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, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags:

Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Biphobia, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, News Media, Supportive Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Supportive Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Social Media, Twitter, Instagram, POV Outsider, POV Shane Hollander, POV Yuna Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is Loved, Drunk Ilya Rozanov, Autistic Shane Hollander, Anxious Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov's Montreal Jane, Mentioned Rose Landry, Ilya Rozanov Revealed as Boston Lily, Jealous Shane Hollander, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Loverboy Ilya Rozanov, Crack Treated Seriously

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-10-05 Words: 6,646 Chapters: 4/4

Not a coincidence. He's just like this.

Summary

TMZ and half of the tabloids are certain it’s only a matter of time before Ilya Rozanov gets too drunk and drops a good old-fashioned salacious cheating scandal right into their hands.
Fortunately for TMZ, Ilya Rozanov does get too drunk. Unfortunately for TMZ, what follows is exactly the opposite of what they were hoping for.
-----
Ilya is sitting opposite Marleau, right at the center of a crowded mass of Raider's players. His phone buzzes and he looks down with a grin. Ilya taps open the message then bites his lip, eyes bright.

A cheer goes up from all sides, feet stamping against the floorboards.

“What?” Ilya looks up and glares about him. “Fuck off. You are all much more ugly than Hollander. Do not be acting like this.”

Hammersmith grins. “What you looking at us like that for, hey Rozy?”

“Yeah, c’mon man. Had to be done, right?” says Connors.

Ilya raises his eyebrows.

Marleau leans forward and grins. He gestures at Rozy’s phone. “Little game to see how long before we caught you fucking gazing at your phone with your fucking Montreal girl fucking face, Rozy. Gotta appreciate it again, brother. Now we really know what we’re looking at, yeah?”

Chapter 1: I Will Never Listen To Your Voicemail

Tanya is starting to think she might have to quit this job. Not that she ever thought she’d love it or anything. It’s a stepping stone kind of placement, obviously. Moving on up and all that. On towards actual legitimate forms of journalism. Today though, she really isn’t sure if it’s worth the filth she will have to swim through if she carries on with her role as one of TMZ’s latest interns.

The unpublished article her boss just sent through is pulled up on her laptop screen. Another piece of awful fucking speculation on when the NHL’s most eligible slut will get back to form, give up on this whole being gay and married and in love with his rival thing and deliver TMZ a good old-fashioned salacious cheating scandal.

Tanya looks down at her hands. Twists one of her several chunky silver rings. Round and round her thumb.

It’s trash, is what it is. This article. It’s also the sixth one this month. TMZ is practically salivating. Certain the ‘bisexual cheater cheats’ headline will be theirs to publish any day now.

Maybe tomorrow Tanya will say fuck it and wear her bi flag earrings to work. Or just call her girlfriend to bitch about all of this and then hand in her resignation. Written in sharpie on a fucking pride flag.

For now, she sighs and picks up the phone. Her boss has been very clear in his message. They need to be able to publish this article today and it needs to contain the words ‘Ilya Rozanov declined to comment’ which means Tanya needs to call him. Needs to call Ilya fucking Rozanov and possibly ruin his day with a bunch of unfounded conjecture. Or at least leave a voicemail with the potential to do so. How they even got hold of his phone number, she really doesn’t want to know.

Tanya dials in the number from the email, hits call and waits. She slumps in relief as the call goes to voicemail. At least the worst option is off the table.

“Hi, this is Ilya.” The voice as well as the accent are unmistakable. “I will never listen to your voicemail.”

Tanya waits for the beep anyway but the message keeps going.

“Unless is Shane, okay? Everyone else, uhh, I do not fucking care. Leave a message, do not leave a message. Does not fucking matter. I will not listen so is...and why do I care if is other people who are calling me anyway, okay Shane?”

Tanya puts a hand over her mouth. Covers her growing smile. Is he drunk? He sounds, well, he sounds wasted, actually. He’s definitely slurring his words and from the sound of the background chatter and the faint thump of the base, he is almost certainly recording this at a club.

“But if is you calling, my Shane... Okay, well, I still will not listen to voicemail. Is fucking voicemail. Who does this? But call back, okay? Yes, sweetheart? Or text, yes? You know I will not listen to voicemail. Is stupid. Do not leave one. You know me better than this... If, uhh, if you leave me voicemail I will probably think you are dying, no? So just call again. And then maybe again. You should always be calling me, sweetheart, yes? I miss you, fuck. So you should be calling me to...Uhh, shut up Barrett. Is not embarrassing fucking drunk call. We are married already. Anyway, is not drunk dial, is for new voicemail...Oh...What? No, Troy, what ...I cannot hear you. Okay, anyway, sorry my Shane, does not matter what they are...Fuck off, Barrett.

