It occurs to Shane that the Metros are a walking, talking, sentient amalgamation of microaggressions. Or just plain aggressions, honestly. He knows his team—his former team. He knows that after a few drinks, Comeau couldn’t be trusted not to ask JJ whether he sacrificed chickens for voodoo rituals. He knows the rookies would ask him what wait staff at Chinese restaurants were saying, despite multiple reminders that a) he’s not Chinese, b) the people working here aren’t necessarily Chinese, and c) someone speaking another language doesn’t mean they’re talking shit about you. He knows at least three of his former teammates would randomly stick a hand in JJ’s hair and ask if he could wash it “like normal people.” He knows that Hayden (well-meaning and generally receptive to criticism, but still lacking in some areas) would direct math questions his way, like he was a human calculator.

Sitting with his new team, with Ilya slightly tipsy and completely relaxed at his side, Shane realizes that he’s just…a guy. He’s any other guy at the table. No one’s checking for him, with him, or on him in particular. When a science or math question comes up, they’re not deferring to him for the answers because he’s Asian and they assume he’s a STEM whiz.

He is, to be clear. He’s an everything whiz. Shane was a straight A student in school and could’ve gone to any university of his choice had hockey not been his goal/passion/obsession. It’s just not because he’s Asian—it’s because Shane Hollander refuses to give or be anything less than his absolute best at anything. His perfectionism runs deep and is quite possibly genetic (yes, Ilya always says, because I have seen how you and your mother play board games), but it has nothing to do with being Japanese.

“Okay,” Bood mutters to himself as he reads the clues again. “Genetic disorder, shortens lifespan. Featured on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy and associated with…stones?”

“Stone disease,” Ilya considers aloud. “That sounds familiar. F-something?”

“Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva,” Shane and Wyatt say simultaneously.

The table goes silent for a moment before erupting into laughter and questions.

“Why and how do you know that?” Harris shouts over the ruckus. “Who just has that knowledge ready to go?”

The questions are directed at just Shane. The table assumes that Wyatt—known nerd and husband of a physician—can pull random medical knowledge out of thin air on command. Nobody assumes that Shane’s supposed to know everything. Nobody’s disappointed when he doesn’t have the right answer and saying “I thought you guys were supposed to be smart” if he can’t answer a math question correctly in 5 seconds. Harris is genuinely amazed that Shane pulled the answer out of nowhere and curious about where he learned it, instead of just rolling his eyes and saying something like “of course he knows.”

He shrugs. “I fell down a YouTube rabbit hole once.”

Ilya laughs loudly and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “We should play doctor later. I have this problem with my di—“

Let’s play the biggest game of kick the can on the internet.

“i don’t know, probably that i can have ilya’s photos on my phone now :).”

"...But do you ever get like, shit on your dick?" Marley asks as he downs a handful of Lays bbq chips, crumbs getting stuck in his stubble. "Because one of my homeboys stuck it in his girl's ass once, and she shit on him."

Ilya sighs.

"No, no shit. You just need to have very thorough shower before," Ilya says, avoiding the topic of douching because he thinks Marley's brain might explode. "And not eat Taco Bell."

Marley's eyes widen. "No Taco Bell? Damn, I could never be gay."

Ilya gives him a weird look.

"But how do you decide who gets to stick it in who?" he asks. "Heads or tails?"

Ilya runs a frustrated hand over his face.

"Ah no, uh, we usually have pretty strict roles."

Shane is going to kill him.

"I thought you had to switch. Equality and all that."

"There is no have to, we like doing it like this."

"Okay, I have another question," Marley says.

"Of course you do."

"What is better, dick or pussy?"

"I think you don't know what bisexual means," Ilya says.

"No no, I know. But c'mon man, you gotta have a preference. I promise I won't tell Hollander," he says and crosses his heart.

Ilya groans.

"Is different, obviously, but I like both, I don't know what you want me to say."

"You ever miss pussy?"

"No," Ilya shrugs.

"Really?!"

"Marley, I have hot husband and we have sex all the time, I am not missing anything. If anything I have trouble keeping up sometimes."

