Chapter Text
Shane was not a jealous person. He wasn't.
He'd never been. Not since his mom had pulled him aside after his first big loss as kid and told him that jealously wasn't going to fix the outcome of the game. Jealously wasn't going to get him far in a sport like hockey; but his devotion would. His calmness, his abilities, his knowledge would. Shane couldn't afford to be envious, not when he had so many other hurtles to jump through to get where he needed to be. Irrational emotions wouldn't get him anywhere.
Truly, the closest he'd ever come to jealously was after Ilya had been chosen as the first draft pick while he was picked as second. But in retrospect Shane doesn't know if he was really all that jealous of Ilya, but more so disappointed in himself.
According to others, Shane was notoriously hard on himself when he failed at being the best. Even all these years later, after over a decade of playing on the ice, the losses still sit heavy, itching beneath his skin. He thinks upon how he could’ve been better. It’s always a self-reflection upon himself, rarely having anything to do with the actual players that beat him.
Being on the Centaurs helped him to not feel this way as often anymore. With Montreal, it was as if the team (with the exceptions of Hayden and J.J.) often found themselves agreeing with Shane's self-deprecation, or even at times encouraging it. 'Get your head in the game next time, Hollander. What the fuck was that today, Hollander? Focus, Hollander, you've gotta focus! Try harder! Be better!'
Thankfully, Ottawa wasn't like that. They were supportive and kind. Understanding when Shane was at his lowest. Not willing to validate his worst fears, even when Shane was actively searching for some kind of confirmation of them. The Centaurs were different compared to Montreal. Or really, compared to any other NHL team out there. There was no fear of emasculating oneself in their locker room, just a general sense of love and acceptance. It was crazy. Amazing, obviously, but crazy.
And yet, even with all of this newfound acceptance regarding emotions, Shane found that he was still never jealous. Upset sometimes? Sure. But never jealous. He had no reason to be. Shane, for all his doubts, knew in his bones that he was one of the best hockey players in the NHL. Not only that, but he was also married to the other best player. Shane had locked down the Ilya Rozanov. Really, what did he have to complain about in his life?
And this… yeah, this is where the problem comes in. Because Shane has little experience with being jealous. Not over losing games and awards, yes, but also never over a partner.
His high school girlfriend Jessica had once told him how much of a relief it was to be dating a guy who wouldn’t bite her guy friends' heads off for talking to her. And how nice it was that he listened to her bemoan about how her last boyfriend had completely screwed her over the year prior (which he had, by the way, Shane was in agreement).
It’s just that he had never felt the urge to be upset about stuff like that. Why would he? His girlfriend had friends and liked to rant about her last relationship. So what? Shane didn’t own her. She was her own person, and he’d never put her in a overcontrolling box like that.
The same thing happened with Rose, but on a much larger scale. Rose was a celebrity, and at points it felt like everyone wanted her. Not that Shane blamed them. Rose was gorgeous, funny, kind, and deserved all good things in life. It was a given that everyone in the world would worship the ground she walked on. But Shane never felt threatened by the fans, or her costars, or those faceless commenters on the internet that would describe what they wanted to do in bed with her in graphic detail, mind you. If anything, it had made Shane feel powerful.
Everyone had wanted his girlfriend, but he was the one who got to go home with her. He was a normal man who liked women and just so happened to be dating the hottest movie star in the industry. He’d never heard the end of it in Montreal’s locker room during that time. How lucky he was, how he must’ve been an absolute legend in bed to lock down the Rose Landry. It made him feel respected, even if their assumptions were way off base.
And maybe, secretly, late at night, Shane would lay awake, wondering if Ilya had seen the tabloids. If he knew that he was with her. Wondering if he had finally proved himself to him, because Rose Landry wanted Shane and only Shane. A woman wanted Shane.
