Work Text:
1.
Ilya turned just in time to watch his newest defenseman, freshly drafted, get laid out on the ice. The unfortunate angle of the kid's arm made him grit his teeth. It was only the poor kid's third NHL game on the ice. Ilya skated over to him, dodging the gloves Dykstra had already flung into the air before decking the responsible Toronto winger.
One of the refs tried to order him back to the bench, but he'd snarked, "Ah, you speak Russian now?" gesturing to the kid muttering back in Russian to the staff medical team trying to ask him questions in English. He'd finally been left alone when the ref saw the dogpile starting to form on the other side of the ice.
Ilya met Shane's worried gaze from the bench and tried to convey that things weren't looking so good, but was distracted by a sharp tug on his jersey.
"Rozanov, what's he saying?" Elise, his favorite substitute doc, barked, giving up on trying to pull Marchenko's limited English vocabulary out of him.
Ilya crouched down and listened for a moment to the kid's groans before relaying, "He says is his shoulder and back."
"Tell him I'm going to check his head and neck, and ask him if he hit his head." She ordered, and Ilya dutifully relayed.
Marchenko's watery eyes met Ilya's, and he asked in a small voice, "How bad?"
"Everything will be okay," Ilya tried to reassure. A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he turned his head up to see Wiebe's concerned gaze.
"Hospital?" He asked Elise.
She nodded grimly, and Ilya watched as they put something around the kid's neck before lifting him onto a backboard. "I'll try to let the hospital know ahead of time they're probably going to need an interpreter."
Wiebe glanced down at the "C" on Ilya's jersey before shooting him an inscrutable look. "We have four minutes of gameplay left. I don't think Marchenko has anyone here, and this is probably pretty scary for him."
Ilya caught on and stood back up, asking, "You want to send your star center to hospital too?"
Wiebe rolled his eyes, "I'm pretty sure I'm not sending Shane Hollander to the hospital, so yes."
Ilya gave him a wounded expression before grinning and saluting. "Just for you, I will babysit infant. Tell my husband is hot when he is captain."
"Yeah, I'm not telling him that."
***
***
***
The ride to the hospital had been relatively uneventful after they'd given Marchenko the good stuff. Ilya now sat in an uncomfortable hospital chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, as he listened to his very high, and very much not straight defenseman, wax poetic about the hot paramedic.
Maybe they really were collecting all the gay hockey players in the League. Ilya was pretty sure there was a joke to be made about the Greek myth their team was named for,[1] but his brain was too tired to formulate one. He'd have to ask Shane—in the locker room, of course—if only just to see a blush light his cheeks and have Shane whack him while growling, "Ilya," the way he liked.
"He's, he's so pretty," he heard Marchenko whisper to himself in Russian for the fiftieth time, "his eyes . . . so blue."
Just to entertain himself, Ilya asked, "Remind me what he looks like again?"
"He looks so strong and handsome in his uniform, like he could pick me up and—"
Poor Marchenko was cut off by Shane, entering the room with a gentle, "Hey guys."
"Hollander!" Marchenko exclaimed brightly, his eyes zeroing in on the bouquet of pinkish-orange flowers Shane was holding, "You bring me flowers!"
A small amused smile pulled at Shane's lips, and he nodded, approaching the table near Marchenko's bed. "Ilya mentioned you might like them."
"You bring me flowers," Marchenko repeated again, eyes shining with awe, and maybe something else. Ilya had suspected his countryman might have a crush on Shane for a little bit now (what could he say, Russians have good taste), but Shane, ever-oblivious, clearly hadn't picked up on it yet.
Shane nodded, and Marchenko sighed, "flowers," to himself. Clearly, his English was still coming back to him.
Ilya delighted in the panicked look Shane shot in his direction. "Uhh, yeah, just like a dozen chrysanthemums the shop had downstairs." God, he could always count on Shane to over-explain himself when off-balance.
"Dozen?" Marchenko whispered.
Shane nodded again.
Marchenko's lips quivered. "Is twelve?"
Ilya brought a hand to his mouth to cover his unholy glee.
"Yes?" Shane confirmed hesitantly, looking adorably confused.
"Capitan, you said everything would be okay," Marchenko whimpered, looking at Ilya, face full of betrayal and eyes filling with tears. Ilya couldn't suppress his laughter anymore.
Shane was still frozen, with a vaguely panicked expression on his face, when Ilya finally got ahold of himself. "Marchy, you are okay. Hollander is Canadian, even number is not bad here."
"You did not bring for my, my . . . ?" Marchenko trailed off, frowning. Ilya did not miss having his limited vocabulary.
