kavtoM



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane doesn't know how long they sit there in silence.

    He isn't counting seconds or minutes as the time passes by, quiet and heavy in the dim light of the hotel room. Instead, he counts Ilya's breaths—the ones that tremble and shake against the skin of Shane's neck, the ones that are buried in the fabric of Shane's shirt, the ones that become steadier the longer that Shane holds him as tight as he can.

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    25 Feb 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya hums, playing the card he's been considering for this entire conversation. “We could make more interesting, yes? A bet.”

    “A bet,” Shane repeats, eyes flashing. “Like what?”

    The reporter cuts in. “What about wearing the other player’s jersey?”

    They both turn to her, and Shane says, “Like, the loser wears the winner’s jersey?”

    “Maybe at the next game in a couple of months?”

    “Is a good idea,” Ilya muses, nudging Shane’s elbow. “You will look better in my jersey than in Montreal jersey.”

    Shane makes a low noise, his eyes holding a bit of a spark when he looks back to Ilya. It’s what Ilya was hoping for—the tiniest crack in the mask. He can see a hint of exasperated affection around the corners of Shane’s eyes, a little bit of fire burning just beneath the surface. It sends a thrill down Ilya’s spine, and he wonders if Shane will be snarky when Ilya gets him naked tonight.

    “That’s not happening,” Shane replies, shaking his head. “Because you’re not winning.”

    ---
    Ilya should have known better.

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    24 Feb 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “Come on,” Comeau says. “Are we all just supposed to pretend it's normal that you’re still playing house with Ilya Rozanov?”

    “Gil—” J.J. says, but Shane doesn’t want him to finish that sentence, to pull Comeau gently off the ledge he’s steering himself toward. Shane wants to push him, kicking and screaming, to make them say it to his fucking face. That after all this time, they still hate him for the heinous crime of falling in love.

    “We’ve been married for two years,” Shane says. “I’m not sure that qualifies as playing house. I mean, it’s longer than you were with your first wife, isn’t it?”

    Or: Shane reunites with his former teammates at J.J.'s bachelor party. He's finally ready to say (and maybe punch) his piece.

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    23 Feb 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    They’re in Boston on Ilya’s couch when it happens. They’ve lapsed into a comfortable silence, a muted game on in the background, Ilya’s head in Shane’s lap and Shane’s fingers in his hair. Ten minutes ago, they were tugging and twisting and curling; four minutes ago, they grew slow and tepid. When they go entirely still, Ilya turns in his lap to look up at him, ready to chirp him for falling asleep, but his breath catches in his throat at what he finds instead. Shane is not asleep, but he is not awake either.

    While visiting his boyfriend, Shane has a verbal shutdown in front of a woefully-unprepared Ilya for the first time.

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    22 Feb 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane's eyes squeeze closed again. “We had reason to put rules in place. Protocol. If ever—if it got to a place where, if he was ever feeling like he might—"

    Hayden’s body understands before his mind catches up. His blood runs cold for a second, stuck on the scrunch of Shane’s face, the clench of his fist, how desperate he’d been to see Rozanov—Ilya—just now. To make sure that he was okay. Here, in person.

    Not hurt. Alive.

    “Oh,” Hayden hears himself say distantly. “Oh, fuck, Shane.”

    --

    or, Ilya needs a place to go, and Hayden's happens to be the closest. It turns out to be a good thing.

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    21 Feb 2026