Chapter Text
*Ilya’s POV*
It was loud in the locker room. A flurry of the men celebrating still in most of their kit, including the jersey with that God-awful logo. But Ilya was mostly glad Evan Dykstra wasn’t in charge of the music this week, how would they be able to celebrate making it to the second round of the play-off with country music?
Ilya slammed his helmet down on the bench and let out a laugh that surprised even him; it burst out his chest sharp and breathless as adrenaline still coursed through his veins. They had won. Ottawa had won. Someone was shouting - not words, just noise. Water sprayed across the room followed by a chorus of boos and laughter. The air full of music, shouting and sweat.
And right across from him Shane was smiling half-undressed, his base-layed slick with sweat.
“I fucking told you.” He declared as he met Ilya’s eyes, “What did I say? I fucking manifested success.”
Ilya smiled back so wide his face hurt but he couldn’t help himself as he replied, “So you manifested missing a wide-open net in the second?”
“Fuck you.” Shane huffed out and God Ilya wanted to kiss him.
Bood laughed from where he stood on the bench, “Just keep it in your pants alright guys?”
Ilya raised an arm to flip him off, “Get down from there before you break your neck.”
Bood blew a kiss but with all the grace of a bull jumped down from the bench. It was good, his team was happy and Ilya knew how much they deserved it. Last season they had really started to turn their performance around but this season they would take off. The NHL isn’t going to know what hit them. A cold beer was pressed into his palm, and Ilya wasted no time cracking it open - they had won, he fucking deserved it.
“You coming out, Rozanov?”
Ilya looked towards his husband who was grinning ear-to-ear beside him, this year they would win that fucking cup. Ottawa would be raising a banner at the start of next season and the man he loves will be standing right there beside him.
It was late by the time they got to the bar, the place was packed; when they started winning, they started gaining fans and it seemed half the people here were celebrating their win with them tonight. Most of the team crammed around one table, Ilya with them - Shane sat one side of him, Luca Haas the other. He probably laughed more that night than he had in weeks, the kinda laughter that made his ribs ache and tears form in his eyes while his throat became raw from shouting over the loud pop music which drummed in his ears.
By 2am, Ilya alone had probably drunk 2 pitchers of beer plus the countless shots that had been handed to him as he enjoyed the warm weight of Shane pressed against him; happy-drunk in a way that made him all smiles and affection with absolutely no sense of personal space. But Ilya loved it, he loved that they could be close now - hell everybody here was at their fucking wedding. So he was drunk and careless as he relaxed into Shane’s side and the way Shane’s thumb traced lazy circles absent mindedly on his hip, only part of him aware that even now Shane would likely worry about being this close in public if they weren’t drunk out their minds.
“Anouther round.” He heard someone call but his mind was suddenly occupied with the way Shane hand had wandered from his hip up his back. Oh - tonight was going to be fun.
“You're smiling.” Shane murmured leaning in close enough that his hot breath bounced off the shell of Ilya’s ear.
Ilya huffed out a laugh, “You’re one to talk.”
He felt a quick bite of pain but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, Shane leaned backwards after playfully nipping his earlobe. He tilted his head studying him with a soft, giddy look.
“Yeah but I like when you do it.”
Ilya felt the words land somewhere warm in his chest. He tipped his forehead forward until it rested against Shane's, his cheeks flushed from the heat and alcohol underneath the scatter of freckles which made Ilya’s knees weak if he looked at them too long.
“You wanna go home in a bit?” Shane asked, his hand traveling back to rest at his hip.
Ilya smirked that crooked grin, “Depends what you have planned for me.”
Someone jostled past them and they both pulled away as Wyatt dropped into the chair opposite them with another glass for all of them at the same time Haas returned from wherever he’d wandered off to.
“Finally,” Dykstra muttered, smirking at them all from where he had been sitting this whole time, “Some company that isn’t gonna start groping each other.”
Ilya ignored him taking the glass he was being offered, he shouldn’t be drinking anymore he thought as the alcohol ran tasteless down his throat.
“How ya’ feeling anyways Rozanov?” Wyatt asked, drawing him from his thoughts.
“Hmmm?”
“You took a nasty fall on the ice, you ok?”
“Ah. It was nothing.” Ilya waved an arm, he had been so riled up from adrenaline, then happiness and then alcohol that the pain hadn’t been anything more than a low buzz he could ignore.