"Funeral," Ilya helpfully supplied.
"For my funeral?" Marchenko repeated, eyes shining with hope.
"Funeral?!" Shane asked, aghast. "No one is dying," he announced firmly, "Marchenko, you somehow dislocated your shoulder and elbow, but you're going to be fine."
Turning back to Ilya, he jabbed an accusing finger at him. "Why does Marchenko think I'm bringing flowers for his funeral?"
"My funeral?" Marchenko's small, wobbly voice cut in again, apparently forgetting the last few seconds.
"This is somehow your fault," Shane hissed, walking over to where Ilya was sitting. Ilya grinned wickedly up at his husband's handsome face. It was scrunched up adorably, as Shane tried to puzzle out what he was missing.
The deeper he could get Shane to frown at him, the deeper he tended to get to come inside his husband later. Ilya couldn't resist poking the bear again.
He grabbed Shane's hand and yanked him down on Ilya's lap before nuzzling his neck. Ilya brought his mouth to Shane's ear, making him shiver. "Even number is for funerals."
Shane groaned and put his face in his hands. Ilya stifled a laugh when Shane suddenly stiffened.
"You said it would be perfect! You set me up!" His outraged, raised voice caught the attention of a nurse walking by the room, who frowned at Shane in reproach.
Shane's red, flustered face made the freckles on his cheeks stand out. Definitely one of Ilya's top five favorite Shane expressions.
"I won't even get to see the paramedic again before I die," Marchenko's devastated voice carried over from the bed. Ilya snorted, once again unable to suppress his laugh.
Shane's frown deepened as he tried to translate, "He won't get to see . . . who before he dies?"
Ilya laughed harder, "I will tell you later."
"I'm telling coach you're terrorizing the rookie," Shane grumbled.
"Noooo, Hollander." Ilya groaned affectionately and tightened his arms,"You are so boring," punctuating the last word with a kiss to his husband's neck.
2.
"I don't know why you insist on bringing Jackie flowers every time we go to dinner at their house," Shane said a little breathlessly as he climbed into the car, holding the bouquet he'd just grabbed from the store they'd stopped at on the way to Hayden and Jackie's. "We're going to be late because of this."
"Because I am gentleman," Ilya reminded Shane, for the billionth time. Canadian men were so uncivilized. He tried to imagine Pike dating a Russian woman back home, and had to bite back his laugh.
And maybe, just maybe, he enjoyed the slightly constipated look Pike gave him when Ilya handed Jackie yet another bouquet in front of him, a little too much.
"We're already bringing wine," Shane insisted.
"Wine is minimum," Ilya explained, again, pulling out of the parking lot. "Is rude to enjoy someone's hospitality without bringing gift." It was times like these that he missed having Svetlana around.
"If you say so," Shane sighed. "I'm pretty sure with how often we're over for dinner, they're never going to run out of having flowers or wine at this point."
"Good, Jackie can see what good husband should do." Ilya insisted.
"Ilya," Shane groaned, "Can you just give it a rest for one night?"
"What flowers did you get?" He asked innocently.
"Before you say anything," Shane warned, pulling the plastic bag off that the store had put on to protect the flowers from the cold, "yes, there is an odd number."
Ilya glanced at the flowers out of the corner of his eye and barely held in the grin that threatened to spread across his face; instead, he nodded in approval. The bouquet of yellow roses Shane was holding glowed beautifully in the light of the setting sun.
They rode in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Ilya broke it to tell Shane in an even, serious voice, "You know you can tell me if Pike is having marriage problems."
There was a beat of silence in the car before what Ilya said registered. "What?" Shane squawked. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing, never mind," Ilya replied neutrally, working hard to contain his glee. "I'm sure everything is fine."
"Ilya, what?" Shane demanded again, turning his head fully to stare at Ilya.
He just shrugged, remaining infuriatingly nonchalant as Shane pestered him for answers. Second only to riling his husband up was riling Pike up.
He couldn't wait.
***
Ilya presented Jackie with the bouquet and kissed her cheek, making deliberate eye contact with Pike across the dining room. He, predictably, scoffed and turned away to talk to Shane, who rolled his eyes at Ilya's antics.
"Oh, Ilya, you didn't have to bring flowers again," Jackie exclaimed before smelling the roses.
Ilya scoffed, "Of course we did. Beautiful flowers for beautiful hostess." She grinned at him, ignoring her husband's glare in their direction. "Shane picked them out for you, special."
"Thank you, Shane," Jackie called across the room. He gave her a small, shy smile in return.
Ilya followed Jackie into the kitchen, hoping she would be game for his plan to torment Pike tonight. He was practically vibrating with anticipation of the accidental gift Shane had dropped in his lap.
