homeland - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 437 - click here to see my microfic archive!
It is not unusual to get a Rookie on the team who speaks another language. Shane’s used to playing with guys from all different countries, and has found many ways to communicate, even if he’s working with someone who doesn’t speak much English. Hockey is always a common language between every player, and that’s enough.
But when, in the second year he’s on the Centaurs, he and Ilya find out their newest Rookie is from Russia, it delights both of them.
Ilya, of course, is thrilled to have someone else from his homeland. They can discuss the places they’ve both been to, their experiences playing hockey in both countries. And Shane is happy that he is able to put some of his now-decently-proficient Russian to good use by making the new guy feel welcome.
But he doesn’t anticipate a big problem.
It happens the first time they’re all introduced.
Melnikov walks into the locker room with a smile on his young face, but obvious anticipation in his eyes. He speaks nervously, like he’s questioning every syllable. “Hi. I am…new player.”
So Ilya, eager and ever the talker, approaches him with a giant grin. “Добро пожаловать! Мы очень рады видеть вас здесь!”
And the Rookie’s eyes light up in recognition before he answers back in kind, his speech in Russian easy and comfortable.
But Shane feels a bit of warmth in his lower stomach as he listens to his husband’s confident, deep voice. A bubbling of something heady as his whole body reacts to the Russian flowing out of him.
As Ilya and Melnikov become fast friends, Russian becomes common in the locker room. And Shane becomes…easily worked up.
Ilya addresses it after a few days.
“You are…mad?” he asks Shane one night after practice, sidling up to him with a small frown in his face. “You walk away every time I speak Russian with Melnikov.”
And they’ve promised honesty. It’s something they’ve agreed on after years of avoiding emotions and arguing over situations that could have easily been avoided. So Shane, grumbling and embarrassed, has to look his husband in the eye and say, “...no.”
“Then what?” Ilya pushes, clearly confused. “I don’t understand, Shane. You seem…” but then he obviously catches the mortification on Shane’s face. Because his face lights up with glee. “Ohhh,” he says, beaming.
And Shane wants to melt into the floor. “Shut up.”
Ily leans close, crooning into his ear. “Is sexy, hm? Reminds you of times I whisper in your ear while I–”
“Fuck you,” Shane mutters, walking off, his cheeks bright red.
Ilya’s cackles follow him.
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