group got set off again at that and Bood hopped to his feet to do a scarily accurate – how many times had he watched that video over the years? – impression of Ilya running while throwing weary (fine, terrified) glances over his shoulder.
Dykstra’s chair tipped back from his laughter and he landed on his back with an “oof,” forced from his lungs which even Ilya had to huff a laugh at.
But Shane. Shane was giggling at the team's antics, and Ilya wondered if Shane had ever experienced this with Montreal. A team that Shane felt safe enough with to let them pick on their Captain, with no judgement, or meanness. Ilya squeezed his husband's hand a little because he knew the answer.
Shane turned to him, still laughing, and when he leaned in to press a chaste, yet comforting, kiss to the side of Ilya’s mouth, Ilya knew he would put up with so much more, just for the honor of sitting next to Shane and being the guy that Shane fucking Hollander was holding hands with.
By the time everyone had settled down, Ilya had coaxed Shane onto his lap and wasn’t feeling too sorry for himself at all. Until the knife lodged into his back.
“Oh, wait, I have one too!”
“Harris!” Ilya gasped dramatically. “After everything we’ve been through, this is how you do me?”
“He’s not doing you,” Troy muttered.
Harris just laughed loudly. “Sorry buddy. But this one is good. Never have I ever been videoed while leaving a park, doing the walk of shame.”
At that, Ilya thought there would be no coming back from how hard the men around him began howling with laughter. For his part, Shane had gone statue still in Ilya’s lap and so Ilya pulled Shane’s tense body in closer, his own chest shaking with laughter he refused to let his team see.
“Mmm, if only they knew, hm, мой эксгибиционист?”
Shane squirmed in Ilya’s lap and Ilya groaned softly into his ear, both at the memory and the movement.
During the first year they were dating, Shane had surprised Ilya in Boston during one extremely rare week he had off. Ilya had just two home games that week and a handful of practices, so it had worked out for the two of them, although Ilya could admit he had not expected the sudden appearance of his boyfriend at all.
When the tentative knock on his front door had sounded, he’d wondered if it was Marly coming to pull him out of his house.
Instead, he’d opened the door to a nervous, flushed with excitement Shane.
Ilya had dropped to his knees, grabbed his boyfriend and sobbed into his stomach for five minutes. Those first months of adjusting, of missing, of aching and yearning had been… difficult. Through the years, Ilya had always missed Shane in some capacity, but back then he had been able to do something to take his mind off of it. Get drunk, get laid – there had been options.
But after entering a committed relationship, he had no longer wanted any of those things. He had just wanted Shane. All. Of. The. Time.
And then suddenly, he had been there.
That week, Ilya only left the house for practice or a game, and would speed back to his home as soon as he was free. He didn’t go to after game celebrations, didn’t accept any invitations for drinks.
But after five days, Shane was sore and Ilya wasn’t sure if he could come again if he’d begged his dick. They’d cleaned out Ilya’s pantry and fridge and Shane would only eat so much take out food. But when Shane had mentioned they could order more groceries, Ilya had tentatively asked, “What if we… go out?”
He’d been sick and tired of sitting in the house. His boyfriend was here, in his city, and he wanted to do something with Shane before Ilya left it behind for good at the end of the season. He wanted to wander the streets of Boston after Shane had left and feel comforted in the fact that Shane had been there too. For the rest of his life, he wanted to be able to picture the person who meant the most to him in the place where Ilya had spent years secretly falling in love with him.
Plus, Boston had been Ilya’s home for nearly a decade. He wanted to share part of it with Shane.
And Shane, bless him, had agreed.
So after it got dark, they’d dawned discreet clothing and ball caps and sunglasses and headed out. They got a few weird looks, but if anyone had actually recognized them together, the news of it had never gotten out. And besides, it’s not like they were holding hands and strolling through downtown. They were just two colleagues in the same area.
But then, while wandering through Boston Common Park, the wine from dinner had caught up to Shane, or maybe he had just felt emboldened by the dark night, but he had pulled Ilya against a tree and just whispered, “I fucking need you.”
