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:

Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, Troy Barrett & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Troy Barrett, Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-10 Words: 1,619 Chapters: 1/1

Put a ring on it.

Summary

Ilya thinks Troy needs to lock Harris down. Troy has a condition. (Hint: It involves who's in the wedding party.)

Or Troy asks Ilya to be his best man.

Is the ceiling supposed to be moving?  Troy doesn't think the ceiling's supposed to be moving, which means it's probably a sign that he should not take another hit from the pre-roll Ilya's just handed back to him, but they'd won the fucking Stanley Cup tonight so Troy's pretty sure he's allowed to say fuck it or whatever it is the kids are saying these days instead of YOLO.  He takes a deep inhale, then passes it back to Ilya.

They're lying on one of the beds in Troy's hotel room.  At least Troy thinks it's his hotel room, but at this point, he's willing to accept arguments to the contrary.  They're turned opposite ways around so that Ilya's head is roughly at the level of Troy's left shoulder and vice versa.  It means Troy's feet are dangling off the end and Ilya's are propped up on the headboard, but they both must be comfortable enough, because Troy doesn't think they've moved in hours.  

It's 4:37 AM west coast time according to the glowing numbers on Troy's phone's lock screen, and their Cup celebrations are finally starting to wind down.  Shane's already down for the count, curled under the duvet on the other bed in what is maybe Troy's room.  At least he made it to a bed.  Poor Luca's currently passed out on the floor between them in a position that his neck will definitely regret in the morning.  Somehow both of them are managing to sleep through the one part of the evening that shows no signs of quitting: Bood, Wyatt, and Harris’s ongoing karaoke battle.  

Although at this point, the karaoke occurring is pretty alleged, because according to the television, this song is “Single Ladies”, but Troy certainly could not have guessed that from the sounds coming out of their mouths.  Harris is even attempting the dance, which normally Troy would probably find endearing and maybe even kind of hot, but right now, after this much champagne and weed, he's more just concerned that this might end in a trip to a Los Angeles emergency department.

Ilya nudges him.  “So are you?”

“Huh?” says Troy a moment later after Harris has sat himself safely down.

Ilya lets out an exasperated-sounding sigh and gestures in Harris's direction, narrowly avoiding smacking Troy in the face in the process.  “Are you going to put a ring on it?”

Oh.  Ohhhhhhh.

Troy's apparently not so high he’s beyond blushing, because he feels his face heat.

Ilya cackles at him.  “Why are you that color?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, trying and mostly failing to elbow Ilya in the head.  Ilya, of course, does not shut up.

“Soooo…” he sing-songs and waves his own wedding band in front of Troy's face, once again nearly slapping Troy as he does.  Troy bats the hand away.  

Fortunately, Harris and the other supposed singers are too busy cycling through upcoming song choices to pay Troy and Ilya any attention, but Troy keeps his voice low anyway when he responds.  “Jeez, yes!  I mean, sort of.  We've talked about it a bit, but it's not an official thing.  No one's like proposed or anything.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Troy doesn't answer, because honestly, he's not sure.  Maybe he had a reason when he wasn't drunk and high, but he sure as fuck can't remember it now.  Because Troy's known for a long time now that Harris is, well, it for him.  There's absolutely no future that Troy wants or can imagine that doesn't include Harris in it. 

“It has been over year now you have been together,” Ilya points out.

Troy snorts.  “Says the man who took, what?  A decade to marry his boyfriend?”

This time, Ilya smacks him on purpose.  “Was different and you know it.”  Which, yeah, to be fair, it was.  Ilya's still talking, but he's dropped his voice even lower to just above a whisper.  “You cannot be worried Harris will say no.”

It's a statement, not a question, but Troy still shakes his head.  No, but he is a little worried about Harris saying yes.  Troy's still working on the whole believing himself worthy of Harris thing.  He's better about it these days, but still, this is marriage they're discussing.  Marriage specifically to Troy, whose picture could probably still be on the Wikipedia page for internalized homophobia despite the work he's been putting into unravelling it.

He tells Ilya none of that, because he's pretty sure he'll just get smacked again.  

“You would have such beautiful wedding,” Ilya murmurs kind of dreamily, and Troy laughs because why is Ilya fantasizing about Troy's wedding?  “You could get married on farm.  Ooooooo, maybe when apple trees bloom!”

“That's during playoffs,” Troy points out.  “Unless you plan on missing them from here out?”

