Chapter Text
@TMZ
It's getting hot in here! 🥵 See MLH All-Stars Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov getting hot and heavy at GAY Ottawa nightclub. Cup celebrations still happening months later? 👀
⤷@hollanovtracker
How could they do this to me on a Thursday????
⤷@voyageursssgirl
i still cant believe we traded the hottest man in sports 😭 i live 2 suffer
⤷@urfavbearfan
it should’ve been meeeee 😭😭😭
⤷⤷@hollandurge
they’re literally GAY MARRIED
⤷⤷⤷@urfavbearfan
I am a man who is begging to third
⤷@ilyaaaasss81
hot damn capitaine 🥵
⤷@holla24stan
lmao why did they capitalize GAY like that? tf
⤷@ilyassecretmole
I’d like to audition for the role of the .02cm of space between them when Shane turns around
~~~
The whole shitshow started with that stupid tweet and video.
They had been at the cottage for the summer as the off season wound down. It was movie night and they were snuggled up on the couch, Anya snoring lightly next to them. Ilya had made dinner and the two had already cleaned up so there were no lingering distractions from what was truly a terrible movie.
He had his head in Shane's lap while watching some dumb party movie Rose had done just so she could spend the summer in Greece. There was barely any plot but the lighting and club scene montages reminded Ilya of how his heart could thrum with the rhythm of a bass line. The pleasant buzz of a few shots of vodka. A sigh slipped his lips and a soft laugh came out before he knew Shane was even still awake.
“What are you thinking about?” Shane asked.
“You are awake past 9? Should I call The Athletic?” The teasing smirk lilting in his voice.
“Shut up.” Shane squeezed his arm with a fake warning. Ilya nuzzled his head into the hand playing with his hair. Anya was curled up at his feet on the other end of the couch. Her head was probably tucked deep into the couch corner, silently protesting that her parents hadn't moved the night to the bedroom so they could all be drifting off together. “Do you miss it?”
“Hmm?” His thoughts had drifted from the movie and were transitioning slowly into convincing his husband to come upstairs with him before Shane was too tired for the only thing he liked more than falling asleep in his lap. Actually, falling asleep in his lap could happen after too if he planned it right.
“Is that what you were thinking about?”
“Ah,” he thought for a second before replying, “Sometimes…I miss Russia. Going out with Sveta. Was fun.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. Would rather be with hot MLH champion husband.” He turned his head to give a kiss to Shane's thigh. A few more and he could move this night to the direction he was looking for.
“We could go.”
“To Russia? I think boat has sailed on that.”
“Ship has sailed and no, to a club.” Ilya’s head immediately turned to look up at him. He rotated and reached his hand up to Shane's forehead. “What are you--?”
“You have fever, yes? Are dying and did not want to tell me? Brain cancer?”
“Fuck off.” He pushed back Ilya's hand and sat him up off his lap. Ilya immediately leaned back into him so that their shoulders were touching again. “It was just a thought. Since you miss it.”
“Moy lyubimyy, is very kind but I know you would hate it. I do not want to make you go out.” He kissed his temple and let his hand linger on Shane's cheek. His thumb brushed slowly back and forth across freckles.
“I'm a fully grown adult and I can go out with my husband of my own volition.” His adorable angry kitten face had come out now. It only made him want to kiss him more.
“I know this. I also know you.” He started kissing down from Shane's temple to his collarbone.
“Ilya.” Ilya would have preferred other parts of his husband to be firm instead of his tone. “Pick a club. We're going tomorrow.”
“So you agree we are busy tonight?” His hand was busy playing with the hem of Shane’s shirt. Shane rolled his eyes but didn’t stop the contact.
“Shut up.” Ilya leaned in for a kiss and Shane met him half way.
It deepened as Ilya’s hand started pressing harder into Shane’s stomach, wanting to touch him everywhere all the time. He pulled him into his lap, wanting to be trapped by Shane’s hands gripping the couch on either side of his head. Shane returned it in kind, grinding his hips down onto Ilya’s.
There was barely a lazy escalation as each was more focused on taking all the pleasure they could. The sudden lift and flip Ilya did drew a gasp out of Shane. He stole one more deep, biting kiss before separating them and pressing his forehead to Shane's.
