no but seriously imagine it

As Shane and Ilya are going through the box, Ilya pulls out a little Centaurs branded notebook, with "Shane's Fun Facts!" written on the front in sharpie. Ilya is understandably delighted.

"What is this?" he asks, smiling from ear to ear, quickly yanking it out of the reach of Shane who immediately tries to swipe it out of his hands.

"It's nothing," says Shane, but the way his cheeks have gone pink behind his freckles tells another story.

"Uh-uh. It cannot be nothing if you don't want me to see it this badly."

Turning his back to Shane so he can't easily grab at it, Ilya opens to a random page and reads in Shane's 8-year-old scrawl:

Lightning bolts are five times hotter than the sun. That is very hot!

Ilya is grinning even wider now.

"Wow, Solnyshko, that is a fun fact."

"Fuck off," Shane says. He doesn't even attempt to grab it again, just kind of collapses and bonks his head into Ilya's shoulder. "I used to have trouble making friends as a kid. Dad suggested I start collecting facts to use as icebreakers. Y'know, to get conversations going."

"Did they work?" asks Ilya, tilting his head so that it rests on top of Shane's as his husband gives an almighty sigh.

"I think they made it worse, actually."

Ilya turns to another page and reads it out loud.

"Oology is the study of eggs. It's so cool because it looks like there are three eggs in the word!"

"Oh god," says Shane, burying his face further into Ilya's neck.

"I think you knew all the worst kids in Canada," says Ilya, putting down the book and wrapping his arms around Shane. "Those facts would have worked on me."

"Really?" asks Shane, glancing up at Ilya's face to see if he's teasing him, but Ilya is being perfectly serious.

"Of course. You came up to me and started telling me fun facts straight away, remember? 'I don't think you can smoke here.' 'Wow, Rozanov, you are the best player ever to watch.'"

"Fuck off, I didn't say that," laughs Shane.

"Well, it was something like that," says Ilya, pressing a kiss to the top of Shane's head. "So at least the fun facts worked when it mattered, yes? Imagine where we'd be if you hadn't come over to break the ice."

And Shane tugs Ilya even closer.

My daughter? She's great. She actually just played her first hockey game. The hockey gear was bigger than her but man Ilya and I were so proud. Wait, actually I have photos – gimme a sec.

Our son actually got the lead in the school play. Yeah Rudolf the red-nosed reindeer himself. I mean yeah, it's the nursery school play. No no, you have it right – he's just over two and a half. He beat out all the four-year-olds for the part though, crazy right? Wait, I have a video, I'll send it.

So he really should have expected the question, "so who is, you know, the man?"

"Excuse me?"

"Dude, you can't ask that," a very progressive Young advised. "You gotta ask who's the top. Not the man."

Shane exhaled slowly. He loves his team he loves his team he loves his team.

"That is private," Shane said firmly. "And inappropriate in the workplace."

He was, of course, largely ignored. And while neither him nor Ilya really enjoyed their team, their friends, the internet, and homophobic players guessing their bedroom arraignments, Shane was surprised that nearly everyone got it wrong.

The general consensus what that Shane was the man. His going out outfit was usually jeans and a t-shirt, Ilya's was tight leather pants and a leopard print with four buttons undone. When they drank, Shane got a beer and Ilya either got shots or the sweetest cocktail they had. Ilya was more flamboyant, Shane was more reserved. Ilya liked to bake, Shane liked to grill.

And yes, Shane was aware why all these seemingly innocuous personality traits accumulated to make Shane the man and Ilya the girl. Still, it didn't stop it being generally annoying, offensive, and uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Shane liked finding the silver lining in that this was something just for them to know.

Ilya finds it more amusing then Shane. And, like most things, tries to use it to his advantage.

"Shaaaane, carry my bag," Ilya held out his hockey bag.

"No."

"I can't believe you treat your girlfriend like this."

~*~

"Is it a happy bouquet or an 'i'm sorry' one?" Holmsberg asked as he and the rookies peered over Young's phone. "Get the all roses one."

"That's the most expensive one!"

"Dude."

"Shane," Ilya whined, calling their attention to him. "Why don't you ever buy me flowers?"

"That's messed up, dude," LaPointe shook his head.

"I'll buy you roses, Roz." Wyatt grinned.

"You will not," Shane grumbled.

~*~

"Ah," Ilya winced as he lowered himself on the bench.

"You okay?" Shane asked him. He had taken a hard check into the boards early in the game and, despite reassuring Shane he was fine, he knew his hip was killing him.

"Fine," Ilya said predictability. "Just sore. Will be fine in a minute."

"Hey," Zane nudged Shane's shoulder. "Go easy on him on game days, okay? We need him."

"Go easy?" Shane's eyebrows drew together. "What do you - Oh! No, that isn't - he - I didn't -"

"It's fine, man. Whatever you two-"

"No!" Shane interrupted. "He's still sore off of Richard's check - Not - Ilya, stop laughing!"

~*~

"Doesn't it bother you?" Shane asks Ilya one day.

"What?"

"That everyone assumes you're, you know," Shane gestured, a cute little blush on his cheeks. "The girl."

"There is no girl," Ilya raises his eyebrows and palms Shane through his pants. "I would know."

"Asshole," Shane scoffs. "You know what I mean."

"I know," Ilya smiled. "But no. It does not bother me."

"Why not?"

"Because it's hot," Ilya lifted his hands, over Shane's chest and up to his face. "That people can't even imagine you like this."

