Chapter Text
Shane Hollander, the veterinarian, the distraction, was talking to the Montreal Captain, Hayden Pike.
Ilya found himself seething at the sight of Pike rocking Shane with his monstrous hands, no skill in the way he blindly patted the other man. It was almost like petting a dog, but somehow with even less care. He didn’t see the way that Shane looked so awkward and anxious, nothing like when he was sitting on Ilya’s couch in Ilya’s house petting Ilya’s dog, with such a soft smile on his face and a laugh like candy. His laugh was full of candy.
At the same time, they must be familiar. Pike wasn’t touchy, nobody in hockey really was, but why Pike would be smiling at anyone like that was another question entirely. Pike was married, Ilya had met Jackie at an all-star’s game last year, but maybe the better Pike had realised that the captain was useless and she was gorgeous. Ilya hoped she had realised this, anyway. Pike being into men? Unlikely, he wore ugly clothes and had never expressed an interest in Ilya.
The fronts of their shoes were almost touching.
Pike was leaving then, scooping up one of his twins and walking in Ilya’s direction. He faltered a little when he saw the man covering the door, but just maneuvered his hold on his daughter and twisted sideways to avoid touching the other man.
“Pike,” he muttered to the other captain, “surprised you can carry child, thought Montreal’s eleventh best player would want to protect his back after bad fall last season?” Predictably Pike’s face lit up in such a delicious shade of red that Ilya couldn’t help but to laugh at the poor man’s faltering expression. The girl giggled. Pike covered her ear with a hand to push the other into his chest.
“Fuck off, Rozanov,” he muttered back. The reaction was nice, the reaction was always nice. He loved being able to push a button, to make people feel something with only a well timed sentence. He knew the fall was a soft spot, not that Pike had any ‘hard spots’, but that one had been awful. Even for Pike. He had tripped on nothing and face planted, almost knocked a tooth out. Had to be benched for the rest of the game for a suspected concussion and Montreal had lost to Scott Hunter’s gay parade.
“Bye, bye Rozanov,” his daughter hissed back at him, not unkindly, as the two made their way back inside. He smiled at her, she beamed back.
When he looked back at Shane he caught him staring, which Ilya could understand. Firstly, he was in a well-fitted suit and not the casual clothes the man had seen him in before. Shane was also into men, to some capacity. Whenever he turned away from Ilya his eyes were always the last thing to leave, to catch up with the rest of his face where it had gone.
He loved being ogled, of course. That electrifying feeling of knowing someone wanted you, the power you had over them when you were disinterested. Being ogled by Shane was different, the electric current wasn’t like a shot, it was a steady stream, and it ran over a bed of anxiety. Ilya rarely felt anxious with his sexual partners, maybe with a man in Russia or his coach’s son, but this all present anxiety. The desire to please. It was as foreign to him as ginger ale and apologies.
He felt a kinship with Anya, this blubbering urge to sit down and let Shane pet his head with his scrutiny and say ‘good, good’ with a voice made for comfort.
“Hollander,” he said once he’d moved, seemingly unconsciously, over to Shane.
“Hi, erm, Rozanov,” he stuttered out, blushing just a perfect shade of pink. He was eye level with Ilya’s chest, that would explain it.
“It’s Ilya, Shane. Unless you want one hundred dollars?” He tried to say it suave with the easy grin he was known for, but he was pretty sure that there was a hint of a tremor in his words and his English was probably long gone.
Shane still replied with the scarlet blush. It almost matched the rich hue of his jumper.
“No, no. It’s just weird seeing you without Anya, that’s all,” the Canadian explained, looking overly anxious.
Ilya tried for the brotherly pat, clutching on a bit longer than Pike so he didn’t completely bowl the other man over. “Do not worry, she is inside with Troy and Chiron. Animals ‘not allowed’ in locker rooms, bah, players are more animal than them.”
“She’s always fine, Ilya.” The other man beamed up at him, hopelessly distracted by the thought of the spaniel, “she’s perfectly healthy. I should know.”
“Da,” he tried not to stutter, “of course.”
It was embarrassing, really, how easily he slipped out of English in a panic whenever he was faced with Shane. He’d been living in Canada for years and years, had been having English lessons for even longer, and yet it seemed that looking at this silly Canadian vet had him forgetting the word yes.
“So, you’re a hockey fan?” That would explain his blush when they first met, how he’d seemed so initially affected that Ilya didn’t immediately jump to the gay conclusion, but instead the hockey fanatic. It seemed everyone in Canada was.
“No,” Shane chuckled a bit awkwardly, sliding a strand of hair out of his eyes, “no, my erm, mom, she’s the hockey fan, or well employee, I guess.”
“Hm?” And then Ilya suddenly made the absolutely insane connection between Yuna Hollander, social media powerhouse and overall woman to be feared, and Shane Hollander, mild mannered anxious vet. “Oh! Yuna is your mom, yes?”