“You wanted me to fix voicemail message, yes lyubimy, and now, is fix. Ah, uhhh, what? No, do not give fucking- not to Luca, he is baby! Okay, okay, I go now. Ya tebya lyublyu, Shane....Oh and if is other people calling then is not important, so, yes, goodbye. Do not leave a fucking voicemail. Is not fucking nineteen hundreds already. Fuck.”

Tanya hangs up and sets the phone down on her desk. Her hand is shaking. She can’t tell if it’s nerves from what she could be about to do next or just repressed laughter. She presses her other hand harder against her mouth. Maybe she won’t have to hand in her resignation after all. Maybe TMZ will just fire her after this and she can finally be done with this fuckup of a so-called news outlet for good.

God, she really needs to buy herself a Rozanov jersey. She is fucking going to. Just as soon as she gets the first paycheck from whatever her next job turns out to be.

From the other room, Yuna can hear David’s steady voice. Shane’s half formed protest.

“Your mother’s been working out a strategy all day, Shane. To deal with all these horrible articles about Ilya and how he’s...”

Yuna hears Ilya snort.

“...well,” David says, “a lot of nonsense we all know Ilya would never do so your mother has come up with her game plan for dealing with the media, of course. And I know you don’t want to talk about any of this stuff right now, son. I know it’s been...well, lets just hear her out quick and then we can put it all aside for now, okay? Enjoy dinner together instead?”

Shane sighs. There’s the creak of a chair. Another sigh.

Yuna laughs a little, in spite of the ruin of her day’s work. At least she has good news for them. Truth be told, she’s never been so happy not to need a carefully formed and tabulated plan of action. Because it turns out, action has already been taken. Very vocal and effective, if accidental, action, at that.

Yuna sweeps into the living room, a smile stretched across her face. From the dining table, Shane frowns at her. Ilya, as she half expected, keeps his attention and affections fixed on Shane. Ilya who is trying to drain the tension out of her over thinker of a son with one broad palm braced against the back of Shane’s neck, thumb tracing slow across his skin.

“Okay, change of plan,” Yuna announces as she reaches them. Now everyone is looking at her. Shane’s frown worsens at the words ‘change’ and ‘plan’ in the same sentence. “Or, well,” Yuna says, “there is no plan. Not anymore.”

“What?” Shane asks. “What do you mean ‘no plan’?”

Yuna smiles and sinks into a chair. She reaches over and squeezes Ilya’s forearm. “My wonderful son-in-law has already fixed it.”

“Um.” Ilya is frowning at her now too. “Is very kind, Yuna, but I-”

“Oh, no, don’t worry honey. Here.” Yuna takes her phone from her pocket and calls Ilya’s number. “No, no. Don’t pick up. Just listen.” Yuna puts the call on speaker and places her phone down in the center of the dining table.

They all sit together in silence as the voicemail plays out. Yuna catches David’s quiet attempt to hide his amusement as the recording unfolds. Yuna bites down on her grin and twines her fingers with her husband’s beneath the table.

The recording comes to an end. Shane is staring across at Ilya beside him, his eyes wide. Ilya lets his hand drop from Shane’s neck and frowns at the phone.

“I, um...” Ilya rubs at his nose, shrugs. “I do not remember...Is, well...must have been the night out last week, no? They tried to give Luca shot of absinthe, that I remember. I had to- but anyway, I do not- I didn’t...”

Shane just keeps staring, cheeks flushed. “What the fuck?”

“Yes, well.” Yuna spreads her hands across the table top and smiles at both of her two favourite sons. “If you hadn’t both been staying offline today...Hadn’t been logged out of all your social media since that latest article last week, well. Then you both would have seen this already by now. You are viral, Ilya. Very viral.”

Ilya’s sharp cheekbones hold just a smudge of pink.

Yuna grins. “Yes, really remarkably viral, actually. I think it’s safe to say those awful cheating speculation articles have taken care of themselves.”

Silence falls again. Ilya risks a glance across at Shane.

“Ilya, what the hell?” Shane says, glaring back at him then looking away again. “I asked you to make your voicemail message actually professional. Not...not this.”

Shane shakes his head but Yuna is not fooled. She can hear the bubbling fondness underneath the admonishment. See the dark spreading blush colouring her son’s face. The way Shane ducks his chin just a little, tries in vain to fight off the pleased tilt to his voice, the happy quirk of his lips.

From the sideways lift of his own half smile, Ilya can absolutely see it too.

Chapter 2: Marleau's Montreal Jane Theory

ConnorsBostonRRRaiders has posted a video to his Instagram story:

[Video begins]

The video pans around the dark interior of a bar, the footage a little shaky. Beside the bar stand at least half of the current Boston Raiders squad as well as Ilya Rozanov. Ilya leans over the bar, talking to the bartender as Marleau laughs beside him, one arm slung around his shoulders.

From behind the camera, Connors calls, “Alright boys, fucking give it up for Cap! Back in town for one night and one night only!”

The camera shakes violently as the Raiders in frame cheer and pound their fists against the wood of the bar. Ilya turns and gives a mock salute to the camera, glass of vodka cradled in one hand.

