Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Svetlana Vetrova, Kip Grady

Additional Tags:

Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov-centric, POV Outsider, POV Shane Hollander, Retired Hockey Player Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Ilya Rozanov Goes to Therapy, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Bad Parent Grigori Rozanov, Mentioned Grigori Rozanov, Mentioned Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, Dead Grigori Rozanov, Funny Ilya Rozanov, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Comedy, Dark Comedy, Bisexual Ilya Rozanov, Fluff, Crack Treated Seriously, Irina Rozanova Haunts the Narrative, The Kingfisher (Game Changers), Social Media, Instagram, Good Friend Svetlana Vetrova, Ilya Rozanov Being an Asshole, but in a fun way, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Out of the Closet Ilya Rozanov, Queer Culture, Ilya Rozanov Rage Baits, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov in Love, POV Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Just for the epilogue

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-10-09 Completed: 2026-10-10 Words: 5,284 Chapters: 2/2

Lazy

Summary

-----
A shoulder injury sees Ilya retire two years before his husband. Too much time on his hands means Ilya falls down the well-trodden path of too much childhood trauma leading to a lot of therapy leading to becoming a stand-up comedian.
-----

LAZY • 1 hour of comedy by Ilya ROZANOV

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - ‘Highly entertaining.’

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - ‘Very funny, surprisingly insightful.’

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - ‘Queer, loud and very, very funny.’

⭐️ - ‘Technically competent show but extremely arrogant and somewhat debauched.’

-----
That leads to both another round of laughter and a cheer. On stage, Ilya grins.

“Yes, but I knew even then that staying in Russia was maybe a very bad idea. Because queer and Russian is recipe for very traditional Russian tragedy, yes? Which, generally speaking, are not good.” Ilya holds up a hand, counting on his fingers. “Napoleonic Wars, Stalingrad, Chernobyl, getting caught sucking cock with your Coach’s son. All of these would be bad, no? Very high body counts, probably.”

There’s a lot of laughter now. In the front row, Svetlana wipes at her eyes, shoulders shaking.

Notes

Chapter 1

QueerCultureCentral:

[ Image posted to Instagram showing the start of a news article. What can be seen of the article reads -

Continuing on with his unexpected career move of venturing into stand-up comedy, Ilya Rozanov will be filming one of his comedy sets for the first time next week. His small set of tour dates have, unsurprisingly, all been sold out so far. More surprisingly, perhaps, his show has been consistently well reviewed so far. Excitement is therefore high for this first filmed release. The final gig for his current show LAZY is due to be filmed in New York next Friday. The gig will be held at a gay bar called the Kingfisher owned by two other queer and retired hockey players, Scott Hunter and Eric Bennett and is set to be...” ]

Caption:

See link in bio for the full article. You do not want to miss the release of Ilya Rozanov’s new show LAZY when it hits the web next month. Especially with all profits going towards supporting suicide prevention through Rozanov and his husband’s charity, the Irina Foundation.

IlyaRozanov81:

[Video posted to IlyaRozanov81’s Instagram. The video shows a montage of clips from Ilya Rozanov’s hockey career, along with the words of the game commentary from each clip as they all play out.

“Okay, you’re back with us now after that quick detour in which we got to see Ilya Rozanov once again treating a pre-game interview like he’s on stage at a comedy club. Let’s see what he has in store for us when he’s focusing on the job then, shall we?”

“...Rozanov is more mouth than anything else sometimes, I swear, he...”

“...a clown...”

“...a mouth on skates...”

“...you really just never know what he’s going to say next, do you, John?”

“No, no, exactly. Exactly, he...”

“...but we’ll see here now if he can- Oh, yes, there you go, looks like another fight’s broken out. Gotta wonder what Rozanov said this time to get a rise like that outta Johnson?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, honestly. He’s hard to predict, really. And, well, he’s always been practically a comedian on skates, has Ilya Rozanov.’

[Video ends]

Caption:

Unexpected career move? I don’t think so.

NY gig is sold out now but don’t worry, video coming soon.

• IlyaRozanov81 has tagged QueerCultureCentral in this post.

