Work Text:
The first time Shane stepped back onto Montreal ice wearing an Ottawa Centaurs jersey, he gave himself a little pep talk.
A few years ago, these same people had screamed his name until their voices gave out. Now the jumbotron was running a tribute montage that had all the energy of a “here’s some photos from when we were happy and also you broke my heart” Facebook album.
@russianmachinebreakshearts
Ilya: staring at Shane during the national anthem
Shane: the anthem is playing. you're supposed to look at the flag
Ilya: I am looking at something I pledge allegiance to 🙏🏻
The game started ugly and stayed there. Montreal hit him on every single shift. Shoved him after whistles. Somebody caught him right on the back of the calf, hard enough to leave a mark, and the ref was suddenly very interested in the jumbotron’s fascinating advertisement for car insurance.
Second shift, Berkes skated past and muttered, “You miss us, Hollander?”
Shane didn’t even look at him. “I miss winning consistently.”
From somewhere off to the side, Ilya’s voice floated over: “He upgraded.”
@sensmyballs
Ilya in the tunnel before games: 😤😡👹🥶🥵
Ilya the SECOND Shane walks into the room: 🐶😘😇🥳🤩
Midway through the first period, the whistle blew for offside. Shane coasted to a stop, already scanning for the faceoff dot, when Gagnon gave him a shove from behind.
Shane didn’t fall, but apparently that didn’t matter.
One second Ilya was on the other side of the ice, and the next second he was chest-to-chest with Gagnon.
The ref appeared, already holding his arms. “Rozanov. Back up.”
Ilya’s eyes stayed locked on Gagnon’s face. “Backing up. But if he touches my husband again I will explore violence.”
The ice-mic caught everything.
For about three seconds, nobody moved. The arena tried to figure out if that was a threat, a promise, or just a concerning way to say he was about to throw hands. The answer, of course, was all three.
Shane skated in and put a hand flat on Ilya’s chest. Their whole unspoken system compressed into that motion. Enough. You made your point.
As Ilya skated away, the cameras caught him muttering something in Russian under his breath. It was definitely not something you’d say in a post-game interview. The lip-readers on Twitter were going to have a field day.
@puckmesatan
the nhlPA: holds meeting
Ilya: before we begin, I'd like to introduce my husband, Shane Hollander
the nhlPA: we know who he is
Ilya: but do you know he's MY husband
the nhlPA: yes
Ilya: specifically MINE
@LittleRedRidingRoz
Ilya's google search history:
- does marriage mean we share one soul now
- can you marry the same person every day just to be safe
- Hollander smile high resolution
- Hollander breathing ASMR
- is it legal to tattoo your husband's name on your forehead (asking for a friend)
@contactfor_urgentorgies
The Ottawa Centaurs don’t run a 1-3-1
They run a 1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1
because Ilya is wherever Shane is LMAO
“You guys aren’t even making playoffs this year,” someone from Montreal snapped at Shane during a faceoff. Shane was already formulating a dismissive response, but he didn’t get to use it.
Ilya leaned over from the wing. “Your rebuild lasted longer than some marriages. Ours is thriving.”
By now, someone on the bench was definitely wheezing. Multiple someones.
Shane shook his head. “Ilya. You are not helping.”
“Helping morale.”
“Whose?”
“Yes.”
Across the ice, Olsson was still running his mouth, but he’d drifted a solid ten feet further away than he needed to be. Just in case.
Every time a Montreal player got near Shane after a whistle, Ilya just sort of… appeared.
Once, a Montreal forward got too close during a stoppage and muttered something about traitors under his breath. Shane just looked at the guy and said coolly, “Careful. You’re mistaking loyalty for ownership.”
Behind him, Ilya: “And you do not own him.”
Shane whipped around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.
Ilya held up both hands. “See? So quiet.”
He was not quiet. He had never once been quiet. This was just a known fact at this point.
@hockeymemesdaily ✔️
Rozanov's entire personality is just:
I am married
to Shane Hollander
that's my husband
did you know that
we have rings and everything
forever
legally
he's mine
@HollanderStanAccount
Scientists have discovered a new element 🧑🏻🔬 they're calling it Ilyanum. It's chemically incapable of being more than 4 feet away from Shane Hollander.
There were two minutes left. Ottawa was up by one.
