Chapter Text
Shane was incapable of telling Harris no. He just looked at you with sad puppy dog eyes and a small frown on his face until you said ‘yes’ to his request. So, when he asked if he could film a small Q&A session for the socials, Shane hesitated for a moment, but ultimately agreed.
He knew that Harris would keep the questions relatively tame. If it was his husband being asked or asking the questions Harris wouldn’t have any content he could share. As much as Shane loved his husband— his mouth got them in trouble a few times.
“Do you want to do this in the locker room or on the ice?” Harris questioned, and Shane could hear Ilya snickering behind them. His husband was a grown child.
“Harris, don’t you have your own boyfriend to proposition?” Ilya calls as they make their way down the corridor.
“How did you marry him?” Harris questioned as they made their way to the arena. The sound of someone skating on the ice stopped them short, and his gaze fell on his own boyfriend skating back and forth, his stick swiping and smashing pucks into the net.
“I ask myself that every single day.” The smile that crosses Shane’s lips as he steps up to the open space to the ice. “Do you want to put a mic on me and do it while I practice or?”
Harris nodded at him, handing the mic over to him. He watched as Shane lifted his practice jersey to slip it inside and connect to his undershirt. As the practice was informal, he wasn’t wearing his padding and he didn’t have to worry about it coming loose.
“Now you’re getting him to undress?” Ilya’s voice calls as he walks down the hall to stop next to them. “If you wanted to have threesome, you can just ask.” He pauses for a moment. “Make it four, Troy is kind of cute.”
“Fuck off, Roz,” Troy calls from out on the ice. Ilya laughs and brushes up against his husband as he passes behind him.
“Ignore him,” Shane rolls his eyes and drops his shirt, and Harris tests that the sound is working, before starting his camera. The blush that was on his cheeks didn’t get past Shane. “You good?”
Harris clears his throat, and nods. He step up to the edge of the rink, his camera in his hand, zooming in on Shane as he taps his stick against the ice. Harris zooms in so it can see him as he swipes a stray puck and zig zags it.
“Who inspired you to play hockey?”
“I loved watching Gretzky growing up.”
“Your Mom was a Metros fan and your Dad an Ottawa fan— how did you convince them to let you watch Rangers games?”
“It was hard, but Mom knows a good player when she sees one.”
His Mom didn’t like his husband on the ice (before), but she never denied the fact that Ilya was a damn good player. He was just an asshole, but after she got to know him— she watched every single one of his games. Before Shane joined Ottawa, they were always watching Ilya’s games— and before he knew it— they had seen more of his games than Shane’s over the eleven odd years he played for the Metros.
“What is your favorite activity in your off time.”
“What is off time?” Shane deflects, hitting the puck in to the mini net that was still on side ice from the little tykes practice from before they came out.
“He reads boring hockey books,” Ilya skates over, stealing the puck from Shane, and racing across the ice.
“They’re not boring,” he blushes. “I just like to read about things I love.”
“So you read books about me, then?”
The exasperation on Shane’s expression had Harris internally feeling giddy. He loved that he got to see them like this— that they don’t have to hide who they are anymore, and their openness making for great content.
“What’s the last message you sent today?”
Shane paused his shuffle of the puck for a moment. “How hard is it to put your socks in the hamper?”
“That’s valid. The amount of times the locker room has cleared out and his socks are still sitting just outside his space is insane.” Bood walks out behind them, fist bumping Shane as he passes him on the ice.
“What did he reply?”
“Nothing I can say out loud.”
“Noted.”
Harris got more footage of Shane pushing off the wall, skating over to the others, the mic catching him saying something about “best of three” and it was Bood and Shane vs Ilya and Troy.
“You’re going down, Rozanov.”
“Only in the bedroom,” he cheekily calls and Harris shakes his head, knowing he’ll have to cut that out.
He watches them play against each other. The determination on Shane’s face felt a lot like when Harris would watch when he played in Montreal still. Shane and Ilya faced off, Harris was sure that whatever Ilya said to Shane would again need to be redacted, but it worked and he was able to steal the puck from Shane.
He watched as they played back and forth. Shane passed to Bood, back and forth, he spun around, his stick barely keeping the puck in his possession, but Ilya was right behind him and managed to steal the puck.
Shane’s stick reached out and smacked him in the thigh, calling him an asshole as he passes.
“Ref, two mins for slashing,” Ilya calls out.