--

IrinaFoundation:

[ Image of Ilya’s tour poster. The headline text reads ‘LAZY • Ilya ROZANOV’ and overlays a picture of Ilya winking at the camera.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - ‘Highly entertaining.’

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - ‘Very funny, surprisingly insightful.’

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - ‘Queer, loud and very, very funny.’

⭐️ - ‘Technically competent show but extremely arrogant and somewhat debauched.’  ]

Caption:

We can’t wait to bring all of you Ilya Rozanov’s first filmed comedy gig. All profits from the tour and the video release are going towards our Foundation.

--

[Thank you for choosing to purchase ‘LAZY’ by Ilya Rozanov. Video will now autoplay in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...]

[ Video begins ]

A tall broad-shouldered drag queen stands on stage at the Kingfisher in a sequin red dress and high heeled boots. Her blond hair is piled high atop her head and she holds the crowd's attention with easy authority.

Behind her, the stage is empty aside from one tall metal bar stool and a table set to the side holding one small bottle of water.

Beyond the stage, the usual set up at the Kingfisher has been re-jigged and re-arranged to create room for row upon row of chairs for the sold out show. All the seats are filled. There’s a smattering of familiar faces. Scott and Kip are there sitting together. Eric Bennett is standing to one side, looking harried but happy. Kyle approaches him. He takes the clipboard from Eric’s hands and leads him to his seat instead. Svetlana is sitting in the front row. There are a few other retired hockey players dotted amongst the audience but most of the crowd are simply fans of hockey, comedy, or both, all here for the gig.

On stage, the hosting drag queen finishes her warm up set and smiles at the eruption of cheering and applause.

“Thank you, thank you. Very kind. But, well then, darlings,” she says, “this has been lovely. That’s it from me tonight though. But don’t anybody worry because we are all getting lucky tonight, girls. Because I have for you, the one, the only, Canada’s very own Russian menace, ice queen to all of our hearts, it’s Ilya fucking Rozanov.”

A huge cheer goes up from the crowd, audience members clapping and shouting and stamping their feet.

Ilya walks out onto the stage, taking the mic from her outstretched hand as he passes.

“Thank you dorogaya, you are too kind,” he says. He continues on and stops center stage, turning to stare down the audience.

The spotlight settles over Ilya, the rest of the stage dark. He leans against the metal bar stool, half sitting and grins. Ilya tips his head towards the left side of the stage where the drag queen has just made her exit. “She would do great in the locker room, yes? Better with insults than me and punch that could break your jaw.” Ilya's smile widens. “Fucking hot. Is everything a Captain could ask for, yes?” He laughs and throws the crowd a wink, then he’s on his feet, standing upright, a smirk fixed across his face.

“You know my first publicist told me I should call this show ‘Gay or European?’ Fucking ‘Gay or European?’ You believe that?” Ilya throws up a hand, the other holding the mic. “You know how many times people have said this to me? ‘Ah, Rozy, we all thought you were just European but I guess not, eh?’” He rolls his eyes. “But, you know what, I have big announcement for you. Big secret.”

Ilya pauses, eyes darting about the room then takes a breath. “I am not fucking European. I am fucking Russian.” That gets a surprised chuckle. He sighs. “I know you all cannot pronounce my name but you have heard of Russia, yes? Is not Europe. We have had many wars about this. Many tragic wars. Because is Russia. Tragedy is our national export.” He shakes his head. “So you all know ‘Gay or European?’ Even if hockey fans are very, very bad at playing spot the difference. But do you want to know how to tell if someone is ‘Russian or Queer?’ Would you like to learn this instead?”

The audience laughs at that and gives a low cheer.

Ilya holds up a hand. “Okay, okay, don’t worry, I will tell you. If you meet a Russian and you are not sure, you can ask. You just say, ‘are you gay?’ Then, if they are Russian,” he tilts his head, shrugs, “they will punch you. Is very clear sign. Hard to get wrong. If they are queer, they will punch you.” Ilya holds one hand up in front of his chest, fingers spread, “but you must check for the nail polish.” He laughs. “Is very big clue.”

