Chapter Text
Shane wiggles the key in the lock, nudging the massive front door open with a huff. Immediately, a brown fuzzy ball jumps around his feet in excitement. „Hi, girl,“, Shane mumbles affectionately while bending down to scratch behind Anya‘s ears in greeting. He drops his gym bag on the small stool by the shoerack and exhales, tension slowly seeping from his shoulders now that he‘s home. He is still in awe that he gets to have this, come home to the house he shares with his husband and their dog. His husband, who is about to be his teammate for the first time ever. His husband, who he doesn‘t have to pretend to not be absolutely, embarrassingly in love with anymore.
Anya yips at his feet, tail wagging so fast it‘s really nothing but a blur on her backside as Shane toes off his Reeboks and picks up the bag again to sort his gear into the laundry. Once that‘s done, he wanders into the dimly lit living room, Anya still hot on his heels. Sometimes Shane wonders if she shares the sentiment of disbelief about him now being a permanent fixture in her every day life, rather than someone who comes to stay with her dad from time to time. The dog jumps on the couch in front of him as he walks by, still desperately asking for Shane‘s attention. He sinks his fingers into the scruffy fur at her neck and lets her press up to his legs. „Where‘s your papa, hm?“, Shane‘s voice is low, but not low enough as Anya perks up at Ilya‘s mention and takes off towards the kitchen.
Shane follows behind and, at the threshold into their kitchen, is greeted with the sight of Ilya’s broad shoulders, an 81 printed across the back of his tshirt. Shane leans against the doorframe and crosses his ankles and arms, a slow smile spreading on his lips as he watches his husband for a second.
Ilya is rummaging around the fridge, pulling tuppers out and placing them on the counter, all while narrating his actions to Anya who threads around his legs excitedly. Shane can see that the sweatpants his husband is sporting are just a bit short and just a little tighter than his usual apparel, and Shane smirks knowingly, subtly clearing his throat.
„Did my transfer cut the Centaurs budget so much they can‘t even give you your own season sweats anymore?“
Ilya jumps and whips around to face Shane, the plate he was holding clattering to the counter ungracefully. „Solnyshko!“, he grins at Shane, eyes glistening softly.
It‘s like a magnet is pulling him towards Ilya as Shane swiftly closes the distance between them. As soon as he‘s in reach, Ilya slides his hands around Shane‘s waist and pulls him into his chest. Shane goes easily, burying his head in the crook between Ilya‘s neck and shoulder and just inhaling his musky sweet scent for a moment. Home, he thinks. A soft kiss is placed to the crown of his head and Shane smiles into the warm skin of Ilya‘s neck.
„Hi, moya lyubov. How was training camp?“, Ilya pulls back, pressing a quick peck to Shane‘s lips before looking at his husband carefully.
Shane sighs and squeezes his hand, hoping it will be more reassuring than worrying. The truth is that Shane is nervous. Everything that happened after they got outed, especially with his old team, had made the lead up to Shane and Ilya finally, finally playing on the same team a rather stressful time for him and Ilya knows it. He had been nothing but supportive and understanding of Shane‘s anxiety and to be honest, it made Shane feel even worse sometimes. He hated adding to Ilya‘s mental load. He hated being affected by the whole disatserous last year the way he was.
In theory, it was all looking less glum now. They didn’t have to hide anymore, there was no more miserable 2-hour drives between Ottawa and Montreal after games, no more strategizing about when and if they should come out, no more evading questions about their personal lives. If Shane wanted to hold Ilya‘s hand in public, he could, and the world would keep spinning. But that‘s just the thing. How does one let go of holding back everything around your favorite person, and more importantly, how does one let go of the fear of being caught?
Today is the last day of pre-season. Tomorrow, Shane officially joins the lines of the Ottawa Centaurs. His day had been spent at the rink, together with two rookies who were also joining the team this upcoming season. He had been with the Voyageurs for so long, he‘d almost forgotten the pre-season on-boarding days before practice kicks off.