He could feel Shane’s eyes on him for a different reason now, and in truth, Ilya was surprised he hadn’t heard anything about it from Shane yet. But he was ok, he ignored it on the ice, he could ignore it now.
He could feel Shane readjusting his arm, his fingers digging into his hip - oh, tonight would be really fun. Ilya caught his lust-filled eyes for a moment before turning and hiding his smile behind a sip of his drink.
“Jesus.” Wyatt muttered, “Should we go before they start taking their clothes off?”
Bood gagged loudly, “I hate it here.”
Ilya scoffed, “You love it.”
“I tolerate it,” He corrected jokingly as Ilya felt Shane’s hand tighten on his waist, “Barely.”
Haas leaned forward his elbows on the table, “How long until one of you gets kicked out for PDA?”
“Whats PDA?” Ilya asked, hating how Russian he sounded.
“Public display of affection.”
“Oh.” Ilya smirked, “Like this?” He asked innocently as he gripped the front of Shanes’s shirt and placed a kiss on his jaw.
“I think that's pretty PG.” Shane chuckled catching on.
“Thats bullshit.”
“Ok what about this?” Ilya was drunk enough to pull away the collar of his t-shirt to reveal his shoulder; before turning his head so they could all see him stick his tongue out and lick along Shane’s collarbone and up his neck. He could feel Shane flush under the light layer of sweat on his skin. He let the shirt go and admired how the line of his spit sparkled on his skin.
Haas was staring at him wide-eyed, mouth opened in shock.
“See what I mean!” Bood waved his hand, “Public groping!”
Wyatt only chuckled, “You’re going to kill the poor kid.” He gestured to Haas who quickly shut his mouth and leaned back spluttering drunken nonsense.
Haas coughed before trying to regaine some of his dignity, “I - fuck - ok, you know what I’m done.” He pushed his chair back an inch, “I did not consent to that.”
Ilya laughed, bright and uncaring, as he leaned backwards into Shane who immediately moved to welcome him; one hand splayed at his hip, the other placed dangerously high curving into the inside of his thigh under the table.
“You asked.” Ilya shrugged.
“Yeah theoretically,” Haas shot back, “Not for a fucking live demonstration!”
Bood wiped at his eyes, still laughing, “You should’ve known better. They’re married and feral.”
Wyatt shook his head, pointing at Shane, “You see what you’ve done? You’ve empowered him.”
Shane grinned, unabashed, “He doesn’t need empowering.”
Ilya tilted his head, pleased, “I really don’t.”
Haas groaned, “I’m getting another drink. I need to forget the last thirty seconds.” He stood, wobbling slightly, “If I come back and you’re in his lap-”
“No promises,” Shane said lightly.
Haas flipped him off and disappeared into the crowd.
Troy Barret appeared, dropping into Haas’ empty chair. He eyed Ilya and Shane for a moment, “You know, considering no one even knew you were dating a year ago, you’ve gotten really bold.”
Shane shrugged, “We’re out now.”
“And very drunk.” Ilya added.
Shane searched his face for a beat longer than necessary, then relaxed, pressing a soft kiss just below Ilya’s ear. Quick enough to pass, intimate enough that Ilya’s stomach flipped.
“Alright,” Haas said, holding up a hand, catching the kiss as he approached the table “That’s it. No more touching.”
Shane grinned at him. “You’re not my coach.”
“No,” Haas agreed. “But I am your teammate, and I don’t need to go home single and emotionally damaged.”
Troy laughed so hard he nearly tipped his chair, “You’re just mad no one looks at you like that.”
Bood pointed at Shane, “If you bite him again, I’m telling the bouncer.”
Wyatt groaned, downing the rest of his drink, “I swear to God, I’m switching tables.”
But he didn’t move.
Haas had no choice but to take the seat opposite Shane and Ilya, but Ilya didn’t feel bad for him. All he wanted in that moment was to feel Shane, to hear him. He slouched down in his chair still relaxed against Shane's side, the movement made Shane’s hand rise further up his thigh until his fingers were just short of where Ilya so desperately wanted him. His breath caught as he swallowed, feeling heat rise up his neck; very grateful for the table covering his lap.
It was the early hours of the morning, they had been at the bar forever after winning a spectacular series of games; Ilya was tired but more than that he was horny and drunk out of his mind. It was unthinking instincts that caused the subtle roll of his hips leading his pulse to jump.
Shane obviously noticed and moved his hand to the top of his thigh, pushing down to still his hips and tapping his middle finger to tell him no. Ilya sighed inwardly in frustration.
