Healthy Obsessions

He loves when Ilya is a menace. “Asshole” is his favorite pet name for him and “fuck off” is basically dirty talk. Ilya wants to party with Centaurs after a game? “Go have fun babe.” Ilya is relentlessly chirping another player? “Well he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” Ilya wants to blow Shane while he’s on a phone call? We canonically know how that goes.

But he does not fuck around with his man’s health and safety. Ilya can get into any mischief he wants until there’s a chance it could actually endanger him and that’s when Strict Shane has arrived. No, ilya cannot smoke cigarettes, Shane is not losing his man to lung cancer. Yes, Shane will lather Ilya up in sunscreen every summer and make him wear a daily SPF 50 moisturizer, Shane is not losing his man to skin cancer. He’s limiting his McDonald’s intake bc his man is not going to get heart disease. He’s making him get safer cars bc if Ilya dies from driving recklessly, Shane will bring him back to life just to kill him again. He wasted almost a decade not getting to be with Ilya the way he wanted and he’ll be damned if he lets anything (including Ilya) shorten their time together.

So now there’s this perception that Shane has Ilya on a tight leash. That he won’t let Ilya ever have fun and that Shane has domesticated him and Ilya is stuck under Shane’s thumb. Meanwhile Shane is actively egging Ilya on when he’s being a little shit. Shane is even bitchier and freakier than Ilya and it is so funny to Ilya that the world is so wrong about him.

It is not so funny to Ilya when someone tries to tell Shane to be less strict with Ilya. That is unacceptable. Ilya loves when his husband is citing statistics about lung cancer to him and making him his gross (healthy) smoothies and making sure he does the appropriate stretches before a workout and making him drink a glass of water in between drinks so he doesn’t get too hungover. Ilya has never had anyone who cared enough to “nag” him every day about his health (the closest was his mother but even then he often ended being the one who had to focus on her health). Shane being strict makes him feel so loved. He’s genuinely upset if Shane tries to “loosen his leash” bc Shane’s lectures are how he knows Shane cares. It’s proof that Shane wants forever with Ilya just as much as Ilya does.

Shane and Hayden both use the same app to track their workouts and share their data with each other

hollanov hooked up like in canon, but after "we didn't even kiss", shane panicked so hard he cut contact with Ilya. and Ilya tried to pursue him for YEARS, truly years, but Shane, somehow, completely cuts him off, panicking so hard that it overrides his deep-seated desire for russian dick. and eventually, Rose happens, and Ilya is like, wow. Maybe he is bisexual after all. Or maybe he's decided to put himself through conversion therapy. Ilya pretends he doesn't give a fuck.

(but it hurts, oh my god does it hurt to lose something ilya wanted this much.)

so Ilya does what he did before Shane Hollander: have fun, play hockey, hook up with hot people. He does date women, but nothing lasts: three months here, two months there, six months (woo, new record!) there. It's not that serious, and the girls enjoy being seen with him, getting spoiled with nhl money gifts and coming out of it with a heavy gain in instagram followers.

When they play each other, Hollander can't even look him in the eyes anymore (can still beat him, though).

Ilya plays for Boston long enough that he gains American citizenship, and once his dad dies, he well and truly stops being careful.

Scott Hunter kisses Kip Grady on the ice, and six months later, Ilya Rozanov is papped leaving a gay club with a hot guy holding his hand.

In true Ilya Rozanov fashion, he "is not a big deal"s his way through the press uproar, and ends up out as bisexual on the other end of it. The most-repeated joke is "rozanov has fucked so many women that he's running out and had to move on to men".

meanwhile, in Canada, Shane Hollander is seething with anger.

Rose broke up with him months ago (kindly, they're still friends), and unfortunately, Shane cannot lie to himself any longer about the fact that he's gay. And while he is having this whole identity crisis, fucking Russia's greatest love machine casually comes out of the closet, and doesn't even get that much backlash about it.