“Make me, Hollander.” And took off upstairs. In a split second Shane's brain caught up and he bolted for the stairs.
“Asshole!”
~~~
He was on facetime with Rose trying to go through every outfit his stylist had ever sent to him and still thinking none of it was appropriate for tonight. He held up a salmon linen shirt to his chest, panic so clear in his eyes that even he could recognize it in the tiny top right corner of his screen. He shrugged, trying to ask silently for the millionth time and probably third time for this shirt alone if this was passable.
“For a club-club, right? Not a yacht club?” Right, of course. He’s being dumb. Not a single extra in that movie had on a linen shirt. He’s pretty sure he did wear that shirt to beach day with Ilya this summer too.
Rose was the only person to have successfully dragged him out to a club up until this point. She should know better what to wear. He didn’t want to repeat the plain white undershirt and post-game sweatpants even if she said they’d looked great on him. Well, she said they looked good enough that she tried to sleep with him and she thought that Ilya would probably have more success.
But he wanted to look good for him. His best if he could. Ilya always looked better in paparazzi pictures. It was unquestionable. He could and did wear anything. One time he’d asked him where he got the confidence for it and Ilya had shrugged at him and said “Wear sunglasses and have cigarette in mouth. Instant hot.” He wasn’t about to take up smoking for Page Six.
“Relax, Shane.”
“Wow, why didn’t I think of that?” he grumbled.
“Ok, fair,” she laughed at him lightly. “You could literally walk out that door in parachute pants and a polkadot shirt and you’d still be going home with the hottest guy you’ll see all night.”
“I don’t know, I think Ilya would be mad if I took someone else home after we drove all the way into Ottawa.” Should he own parachute pants? Was that something most people had? Should he ask his stylist if polkadots were “in”, whatever that meant?
“You know he can’t hear your chirping if he’s not even in the room, right?” She was laughing at him. He was spiraling and she was laughing at him. All he had was a closet of Centaurs merch, Reebok sponsored athleisure wear, and these dumb fucking linen shirts he kept telling his stylist were the only thing he liked and she was laughing at him. “Why can’t you steal something from Ilya’s closet?”
“All his stuff is like, tailored. It’ll look weird on me.” He thumbed through his closet again with the phone’s camera pointed to let Rose see his somehow limited options.
“Wait stop!” He froze instantly. “Go back.” He flipped back a few hangers and then, “That, just the vest. Steal one of Ilya’s sheer shirts he keeps wearing when we hang out in LA. And go with the second pair of jeans you tried on.”
Instant relief. Thank God someone was telling him what to do directly.
“Are you sure? I won’t look--”
“Trust me, he won’t be able to keep his hands off you.” She looked at him with a chaotic joy that let him know she meant it. She would know better than him. “Wear your ring chain with it too. The ones you guys wear during games. Oh and the watch that matches it! The anniversary one.”
He could hear someone open the door to her trailer and say something about the set being ready. She looked offscreen and smiled wide while giving a thumbs up. She turned back to him and they said their quick goodbyes. He knew he’d probably text her about fifteen more thank yous before the night was over.
~~~
Ilya came back from his jog with Anya and made a beeline for the shower. Shane was freaking out in his closet and he could hear his favorite movie star on the phone with him. He would have been more than happy to help him or loan him something to wear but Shane was insistent that he wanted to surprise him. He could hear the beginning of a minor panic attack but he knew that Rose would be able to handle it. He trusted her to be able to talk his husband off whatever ledge he imagined climbing onto.
Over half his closet was always club ready. No amount of marital bliss and dog fatherhood would wipe away his slavic fuckboy roots. His DNA was probably striped with Adidas branding. Every pair of pants he owned was squattable. If it wasn’t skin tight, sheer, or silk, he didn’t need to own it. No color was too bright, no pattern too much.
He threw on the first thing that spoke to him. A tight ribbed black tank top tucked into pale burgundy leather pants with an electric blue button down he kept fully open. The shirt’s cuffs had a jet black fur accent that jutted out about two inches from his wrists. He pulled his orthodox crucifix to make sure it lay brightly outside of his shirt. He slipped on a crisp white tennis shoe, not one of the regular gym rotation pairs. For a final showy touch he got out the box that contained his most recent Cup ring and added it to his left hand.
