Chapter Text
It wasn't news to anyone that Shane and Ilya's first dinner with Hayden and Jackie hadn't gone well. Their first dinner had gone sideways pretty fast with Hayden and Ilya getting up at each other's throats. What no one expected was Hayden of all people wanting a re-do of that night. Shane was skeptical but knew that Hayden and Ilya were going to have to get along with each other at some point. Shane agreed to host the dinner at his cottage in Ottawa and decided that he should invite a buffer. There weren't many people that knew about him and Ilya but there were enough that they were no longer hidden. Shane decided on inviting Rose over cause he hadn't seen her in a while and he knew that Hayden was secretly jealous that Shane was such good friends with a famous movie star. Putting his fear aside he went to go find Ilya and hope that this dinner was going to go better than the last.
Ilya was in Shane's bedroom, really their bedroom now, still sleeping away with Anya curled up in her dog bed by the foot of the bed. It wasn't entirely unusual for Ilya to still be sleeping cause it was only 8 and it was their offseason. Shane smiled at his boyfriend and slowly moved to bed stopping to greet Anya on his way. The little puppy was enthusiastic but still sleepy as she put her paws on Shane's knees and tried to get more pets out of him. Shane let Anya down to rest in her dog bed and went to his boyfriend. He slowly pulled the covers back before sitting on the edge of the bed and slightly touching Ilya's shoulder. Ilya made some disgruntled sound that sounded roughly like leave me alone or five more minutes. Shane laughed quietly before trying again. "Ilya," he nudged harder. At this point, Ilya had opened his eyes and stared at Shane before slowly sitting up against their headboard. "Why so early moya lyubov?" Ilya's words slightly slurred but Shane understood the pet name no issue. My Love. Shane had absolutely no skills in Russian but he understood most of what Ilya liked to call him. Shane felt his cheeks flush before moving closer so he could grab one of Ilya's hands in his own. Ilya tried to kiss him but Shane dodged mumbling "morning breath". Ilya gave a dramatic sigh and got up going to the bathroom to most likely brush his teeth wanting his kiss from Shane faster.
Ilya was back in less than 10 minutes and quickly made a move of shoving Shane onto his back and placing a kiss onto Shane's lips. Shane groaned into it and reached for Ilya's neck but before he could Ilya had both of his wrists pinned to either side of his head. Shane only moaned louder and let Ilya keep kissing him. It wasn't until Ilya moved down to his neck that he remembered their dinner plans. "Ilya" Shane gasped out trying to get the other man's attention. Ilya mumbled before going back to pressing kisses against Shane's neck. Shane let Ilya continue, silently not minding it cause he missed having this as much as Ilya did. It wasn't like they were apart for long either. They basically spent all of last night having sex and Ilya had already left plenty of marks in places that were a tad more private. Nevertheless, Shane wanted his boyfriend.
"Ilya, wait—" Shane tried again, his voice strained and breathless. Ilya finally pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his thumb grazing Shane’s pulse point where it was still hammering against his skin. "You talk too much, Solnyshko," Ilya murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. He leaned back down, his nose brushing against Shane’s. "We have the bed, we have time, you want it too." Ilya rolled his hips against Shane's drawing a strangled moan from Shane.
Ilya's lips found the sensitive spot just below Shane’s ear that he’d already claimed the night before. "Ilya, listen," Shane wheezed, bracing his core as Ilya’s hands slid from his wrists to find the hem of his shirt. "Hayden, Jackie, Rose... they’re coming over for dinner." He left out the part about Hayden wanting the dinner in fear that Ilya would find some excuse to not have the dinner. Ilya paused, his forehead resting against Shane’s shoulder. He let out a long, frustrated groan that vibrated through Shane’s entire chest. "Tell them the stove broke," Ilya muffled into his skin, his hands moving with a stubborn persistence. "Tell them we have plague. They will understand."