Ilya‘s fingers toy with the cord on Shane‘s hoodie. Shane swats his hands away with a scoff. „It was fine. Mostly going over last season’s lines and some pointers for training.“ Shane’s voice is a little strained, and he watches Ilya‘s green eyes narrow ever so slightly.
„Shane…“, Ilya mumbles softly, his hands coming to rest on Shane‘s hips and his thumbs hooking into the hem of Shane‘s joggers.
„Ilya.“, Shane replies sharper than intended, and immediately regrets it. Ilya‘s thumbs press into his hipbone gently, a silent reasurance.
„Is okay to be nervous, solnyshko. You don‘t have to be starstruck just because your new captian is best player in the NHL.“ Shane rolls his eyes dramatically, but can‘t quite keep the smile tugging at his lips. Ilya smirks knowingly, but there is a soft edge to his features.
„Fuck off, it‘s… I am so excited to do this, and to do it with you. I loved playing against you, but playing with you is honestly my favorite thing. I just… wish it could be without all these eyes on us.“
Ilya considers him for a moment, before leaning in and pressing their foreheads together. Shane exhales a shaky breath.
„We go at your pace, okay? I am with you every step of the way. As your husband, but also as your captain. This will not be like Montreal, this team is good. We are good. You are good. You are Shane fucking Hollander!“
Shane sputters out a wet laugh, fighting the familiar pressure building behind his eyes. Ilya nudges their noses together and wraps one hand around the nape of Shane’s neck.
„I love you. You are brave. This will be good thing, yes?“
Shane nods against him. „Yes. I love you, too. Thank you, I -“
„If you apologize right now, I will make you run extra drills tomorrow in front of whole team.“
Shane pushes at Ilya‘s chest half-heartedly before locking eyes with the beautiful man across from him. He smiles, almost shyly, before winding his arms around Ilya‘s neck, their chests flush together and slots their mouths together. The kiss isn‘t heated just yet, it‘s gentle and deep and secure.
Yeah, Shane thinks, we are good.
—
A pre-season ritual that is new to Shane, even a decade into his Hockey career, is team barbecue with the entire team the day before practice officialy starts back up. Ilya had told him about this tradition obviously, and he‘d even done something similar with Hayden and JJ in the years prior, but now that Ilya put the car in park just outside Zane Boodram‘s house, his palms are clammy and his neck tingling like he was being watched.
He‘d met several of the Centaurs over the summer, including Bood, Barrett and Hayes, but still, this was a different setting. Entering a team space, one that he was new to and with his husband, unsettled Shane more than he‘d ever admit to Ilya. Not that he had to, Ilya could read him like an open book these days.
„Shane.“, Ilya speaks softly into the space between them, his hand finding Shane‘s and intertwining their fingers.
„I‘m fine, just…“
„Nervous, I know, solnychko. Is fine.“
Shane stares at their joint hands, his other hand coming up to play with the silver band on Ilya‘s ring finger, twisting carefully. Ilya remains still in the driver seat, giving Shane a moment to collect himself.
„I‘m being insane about this, I know. I‘m so-“, his rambling is interrupted by an exaggerated groan from Ilya.
„Shane, you are the light of my life, best thing that has ever happened to me, but if you say sorry for being anxious about this one more time…“, he must have noticed Shane‘s shoulders hiking up ever so slightly, because he abruptly stops, choosing instead to raise their hands to his mouth and press a gentle kiss to the back of Shane‘s hand.
„It‘s okay to be anxious. I am too sometimes. You just don‘t have to be sorry for it, moya lyubov. Is okay. I am here with you anyway.“
Shane forces himself to relax his shoulders and takes a deep breath. „I love you.“
„I love you, too. And again, how do you say? Ball is in your arena. Whatever you need.“
Shane squeezes Ilya’s hand one more time for good measure and refrains from correcting him, mostly because he is 95% sure Ilya butchered the saying just to rile him up.
