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It was supposed to be another after-season celebration; a party to finally loosen up and leave all the tension of the games behind... Except that it was nothing like a regular celebration, with the Stanley Cup proudly sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the Hollander-Rozanov living room while the Ottawa Centaurs basked in the aftermath of winning it for the first time in history. Ilya - being the captain of the team - had the honor of taking the Cup home, and hosting the get-together later. Though both him and Shane would've had better ideas to blow off the steam, they had to delay their private plans, and prioritize their team.
That's the short version of the long story of Shane Hollander ending up drunk - not lightheaded, not tipsy, but rolling drunk, completely wasted - for the first time ever in his life. Of course, he had tried alcohol before - who hadn't - but he couldn't see the point of intoxication. He didn't like to lose control, and the taste wasn't worth it either, so he tried to avoid booze-involved situations. He preferred to stick to his ginger ale. He only drank when it would've been impolite to refuse a glass of whatever the influental people were pushing under his nose.
Therefore, Ilya - being the caring, attentive husband he was - tried his best to save him from Boods and Dykstra. He warned them multiple times; he's not a drinker, is enough now, Zane Boodram, do not make my husband throw up or I will throw you out of the league, but the threats didn't do much, and when he tried to offer Shane his regular soda, the shorter man protested and asked to have his beer back. His teammates had their claws on his partner, and Shane didn't seem to mind it either. Maybe he found the occasion approperiate to drink more than he should. So Ilya - despite keeping a close eye on him - took a step back and let him have fun.
It was lovely to see Shane so free and completely lost in the moment. He tended to take everything way too seriously, especially during the season - especially now that he wasn't captain, and he was desperate to prove his worth. The pressure nearly overwhelmed him sometimes. Being carefree suited him, and Ilya was glad that the others could finally experience this side of him as well. "As long as he does not feel sick," was the deal with the guys, and they looked like they were respecting it so far.
Ilya sat down to the couch with a coctail of unknown ingredients - made by Hayes - in his hand, eyes glued his husband who was currently dancing with Boods and Dykstra in the other end of the room. A sight he never counted on seeing, but he wasn't complaining.
No word in any language could capture Shane Hollander's beauty. Even from the distance, he was gorgeous. Ilya had tried to compare him to thousands of things - a sunflower untouched in a meadow, the star-dotted sky above the lake, the first graceful leaf to fall in autumn - but none of them ever came close. Shane was one of a kind; an irreplaceable work of art - canvas of fragments Ilya had loved and would love, in every lifetime. Because there was no way he wouldn't look for his husband all the lives he had to live. There was no way their souls had been separated in the ones before. They were one; they had always been one, Ilya knew.
He would chase Shane like the moon chased the sun. He was the sun, he was Ilya's sun; he was dependent on his light, without him, the darkness - the endless, greedy pit it was - would've consumed him by now. But Shane, standing by his side through the good and the bad, never allowed Ilya to sink away. He was always there, taking care of Ilya, and now, it was the blond's chance to return the favor.
Watching him now, he was surprised to realize that the canadian had some great moves, and it was extremely entertaining to watch him sway around. It took one miscalculated step for him to lose balance. He tripped, which had Ilya on his feet immediately, but thankfully, Dykstra caught him before he could headbutt the floor. Ilya let out a sigh of relief as he dropped back onto the couch - the last thing he needed was Shane to hurt himself - but Shane didn't seem to appreciate the hands that prevented him from falling.
He peeled Dykstra off himself and held up his index finger. "I have a boyfriend," he declared, making the two men with him burst out laughing, their voices loud enough to echo within the walls. "What?" Shane demanded, a confused frown forming on his forehead. "I do!" He insisted, starting to get annoyed with the fact that his mates didn't seem to take him seriously. Ilya leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and waited for the scene to unfold.
"Don't worry, Hollander, nobody's trying to steal you from your boyfriend," Boodram wheezed, brushing away a stray tear that escaped from his eye.
"I do have a boyfriend! He plays for Boston! Do the Raiders ring a bell?"