“You ok.” Shane muttered gazing down into Ilya’s eyes; his cheeks flushed.
Ilya hummed in response, “You wanna go home?”
“Oh great.” Wyatt called out before Shane could respond, “so that's why they’ve gone quiet!”
“Just tell me when you stand up so I can close my eyes.” Bood took a sip from his drink.
Shane only flipped him off but Ilya was watching the way Haas blushed from the base of his neck to the tip of his ears.
Ilya stood up, “You're all just jealous ‘cause you can’t get laid. Bye virgins.”
*Shane’s POV*
The cold, late night air whipped across his face as he stepped out the door from the warm bar, they made it 4 steps before Ilya’s hands were in his hair pulling him closer as he attacked Shane’s mouth, his tongue sliding across Shane’s bottom lip asking for entry. Shane let him in, using the opportunity to explore Ilya’s mouth with his own tongue. Some part of him was sober enough to know he probably shouldn’t be grinding against Ilya’s thigh in public but the majority of him was too drunk not only from the alcohol but also from the way Ilya was shamelessly groaning into his mouth.
He pulled away, gasping for air, placing a final peck on Ilya’s swollen lips which Ilya chased as he pulled away again. Shane gribbed his husband’s shoulders to study his lust-filled face, Ilya looked thoughtless and the face alone was sending Shane spirling - the look in his eyes alone told shane he was going to get fucked senseless tonight.
Gripping each other tightly, they kept walking down the street and Shane was certain if they separated they’d both fall over. They laughed as they stumbled to the end of the road, in truth, Shane wasn’t entirely sure how they got to the bar but however it was they were walking back.
They managed to get to the end of the road before Shane stumbled, but Ilya caught him, fisting his jacket and stumbling backwards as they kissed again. Hot and breathless.
“My innocent eyes.” A familiar voice called causing Shane to break away.
Harris, the team's social-media manager and right-winger Troy Barrett’s boyfriend had pulled up on the side of the road, one arm handing out the car window. Ilya swayed but Shane grabbed him quickly holding him close.
Shane blinked at Harris who looked way too sober for three in the morning where he leaned out the window. Troy sat in the passenger seat, already laughing.
“You look like shit,” Troy added fondly.
Ilya laughed too, breathless, still clinging to Shane’s jacket, “Hi Troy.”
Harris’s eyes flicked between them, took in the flushed faces, the hands still gripping fabric. He sighed like a man who had seen this exact thing coming, “Get in the car. Before one of you gets arrested or loses a shoe.”
“We’re fine,” Shane said automatically.
“You’re swaying,” Harris replied, “Both of you.”
They disentangled just enough to stumble toward the back seats, Shane guiding Ilya with a hand at his lower back. The door shut, cutting out the cold, and suddenly the car was warm and quiet in that muted, late-night way. The engine hummed as the city blurred past the windows.
Ilya immediately slumped into Shane’s side, boneless. His head tipped to Shane’s shoulder, breath warm through the collar of his jacket.
Troy twisted around in his seat, “You two alive back there?”
“Mmh,” Ilya hummed.
“That’s not an answer.”
Shane smiled, rubbing slow circles into Ilya’s arm, “We’re good.”
Harris pulled back onto the road. “I’m not asking questions I don’t want answers to,” he said, “but you’re welcome.”
“For the rescue,” Shane said.
“For not making me witness whatever was about to happen on the sidewalk,” Troy added.
Ilya laughed softly, nose pressing into Shane’s neck, “He bites.”
Troy made a noise of deep regret and turned back around.
Harris only chuckled before saying, “If you're sick in my car, you’ll deeply regret it.”
The rest of the drive passed in a quiet fog. Shane watched lazily as streetlights strobed across Ilya’s face; focusing on Ilya’s thumb tracing absent patterns into Shane’s thigh. Everything movement intentional.
By the time the car slowed outside their building, Shane’s patience was gone. He was desperate to get inside, and Ilya all to himself.
Harris parked, as Shane was already reaching for the door. “Alright. Home safe.”
“Thank you,” Shane said again, genuine.
Troy waved them off, “Go be disgusting somewhere private.”
They didn’t argue as Shane helped Ilya out of the car, steadying him with both hands this time after shutting the door behind them, the car pulling away, leaving the street quiet and dim and theirs.
Ilya turned to him immediately, eyes dark and intent now that they were alone.
“We’re home,” he said, like it was an accusation.