With a few sprays of his favorite cologne, the one he brought the first year he’d made the trek to the cottage, he went downstairs to make sure Anya would have enough food and water to survive being abandoned by her fathers until the late hours of the night. As a little treat she could be allowed a secret tablespoon of peanut butter too.
“Hello my beautiful girl,” he cooed at Anya. “You will be in charge while your father and I are out being cool and hot. Do not throw any wild parties and no boys are allowed. You can stay up as late as you want. I will not tell him.”
She looked at him with the same blank love and obsession she always did. But he knew that she knew what he said. And, if he was honest, she was in charge any time Shane left the two of them alone. She licked his nose and he took that as his sign that she agreed to his terms.
“Shane! I am leaving with or without you in 10 minutes!” he called out from the kitchen. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and shot off a quick text to Rose.
Me
Have him come out naked. Is what I would like best.
Rose 🌹 📽️
it’s definitely the back up plan
be nice though!!!!
he’s trying really hard
Me
I’m always nice :((((
He grabbed the keys to the Viper and was trying to remember if he had already refueled it last time he took it out when the most beautiful man in the world came out of his bedroom.
Me
You are trying to kill me.
You are working for Detroit and this is how you sabotage for them to win?
You do not want me to go to club with my husband.
Rose 🌹 📽️
he looks good!!!
Me
You expect us to leave house when he looks like this?
Was already hottest man on planet and you do this to him?
Rose 🌹 📽️
😈
“You ready?” Shane asked. Was he ready? No. Nothing could have possibly prepared him.
He thought he would be but then the actual model he married came out wearing a sleeveless black sheer top with jeans that look like they had to be sewn onto his quads and ass from how they hugged his thighs and waist. A thick, platinum banded watch that he knew was engraved with his initials and their numbers intertwined at the clasp cuffed his left wrist. Sitting between his pecs was the wedding band that matched his. Worst of all, he let a black tuxedo vest lay over his shoulders unbuttoned and uneven. It was the special order he had worn to this summer’s MLH Awards. The black on black embroidery with occasional pops of white silk thread outlined the lily design sewn into the vest.
Jesus Christ, Hollander.
The tux had been bad enough the first time a few weeks ago. Shane had hidden it from him until they were just about to leave the hotel and it nearly made them late for the show. It was a deep plunging v that framed him deliciously. Watching him fold it at the end of the night nearly got him off from across the room.
He was supposed to drive forty minutes into town and then stay out for way too long all while Shane had the audacity to look like that? He didn’t think he wanted to let him walk to the door without it being made clear just how ready he was.
Ilya had been staring hungrily and intently at Shane from the moment he came into view that he didn’t realize how long it had been until his gorgeous man started turning red from the way he was being devoured with Ilya’s eyes alone.
He stalked to the other side of the dining room table and pulled Shane into an aggressive, all encompassing kiss. He grabbed under his ass and scooped him up so he could sit on the table to hitch his legs around Ilya’s waist. He had to fuck him immediately. His hand slipped out from under Shane and moved to the front of his pants, searching for a zipper.
But he was stopped.
“Later. We’re going out, remember?” The asshole was teasing him. He knew what he was doing and he didn’t even care how it was making his poor, desperate husband feel. He might even be enjoying it. Sadist.
“Hollnader, you are cruel.” He tried his luck by going in for another kiss but Shane dodged and rolled his hips back from him in an attempt to convince Ilya he was serious. “We will go for two minutes and drive home. Maybe will have to get hotel room in Ottawa. Drive home may be too long.”
Shane hopped down from the table and Ilya shamelessly stared at his ass the whole way to the car.
~~~
Of course Ilya had picked a gay club. Shane had never heard of it. Otters, which was a pun according to Ilya but he had no idea how. Otter like Ottawa or something? It didn’t make sense but it made Ilya smile so he nodded along as Ilya tried to animatedly explain it to him while handing off the keys to the club’s valet.
The gangly early twenty-something that took the keys looked at both of them with his jaw practically dragging next to him on the sidewalk. Ilya cracked jokes with the guy and offered to take a picture so he could prove that he met the “#1 worldwide bi icon.” He’d called Shane probably somewhere in the top 100 gay icons. All Shane could do was roll his eyes. He was such an asshole.
