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Shane didn’t know what came over him to do such an action, especially in public. He was already at the arena, so it was a little too late for him to take it back.
He was supposed to be at home, on the couch, possibly with Anya and Ottawa’s home game against Detroit playing on the TV. Keyword being: Supposed. Shane was also supposed to be resting, much to the fact of his sprained ankle that he got teamed up for by Wiebe, Ilya, and even his parents — “Traitors.” Shane had muttered when he got driven home by his parents from practice.
Still, they were the idiots for thinking that Shane wouldn’t be stubborn enough to do something he wasn’t supposed to. He was a very healthy adult who wanted to support his team — or his husband, mostly — and he wasn’t gonna let a stupid sprained ankle deprive him of that. So Shane fed Anya first and waited for her to fall asleep in her massive dog bed that Ilya managed to convince Shane was “Perfect bed for perfect pup.” Who could blame the Canadian? He got some good fucking sex from agreeing to it anyway, so win-win.
Shane took a glance at the clock, 3 hours before the game, he had enough time. The man took a shower, making sure he cleaned every part of his body for Ilya to possibly ruin after the game, did his skincare afterwards then rummaged through the closet he shared with his husband.
One side was all evenly folded clothes and hung jackets or pants — of course, being Shane’s side. While the opposite side was also some folded clothes, not even but folded, and no amount of thought process into sorting it one bit. Ilya liked that Shane was all clean and wanted everything even — or “Boring.” in the Russian’s words — but as long as he had clothes and they were clean, he didn’t care if his closet was a disaster or not.
Shane ignored the mess and found the article of clothing exactly where he thought it would be, from the amount of times Ilya had worn it and put it in a drawer.
That article of clothing being: Ilya’s Centaurs jersey.
The soft black fabric and red accents, the Centaur playing hockey straight on the chest along with the red capital ‘C’ too, the back being Ilya’s number ‘81’ and ‘ROZANOV’ in big red letters. Shane already felt hard wearing this in public — even if he and Ilya had already been outed and married for a year, he still felt shy being too comfortable.
Shane stared at the jersey in his hands for a long time to the point his hair was dry and the game was starting in 2 hours. Taking a deep breath, he put on a pair of black trousers and the jersey. He fixed his hair a bit, combing then roughing it up in just the way that Ilya wanted. If he was going to a game wearing Ilya’s jersey, he should at least finish up the look.
With a look in the mirror, Shane looked beautiful — not that he himself would use it to describe himself, but because he got so used to how Ilya called him that all the time. Well, now, Shane certainly felt pretty. Then suddenly, a fact registered in his mind.
He looked like a fucking puck bunny for Ilya.
Looking like a die-hard fan who bought tickets, wore his jersey, and would be cheering him in the stands while the Centaurs played against Detroit. But no, instead it was Shane looking like a pretty little thing in Ilya’s jersey. Still, Ilya would prefer it being Shane anyway, he was whipped in a way Russians are.
Shane finished getting ready, grabbed his phone and wallet, bid Anya goodbye for now and got into his car, driving towards the arena. He was buzzing with excitement and anxiety as he drove. What if they wouldn’t let him in? What if he wasn’t allowed to watch? What if they tell Wiebe he was there and he’d tell Shane’s parents, then they’d wou—
No.
They wouldn’t do that. Would they? They won’t. They’ll understand Shane is on a hunger streak and just wants to see his husband playing, that’s all, he wasn’t even gonna play so no big deal.
****
Even from outside the arena, the air already felt cold. It was probably just the Ottawa night air, it was close to 7 in the evening anyway. He showed his ID to the front guards and got a free pass up to the top viewing area to watch the game. From there, he saw Ottawa's bench. Seeing his team, stretching, talking, doing skater stretches on the ice.
Then suddenly, Shane felt hundreds — maybe thousands — of eyes turn to him. He was too focused on watching Ilya talk to Bood and Troy to hear the game announcers take notice of his presence at the top stand. Then, Shane looked up, making eye contact with the Jumbotron that showed him. With a smile, after processing it, he turned around and showed the back of the jersey. ‘ROZANOV’ standing out on his back as a bold possessive touch that even Ilya himself didn’t know about.
The stadium held their breath, before they all exploded. Screams, cheers, and — chanting? Some fans were feral, chanting “Shane Hollander” like it was a mantra that kept them alive. The Jumbotron screen split, one half of Shane showing off Ilya’s jersey in the stands, the other half of Ilya with his mouthguard hanging from his smirking lips down at Ottawa’s benches. Shane turned back around, looking very proud of his impact on the stadium before the actual game even started. The game announcers talked and teased about how they already predicted that Ottawa would most likely win the home game just from the sight of Shane alone.
****
Of course, as expected of half the stadium and the game announcers, Ottawa won by an embarrassing 4-1. They were on a roll, rarely even letting Detroit shoot shots. Ilya, specifically, was on fire. The Russian, scored the opening goal and another in 2nd period, though checking the Detroit players into the boards multiple times, he was still playing like his life depended on it. When the final buzzer rang, the stadium blew up in cheers as the Jumbotron zeroed in on Ilya, who made an act of kissing his gloved left hand. His ring finger.
Before the refs even allowed the players to go back to their locker rooms, Shane was already speeding down stairs to Ottawa’s locker room, meeting said players half way and hugging Ilya tightly. All of them whooped and cheered in the hall as Ilya smirked, kissing Shane deeply, trying to keep it PG-13 in front of the team.
“Meet me outside after.” Ilya whispered in Shane’s ear as he pulled away from the kiss, pressing another one of his husband’s temples instead before entering the locker room to take off his gear as quickly as possible, not bothering to shower as he packed up his gear in less than five minutes. The guys grinned, already knowing what would happen the second Ilya and Shane get behind a closed door.
Calling after Ilya as he left the locker room. Bood called out. “Good game, Rozy! Send our prayers for Hollzy, ey?” The team laughed, Ilya rolled his eyes and flipped off blindly behind him as he left the doors. Looking over the darkened parking lot, he found Shane’s car, the engine already on. Walking over, he opened the passenger door on instinct and got inside.
“What the fuck was that?” Ilya spat out, his breathing already ragged.
“What was what?” Shane asked, feigning innocence. He was literally still wearing the fucking jersey as he drove both of them home.