“Hey!” Marleau says, one hand still gripping Roz’s shoulder. “Hey, fucking boys! I’m your fucking Captain. It’s been fucking years already. He fucking left us!”

Hammersmith raises his drink and claps Ilya’s other shoulder. “Once our Cap, always our Cap, right Roz?”

Ilya grins and shoves him off.

“Besides,” St Simon says, shrugging. “You’re not Ilya motherfucking Rozanov, are you Marly?”

That sets off another round of raucous shouts as Marleau turns to where Connors is filming and flips off the camera.

[Video ends]

StSimonBostonRaiders has posted a video to his Instagram story:

[Video begins]

As many players as can fit are crowded into a booth in the back room of the bar. Shoulders packed one against the other, far too many over large athletes have squeezed in and around the booth.

Ilya is sitting opposite Marleau, right at the center of the crowded mass of hockey players, vodka glass empty beside him and phone in one hand. Ilya leans his head against the back of the booth behind him and sighs. His phone buzzes and he looks down with a grin. He taps open the message then bites his lip, eyes bright.

A cheer goes up from all sides, feet stamping against the floorboards.

“What?” Ilya looks up and glares about him. “Fuck off. You are all much more ugly than Hollander. Do not be acting like this.”

Connors leans over and tugs at Marleau’s sleeve. “Pay up, man. That’s four drinks, you fucking owe me, dude.”

“Fuck off, Conny.” Marleau shoves him back. “He’s only on fucking three, I said three. You can all fucking pay up, dickheads.”

There’s a bunch more argument and several folded piles of notes are slipped from one man to another across the table.

Ilya stares at them all, eyebrows raised.

Hammersmith grins. “What you looking at us like that for, hey Cap?”

“Yeah, c’mon Rozy. Had to be done, right?” says Connors.

Ilya tilts his head. “You are betting how long before I tell you that you are uglier than hottest man in the NHL? You are getting more concussions now, with me gone? Losing all your games and getting knocked about too much, yes?”

Marleau leans forward and grins. “Nope.” He gestures at Rozy’s phone. “Little bet to see how long before we caught you fucking gazing at your phone with your fucking Montreal girl fucking face, Rozy. Gotta appreciate it again, brother. Now we really know what we’re looking at, yeah?”

[Video ends]

StSimonBostonRaiders has posted a video to his Instagram stories:

[Video begins]

The Raiders are all still clustered around the same table in the back room of the bar.

“I have a theory,” says Marleau, looking across at where Ilya still has his face buried in his phone.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Connors grabs his shoulder. “Shit yeah. Tell Cap your Montreal Jane theory, Marly.”

Ilya’s head whips up at that. “Your fucking what, Marly?”

Marleau grins, showing all his gleaming teeth and raps his knuckles against the table. “Well...”

Ilya groans. “Spit it the fuck out, Marly. Do not have all night.”

“Shut your fucking face, Rozy. I’m getting there, okay? So,” Marleau puts both hands flat on the table in front of him.

Ilya groans again and slumps in his seat.

“So, as I was saying...I have a theory, yeah?” Marleau waves towards the rest of the players crowded about the table who all cheer and pound against the wood of the table top. Marleau raises a hand and the noise subsides. “We all know Montreal Jane was around for fucking years. The whole time. And we all know how you are now about your boy.” Ilya grunts at that and shakes his head. Marleau ignores him. “And we know as well that you were fucking gone for her- for him, the whole fucking time. For Jane. So, I reckon, it’s not new, any of this.” He points from Ilya to his phone still held tight in his hand and back again. “I think you just never got more than what, like two, three hours together. All you needed was like even a tiny bit of actual time, yeah? Like, uninterrupted time with fucking Jane and we were always gonna fucking lose you to this, to him, I think.”

Ilya tries to interrupt but Connors jumps in. “No, no. I think he’s on to something. Jane was always different, yeah? We could all fucking see it.”

“Yeah Rozy,” Marleau grins again. “So, fucking tell us? How long did it take between you getting like a day or two with the guy and you falling in love with your Jane, huh?”

Ilya opens his mouth, shrugs again, shakes his head.

“Oh my fucking God,” St. Simon says from behind the camera. “Cap, look at you. Fucking blushing.”

Connors whoops.

“Fucking classic Montreal Jane,” says Hammersmith. “Got you blushing like a fucking little kid, Roz. Since way back.”

“So,” Marleau says, “how long?”

Ilya glares, cheeks pink. “Fuck off, Marly.”

Marleau puts a hand to his forehead, shoulders shaking. “Oh my God, Roz, no? Fucking before? Fucking before you’d even stayed over?”

Ilya slumps down further in his seat. “I hate all of you. I will leave. I fucking will.”