Shane finally found the strength to wedge a hand between them and gently push Ilya’s chest back. He caught Ilya’s gaze, seeing the sheer, unadulterated want there—the kind that nine years of being 'just' fuck buddies hadn't been able to burn out. Shane reached up, cupping Ilya’s face and thumbing his lower lip. "I want you. Trust me, I do. But if we keep this up no one will be eating anything today." He leaned up, giving Ilya one last, lingering kiss that promised exactly what was coming later. "Tonight. After they leave. I’m all yours. No talking, no interruptions. Deal?"
Ilya stared at him for a long beat, looking like a man contemplating a heist, before he finally sighed and rolled off, lying flat on his back next to Shane. He threw an arm over his eyes, huffing a breath.
"Fine," Ilya grumbled, though there was a faint, reluctant smirk on his lips. "
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It later that evening when the doorbell rang. Rose was first with her usual smile and stepped into the foyer, holding out a bottle of expensive-looking red. "I figured we’d need something strong to survive Hayden and Ilya in the same room for three hours."
"You have no idea," Shane chuckled, though the laugh was a little tight.
Ilya was standing by the sofa, looking sharp in a fitted sweater, but his dignity was being actively compromised by Anya. The puppy was a blur of golden fur, wriggling frantically in his arms and trying to get a tongue-full of his face.
"Rose is here. Stop being a small wolf," Ilya muttered, his accent thick and grumbling, though his hands were careful as he held her back.
Rose walked straight over, her smile widening. "Oh, give her to someone who actually knows how to cuddle, Ilya." She didn't wait for him to answer, reaching out and expertly scooping the puppy into her arms.
"She is all yours. She has no respect for personal space," Ilya said. He gave Rose a brief, polite nod—a massive step up from the icy glares of their earlier years—but his eyes immediately drifted back to Shane, tracking his movement across the room.
Shane took Rose’s coat and hung it in the closet, lingering for a second to center himself. As he walked back toward the living room, he brushed past Ilya. He didn't stop, but he leaned in just enough for his breath to catch the shell of Ilya's ear.
"Be nice," Shane whispered, a soft command laced with a plea. "Please."
Ilya’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he gave a small, sharp nod. “Of course, Lapochka. I'm nothing but nice” he murmured back—though the look in his eyes suggested his definition of "nice" might differ from Shane's.
Shane turned his attention to Rose, who was already settled on the sofa with Anya curled in her lap. "So," Shane started, moving toward the kitchen to grab glasses. "I saw the trailer for the new movie. The cinematography looks incredible—how was the filming in Vancouver?"
Rose launched into a story about late-night shoots and difficult directors, her voice filling the room and providing a much-needed layer of normalcy. Ilya sat in the armchair opposite her, his expression unreadable, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, restless beat against the armrest as they waited for the rest of the storm—Hayden and Jackie—to arrive.
The doorbell rang for the second time that night and Shane went to open the door. He pulled the door open, but he wasn't fast enough. Anya, sensing the new energy, slipped through Ilya’s fingers like sand. She skidded across the hardwood, a blur of golden fur and frantic paws, letting out a series of high-pitched yips as she threw herself at Hayden’s ankles.
"Whoa! Someone’s excited," Hayden laughed, nearly tripping as he stepped inside. Jackie followed, looking much more composed, carrying a box of pastries. "Hey, Shane. Sorry we’re late, Hayden had to finish a 'very important' call that was definitely just him arguing with his agent."
"It was strategy, Jackie! Strategy!" Hayden defended, kicking the door shut behind him.
Once the coats were cleared and the initial chaos of Anya’s greeting settled, Shane felt the room grow smaller. Ilya was standing by the dining room archway, his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression the definition of a "Russian Wall."
"You guys okay with going straight to dinner?" Shane asked, his voice a pitch too bright. "We can chat while we eat. Everything is ready."
"Starving," Hayden said, but his eyes weren't on the kitchen. They were locked on Ilya.
As they sat down, it felt as if a heavy cloud had entered the room. Rose sat at the head, with Ilya to her right and Jackie to her left. Hayden sat next to Jackie while Shane sat next to Ilya. For the first ten minutes, it was mostly Jackie and Rose talking about the industry, but that quiet didn't last long.