"Boston?" Dykstra cackled, raising his eyebrows in a questioning way, confusing Shane even further. He just stood there, so helpless and innocent, Ilya wanted to scoop him up and protect him from the assholes who were making a joke of his - probably - accidental slip-up. "Are you stuck in another timeline, man?"
"What are you talking about?" Shane puzzled. "Ilya Rozanov, captain of Boston Raiders, what's so funny about that?" Ok, maybe it wasn't so accidental, then, Shane was just high on alcohol. It didn't make the situation any less sweet in Ilya's eyes, though. He got so worked up over this. It should've felt silly, but a part of Ilya understood it.
"Oh, man, you had way too much to drink," Dykstra snatched the bottle from his hand. "Let me have that. You're good for the night."
"Hey!" Shane complained, but didn't make an attempt to get his beer back. It tasted horrible anyways.
Boods draped an arm around Shane's shoulder, a devilish glint lighting in his eyes. "Yeah? That's your boyfriend? Ilya Rozanov, captain of Boston Raiders?" He teased. Luca Haas, the rookie of the team, quickly sensed the fun and joined the horde, blocking Ilya's perfect view of Hollander.
Ilya contemplated on saying something - something like fuck off, or so - but for once, his curiousity won over the need to practice authority. When it came to Shane, it was hard to not take things that were adressed to him personal, and he never backed down from making Shane's bussiness his, as well - though Shane never asked him to - but tonight's banter was mostly harmless. They were being mean, yes, but they weren't hurting the canadian's feelings. He wasn't sure Shane would realize it if they tried, and considering his current state, he probably won't remember any of this in the morning. However, Ilya'll tell him, because that's just how things went between them. Also, Shane had every right to know what happened, even if he didn't have access to his own memories.
The russian shook off the lingering thought when Troy Barrett decided to take a seat next to him, sipping a drink that's color matched Ilya's own. "What's going on?" He asked, pointing at the circle of people around Shane.
"I have no idea," Ilya admitted. "Shane is out of it a little. The boys are messing with him. Is funny," he shrugged and lifted the glass to his mouth, hoping he concealed his emotions well.
It was ridiculous; getting all sentimental over his husband forgetting a few key-events from their lives, but he couldn't help it. Shane defending the years they'd spent in denial made his heart flip in his chest. An unexpected warmth spread through him every time he proceeded to call Ilya his boyfriend. Considering that Ilya was his husband now, the word meant more than it should've. It was heavy and persistent, a reminder of how much they've overcame. How much they've achieved together, as a couple.
Rookie Ilya would never believe that the Shane Hollander would become his husband a decade later. Actually, Rookie Ilya wouldn't believe a lot of things. Winning the Stanley Cup - multiple times - was on the list, but it was far more predictable than switching teams for canadian citizenship - which, unfortunately, was still a work in progress, but he'd get it one day.
The things he'd done and sacrificed for love... The way he'd no regrets and would do it all over again if it meant being able to kiss Shane goodnight every evening, and wake up beside him the following mornings. Rookie Ilya would be concerned for his own mental reliability if he ever heard the thoughts of Ottawa Centaurs Ilya.
Rookie Ilya couldn't even imagine being so happy, and Ottawa Centaurs Ilya was exactly where he was supposed to be.
"Yes!" Shane's voice cut through his thoughts and brought him back to reality. "Do you not know the Boston Raiders, or what?"
"And what do you play for?" Dykstra pushed, grinning maliciously. Ilya rolled his eyes, but didn't intervene.
"What kind of a question is that?" Shane huffed. Sassy; Ilya liked it. "I play with you, for Ottawa."
"And least you got that right," the defenseman muttered under his breath.
"And who's our captain?" Haas chimed in, scratching his chin.
That got Shane squinting his eyes. He hesitated before offering a weak "me?", which sounded more like an unsure question than a confident statement. He was adorable. Ilya wanted to take him to his lap and kiss him senseless.
"No, that was when you played for the Metros," Boods reminded him, squeezing his arm before excusing himself to the bathroom.
"Never let me let him drink again," Ilya whispered to Barrett, his accent slipping and betraying his amusement. Troy just gave him a hearty laugh and shook his head.
