STOP READING HARRY FUCKING POTTER.

I used to be into it! In-depth character analysis, wizard rock, irl quidditch, but when she outed herself as a piece of shit, I couldn't support it anymore!

"...But do you ever get like, shit on your dick?" Marley asks as he downs a handful of Lays bbq chips, crumbs getting stuck in his stubble. "Because one of my homeboys stuck it in his girl's ass once, and she shit on him."

Ilya sighs.

"No, no shit. You just need to have very thorough shower before," Ilya says, avoiding the topic of douching because he thinks Marley's brain might explode. "And not eat Taco Bell."

Marley's eyes widen. "No Taco Bell? Damn, I could never be gay."

Ilya gives him a weird look.

"But how do you decide who gets to stick it in who?" he asks. "Heads or tails?"

Ilya runs a frustrated hand over his face.

"Ah no, uh, we usually have pretty strict roles."

Shane is going to kill him.

"I thought you had to switch. Equality and all that."

"There is no have to, we like doing it like this."

"Okay, I have another question," Marley says.

"Of course you do."

"What is better, dick or pussy?"

"I think you don't know what bisexual means," Ilya says.

"No no, I know. But c'mon man, you gotta have a preference. I promise I won't tell Hollander," he says and crosses his heart.

Ilya groans.

"Is different, obviously, but I like both, I don't know what you want me to say."

"You ever miss pussy?"

"No," Ilya shrugs.

"Really?!"

"Marley, I have hot husband and we have sex all the time, I am not missing anything. If anything I have trouble keeping up sometimes."

"Wait, Hollander's a freak?"

Ilya sighs.

"You can not tell him I told you this, but yes he is."

Because during The Long Game, Ilya decides not to tell Shane because it’s not his secret to tell, and Shane has to find out eventually, right? Wiebe says something like “I’m sure Ilya has told you that I understand a little bit about your situation.” And Shane is thinking like, what, you definitely don’t, you were a mid player at your absolute best. But eventually Wiebe gets the point across and it goes, I think, one of a couple different ways:

One: Shane HATES this information and tries to memory hole it immediately. Shane has had a complicated psychosexual attachment to every hockey coach he’s ever had, which is fine because hockey coaches are straighter than God. Even though both Shane and Wiebe are in happily married monogamous relationships, finding out that it’s actually hypothetically possible for a coach to experience reciprocal attraction to him is the worst thing that’s ever happened.

Two: Finding out that Wiebe is bisexual pushes Shane over the edge into having a meta-textual breakdown. Shane: “It’s fucking ridiculous. It’s absurd! We’re already the gayest team in the league. The gay married team. And now we have a gay coach?” Ilya: “Lubimiy, he is bisexual, do not make me ask Harris to give another PowerPoint presentation on bisexual erasure.”

shane wants it so bad, ilya can't waste it jerking off alone, can he? he has to give shane what he wants, what's he's been so good for to earn. and what's the point of coming if his man doesn't get to reap the benefits and fill his hungry hole?

ilya is strong. he has great stamina. he doesn't need to if shane isn't there with him. can he even get off without shane? it's never as good.

The coach takes him to the video room and puts the DVD in, "There's a kid in Russia, same age as you. They're saying he's the next Gordie Howe."

He presses play and they watch a shaky video of two Russian teams. Shane's heart starts racing as he watches. He can immediately tell who coach is talking about. One of them is clearly faster and smarter than the rest, moving through the defense with a slick confidence that Shane immediately finds fascinating.

"His name is uh," coach digs though a pile of paper, "Romanof or something." He finds what he's looking for, "Ilya Rozanov. He'll be draft eligible the same year you will."

Shane feels that same sense of determination, terror, and joy he always feels when one of his coaches talks about him getting drafted like it's a forgone conclusion. He keeps watching the kid on the ice, the same age as him, and very good, and also already set for the draft.

His play style is fascinating, and when his shift is over Shane grabs the remote to fast forward to the next time he gets on the ice, wanting to see more.

His coach laughs and claps him on the shoulder, "Don't worry about him too much. You won't be playing him for a couple of years."

Shane is never sure exactly how Ilya does it but within 3 months he is the one fully in charge of Shane's half of Shane's professional google calendar and all of Shane's personal calendar, he's charmed Yuna and has somehow turned into her Shane wrangling apprentice, and Shane finds himself having the most relaxing season because Ilya knows what Shane likes and chooses for him.