That gets a real laugh and a couple of wolf whistles.

Ilya grins. “Uhh, is always Russian or Queer, though. Cannot be both. Putin will take your passport, of course.” He mimes tearing something in half and shrugs. “Which, uh, very stupid, no? Tragedy is Russian national export, yes? Tragic and doomed is most traditional Russian thing you can be.” He pauses and tilts one hand back and forth, “except maybe alcoholic but we do not call it that. We just call it being Russian and at work, yes? But really, is nothing more tragic you can be than Russian and queer. Is practically patriotic. You are already doomed. Could not be more fucking in keeping with tradition, I think. But, eh, still no passport for us.” The audience is really laughing now, hooked on the show and hanging on to the words of Ilya’s carefree, laidback delivery.

Ilya sits back on the stool. “So, now, I am Canadian and I get hangovers.” There’s a laugh at that and a few boos from a couple of tipsy Americans at the back of the crowd.

“So now I am only stuck spending lots of time in very dark rooms because of this new job of mine. Hangovers are worth it. Well, probably.”

There’s more laughter. A couple of rows back, Scott Hunter is shaking his head while Kip just grins.

Ilya perches on the edge of the stool and shakes his head. “Everybody has been so very surprised I want to do comedy now. Not just be boring hockey coach or something. They thought I would want all hockey, hockey, hockey, you know? But we did not get careers advice at school, you know? Not really. Or, maybe the other kids, I’m not sure. But not me. The teachers just said, ‘you keep on with your hockey, yes? Make your father proud.’ Which is Russian teacher for, ‘There is nothing to discuss here because I cannot afford for your father to even look in my direction, okay?’ So, I said, ‘yes, sir. Of course, sir.’ Which is teenage Ilya Rozanov for ‘yes, I know this, I have the same problem.’”

The crowd seems to give both a laugh and a collective wince at that.

“But I knew for a long time that staying in Russia is maybe a very bad idea, long term. Because queer and Russian is recipe for very traditional Russian tragedy, yes? Which, generally speaking, are not good.” Ilya holds up a hand, counting on his fingers. “Stalingrad, Chernobyl, getting caught sucking cock with your Coach’s son. All of these would be bad, no? Very high body counts, probably.”

There’s a lot of laughter now. In the front row, Svetlana wipes at her eyes, shoulders shaking.

Ilya sighs. “But I knew hockey could get me out. My father, he wanted me to play for the KHL. Wanted this very badly. When I got first draft pick here in North America, Papa told the GM of Boston that he must watch me. Be wary. Because I am lazy.

“My therapist says this is because he was piece of shit. These days, I think maybe is just stupid, no? Is like, Papa, is too late for the KHL now. Do you want the money, or not?

“But turns out, he didn’t care about the money at all.” Ilya gets to his feet. He shrugs both shoulders, eyes wide, his free hand raised into the air. “He just wanted me to be happy and fulfilled in my chosen career.” Ilya stares out into the audience for a few seconds then he bursts out laughing. “Is best joke in the show, that. Not for you. You will not think so. Reviewers will not think so. My therapist does not think so. But it is. Trust me, I would know, yes? Is my dad." Ilya moves to take a sip of water from the bottle on the side table and sets it down again.

He walks back to the center of the stage. “My brother did not think it was best joke either." Ilya pulls an exaggerated sad face. "He did not like the show. He called me. He said, ‘Ilya, what the fuck is wrong with you? You could not be more of a fucking disgusting fucking disgrace to the family if you fucking tried. Faggot.’ Which,” Ilya shrugs, “is very rude, I think. Because I am trying. I am trying very hard. I’m Ilya fucking Rozanov. You think you get to be this much of a family disgrace without putting in any fucking effort? I am fucking trying.” Ilya smirks, shrugs one shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to be lazy, now would I? What would Papa say about that? Is very important to try your best.” He winks.

