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“Hi, um, Hollander?” Luca asked quietly, barely resisting the urge to take on a ‘sir’ to the end of the question. Hollander looked up at the sound of his name, tilting his head slightly. Over the past couple weeks, Luca had learned that Hollander didn’t smile very often, or give anyone besides his husband much expression at all, really, but the subtle body language was a cue that he was listening. And probably didn’t find Luca entirely annoying. Hopefully. “I was wondering if you had any circuits you think I should do in the weight room? Or drills you did with your wingers that we don’t do here?”
Hollander hummed softly, staring into his stall like he was deeply considering Luca’s question. It was a bit of a thrill, to have The Shane Hollander pouring so much focus into a relatively mundane question from Luca, of all people. Watching Shane Hollander do anything, really, was a bit surreal. Just when Luca thought he was finally getting settled in to the MLH and having Ilya Fucking Rozanov as a captain, Shane Hollander had to go and join the team and throw him completely off balance yet again. At least it was basically a guarantee that Luca’s points on second line were going to skyrocket this season, centered by Hollander.
“I think—” Hollander didn’t make it three words into his reply before the dulcet, loud, tones of his husband cut through the racket of the locker room.
“Why would you ask Hollander for advice, Haasy, when you have your number one idol right here?” Ilya puffed out his chest, gesturing expansively at himself. “The best hockey player in the league! Why are you straying from me, Luca?”
“Maybe because Hollander is on his line this season?” Hayes posited. He was ignored.
“I don’t know, Roz, maybe the shine’s worn off now that Hollzy’s here,” Bood interjected. “There’s a new idol in town!”
Ilya’s jaw dropped in outrage. Boodram hooted with laughter, joined by the others with some good natured jeering.
“Yeah, you’re washed up now Roz!”
“Old news!”
“Of course Haasy’s gonna take advice from Hollzy, he’s got triple the Cups you do, Cap!”
Ilya placed his hands over his heart, as if each chirp was a bullet lodged in his chest. “Enough, enough! Hollander only has so many Cups because I did it first, and he got very jealous—”
“Oh, fuck you—”
It was as heated as Luca had ever heard Hollander, but Ilya blissfully ignored the interjection. “He can never steal Luca’s heart from me! Whose face did Luca gaze at every night as he fell asleep, hm? Mine!”
Luca wondered if he could sink through the floor and disappear forever.
“Haas has excellent taste,” Ilya continued triumphantly. “He knows I am the best, it is why he has a poster of me, yes?”
“Not anymore!” Luca protested. “That was years ago—”
“Shh, shh. No need to get subpar advice, Haasy,” Ilya practically cooed, leaning over Hollander to pat Luca on the head. Luca had never been so red in his life. He worried that when he tried to stand, his legs would collapse out from under him, with all the blood in his body currently flushing his face. “You have star first-line center right here. Ask away!”
“Dude, that’s literally your husband you’re talking about,” Dykstra reminded Rozanov.
“Thank you,” Shane said dryly.
“As if he ever lets us forget,” Holmberg muttered.
“And Luca had a poster of me, not my husband,” Ilya retorted.
A pained noise escaped Luca. He tried to distract himself with putting on his elbow pads, but Hollander had clearly heard it.
“It’s okay, Luca,” Hollander told him, voice sounding as unaffected as usual (except for when Ilya ragebaited him, then he would get all squeaky and flushed — it was very cute, not that Luca would ever say that) as he precisely adjusted his sock over his shin pad. “Ilya’s just being a dick. Plenty of guys got posters of their favorite players. I used to have a Scott Hunter one back in the day.”
“You what.”
The ferocity with which Ily snapped his head around to stare down Shane would’ve been comical if not for the half-crazed look in his eyes. Luca could see the whites all the way around, and his jaw was set so painfully tight Luca could see a vein popping from two stalls down.
“I had a Scott Hunter poster?” Hollander repeated, quirking an eyebrow as he tilted his head to look at his husband. “Before I got drafted.”
“Where.” Ilya asked through grit teeth. Either Hollander wasn’t aware he was in dangerous waters, or he was pulling off some of the most masterful psychological warfare Luca had ever seen (and Ilya Rozanov has been his captain for three years).
“Huh?” Hollander’s brow furrowed.
Ilya’s nostrils flared. “Where. Was. Poster.”
“On my wall, dipshit,” Hollander laughed, lightly punching Ilya in the hip. Ilya didn’t even bother to howl in overdramatic pain, let alone clutch at his side like he usually did when Hollander playfully hit him. Dykstra looked at Luca with wide eyes, drawing a hand across his throat. The entire room was locked in to the exchange now.
“We are in danger,” Hazy muttered under his breath, but he made no move to intervene.
“Which wall?”
“You have a lot of questions today, hm?” Hollander smirked at Ilya, throwing his shoulder pads over his head and adjusting them fussily. “I think it was over my desk, in my room.”