The dinner was supposed to be the bridge. Instead, it felt like a trial where Ilya was the only one in the dock. Hayden leaned back, swirling the wine in his glass with a look of feigned contemplation. "You know, Rozanov, I’ve been thinking. It’s the off-season, things are quiet. It gives a guy a lot of time to reflect on how he ended up where he is. Like you, for instance."
Ilya’s grip on his glass tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. "I am happy where I am, Pike."
"Are you?" Hayden chuckled, though there was no warmth in it. "Or are you just comfortable? You spent ten years fueled by trying to beat Shane. Now that you're playing house with him in the summer, maybe the 'Russian Menace' is just… getting soft. Getting bored. I mean, look at him." Hayden gestured at Shane with his chin. "Shane’s the face of the league. He’s got a reputation, a legacy. And you? You're just the guy who used to be his biggest headache and is now… what? The guy who steals his blankets? I just wonder if you’re actually good for him, or if you’re just holding him back while you fade out."
The air in the room turned brittle. It was a direct hit to Ilya’s pride—both as a person and as a partner. Ilya looked at Shane, his eyes wide and searching, practically begging for Shane to say something. Anything. To tell Hayden that Ilya was the best thing that ever happened to him.
Shane kept his eyes on the table. He felt the weight of the silence, and he let it sit. He told himself he was being the peacemaker—that if he didn't react, Hayden would eventually stop.
"I—I need a second," Shane finally muttered, pushing his chair back. He couldn't handle the pressure of the room anymore. He didn't look at Ilya as he stood and headed for the hallway.
He heard the heavy, familiar thud of Ilya’s footsteps behind him. When Shane turned around near the bathroom, Ilya looked like he was vibrating with suppressed energy.
"Shane—"
"Ilya, please," Shane cut him off, his voice a frantic whisper. "Can you just stop? The back-and-forth? Just… let it go. For me. This dinner is important, and I need you to be the bigger person."
Ilya’s face went completely still. It wasn't the "Russian Wall" he showed the media; it was something rawer. "The bigger person? He is sitting there telling me I am a burden to you. That I am just 'soft' now. And you ask me to stop?"
"I'm just asking for one night of peace," Shane pleaded, his heart hammering. "Please. Come back in a minute."
Shane didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked back to the dining room. When he sat down, the atmosphere had shifted. Hayden was gone, his chair shoved back haphazardly.
"Where’s Hayden?" Shane asked, looking at Jackie.
Jackie looked tired, rubbing her temples. "I sent him out to the porch. He was being a dick, Shane. He was trying to bait Ilya from the moment we sat down, and I told him to go cool off before he said something he couldn't take back."
The sick, heavy drop in Shane’s stomach was instantaneous. He had tried to play both sides, but in staying quiet, he had let Hayden poke at Ilya's character without a word of defense. He had looked at the two men he cared about and silenced the one who was actually being targeted, simply because it was the path of least resistance.
He had chosen Hayden.
He stood up to go back to the hall, to find Ilya and fix it, but he stopped dead in the archway.
Rose was there. She hadn't gone to the bathroom. She was standing in the dim light of the hallway with Ilya. She had her hand on his arm, her head tilted up as she spoke to him in a low, fierce murmur. Ilya wasn't looking at her; he was staring at the floor, his jaw tight, looking like a man who had just realized he was standing on a very different team than the person he loved.
Shane watched them, a lump forming in his throat, realizing that while he had been "playing it safe," Rose was the only one actually checking up on his boyfriend.
Shane hovered in the shadows of the archway, his breath catching in his throat. He had expected to see Ilya brooding or pacing, but instead, he saw him standing perfectly still, looking down at Rose.
"I know you don't like me," Rose started, her voice low but piercingly clear in the quiet hallway. "But I think you're jealous of the fact that I had Shane in public while you have to hide behind a big curtain."
The words hit like a physical blow. Shane flinched, expecting Ilya to snap back, to get defensive, to use that sharp Russian wit to cut her down. Instead, Ilya let out a breath that sounded like he’d been punched.
"How do you..." Ilya paused, his voice thick and strangely vulnerable. He looked at her with wide, bewildered eyes. "Are you a witch? How do you know this?"