“Yeah,” Shane said with a grin, “yeah, she’s doing okay, isn’t she?”
“She has managed to get me under control,” Ilya replied, “and she has got Harris little minions so he doesn’t have to go through all the really mean comments, she is doing very okay.”
The other man held the back of his neck, awkwardly. “I’m glad, I knew she would be good, but…yeah.”
“You worry too much,” Ilya said as reassuringly as he could. And it was true, he’d never seen the man’s eyes still, they were constantly flickering everywhere, like he was about to be caught out and chastised.
Shane scowled, looking a little like a dejected kitten. Ilya had the strange urge to wrap him up in a blanket, especially when he saw a small shiver travel through his body.
“Let’s go inside,” he subtly grabbed the top of his arm - just for a moment - to begin dragging him.
Maybe they were both Anya, because Shane was easily led inside. They walked together, side by side. There was something intimate about it, Ilya thought, to walk next to someone so close you could feel the current of air around them. Their hands almost brushed, Ilya tried not to obviously look down to see the proof.
Then he remembered Pike.
“You know Pike?” He asked, as subtly as possible, still leading Shane down the winding hallways towards the Cen’s locker room. He stole a glance towards his hands, seeing the shifting of anxiety as Shane unconsciously pulled at them.
“Oh, yeah!” He sounded a bit too excited for anyone to be about Pike, “yeah, me and Hayden” Hayden “played hockey together in the juniors team!”
“You played hockey?” Ilya knew he sounded a little ridiculous now, he could smell the jealousy leaking from his tone, “you said you weren’t a hockey fan.”
Shane gave him an odd look, “yeah, only until I was what, thirteen fourteen?”
“With Pike.”
“Yes?”
Ilya turned them towards the locker room with a frown. Shane’s tone was just frosted with the barest hint of ice, not immediately accusatory but it carried that warning. His teeth were out, about Pike of all people. Pike had got a reaction out of Shane, this new, strange response.
“You can er,” Ilya didn’t want to drag an unsuspecting citizen into the mess of the Cen’s locker room, for the safety of both sides, “just wait out here for a moment, please?”
“For what, Ilya?”
“Let me get Anya,” he cocked his head, “I want you to check her, and then I will buy you food?”
The man visibly relaxed at the thought of the dog, “okay. But not food from here, it’s ridiculously expensive.”
“Hmm,” Ilya just murmured, “I will be only a minute.”
“Okay,” Shane said with a smile, soft as he leant away to lean against the wall. He swore the man’s eyes flickered to his lips like a moth to a flame. “Ilya?” He asked again after a pause.
“Da, da, a second.” He opened the door of the locker room…
A furry mass leapt out, as though propelled by god himself. The brown and white blur flew past Ilya and into the hallway. Anya's ears were perked as she slid on the floor to turn into the corridors, ready to run.
“Anya!” Troy's voice yelped from the room. He ran past Ilya, half naked and still wet, the towel draped loosely around his waist threatening to come off with every step.
Shane grabbed Anya easily, clutching onto the wriggling mass mid leap as she yelped unhappily, spraying water everywhere in her efforts to escape. Her damp paws pushed against his shoulders as he held tight, her sopping face drove into his neck and plastered him in water.
“Oh my god,” Troy gasped, “I’m so sorry. She just, ran out…”
The vet just laughed happily, even as Ilya could see the water now literally dripping from the man’s jumper, “Anya, Anya.” He murmured to the dog, even as she struggled, panting with excitement.
“She has been in shower?” Ilya asked in confusion, because there were a few other alternatives as to where the water had come from, but the shower was definitely preferable. Getting Shane covered in toilet water was definitely not a priority.
“Yeah,” Troy murmured, shivering a little in the hallway, “Wyatt was just rinsing off and she ran in, he didn’t even try to kick her out.”
“Tch tch,” Ilya stroked Anya’s head where she was still being clutched by Shane, “she does enjoy swimming.”
Troy made a face at him, tilting his head towards Shane, who was now looking very awkward and damp holding the spaniel who currently better resembled a drowned rat.
“This is ah, Shane Hollander,” Ilya was about to explain that Shane was a veterinarian and… a friend? Client? Harris rushed out of the locker room, clutching Chiron in his arms, bumping into Troy with a harried expression.
“Oh!” Harris gasped, “you got her!” His eyes rose to see the man restraining the dog and he beamed, “Shane! Did you enjoy the game?”
“I think the bigger priority is the fact he’s now absolutely soaking, and I’m still half naked?” Troy mumbled, still sending a questioning glance towards Harris.
“He’s Yuna’s son,” Harris explained, placing Chiron back on the floor to open the door of the locker room. He beckoned the group inside.