“So, that’s a yes, then?” Marleau grins like a shark and claps his hands together. “One point to me and my fucking theory, boys!” A loud cheer goes up again at that, the camera shaking a little. Marleau calls for quiet. “Okay, so, then...like, how long was it between when you went off to see him for the summer that one year and when you decided to pack it in and abandon us all for fucking Ottawa?”

“Yeah, fucking tell us, Cap?” Connors shouts. “How many weeks of waking up beside the hottest man in the NHL before you quit on all your boys, eh?”

Ilya just shakes his head.

“Nope. No, Rozy,” Marleau says, pointing at him. “You owe me. For the thing in Toronto that one time, remember? I’m fucking calling it in. Answer the fucking question, brother.”

Ilya winces and looks down at his hands on the table. He glances up at Marleau and shrugs. “Two days.”

It’s pandemonium. The camera shakes as every Boston player around the table starts shouting at once.

“What the-?”

“Two? Two fucking days?”

“Two days? Roz, fucking-?”

“I fucking knew it,” crows Marleau, leaning back, hands behind his head. “Fucking obsessed since you were a fucking rookie. Always blushing at your phone, Rozy. Only ever Montreal Jane, really, wasn’t it? Fuck.”

“Hey, hey,” Ilya calls, arms raised, “fucking shut your fucking faces, okay? Fucking Christ. Is not my fault, okay? He made fucking ten year plan, okay? Woke me up to say, here is plan for rest of our lives...so,” Ilya shrugs. “Is not my fault...”

Marleau stares. “After two days? A fucking ten year plan? And what the fuck did you say to a ten year plan after like a fucking weekend?”

Ilya just raises his hands again, as if trying to shield himself. “Was very...had been seven years, Marly. Seven already. Not...Was not fucking fast...”

Marleau shakes his head. “Two fucking days.” Then he catches sight of Ilya’s expression and he freezes. “Fuck off. Oh my fucking God, Rozy. You told him you loved him, didn’t you? Two days! A fucking ten year plan and-”

Ilya throws up his hands, half rising out of his seat. “Can only fucking say ‘I love you’ in Russian so many fucking times first, Marly. Fucking fuck.”

Marleau’s face morphs into a look of both shock and glee and the video cuts.

[Video ends]

Chapter 3: Lily Rozanov

@BostonBabesUnited:

The night after TMZ drops another disgusting biphobic article and look what just hit the internet

[Re-shares Instagram story by ConnorsBostonRRRaiders ]

[Re-shares Instagram stories by StSimonBostonRaiders ]

@OttawaOutAndProud retweeting @BostonBabesUnited:

Yeah, silly me but I thought until today TMZ had learned their fucking lesson. Clearly not. Very glad to see though that karma does express fucking delivery these days.

• Comment: Yes, yes, yes. This. Just this.
• Comment: Yeah. Fuck you TMZ. You leave Ilya FuckLoverboi Rozanov alone.

@FirstHusbandsOfOttawa:

Fuck you @TMZ_Official. Drunk Ilya Rozanov wins again.

[Re-shares Instagram story by ConnorsBostonRRRaiders ]

[Re-shares Instagram stories by StSimonBostonRaiders ]

• Comment: 💀💀💀
• Comment: Weeping. I am weeping. This is so fucking funny. Oh, his boys really did him in.
• Comment: Yep. This is ‘leaving us for fucking Ottawa’ payback and no mistake.

@RozRozRoz:

What the fuck? D’you think his publicist gives him a complimentary bottle of vodka and a fucking pep talk before a night out? How has this happened twice now? 💀

• Comment: Or maybe his boys did him a solid? Possibly, well, lets face it, probably by accident. But still 😅😅

@BostonHockeySupplies:

I love the dichotomy of the kind of drunk scandals we used to get from Roz in Boston and the ones we get now. The man really has done a full 180, huh?

[Re-shares Instagram stories by StSimonBostonRaiders ]

@BiPanicAtTheDisco retweeting @BostonHockeySupplies:

Well, sounds like he’s been hoping his ‘Jane’ would let him turn his life around for a fucking while, eh?

@BostonBornAndBred:

In things I never expected to learn today about Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander...obsessed for a fucking decade...with ‘Jane’ fucking Hollander...

[Re-shares Instagram stories by StSimonBostonRaiders ]

@IceIceIce retweeting @BostonBornAndBred:

I know they’ve implied this a few times before. The timeline. But it still gets me every fucking time. A fucking decade. And now we get details too. The ‘Jane’ of it all. Christ. But yeah. Pretty sure we got that timeline info originally because they got so fucking sick of all that shit coming out of the Metros locker room mostly, y’know?

• Comment: Yeah, for sure. And Montreal lost a fuck ton of fans for it. As they fucking should.
• Comment: Well, not everyone cut and ran.
• Comment: 🙄 Ok, no. The homophobes and the ‘I don’t talk about politics’ crowd can buy all the fucking Metros and Guardian jerseys they want. Metros lost a lot of fucking respect though and from a lot of fucking fans. Counts for something, at least.

