#rozanov

“Fuck,” Ilya muttered, eyes glued to Shane’s bare ass as he walked into the showers, greeted by the most magnificent sight on earth. “Fuck.”

Troy, who had unfortunately been close enough to hear, rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “Jar, Rozanov.”

Grumbling, Ilya turned and stomped back to the locker room, fishing out a bill from his wallet and stuffing it into a jar labelled, ‘Stop traumatizing us, you sick fucks.’

Then he moped at his stall until Shane returned, freshly showered and looking extra scrumptious, before getting up to head to the now-safe showers.

-

“More, Hollander,” Ilya murmured in his husband’s ear, spotting him as he lifted weights in the Centaurs’ team gym. “For me.”

Shane, who was sweating and flushed pink, gritted his teeth and lifted the weight again.

“Jar!” Wyatt called cheerfully from the treadmill across the room, making both Shane and Ilya send him a glare.

-

“I think, maybe small change should be made,” Ilya suggested as he watched Shane pose for part of the Centaurs’ Christmas photo shoot, a silly Santa hat jammed on his head.

Harris, who was snapping the pictures, paused and looked to him. “Yeah? What?”

“Hollander should take his shirt off. Not just for me, of course. But for world. Everyone will like-”

“Oh my god, Ilya, jar,” Shane himself said, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

-

“Rozanov, what the fuck?” Shane yelled, shoving his husband into the wall as soon as the team made their way into the locker room after the end of the second period. 

Ilya, who was already bleeding from his mouth, hissed at the contact and swore under his breath. “What? You are really mad at me for fighting, Hollander?”

“Yes! Look at you, you’re hurt, you could have been suspended or fined-”

But Ilya didn’t look sorry at all. “They were targeting you, Shane,” he spat. “Saying things about you. I–”

“That’s my business. You’re supposed to play the game.”

“I’m going to defend my husband.”

They stared at each other furiously, anger and attraction crackling through the air between them, the tension high enough that the entire room could feel it. 

Then Ilya leaned forward, as if to kiss Shane.

“Yeah. Jar,” Bood called, smirking.

Ilya swore loudly, stomping his foot, walking towards his bag to grab his wallet.

-

Ilya was flying. Heart racing, cheeks hurting from how wide he’d been grinning, throat aching from how loud he’d been screaming.

The Centaurs had just won the motherfucking Cup. He and Shane, together had just won. And to top it all off? He’d gotten the gamewinning goal.

Beaming, he followed his team into the locker room, which already had music blaring and people yelling with joy.

But it was Shane that he was focused on. Shane, who he saw…grabbing his wallet and shoving the entire thing in the jar?