The starstruck valet treated Ilya’s keys like they were a glass bomb. Shane apologized and slipped him an additional 20. The guy had insisted it wasn’t necessary but it never hurt to do a little extra for a service worker. They might end up leaving the car overnight if either of them indulged more than they planned.
“Let’s go find shitty Canadian vodka and get shots.” Ilya’s smile stretched from the entrance to the bar and probably made the whole room a few shades brighter. He held a hand tight to Shane’s waist as he loudly made his announcement directly into Shane’s ear. The music was turned up high and there were always at least two people touching him as his husband led him to the bar. He had promised at lunch he would do at least two shots with Ilya before the night ended. It was the lowest he could possibly negotiate.
As they made it through the sea of people and up to a free spot at the bar, Shane could see Ilya’s eyes scan up and down the bartop. When he got a bartender’s attention he asked for eight shots of whatever he thought the best vodka was, but nothing flavored.
“I am not taking four shots and you better not be taking six in our first twenty minutes here.” Ilya leaned half way over the bar, his elbows supporting his weight as he shook his head and smiled at Shane.
“No, no. We make friends.” He pointed down the bar to an older man, maybe in his late forties or early fifties and was wearing a Centaurs shirt. He waved him over and the man eagerly joined as the glasses were being set out in front of them by the overworked staff. Next, Ilya tapped a woman with a sash turned away but standing near enough to them that he must have clocked her when they started walking up. “Ladies! Shots for bride to be and her pretty friends.”
“Oh my God, Shane Hollander?!” Shane couldn’t identify which of the bridesmaids said it. He gave a weak wave at the group generally and Ilya stepped up again as the more gregarious of the two.
“Yes and his even hotter and better at hockey husband. Do shots with us and new friend…” Ilya let the words hang so that the older man could pick them up.
“Robert.”
“Robert! World’s best Centaurs fan and close personal friend.” Ilya’s famous smirk and wink won over everyone instantly. The shots were poured and Ilya passed them out quickly. “We cheers now to soon to be Bride…”
“Bernadette.”
“Bernadette and her future spouse…”
“Jane.”
Shane nearly spilled the entirety of the shot before it had a chance to touch his lips. Ilya laughed and raised his glass.
“To Bernadette and Jane!”
He almost never drank so the burn hurt but not as it had in some of his memories. It must be a decent vodka. Probably not to Ilya’s standards, but not bad. It was good enough that Ilya immediately ordered a second round but left them on the bar this time.
“We do shots proper way now, yes? No hands.” He grabbed at Shane’s ass and pulled him close to say “I know you will be natural at it. Always so good with your mouth.” He nipped at Shane’s ear. He couldn’t tell if it was the vodka or the setting but Shane didn’t even pull away.
Normally, he wasn’t a fan of PDA but fuck it, they’d been photographed kissing multiple times during the Cup celebrations and parade. It had barely made a blip on their social media DMs, thirsty or hateful. After two years of them being married, it seemed like the public was finally getting bored of them. Thank God.
Ilya turned around and told everyone to watch him if they hadn’t done it before. He brought one shot glass to the edge of the bar and placed both his hands behind his back. Shane’s eyes stayed glued to the curve of Ilya’s back as he leaned over and took the rim of the glass between his teeth. He popped back up with the glass and threw his head back. Ilya dropped his head down and caught the glass in his hand, setting it down triumphantly on the bar.
Dear God he was hot. He was so hot that Jane might have competition for who Bernadette wanted to try to go home to tonight.
“Robert, you show these amateurs how to do it, yes?” He clapped the older man on his back and directed him up to the open bar spot. Ilya selected everyone one at a time and gave them all encouragement even if no one could make it look half as graceful as he had. He had left Shane for last and pulled him close again while Bernadette did her shot to ask “Do you want to? I can do it instead if you want to stop.”
Shane couldn’t even think how to respond, he kissed him instead. Full, open mouth and then broke away to let him see how well he could do a shot.