"Wait, Hollander's a freak?"

Ilya sighs.

"You can not tell him I told you this, but yes he is."

Shane is like no! It’s embarrassing! And this is public! And you wouldn’t make me actually do that to Rose would you? You know the answer, I’m gay!

Only Rose thinks the whole thing is hilarious and gives Shane the go ahead so there’s no real reason to resist Ilya’s begging anymore, still he holds out to the day before the interview.

“Fine! Fine! You can ask about Rose, but I get to ask about anything I want too!” And Ilya’s like yes yes of course my love. His boring Shane would hardly ask anything damning.

Fast forward to the day of the interview Shane is fondly exasperated with Ilya’s Rose questions, and Ilya is being a cocky bastard so happy with how it played out.

Until they switch sides and Shane breaks out his first question:

“Is it or is it not true that despite famously calling Scott Hunter ‘a nearly extinct fossil’ you think he’s hot?” The blood drains from Ilya’s face pretty quickly after that.

“Do you think Hayden Pike is a good hockey player?”

“Do you consider Hayden Pike a close friend?”

“Who do you love more: me or Anya?”

“Besides me who is your favorite teammate?”

The thing is, there is protectiveness and there is Shane Hollander's protectiveness over Ilya.

It's not a secret that Shane plays particularly ruthless against opposing players who fouled Ilya, hitting the ice with so far unknown levels of ferocity and dragging the entire team with him to mow down their opponents.

Ilya is flattered, or more precisely in a liminal space between horny and moved to tears, whenever he sees Shane step up to defend his honour, because yes this is his pretty, funny, polite, hyper focused future hall of fame hockey star of a husband, but all canadian manners and professionalism are forgotten the second someone dares to look at Ilya wrong, because first and foremost, Ilya is Shane's baby. That's heady as fuck.

That was until Ilya found the spreadsheet on Shane's phone. Neither of them has any desire to look into the other's phones but they are on share the same toothbrush levels of codependency, so it's a no-brainer that they let each other use their phones if needed.

After a grueling home game, a hard fought win, they basically collapse on their couches, when Ilya suggest ordering food in, the meal prep just doesn't cut it today, and Shane agrees.

Ilya's phone is dead (damned candy crush) and he just makes grabby hands for Shane's phone, "give". Shane more than a litte exhausted is glad that Ilya takes over the decision making on what they should eat, hits a button and tosses the phone over to Ilya and rest his eyes for a moment.

It is pure accident that Shane missed the button to close his notes app, so immediately when Ilya opens the phone the color coded spreadsheet jumps into his view; initially Ilya wants to dismis it quickly but fuck, why does Shane keep a list of names active male hockey players?? Is this a list of guys he finds attractive??

He frowns, carefully scrolling through the rows of names and their demeanours and fuck???? Does Shane fancy bad boys?

He makes a grumbling sound that pulls Shane out of his highly efficient minute nap.

"'s up? That Italian place closed?"

"Shane, what is this?"

"Wut?"

"Is this a fuck list, Solnyshko?" Ilya pouts, more attitude than actual anger, that is simply too good of ammunition to tease Shane with.

"The fuck you're talking about?" Shane is definitely awake now.

"Is this a list of guys you want to fuck you?" Ilya taunts, keep on scrolling through the list.

"I don't have a fuck list!" Confusion and irritation cloud Shane's face.

"O'Neil, Schneider, Fitz... why is Wilson listed twice?"

Ilya looks up, turning the screen around and a grin on his face and Shane's mouth falls open and he turns red - but not the caught-being-a- horny-bastard kind of red.

Shane jumps forward to snatch his phone back but Ilya anticipated that move and hides the phone behind his back and starts wrestling Shane. Ilya barely wins the fight, luckily he knows Shane's ticklish spots so well, and they both start laughing, and Ilya is pinning Shane to the couch by collapsing on top of him and they catch their breaths.

Ilya produces the phone and looks at the document again, with his chin propped on Shane's chest.

"Okey. No fuck list, obviously. You only want to fuck good hockey players."