And while Shane is fluctuating between wanting to smash something and having an hourly panic attack, Ilya is out at the club, getting drunk and trying to find someone for the night because there's a hole deep in his chest that feels like an empty cavern growing larger by the day, and the only way he knows how to fill it is with sex.

And there's a guy who catches his eye. Ilya can immediately tell that he, too, is russian. He's hot, well-dressed, dark-haired with high cheekbones and an expression that makes Ilya want to chase him.

Ilya hits on him in russian, just to see if he's correct, and of course he is. The guy's name is Nikolai, and Ilya takes him home.

It's fun, finally speaking russian again while they fuck, so Ilya gets his number. They fuck again, four days later. After, because Ilya is not, contrary to popular belief, an asshole to his hook-ups, they lounge around in bed, smoking and talking. Nikolai is a model, trying to establish himself in the scene, trying to gain followers.

Half-joking, Ilya goes "You can post a photo with me."

Nikolai raises one perfect eyebrow at him. "No, that's for boyfriends, not hook-ups."

Ilya considers it; he's done this sort of thing with girls before; both of them knowing it's not going to last, both of them knowing they will both gain something from it, a few weeks of shared fun, a few weeks of regular sex and companionship, no hard feelings.

Ilya gives him a shrug. "We can do that, too. I need a date to an awards show in three weeks, anyway."

Shane sees the photo in the Metros group chat, the guys making fun of it. He takes one look at it: Rozanov, clearly in bed, hair rumpled, giving the camera an unimpressed stare. Next to him, one of the prettiest guys Shane has ever seen: short dark hair, cheekbones so high they look like they could cut glass, eyes more seductive than Shane could ever muster.

a day before, Ilya receives a text.

are you bringing your boyfriend?

It's from an unknown number.

who is this? Ilya texts back.

Shane Hollander.

Ilya almost drops his phone. Because what the actual fuck.

yes, he texts back, hands shaking. what does it matter to you

There's no reply.

"Are you okay?" Nikolai asks when Ilya enters the bedroom a minute later.

"Yes, fine," Ilya lies. "Will be better if you make me come."

"Then let me clear your head." Nikolai says, and then he sucks Ilya's dick, and it's flawless and perfect like it always is. Just the right amount of gagging.

Ilya still hasn't forgotten about it, after.

Meanwhile, Shane hasn't slept properly in two nights. And maybe it's the insomnia and sleep deprivation which made him text Rozanov. Or maybe it's the hard ball of anxiety and panic in his guts. Or maybe it's the green, ferocious little animal which has made a nest in his chest in the past few weeks; its name is jealousy. It scratches at the inside of Shane's ribcage everytime he sees a photo of Rozanov and his stupid, gorgeous boyfriend on social media.

He doesn't know why this is what's catching up to him.

Rozanov has always been famous for being a womanizer, for having a girl in every port. Multiple girls, even. Shane never cared, not even when there were rumors of actual relationships. (Well, maybe he did care a little bit. But never like this.)

During one of the many hours of sleeplessness, he thinks about it. It's the betrayal, he realizes. Shane knew from the moment he liked guys that he'd have to suffer through the repression, the hiding, the guilt, the shame. Knew he would never be able to have a relationship like his teammates, not as long as he was in hockey. And knowing Rozanov was, in a way, on the same page, had made him feel less alone. It was a shitty path, but at least, they'd be walking it together, hand in unlovable hand.

But now, Rozanov is out, and Shane is walking all alone. And for what? A random guy in a club? Some model who probably doesn't even know who Wayne Gretzky is?

It can't be that easy, because if it is, Shane has missed so much for nothing.

There's more, though.

Because in the past few years of his life, there hasn't been one single day when Shane hasn't thought of Ilya Rozanov fucking him. Not one.

And to know that this random model (who probably doesn't even know who Wayne Gretzki is) gets to have this every night makes Shane want to sink his teeth into something until he draws blood.