He wanted to show off for him. He spread his legs further than he probably needed to. He looked over his shoulder to stare down Ilya as he slid the final shot into place. When he bent down to take the shot glass into his mouth, he made sure to come up slow, arching as he flicked his head back. Glass still in his mouth, he turned around to face Ilya and grabbed his hands. He brought up his stunned husband’s hands cupped to below his chin and spit the shot glass out into them.
“Did you like that, Rozanov?” He could see a small gasp leave Ilya’s mouth. He swallowed hard and reached past him to set down the shot glass.
“It was nice meeting you all. We go dance now.” Ilya didn’t even look anywhere but Shane’s eyes. Shane had seen that feral hungry look in only two types of instances in his life. First, more commonly, anytime he was about to have sex with Ilya. Second, in the locker room after their shared Cup win.
Ilya pulled him into the pulsing, bumping crowd and threw his arms around Shane’s shoulders. Their foreheads and pelvises pressed firmly against each other as the driving beat gave them the rhythm to move. Shane didn’t think he had ever heard the song. He wouldn’t be able to tell you if there were words to it. He didn’t have any thoughts in his head that didn’t start with his husband’s name.
Songs passed by without them saying a word to each other. Eyes closed and opened. Hands switched position from waist to hips and back again. Lips met lips. Ilya managed to get the attention of a roving bartender and took shots off a tray for both of them. Shane even accepted the third drink.
He was definitely drunk after that but who cared? The preseason didn’t even start for almost another month. He could have a full night off if it meant Ilya stayed this close to him. If it meant Ilya kept looking at him like that he could.
His hands were tangled into Ilya’s curls, working their way back out again when Ilya leaned down again to kiss him. He could feel the possessive smile across his face without needing to open his eyes. The feel of Ilya’s semi-hard cock pushed against his hips. He needed him.
On instinct he turned around so that his ass ground against Ilya’s dick. He moved Ilya’s hands to the front of his jeans and continued to rock in time with the music. He could feel Ilya’s breath hot on his neck, the drag of his tongue near his jawline. He brought his arms up above his head and reached back to get the feel of those curls back under his fingertips.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard and long tonight you’ll beg me to finish.” Ilya’s voice was low, it had a desperation to it. Every syllable sounded like it took effort and focus to make it into Shane’s ear.
“When have I ever begged for you to be the one that gets to finish?” Shane didn’t let any space come between them as he spun back to press his chest firmly against his husband’s. He snaked his hand under Ilya’s tank top, counting every muscle by feel alone. Ilya’s hands were on either side of Shane’s head, tilting his mouth up and kissing him intensely until they had to come up for air.
“I’ll get the car. You get my card?” Ilya’s husky voice directed them to split up and after another deep kiss, Shane’s body let him agree.
It hadn’t even been two hours but Shane didn’t think Ilya was disappointed about that. It felt cold without Ilya’s body pressed up against his. Luckily, it didn’t take long to pay the tab. He tipped the ridiculous amount he’d seen Ilya put on a thousands checks before this one; $81.24 and headed outside to meet him.
When he got outside, Ilya was finishing up a cigarette, waiting near the valet check site for the car to pull around.
“Come here,” he said as he flicked away his cigarette butt. Normally, Shane wouldn’t let him kiss him right after smoking, but the vodka was doing wonders. It was softer now that they were outside. Back closer to the real world and more aware of the public despite the fact that the street had far fewer people in it. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”
“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.” Shane smiled as he looked into the eyes of the man he’d love his entire adult life. “Did you have fun?”
“I will have even more fun when I get you alone. Thank you for doing this. I know how hard it is for you.” The car pulled up and Shane felt the awareness of being perceived start creeping back. He chose to keep his hand intertwined with Ilya’s as he made a final boisterous conversation with the valet.
As they drove home, Shane could feel the buzz leave his head. He couldn’t stop staring, even after spending all night practically connected at the hip with Ilya.
“We should do that again. Maybe even invite some of the guys?”
“I would like that. During the season to be able to take you out.”
Shane smiled to himself and let his head rest back on the seat. Only twenty more minutes until they were home. They didn’t have a strict time either of them needed to be awake for tomorrow. No sponsorships or interviews, the summer camps had wrapped up a few days ago. Ilya might even be in a good enough mood to make the spinach protein breakfast shakes he was always making fun of him for.
It was a perfect night.
He had no idea what he was going to be waking up to.