Shane stole the puck clean at the blue line. Eighteen thousand people realized what was happening at the exact same moment, and the sound they made was less cheer and more oh no. If he scored this, it was over.
He slipped past Taylor with a move he'd practiced in this building a thousand times, back when the logo on his chest was different. Taylor's brain sent the signal to turn left, but Shane was already pulling his stick back.
He snapped it top shelf. The water bottle on the net danced.
And then there were eighteen thousand people, all holding their breath, like someone had hit pause on the entire building.
Shane stood there. Puck in the net.
The Ottawa bench exploded like they'd been waiting for this exact moment their whole lives. Sticks went flying. Gloves went everywhere. Someone was screaming something incomprehensible about Shane's ancestry.
Ilya launched himself across the ice and hit Shane like a missile. His face pressed against the side of Shane's helmet, hard enough to leave a mark.
"My captain," Ilya said, fierce and muffled. "My husband."
"Still on the clock," Shane murmured, but he was smiling now.
They held the lead. Montreal threw everything they had at Ottawa's net for two minutes, desperate and disorganized and embarrassing to watch. The buzzer sounded. Ottawa won.
The handshake line was always awkward, but tonight it was something else entirely.
Montreal players curtly went through the motions, shaking hands like they were touching something contaminated.
Then Ilya reached Gagnon. Their gloves touched half a second longer than necessary.
"Careful next time," Ilya's voice was calm. His eyes were not.
Shane, three players ahead, cleared his throat.
Ilya released Gagnon's hand instantly.
@captainwentworthconcubine
The Ottawa Centaurs have officially changed their team doctors. New requirement: must be able to treat Ilya Rozanov's chronic condition of Being Down Horrendous for His Husband 💀
@CensNationRising
🚨BREAKING🚨
The NHLPA has received a formal complaint from every other team in the league requesting that Rozanov stop pointing at Hollander during games and mouthing "that's my husband" to opposing players. The complaint was denied. Unanimously.
~
Across the media room, Harris was visibly vibrating at a frequency that could probably shatter glass. He had not wanted Ilya in this post-game interview. Harris had, in fact, used the phrase "strategically unavailable."
Unfortunately, "strategically unavailable" Ilya had a tendency to become "physically available in hallways near people who pissed Shane off." So now he was seated beside Shane, looking for all the world like a man who had no idea he was causing harm to his own PR team.
The first reporter cleared her throat. "Rozanov, thoughts on playing against Montreal again?"
Ilya leaned forward into the mic. "They did not deserve Shane."
Shane turned his head. "Ilya."
Ilya continued, unbothered. "They did not deserve his leadership." He paused. "Certainly did not deserve his jawline."
A reporter actually choked on his coffee. Nobody helped him clean it up. Everyone was too busy staring at Ilya Rozanov, who had just publicly complimented his husband's bone structure in a professional athletic setting.
"What?" Ilya said innocently. "Is fact. Look at him."
Shane looked anywhere except at the forty journalists currently trying to decide if this was going in the article or if they needed to fact-check first.
Another reporter, visibly trembling but committed to journalism, tried again. "Do you think tonight's win sends a message?"
Ilya didn't hesitate. "Yes. Message is regret."
"I think," Shane interjected, "it's just two points in the standings. We're focused on consistency and execution."
Ilya nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. Consistent regret."
A different reporter jumped in, clearly hoping to redirect. "How would you evaluate Montreal's performance tonight?"
Ilya considered this.
"Brave," he said finally.
A hopeful flicker crossed a Montreal reporter's face.
"Brave of them to show up."
@betweenthepipes_deepinthethroat
"BRAVE OF THEM TO SHOW UP" I AM DECEASED. BURY ME IN THIS THREAD 🤣🤣
@grabhisticknotMine
I'm convinced Roz has a calendar on his phone and every day is just marked "still married to Shane 🥰" and he checks it off at midnight like "another year down. forever to go."
@PENALTY_BOX_POUNDTOWN ✔️
I need to know if Rozanov dreams about hockey or if he just dreams about Hollander skating in slow motion with flowers falling from the sky because Ilya is not a hockey player. He is a husband who occasionally plays hockey while his husband is also on the ice.
"Rozanov," another reporter pressed carefully, like he was approaching a wild animal, "are you saying Montreal isn't competitive?"