"Want to hear something crazy, Hollander?" Dykstra patted his back and continued without waiting for an answer. "Ilya Rozanov is not playing for Boston anymore, and he's not your boyfriend." Now, that was cruel. Ilya didn't approve.
Shane's shoulders slumped. "He's not?" He murmured, bottom lip sticking out in a pout. The defenseman just earned himself a few penalty rounds for the next training. Ilya hadn't decided how much, yet. A lot, probably.
"No," Dykstra shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal at all. "He's actually your husband."
"My husband?" Shane's jaw dropped at the same time as his eyes went wide; like he'd missed his own wedding or something.
"Yeah. Want to hear something even better?"
"Better? Than this?" God, was Ilya supposed to survive this? They wanted to kill him, didn't they? It was their plan all along, they planned the whole thing out ahead.
"He's our captain," Hayes emerged from the kitchen - where he'd obviously been listening to the conversation - with Young on his heels, and replied. "Which means, he's-" he turned him by the shoulder, pointing at the couch, "right there!" He even feigned excitement - just to provoke Shane a little.
The most genuine grin spread across his lips, and Ilya melted under his gaze. For a moment, time froze around them, and nothing else mattered in the entire world, but that smile. "Ilyaaa-" he slurred in a high-pitched, delighted tone - it reminded Ilya of the time he visited Shane in the hospital while he was high on pain medication after his accident years ago - and strolled over to the couch. He took a seat in his lap, just like Ilya imagined earlier, wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his face into the crook of his neck.
Ilya relished in having him there. It was such a big contrast to the small amount of affection he was used to in front of their teammates or in public, generally. He was thrilled to hold him, to let everyone see that Shane Hollander belonged to him - though they knew, the whole world knew; being able to actually show off his husband was a different kind of pleasure. Even if it was just in their own living room - Ilya was happy to take whatever Shane was comfortable with.
Despite the temptation and his wish to get more than occasionally stolen pecks on the cheek, he'd never crossed the limits; not with Shane. Even if it hurt a little, even if it meant holding back. He cared too much to put the canadian into a situation he didn't want to be in.
"I'm so happy you're here. I'm so happy you're my husband," Shane nuzzled his nose against his neck. Ilya could feel his breath on his skin. Regardless of himself, a lump formed in his throat. Ilya blamed Shane. The sincerity in his voice, the beauty of the words he spoke, and the way he spoke them, in front of an audience. It was too much. Felt too good to be a true experience for someone like Ilya.
Before he could convince himself that he was asleep and the whole night was dream only, Shane shifted in his arms, turning his head aside. "Hiii," he beamed, placing a light kiss - just a small peck - on Ilya's jaw. The pure joy on his face was contagious, and before he even realized it, Ilya was smiling back.
"Hi," he replied fondly, ignoring the growing snickers from their mates.
"I'm so happy you're here," Shane repeated, innocently tracing invisible lines along the arm the russian had around him with his thumb.
"I'm happy, too," Ilya said, eyes not quite teary yet, but definitely glistening with emotions. He patted Shane's cheek, just like he always did when he struggled with handling his feelings, then pressed his lips to his forehead.
"Will you dance with me?"
Ilya's jaw dropped. "Dance with you?" He asked back, as if to test the words in his mouth.
Ilya Rozanov wasn't the type to dance. Shane Hollander wasn't, either, so where came this question from was a real mystery to Ilya. Was it a secret wish of his? A drunk slip-up of something he'd buried deep down in order to avoid a rejection? Did he think Ilya would say no? Or was he just overthinking this, too, like he did many times when it came to Shane. But he couldn't help it; he wanted the best for Shane, he just didn't know how to be. It didn't discourage him from trying with all his power, though. Shane deserved everything; the entire universe and every star across every sky.
"Yeah," Shane nodded against his neck. "Dance. Like married couples do."
That was the moment when Ilya realized that he'll cry tonight. Once everything had quieted down and Shane was sleeping soundly beside him, he'd shed a tear or two, because he loved the man in his arms more than he ever thought he was capable of loving. Not because he didn't love anyone before - he did - but because Shane Hollander was so special. Words couldn't describe... A sunflower untouched in a meadow, the star-dotted sky above the lake, the first graceful leaf to fall in autumn... Useless comparisons.