“There’s no ref, idiot.”
In the end, Shane and Bood win the mini game with Ilya pouting at the other side of the rink. “I let you win.”
“Who is it they call the best player in the league again?”
“Second best,” he calls back. A look passes between the two of them. Harris sees more of the team coming out on the ice and Shane skates back over to him.
“If you had to choose another team to play against for every game who would it be?”
Shane takes a moment to drink water, and then answers.
“I really like watching Minnesota play. Kaprizov and Zuccarello play well together. Playing against them though? The last time we faced them we lost, so.”
“It was one point, and in overtime.”
“It still stung.” Shane grimaced. “The bad part is I watch the goal over again and Kaprizov had a sick goal.”
“It was great,” Harris nodded his head. They lost that game, but it was a great game. Even if Ilya ended up in the penalty box for slashing ‘Moose’ when he slammed Shane into the boards.
“What’s it like playing on the same team as your former rival?”
“I hate the word rivals,” Shane slaps his stick at the ice. “We were pitted against each other before we even knew each other. We played against each other, and played into that hype, but we never hated each other. We challenged each other on the plays— it was a competition no doubt about that, but it was never a real rivalry. That was all show-boating. It was fun. It was challenging. He was an asshole— still is an asshole, but now I get to play along side of him in the power play and it’s nice. We know each other so well.”
“In more ways than one,” Ilya skates over to them, and throws his arm around Shane’s shoulder. “There’s no one else I’d rather play next to.”
“That’s so sweet,” Harris croons, while Shane swats him off and sends him back to practice.
“Who is the most important player on the ice for you?”
A grin crosses his lips. Everyone would assume that he would say his husband, and normally they would be right, but everyone knows who the most important player on the team is. There’s no question about it— not even a second guess.
“Hazy.”
Ilya’s gasp can be heard across the ice. “Not me? Your very sexy husband?”
“No.” Shane rolls his eyes. He points to Hazy, who grins at Ilya and winks. “Goalies are beloved. They surpass everyone.”
“You said you loved me.” Ilya’s tone sounded slightly offended, but those who knew him knew that there was a teasing lilt to his voice. His accent deepened a bit, and he skated towards the two of them.
“I lied,” Shane laughs, moving away from Ilya as he swings his stick at him.
“I want a divorce,” Ilya cries out, as he reaches the same side of the rink. Shane bypasses him, and skates over to Hazy, wrapping his arms around him.
“I could always marry Hazy instead.”
“I’m sure Hazy’s wife would protest.” Hazy counters, “also, as handsome as you are, you’re not my type.”
“Oh and what is your type then?” Shane questions, and Hazy grins. “My wife.”
“I could always marry Sveta,” Ilya calls across the ice, he purposefully says it in a mocking voice. “She would do it.”
Shane rolls his eyes at him, knowing that he’s calling back to their time in the cottage. At the time, Shane wanted to murder him for even suggesting that he could marry his friend (and former hook-up) while they were together trying to figure out what they could be. Now, he just laughs.
“She’d murder you before she would marry you.”
“Worth it.” Ilya calls back. “Why did you marry me then?”
Shane looked over to Harris, and he grinned sheepishly, and mouthed ‘cut this out’, and then back to his husband. “The sex was good.”
“WAS?” Ilya gasps at him. The offense in his voice could be heard across the ice. “WAS? What the fuck?”
‘Gross,” Hazy pulls away from Shane. “I don’t want to think about the two of you. It’s bad enough I’ve had to hear it.” His voice went high, disgusted. “More than once.”
“Oh you don’t want to watch then?” Ilya skates over, dragging his husband close to him.
“This borders on sexual harassment,” Hazy flips him the finger and skates away from the two husbands who bicker at each other before Ilya says something that no one catches, and pulls Shane in for a kiss.
Harris knew that he’d have to edit this video a lot, but it would be worth it.
“Hey,” Coach’s voice called as he walked out into the rink. “Ice is made for actual hockey, not tonsil hockey— get back to work.”
Shane blushed as Ilya laughed into the kiss, and Shane pushed him away from him. “Later.”
“I don’t know,” Ilya skated backwards towards the other side of the rink where the rest of the team started to trickle out onto it. “I thought you said our sex was just good.”
Shane knew that when they got home Ilya would show him just how good their sex life was. The look in his eye means that Shane was in a for a long night. Worth it.