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It's almost midnight and Shane is standing in Bood's backyard, relaxed and warm against Ilya's side. His husband is busy poking fun at Dykstra for crashing into Hazy's net at their last practice so he allows his thoughts to stray.
He's drunk a few beers, just enough to get his muscles to loosen, far too little to turn him into a babbling idiot. The Centaurs are more friends than coworkers to him, have been since he stepped foot into their locker room after everything that went down. Still, tonight is supposed to be a birthday party for Coach Wiebe, his boss, and Shane's mother taught him professionalism, though he suspects Coach's birthday was only an excuse for Cassie and Bood to organize these get-togethers they all love so much, considering the actual day was almost a week ago. It's a nice gesture either way.
The man of the hour left about half an hour ago, eager to go home to his children and unwilling to overstay his welcome among his players. He doesn't seem to realize just how much they all appreciate him, steady and gentle. Shane makes a note to remedy that. Later, though. Right now, he's enjoying his lover's arms and their friends' company.
“Shane?” Ilya calls, bringing him back to reality. “I want another drink. You come with me?” There's an unmistakable glint in his eyes, a twist of his mouth and a curl in his tone that make warmth pool in Shane's stomach.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low. His hand closes around Ilya's and he leads his husband through the backyard. Most people have already left, citing jobs and families to get back to. Thursdays aren't the most convenient of days to go out for regular people. Only the core of the team and their spouses linger, scattered across the grass and the patio. Shane and Ilya walk through them all, unconscious of anything that isn't the both of them and the contact of their palms.
As soon as they cross the treshold, away from prying eyes, Shane pushes Ilya against the wall, boxing him in. His husband smiles, barely visible in the dim light and Shane's breath catches. There is a softness there that he knows is reserved for him and no amount of time will dull the love that courses through him at that thought. He is the luckiest man in the world.
Just as he leans in to press their lips together and get a taste of that cocktail Ilya has been raving about and refusing to share, the door slams open. “I'm sure they're in here somewhere, I heard Rozy say something about more alcohol,” Bood says.
Their previous enthusiasm is their downfall. They don't have any time to pull apart before Bood and Chouinard turn their head and find them pressed against the wall—and more importantly, each other.
“I thought you said no fooling around in the house, how come they get a pass?” Nick whines, hiding a smirk behind his palm.
Shane sputters, face growing hot. “We weren't— I just— No.”
His efforts are immediately undermined by his terrible, embarassing, evil husband. “Not sorry. I am too hot, Shane cannot resist me,” Ilya says with a wink.
These three horrible people Shane surrounds himself with burst into laughter as he sighs, running a hand over his face. A smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. What did you need us for anyways?”
“We want to play Never Have I Ever,” Bood explains. “We need to uphold our reputation as the number one most fun team in the league.”
In terms of party-going, Shane doubts they even rank in the top 20, but hey, whatever floats their boat.
Ilya snorts, probably thinking the same thing. “Yes, let's test that theory. I bet you are all boring people.” As sure as he sounds of that, Ilya eagerly follows their teammates out, grinning. Shane isn't far behind.
In the backyard, there's a large blanket draped over the grass, a bunch of Centaurs and their partners sitting cross-legged on it, as many glasses as people and a lot of alcohol.
Shane sits down with Ilya between LaPointe and Dykstra's wife, Caitlin. Opposite them, Harris beams. “Roz, Hollzy, finally! We've got everybody!” At that, good-natured wolfwhistles and cheers erupt.
“You were all waiting for me so I will start, yes?” Ilya asks, though he carries on without waiting for an answer. “Never have I ever played for Montreal.”
Shane rolls his eyes and raises his glass to his lips. “You'll pay for that, asshole.”
“My turn!” LaPointe decides. “Never have I ever had sex in a locker room.” At that, half of the people present drink, Shane included. LaPointe seems vaguely horrified as he takes in the couples who do. “In our locker room? Oh my God, please tell me you left my stall alone.”
“Don't worry, I don't think anybody here could come anywhere near it even if they wanted to,” Boyle chirps. “Your fucking jockstrap, man,” he adds, shaking his head. LaPointe insists that he can't wash it more than once a year or they'll lose every game left in the season and Shane shivers just thinking of the smell. Truly putrid.
Holmberg pats his best friend on the shoulder in consolation. “Never have I ever kissed a man.” All of the SAPs—spouses and partners, replacement of WAGs courtesy of Harris—drink, Ilya, Shane and Troy drink openly, none of them a surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, Shane sees Luca take a sip. Nobody calls him out of it. The easy respect and camaraderie of the team make something flutter inside Shane's chest.