"I am saying," Ilya replied, "my husband is elite and they let him walk. That is not competitive. That is stupid."
Shane cleared his throat. "We're not here to criticize other organizations."
"I am," Ilya said. "Already did."
Shane exhaled, resigned. This was what he had signed up for, legally and emotionally, and he would not trade it for anything, but also he needed everyone in this room to understand that he was not in control here.
"You are sitting next to me for a reason," he said.
"Yes," Ilya agreed. "Leash."
The camera operator was definitely smiling now. This was going to be SportsCenter's top clip for the next forty-eight hours minimum.
@montrealdefender
we are getting destroyed by a guy who just publicly admitted his husband controls him. this is the worst timeline 😒
A final reporter tried to pivot. "And Shane's performance tonight?"
Ilya's whole posture changed. The sharp edges that had been aimed at every Montreal player suddenly rounded into something else entirely.
"Is hardest working player in this league," Ilya said. "Carry pressure like nothing. Is disciplined and kind. He is best captain in hockey."
Shane stared straight ahead.
Ilya continued, because of course he did. "He does not complain. He show up every day and give everything. Even when people jeer him in building he helped fill."
Shane swallowed.
"And," Ilya added thoughtfully, "he is very handsome when he is angry. I enjoy when he is angry at Montreal specifically."
@downbadinottawa
There are FOSSILS less down than Rozanov. There are sedimentary layers less deep. He is WHIPPED and he is PROUD and I respect that so much 🙇🏻
The final question came from the back. "Shane, any response to what Ilya's said tonight?"
"He's passionate," Shane said evenly. "I appreciate the support. We're focused on our team and moving forward."
Ilya leaned toward the mic one last time.
"Always focused," he said. "Mostly on him."
Shane stood up immediately. "That's enough."
He placed a firm hand on Ilya's shoulder. Ilya rose without protest, radiating a level of satisfaction that was frankly impressive.
Behind, someone handed Harris a bottle of water. He drank it in one long, desperate gulp.
Shane guided Ilya toward the exit.
The door closed behind them.
"Leash?" Shane said incredulously.
Ilya shrugged. "They would not believe truth."
"And what's the truth?"
Ilya's eyes were soft now. "That I follow because I want to."
As they stepped away, he murmured under his breath, "I did not punch anyone."
"That is what we call meeting expectations, not exceeding them."
Ilya tilted his head, processing this information like it was insulting. "Baseline is zero punches. I gave zero punches. I did more than needed."
"Punching people isn't a performance metric."
"Could be." Ilya sounded thoughtful about this. "I think many players would improve."
Shane kept walking down the concrete hallway toward the Centaurs' media suite, one hand still loosely gripping the back of Ilya's jersey. It was like steering an unpredictable sled dog that had already eaten one pair of shoes and was currently eyeing the furniture with malicious intent.
In front of them, Harris was pacing. The second he saw them, he pointed.
"You."
Ilya smiled pleasantly. "Hello, Harris. You look… stressed. Is it Montreal air? I think it affects the sinuses."
"Hollander," Harris said in the tone of someone who had tried literally everything else, "your husband only listens to you. Please handle him."
Ilya looked offended. "I listen to many people."
Harris stared at him.
Ilya amended, "Okay. I listen to one people."
Shane removed his hand from Ilya's jersey. "Harris."
"No." Harris cut him off, holding up his tablet like evidence in a murder trial. "We are not doing the calm captain voice tonight. Not after what I just saw."
He tapped the screen, hard enough that Shane worried for the glass. "Do you know what is trending right now?"
Ilya leaned in, curious. "Regret?"
Harris turned the tablet toward them.
@sweetsummerchild
@Harris_Drover_Ottawa reading a fic where Ilya growls “my husband” and whispering “that is not media safe” to an empty room 🤥
@Harris_Drover_Ottawa ✔️
Please stop tagging me.
> @chokeuponthestick
DROP THE BOOKMARKS HARRIS
@bigstickenergy101
Sources confirm Harris Googled “Hollanov” and immediately closed his laptop.
> @chokeuponthestick
he clicked the explicit filter didn’t he 😏
@sidecharacternergyirl
Just posted: Title: miss your hands (and your chain)
Summary: Five holes on the ice. One hole at home. He found both. Hollander screams in English. Whispers in French. Cries in Russian.