Shane froze. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Ilya didn’t deny it. He didn’t laugh it off. The man who was usually so arrogant, so sure of his place in any room, looked completely exposed.
Shane felt a cold wave of realization wash over him. He’d spent the last year thinking Ilya was just being difficult with his friends because he liked the friction. He hadn't realized that every time they stepped into a room with people who knew their "history," Ilya was bracing himself for the reminder that he was the secret, the late-night "fuck buddy," while Rose had been the one on the red carpets.
"I'm not a witch, Ilya," Rose said, her hand still steady on his arm. "I just know Shane. I'm observant and you're not entirely that subtle. I think you’re good for him, you know?. Honestly? I think he’s happier than he’s ever been."
Ilya looked away, his jaw working as he tried to pull the mask back up. "He is... he is amazing. I am number one hockey player and I am the best." Ilya tried to say cocky and arrogant "But, I am just Ilya. I do not have what Shane should have. I do not know how to love properly." Ilya admitted quietly.
The hesitation in Ilya’s voice was like a knife to Shane’s gut. He could hear the doubt—the genuine, raw insecurity that Ilya usually buried under layers of bravado.
"It’s not easy," Rose continued softly, "to have people question your worth every time you walk into a room. To feel like you have to prove you’re enough." She paused, her expression softening into something truly kind. "Can I give you a hug? Is that okay?"
Shane held his breath. Ilya hated being touched by people he didn't trust. He expected a "No" or a stiff retreat. Instead, Ilya let out a long, shaky exhale and leaned down, allowing Rose to wrap her arms around him. He looked small in that moment, despite his frame—shoulders slumped, head bowed.
The guilt hit Shane then, heavy and suffocating. He’d never actually listened. He’d been so focused on making things "easy" for himself, so focused on keeping Hayden happy and the dinner peaceful, that he’d completely missed the fact that his boyfriend was drowning in insecurity. Ilya wasn't trying to piss Shane off by bickering; he was trying to build a wall to keep himself safe from the people who made him feel like he didn't belong.
And Rose—his fucking ex-girlfriend he was supposed to be "protecting" Ilya from—had noticed it before Shane did.
The rest of the night was a blurred, chaotic mess. Shane moved through it like a ghost. Hayden came back in from the porch, looking sullen and offering a half-hearted apology that Ilya accepted with a nod that was far too tired. There was the clatter of silverware, the forced laughter of Jackie trying to fill the gaps, and the frantic energy of Anya darting between legs, sensing the tension. Shane tried to catch Ilya’s eye—just once—to offer a silent apology, a look that said I’m here, I see you.
But he had lost him.
Between the clatter of silverware and the forced, brittle laughter of Jackie trying to fill the gaps, Ilya had retreated. He wasn't the man who had pinned Shane to the bed that morning; he wasn't even the man who fought Hayden on the ice. He sat with his shoulders slightly hunched, his gaze fixed on a stray grain of rice on his plate as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. When Hayden made a throwaway comment about the wine, Ilya didn't snap back. He didn't even look up. He just nodded, a small, tired movement that made Shane’s chest ache. In that moment, Shane realized he hadn't just asked Ilya to be the "bigger person"—he had asked him to disappear. Every time Ilya reached for his water or shifted in his chair, he moved with a newfound hesitation, as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible in Shane’s life. The sight of it was a physical weight, a suffocating layer of guilt that made the expensive dinner taste like ash in Shane’s mouth.
Finally, the door closed behind Hayden, Jackie and Rose. The silence that followed was deafening. The cottage felt massive and cold no longer the warm and homey space Shane and Ilya had created.
Shane walked into the kitchen, where Ilya was already standing at the sink, his back turned as he rinsed a plate. The only sound was the rush of the water and the distant hum of the refrigerator. The guilt was a physical weight now, settling deep into Shane’s bones as he watched the man he loved—the man he’d failed to defend—silently clean up the remnants of a dinner that had broken something between them.
"I heard her," Shane said, his voice cracking the heavy silence. "I heard what Rose said to you in the hall." He'd moved from the edge of the kitchen to by the edge of the island where Ilya was washing their more fragile dishes.