@NHL_Iced_Tea retweeting @IceIceIce:

Yeah, like, we did already know it was the whole time really. But I have been dying for more details about this so everyone say it with me....THANK YOU, Cliff Marleau @CliffMarleauBostonRaiders

@HollanovForLife retweeting @NHL_Iced_Tea:

Also, if Shane was Jane then Ilya was...guesses, people...?

• Comment: Ooh, oh, I want to play. Lydia? Immie? Irene?
• Comment: Something less fucking obvious than Jane, hopefully.

@CliffMarleauBostonRaiders replying to @HollanovForLife:

Lily.

• Comment: OH my god.
• Comment: I am literally hyperventilating
• Comment: Lily. Fucking Lily Rozanov. 💀💀💀 Oh my GOD. What a day to be on the internet. Thank you Marly!

@HomeRinkReverie:

Lily. Lily and Jane. Well, Lily Rozanov should count her fucking lucky stars she was chosen by fate to be a Russian hockey player and not a Russian spy because she wouldn’t have even made it to the start of her first fucking mission.

Lily and Jane. Jesus fucking wept.

@TalkIceToMe retweeting @HomeRinkReverie:

Ilya Rozanov/Lily Rozanova would have been a great Russian honeypot though, you gotta admit 👀💅🍯

• Comment: I can’t tell if this is borderline biphobic or not but it IS very funny so I’m gonna let it slide just this once.
• Comment: Nobody else had better come for my boy Lily though or else I will be throwing hands. You have all been warned.

@Hollanov2481:

In Russian? He was saying I love you to his arch rival in Russian so Hollander wouldn’t understand him... 🥹🥹🥹🥹

• Comment: And then said arch rival offered to re-arrange the rest of his life for him and it all finally spilled out in English....
• Comment: Crying. I am actually crying thinking about this. How is this so heart-breaking but also so very lovely?

@SamsHockeyChat56:

If I was the fucking top player in the NHL and somebody asked me to move to fucking Ottawa. Ottawa back then too....I would not be saying I love you, I can fucking tell you that.

@LindasHockeyLife:

I am kinda blown away by all these hockey players who all have far too many concussions saying, no, but we could always tell Jane was different. About Ilya-a-hook-up-in-every-city-Rozanov. Just, its kinda wild to hear, right? 👀👀👀

@HollanovNation retweeting @LindasHockeyLife:

God, my heart. Yeah, like them all saying it was always so blatant that Shane meant something totally different to Ilya than everyone else. Even in the middle of his slut era. Even when all that his team had to go on was a fake name and Ilya blushing at his phone. Like, can you imagine? 😭😭😭😭

@BostonBabesUnited retweeting @HollanovNation:

No, but I think if I saw Boston’s most notorious slut actually blush? And look at his phone all soppy and excited? I too would know something was fucking up with that, y’know?

@AlwaysOnTheIce retweeting @BostonBabesUnited:

Fuck, ok, yeah. You might have a point there. Still fucking wild to think about. I guess I just assumed it was casual until it wasn’t. Not all this.

@PlayLikeAGirl retweeting @AlwaysOnTheIce:

That is crazy, though, right? That is a lesbian level of pining. There’s no other way to put it.

• Comment: 🤷‍♀️That’s Lily and Jane for you, I guess...
• Comment: Oh my God, you did not! 💀💀💀
• Comment: 😅😅😅

@ThatBostonGirly34:

Ok, ok, ok...something I have just put together but I have now got to share it! So, story time....I hooked up with Rozy a couple times in 2015. I’d had a pretty rough break up with this guy who was a big Hollander fan so 🤷‍♀️...🧵  1/3

@ThatBostonGirly34:

I guess it seemed like a little bit of poetic justice, maybe, at the time.... Plus, y’know, Ilya fucking Rozanov looks like that and he knows where the clit is so who wouldn’t wanna, y’know? Anyway, after the last time we hooked up, I realised he’d stolen my ex-boyfriend’s Hollander jersey. 🧵 2/3

@ThatBostonGirly34:

Like, at the time, I assumed he was going to burn it or whatever. Then after they got outed I did wonder, but figured that any feelings between the two of them must have come later, right? But now...🤔🫣🤭🥵

Like, he definitely stole it because of his giant terrible terrifying crush on his arch rival, right? Oh my God, Ilya. The things that man must have been going through.  🧵  3/3

• Comment: No...What? Oh no, oh my God.
• Comment: Oh my fucking God...🙈
• Comment: I never thought I would say this about Ilya-casual-is-my-middle-name-Rozanov, but stand up, man.
• Comment: No, no, don’t stand up, Rozy. The guy’s [finally] right where he wants to be.
• Comment: yeah, exactly, down on his knees. In front of Shane fucking Hollander. Don’t make him get up now.

@QueerHockeyFanChat:

First that voicemail and now all this?