So he texts Rozanov. Because he has to know.

Ilya looks very good in his black suit, perfectly tailored to fit him. He bought Nikolai a matching gray one, and together, they're all sharp angles and unimpressed russian stares.

Nikolai is a pro at withstanding the onslaught of camera flashes, pretending like he doesn't actually care about being seen with one of hockey's most notorious players. Ilya keeps his hand on his waist, pulling him against his side.

Queer as in fuck you. Hunter can play house and be digestible to straight people if he wants.

Speaking of being digestible to straight people; Hollander arrives in a navy blue suit and with a smile on his face like there's a tiny gay frog living in his mouth.

Ilya forces himself to look as Hollander blinks into the cameras, awkward and sweet as ever.

Hollander turns, looks up, and catches Ilya's eyes. Ilya can see Hollander's expression wavering, can see his eyes go wide, only for a second.

Ilya tightens his grip on Nikolai's waist, and Nikolai, oblivious, leans into him.

are you bringing your boyfriend?

Why even ask? After almost ten fucking years, why even ask?!

"I need champagne," Nikolai says in Ilya's ear, leaning on his shoulder, speaking seductively next to his face, making it look sexier than it is. Someone else will be very happy to show him off once Ilya is done with him.

Ilya nods once. Before he leads him away towards the bar, he shoots Hollander another look, expecting careful blandness, or maybe a weak moment's sadness.

What he doesn't expect is a flash of seething anger, eyes narrowed, jaw locked, gaze fixed on Ilya's hand grabbing on to Nikolai's waist.

"Wait," Ilya says in Russian, "I want to talk to a friend first." He ignores Nikolai's indignant tsk.

Shane feels like he might have lost his mind during these sleepless nights.

The man next to Rozanov is just as gorgeous as he looked in all the pictures: tall, lean, handsome in an ethereal way. He's wearing diamond earrings which, Shane thinks bitterly, surely he did not pay for himself. When he leans in to speak into Rozanov's ear, it reveals a bruise in the back of his neck.

Shane hates him immediately. Hates him so much that the feeling of wanting to sink his teeth into something returns forcefully; sink them in so deep until something dies.

He is so overcome with jealousy that he notices it way too late, Rozanov coming towards him with his boy toy on his arm.

"Hollander."

It sends goosebumps down his neck, the hard R.

"Rozanov," Shane says.

"You look good," Rozanov has the audacity to say.

From the corner of his eyes, Shane can see the boyfriend's eyes dart back and forth between them. Then, he says something quick in Russian, and it makes Shane hate him even more, the fact that he shares a language with Rozanov.

Rozanov replies something quick in Russian, and the boyfriend sticks his hand out at Shane. "Hi, I'm Nikolai, nice to meet you."

Shane ignores him.

It's the rudest thing he's ever done in his entire life, and people have accused him of being rude before (even though he never meant to be). He means to be now.

After an awkward second, Nikolai pulls back his hand, his beautiful face going from pleasant to annoyed. Another quick sentence in Russian.

Rozanov, however, has the audacity to laugh, then shushes him. Shane is vibrating with tension.

They're surrounded by people, so he can't say what he wants to say. What he needs to say. Feels like his the words will spill out of him anyway if he opens his mouth now, so he keeps it shut.

"Well, Hollander," Rozanov gives him a little smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "Nice talking to you. Come on, Nicky, let's get you some champagne now."

And Shane just stands there, fists clenched by his side, as Rozanov walks away.

The boyfriend looks back at Shane over his shoulder, and there's an imperceptible little smile on his face.

Shane, famously bad at reading social cues, knows what this one means:

I won, bitch.

Once they have champagne, Nikolai leans in. "I think he likes you," he says in Russian, giving Ilya a little smirk.

But Ilya doesn't smile at all. Instead, he inclines his head and, in a dangerous tone, whispers "Stop using your pretty head to think about these things."