Shane swallowed, smiling despite himself, “Yeah,” he said softly, “We are.”
And that was all either of them managed before they were climbing the steps, tangled together, desperate to get inside. Shane fumbled with the key as Ilya latched himself on Shane's neck, biting and sucking before licking the parts he made sore better.
The moment they were inside though, Shane had Ilya pinned against the door. Kissing his mouth and swallowing his moans as he palmed him over his jeans.
“I-” Shane exhaled as Ilya kissed along his jaw, “Ilya I- fuck”
Ilya hummed as he grinded his hips forwards, his own hands tangled in Shane's hair simultaneously pulling it while pushing back against Shane. Ilya untangled his hands and ran them up the hard ridges of Shane’s abs, Shane removed his own jacked before Ilya took his top off in one swift movement. They went back to kissing as Shane removed Ilya’s jacket letting it fall to the floor, but Ilya grabbed his hands as he started trying to take his t-shirt off.
“нет.” He muttered breathlessly in Russian - ‘no.’
But any argument Shane could raise fell off his tongue as Ilya undid his belt and fly, letting Shane’s jeans pool the floor as he took Shane out. He gasped as he felt Ilya’s teeth sink into his shoulder, he squeezed him but infuriatingly didn’t move his hand. But once again, before he could complain his breath was stolen when he felt Ilya’s cock against his own. Shane’s hands flew upwards; one resting on the back of Ilya’s neck, the other tangled in his curls. Ilya’s own left hand was cupping Shane’s face as he used his right to get them both off.
“Ilya.” Shane moaned his name, neither of them were being quiet, “I can’t- fuck- Ilya I’m gonna come.”
It probably hadn’t even been a minute, but Shane was far too gone to feel embarrassed.
“You- you can hold it.” Ilya swallowed, “Fuck, Shane.”
Shane whimpered, he tried but he couldn't. It felt too good. His eyes closed as hot come splashed against his own stomach. Ilya cursed as he moaned and Shane looked down as Ilya followed a moment later coming all over his hand and Shane’s cock.
They were both breathless but that didn’t matter as their teeth clashed together, they pulled away just enough for them to both gasp for air before grappling at each other again.
“I need you.” Ilya panted as they pulled away again for a second.
Shane moaned against his lips but stepped backwards out of his clothes that were pooled around his ankles; pulling Ilya with him. He felt kind of silly now, since he was fully naked and Ilya only had his fly undone still wearing all his clothes but his jacket. But he pulled Ilya up the stairs either way.
“I think,” He said in between kisses as they made their way precariously up the stairs, “We should shower.”
Ilya groaned so Shane continued, “Together obviously.”
He felt Ilya grin into the kiss.
Shane had debated getting mood lighting in their en-suit, and right now he wished more than ever he had. The light flicked on over head and Ilya squinted his eyes closed, briefly hiding away from it in Shane’s shoulder. It made Shane smile despite himself. Drunk, loose, affectionate Ilya always did this; like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to be this happy.
“C’mon,” Shane murmured, guiding him inside, nudging the door shut with his foot. The room steamed up almost immediately as Shane turned the shower on, water roaring to life behind the open glass door. He pressed Ilya back against the counter, kissing him slowly now, unhurried, hands already moving with muscle memory.
He hooked his fingers in the top of Ilya’s jean, and felt his strong legs move as he shimmied out of them while Shane grabbed at the hem of his top.
“Arms up.”
Ilya obeyed, still smiling, eyes half-lidded. The shirt came up easily, dragged over curls and tossed aside. Shane’s hands followed automatically covering his chest, ribs, familiar lines he knew by heart. He kissed briefly at his neck before pulling back to admire his husband’s strong build.
And then he stopped. Shane felt like his heart stopped momentarily, the entire left side of Ilya’s body was a mess of color. Dark purple bled into angry blue, blooming across his ribs and hip, the bruise sprawling wider than the hand Shane had spread around his waist, darker than it had any right to be. It looked old and new at the same time, layered, deep. Shane’s stomach dropped.
“What the fuck!” he breathed looking up to search Ilya’s eyes
Ilya shifted immediately, chewing his lip briefly before declaring, “It’s nothing. It’s fine. Lets just-”
Ilya leaned forward to capture Shane’s lips in a kiss but Shane pulled away; his eyes darting back to the mess covering his husband’s body. He pulled his hand away, his fingers hovering uselessly an inch away from his skin, Shane felt afraid to touch it and afraid not to.