Whoever the editor in chief is at TMZ needs to be out of a job like yesterday already

• Comment: Right? That voicemail was the 21^st century equivalent of a love sonnet and you cannot convince me otherwise.
• Comment: Exactly. Who even needs Drunk Shakespeare plays? We can all just listen for free to Ilya Rozanov drunk ramble about ‘my Shane.’
• Comment: It’s fucking modern art, it really is.

@ChironsCentaurs:

Ilya Rozanov the slut is long gone, people. I have never heard anyone sound quite so desperate to get finally tied down as Roz apparently has been for years already.

• Comment: Well, it is Shane Hollander, prettiest man on the ice to ever live.
• Comment: Ilya Rozanov spotted in the comments section 😅 but no, seriously guys, these TMZ articles are just biphobia. There’s nothing else to it.
• Comment: No, no ☝️ It’s slut shaming and biphobia
• Comment: It’s slut shaming because of biphobia. There. Fixed it for you both.
• Comment: Yep, yep, yep. Uhh. Fucking fuck you, @TMZ_Official. Just fuck all the way off already.

@HockeyHusbands2481:

Suzanna Smith @S_SmithTMZ if I was you, I would not be showing my face in public any time in the next fucking decade. At the very least.

@HockeyHotties retweeting @HockeyHusbands2481:

Yeah, good luck on that cheating scandal @TMZ_Official. Turns out Ilya fucking Rozanov has been waiting his entire life to be exactly where he is now.

@AgainstBisexualErasure replying to @HockeyHotties:

It’s not just TMZ, though. All the news outlets that have been participating in this should be issuing Ilya Rozanov an apology.

• Comment: Yep. Ilya Rozanov is as likely to cheat on his husband as I am to pass my finals next week.
• Comment: Dude, if its going that badly, get off fucking twitter and back to the fucking library already. No wonder you’re failing. Jesus Christ.

@HollanderStan2424:

Ilya Rozanov is as likely to cheat on his husband as the Montréal Metros are to ever see another Cup.

• Comment: Amen to this.
• Comment: Truer words were never spoken 🙏🙏

@BiBiBiBaby:

These articles where bound to happen, though, right? Like, hate to say it but...if you have the reputation Rozanov has, then maybe just don’t come out as bisexual 🤷‍♂️ We have enough trouble as it is with the whole ‘bisexuals are all sluts’ stereotype, y’know?

• Comment: Um, do you even hear yourself?
• Comment: I mean....if you hate to say it then just fucking don’t, dude. That’s always a fucking option.
• Comment: Yeah, a much better option than whatever the fuck this is, fucking hell.

@BiPanicAtTheDisco retweeting @BiBiBiBaby:

Also, y’know, can I just say, from one slutty bisexual to another, Ilya Rozanov is the inspiration 16 year old me needed to get out there and start living my best life.

• Comment: And now you know if you ever meet your arch rival, you can quit the slut life and settle happily into wedded domestic bliss.
• Comment: Yes, exactly. You get it.

@QueerHockeyFanChat retweeting @BiPanicAtTheDisco:

Yeah, enough with the shitty stereotyping already. Jeez.

@QueerHockeyFanChat retweeting @BiPanicAtTheDisco:

Ilya Rozanov, bisexual. The disaster is unrelated.

• Comment: But is it though...

Chapter 4: Boring

Chapter Notes

Shane takes another sip of his ginger ale and settles back against the couch. He is sat in Wyatt and Lisa’s living room at another Centaurs’ party. Most Centaurs’ gatherings are pretty laid back, at least as gatherings of hockey players go. They are always better than the shit show that was every Metros’ party he’d ever had to attend, anyway. But this house party is loud. Loud and getting louder. More drunken too. Wyatt’s house is great, it is, but it fucking echoes and Shane already has a headache from the fucking brand shoot he did earlier today.

He gets up from the couch and is just debating whether he could escape to the kitchen for a bit when Ilya appears beside him again. All bright flashing grin and warm hands which he is not keeping to himself at all. To be honest, Shane has no complaints about that. Not anymore. This isn’t the fucking Metros. Harris and Troy have been making out in the far corner of the living room for the last five minutes already and nobody fucking cares.

Shane leans back against Ilya’s chest, draws his husband’s arms tighter around himself. Ilya still gives him the same dazed, slightly disbelieving smile every time this happens in front of their teammates. Which is something Shane is going to fucking fix.

He knows it took a long time for him to trust this. The team, the freedom of it, the whole thing. But he wants Ilya to stop looking at him like he might disappear and never come back every time they kiss at a fucking party. So, Shane is working on it. Like right now. This. Acting like a couple. At a team party. That’s progress. Also, Ilya looks fucking gorgeous in his stupid too tight t-shirt and Shane doesn’t really want to let him get any further away, regardless.