In retrospect, those thoughts had come from the extreme denial he felt about his sexuality and, to the surprise of everyone but Shane and Rose, their relationship ended as a result of that same sexuality crisis. On immaculate terms with a wonderful friendship to boot but that wasn’t the point.
What was the point is that Shane had two committed relationships his whole life before Ilya, and during neither of them did the supposed green-eyed monster ever make an appearance. So, naturally, he just thought that he was a super secure guy.
That was until, like most things in Shane’s life, Ilya changed that.
— Svetlana —
The first time he realized what was happening, Shane knew that he was being ridiculous.
Svetlana was Ilya’s best friend. The only positive tie he had left to Russia. She was beautiful and smart and knew basically everything there was to know about hockey, which made talking to her one of Shane’s favorite pastimes.
She was also Ilya’s ex-fuck-buddie. Which was uncomfortable. Even for a totally secure guy like Shane.
It was ridiculous. Shane was ridiculous, he knew that, but still. Who could blame him for being a little insecure around Svetlana when she walked around with those long legs and striking eyes and bouncing curls and just all around looking like a goddamn goddess?
Shane may be gay, but he wasn’t fucking blind.
“Mon ami/My friend That woman is utter perfection.”
Shane sighed. “I know, J.J.”
“God, how did Rozanov ever convince her to fall into bed with him?” J.J. lamented, a pained look on his face. “It is unfair.”
“Mhm.”
“A complete travesty! Ah, he is so—”
“—Lucky to have you instead, buddy!” Wyatt suddenly interjected, throwing an arm around Shane’s shoulders. “Right, dude?”
Wyatt must’ve been glaring absolute daggers J.J.’s way but Shane was too focused on Svetlana’s elegant face to care.
“I, ah, yes. Yes! Oh, yes, yes, of course, Capitaine! I only joke! Trust me when I say that her beauty is nothing compared to y— agh! Hayes, that was my fucking neck! It’s stinging!”
Shane narrowed his eyes and ignored his friend, to whom he wanted to do much worse than slap his neck. Maybe snap it for even bringing up Ilya’s past with the gorgeous woman who is standing next to him laughing together in Russian.
Which was ridiculous because this was a party. A barbecue that Shane himself had insisted on throwing because everyone had been working themselves sick this season and after their game against Montreal two nights ago Ilya looked one missed goal away from ripping his hair out.
Svetlana showing up had been a happy accident. She often did not warn in advance that she’d be visiting, instead opting for what Ilya referred to as ‘surprise attacks’. And, well, considering how organized Shane liked to be, calling them attacks might not be entirely wrong. It sure as hell always did attack his schedule.
Regardless, he was happy she was here. After all, this was supposed to be fun. So why all of the sudden was it not fucking fun?
“J.J. seriously, don’t poke the bear,” Hayden’s voice cautioned from behind. “Shane is feral for Rozanov.”
Shane blinked and turned around. “Feral? I’m not feral.”
Hayden raised a brow and took a swig of the drink in his hand.
“Dude. Yes you are. I’ve seen you contemplate murder for when people even look in Rozanov’s direction.”
Well. Murder may be a little too extreme of a word but… hm.
“That’s not… I’m not…” Shane coughed into his fist, cheeks heating up. “Ilya can talk to whoever he wants.”
“Sure,” Hayden scoffed.
Shane frowned. “Besides, this is different. Svetlana is Ilya’s best friend.”
“A friend who knows what his ‘o’ face looks like,” Tanner rudely chimed in, appearing from thin air while munching on a burger alongside Bood.
Everyone cringed.
"Dude, gross," Bood deadpanned.
"Oh Lord. Why are you talking about 'o’ faces?" Harris turned around with Troy to ask, wrinkling his nose.
"I'm not. I'm only talking about Roz's."
"That doesn't make it better," Troy said.
"It actually makes it weirder," Bood said.
“Why would you bring that up?” Wyatt sighed, disappointedly.
Tanner shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“There was no need to say it,” J.J. said.
