Shane walking into the locker room after a loss expecting anger and shouting and equipment being thrown, fully prepared to take the brunt of the fault from the coaching staff and a few of his teammates like he always did in Montreal. With his head down, he waits for the explosion, but when it doesn’t come he looks up to see his fellow Centaurs laughing together and ribbing on each other over the mistakes they made that night. There is no animosity or blame. The air in the room is light, not the gloomy atmosphere he’d grown accustomed to after being defeated.
Ilya sees him standing there with the most adorably confused look on his face and walks over. He places both hands on his cheeks and smiles before kissing him, right there in front of everyone. The room erupts in hoots and hollers, Bood and Hayes yelling, “get a room!”
When they finally separate, Ilya gently rubs a thumb over Shane’s freckles. And with the most understanding expression, reassures Shane with a, “we are not the fucking Metros.”
The room gets loud again, Dykstra shouting, “fucking right! We’re the motherfucking Ottawa Centaurs!”
Shane finally cracks a smile. Throwing off his gloves he still had, he grabs his husband and literally dips Ilya right there, kissing him through their laughter and the riotous applause from their team.
Yeah, they definitely weren’t the fucking Metros. They were the motherfucking Ottawa Centaurs.
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