“A reviewer for the show, he wrote that this joke would make my father roll over in his grave. Which...I think we should not be writing things like this in reviews. Is disrespectful. Hurtful. Is very personal judgement to put in writing like this, in a review. Very personal attack. This reviewer,” Ilya takes a breath, “he thinks I have not been making Papa roll over in his grave until just now already? How can he say this? I did not marry Shane fucking Hollander and lose my citizenship for fucking slander like this? I should sue. Will be the new Oscar Wilde libel trial for the twenty first century, no?

Ilya shakes his head. “Writing that my father will be rolling in his grave with this show. Is very low ambition to set. Very fucking low bar. I am not lazy. I have worked hard on this show. I do not have to work hard for having Papa roll over in his grave. He has been doing this since...well,” Ilya taps his chin, frowning in mock consideration, “since I punched my brother at my father’s funeral probably, no?”

Ilya waits for the shocked laughter to dissipate.

“Would have been since before but, well, he was still only half dead with the dementia so is a little different.”

Ilya sits back onto the bar stool as the laughter quietens down at the word ‘dementia.’

“Is a funny thing. Dementia. Papa forgetting who you are. Having to remind him fresh every day why he hates you. Is hard work, but, see.” He smiles with too many teeth. “I did not give up. I would not want to be lazy. He would hate that so very much.

“No, but, I joke. I do not need any of this,” he waves around at the stage, “for disappointing my dead dad. I have the being a cocksucker for that, no?” He holds up his hand again, showing the nail paint and his wedding ring. “Sucking cock is hard work, yes? We all know this. I am right, no?”

He raises a hand to point at the audience, who cheer back at him.

“Yes, very hard work. Is why the straight women are always looking so worn down, yes? So tired.” He pauses. “No, no, don’t worry. I know is not just that. Is actually the Western capitalism, yes? That’s why all the women in Russia are always so happy.”

From the front row, Svetlana throws her empty plastic cup at him. Ilya catches it and grins. “See, always so warm and supportive. The women of Russia.” He tosses the empty cup towards the side of the stage. “Love you too, Sveta.”

“But no, is hard work sucking cock, yes? You know how hard it is to not be second draft pick in this when you are married to Shane fucking Hollander? You think he is not determined to win?” Ilya gives a smug grin. “It is a very hard life, no? But, ah, of fucking course I cannot let Shane Hollander win the Stanley Cup of blowjobs. No. Of course I cannot let him win this. Cannot let this happen. So is very fucking hard work. But, uh, I am committed now.” He flashes his wedding ring again. “Such very hard work. Every day. Such a tragic life. But, at least, Papa, I am not being lazy, right? That would be such a terrible disgrace.” Ilya winks again.

The laughter swells and mixes with a smattering of applause at that, a few shouts of approval.

“My therapist, she thinks this is not a good basis for a healthy relationship. She told me this. But I said, maybe she thinks this because she is a lesbian, no?” Ilya tilts his head, grins. “She said this was sexist.” He shrugs one shoulder, raises a hand. “But also she laughed, so...”

“I think probably if you make your therapist laugh more than three times in a session, you have to change to new therapist, no? These are the rules. Is probably in the fine print somewhere.”

He walks over and takes another sip of water. “Is probably in fine print for my therapist.” He sets the bottle down. “Yuna would make sure. She would not forget a thing like this. Not my mother-in-law.”

Ilya turns back to the crowd and gives a beaming smile. “Anyway, speaking of sexism, shall we talk about my very favourite hockey team, yes?”

The resultant cheer and groan echoes back to him. He nods, satisfied with his audience’s response.

“Is funny, really, that Montreal Metros would think I am the asshole always. I do not really understand it. I think, maybe, they have different definition of asshole. They think ‘asshole’ means someone who makes them feel bad. Not someone who makes other people feel bad. Like, for instance, not their wives. Not their girlfriends... Just them. Is like that thing they say about vampires and looking in the mirror, yes?” Ilya runs his hand back and forth in front of his face.

“No, an asshole must just be somebody who makes them feel bad only. Not somebody who makes their girlfriends feel bad. Or their wives. But it makes sense, yes? Because I was the biggest asshole in the NHL and, unlike them, I have never made any of their wives feel bad. Or their girlfriends.”

