move - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 399 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
Shane wouldn’t admit it, even to Ilya, but he was a bit terrified to meet Marleau.
It wasn’t just that the guy was good at hockey–he’d seen the Boston player move on the ice, and he was definitely nothing to laugh at. It wasn’t that he was super outgoing, or even that Marleau was the one who gave Shane a concussion a few years back. It was that Marleau was one of Ilya’s closest friends–Marleau had been something like family to Ilya during his years in Boston. Even though Shane and Ilya were engaged, something deep inside Shane still wanted Marleau’s approval.
So when he and Ilya approached the older man at the bar in Boston, it was with a lot of trepidation on Shane’s part.
Until Marleau broke into a giant, shit-eating grin.
Completely ignoring Ilya, walking past his open arms, Marleau strode up to Shane and pulled him into a back-breaking hug. “Jane!” he yelled, catching Shane by complete surprise. “Fuckin’ finally, man! D’you know how long I’ve been waiting to meet the person who can walk Roz like a damn dog?”
Ilya let out a shout of laughter while Shane broke into a grin. “Uh, nice to meet you, Cliff,” he muttered, moving to take the farthest barstool from the other man’s, leaving the middle one for Ilya.
But Marleau shook his head, beaming. “Oh, no. You sit in the middle, my man. I’m getting you so fuckin’ drunk. And shit, I have stories for you. Has Roz ever told you about the time he threw a damn fit because our flight was changed so we wouldn’t have time in Montreal to see you? Or the time he bribed us with cars to beat you? Or once when he nearly cried because a song came on in the bar that reminded him of y–”
“Okay, okay, enough of that!” Ilya cut in, flushing slightly. “You are supposed to be my friend, Marly, do not betray me!”
But Marleu had already signalled to the bartender for a round of drinks. “Sorry, Roz. I’ve been waiting for years. We’re not moving from this spot until Hollander hears everything.”
And, beaming, Shane took the middle stool, eager to listen as Marleau launched into a story about the time Ilya had waxed poetic about ‘Jane’s eyes after drinking far too much at a bar. Yes, this was going pretty well.