A little later, everyone is gathered back in the living room. Ilya is plastered to Shane’s side on the couch, half draped over him. The party has settled into that quieter but more intoxicated sort of stupid late night conversation that’s quite nice, really. That is, until someone starts wanting to talk wildest sex stories because of fucking course. Which all somehow culminates in it being Ilya’s turn to answer and the question posed being ‘what’s your most embarrassing hook-up story?’

Shane is trying to think if there are any possible answers to this question that he would actually like to hear. So far, he’s drawing a blank.

Ilya tries to wave them off which doesn’t work, of course.

“Maybe he doesn’t have any?” says Holmberg. “I mean, ‘and then I hooked up with another model, was great.’ Like how embarrassing can that be, really?”

Shane sighs. He leans his head back against Ilya’s bicep behind him. His husband is definitely drunk enough to answer this fucking question. Jesus.

Ilya detangles himself from Shane a little and sits forward. “Uh, no.” Ilya grins. “Hooking up with models is not so embarrassing, sorry. Even when they make you pose for Instagram feed.”

Someone throws an empty plastic cup at him. Ilya bats it away and winks at whoever chucked it in his direction.

“Come on, Rozy,” Bood calls, “don’t make us all feel bad. You’ve got to have at least one embarrassing story. Get down on the level of us mere mortals, why don’t you?”

“Fuck off, Bood.” Ilya rests his chin on one hand, considering.

“Don’t chicken out, Cap,” says Luca, to Shane’s surprise. “The rest of us all shared plenty.”

Ilya glances sideways at Shane and sighs. Shane stiffens, all the muscles along his spine pulling taught. Ilya drops a hand to his knee and squeezes. “Don’t worry, lyubimy. Is not embarrassing for you. Just for me, I think.”

Well, that’s something, at least. Maybe.

“Okay,” says Ilya, looking around at the team all looking back at him. “Is maybe one. Just one that is maybe, maybe, little bit embarrassing.” He pauses, shrugs. “Maybe a lot embarrassing, probably.”

That has the whole room’s silence trained on Ilya. The whole team waiting.

Ilya shrugs one shoulder. “You know who is Stephanie Delacroix, yes?”

“The fucking French supermodel?” say about five different people at once.

Well, fuck. Shane already fucking hates this.

Ilya nods. “Yes. Stephanie Delacroix. Was,” he shrugs again, eyes darting to Shane and away, “in 2016... We went for weekend trip together. I didn’t, uh, normally was too much effort, you know? Did not bother with things like this. But,” Ilya’s hand goes a little tight on Shane’s knee, “was when Shane was with Rose Landry, yes?”

Oh. Oh, fuck. Somehow that’s a worse option than anything he’d managed to come up with in the last five minutes of circling around and around this in his head.

“And,” Ilya says, “Marly and the Raiders...they tell me, if you do not fucking sort yourself out, we will fucking trade you. Well, Marly said they would trade me. Hammersmith said they would,” Ilya draws a thumb across his own throat, “and drop me in fucking Boston harbour. There was maybe a group chat for that plan, I think.”

The younger team members are all staring at Ilya in horror. Luca’s eyes are so wide Shane almost laughs.  Except he’s stuck on what Ilya just said. Surely it can’t have been that bad. Can it?

“What?” Shane says. “But your hockey didn’t get that-”

“Shane, was not the hockey. Was the everything else.” Ilya scrubs a hand across his face. “I was maybe very fucking bad company, yes?”

Shane’s stomach twists in either guilt or sympathy. Probably both. He tugs Ilya’s hand free from his knee and holds it instead, not sure what else he can do right now.

“Okay,” says Bood. “Yeah, I mean, fuck, man. That’s got to be fucking rough. So, you go on the weekend and then what? Because as sorry as I feel for 2016 Rozy right now, a romantic weekend with fucking Stephanie Delacroix is still not embarrassing, man.”

“Fuck off, I am getting there, okay? So, we go. Is all fine. Good maybe. She is funny. Fun. Nicer than I thought, maybe. Is all going fine. So she does like, uh, what is the fucking word, strip tease, yes? Like sexy dance, clothes all on the floor, all this, yes?”

Nick Chouinard pinches the bridge of his nose. “Only you, Roz, would say, ‘yeah, it was going fine,’ and mean, France’s favourite fucking supermodel gave me a private fucking dance. Fuck’s sake.”

Ilya waves a hand. “Is not the point.”

Which, okay, Shane kind of thinks it is the point. Or at least, a point, anyway. A pretty fucking important one. But Ilya keeps on talking.

“So, she does dance. She is naked. Is hot. All the clothes on the floor.”

Shane really, really does not want to hear this.

“And then,” Ilya says, “I am standing there and I think, why did she not fold the clothes? Why are they all on the fucking floor? Hollander would have folded the fucking clothes...And then I think, ‘oh, okay, I am fucked.’”

The room is dead silent.

“What? Fuck, really?” Shane hears himself ask.

“Yes, really.” Ilya puts his hand over his own eyes briefly then seems to reconsider and drops it down to his lap. Shane takes hold of that hand too.

