Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

Gen

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Scott Hunter & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Sort Of, Coming Out, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fear Of Rape/Non-Con, POV Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Protective Scott Hunter (Game Changers)

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-19 Words: 1,964 Chapters: 1/1

running off a cliff

Summary

How stupid could Ilya have been, not only to be caught, but to be caught by Scott Hunter. 

inspired by chapter two of we cannot waste time (—only ourselves.) by llamallamaduck !!

• Inspired by we cannot waste time (—only ourselves.) by llamallamaduck

Ilya took another swig from the rum bottle, trying to convince himself. 

He had thought about it enormously sober, to a painful degree, through the taxi ride and now the last- hour, half hour? he had been sitting in Scott Hunter’s hotel room by himself. He had not been yet successful at rallying himself.

It was time for liquid courage, as they said in English. 

Ilya had not felt like crying in a very long time. He felt the tears threatening him tonight. There were worse things, but Ilya could not think of them now. In a different world, one where they met in a club, or on an app, or, Ilya could see it. But that wasn’t this one. In this one, Ilya nursed the rum bottle he had snagged from the mini bar and waited, consumed by dread, in the man’s hotel room, for Scott Hunter to return and tell him his fate. 

How stupid could Ilya have been, not only to be caught, but to be caught by Scott Hunter. 

The sex had not even been worth it, his partner, some dark-haired twink he had met in a club, had vanished just as quickly, leaving Ilya caught with his pants down in an alley, staring dead in Scott Hunter’s face. 

Shock had paralyzed Ilya at first, his ruination crashing over him. Hunter had never liked Ilya and had never made any pretense of it. An unreadable look had crossed Hunter’s face and Ilya had wondered if he really hated him enough to want to destroy him. There was not a single soul that would believe him over Scott Hunter. And this would destroy him. He wouldn’t be allowed to play anymore, he wouldn’t be able to stay in Boston, he would have to return to Russia, where he would be arrested, and jailed, or maybe his brother would just kill him. Ilya had felt his life shortening in seconds as he stopped breathing, fumbling with his belt and gasping at Hunter in Russian, unable to translate the panicked words to English. The noose was already around his throat.  

He doesn’t catch Hunter’s English words either, he doesn’t register anything at all until hands are on his chest and Ilya thought he was about to be hit. His own fists clenched, but Hunter didn’t. He pulled him further into the alley, so only a dim door light was illuminating Hunter’s- worried?- face. 

“Fuck, Rozanov, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

His hand held gently against Ilya’s shoulder,  nearly propping him up. The feeling like he was about to die still hadn’t left Ilya’s chest. 

“You can’t-. You can’t tell anyone.” He pleaded. “You can’t- I will do anything.“

“You’re in shock.” Hunter mumbled, looking around, his wide eyes telling Ilya the same descriptor applied to him. He had glanced around nervously. “We can’t talk about this here.”

In a jumble that Ilya didn’t remember, Hunter had gotten him into a taxi, and took him to a hotel room. It must have been Hunter’s, if Ilya had to guess from the ugly plain luggage in the room. With a quiet, shaking order for Ilya to stay where he was, Hunter disappeared again. 

Hunter had been gone a painfully long time before Ilya allowed himself to move, moving to the floor, running over the course of the night’s events and the sum of his life's decisions which had found him here, on the floor of Scott Hunter’s hotel room. 

Ilya had found the bottle of rum in Hunter’s otherwise untouched mini bar. It was nearly half empty now, Ilya held it protectively to his chest as he slid downwards onto the floor. Propped up against the bed, Ilya tried to think through the haze of panic and liquor. 

Hunter had not immediately started laughing, yelling, recording, when he saw. He had stared at Ilya with an expression of fear and shock and fatal realization that Ilya had decided was nearly worse when he felt the man’s hands on him. 

He had touched Ilya afterwards, not even to beat him, he wasn’t disgusted. Ilya knew why Hunter wasn’t disgusted. There were not many other reasons why Hunter would have taken Ilya to a hotel room afterwards seeing that. A straight man, even a progressive American one, might give someone like Ilya a superficial, throwaway  phrase of approval, but would forever watch their back in locker rooms. Straight men wouldn’t take someone like Ilya into their hotel room.  In his panic afterwards, Ilya had promised Hunter anything.  Hunter was richer, more famous and more established than Ilya.  There was only one thing Ilya had that Hunter would have wanted from Ilya. It was stupid to think Hunter wouldn’t have taken advantage of what was offered. 

He took another fortifying drink from the bottle, leaning back against the frame. A few of Hunter’s things clustered neatly in the room, his ugly grey luggage, a clear water bottle emblazoned with the New York Admirals logo, even a hoodie hung over the back of a chair. Although the man wasn’t in the room, his presence was unmistakable.

Tears swelled in his eyes and his insides ached with a pain the drink could not numb. Even alone in the room, there was nowhere he could go.  Ilya knew he had to do it, if it meant Hunter kept his secret. He could do it. He could put on a good show. 

Hunter had said nothing, done nothing yet, but everything was implied. The dread in his gut mixed with the drink and Ilya felt bile curl inside his throat. He never considered a situation where he might be forced to have sex. 