Tags: Ilya Found X (And O), “My Husband” But Lower, Fisting, Good Boy Shane Hollander, Bench Press (The Other Kind), Harris Please Don’t Read This
Ilya was practically preening.
📱 @behindthenetNYourMom
This is why they'll never be a serious franchise. This is a romcom that occasionally remembers there's a game happening 🥱
"Engagement metrics since puck drop," Harris said tightly. "We are up 312%"
"That sounds good," Ilya offered helpfully.
"It is good," Harris snapped. "Financially."
A graph appeared. It looked like a heart monitor during a cardiac event.
Harris swiped again. "Do you know what's on your Wikipedia article right now?"
Hollanov
Hollanov is a term used by fans to describe the highly visible marriage between professional hockey players Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov; and the observable increase in Rozanov’s on-ice aggression when Hollander appears displeased.
Behavioral Characteristics
Researchers have identified recurring Hollanov traits:
- Public declarations of marital ownership.
- Pavlovian but make it matrimony.
The phrase “guard dog energy” is frequently associated with Rozanov.
See Also
- Marriage Kink
- Conspiracy theories regarding PR manager Harris Drover’s browsing history
References
Reddit forums:
- Shane mentioned his jaw clicks when he talks. I smiled because I knew Rozanov’s hips don't lie.
- Hollander's back was straight before he met Rozanov. Now it only arches.
- Hollander's "maintenance days" always happening after Rozanov's "good game" is NOT a coincidence and I have proof.
- AITA for telling my girlfriend that Rozanov bottoms when they lose and tops when they wins? She says I'm projecting but the STATS are right there.
Ilya tilted his head. "They are interested in leadership."
"They are interested in your marriage," Harris corrected. "Which is great. We love love. We support love. Love sells jerseys." He paused to breathe, chest heaving. "But it would also be nice - occasionally - if people discussed the team. The one we employ you to play for."
Shane pressed his lips together. He was not going to laugh. He was a captain. Captains did not laugh at their husbands hijacking post-game coverage.
His shoulders were shaking slightly. That was just a muscle spasm. From the game.
Shane glanced at Ilya.
Ilya looked like a saint in a cathedral who had never said anything controversial in his entire life.
Shane sighed. "You cannot call another organization's decision-making stupid in a press conference."
"I did not call organization stupid." Ilya's brow furrowed. "I called decision stupid. Decision is not organization. Decision is moment of error. Organization is a collection of moments. Some good, some bad. I did not say they are always bad. I said this one was stupid. That is fair."
"Not to the league," Shane said.
Ilya frowned. "League is sensitive."
"Which brings me to the next item," Harris said ominously. "It's media training."
Ilya recoiled like someone had suggested he voluntarily undergo dental surgery with no anesthetic. "No."
"It is mandatory."
"I have media. I train every day."
"You do not train. You freestyle."
Shane intervened in the voice he used for power plays and contract negotiations and getting Ilya to do things he didn't want to do. "It's one session. You'll go."
Harris watched like a man observing a nature documentary where the predator and prey had a particularly complicated relationship.
Ilya tried once more. "What if I am busy?"
"You are not."
"What if I am… mysteriously injured?"
Shane raised one eyebrow.
Ilya deflated instantly. "…I attend."
Harris sagged against the wall. "Thank you."
"I go," Ilya added darkly. "But if they tell me to stop loving my husband publicly, I will revolt."
"No one is telling you to stop loving him," Harris said quickly. "We are just asking you to love him in ways that do not trigger league fines or generate formal complaints from four separate organizations."
Ilya considered that. "Seems limiting."
"Meeting dismissed," Harris said tiredly. "Please go home. Do not tweet. Do not go live. Do not like any posts. Do not - " His brain seemed to be searching for other verbs. "Do not engage with the internet in any capacity."
Ilya blinked. "What if someone insults him?"
"We're going home," Shane said firmly.
He gently steered Ilya toward the exit. Ilya allowed himself to be guided, but his head was still glancing at his phone, thumb hovering over the notifications like a moth drawn to flame.
Behind them, Harris opened the team analytics dashboard again. "At least the merch sales are insane."