Ilya’s shoulders tensed. He didn't turn around. "She is a witch, Shane. I told you."
"Ilya." Shane stepped forward, moving into his space. "Is it true? Are you… are you jealous of her? Because she had me when the rest of the world knew, and you didn't?"
The silence stretched, punctuated only by the splash of the faucet. Finally, Ilya turned the handle, shutting the water off. He didn't look up, but he gave a single, jagged nod.
Shane felt a wave of nausea at his own blindness. He reached out, gently taking the plate and the damp dishtowel from Ilya’s hands and setting them on the counter. He didn't give Ilya a choice; he stepped in and wrapped his arms around the bigger man’s waist, burying his face in Ilya’s shoulder, face tucked in Ilya's neck.
"I’m so sorry," Shane whispered, the words muffled against Ilya’s neck. "I’m so sorry I didn't see it. I was so focused on the dinner, on Hayden, on making everything 'normal' that I didn't realize I was leaving you behind all over again."
Ilya sighed, a long, shaky sound, and finally brought his arms up to lock around Shane’s shoulders. "I messed it up, dorogoy," Ilya murmured into Shane’s hair, his voice thick with a guilt of his own. "This dinner… it was important to you. You wanted us to be friends. And I let him get to me. I made a scene."
"No," Shane pulled back just enough to look Ilya in the eye, his own vision blurring with tears. "No, Ilya. It wasn't your fault. Hayden was provoking you. He was being a dick, and I sat there and watched him do it. I asked you to be the bigger person because I knew you’d listen to me, and that was a coward’s move. I should have defended you."
Shane reached up, cupping Ilya’s face, his thumb catching a stray tear he hadn't realized Ilya had shed. "Do you really feel that way? That you’re… unworthy of me?"
Ilya tried to pull back, his gaze flickering toward the floor. "It is fine. I will learn to like Hayden. I will be better next time—"
"Ilya. Look at me."
The look Shane gave him was one of absolute, heart-wrenching clarity. Those big brown doe eyes with a tiny gloss. The same ones that Ilya had seen way back when they were nothing more than a hook up. Ilya’s resolve crumbled. He let out a breath that tasted like defeat. "Sometimes," he admitted, his Russian accent heavy and raw, "I am afraid you will listen to him. That you will wake up and realize he is right. And I think about your parents… I think about Yuna and David, and I am terrified they will see me and tell you that you deserve someone better. Someone who is better for you. Someone that is warm and loving."
The tears finally spilled over Shane’s lashes. He squeezed Ilya tighter, trying to fuse them together, trying to push every ounce of his love through the fabric of their clothes. "Ilya, listen to me. You are it for me. There is no one else. I don't care what Hayden thinks, and my parents love you. Ilya they really love you because I love you. I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you know you’re enough. More than enough."
They stayed like that for a long time, held together by apologies and a new, fragile understanding.
When they finally made their way upstairs, the guilt hadn't vanished, but it had shifted into something softer—a commitment to be better. Anya was waiting at the foot of the bed, her tail thumping hopefully against the carpet. Usually, Shane was strict about the "no dogs on the silk sheets" rule, but tonight, he looked at Ilya’s tired eyes and then at the puppy.
"Come on up, Anya," Shane whispered, patting the duvet.
Ilya looked at him, surprised. "The sheets, Shane. You will complain about the hair tomorrow."
"Let her," Shane said, pulling the covers back and ushering Ilya in first. "You deserve the extra company tonight."
They settle in, with Ilya spooning Shane from behind. One arm stretched out so Shane could rest his head comfortably—pillow under his cheek, neck resting on Ilya’s arm. Ilya’s other arm wraps around Shane’s middle, pulling him close, his face buried into the back of Shane’s neck like he’s anchoring himself there. Anya curls up into a ball by Shane's stomach so that she's close enough to the both of them.
"Goodnight, moya lyubov," Ilya whispered, his hand finding Shane’s in the dark and squeezing tight.
"Goodnight, Ilya," Shane replied, finally letting sleep take the weight of the guilt away, knowing that from now on, he’d never let his boyfriend stand behind a curtain again.