It was almost like rape. Ilya had never thought of it before, but it hung over his head like a very present threat.   Ilya had never heard any rumours before of Hunter being a predator, though granted those rumours usually were about girls, not men, not other hockey players. Ilya didn’t even have a frame of reference for what to expect. If it were purely physical, Ilya was sure he could have fought Hunter off. Hunter was older but they were around the same size and Ilya knew he was stronger and faster. He wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t a child. 

 Ilya was alone in the room. He could leave. Except leaving the room would be the equivalent of running off a cliff. He wasn't going anywhere. Not when Hunter held all the power to ruin Ilya’s life. No one would believe him over Scott Hunter.

Hunter was not old, or ugly either. He had never seemed cruel or sadistic. There were worse people Ilya could be waiting for.

It wouldn’t really be rape. Ilya could bear it. He had beared much worse. 

 By the time Ilya heard the sound of the keycard buzz into the room, the bottle was empty beside him. 

He lay on the floor, against the bed, eyes fixed on the rotating blades of the ceiling fan. Ilya felt as though he were underwater. His head buzzed with the liquor and an undercurrent of dulled panic. He stared at Hunter, knowing he should react and unable to bring himself to move an inch. Hunter swore when he saw him, crossing the room in a few frenzied steps and dropping down to his side. 

"Did you take something?” He was acting strangely, his hand took in Ilya’s face, checking his eyes. His voice echoed in Ilya’s ears, reverberating through the room. “At the club, did someone give you something?” 

Ilya nearly laughed, all this and Hunter was drawing the line at him being too drunk? 

“Roz.” 

“No. I, ah. Had little to drink. Sorry. “ The words tumbled misshapenly from Ilya’s throat. His few words seemed to satisfy Hunter with  proof of life. Hunter’s eyes landed disapprovingly on the bottle next to him. Ilya stiffened. He had already made him mad. No matter what Hunter wanted, he doubted it was Ilya’s role to dictate what they got to do and when. “Was nervous.”

 The older man’s hands left his shoulders and Ilya cringed. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to scream, he wanted to cry. Instead Hunter said, “I get that.” 

He sat next to him on the ground. Gently, he offered. “I took care of the cameras outside the clubs.” 

“Thank you.” He murmured. He hadn’t noticed cameras earlier. Another mark on his debt to Hunter.

Hunter’s eyes softened as he cleared his throat and stood, fetching a water bottle and passing it at Ilya. “Are you sure no one gave you anything at the club? Do you need a doctor?” 

“No one gave me anything.” Ilya murmured, he held his breath as their fingers touched during the transfer. 

 “You were stupid to do that there. Anyone could have walked in on you. You are lucky it was me. If you’re going to do that, next time go somewhere more private.”

“Yes, lucky.” He chugged the bottle and crushed the empty plastic in his hand. Ilya felt very far from lucky. 

“Please don’t tell anyone, Hunter.” Ilya pleaded. 

Hunter’s hand found his shoulder again, comfortingly, it should be comfortingly. Ilya just felt sick. The liquor emboldened him, Ilya put his hand on the man’s thigh. “I would do whatever you want.” 

“What?” Hunter said and it was like a bolt of ice water had dropped over Ilya’s back. Hunter shoved him back, scrambling to the other side of the room. “What the fuck?” 

Ilya’s hands trembled as he sat back up. The alcohol’s numbing effect seemed to have left him in a fatal swoop as he met eyes with Hunter. He had done something wrong. He had been too drunk and sloppy. Ilya had ruined his own life. “I can make you happy. I am very good.”

“No! I don’t want to have sex with you!”

“What do you want?“ Ilya panicked. “You can’t tell anyone. I beg you.”

“I’m not going to.” Hunter stammered, he was on the opposite side of the room, breathing heavily. “I’m not going to tell anyone and I don’t want to have sex with you. You’re a kid. You’re-.” 

“I’m 21.” Ilya snapped before realizing that was a very stupid thing to do. Scott Hunter was his secret keeper and Ilya kept hitting the vault with a hammer. 

“No.” Hunter said more emphatically. 

 “I thought-“

“That I was going to take advantage of you because I knew your secret?” Hunter said coldly. The air went stiff and Ilya let the silence speak for him. Hunter let out another horrified laugh. “I wasn’t going to,” Hunter intoned. “I was never going to ask you for that. Especially not to keep your secret!”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I couldn’t leave you in that club. You were going into shock.” Hunter hissed. 

Ilya buried his hands deeper into his lap in a mixture of shame, mortification and horror. Confusion flooded him once more. The words tumbled out, panicked and delayed.  

“Why are you helping me if you don’t want- you don’t like me.” 

“ I’m gay too.” Hunter averted his eyes, speaking quietly, some old shame mixed into his words. “I think that trumps the other stuff. I remember how hard it was, all that- on top of everything else. I guess I wish someone could have helped me.”

Ilya nodded slowly. “Oh-okay. I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I can see how you took it as- I just want to help.. That’s it.” Hunter exhaled. “You’re still drunk. You should sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

“If you do,” Ilya threatened, though his tone was markedly lighter. “I will tell everyone you are obsessed with me.” 

“That’s the Rozanov I know.”