"Yeah," Ilya blinked the tears away; now was not the time for this. He'll deal with his feelings later. "I will dance with you."
Shane drank more alcohol that night than he had in his entire life combined. Ilya should've seen the fallout coming, but it's not like he could've prevented it any way. Shane wanted to have those beers, and Ilya tried to reason with him, but he was in no position to order him around. So the best Ilya could do was to rub his back and whisper sweet reassurings as Shane retched over the toilet.
"Is okay," he tried to comfort him as the older man let out a repulsed grunt as another wave of sickness hit him. He leaned over the bowl and tried to empty his stomach for the fourth time in less than ten minutes, but nothing came out. Ilya made a mental note to feed him crackers later and force a glass of water down his throat before putting him to sleep.
"Ilya," Shane hiccuped and curled up against him, tucking his head under Ilya's chin.
"I know," Ilya sighed, pulling him even closer. "Is bad."
He didn't know what else was left for him to say. He already told Shane that he loved him, that he was there for him, that he'll be ok, and the nauseous feeling will pass soon. Nothing seemed to soothe him enough, and Ilya wished he could do more. Better.
Ilya wished he could do better. Shane should get the best, and the best treatment only.
"I think you should lay down, yes?" He kissed his forehead. "In bed, not on bathroom floor," he added for clarity.
"I can't," he murmured, fisting Ilya's t-shirt like his life was depending on the fabric. "I need... I need to brush my teeth."
"Okay," Ilya didn't argue; he knew how important it was for Shane to keep to his routine. "You need some water before, okay?"
"No, I... I just threw up," Shane protested, his eyebrows furrowing in disapproval. "I can't drink, that's disgusting."
Ilya let out a sharp exhale. He didn't even think about that, but now that Shane pointed out, a part of him couldn't help but agree. It was a little disgusting.
Knowing how eager he always was to take Ilya's dick, it was surprising how attentive Shane was when it came to things contanting his mouth. He wouldn't even kiss Ilya in the morning without brushing his teeth first - giving him a head though, didn't seem to be a problem so far. And he gave such a good blowjobs, he was so eager in the mornings, like he he woke up specifically to please Ilya, and that reason only.
He really shouldn't be thinking about that, Ilya realized and scolded himself mentally. It was inapproperiate; sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, holding his drunk boyfriend who threw up thrice, and fantasizing about pushing his cock down on his throat. Yeah, Ilya should put him to sleep instead.
"Okay, do you want to wash your teeth?" He asked, partly to offer a solution and partly to distract himself. He knew he was wrong to even think about sex right now, but how could he not. Shane was gorgeous. A sunflower untouched in a meadow, the star-dotted sky above the lake, the first graceful leaf to fall in autumn - like something unreal. Like a wish Ilya never believed would come true. Marrying Shane had been the dream that did.
"Yes," came Shane's reply. "Please."
"Okay, my love, stand up," Ilya instructed, keeping his hands on Shane's hips to balance him as he nudged him to his feet. He stood up too, and guided his husband to the sink where Shane washed his hands very thoroughly before doing anything else. While he was at that, Ilya reached for the cabinet and took his tootbrush and the paste out.
Shane didn't acknowledge the act with words, but he didn't need to; Ilya wasn't expecting a thank you for something so simple and self-evident, anyways.
"Here," he gave the blue toothbrush to Shane after the canadian dried his hands, and watched him try to use it properly. The emphasis was on trying, because Shane Hollander got so wasted, he struggled to brush his own teeth. His movements were slow and sluggish, and he could barely keep the brush in his mouth.
"Do you need help?" Ilya squeezed his waist to remind him that it was ok to say yes, that he was allowed to ask for help. He wasn't alone, he didn't need to be doing everything by himself - a statement Ilya himself struggled to accept, but also a fact he wanted Shane to know and never forget.
"Uh," Ilya recognized the flash in his eyes. For a moment, the freckled was tempted to say no. Only for a moment, though. "Yeah. Thank you."