“You’re the one that started this,” Hayden accused.
“I was thinking about the beautiful woman! Not Rozanov! No offense, Hollander.”
“Offense taken, now everyone shut up,” Shane snapped.
Harris and Troy (because they were smart) decided to walk away from whatever this conversation had become. Even Tanner took the hint, leaving to go talk with Boyle. But Hayden (because he has the survival instincts of a slug) only chuckled at Shane.
“Come on, don’t tell me you’re jealous of her.”
“I’m not jealous,” Shane insisted through his teeth. “I don’t get jealous.”
Hayden blinked. “Shane, buddy, my guy, you’re the most jealous person I know.”
“Aside from Roz,” Bood said.
“You two really do match each other,” Wyatt grinned. “Equal parts possessive and obsessed.”
J.J. pursed his lips. “They are not that bad, right?”
Bood and Wyatt stared at him.
“You don’t share a locker room with them,” Bood said.
“They’re pathetic for each other,” Wyatt added. “It literally never ends.”
“Hey!” Shane warned.
“It's great!” Wyatt laughed, holding up his hands. “I promise. My wife thinks you’re both adorable. Which you are. Just not for anyone that gets on either of your bad sides.”
“You’re all on my bad side,” Shane grumbled. What were these guys talking about? Shane didn’t get jealous, he wasn’t that type of partner.
Shane was calm. Shane was secure in his marriage. Sure, maybe he would sometimes lay in bed while Ilya snored next to him and stare up at the ceiling thinking about how much time they'd wasted being scared and stupid. Time apart that led to Ilya sleeping with people who'd never deserved him. And sure, maybe he usually (always) ended up circling back to Svetlana and how she was the only one out of all those faceless people who knew how precious Ilya really was. How well she knew his mind; knew his body. Intimately. She likely knew Shane's husband almost as well as he did and okay maybe that sorta (really) bugged him sometimes. But that didn’t mean he was jealous. Really, who didn’t have nights like that? It’s not like those thoughts meant anything.
Ilya could talk to whoever he liked. Even his childhood friend who just so happened to also be his ex-lover and the only person aside from his therapist who he could speak to consistently in Russian with and has seen his ‘o’ face as Tanner had so helpfully pointed out—
“Shane,” said Hayden. “You’re gonna explode her head with that death glare.”
“Fuck off,” Shane said. He eyed the cup in Hayden’s hand. “What is that? What are you drinking?”
Hayden’s wide gaze dropped down to the offending red cup, sloshing it around.
“Oh, uh, vodka. Rozanov apparently cracked open the good shit for this.”
“That tracks,” said Wyatt. “Probably why you’ve been a part of this conversation for so long.”
“Probably,” Hayden shrugged. “I’m getting better, though. Talking to or about Rozanov doesn’t make me want to curl up and die anymore. He can be funny when he’s not making you the butt of the joke.”
“Ah, so he’s officially moved you up to being Montreal’s fourteenth best player now?” J.J. smirked.
“Shut the fuck up, man, who invited you?”
“The hockey player currently plotting to drown that lovely Russian woman in a lake.”
None of these people were helping. Shane sighed, shifting his eyes back over to Ilya and Svetlana to see her hand resting comfortably against his husband’s forearm.
Too comfortably.
“Fuck it,” he mumbled before taking Hayden’s drink and downing the remaining vodka inside.
“Oh God, he’s on the move,” Wyatt said.
“Dude! What the fuck?” Hayden yelped. “When did you get so cool with drinking backwash?”
“That’s Roz’s influence for sure,” Bood confirmed. “The guy has no boundaries. He drinks out of all of our waters. Like, full on mouth to bottle.”
“No fair! I tried to get him over that shit for years!” Hayden exclaimed.
But Shane wasn’t listening. In fact, he was already gone. Eyes set firmly on that perfectly manicured hand set upon Ilya’s strong, muscular arm.