He turns to one of the cameras and leers, then he laughs. “No, no. Don’t worry. I did not ever fuck women in Montreal. Was too busy. Although,” he draws the word out, “I think probably they would prefer if I fuck their wives than if I fuck their Captain. Homophobes are fucking idiots like that, no? Ah, but, I have better taste than this. Shane Hollander is hotter than all of their WAGs.”

The laughter gets taken over by a cheer for this last comment.

“See,” says Ilya, “you are all maybe sexist too.”

“It’s a fucking gay bar,” somebody shouts from the back.

Ilya laughs and gives a mock salute to that.

“So... is going okay, I think. This new job.” He grins. The crowd cheers again. “Everybody was so fucking surprised at first though.” Ilya tips his head back and groans. “So fucking surprised. Which, like, it is the same fucking job. Only now, instead of a broken jaw, I get four star reviews.” He grins as the crowd laughs. A few of the retired NHL players shout various versions of “Fuck you, Rozy.”

“Really?” Ilya grins, points to his own chest. “Me? You want to fuck me, Jalo? No, no. I think you are only on the European side of ‘Gay or European,’ yes? I can always tell.”

From four rows back, Matti Jalo flips him off.

Ilya laughs and resets his shoulders. “I am working on building to five stars. Is early days. Don’t worry though. I have so much more trauma. You would not believe.” The laughter grows again and Ilya waits a moment before he lifts his mother’s cross to his lips and kisses it once. More quietly, he adds, “and that is all without ever talking about Mama.”

“But, yes, I am getting used to it. The comedy. Was a little strange, at first.” He shrugs, grimaces. “I did not know how to tell if a joke is good if nobody is trying to hit me for it, you know? I must translate in my head. I think, okay, one star review is like if Comeau tries to punch me. This means I just showed up, yes? I am here and breathing. Does not take more than this. Five stars is if I can bait Scott Hunter into punching me. This would be the right metric, I think. Or if Hollander is mad enough to chirp back on the ice.” Ilya grins. “Both are hot, so, yes, this would be five stars, I think.”

“So,” he shrugs, “I have my conversion rates. But still, was a little tricky at first. Getting into doing comedy. I went to get first comedy gig and they said, ‘but you’re a hockey player.’ I said, ‘no, I am retired. I can do other things now. I am bisexual, yes? We are very good at multi-tasking.’”

“But producer tells me, ‘you have no experience at all though. You aren’t qualified.’ So then I said, ‘Ah, no, is not true. If you watch any of my old games, is very easy to see that I have just as many daddy issues as anyone you let up on your stages.’” Ilya laughs. “Then he looked like he wanted to punch me, so...”

The audience cheers and Kip wolf whistles from where he’s leaning against Scott’s shoulder.

“...so, then I knew it would work out, yes?”

“But, like I say, so much trauma.” Ilya tips his head back again. “And so much fucking therapy.” He looks out at the audience, smirks. “But, I think now I have figured it out, yes? My family and how it works? This is the thing, yes? How it works...is that, in my family, we are all addicts. Not my mother, of course. She is better than all of us. But after she was gone. All addicts. My father, he is addicted to power. This one is easy. Obvious. Easy to figure out. My brother....my brother has very strange addiction. Weird. Very unusual... Anyone here has had unusual thing they were addicted to?” There’s silence and some shuffling. “Or maybe, say, a friend. Just a friend and not you, has had weird addiction, yes?”

That causes some laughter and a few shouted comments.

“What?” Ilya says, “ah, you say addicted to eating sand, yes? Okay, yes, pretty good one. Is very strange, yes, for sure. At least is cheap addiction that one, though, no? Sand price is good, I think, even in New York these days.”

There’s another shout.

“Sex?” Ilya scoffs. “I said weird. This is normal fucking addiction, no?” There’s more laughter at that. “I do not know what you are laughing at.” Ilya shakes his head. “Okay, any more?”

From towards the back, somebody else calls out.

“Buying what...? Buying...buying classical music records? Fuck, okay, yes. You win today. Very fucking strange. Thank you.”