“You had Scott Hunter in your bedroom?!”
“A poster of him, Ilya,” Hollander replied patiently. There was no way he wasn’t doing it on purpose now. Ilya was flushed bright red, one hand pressed to his locker to hold himself upright. Bood stuffed a fist in his mouth to muffle his laughter. “Just like Luca had a poster of you!”
“Oh no,” Luca muttered, trying unsuccessfully to shrink back into his stall. He’d thought Hollander was doing a nice thing, softening the blow of Ilya’s relentless teasing. Too late, he realized he’d been drafted into some sick 4-dimensional foreplay.
“Now why is he in it?” Young asked, but neither of hockey’s first husbands paid him any mind. Luca appreciated the effort nonetheless.
“Because I am the best hockey player, and very hot and sexy!” Ilya shouted, slapping his locker for emphasis. Shane looked up at him politely as he pulled on his elbow pads. “Scott Hunter is ancient! A fossil!”
“That’s funny, you thought he was hot when he won the Stanley Cup a few years back,” Hollander replied mildly. Barrett’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t the only one.
“I’m learning so much about Rozy today,” Hayes said, not even bothering to keep his voice down.
Ilya rolled his eyes, groaning in frustration. “In the way a grandpa is handsome! Like admiring those old yellow pictures of dead soldiers! You should not be having posters of him!”
“It was one poster, and I took it down before the draft,” Hollander replied, expertly dodging the point. “Replaced it with a shelf. I think that’s where I put the International Prospect’s Cup, actually—”
“Oh, fuck you,” Ilya poked Hollander in the chest, not that it did anything through the pads. “My husband has been lusting after geriatric Scott Hunter for over a decade, then tries to brag about stupid juniors competition—”
“We met at that competition.” Hollander pouted his lips, eyes going wide and slightly wet. Omega-tier bottom eyes. Fuck, Luca needed to stay off twitter. It was clearly producing insane intrusive thoughts. “It’s special to me.”
Ilya visibly melted, all tension draining from his frame as he sank down on the bench beside Hollander. “Ah, moy lyubimiy, it is special to me as well.” He plopped a wet kiss on Hollander’s cheek, then nuzzled into the side of his neck. “The most special.”
Now Shane was blushing violently, but he smiled indulgently down at the top of his husband’s head. “Yeah?”
“Yes. A very annoying and boring Canadian with the most beautiful freckles scolded me about smoking—”
“You were directly in front of a no smoking sign, Ilya, it was egregious—”
“And I am obsessed with him ever since. He brought me all the best things in my life.”
“Jesus Christ,” Boodram said, loudly enough that it finally broke through the near-visible haze of love surrounding the two best players in the league. Hollander straightened so fast from where he’d been dipping to kiss Ilya that his spine audibly popped. Ilya sighed loudly, letting his head drop to Shane’s chest. “You guys are making my teeth hurt. It’s too sweet! You need to stop!”
“Yeah, this is like, workplace harassment,” Young added, cracking his neck as he stood from the bench. “Targeting the single people in the room.”
“It’s like y’all want us to be depressed,” Holmberg agreed. Ilya rolled his eyes expansively, blowing a loud raspberry into the side of Hollander’s neck. Shane yelped, shoving Ilya violently enough that he fell off the bench and landed on his ass. Ilya was not at all deterred, grinning up at Hollander from the floor with hearts in his eyes.
“Maybe stop DM’ing instagram models and you can find a beautiful, pure love like ours, Bergy.”
“Pure,” Barrett snorted, eyebrows disappearing under his fringe. “Right.”
Ilya pouted, hugging his husband’s lower leg. Hollander nudged him very gently with a skate, dislodging him expertly. “Go start practice, Captain,” Shane told him, voice fond and teasing.
Ilya practically jumped to attention, clunking out of the locker room with an emphatic pound of his stick to the floor. “You heard Hollander! Let’s go boys!”
“Aye-aye.” Hayes saluted. The noise was overwhelming as the team followed suit, pounding off down the tunnel.
Luca still hadn’t quite finished tying his left skate. He bent with a huff, hastily wrapping the lace and getting to his feet as quickly as possible. He startled, realizing that someone was still in the room.
Hollander. He was leaning against the doorway, clearly waiting for Luca.
“You good?” he inquired, dark eyes flicking over Luca’s face. Like he was really worried that Luca might be uncomfortable. Hollander couldn’t know that Luca had been enduring far worse chirps about his Rozanov fandom for over two years now, but he appreciated the gesture.
“Oh! Y-yeah, totally good,” Luca laughed nervously, wincing at how the shrill sound echoed in the near empty room. He snatched his gloves up, hurriedly clomping towards the tunnel himself. “Ilya — I mean, Rozanov! — has been chirping like that since I joined the team. And all the guys too. It’s okay, I am used to it.”