"Of course."
Without any further words, Ilya brushed Shane's teeth for him, and in exchange, Shane drank an entire cup of water without a protest.
Ilya let out a sigh of relief as he closed the bedroom door behind himself. Putting drunk-Shane to sleep was not for the weak. First, he wanted to sleep naked. Then, he realized they had their whole team over, so he didn't actually want to sleep naked. But clothes felt restricting, even sweatpants, so he figured he wanted to sleep in boxers. Not any boxers, Ilya's boxers, the black one. Not any black one, but he couldn't explain which, because they all looked the same. Ilya had to hand them to him one by one until he recognized the piece of fabric he was looking for.
After Ilya tucked him in and kissed him good night, he got upset that Ilya refused to have sex with him while they had friends over and he was drunk. It took Ilya five minutes to replace that sad, teary pout on his lips with a reluctant but soft smile. "We will make up for it tomorrow, yes?", was the promise that did the job and made Shane agree to sleep - for now.
However, when Ilya was about to step out and end the party downstairs so Shane could rest, the room felt too hot suddenly, the blanket got too heavy, and the urge to watch a movie hit Shane out of nowhere. Turned out he just didn't want Ilya to leave. Ilya had to make a new set of promises that he'll be back soon, and would never ever leave actually. That seemed to calm Shane down for long enough for Ilya to escape.
In all honesty, Ilya would've preferred to stay there and cuddle him until morning, but the guys were still blasting the music, and he wanted to make sure everyone was alright and had a place to sleep - since they were staying the night; there was no way Ilya would let them leave in the state some of them were - before he laid down. As their captain, taking care of them was his responsibility. To do so off the ice was a choice he made as their friend, because life wasn't all about hockey, and Ilya appreciated personal connections more than he let on during the first few years of his career.
Keeping a certain distance between his teammates and himself had made the beginning very lonely. He was alone, in a foreign country that spoke a language he barely even understood - there was no one he could talk to. Sure, whenever he called Svetlana she picked up, she answered his messages as soon as she was able to, but it wasn't the same. Conversations over the phone were methodical... Dull. Until Shane came along, because one message from him could brighten his entire day. It was better now, though. He didn't have to rely on texts, anymore. He didn't have to wait, or think about when it was proper to send another. Shane was here now. Shane was his now. He was living the life he didn't even dare to dream of just a couple of years ago.
"Okay, party ends," he announced loudly before turning the JBL off. A chorus of groans erupted.
"Come on, man!" Dykstra complained. Ilya didn't care one bit. Shane needed to rest, so he will.
"We were just getting started!" LaPointe chimed in, who - Ilya was sure - also knocked himself out a while ago. He must've woken up while he was dealing with Shane.
"True for you maybe," Ilya huffed. "Is almost 4 am."
"So what?" asked Boodram. "The night is young, Cap, loosen up a little!"
"Night is not young, Young is on the couch, drooling and dreaming of getting fucked, probably," Ilya tilted his head towards the sofa. "Because in real life he never does. He has to fall asleep during party and dream about it."
"I'm awake!" Young threw an arm into the air, voice dripping with indignation. "And I get fucked. But it's none of your bussiness."
"You are right, is not, I do not care," Ilya shrugged. "Go back to sleep."
"I wasn't sleeping!" He insisted.
"Would be better if you was. You would have been my favourite."
"What's the matter, Rozanov?" Boods chuckled. "You were having fun half an hour ago," he wiggled his eyebrows.
Ilya couldn't deny it; he was singing, he was dancing, he was loosening up. But this wasn't about him, it was about Shane.
"Shane puked," he decided to let his guard down and be honest. His teammates already knew that Ilya was soft for his husband, and he didn't like it. Being vulnerable with Shane was one thing. Showing that side of himself to a dozen of other hockey players was another. "Bad. He needs rest, but he cannot sleep with blaring music."
"Blaring music? Such fancy words you have here, Roz," Dykstra teased, earning the glare.
"Cut it off," warned Troy Barrett, saving his mate from Ilya's threat. "You all heard Cap, guys. Party's over, music's off. Find something else to do."