And Nikolai, because he knows what his place in this short term relationship is, just sighs, rolls his eyes and blows Ilya a kiss.

(He doesn't see that Ilya's hands are shaking as they clench around the flute of champagne.)

Meanwhile, on the other end of the venue, Carter Vaughn wraps his arm around Shane's shoulder. "Rozanov really brought his boyfriend huh? Didn't think he would do it."

Shane nods stiffly, shrugs non-committally and tries not to let his tension show. He can feel Scott hunter's eyes on him, and Shane doesn't meet his gaze.

"Did you talk to him?" Carter asks. "Saw you two standing together earlier-"

"No," Shane says, a little too loudly, a little too quickly. Carter's eyes widen.

"Okay," he placates with a smile, "Hey, let's not talk about Rozanov huh?"

Rozanov who, in this very moment, get up and makes his way towards the bathroom.

"Excuse me," Shane says, shooting up from his seat.

Ilya stands in front of the sink, looks in the mirror. The man looking back has dark circles under his eyes. The cavernous hole in his chest grows larger by the day, and in its darkness reflects Hollander's stupid fucking pretty face.

It's been years, so many of them. And yet. Ilya blows out a breath, fixes his tie. Everybody was looking at him and Nikolai. Ilya can live with the attention, the gossip. He's good enough that it barely matters. What are they going to do, kick their best player off the team for sucking dick? Boston is not that stupid.

And neither would Montreal, Ilya thinks. Hollander is a generational talent. He could probably commit murder and the city would still love him.

The way he looked at Nikolai earlier, maybe Ilya would get proven right soon.

It pisses him off. What does Hollander have to be jealous about? A handful of hook-ups a decade ago? They barely know each other now.

Ilya wonders if Hollander would come to his funeral. In theory, of course. He imagines it now, Hollander standing there in a black suit, sunglasses on his face, mourning Ilya. He'd look so hot in black, and nobody would ever know what happened between them.

The restroom door slams open.

They stare at each other through the mirror.

Ilya sniffs, trying to hide how startled he is. "What the fuck do you want? Being rude to my date, creeping on me in restroom..."

Hollander's pretty face turns sour. "Fuck you."

"Did you run after me to be homophobic to me?" Ilya turns, stretches his neck languidly. Hollander looks like he's seething, hands balled into fists.

"Papped at a club," Hollander hisses, "dating some-" he gestures dismissively, "some model-"

He bites his bottom lip, and Ilya can see the tears shimmering on his lower lashline now.

"So what?" Ilya asks. "So fucking what? Are you scared it will be traced back to you, ah? Oh no, perfect little Hollander not so perfect anymore-"

"It was supposed to be me!" Hollander exclaims, his voice reverberating from the tile walls, "Us! Together!"

"Well, it wasn't!" Ilya matches his tone, the volume. "Because you fucking cut me off! No texts, no meetings, no nothing, so I think, ah, Hollander has changed his mind!"

Hollander opens his mouth to speak, but ilya keeps talking over him. "Dating fucking Rose fucking Landry, playing house with Hollywood starlet, sooooo straight, so perfect!"

Hollander's bottom lip wobbles. "Fuck you, you know that's now how it was!"

"How can I know?" Ilya asks. His voice breaks on the last word. "How? We have not talked in years."

"It's not-," Hollander stammers, "We can't-" His anger has dissolved now, leaving behind raw hurt, tears threatening to spill over.

"You can't," Ilya spits.

There's silence between them, neither of them moving. Hollander blinks rapidly, wipes at his eyes, and despite himself, it makes Ilya's heart clench to see him like this.

They stand there, in this tiny, stuffy bathroom.

Ilya sniffs, shifts on his feet. Hollander stands ramrod straight, frozen in place. His hair is longer now. It makes him look even prettier than he used to.

"Would you come to my funeral?" Ilya asks, not knowing why.