Hollander rolled his eyes, but it came off much more fond than exasperated. “I know. He was always bragging to me that his superstar rookie was the #1 Rozanov fan. That you clearly had good taste getting his posters, not mine.”
“Oh no.” Luca gave into the urge to bury his face in his gloves.
“It was sweet!” Hollander insisted, which wasn’t exactly helping the complicated mix of embarrassment and pride swirling in Luca’s stomach at the moment. The thought of Ilya telling his boyfriend about Luca’s enormous teenage crush made him want to jump in the bath with a toaster, but knowing that Ilya described him as his superstar rookie…Well. That was nice.
“Seriously, Luca,” Hollander put a large hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Ilya likes to have his fun, but it makes him so happy that you were a fan of his growing up. It means a lot. I think he’s prouder of that than most of his awards.”
“Oh.” Luca blushed furiously, scrubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose like that would help hide it. “T-thanks, Hollander. It, um…I really looked up to you, too! Not just Ilya!”
“Yeah?” Hollander smiled at him, knocking their shoulders together companionably as he led them out of the locker room into the tunnel. “Thanks, kid. And call me Shane, please, I mean it.”
“Okay, Shane,” Luca said obediently. Hollander smiled again, teeth showing. It made him look a bit like a bunny. Very cute. Luca knew that his front teeth were still real, not veneers like Ilya’s. Would Hollander — Shane — think it was weird that Luca knew that?
“Don’t let Ilya give you too much shit,” Shane advised, popping the end of his mouthguard between his teeth. “And feel free to fight back. He likes it.”
“Oh.” Luca blushed again, praying Hollander wouldn’t notice. That was. Um. Well. Sure! Twenty-one year old Luca Haas was going to be so normal about that. It’d been four years since he had an Ilya Rozanov poster hanging over his bed. He could be normal!
Shane laughed, clapping Luca on the shoulder once more before taking off his guards and hopping the boards. Luca had the horrible sense that Shane knew exactly why he was blushing, but was too kind to mention it.
Luca could live with that.
Shane drove them home after practice, as was becoming their routine. Ilya got to pick the music, and fuss with the temperature settings, and stare shamelessly at his husband in profile. Bood could call him a passenger princess all he liked; Ilya was quite happy with this arrangement.
They were only minutes from home when Shane broke their content silence.
“You know…we’re further apart in age with Luca than Scott is with us,” Shane remarked slyly. “Scott’s only six years older, but Luca is nine years younger than you.”
“Why would you say this, Hollander?” Ilya clutched his chest, looking legitimately heartbroken. “You want me dead? You want to be a widow?”
“Just saying,” Shane shrugged. “We’re in our thirties now. Maybe it’s time to start worrying about the rookies calling us dinosaurs.”
“No, never say this again. It is not true,” Ilya announced, shoving lightly at Shane’s cheek. He slapped him away automatically.
“Not while I’m driving, Ilya!”
“It is a vibe,” his husband continued, handily ignoring Shane. “We do not have the fossil vibe. Scott Hunter does. Case closed.”
“You have got to spend less time on twitter,” Shane sighed. When he felt Ilya’s fingers brush over the back of his hand, he let go of the gearshift and flipped his palm to twine their hands together. “And stop terrorizing poor Luca!”
“He likes it,” Ilya replied confidently.
“Maybe a bit,” Shane allowed. “But he seemed really uncomfortable earlier.”
“Just because you are here now,” Ilya flapped his hand dismissively. “He thinks you will claw his eyes out for looking at me with lust.”
“Ilya, what the fuck?”
“He is right, of course. My husband is a very jealous man,” Ilya sighed dramatically, squeezing Shane’s hand tightly as he tried to pull it away. Shane stared stoically out the windshield, pressing his lips into a hard line to try and stop his smile.
“Luca is about twelve years old. I’m not worried about him. I think it’s cute, actually.”
“One day, he will believe that,” Ilya assured him. “Until then…let me have my fun.”
“Is this how you’re making yourself feel young?” Shane mused. “Getting so involved with the rooks?”
“Shane!”
“You know, Scott Hunter was also a mentor figure to a lot of younger players back in the day—”
“Stop this, moy lyubimiy. You will kill me.”
Shane lifted their joined hands, dropping a kiss to the back of Ilya’s wrist. Ilya beamed, pulling their hands back so he could repeat the gesture on Shane.
“Which dinosaur do you think they’ll assign to you?” Shane asked innocently. “Hunter’s already got the T-Rex because of all those pictures you post under his tweets, but—”
“Shane, I am going to jump out of this fucking car.”
“I think you’d be a cute triceratops. Or brachiosaurus, because you’re so tall.”
Ilya couldn’t help but preen. It was reflex. “Yes, yes. That one.”
“I knew you would come around.”