"And why do I let you hit then?", Shane grumbles, but a playful spark in his eyes.

"Bescause I'm not good, I'm best hockey player", Ilya grins, eliciting an eye roll from Shane that can't diminish his fond smile. "Second best maybe."

Ilya peppers a few kisses on Shane's chest before studying the list again and realisation dawns as he looks at the most recent entries.

"Gustavson, high sticking. Foster, roughing. That is from today."

Shane starts squirming again but Ilya just makes himself heavier on top of Shane to stop him.

"You keep track of people hitting us?"

"No..."

"Still a bad liar, Hollander."

Shane sighs. "Only you. The guys who played dirty against you."

Ilya has to let that sink in for a while, equal parts touched and confused. "But why?"

"Don't laugh ok?" Shane looks Ilya straight in the eye and the determination in his face sends a pleasent shiver down Ilya's spine. "I know that this is petty, okay. It's unsporting and too personal, like that's not what Hockey is about... but it is personal to me, okay?"

"Shane..."

Capitalising on Ilya's momentary weakness, Shane frees one arm and cups Ilya's cheek, his earnest dark brown eyes are hypnotising as he quietly speaks. "I don't like it when you get hurt. And I want to make sure these guys never do it again."

Ilya let's out a stream of consonants and fractured expletives, and fights the urge to bury his face in Shane's chest, losing it ultimately.

He squeezes Shame as tight as he can, his Shane, his sweet, protective, wonderful Shane who never fails to suprise him, and Shane nuzzles his cheek against Ilyas head in answer. A few moments pass, and suddenly Ilya has to giggle, because yes this list is absolutely fucked up and probably one of the most romantic things Shane did, and Ilya loves it. "That's fucking insane", he let's Shane know, smiling brightly.

"Yes. Because I'm fucking insane about you, baby", Shane says quitely and with so much sincerity that Ilya melts again against Shane's chest, listening to his strong heart, beating just for Ilya.

Shane let's Ilya crush him untilhe gets squirmy again in his trapped state and Ilya gives Shane's other arm free and immediately gets rewarded with Shane's fingers playing with his hair.

Ilya sneaks a last glance on the spreadsheet before he actually wants to order them food (Shane's heartbeat can only drown out his grumbling stomach so much), and spots the next column.

"Retilition successful? Seriously Shane?"

"Yes!?"

"I thought you want to teach them manners not punish them."

"Well, that kinda goes hand in hand, doesn't it."

"But Retiliation?" Ilya grins brightly. "You sound like fucking mafia, Solnyshko."

"I do not!"

"Shall I call the bratva for some tips, da?"

"Don't be silly."

"No, please tell me, what is your plan for retiliation, hm?"

"That is not exactly a plan. I just hoped that I could convince Coach to put me on the shifts against these guys for our next games. And then we'll see."

"We'll see? You wanna kneecap them or what? Land yourself in the sin bin?"

"Obviously not. I'd be cleverer than that."

And Ilya doesn't doubt that for one second.

"You're right, we won't need bratva, we got criminal mastermind here with hitlist spreadsheet."

"It's not a hit list!"

"If it's not a fuck list, it's definitely a hit list, Shane. Maybe we should give you new nickname. Killer, maybe."

"Stop it, I'm not injuring anyone. Not badly anyway. Mostly I want to embaress them on the ice and dress them down But you can't expect me to watch people hunt you and think they can get away with it!"

That shuts Ilya up quite effectively.

Shane pouts up at Ilya, his eyebrows still pinched together decisively. "Too far?"

Ilya immediately shakes his head. "No. Not if it's you."

"But you still think this is crazy."

For a moment Ilya considers that he might be married to a hockey terrorist and he finds that he doesn't mind, quite the contrary. "If it's crazy then we are crazy together." And he kisses the rest of Shane's frown away from his face.

but fails to consider that ice is. so slippery.