Ilya surveys the crowd then raises the mic again. “But my brother...is not any of these. His is stranger than all of this. More unusual, yes? No, my brother, he is addicted to...” Ilya pauses, mic resting against his chin. Eyes fixed on the audience, he says, “No, my brother, he is addicted to... cocaine.”

Ilya basks in the laughter and the groans. “Yes, yes, he was always very original thinker, my brother. Still is, I think, yes.”

Then he returns to sit on the stool once more, a foot tucked up against one of the stool’s metal struts, the spotlight trained tightly on him as he seems to sit and think a moment.

“And me,” he says, more quietly. “Me? I am no better, really. Not any stronger, I don’t think. I just got lucky. I got lucky with my addiction. Because,” he shrugs. “Because I am addicted to Shane fucking Hollander. Since I am seventeen, yes? And is just getting worse. Even now. But it has not killed me yet.” He pauses, sighs. “Although, I think Hollander is still trying.” Ilya smirks. He gives the audience one more wink. “But is okay, I do not mind.”

The spotlight cuts out and the stage goes dark.

[Video ends]

--

Shane stands rooted to the spot. Stays right where he’s been for the entire show. Standing in the wings, backstage, tucked out of sight but still able to watch everything as Ilya goes through his show.

This gig at the Kingfisher is the first time Ilya has let Shane see his show. Other than the few short clips that had made it out onto the internet already or been used for advertising.

God, but it was so fucking good. Really fucking good and maybe more importantly, to Shane if not the paying customers, it was also fucking honest. Honest and brave and Ilya has finally, fucking finally, stopped calling himself lazy. In the most dramatic fashion possible? Okay, yes, maybe so. But still. He is so fucking proud of Ilya. Of his husband.

Shane also had not expected any of it to be so, well, sweet. Apparently, Ilya has been going around North America telling dark overcrowded rooms how in love he is. With Shane.

Shane does not know how this ended up being his life. It feels almost borderline to a miracle.

He watches as Ilya emerges from the other side of the stage and takes the steps down to join the milling crowd. Ilya barely has time to scan the press of people around him before Svetlana is there and pulling him into a hug. She looks glassy eyed still even from here, he can see it.

Shane isn’t the only one then that’s feeling a few too many emotions to know what to do with. Well, time to go find Ilya. That, at least, he knows he will always want to do. That’s a safe anchor point to pivot on, especially on days like these.

Down amongst the noise and the press of bodies, Shane makes it to Ilya just in time to see Scott and Kip reach him first. Kip laughs as Ilya greets them and grabs Ilya into an easy hug, still grinning and full of congratulations for the gig.

Ilya is released and turns to Scott. The two regard each other a moment.

Scott shrugs, not quite meeting Ilya’s eyes as he says, “Five stars, I think.”

Ilya’s lip twitches, face still held blank. He knocks Scott’s shoulder as he walks past him before turning back to face Scott with a huge grin.

“Ah, Hunter, five stars? So you want to fight? We should take this outside, or...?”

Scott laughs and just shakes his head, looking genuinely fond. Then Ilya spots Shane standing there watching him and Scott is forgotten.

Ilya takes two fast steps forward and pulls Shane into a quick, hard kiss. “Thank you. For being here.”

Shane leans in for another kiss, a little slower this time, then he frowns. “You don’t have to thank me, Ilya. Not for this.” He grabs Ilya’s hand instead. “Let me buy you a drink, okay?”

Ilya smirks. “Oh, yes? Buying me a drink? Because you liked my show?”

Shane fights to keep his face neutral. He’s so fucking proud of Ilya. For all of it. But that is not a conversation his husband will want to have right now. Not here surrounded by all these people, especially the ones that actually know them.

So instead, Shane tips his head to the side, lets his eyes trail down to Ilya’s broad chest, his tight black muscle tee, and back up again to meet his gaze. “Nothing to do with that. I just saw this hot Russian guy with pink nail polish and I thought, well, maybe I’ll try my luck.”

Ilya laughs and lets Shane lead him towards the bar. Shane waves to the new bartender whose name he can’t quite remember. The guy’s mixing some kind of complicated looking cocktail that seems to require various steps so Shane leans up against the bar and settles in to wait his turn.