@CentaurMerchBot ✔️
HOLLANDER / ROZANOV DUAL NAME SPLIT JERSEYS
Launched: 8:47 PM
Sold out: 9:01 PM
Backorders: 12,847
Estimated restock: April
@MontrealFan4evah
These jerseys are a circus. I hate that I want one.
@downbadinottawa
If loving a marriage that sells out jerseys in 14 minutes is circus then HONK HONK FUCKERS 🤡
In the parking garage, Shane and Ilya stood by the car.
"You know Harris is going to put you in media training soon," Shane said. "And you're going to behave."
"I will behave," Ilya said finally, "by their definition? Or my definition?"
Shane looked at him.
"For you," Ilya said. "I will behave for you."
~
In the team hotel, Shane walked beside Ilya in silence. Ilya walked half a step closer than necessary, close enough that their elbows almost brushed with every stride.
Possessive proximity. His default setting.
Ilya glanced sideways. "Not sorry."
Shane didn't look at him. "I know."
"They insult you."
"I've been jeered before."
"They breathe near you wrong."
Shane huffed a laugh despite himself. "You cannot threaten an entire franchise because someone breathes near you."
"Did not threaten," Ilya argued. "I implied."
"That's worse."
Ilya shrugged, unrepentant. "They should be grateful I respect marriage. Could have done more."
"You are protective," Shane said calmly. "I understand that. But giving them reactions is exactly what they want."
Ilya looked at him for a long moment. "I do not like when they act like you did not matter."
"They know I mattered," Shane said. "That's why they're loud."
Ilya lowered his voice. "You matter to me more."
Shane exhaled. "That's not what this conversation is about."
"I think it is."
And before Shane could redirect this into something responsible and emotionally contained, Ilya's hand slid to his waist and pulled him in.
Shane made a startled sound against Ilya's mouth, a sharp inhale that only seemed to encourage him. Ilya tilted his head, deepening it immediately, pressing closer like proximity alone wasn't enough.
Shane's hand fisted in Ilya's jersey as he pulled him closer instead of pushing him away, fingers tightening like he needed the reassurance of him there.
Ilya's mouth moved with slow insistence now, less explosive but deeper, dragging the moment out on purpose. Claiming it.
Claiming him.
Somewhere down the hall, a door opened.
"DUDE."
They broke apart.
Bood stood ten feet away in sweatpants and slides, holding a blue Gatorade, already mourning the loss of his innocence.
"Not in the hallway!" he yelled. "This is a shared space! People try to exist without witnessing their captain getting - "
"Mind your business," Ilya said coolly.
Troy's voice floated from another doorway. "We're trying to hydrate out here! Some of us don't make out in public spaces like teenagers at a school dance!"
Evan leaned into the hall. "Is this why we can't have nice things?"
Bood pointed at them accusingly. "Some of us are single! Some of us don't have a hot Russian husband who writes poetry about their jawline!"
Ilya blinked. "Sounds like personal problem."
"Bro," Bood groaned, "have some shame."
Ilya's eyes narrowed slightly. "You would probably enjoy the view."
Shane looked at Ilya. "Inside. Now."
Ilya paused deliberately, turning back to look at Shane's flushed face, at the slightly dazed look in his eyes that he was trying very hard to suppress. At his mouth, still pink from where Ilya had been kissing him.
Something territorial sparked behind Ilya's expression. His gaze swept over their audience with lazy satisfaction.
"That is why," he announced, "I am taking Hollander inside. No one is seeing his freshly kissed face except me."
Troy screamed. "POSSESSIVE KING - "
Ilya wrapped an arm around Shane's waist again and guided him toward their door with the satisfied air of a man who had just won an argument without saying very much at all.
Behind them: "USE PROTECTION - FROM FINES!"
The door shut.
Shane leaned back against the door. "You really can't give them reactions like that," he said, but his voice lacked heat now.
Ilya's thumb brushed lightly along his jaw. "They already talk. Let them talk about something true."
"And what's that?"
"That I am very in love with you." Ilya leaned in again. When their mouths met, it wasn't explosive like before. It was warm.
Outside the room, somewhere down the hall, Bood's voice echoed off the walls. "IS THE COAST CLEAR YET?"
Evan's voice was distant. "I'm going to listen to nature sounds and pretend I don't play for this team."
Inside, Ilya smiled into the next kiss.
"Let them wonder," he said.
Shane pulled him closer.