"Thank you," Ilya gave him an appreciative nod.
"You know what, sleep doesn't sound so bad," Haas flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated yawn.
"Because you're a baby," Dykstra scoffed.
"Okay, enough," Boodram interrupted the quarrel before it could even start. "Do you really want to end the night like this? We just won the Cup, and you want to argue?" The words seemed to have the desired effect, even on Dykstra - who was still sulking, but at least he did it quietly now. Ilya managed to sort out the bed-issues, and though not all the options were the most comfortable, everyone had a place to sleep for the night. Peaceful silence settled over the house, and finally, Ilya thought, finally, he could relax, too. The living room was a mess, he didn't even dare to peak a head inside the kitchen, but cleaning up wasn't urgent, he could worry about it later. All he wanted was his husband at the moment.
He definitely didn't expect to find the bed he left Shane asleep in empty. A surge of panic swept through Ilya, tightening his chest. Was he sick again? The thought only made his guilt spread. He left him alone...
Not wasting a second, Ilya hurried to check the bathroom. The lights were off. Everything was how they left it earlier - and the room was vacant of Shane. For a second, Ilya almost felt relieved; at least, he wasn't wretching over the toilet. Soon, the next question hit him; where the fuck was Shane, then? His thoughts started to spiral.
He found him less than a minute later, on the balcony, only in his boxers still, staring into the endless darkness of the evening. The stars were visible tonight, beautiful and bright, like tiny buttons pinned to the pitch black sky.
"Shane?" Ilya called out before he wrapped his arms around the shorter man's bare stomach from behind. "What are you doing out here, sweetheart?"
"Hmh," Shane let out a satisfied hum as he felt Ilya's hands on his body. "I couldn't sleep."
"You were asleep when I left," the taller mused, pressing his mouth onto the back of Shane's neck.
"No," he shook his head. "I mean, yeah... Almost. I couldn't sleep without you."
"I am sorry my love," Ilya gently caressed the skin below his fingertips, earning a small kiss on the chest in return. "I would have stayed longer if I knew."
"It's fine. The air feels nice."
"Is nice," Ilya confirmed, giving him another gentle kiss - under the ear this time. He repeated the motion on the other side, just like he knew Shane liked it. Though there were no sexual intentions behind his actions - the conditions weren't exactly approperiate right now; the team wouldn't bother him, doors were lockable for a reason, but Shane was too out of it for Ilya's liking - he still wanted to make his husband feel good. He aimed to please him, always. "Sky is pretty. Clear."
"I love you so much," Shane whispered into the thin air, as if it was still a secret. Ilya grabbed his chin and turned his head to face him.
"I love you too," he said it back, he always said it back, he'd never not say it back. "So much, my love," he added in russian, heart skipping a beat at the sight of Shane's eyes lighting up. "Should we go to sleep? You need it."
"Can we stay here a little?"
Ilya didn't have the strenght to reject the idea. "Of course. Only if you put on something. Here," he grabbed the blanket that was draped over one of the armchairs and held it up for the older.
"I'm not cold."
"The words you are looking for are yes, thank you, and I love you," Ilya said stubbornly, placing the comforter around both of their shoulders. He remained silent, but - even in the dark - Ilya could see the little smile that tugged on his lips.
"Do you ever think of the future?" Shane asked out of the blue.
Ilya frowned. "Yes? Yes, of course. Why?"
"How do you see it?"
"With you," the blond admitted simply. When Shane didn't answer, he allowed the words to linger for as long as the canadian needed them.
"I'm so happy you're my husband," he replied eventually, bringing the tears back into Ilya's eyes. Shane will need to get drunk more often, he decided, because he needed to hear this sentence more often. It was essential for his existence, he didn't think he could living without that reminder anymore.
"I am happy, too," Ilya mumbled. This had to be one of his favourite nights ever. "You're the best husband ever, Shane Hollander." A sunflower untouched in a meadow, the star-dotted sky above the lake, the first graceful leaf to fall in autumn.
Shane Hollander; Ilya Rozanov's sacred treasure.