The World's Worst Thief (слэш)

“I would hope not,” JJ snorted, nodding as his eyes glanced at Shane’s shirt for a short moment. “Looks a bit big, Hollzy. Trying to put on some muscle and take my spot as Montreal’s enforcer?”
Shane frowned, glancing down at the shirt he had thrown on without a second glance. He wasn’t proud of the way he let his alarm run through, keeping him twenty minutes late from the schedule he had planned in his head. It was fine, he reached the airport on time (and was earlier than half of Team Canada). But it had left him frazzled.
So frazzled that he hadn’t even stopped to think about the shirt he pulled on.
His cheeks burned with stark realisation as he glanced down at the black Bauer shirt he was wearing. It wasn’t his, and JJ clearly knew that too considering it was at least two sizes bigger than the ones Shane usually wore.
Because it was Ilya’s.
.
Or, Shane's habit of stealing clothes from a certain blond Russian and being caught red-handed a few times.