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They’ve won against Buffalo. It’s not a huge surprise really, the centaurs are on a tear this year, but the team is always happy for a reason to celebrate. Ilya personally, is all for it. The new antidepressants are working better than the previous ones and he’s feeling light, with Shane’s arm around his waist. He plants a kiss on his husband’s cheek and Shane’s nose scrunches up the way it does when he tries to contain a smile. Ilya can feel his heart melt into a little puddle inside his chest.
“Here it is,” Young says as he leads them towards the bar.
Ilya usually wouldn’t trust Young’s opinion on anything (the kid barely knows what flip phones are), but Chouinard backed up his pick so here they are. The place is bar-restaurant, and mostly empty, which is normal for a Tuesday night. They take a corner booth and after a brief fight for the banquette seats, everyone’s settled.
“What can I get you?” The waitress asks when she swings by. They get a few nacho plates for the table and beer.
Ilya takes a soda tonic, because meds. Shane usually takes a ginger ale to accompany him, but Ilya knows this american buffalo bar won’t have it, and beside that he can tell Shane is in a relaxed mood where he would actually enjoy a beer, so he gives Shane a nudge who offers a questioning look in return.
“You sure?” Shane asks on an aside, with at Ilya’s nod he orders the beer.
“I know you are not used to it, but tonight, is your job to have fun for two,” Ilya quips and Shane huffs softly with a smile before turning back to the conversation. Hazy is telling them about some comics store he’d found not too far from here.
As the night goes by, the guys start relaxing and getting rowdier, either thanks to the beers or the late hour. At some point, Ilya gets up to go to the bathroom, and ends up taking a quick call from sveltana. When he comes back, it’s to find most of the team looking between Hazy and Shane who are both looking very serious. Theres a slight blush on his husband’s face, the nice two-beers-in flush that highlights his freckles.
“What is this,” Ilya asks as he approaches the table again.
“Hey Roz,” Bood says as he takes a sip. “We started playing either/or, but now Hazy’s trying to find something Hollsy loves more than hockey.”
“Hockey or ice cream,” Dykstra suggests
“Boo!” Holmberg heckles. “You’re not even trying!”
Wyatt’s smiles as he tries. “Ok how about, hockey or summer?”
“Hockey,” Shane answers without hesitation.
“Hockey or sleep.” Dykstra
“Hockey or steak.” Bood
“Hockey or dogs.” Barrett
The answer comes: hockey, hockey, and what a surprise, Ilya thinks fondly, hockey. Shane is predictable that way.
“Come on,” Young complains “There’s gotta be something.”
Shane just smiles and Ilya can tell he’s having fun with this. “I like hockey.”
Hazy’s smile is gone, and it’s now replaced by a focused look. “Hockey or your fancy cottage.”
“Hockey,” Shane answers easily.
“Hockey or your mom?” Their goalie asks, a triumphant glint in his eyes.
Not a moment of hesitation. “Hockey.”
“Damn, Hollander that’s cold,” Bood says and the rest seem to agree.
“She’d say the same,” Shane says, not even phased.
“Is true,” Ilya can attest.
“Ok then,” Barrett says “How about this, hockey or Roz?”
Shane and Ilya’s eyes meet over the table. Less than a year ago, that question had very nearly broken them. Now, in this bar in Buffalo it almost feels like a joke to even ask. Shane has made that choice in Crowell’s office, and he hasn’t stopped making it since. And along the way, Ilya has been proven wrong in thinking he couldn’t fall more in love with Shane Hollander than he already had.
Ilya knows his face is doing something ridiculously soft, but Shane’s right there with him as always, so he doesn’t care.
“Good one,” Dykstra tells Troy with a solid pat on the shoulder while the latter just nods graciously like he’s already won and Shane gets that glint in his eyes that mean he’s about to make things difficult.
“Yeah I don’t know, guys,” Shane drags out. “I mean I really do love hockey.”
“You’re not married to hockey,” Ilya objects.
“I mean, he is, a little bit,” Haas objects, though he sounds apologetic about it.
“He loves me more,” Ilya insists even though he knows the more he pushes the more fun Shane will have finding arguments to the contrary.
“Do I?” Shane muses, his lips pursing in a stupidly adorable expression. “Hockey never traumatized my dad.”
“It was an accident!”
“You knew I was on FaceTime!”
“I did not know it was David.”
“It doesn’t matter if it was my dad or someone else, blowjobs are not FaceTime conversations.”
So Ilya had thought it was Pike and had wanted to play a little prank. It was his mistake, he could admit to it.
“Knowing you two, I’m sure he’s heard worse,” Dykstra points out.
“No he hasn’t,” Shane denies. And though Ilya can name multiple instances where he has, he has to agree with his husband.
“David is a gentle soul,” Ilya explains.
“Hockey never forgot to take the trash out either,” Shane says pointedly.