"Can you grab the vase on top of that cabinet?" She asked, setting the flowers down on the counter and pulling out a knife to trim the ends. Ilya dutifully pulled it down and filled it with cold water for her.
"Do you know what giving yellow flowers means in Russia?" He began with a purposefully blasé voice. She tilted her head to the side curiously and said, "No. What does it mean?"
"Giving yellow flowers can be," Ilya paused, searching for the right words, "very rude. It can say you are jealous or breaking up, or there is cheating."
She threw her head back and laughed. "Does Shane know?"
"No," Ilya laughed.
"So, you could say that Shane picking yellow flowers could mean he's jealous or wants us to break up?" She gasped theatrically and leaned in to conspiratorially whisper, "Are you saying our husbands are having an affair?"
Ilya schooled his face into a serious expression and nodded gravely. "I do not know for how long, but yes."
Jackie kept up her serious expression for a second longer before breaking down into giggles. "I'm assuming you want to see how much you can get away with before they catch on?"
Ilya dramatically placed both hands over his heart and declared a little too loudly, "You are a woman after my own heart. Pike does not deserve you."
"Fuck you, Rozanov. Stop hitting on my wife," Pike's annoyed voice drifted into the kitchen.
***
"Where are the kids?" Ilya asked a few bites into the dinner, just now realizing he hadn't been accosted by his two favorite terrors.
Amber was happily sitting and babbling away in her high chair, but the rest of the Pike terrors were nowhere to be seen.
"Oh, at their grandparents'," Jackie answered, forking some of the roast she made onto her plate. "We wanted a night off for a real adult dinner. Perfect timing, really, given what's going on."
"What's going on?" Hayden asked, mouth full. Ilya watched with amusement as Shane crinkled his nose in disgust.
"Oh, nothing, honey," She said sweetly, "just dinner." Hayden shrugged and shoveled more food into his mouth.
Ilya let the conversation drift to his third-favorite topic—Jade and Ruby's shenanigans at school. He'd been delighted to find out recently that their teacher had banned them from sitting next to each other in class.
"I don't know where they get it from," Hayden groaned, "it's like they were into princesses and all things cute and nice and then, boom," Hayden pulled his hands apart mimicking an explosion, "they're getting lunch detentions for sneaking bugs into other kids' backpacks."
"Could be sign," Ilya offered vaguely.
"Sign of what?"
Pike was so easy.
"Trouble at home," Ilya said innocently.
Shane slowly narrowed his gaze on Ilya, suspicion glinting in his eyes. Ilya shrugged to throw him off, "Or is just phase."
Jackie shot him a knowing look, "No, he might be right. It could be something at home." She forked more mashed potatoes into her mouth, taking a long moment to chew with a thoughtful expression on her face.
She eventually gestured with her fork. "Anything you want to share?" Her gesture was broad enough that it could have been directed at either Shane or Pike.
They turned to look at each other in unison, with identically confused expressions.
Ilya gave a thoughtful hum, "Maybe Dad has been coming home late too much. Anya has been getting grumpy with Shane coming home late this week."
Shane looked adorably lost, and Ilya watched the mental recounting of his hours for the last couple of weeks literally play out on Shane's face.
"I haven't been—" Shane started, but Ilya interrupted him to ask Pike, "Do you know where he has been?"
"What the fuck?" Pike whispered to Shane, who looked just as lost.
Ilya turned to Jackie next. "Has Pike said anything to you?"
"You know now that I think about it, Hayden’s mumbled 'Jane' a couple of times in his sleep recently," Jackie mused, picking up her wineglass to take a long drink.
Ilya almost lost his composure when Shane startled so violently he nearly fell out of his chair, and Pike’s eyes got so wide they seemed to bulge out of his head.
He was probably going to oversell it, but he was having too much fun not to add, "Oh, how interesting, that is name Shane used when we were hiding."
"Shane, Hayden, sweetie, is there anything you want to share with us?" Jackie asked, her voice pitching up as she unsuccessfully fought to keep it together. "Is it all that time you've been rooming togeth—" she cut off when Ilya accidentally made eye contact with her, sending both of them over the edge.
Their laughter had Amber pounding her hands on her little tray and shrieking delightedly, which only made Ilya laugh harder.
Hayden's confused, "Babe?" had Jackie gasping for air.
"Does anyone want to tell me what's going on?" Shane demanded, looking annoyed and put out. "Ilya, I know you're up to something."
Jackie fell on Ilya's shoulder, in tears, "Shane," she gasped for air, "you can have him."