Read the post and loved it exactly for the potential of what's in the tags: uh oh now David made it funnnn and Shane, quick little bean that he is, riiiight as he's getting to the edge of the rink, about to be picked up and passed to mom, gets up and skates away to the middle of the rink and PLOMP lays down on his back, giggling and kicking his little skates. "Again, Dad (Shane does not call David daddy in front of his friends, he's not a baby!), again!!"

Because what do you mean they went to the batting cages for some silly fun to watch everyone flail at an unfamiliar sport, only for Shane to need three practice swings before figuring out the force and timing needed to start hitting every single pitch? What do you mean he sets the course record at the mini golf place they have the Pike twins birthday at? What do you mean he learned how to play cricket over a long weekend in the UK? What do you MEAN your Canadian ass that grew up on a calm, tiny lake went to visit Rose in LA and just learned to surf from “some guy” one of the days she was busy??

Shane doesn’t get why they all think it’s so crazy. He’s a professional athlete, he’s good at full body and mind control as well as adaptability and hand-eye coordination, and he’s so used to being the best in the world at hockey that he views being mundanely good at anything else as barely noticeable. He argues with Troy over whether he counts as being good at basketball just because he killed them all at the basketball shooting game at a Dave and Buster’s

They all start making bets to see who can find a sport Hollander isn’t good at. Harris is convinced he’ll win with figure skating because Shane’s muscle memory will want to work against him with a technique that’s so similar but also so different, only for Shane to come out of an afternoon learning from his old friend who was at the Olympics with the ability to do simple jumps and spins and is insisting the whole team learn so they can incorporate it into plays. Harris is not allowed to make suggestions after that

It’s not really noticeable, not to anyone else, not even Shane. It’s just something that pings in Ilya’s brain when he’s in the gym strength training, that it’s just a teeny little bit easier to lift on his lift. He knows this isn’t exactly unusual, even — most people are slightly uneven, most people are a little bit stronger on their dominant side

… except Ilya is a rightie.

He puzzles over this for a while, wondering if he ought to be doing a few extra reps with his right arm, wondering if he ought to try to even it out, wondering how the fuck this even happened when he’s literally always favors his right arm/hand. He uses it to pull Shane close, to open doors for Shane, to hold himself up while he fucks into Shane……

And meanwhile, he’s using his left hand to jack Shane off.

Ilya puts the pieces together mid-hand job, when Shane is settled between his legs, back to chest. He’s got his right hand on Shane’s leg, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin on his inner thigh, while his left hand strokes Shane hard and fast until he’s whining and begging for release.

Ilya hides his reaction by biting into the sensitive skin on Shane’s neck and lets him come before rolling them both over so he can laugh into a pillow.

“What?” Shane says, scowling as he wriggles underneath Ilya, sensitive and sated. “God, you’re such an asshole. I didn’t come that fast.”

“No,” Ilya eventually manages to say through tears of mirth. He’s still hard, but he’s pretty sure he’s accidentally killed the mood. “No, no, you were perfect.”

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” Shane twists around so they’re face to face, and Ilya can bury his face into the crook of his shoulder.

“You know,” he says after he’s calmed himself down with the scent of his boyfriend’s sweat, that musky, salty smell he’s grown accustomed to having in his bed. “You know how my left arm is stronger than my right?”

“Yeah, so?” Shane says. He’s got this adorable, frustrated look on his face, all scrunched up and angry. “What does that have to do with — oh.” His eyes flick down to Ilya’s left hand, coated in his cum. “Oh my god, Ilya, are you serious? Is this why your right backshot is weaker than your left?”

Of course that’s what Shane worries about. God, Ilya loves him.

“It’s ok!” he says, grinning wickedly as he pushes himself up onto his left elbow. “I will even it out. Only rightie handjobs this summer.”

Shane’s smile grows slowly. “I bet your right hand isn’t as good at it,” he says, and his words reek of a challenge. “Bet you’ll need lots of practice.”

Huh. Mood not killed at all, then.

Ilya kisses Shane deeply and runs his hands — including the cum covered one — through his hair, ignoring the squeak of protest in lieu of the twitch of interest in both of their dicks.

“Good thing I have a great personal trainer,” he says and winks.