And who the fuck was Ilya to deny Shane anything, let alone his body, especially when Shane was making little sexy as fuck gasping noises while on his knees in front of him. And so, yeah, Ilya had bent his perfect boyfriend over, spit on his adorable, needy hole and fucked him for all he was worth.
In a public park.
And yeah, he knew it was wrong. But it was also 1 a.m., and really, no one should have been around anyway.
Should.
But when they finished and started divvying up their clothes, Ilya’s pants were just… gone. They’d looked everywhere. Behind bushes, in Shane’s own pants, behind nearby trees; Shane had even, reluctantly, turned on the flashlight on his phone to peer into the branches of the tree.
They were MIA.
Ilya wondered if a homeless person had ran up and grabbed them (“You’re dick is not that magical Ilya, I would have noticed a fucking person coming up to us stealing your damn pants.”) while Shane theorized a squirrel had run off with them (“Would have taken a whole army of squirrel’s, Shane. Besides, they are all sleeping!”).
And maybe it would have been fine. Maybe they could have… well, Ilya had no idea how they would have gotten out of that situation but he is sure they could have figured something out.
Instead, the unmistakable sounds of a tour group filled the air right around the time Ilya was bent over, boxer-clad ass up, searching for the disappearing pants. Ilya popped up right as Shane whipped around, both of their faces pale.
Because two men in a park at 1am – creepy, but fine. But two men in a park at 1 am, one of them in a pair of (“Why the fuck are your boxers so small?” Shane hissed. “I’m European!” Ilya hissed right back) barely decent underwear – yeah, that was a scene. That would lead to possible jail time.
And really, there was no other word for what happened next. As the leader of the group began to explain the haunted history of the park, because of course it was a fucking ghost tour, Shane and Ilya panicked.
They both made to run off and ran directly into each other.
Shane shot him a glare while Ilya just gaped at him open-mouthed. Because really, how could he have possibly known that Shane was going to go left?
“Go in the tree,” Ilya rasped. “In the tree, in the tree.”
“What the fuck? You’re the one without any pants on Rozanov, you get in the tree!”
But Ilya, without thinking, was already hoisting Shane up. As Shane cleared the lower branches and disappeared into the foliage, Ilya made to follow him right as the tour began to round a cluster of trees onto the path Ilya was still on.
And maybe he would have made it. But as he began to pull himself up, Shane’s attempted warning of “Ilya, look out!” didn’t translate in Ilya’s mind quick enough before he was face to face with a… squirrel?
Ilya only had time to wonder, What the fuck is Boston feeding these squirrels? And why the fuck isn’t he in bed? before Ilya and the squirrel let out matching panicky shrieks and Ilya was… yep, he was definitely losing his footing and then he was slipping from the tree, Shane’s frantic face briefly appearing through the foliage with a silent, horrified “O” on his perfect lips and then Ilya was too far down to see him anymore.
He hit the ground hard. Luckily, he missed the 90-year-old man who had parked his wheelchair underneath the tree and was examining a lump that was stuck on the side of the bark, a couple of feet up. Unluckily, his sudden appearance spooked the group of 20 onlookers so badly, immediate screams erupted from the area and people began running away, still screaming.
The cops were definitely getting called.
Ilya sat up slowly, checking in with his body to make sure nothing was broken. When he thought he was mostly fine, he looked up, directly into the eyes of the wheelchaired man who hadn’t zoomed off screaming, but was instead holding Ilya’s pants up and grinning.
Ilya’s mouth dropped.
When the tour guide had yelled out, “Nobody panic! This is what you paid for! A real life poltergeist! Get your phones out!”
And Ilya hadn’t thought twice before jumping up, snatching the pants from the old man with a whispered, “thank you,” and bolting out of the park.
Unfortunately, he’d never put his sunglasses back on and as he raced out of the park, a group 30-something guys were right there, already filming the drunk shenanigans of one of their group members.
Their sharp shrieks at Ilya’s sudden appearance quickly faded to, “Holy fuck, Ilya Rozanov?!”
