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Returning home, he finds Shane already in the backyard, sipping on one of his nasty concoctions that he swears up and down let him play at his peak. Ilya would be more upset if he had to eat unsatisfying food while learning he’s playing against the team that betrayed him.
Grabbing the bat and hockey stick, Ilya sighs as he pets Anya in passing and approaches his pacing husband. As soon as the glass door slides, those dark eyes, wide and too jumpy for a slow mid-afternoon, settle on him.
“Are you planning to beat someone up?” Shane’s concern is clearly directed at Ilya’s hands. “Or, or are we practicing something?”
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or;
Husbandly duty requires that Ilya keep Shane in one piece when facing Montreal, and praise him when he tells them to fuck off too. -
Bookmark Notes:
OHHHH THIS WAS SO BANGING HOLYYYY
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