“Ilya that’s not nothing.”
“I said I’m fine.” Ilya replied too quickly, reaching for the back of Shane’s head to pull him into a kiss, “It looks worse than it is.”
But Shane stepped back instead, “You knew it was there?”
“Yes.” Ilya sighed, “I saw it in the shower after the match but i said-”
“When did this happen?” Shane cut him off, his voice tight.
Ilya exhaled sharply, Shane could hear the annoyance bleeding through the thick layers of lust and alcohol, “The game. I fell. You saw me go down, yes?”
“I saw you get back up.”
“We’re hockey players Shane! What did you want me to do, just lie on the ice?”
“That doesn’t make it ok!” Shane raised his voice, “You had hours to tell me that you’re hurt.”
Ilya rolled his eyes, becoming defensive, “Jesus Christ. We were out with our friends celebrating.”
“That doesn’t mean you hide injuries from me.”
“I’m not hiding anything.” He gestured vaguely at himself, “You’re literally looking at it.”
“After you tried to keep your shirt on!”
That landed, Shane watched Ilya’s jaw tightened. But he didn’t care, he had a right to be pissed, Ilya is his husband, if he’s hurt; he should say so.
“Because I knew you’d do this.”
“Do what?”
“This,” Ilya snapped, “Make it a thing.”
Shane laughed once, sharp and humorless, “It is a thing. Look at you!”
“I’m fine,” Ilya insisted, louder now. “It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Bullshit!”
Ilya’s eyes flashed, “Don’t tell me what my body feels like.”
Shane dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once in the narrow space. The steam was fogging the mirror now, heat pressing in, making everything feel closer, heavier.
“You are hurt,” he said, finally, quieter. “you don’t get to just brush it off.”
Ilya’s expression faltered for half a second, just long enough for Shane to see it, before it hardened again.
“I didn’t ask you to worry.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Well maybe it should be!” Ilya shot back, “Maybe I don’t need you hovering every time I get knocked around.”
Shane froze.
“Hovering,” he repeated.
Ilya immediately looked like he wanted to take it back, but pride shoved the words forward anyway, “I play a physical sport. I can’t come home and manage your– your anxiety on top of that. It’s a bruise, get over it.”
His words made something crack in Shane’s chest. Was he not meant to care about Ilya? What was the fucking point of them falling in love and getting fucking married if he wasn’t even allowed to care? Shane suddenly felt tired, very tired.
“My anxiety,” he said flatly, “Right.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“No,” Shane cut in, “You did.”
Ilya let out an exasperated sigh before silence fell between them, thick and ugly, broken only by the hiss of the shower running unused behind them. Until Ilya looked at Shane one last time, his face completely unreadable before he turned away.
“Whatever,” he muttered, slapping his arms down at his sides, “I’m going to shower.”
He shoved past Shane, shoulder brushing his arm as he headed towards the door to use one of the guest bathrooms. The door shut hard enough to rattle the frame.
Shane just stood there for a moment, naked and cooling, hands clenched at his sides. He wasn’t quite sure how this had happened as he stared at the closed door for a long moment. Then, slowly, he exhaled. But he didn’t follow.
They were so happy just moments ago, they were so close but now Ilya had stormed off and Shane was alone, still drunk and upset and angry. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the sweat and the phantom marks from where Ilya had gripped onto it like his life depended on it not even ten minutes ago.
He stepped into the shower alone, frozen in shock as the hot water burned his skin. He took a long shower as if it would scrub off everything that had just happened but as he closed his eyes to rinse the soap suds from his hair, the darkness of his eyelids turned into the angry bruising invading Ilya’s body.
The house was silent when he finally switched the water off, feeling empty now that he was calm as he dried quickly. When he opened the door, the bedroom light was switched off; Shane didn’t bother to turn it on though as he pulled on a clean pair of underwear. He wasn’t sure if Ilya would be in their bed but he hoped he would - he wanted to talk, things shouldn’t have ended like they did.
Thankfully, Ilya was in bed. However, he was curled up fast asleep on his own side of the great bed; Anya asleep in the gap between them, the dog unknowingly blocking Shane from getting closer. She didn’t stir, his parents had come around to feed her while Shane and Ilya were out and they - like Ilya - spoiled the small dog, so she was likely exhausted from playing and eating too many treats. They’d talk in the morning; he told himself as he ran his hand through Ilya’s still damp curls and attempted to relax enough to drift off to sleep.