“is there anything so undoing as a daughter”

Ilya is a Kinsey 2, 2.5. He definitely has a preference towards women but he's been with multiple men and, obviously, will actively pursue a relationship with a man if given the motivation and opportunity. Shane thinks Ilya is, like, a Kinsey 0.5. He thinks that Ilya is almost exclusively attracted to women and only sleeps with men for the danger of it all.

Meanwhile Ilya thinks that Shane is a Kinsey 2/3, similar to himself. Shane thinks Shane is a Kinsey 1 and Ilya is his homoerotic hallpass. Shane is actually a Kinsey 6.

Also neither of them has any idea what the Kinsey scale is so this is all just vibes.

Both of these assumptions start to get turned around almost immediately. The emotional first time anal is enough for Shane to start to consider that he is Probably Gayer Than He Thought, which is something that he does try to bury under compulsory heterosexuality. But, as experiencers of comphet will know, the call is coming from INSIDE the house. On some level, you know. Shane also starts to move down the scale in Ilya's mind pretty quickly because it is, unfortunately, relatively obvious that Shane is denying a lot of things about himself.

Shane continues to believe that Ilya is only barely attracted to men and having sex with Shane like someone who normally buys a ham sandwich every day says "I'm feeling a bit wild today" and orders the tuna instead. He believes this right up until Sochi which, compounded with the mutual revelations of Emotional First Time Anal, force him into the realization that Ilya is actually very aware of his own queerness and, while unashamed of it, is very afraid of the consequences if it were to even circulate as a rumor in his home country.

In all seriousness, though, OP is right. They play the same position: centre. Which means Ilya will be the first line centre in Ottawa and Shane the second line centre. And no, it’s not a demotion for Shane. If you have arguably the two best centres in the league on different lines, the opposing defencemen and goalies can NEVER rest. The offensive threat is relentless.

On most hockey teams, the strongest offensive players are on the first line. Which means when the second line’s shift starts, these players aren’t as good. But when the second line centre is Shane motherfucking Hollander, you don’t get a rest. You never get a chance to catch your breath.

Particularly when your first line centre and second line centre are competitive with each other. You just know they’ll be pushing the wingers on their respective lines relentlessly because each of them wants to outdo his husband’s line. For bragging rights or better sex or whatever.

Every team in the league will hate playing against Ottawa, and be bitter at Montreal for fumbling Shane. Because they effectively have two first offensive lines, and that’s very difficult to play against.

Ilya had shared so much of himself, so many vulnerable moments, that Shane thought it was only fair. They were boyfriends now, after all.

So at the end of their first summer, after much of Ilya’s prodding, he caved. Ilya listened with rapt, amused attention.

“It was just… embarrassing,” Shane admitted, ducking his head.

“Embarrassing how?” Ilya encouraged, smiling.

So Shane went through the first time. It wasn’t that bad, she blew him and it felt…fine. Kind of like jerking off. He went down on her - he knew he wasn’t great at it, but he was coachable and she seemed to enjoy herself. She mostly just grabbed his hair and did most of the work herself. Ilya smirked at that, grabbing his hair and commenting that he must have liked that.

He didn’t, really. Just felt kind of neutral about it, just glad she was having fun.

Then he went into the second and last time.

He talked about how he tried to psych himself up for it. How he felt so terrible when she took her clothes off and he felt nothing. How humiliated he was when she stuck her hand down his pants and he was soft.

How she was so sweet and told him they could stop, watch a movie or something. How he insisted he was turned on but he was just stressed. How she hesitated and he snapped at her that he was fine. How he hated that she accepted that and kept going.

After ten minutes of foreplay, he had finally given in and said he had to pee, not meeting her eyes. He spent five minutes in the bathroom, getting himself hard and only half succeeding. He was able to fuck her but he couldn’t get the angle or rhythm correct, only staying hard through thinking about Ilya. She had to stop him to get her vibrator and assured him she almost never got off without it. He chose to believe her but he knew he was fucking it all up.

He was soft by the time she came and when she asked if he came, he lied. “Yeah, sure,” Shane had avoided her eyes. “That was so hot.”

She had looked concerned and it just made Shane angry. Not at her, of course, just himself. Maybe at Ilya.