That was Shane’s strong, muscular arm. It’s attached to his husband so yes, that’s how that worked.
But before he could march up to them and use up the scraps of liquid courage he had taken from Hayden‘s drink to… um (stake his claim? Mark his territory? He hadn’t thought that far ahead yet but he was definitely going to do something!), Svetlana already spotted him.
And smiled.
His anger instantly dissipated. God, Shane was such an asshole.
“Ilyusha, your husband has finally decided to join us.”
Shane blushed pink and smiled back sheepishly. “Sorry. I always try to make the rounds when we host.”
“He is a good host man,” Ilya said, proudly. “Does all the work and leaves me to get drunk in the corner.”
“Not too drunk, I hope,” Shane mumbled, leaning in to gauge the amount of alcohol currently in his husband’s cup. He looked back up at Svetlana. “How much has he had?”
Ilya waved his hand. “Not a lot.”
“Five drinks,” Svetlana smirked. “This is his sixth.”
“Predatel/Traitor.” Ilya mumbled. Her smirk grew into a grin.
“Jesus, Ilya, would you slow down?” Shane scolded, resisting the urge to yank the cup out of his hand. “It’s only nine.”
He scoffed loudly. “Ha! Please! I am Russian and the party started two hours ago! Three drinks an hour is just regu— regur— uh…”
“Regulating?” Shane guessed.
Ilya snapped his fingers, leaning heavily against the wall. “Yes! Regulating,” he nudged Svetlana. “My Shane is so smart.”
Shane raised a brow. “You’re slurring your words.”
“You are slurring your words,” he grumbled. Shane scrunched up his nose.
“No I’m not, I had half a drink.”
“Ugh!” Ilya exclaimed, dramatically. Reaching across to frame Shane’s face with his hands and squish his cheeks. “You are so cute, moy utenok/my duckling"
Shane furrowed his brow and batted his hands away. “Did you just call me a duck?”
“Actually, he called you a duckling,” Svetlana clarified.
“You look like one when you pout,” Ilya explained, pouting himself as an example. Puckering out his lips far too much. “Like this. See? So, so cute, yes?”
“And so, so possessive,” Svetlana teased, causing Shane to almost snap his neck in how fast he turned to look at her. “I could feel holes burning into my skull from your glare, Jane.”
Shane knew he no doubt looked like a deer in the headlights, and it was quite honestly deserved. Was he really that obvious? He thought he had a good poker face.
“I, uh,” he swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”
Svetlana rolled her eyes. “Boys, I swear,” she complained, though her tone was thankfully light. “None of you could pick up a context clue if it hit you in the face.”
Ilya shook his head. “Is not his fault, he is autistic.”
“Hey!”
“Alright, fair enough,” Svetlana smirked, tilting her head. “What’s your excuse then?”
“I pick up on context,” Ilya huffed. Svetlana threw her head back and laughed. Curls bouncing over her shoulders.
“Ty lzhets/You are lying” she exclaimed.
“I am no liar, is truth!”
“You did not realize this man,” she pointed directly at Shane's reddened face, “was in love with you for half a decade!”
“It was not half a decade. It was more. Seven years, actually. Nine of you count first time we met,” Ilya corrected, crossing his arms with a firm nod.
“You idiot. Only you would think that helps your case,” said Svetlana before turning to Shane with a dry stare. “And you think that I want this man? Milaya vesnushchataya dura/Sweet freckled foolt trust me, he is all yours.”
“Of course I am all his,” Ilya readily agreed, eyes shifting back and forth between them. “What am I missing here?”
Embarrassment flooded through Shane’s entire system. Because, yeah, no fucking duh. Shane knew how devoted Ilya was to him. Knew just how much he’d sacrificed so that they could have this. This marriage, this future, this love. Ilya loved Shane. It was as simple as saying that water was wet or the sky was blue. Besides, he had never usually felt like this. Usually being the key word.