Ilya grinned wickedly. It was like Christmas come early, getting under Shane's skin just enough to trigger his aggression that led to hot, angry sex, and getting to fuck with Pike all at once. "You picked yellow flowers for Jackie. Can mean you are jealous, or there is cheating."
Jackie wheezed, "We decided you wanted Hayden."
"Oh my fucking god, fuck you, fuck you, Rozanov!" Pike ranted, "Jackie, you’re perfect and the love of my life, but you betrayed me for Rozanov, so I'm sorry, but fuck you too."
One withering look from Jackie and he was immediately groveling, "Wait, I didn't mean that. Rozanov is evil and corrupted you, and that's not your fault. I love you?"
"I’m getting a divorce," Shane deadpanned.
"Okay, we must go now," Ilya announced, standing up abruptly, all amusement gone from his voice. "I must remind Shane why he is my husband."
Pike's disgusted groan was music to Ilya's ears.
3.
Ilya grinned as he watched Ruby and Jade run up the aisle of the little auditorium, ignoring their father's weak "Slow down!" Their excited and overlapping, "Uncle Ilya, Uncle Shane, you came!" rang through the expansive space.
He crouched and flung his arms out wide. "Moi zvezdochki!" He exclaimed. Shane caught his eye from where he stood nearby, and quirked an eyebrow, mouthing, "Stars?" Ilya winked back, wrapping his arms around the girls as they barreled into him.
Ruby was the first to spot the bouquets in Shane's arms and pulled away with an excited, "You brought us flowers!"
Ilya had taken one look at them when Shane arrived at the concert hall earlier and had to swallow his laugh. While his wonderful husband's Russian was getting much better, the poor man was somehow zero for three in the flower department.
Shane handed each of the girls their respective bouquets of eleven carnations (Shane had pointedly told Ilya that he'd picked up an odd number of red flowers this time). Ilya's chest warmed at the uninhibited smile on Shane's face when each girl hugged him and said, "Thank you, Uncle Shane."
Is this what he had to look forward to in their future? Recitals—well, more likely mite hockey games—with two adorable children beaming at him with Shane's freckles on their cheeks? Buying them little bouquets for their milestones, like his mother had done for him and his brother?
The wistful image was rudely interrupted by Hayden coming up to their little group and asking, "Did you thank Uncle Shane for the flowers?"
They chorused "Yes, Dad" and rolled their little eyes in sync. Hayden shot Ilya an accusatory side glance, "You taught them that."
Ilya grinned back unabashedly. Jackie, slowed down by the two little 3/4 violin cases she was wrangling, joined their group just in time to hear Pike's complaint and laughed at the annoyed look on her husband's face.
Ilya beckoned for the girls to come closer and leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, "Remember Boston tea party you tell me about, from school?" The two girls were hanging on to every word.
He suppressed his reflexive smirk at seeing the confused look on Shane's face when he tapped their bouquets. "This means Uncle Shane wants you to do this at home," Ilya searched for the right words, indulging in the growing horrified look on Shane's face, "bring down your father's kingdom."
He was never going to hear the end of this from Shane.
"What?" Pike blurted. "Why the f—heck," he caught himself just in time when Jackie's eyes narrowed in his direction, "would you say that?"
Ilya responded with a careless, "They are Russian revolution flowers." The girls had matching manic grins and were excitedly whispering to each other, so Ilya couldn't help but add, "I am teaching Russian history, Pike, you should be happy they are getting real education now."
Jackie was too busy laughing to do anything about the girls, who started running circles around them, chanting, "Down with Dad! Down with Dad! Down with Dad!"
Ilya could barely hear the outraged, "You gave my children flowers to start a coup in my house?" directed at Shane over the twins and his own laughter.
"How is this my fault?" Shane squeaked, bright red cheeks glowing in the dim light of the auditorium.
Ilya stood up from where he'd been crouched, holding his stomach. His abs already hurt, but he couldn't stop himself from laughing more when Shane mouthed an exasperated, "You are an asshole," to him.
When Ilya finally got ahold of himself, he made sure his eyes were wide and innocent. "What? You want me to say you bring them soldier funeral flowers, instead?"
Shane closed his eyes and whined, "I hate you so much." Jackie had tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks when she fell back to sit in one of the pews.
Hayden jabbed an angry finger at Ilya's chest, "You're going to regret ever meeting me when you finally have children."
Ilya raised an eyebrow and mouthed back, "Down with Dad," in time with the girls. Maintaining eye contact with Pike, he leaned down and dropped his palms out for the girls to high-five.
Shane slapped one of his hands down, but not in time to stop the girls from giving him two tiny, but very enthusiastic high fives to the other hand.