“It was your turn!”
“I told you I’d take recycling and compost that week because I had a late shoot!”
“Ok, but you forgot to buy my Oreos,” Ilya fires back.
“They’re bad for you anyways,” Shane argues, though it’s a weak defence.
“Is one package, and I wanted them for movie night,”
“We already had the popcorn,”
“You never put butter, taste like cardboard,”
“It does not!”
“Alight,” Hazy interrupts. “Is that the verdict then, hockey?”
“Well,” Shane drags out and Ilya has had enough.
“You are dirty liar,” Ilya says, his eyes narrowed as he drags his phone out of his pocket and pulls up a recording.
“What,” his husband says before he understands what Ilya is doing. “No wait, Ilya-”
But it’s too late, as Ilya selects the time mark he knows by heart and presses play.
“I choose him,” comes Shane’s voice from the phone speakers. “Come on Ilya.”
“You just had that ready?” Dykstra says with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes.” Ilya is not embarrassed.
Shane is flustered, though his features are soft as he looks at Ilya. “Ilya,” he says, too soft to be truly admonishing.
“Hey this doesn’t prove anything,” LaPointe objects.
“Yes,” Ilya insists. “It does.”
“No, he’s right,” Hazy says. “This isn’t proof.”
“Uh. Guys, actually-” Shane starts to say
“You listen to the whole thing then,” Ilya says before giving his phone to Hazy who takes it with a raised eyebrow.
“We’re in public!” Shane hisses. “We can’t!”
“There is nobody here,” Ilya dismisses, as he gestures to the nearly-empty bar.
“This isn’t a sex tape, is it?” Troy asks eyeing Ilya suspiciously.
“Of course not,” the latter says. “I do not give that for free.”
“Ilya!” Shane’s voice is a couple tones higher than usual.
“I joke, of course,” Ilya amends. “Nobody is hearing my husband’s sexy moaning but me.”
Shane lets out a groan and brings his joined hands to his forehead.
“Play it,” Ilya insists.
They guys exchange a look and Hazy shrugs.
The guys gather around Ilya’s phone and then they press play. There’s about 30 seconds of distant mutterings than Ilya can’t make out form where he’s sitting, before Hazy speaks up.
“Is that Crowell?”
“Shh,” Bood says and it falls silent again. The phone may be too far for Ilya to parse out the words, but it doesn’t matter when he knows them by heart. Ilya feels someone’s hand slipping into his and when he looks up he sees Shane smiling at him. Ilya brings the hand to his mouth for a kiss before he kisses Shane’s cheek too.
“For the record,” Shane says, leaning in his ear. “I do love you more than hockey.”
“I know,” Ilya says with a grin. “I tell you before, you are a very bad liar.” Ilya is gratified by the way his husband flushes, and even the halfhearted swipe seems to tickle his heart.
Ilya can hear Crowell’s tinny angry voice coming from the phone, but his gaze doesn’t waver from his beautiful husband’s face.
“I also tell you how much I like your freckles, yes?”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned it,” Shane says, with a smile.
“And your dick,” Ilya says and is rewarded with a flash of heat in his husband eyes.
“Yeah?” he asks. “I like yours too.” Shane confesses like it’s a secret.
“You do?” Ilya says, enjoying their game.
“Hm,” Shane lets out, as he wets his lips. “It’s a very nice dick.”
“Only the best for you,” Ilya promises. They should leave. The hotel isn’t far, they can make it in ten minutes. Five if they hurry.
His husband opens his mouth, gaze heated as they lock eyes-
“Oh my god!” Young exclaims as he lurches towards the two of them, the both of them jumping apart. Shit, Ilya had kinda forgotten about them. “Oh my god, I can’t believe Crowell actually did that.”
“Right,” Shane says, as he blinks a few time, obviously recalibrating.
“Can I give you guys a hug?” Hazy is looking at them, with a frown and Ilya can feel fondness welling in his chest.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he says before he’s wrapped up in a hug. He feels himself melt in it slightly.
“That was fucked up,” Troy says, frowning. “Seriously.”
“Yeah, we know,” Shane says. “We’re working on it.”
“If you need anything,” Troy starts and Ilya smirks.
“Thank you, Barrett. We will of course ask Troy Barrett, professional at pissing off Crowell if needed.”
“Shut up,” Troy says though, there’s a smile on his face.
“That was super fucking romantic though,” Dykstra says as he hands the phone back to Ilya. “Seriously, Hollsy, I almost swooned.”
“Same,” Hazy agrees, and Haas nods as well.
Ilya can tell Shane is getting flustered. “Yes, my husband is the best and he loves me the most,” Ilya says with a smug look.
“More than hockey, obviously,” Bood says. “Shit, you guys don’t play around.”
Shane and Ilya exchange a glance. Ilya shrugs as he answers with a smirk. “We never do.”