In retrospect, whenever Ilya brought up Svetlana in casual conversation or had late night phone calls with her entirely in Russian, Shane would feel this cold, bitter, choking feeling sink down into the pit of his chest and stay there until he inevitably forgot about it.
When he put it all into words it really did sound bad.
But… okay. Look.
Was he being stupid? Yes. But Svetlana was Ilya’s oldest friend. His oldest friend with whom he’d had sex with. Multiple times. Possibly hundreds. So forgive him for not always having the strength to be the super secure, totally chill partner. It was different with Ilya in a way it just hadn’t been for Rose and Jessica. Not that that was super surprising. Ilya had always been different.
And yet, despite all of that, his history with Svetlana didn’t make Shane’s fears right. She was a friend. Their friend. Hell, she’d been at their wedding for god’s sake. So what the fuck was Shane standing there stressing out about?
Shane shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing, really. I was just being—”
“—Stupid, as most men usually are,” Svetlana finished.
As Shane stared dryly back at her, Ilya let out a loud, offended gasp.
“My Shane? Stupid? Never,” he dismissed, shoving off his place against the wall to stumble his way closer to Shane. “I said before, he is smartest ever. Most smart of all time!”
“What are you even saying right now?” Shane smiled, leaning into his swaying warmth.
“I am saying truth,” said Ilya, nodding sagely. “I have smart husband. Brilliant husband!”
Shane chuckled. “Okay, charmer.”
“Is not charming if it’s true,” Ilya mumbled petulantly, wrapping his arms around Shane’s waist and pressing against his back.
Shane caught Svetlana’s eye, and she gave him a look. One that said ‘see?’ without any words needed. He conceded, and shrugged back sheepishly in response.
“Roz!” Bood’s voice suddenly rang out. Dykstra and Chouinard behind him. “The rookies are all dancing on the patio table. Come do your captain voice and scare the shit out of them.”
Ilya groaned in dismay at having to peel his body away from Shane, but Shane himself raised his eyebrows in concern.
“They’re on the table? How drunk are they?”
“Do not worry, moy lyubov/my love,” said Ilya, kissing his cheek. “I will handle this. Very captain like.”
Shane pinched his side. “Be nice.”
“I am always nice,” Ilya scoffed before walking off. “Bood, is Luca on table too? Tell him he’s grounded. Actually, they are all grounded. Hey!”
Ilya burst through the back door, and Shane could hear the muffled screams and yelps that followed.
“He is too cute,” Svetlana sighed. “And so happy. You know this, right?”
Shane found that he couldn’t meet her eyes like this and ducked his head.
“I know.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure you do,” she said. “You never saw him in Russia. How sad he was. Here he is different. And I’m thankful for that. Thankful to you.”
Shane bit his lip, failing to conceal his growing blush. She wasn’t entirely wrong; Shane had never seen Ilya around his family. But he had seen how he acted while in Russia. During Sochi, how cold he’d been. Stonewalling him completely when Shane hadn’t yet realized just how dangerous the situation was. It was something he'd never forgotten.
“I’m just happy he’s happy,” he settled on, voice rough. “He deserves it.”
“Yes, he does.”
“And I’m, um, sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable tonight.”
Svetlana laughed. “Oh please, no apologies. I understand. But you do not need to worry, I promise. It was never more between us. Just… convenient? Is that the word? Anyways, the sex stopped being fun when he started obsessing over you.”
The concept of Shane encompassing all of Ilya’s attention to the point where sex with someone like Svetlana could be unfulfilling sounded ludicrous, but he tried to take it in stride.
“Thanks,” he coughed into his hand. “I know you’re just friends.”
“No more, please,” she waved off. “I am human too. I can feel jealous. But you are right, we are just friends and don’t you forget.”
Shane smiled and nodded, feeling at ease. How could he ever think that he hated this lovely woman?
“Besides, you think I am the only friend he’s ever had sex with?”
Nevermind, he hated her again.