“So,” Ilya says, “then I leave. Go back to be fucking awful in Boston. See if somebody will maybe put me in the harbour instead.”

“Jesus,” Bood says, before Shane can really process all that. “You just left? You left naked Stephanie Delacroix with her clothes all over the floor? What the fuck did you even say, man?”

Now, for the first time, Ilya looks genuinely awkward. He raises one shoulder. “I think, maybe, I say, ‘is not you, is me,’ and I leave.”

There’s a collective wince at that.

“What?” Harris says, his voice high. “Who are you? Fucking Hugh Grant?”

“I know, was not great. But, is not really anything to say, yes? Time like that...and I cannot say, sorry, my arch rival Shane Hollander has left me for your old friend Rose Landry. Please do not tell her about this. So,” Ilya just raises both hands and shrugs again.

From across the room, Holmberg snorts and then looks a little mortified. “Sorry, sorry, Cap. No, I mean. That’s, like, really terrible, yeah. Fuck.”

“God,” says Harris and giggles. “God, Ilya, but she must really hate you after that one.”

“Ah, no, I do not think so.”

That gets a universally disbelieving look from the team.

“Okay,” says Ilya, “yes, before, I think maybe. Probably. Was not good. But not now. Is fine. She DM’d me.” Ilya gives a crooked grin. “I am forgiven.”

“Yeah fucking right,” says Young.

“You’re serious?” asks Lisa.

“She DM’d you?” Shane says. “The French supermodel that everyone thinks is so...she messaged you?”

Ilya sighs and pulls out his phone. Taps open Instagram and brings up a message thread. “Here.” Ilya hands the phone to him. “Is not what you think, okay?”

Shane looks down at the messages and immediately feels himself blush. Oh. Oh okay, that’s fine then. Yeah.

“Come on, Shane,” Troy calls, “share with the class.”

“Yeah,” says Holmberg, “this I need to fucking hear, man.”

Shane glares at Ilya who just grins back at him.

 Shane clears his throat. “Um, okay, well. She messaged, I guess after we got outed?” Ilya nods. “It just says, ‘Ok, I forgive you. You’re right. Shane Hollander is hotter than me.’”

That gets a chorus of cheers from around the room. Shane wonders if he can sink into the couch and just sort of disappear. Ilya is smiling at him though. It’s nice. That soft half smile Ilya gets sometimes.

Surprising himself, and surprising Ilya even more, Shane leans over and kisses him. Just once. The shouts from their teammates only get louder at that. Ilya’s whole body seems to stutter for a moment then he beams at Shane, quickly leaning back in to steal another kiss.

“Only you, Cap,” says Wyatt, laughing.

“Oh,” Shane adds, “and then Ilya said that if she promised not to tell Rose Landry what happened, he could get her Matti Jalo’s number. Which, apparently she wanted because that seemed to work.” Shane looks up at Ilya and frowns as he hands the phone back. “How did you get Jalo’s number?”

Ilya just raises his eyebrows. “How do you think? I say, Vaughny ask Jalo if he wants Stephanie Delacroix to have his number?”

“What if he’d said no?”

“Shane, you are so fucking gay. Is Stephanie fucking Delacroix.”

“Yeah, man.” Bood laughs, “that’d be like turning down Rose fucking Landry.”

“Fuck off,” Shane says, but he’s laughing.

“I dunno,” says Young. “I think Delacroix is probably hotter.”

Ilya grins at that because of course he does. Shane elbows him. Then something brings him up short.

“And the folding clothes thing?” Shane says, “That always reminded you of me in particular?”

Ilya gives him a strange look. “Shane, nobody else does this. Is just you.”

“What do you mean, nobody does this?”

“I mean, nobody does this. Is just you, sweetheart.”

“I, what?”

“Shane,” Harris says, voice a little too kind, “do you fold your clothes, like, well, every time? No matter what?”

Ilya grins. “Yes.”

“I...no, not- sometimes I don’t.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “If you do not, you are thinking about it, I can tell. And then you just do it after, so.” He shrugs, “is same thing.”

“Fuck you.” Shane can feel his blush getting worse. “Fuck you, Ilya. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ilya shrugs again. "Why would I tell you?"

"Because...because, fuck, so you just let me do something weird and- and boring and..."

Ilya says nothing. Just stares back at Shane, waiting for something.

...just let me do something weird and- and boring...

Oh. Oh, okay. Boring.

Ilya sees Shane realise. Shane knows he does because Ilya’s watching him. He’s always watching and now his gaze has turned fierce. Heated.

“No,’ Ilya says low and quiet, just for Shane, tucking his arm back around Shane’s waist, drawing him closer. “I do not have to tell you anything. I just say ‘take off your clothes,’ and then you fold them anyway.” Ilya smiles then, leans in close to mutter against Shane’s ear. “Such a good trick.”

Chapter End Notes

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