Ilya drapes himself over Shane, warm and solid, and says into his ear. “I do not think you will be needing luck tonight, Shane Hollander.”

Shane dips his head, hiding his smile. “Oh, really? What if I order you the American vodka? With cranberry juice?”

“Then you will need little bit of luck.”

Shane laughs at that, he can’t help it. “Only a little bit?”

Ilya sighs. “Yes, well, that is the problem, no? I maybe like you a little bit too much.”

Shane twists to catch his eye, cracks a smile. “Oh yeah, you do?”

“Yes, Hollander. Only a little bit,” Ilya says, and leans in to kiss him again.

Chapter 2: Epilogue

It’s late. Scott’s exhausted. But the finished video for Rozy’s show finally went out this evening. Scott would be lying if he said he wasn’t keen to know just how it’s being received online.

Tucked up on the other end of their couch, Kip looks up from his phone and grins across at him.

“So?” Scott asks.

“So...” Kip laughs. “The show is everywhere, obviously. People love it. Like, really, it’s... Ilya should be really fucking proud. It’s all gone great, honestly.” Kip’s smile gets even wider. “Also, the internet is very invested now in... They are dying to know...” Kip tilts his head, still watching him. “About all your five star reviews. There’s three of them, apparently.”

Scott frowns. “What? Dying to know what? What reviews?”

“Come on, keep up, old man. Ilya baited you into fighting him just three times. Three separate occasions. Across your whole career.” Kip shakes his phone at him. “Tumblr has been researching. They are all dying to know what top tier Ilya Rozanov material you heard but they didn’t.”

“Oh, for-”

Kip is grinning now. “I should get to know, though, I think, right? Spousal privilege.”

Scott glares, Kip laughs and Scott feels himself cave in immediately. Oh well.

“God, I hate him. Really.”

“Yes, seems like it. That’s why you offered for him to hold the show at the Kingfisher, I’m sure.”

“Uhh, fuck off. He’s always just so... He’s so...” Kip says nothing. “Okay, okay, so, um, let me think. The last time, it was... Oh yeah, I remember. It was here in New York. Happened late in the game, at the final face-off. Rozy had a hat trick already, of fucking course. We weren’t playing so great that day. Hadn’t been all week. Me or the team, really... I’d scored one goal that game, but...” He shrugs. “Anyway, so, we’re at the face-off and fucking Rozy starts chatting, telling me I’ve been listening to too many true crime podcasts. Which, like, how did he always know what...? Anyway,” Scott grimaces. “So, y’know, I told him to fuck off. But then he goes, ‘no, no, old man, I am right. Is too many podcasts and now you are thinking like serial killer. You have your eyes set on one goal and one goal only, no?’” Scott scrubs a hand across his face, fighting not to laugh. “So, yeah, I hit him.”

Kip, because he is a traitor, bursts out laughing.

Scott stands up from the couch and pulls Kip to his feet. He takes Kip’s phone out of his hand and drops it back down to the couch cushions.

“Sorry, sorry,” Kip says. He’s visibly trying to rein himself back in. It’s not working.

Scott shakes his head, a reluctant smile on his face as he thinks back on it all. All their fights. “He was always just fucking...”

Kip wraps an arm around him, still laughing. “You really hit him?”

“Yeah. But, y’know, as a friend.”

That gets him a look. “You hit him as a friend?”

“Yeah. Y’know, it’s different.” Scott shrugs again.

Kip sighs. He scoops up his phone then starts to tug Scott in the direction of their bedroom.

“Different,” Kip says. “Okay, well... I would hate to be the one to criticise the very normal coping mechanisms of Hockey Orphans Anonymous but,” he gives a half shrug, “you realise at this point Ilya fucking Rozanov has had more therapy than you have, so...”

“I-What?”

What the fuck? Scott’s feet stop moving, planting him firmly on the carpet. Oh God, he has, hasn’t he... “I mean...”

Kip laughs, turns back to kiss his cheek and then disappears down the hall. He stares after his husband.

Is Scott really going to... Because...because of Ilya Rozanov. What the fuck?