6 months in and somehow Ilya is living with Shane, sleeping in Shane's bed, and has already started soft-launching a permanent residency marriage.

Ilya being the gatekeeper of Shane's time, and sure he likes Shane happy and so he does deliberately keeps track and helps Shane find time for his friends and family but also he says no if he thinks Shane needs the rest or the quiet or if he just needs to focus on hockey right now.

“When he laughed his nose crinkled, and Ilya’s stomach flipped.” HR, Chapter 12

“Shane laughed, and his nose crinkled. The freckles got all bunched up under his glasses, and Ilya nearly died.” HR, Chapter 20

“Every now and again, Ilya would kiss Shane’s jaw, or his throat, or, one time, the tip of his nose.” HR, Chapter 23

“I have a nose.” “Ilya booped the tip of Shane’s nose. ‘A cute one.’” TLG, Chapter 1

“Ilya smiled as he imagined Shane’s nose wrinkling, bunching up his freckles.” TLG, Chapter 9

“Ilya hated seeing him so upset, but he loved seeing him. Loved his freckles and his little nose.” TLG, Chapter 24

“His freckles were all bunched up because he was smiling so widely his nose was wrinkled.” TLG, Chapter 25

The Irina Foundation’s fifteen year anniversary gala comes around, and everything is going smooth as butter until they’re getting dressed and Ilya has to breathe in to button his suit jacket. Shane can see it in his posture, the constraint in his shoulders as he checks himself in the mirror; another inch, and it wouldn’t button at all. It had been custom-tailored. Everything had.

“Are you gonna be comfortable?” he asks him out the corner of his mouth. Ilya just raises his eyebrows, half-shakes his head. His hands pet down his ample front. Then he looks at Shane through the mirror, and winks.

Ilya’s saving grace is, in a way, the fact that he tends to only do ten minutes at a time on his feet nowadays. The jacket is unbuttoned whenever he’s settled in his chair, which, after their speeches, is the majority of the evening. His shirt, Shane notices, is starting to strain around his upper arms and his middle, but none of the tight buttons give way. That’s a lot of fucking fabric, he thinks. That’s a lot of fucking man.

Shane makes his rounds, thanking donors and friends and passing the occasional canapé to Ilya, who holds down the center from his chair, doling out humor and praise to everyone who comes to talk. If the banquet hall was the universe, Ilya would be the sun tonight, and Shane is fucking proud. He feels good tonight, in himself, and the Foundation and its values, all the more so for the few rough years they’ve had over the last fifteen. He hopes Ilya is feeling it too.

Ilya stays seated until after a majority of the guests have left, looking more and more one with his chair; subtly not one of the venue’s own, with a wider seat and a higher weight limit.

“Ready to go home?” He asks Shane after that year’s top donor and her husband have disappeared through the double doors.

Shane nods. He’s tired. “Do you want a hand?” He asks Ilya out the side of his mouth.

Ilya shifts his massive weight in his seat, slowly, carefully, testing the chair and his own legs, and the hampering nature of the stomach filling his lap. His shirt buttons strain, and the side-seams of his pants. His thighs have really filled out. Shane thinks that’s underrated. “…Just hold onto the table,” Ilya replies, “It feels like made of styrofoam.”

Shane knows this technique. Casually, he leans on the opposite side of the table, holding it down while Ilya rests a paw-like hand on the edge nearest him, rocks back slightly, and hauls himself to his feet, growling quietly with the effort. Shane goes back around to meet him. Ilya is catching his breath, his nostrils flared.

“Easy,” Ilya comments, resting a hand comfortably on the small of Shane’s back. Another second for air, and then they make their way out of the room, saying the rest of their goodbyes as they do. Shane lets Ilya set the pace, their shoulders bumping gently with every other step as Ilya intently maneuvers his bulk, not so slow that Shane really has to watch himself, but slow enough that he can tell that there’s effort involved. Shane would like to see anyone else there do a five hundred pound deadlift in a suit, and then carry it outside. Ilya has earned his bit of a waddle. More than.

“Did you have enough to eat?” Ilya asks him halfway to the car.

Shane nods. “Yep. It was good. Did you?”