He focuses back on the game as everyone finds new things to ask, innocent or intimate, broad or targeted. Worn braces, had a threesome, hooked someone when the refs weren't looking, got into a fight, been tied up, lied to a coach, had sex in public,… Everything goes. Glasses are emptied and refilled and laughs and groans echo in the fresh air of the night. Shane drinks for a fair bit of stuff, more than he expected, and feels a bit loopy, relaxed and loose-lipped in the way he only is when under the influence.
Caitlin takes her turn and then it's Shane's. The group silences as they wait for him to speak up. He grins, feeling vengeful. “Never have I ever had a crush on Shane Hollander,” he says pointedly, side-eyeing his traitor husband, who only leans in to peck his cheek before grabbing his glass and chugging its content.
As focused as he is on the love of his life, Shane doesn't notice the people around him reaching for their drinks until Ilya does and loudly remarks upon it. “Shane is married man! And you!” he stammers. “Almost all of you are married also! Hazy, tell your wife she cannot take my husband.”
“Sorry, Roz, he's been her hall-pass for longer than you've been on the Cens.” Wyatt shrugs. “If I wasn't straight, he'd be mine too.”
Bood cackles. “Drink up, Hazy. You know damn well you told me that heterosexuality wasn't an obstacle in your pursuit of the Shane Hollander.”
“C'mon, that was said in confidence and you agreed with me!”
“I'm keeping the game fair!” Shane thinks, not for the first time, that Zane Boodram will be a wonderful captain once Ilya retires.
Ilya, whose eyebrows are furrowing so hard it must be painful. “Harris, my best friend, you are not okay with your fiance wanting to fuck my husband, right?”
“Sorry, Rozy, I'm in the same boat as him there,” Harris says, sheepish and rosy-cheeked.
“What!”
“When you're a gay teen and you grow up in Ottawa—”
“He had a Shane Hollander poster above his bed,” Troy cuts off his fiance, looking at him fondly. “I did, too, for the record. Your husband is the best hockey player in the league and he's pretty, Roz, you had to have known you weren't the only one fantasizing about him!”
“Barrett, do not talk, you are dead to me. Of course Shane is okay at hockey and very hot, I do not date ugly people. I just did not think my own team would betray our love,” Ilya sniffles.
Shane's head has long been hidden under his hands, cheeks scarlet and scalding hot. However, just for that, he emerges to laugh at his husband and shuffles closer to him, hoping that he'll get distracted and change the subject.
No such luck.
“Haasy, I treated you like son! You cannot have crush on your other father,” Ilya admonishes, earning himself a light punch in the shoulder.
Poor Luca blushes but stands his ground, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.
LaPointe laughs, bumping their shoulders together. “C'mon, Captain, you of all people should understand that if you're into men and into hockey, it's impossible not to be obsessed with Shane Hollander.”
There's a chorus of agreements. Shane won't be able to look these people in the eye ever again. He tries to hide in his husband's neck, but that only attracts more attention to him.
Caitlin, who he got close with last season through shared books when he strained a muscle and couldn't play, knocks their shoulders together. “Shane, this can't be news to you. Would I call you Hollywood for your acting skills?”
“I thought you were chirping me for dating Rose,” Shane mumbles, aware of how ridiculous that sounds now that he says it out loud.
“Dude, I blushed around you for like three months when you got traded here,” Boyle chimes in.
“That wasn't eczema?” Shane blinks, dumbfounded.
“Half the crowd is always wearing Hollander jerseys even when we don't play at home.”
In addition to humans, there is now a particularly ripe tomato sitting in the Boodrams' backyard.
“I cried for like three days when the paps said you and Rose Landry were dating.”
Shane wishes the ground would swallow him whole. Where are earth fissures when you need them?
“When it came out that you and Roz were friends I thought about asking him for your number every single day.”
One more comment and Shane will be proof that spontaneous combustion is a real phenomenon.
“Once I got high and I spent an hour and a half staring at your freckles.”
“Okay, I think Shane has enough compliments today. More and he will melt, become a puddle. Cannot do that, we need him for playoffs,” Ilya says, rubbing a comforting hand up and down Shane's spine. Just Shane relaxes under his touch, a smug grin blooms on his husband's face. “You can start again tomorrow. Now is my turn.” He pauses dramatically, already bringing his glass to his lips. “Never have I ever had Shane Hollander be in love with me.”
There's an appropriate amount of teasing and giggling until finally, the game resumes in earnest. Warmth envelops Shane whole as he watches these people, his people, laugh and talk and lift each other up. There is nowhere else he'd rather be.
Later, when the sunlight peeks through their curtains to paint Ilya's cheekbone amber and they're both naked and panting with desire and the Centaurs are the last thing on Shane's mind, Ilya leans down to steal a kiss, soft and sweet and addictive.
“Ты идеален, моя любовь. Gorgeous and all mine.”
“Yours,” Shane agrees, voice rough.
They forget everything that isn’t themselves for a while after that.