Fuck, he couldn't wait to have children with Shane.
+1 - Epilogue
***
Shane jiggled his leg nervously as he waited for Ilya to arrive at the cottage. He'd had a meeting with coach Wiebe in the morning, which allowed Shane to pick up the flowers he'd ordered, without letting Ilya know what he had planned.
It had been almost five years since they'd finally married, and Shane wanted to make it special for Ilya. He got a lump in his throat when he thought about all of the progress Ilya had made in the last five years—with the team, with the Foundation, and with himself.
Shane circled the kitchen island again, stopping to sort and re-arrange the paperwork he had laid out on the counter for the hundredth time. He picked up the massive bouquet of roses again, rotating it so the flowers on the bottom weren't being crushed on the counter while he waited.
He made himself sit down again. Everything was ready. He needed to stop.
The mantra lasted maybe another thirty seconds before Shane got up to pace again.
The familiar sound of the door opening with Ilya's, "Lyubov moya, I am home," had Shane speeding down the hall and flinging himself into Ilya's arms.
Ilya's surprised, "Sha—" was swallowed by their kiss. Shane barely heard Ilya drop his bags to the floor as he wound his arms around Shane and pressed him back against the wall.
The gentle hand resting at the base of his neck nearly made Shane forget what he'd planned, but he managed to push Ilya back when his other hand found its way into Shane's pants to palm his cock.
"Wait," Shane panted, "I have something for you first."
Ilya's lewd smile made Shane roll his eyes affectionately. "Not that, c'mon." Shane grabbed Ilya's hand and pulled him into the kitchen.
Ilya paused when Shane dropped his hand and picked up the bouquet. When he turned back around, Ilya's eyes were wide and dark, locked onto Shane's every move. He held it out and in a low voice murmured, "Happy anniversary, Ilya," eyes locked onto Ilya's lips, which were slightly parted now. "Ya tebya lyublyu."
Shane was pretty proud of his accent, and though he had pretty much daily practice with those words, he'd spent twenty minutes in the car today practicing them over and over again, until they were practically accentless.
"For me?"
"Ye—mph," Shane got out, as Ilya grabbed the bouquet, set it back on the counter, and crushed his lips to Shane's.
The kiss was sloppy, wet, and desperate. Not that Shane minded Ilya trying to get his tongue as far into Shane's mouth as he could. Ilya's hands found their way under Shane's shirt, slowly moving up the hard planes of his stomach as he began peppering kisses and sucking on Shane's neck.
"I want to have children with you," Shane whispered.
He tried not to panic when Ilya went completely rigid under his hands. The silence felt heavy, and Shane desperately wanted to see Ilya's eyes so he could know what he was thinking. Ilya had his forehead rested on Shane's collarbone, and he could feel Ilya's warm, stuttered breathing through his shirt.
"Umm, I spoke with a specialist in Canada who works with gay couples. She gave me a couple of brochures about options we have," Shane babbled, trying to fill the dead air. "There's surrogacy. We'd have to get an egg donor and a gestational surrogate, or find someone willing to be both. There's also adoption . . . " Shane trailed off when Ilya picked up his head, eyes shining bright.
"No," Ilya croaked, and Shane's heart dropped. "No adoption, they must have your pretty freckles."
He almost choked on the relieved breath he took in, not realizing he'd been holding it, as Ilya peppered kisses across Shane's nose and cheeks, whispering "I love you" and "Ya tebya lyublyu" over and over again under his breath. The all-consuming warmth building in his chest made his throat tight with emotion.
In one sudden motion, Ilya grabbed Shane's thighs and hitched them up until Shane wrapped his legs around Ilya's waist. He began walking toward the bedroom. "We must get you pregnant now," Ilya growled.
Shane laughed wetly, "I'm pretty sure that wasn't one of the options."
"Ah, is because we have not been trying hard enough, but we will practice now." Ilya's warm hazel eyes crinkled at the corners, and Shane leaned down to kiss him again, not caring that Ilya was walking pretty much blind at this point.
They didn't make it to the bedroom.
He did, in fact, enjoy Ilya's dick, though. Several times.
Not that he would be the one to tell (Aunt) Sveta.
11The comment about centaurs and homosociality was inspired by this article I recently read: Billie Gavurin, “Untamed longings”: Darwinism and Homoerotic Attraction in Algernon Blackwood’s The Centaur, 15 J. LITERATURE & SCI. 23, 30 (2022) ("In employing the centaur – a product of the Greek imagination – as the focus of his homosocial narrative, Blackwood, whether knowingly or otherwise, evokes the possibility of coded homoeroticism.")[return to text]