He tried to take care of her like Ilya did with him. He brought her a rag and water bottle, but she said she was just going to take a quick shower.

So Shane laid in bed alone and was already trying to figure out what the hell to do because this wasn’t fair to her. To make her feel like she wasn’t doing it for her own boyfriend. His plan A was getting a prescription for viagra.

Turned out he didn’t have to, of course, because Rose had sat him down that night and assured him it wasn’t a problem to fix. She had asked, so gently, if it was better with another guy. He opened up to her, admitting things to her he hadn’t even admitted to himself. She laughed with him, made him feel normal. Just another gay boyfriend of hers.

He doesn’t look at Ilya during the story. He doesn’t see the way the smirk melts off Ilya’s face. Doesn’t see how his jaw tightens or his eyes shine. Doesn’t see his hands clench in the blanket.

But when he looks up, he didn’t see the amusement or jealousy he expected. He sees anger and sadness.

“I’m glad she was kind to you,” Ilya says roughly. “I’m sorry I made fun of you.”

“Ilya,” Shane said, confused.

“You did not want to have sex with her,” Ilya said simply. “You did anyway.”

Shane reeled back. “Stop. You make it sound like she-”

“No,” Ilya said. “I know. I know she was good to you but… it isn’t fair.”

“What isn’t?” Shane asked, climbing in Ilya’s lap, sensing he needed it.

“You having sex you don’t want,” Ilya rested his forehead against Shane’s chest. “Because you are gay. Because you think you have to. I don’t like the thought of it.”

“It was fine, Ilya,” Shane said. “Just embarrassing disasters.”

“It is not!” Ilya grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled back to look him in the eyes. “It is not embarrassing. Is sad, maybe. But not ever embarrassing. You felt you had to.”

“That wasn’t Roses fault.”

“Maybe no,” Ilya said, frustrated. “Maybe society’s fault. But not your fault.”

“Okay,” Shane conceded, his voice a little wet too. “Okay.”

Shane let Ilya hold him for a while. He could concede that, as much as being with Rose helped him figure out who he was and be confident about it, in a perfect world it would have never happened. But Shane didn’t want to waste time mourning a perfect world and lose time in this one.

It's one of Shane's biggest turn-ons that the only man he's taken to bed (presumably in the show) is Ilya Rozanov, his only equal in the sport. He loves that he and Rozanov are always nearly evenly matched. Neither is objectively better, both only win against the other by a hairsbreadth.

So sometimes, usually only over the summer or during longer breaks, Shane will actually use his full strength to fight against Ilya's hold. This signals to Ilya that he wants to start the game.

Ilya will be pinning him down and Shane will wrap his legs around his waist to flip them over. Ilya will twist his arm behind his back until his shoulder aches. Shane will grab his shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises and push him back down. Ilya will slap him across the face and Shane will grip his hair by the roots. They'll both fight to be on top until they're covered in sweat and sore and panting. Importantly, both are truly trying to win.

Sometimes, Ilya will win. Shane's muscles will give out, chest heaving. He'll be pressed face down in the pillows, arms pinned on his back, salty sweat and frustrated tears burning his eyes. His whole body tingling and aching, knowing that only Ilya is good enough, strong enough, to beat him like this.

Sometimes, Shane will win. Ilya's thighs burn with the strain of pinning Shane down until they finally give way. Shane will feel the give and waste no time flipping them over. He'll collect both of Ilya's straining hands in his own and pin them against his sweaty chest with a low, "keep them there". Ilya will give in, heart racing and legs shaking with a defeated, "fuck" and just go boneless, letting Shane take and take and take.

They won't kick or punch each other, of course, nothing to leave real injuries beyond pressure bruises or red marks.

Mostly because he’s loud. If you’ve ever heard athletes get these massages, they hurt/feel amazing and it is common for athletes to moan/groan/gasp loudly throughout.

So when they’re living together, Ilya is white-nuckled in the kitchen gripping the counters as his husband is laying on his massage table sounding like he’s getting fucked six ways to Sunday.

He can’t even watch because Amanda is there and Ilya doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

He finally caves and heads to the shower when Shane gasps out, “yeah, right there, fuck.”