The video that had been posted onto Twitter later that night had shown a flushed Ilya, shooting a quick smirk at the camera as he calmly walked down the streets of Boston, pausing mid-way to hop into his pants before casually strolling away.
Really, Ilya was lucky everyone assumed he’d had a quick fuck. The video was weird.
If the men would have stuck around, they would have witnessed an equally disheveled Shane Hollander sprinting out of the park mere minutes later, cursing, a twig sticking out of his hair, and cradling his arm that was sporting a bleeding wound.
A squirrel bite.
Now, as his teammates roared with laughter in a different city, a different country, that same boy hiding his face in Ilya’s neck, Ilya smiled to himself at the memory. Then winced at the other memory that quickly followed – Shane moaning in pain after receiving a rabies shot, which they had needed to ask a doctor to do a house call to perform.
Thank god for NDA’s.
“Why do all of these stories involve you either running away from something or pantsless, Rozanov?” Dykstra muttered.
“I have lived a very full life,” Ilya said, shrugging nonchalantly.
Shane was still awkwardly statuesque in Ilya’s embrace, and before anyone could begin doing the math of when Shane and Ilya had told the team they’d gotten together and when that video had been posted, Ilya moved the conversation forward.
“Okay, fine. It is Ilya Rozanov roast night. Who is next?”
And the team didn’t hold back. Around and around they went, each story slightly more embarrassing than the last.
But the whispered, “Thank you,” from his husband and the gentle kiss pressed to the skin behind Ilya’s ear made it more than worth it.
Finally, everyone began packing up and calling it a night, slapping Ilya on the back or pulling him into bro hugs.
And god, Ilya was so so thankful for this life that he thought would never exist for him. For teammates that teased him until everyone was laughing in tears, Ilya along with them. For this country that had given him every version of home that existed. For the man that was pulling him into their house, a shy but naughty smile on his lips.
For the man that led him into their kitchen and pulled out a ginger ale and a can of coke. He opened them and handed the coke to a confused Ilya.
“I, um,” Shane cleared his throat, and Ilya stepped forward immediately, bending to run his nose along his husband’s jaw, lapping intermittently at the skin he encountered along the way. “I didn’t get to do a Never Have I Ever,” Shane whispered breathlessly.
“Mmmm,” Ilya hummed, sucking gently on Shane’s earlobe. “Okay, Моя любовь. Do one quickly before I drag you to our bed and make you scream until you forget everything. Will make it so that you couldn’t play the game even if you wanted to.”
“Jesus, Ilya,” Shane muttered.
Ilya grinned but pulled back enough to meet Shane’s gaze.
There was a blush spread across his cheeks and Ilya couldn’t stop from lifting a finger to trace the beautiful constellations while he waited patiently for Shane to throw out his embarrassing Ilya Rozanov trivia. Shane knew so much, there was no telling what he was going to choose.
Shane opened his mouth, looked Ilya directly in the eye and said, “Never have I ever spent a decade falling in love over and over again with my best friend. Never have I ever been willing to risk everything to protect something that, for so long, lived only in hotel rooms and secret corners across different provinces and states and countries and continents. Never have I ever been willing to sacrifice my entire life, so that I could keep the one thing that meant everything. And never would I ever do it again and again and again.”
Ilya couldn’t stop his forehead from dropping onto Shane’s. He felt so deliciously grounded with love and adoration and happiness. All for this man. All because of him.
And despite the sheen of tears in his eyes, Ilya still whispered, “You still don’t know how to fucking chirp, Hollander.”
And with a spreading blush and happiness making his eyes fucking shine, Shane grabbed Ilya by the chin and whispered right back, “You are such a fucking asshole to me.”
Then, grinning like the idiots in love that they were, they lifted their drinks to take a sip. Their smiles were so wide that Shane’s ginger ale dribbled down the side of his mouth and to his neck and Ilya’s restraint finally snapped.
Ilya happily spent the rest of the night ensuring that he licked every inch of Shane’s body clean, with a special focus on the small, round scar that dotted his left wrist.