„Okay, let‘s go.“
—
In hindsight, Shane feels a little silly for the way he was freaking out all day. Ilya was right, this team is good. When Ilya had opened the door to reveal a living room full of Hockey players and their significant others, Shane‘s heart had beat so fast he thought he‘d crack a rib. But then Ilya had made a show of introducing him to the room full of watchful eyes, and everyone had erupted into cheers and laughter. The Centaurs goalie Wyatt Hayes had immediately pulled Shane aside to discuss last season‘s playoffs.
Shane had slowly but surely relaxed and settled more into the group, joining conversations here an there and nursing a few cans of ginger ale throughout the evening. He hadn‘t talked to Ilya in a few hours, but had noticed Ilya looking at him frequently to check in. Shane returned a small, private smile every time, because he was fine. He appreciates that Ilya let him mingle on his own, he wanted to enter this team as Shane Hollander, hockey player and not Shane Hollander, the captain‘s husband. Rationally, Shane knows that everybody here knows and is cool with it, both him being gay and him being married to Ilya, but the reactions of his old team still cut deep.
It annoys him, if he‘s being entirely honest with himself, especially as he watches his peers be affectionate with their partners like it isn‘t even worth to think about. He figures it isn‘t. He feels a pull in his chest that feels an awful lot like jealous as he watches Troy press a kiss to the side of Harris‘ head in passing. He‘s been watching them every now and again all evening, and mapping the reactions of everyone around. So far he‘s come up short, because there have been no weird reactions from anyone in the room. Shane takes another swig of his ginger ale.
—
The sun has gone down and everyone is settled around the backyard in groups, huddled together near the fire pits or on the lounge deck. Shane finds himself looking for Ilya more and more across the deck. His husband is stood in conversation with Bood and his wife Cassie. Next to Shane, Coach Wiebe and the rookies are murmuring quietly.
Shane’s gaze is fixed on Ilya, on the way he animatedly moves his hands as he’s sharing whatever ridiculous anecdote it is, the way his eyes crinkle so wonderfully when he laughs, the way his lips wrap around the beer bottle in his hands as he takes a sip.
Ilya must feel his heated gaze because he breaks eye contact with Cassie momentairly, his eyes finding Shane‘s in no time. He looks at him with a soft smile before mouthing You okay? Shane can‘t help the steady smile sliding to his lips and nods ever so slightly before patting the empty space on the lounge chair next to him in silent question. Ilya‘s gaze sharpens and he doesn‘t take his eyes of Shane as he excuses himself from the conversation. He weaves across the distance seamlessly before planting himself next to Shane with a huff, extending his arm along the ridge of the lounge behind Shane.
„Hey.“
Shane snorts, but subtly leans back into Ilya‘s arm. Immediately, Ilya‘s hand drops to the back of his neck, caressing the hair at the base of it in a soothing motion.
„Okay?“, he leans into Shane a little as he breathes the words close to his ear. Shane deliberates for only a second before timidly placing his hand on Ilya‘s knee. He hears Ilya draw in a breath at the contact and feels his hand squeeze his neck softly.
The conversation around them draws them in, attracting more and more players to their little group and Shane is grounded by the steady movement of Ilya‘s thumb, along the neckline of Shane‘s sweater or in the short hair at the base of his neck. He doesn‘t even notice when he scooches closer, pulling up his legs to his chest and leaning them against Ilya‘s strong thigh. Once he realizes what he‘s done, he tenses, eyes wide as he looks around at these people he barely knows. His team. The insistent thumb at his neck stills, replacing the pattern it had been drawing with a gentle pressure against his shoulder. Slowly, Shane catalogues the people around him, barely listening to the conversations. No one even bats an eye at their captain and his husband.
It settles for Shane then, slowly like honey, that Ilya was probably right. This is good.