“Nooooo,” Ilya moans, sounding genuinely dismayed.  Troy isn't sure if it's at the idea of missing the playoffs or the apple blossoms or both.  “Then perhaps when they are all… apple-y.  In fall, before season starts?”

Which… would be nicely, actually.  It'd certainly smell amazing.

“And Chiron can be your ring bearer!”

“Shhh!” Troy hisses even though Ilya's words were barely audible even to him over the sound of… is that supposed to be “Poker Face”?  Then he giggles a little hysterically, because apparently he's currently letting Ilya Rozanov plan his wedding while drunk and high in an LA hotel room.

“I am serious!” Ilya declares as though Troy would have doubted him.  “They make things for dogs to do this,” he adds with the certainty of someone who has very much looked into this.

“Shane wouldn't let you use Anya, huh?”

Ilya gives a dejected sigh.  “No.”

Troy laughs again, but fucking hell, he's already picturing it.  Chiron actually would make a great ring bearer, and unbidden, Troy’s brain starts to fill in the rest of the mental image.  The two of them under the apple trees in bright afternoon sunlight.  Chiron waiting patiently with his little pillow.  Or maybe a box.  Yeah, that would probably be safer.  Harris's family is close; he'll probably want his sisters up there as best… uh, women?  Is that a thing?  They can definitely make it a thing.  Which means Troy will need a best man and, well…

“I have a condition,” he announces.

“For marrying Harris?”

“Yes.  I mean, no.”  This isn't coming out right, because Troy's desire to marry Harris is pretty damn unconditional at this point.  “I mean, for the wedding.  Which you seem to be planning,” he tries to clarify.

“I will not do the Macarena.”

“What?” Troy sputters.  “Is that your real concern?”

Ilya nods seriously.  “I went to many weddings in Boston.  They also like to sing about some woman named Caroline.”  He full-on shudders, and the bed beneath them shakes in sympathy.  Troy cracks up.

“I will leave the music selection to you,” he says, barely able to get the words out between hysterical gasps for air.  “Call it best man duties.”

“Best man?”

Troy takes a deep inhale and tries to rein in his laughter.  “Yeah, that's the condition.”

“Me?” asks Ilya dumbly, because he's being uncharacteristically slow on the uptake tonight.

“Yes, you, idiot,” Troy replies, and suddenly, Ilya is moving.  In a single movement, he hurls himself upright, then topples to the side so he's half-lying on top of Troy’s face.  Troy thinks it's supposed to be a hug, but at this awkward angle, it's more like Ilya's just sort of bent in half and aggressively squeezing Troy's head to his chest.  

“You two good?”  It's Bood's voice, somewhat muffled by Ilya's arms currently pressed against Troy's ears.  Apparently, Ilya's lunge onto Troy's cranium has finally attracted the attention of the three other people currently conscious in the room.  

“Yes,” says Ilya into the mattress next to Troy's hair.  “Very.”  And holy shit, he sounds… sniffly.  Troy reaches up with the hand Ilya hasn't trapped beneath him and gently pats his back.  He's not sure what reaction he was expecting from Ilya here, but it was definitely not this.

“You too, Troy?”  That's Harris, probably not unreasonably worried that his boyfriend is currently being suffocated to death by an extremely large and overly emotional Russian.

“I’m good,” he says.  Except, no, actually, he's better than good, because now he's picturing it all again.  His and Harris's wedding day.  With Chiron and Ilya and Harris's sisters and the rest of his family and Troy's mom and her husband and definitely not his father and all the Centaurs and the rest of their hockey friends and…  “I am extremely good, actually,” he amends with a giggle.

Which starts Ilya giggling too, and then they are both laughing uncontrollably.  Troy's not even sure at what.  Possibly nothing.  They are both very high.  Ilya unfolds and flops back onto the bed, as they both continue to laugh.  

Harris manages to catch Troy's eye and cocks his head at him in a questioning manner, and Troy goes all floaty in a way that has nothing to do with the marijuana just looking at him.  Troy loves him so fucking much, and fuck, Ilya's right.  What the fuck are they waiting for?  Well, in the immediate sense probably for Troy to not be drunk and high at nearly five in the morning, but aside from that…

“I'll tell you when we get home,” he tells Harris with a grin.

“Promise?” Ilya asks, which sets off a fresh round of giggles.

“Pinky swear,” Troy says, and Ilya makes him do it for real.  Harris watches it all wearing a slightly confused but also deeply fond expression, and yeah, Troy can't fucking wait to put a ring on it.