Ilya dips to kiss his neck and Shane's eyes flutter shut.

"Makes no sense," Ilya continued, hands roaming down to Shane's ass. "To me, I know this immediately."

"F-fuck off, you did not."

"Oh, I did," Ilya gripped his chin, forcing Shane to look at him. "I see you... those beautiful freckles and I know how desperate you are for it. So obvious. Thought everyone was looking at this boy thinking how good he would look getting fucked. How well he would take it."

"Ilya..."

"Shh," Ilya patted his face. "But I think is better this way. That only I get to even imagine you like this. Only I get to have it."

"Only you," Shane agreed readily, hands flying to the zipper on Ilya's jeans.

And Ilya is like "No I'm out for drinks with the guys. Did you not see that we won, Hollander?"

And Shane texts back like "Of course I saw, that's why I'm texting." Then a few seconds later: "Download this app right now. Be discreet." with an app store link. And Ilya texts back like '??? 🤨 Shane, have you been hacked?'

And Shane is like 'Just download the fucking app, asshole. This is your reward. Username is Jane2481. Fucking HURRY.'

Day to day he's got the socially acceptable boxer briefs, dark and sleek, the kind with no digging, pinching band. But even still they grip his thighs too tight sometimes and he just doesn't always want all that fabric. So he has a couple pairs of briefs he'll slide into at home, maybe after a shower when he's tired and his head is buzzy from a long day or a tough game and he wants to feel extra comfy. They're high cut and tiny, they curve around his hips almost like jock strap; the hold is familiar, safe, comfortable. He throws on his softest tee shirt and he makes his tea and he settles in bed with a book, the cool sheets soft against his bare legs. And if he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror -- long, thick legs and the fabric of his tee shirt pooled at his hips, just a sliver of the band of his underwear visible -- and he preens, well, that's no one's business but his own.

Ilya obviously doesn't know about the briefs. Shane never wore them when they met up, Ilya never stayed long enough to witness Shane's nighttime soothing -- he didn't needed it when he was getting fucking into blissful oblivion. He didn't bring any to the cottage, it felt like stacked vulnerability; here's my heart and also my compulsion. And after, there was so much to share, to indulge in, to lay bare that a pair of comfort panties just didn't make the cut. So instead one night Ilya is over at Shane's and it's late and Shane wants to clean up after, of course he does, and Ilya is in the kitchen making his boyfriend's tea when Shane pads downstairs barefoot, shower pink and hair damp, in tiny fucking underwear and Ilya's own tee shirt, a little longer than Shane's, the hem kissing the tops of his thighs. And Shane wanders towards the living room like it's nothing, but he doesn't make it far, Ilya is in front of him, fingers on Shane's hips, sliding under the band of his underwear.

"What the fuck is this?"

And Shane's a little nervous, a little embarrassed.

"I just like 'em sometimes..."

"Like girl, eh?" Ilya teases, because almost nothing gets Shane out of his head and into his rage faster than a chirp.

"Fuck you," he says, "it's basically a jock."

And Ilya can't anymore, his sinks to his knees in front of Shane and he tucks his nose into the crease of Shane's thigh and he trails soft fingers up and down the endless expanse of Shane's legs. Shane's breathing goes stuttery and he's staring down at Ilya half hopeful, half caged, his fingers in Ilya's hair as Ilya begins to mouth at his thickening cock through the cotton.

"I just showered," Shane says, but it's a weak, useless thing between them when Ilya is already dragging Shane's briefs down by the band and Shane is spreading his legs, a sturdier stance to keep him standing when Ilya really gets going, the briefs pulled taut and tucked just under his balls.

So he gets a tutor. He meticulously researches her (she's from Moscow, so he'll learn from someone with Ilya's same accent). She's signed to more NDAs than he can count. She has 10 years of experience, she's certified to teach English and Russian, and she has 4.8 stars on MyTutor.

Shane pays her a frankly concerning amount of money to make house calls. Twice weekly, unless he's on the road, she arrives at his apartment to teach him foundational Russian. She gives him workbooks, Russia cartoon recommendation, podcasts for beginners, etc. He tells her he's learning because his boyfriend is Russian and she outlines a course that focuses on domestic language first (as opposed to travel or business). She even teaches him what she calls a 'culture course' with lessons on Russian music, food, and various traditions.

She's only a few years older than Shane and he actually finds himself looking forward to her visits. At this point, she's the only person other than his parents that knows he has a boyfriend.

About 4 months in, Shane finally feels comfortable enough to ask about what he'd been very excited about learning.

"You want me to teach you how to talk dirty to your boyfriend?" Ekaterina raised an eyebrow.

"Um," Shane blushed. Was this a little too far? Was this inappropriate to ask of a tutor? "Yes? If - If that's okay, I mean."

A slow smirk spread over her face. "This will be fun. Fun for me, now. Fun for you, later."

"I made a list," Shane admitted. He wasn't going to back out now, he put a lot of thought into his list. He turned to it in his Russian notebook and handed it to her.

She scanned over it indifferently. "You will use all this in one night?"

"Yeah, probably. Is it too much?"

"It is good you have a Russian man," Ekaterina said. "They have good stamina. Mostly, anyway."

And while it was a little embarrassing for Ekaterina to correct his pronunciation of please let me suck your cock, it helped that she seemed just as comfortable with that as there is tea on the stove.