“Oh, yeah,” Troy smiled at Shane, “she’s mentioned you a few times. Said you used to play in the junior leagues?”
Shane walked stiffly into the room, scooting past Harris as he held the door open. Ilya saw the tight grip he had on Anya, no longer just to keep her steady. “Yeah, it was a while ago.”
“Still, man,” Harris smiled that stupid understanding smile and rubbed a hand through his beard, “it’s nice of you to come to a game.”
“Yeah,” Shane replied, glancing at Ilya over Anya’s head, “it has been nice.”
Troy reappeared, fully dressed in a casual tee and sweatpants which Ilya was immediately jealous of, and looked pointedly at Ilya.
“Get Anya’s lead and we can let poor Shane change his sweater, it’s completely soaked.”
“Awhh,” Harris cooed, “it’s not her fault she’s so happy.”
“Yes, yes,” Ilya muttered, “happy little demon.”
Harris’s phone chimed lightly, he checked the message with a sigh, “oh god, Fox is giving us grief again.”
“C’mon then,” Troy murmured to his boyfriend, grabbing him lightly by the elbow, “let’s go help Yuna before she starts threatening them again."
“It was lovely seeing you again, Shane!” Harris yelled out as Troy dragged him by his arm towards where purgatory waited as the face of Chris the media person from Fox.
Ilya just stared at Shane for a moment, feeling strangely like he was in a bad porno (take off your wet shirt, daddy, let’s wank each other off in the showers). The other man simply placed Anya on the floor, where she shook violently one final time to spray water droplets all over Ilya’s nice suit trousers.
“Sorry,” Shane made a face. “I really thought she’d rubbed it all on me.”
“No, no, is fine. Is my dog, is my responsibility.”
Shane moved to remove his jumper when Ilya became aware of how cold the rink was, but also the very interesting image of the man wearing one of his hoodies. “I’m just gonna-” He starts, watching a strip of skin appear when the jumper is lifted slightly. Shane gave him a questioning look. “It’s too cold for just a shirt, I’ll get you a hoody.” His hoody.
“Okay,” Shane replied with a smile. Ilya disappeared down towards his locker on the other side of the room, quickly turning away when the snippet of skin appeared again and widened.
He only had one hoody in his bag, a boring ‘Centaur’s’ one in the team colours, but it also had
‘Rozanov’ written on the back. Most would probably assume it’s merely a custom piece that Shane had commissioned, only he and Ilya would know that it’s not. It probably smells like Ilya as well, and by the time he returns it, it might smell like Shane too.
Ilya thinks of the way Anya scents everything and grimaces. He really is turning into his dog.
He tries not to gasp when he returns, everything he thought about Shane Hollander is destroyed and lit on fire when he sees the large rainbow thermometer front and centre on the tee. The red fabric also clings to his arms, and Ilya never realised that a vet could be so muscular. It looked like one small movement would tear the taut seams.
Shane must see his expression, he looks down in horror and swears, “oh, shit.” He looks back up to Ilya’s face, his cheeks now almost as red as the shirt, and sputters. “It was a, er, gag gift, from a colleague. It’s not like I’m…”
“Do your parents know that you’re queer?” Ilya asked in a gentle tone, feeling now immensely bad for the panic Shane was in when Ilya was just selfishly checking the other man out.
Shane froze, like he could see the hit coming and was dreading slamming into the boards.
Ilya then remembered that not everyone had a gaydar as good as him, and that his harsh Russian accent was definitely going to send the wrong impression. Even the word queer, a word he’d reclaimed from his fathers acidic tongue, could easily be heard as vile and punishing.
“I have just been staring at your arms, Shane,” he began, “I am bisexual.”
Oh god, he didn’t need to profess his attraction to the man. Jesus.
“Oh!” Shane’s blush spread furiously down his neck, Ilya could see his arms tightening under the snug fabric of the tee as he looked at the floor in front of him. “I’m… I’m gay.”
“Good!” Ilya exclaims, with way too much excitement in his voice. He knew Shane was queer, obviously, but hearing him admit it made a small bolt of happiness shock his entire body. “Yeah, it’s good you can be, er, open?”
The other man smiled shyly, crossing his arms. Ilya could see goosebumps running up and down his arms.
“Take this hoodie.”
“Ilya, this is yours.”
“You’re cold.”
The other man took the blue sweater, Anya beneath them leapt up to smash her body into it, but Shane lifted it up just in time to not drench another hoody.
Seeing the man in Cen’s blue, with Rozanov written across his back like a brand, was almost too much. Anya was looking up at the man with similar adoration. He wanted to grab his hand, right there and then, and kiss him in this locker room. Grab the back of the shirt and feel his name written on Shane’s back. He was never a possessive lover, years of hookups had proved this, but Shane felt different. Shane was different.
He was completely fucked.