Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Luca Haas/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Luca Haas, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

Background Relationships, Background Hollanov, past and implied Cliff x Ilya, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, not a lot I promise, Cliff Marleau is big of heart and dumb of ass, Roommates, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Roommates to Lovers, More tags to be added

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-25 Updated: 2026-08-14 Words: 9,126 Chapters: 3/?

Another Team

Summary

After Shane Hollander is signed to the Ottawa Centaurs, the team learns that part of the deal involved trading Luca Haas to Boston.
Luca is distraught having to uproot his life and move to another country. To ease the transition, Ilya arranges for Luca to stay with Cliff Marleau while he gets settled.

Notes

This story is a "what if" scenario that got stuck in my head and grew legs while writing the collection The System .
Part 1 and Part 2 are canon prequels to this story, with this story branching off on a different timeline in place of Part 3. If you are not into Cliff x Ilya, they are not required reading.

If you have been reading Part 3 / The Same Team - the OC Jamie Allens doesn't exist in this one.

Chapter 1

It was good news.

Luca knew that, objectively.

 

The pros - on paper - far outweighed the cons.

 

It was just difficult to hold on to them all together in his arms when Luca’s world was falling apart.

 

“It's unfortunately out of my hands.”

 

Coach Wiebe said tightly.

 

“...Does Roz know?”

 

It wasn't important. Not really. It wasn’t like Ilya had any sort of say in this.

But it - it just felt important. 

To know, if he knew…

 

“No, ugh.” Wiebe pinched the bridge of his nose, perhaps realizing what that conversation was going to look like. “I need to talk to him after this.” He said gravely. He leaned against the desk in his cramped office and sighed heavily. 

Luca realized that the last time he had been in here was almost two years ago, when he had first been signed and properly joined the team.

Even some of the post-it notes on the whiteboard were the same. He remembered in particular the little doodle of the cactus, stuck there in the very corner, wondering what it was for.

 

“I obviously needed to break the news to you first.”

 

Luca looked down at the contract in his hands, if only just for an excuse to lower his eyes.

 

It was good news.

 

He was going to be getting paid more.

A lot more.

Boston was an incredible team with a powerful legacy. 

They'd been hurting for a solid center since Ilya left. It was an opportunity to make his career into something incredible - he knew that.

 

“Luca, you are an amazing player.” Wiebe pressed.

He'd said that already. At the start of the conversation, when he told Luca the news.

That he was an amazing player.

He said it like an apology.

 

“Your career is just starting off. But it's never going to take off while you're playing under the shadow of Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander.”

 

It was true, Luca knew that.

One team was never going to have three star centers. And having either Rozanov or Hollander step aside to play wing made no sense.

 

Everyone knew that.

Ottawa knew that. Boston knew that.

A trade made sense.

 

Luca didn't quite know the particulars of it. Who promised who what or how much or how it worked out.

But whatever hands shook behind the curtain, it allowed Ottawa the capacity it desperately needed in order to afford the legendary Shane Hollander without offering him a salary that would have been anything short of an insult.

 

In exchange for some financial leeway from a few key backers, Ottawa had been able to afford to sign Hollander in exchange for - on paper - a trade of next year's draft pick.

He wasn’t sure what else had been up for bargain, or traded back and forth.

But one of those things involved a trade discussion of Luca Haas.

 

He had just a few short weeks to pack himself up, and move his life over to the USA.

 

Fuck, not just Boston. But America - an entirely different country.

 

That didn’t just mean a new city, a new place to live.

He'd need a new bank account.

A new driver's license.

Health insurance, oh god - American health insurance…

 

“Hey.” Wiebe said quietly - noticing Luca had quietly started to spiral. He braced a reassuring hand on Luca's shoulder, and looked very much like he was about to say something supportive and encouraging.

 

However, at the exact same moment Wiebe’s door burst open by means of a large foot, followed by a large angry Russian man.

 

“Where is my son?!” Ilya Rozanov roared.

“This isn't helping Rozanov.” Wiebe said tiredly.

 

Luca thought it was helping a little.

Ilya had thrown his body around Luca, pulling him into a tight, angry embrace. Luca curled up and into it, something deep inside him was gently mollified by Ilya’s righteous anger.

 

“You are not going anywhere, Haasy. I will not let them.”

“Yes he is, it's already done.”

“Says who?”

“Says the GM and the board of investors.” Wiebe said, sounding tired but not exasperated. “The guys that own the Centaurs. And all your contracts. The trade was a little… complicated. But it all checks out.” 

 

Wiebe leaned back on his desk heavily.

 

“There was no other way we could afford to sign Hollander.”

 

Against the warm press of Ilya's chest, Luca could hear his heart stutter. 

He had briefly stopped breathing.

 

“And there's no going back on that now either. Luca's deal is a good one. Your theatrics aren't helping right now.”

 

In his three years playing for Coach Wiebe, Luca was yet to see anything really get a rise out of him. But this seemed to be coming close.

Coach Wiebe looking not-mad-just-disappointed in such a spectacularly withering way that it actually gave Ilya pause.

 

“You are right. I am sorry.”

Ilya said evenly, loosening his grip on Luca, putting his hands on his hips solemnly.

 

No. Luca quailed internally. He wanted Ilya to keep railing against this. To kick down more doors until he got this somehow undone. He wanted…

 

“Come on, Haasy. Let's go get some food.”

 

-

 

Luca didn't want to get food.

He wanted to go hide under the covers of his bed and maybe cry for a few hours.

 

But Ilya had learned at some point during their time together that Luca’s favorite diner was the old 24-hour place a few minutes drive down from the arena - wedged between a bank and a flower shop that made a really nice BLT with maple bacon.

 

Ilya insisted Luca eat while he combed over the terms of Luca's new contract with Boston.

 

“Is it nice there?” Luca asked, mostly for an excuse to avoid eating. Though he knew he should be, he wasn't hungry at all. “Boston, I mean?”

 

Ilya paused. Luca realized with some degree of awe and horror that Ilya Rozanov actually looked a little misty-eyed at the question.

 

“Ah - yes. It is a very good city. I miss it, still.” Ilya set down the contract and crossed his arms on the table.

“The people there are very loud. Not always polite but most are very kind. Fast food there is not as nice, but everything is open much later. The ah - the energy - is very good.”

 

Luca tried to smile, but it turned into a sigh.

He fumbled a bit with his paper napkin, methodically shredding it into pieces.

 

“I just got used to things here.” Luca ground out. He was trying not to sound too miserable. Ilya probably didn’t want to hear him venting, but it was all too much and too soon. 

 

“I knew playing in the NHL meant a lot of travel, and that I might not be in Ottawa forever. But…”

 

His shoulders sagged.

 

“I only just found a running club I really liked. And I have friends now. Like, outside of hockey.”

“Fuck, really?” Ilya's eyes shot up and he whistled softly. “You will have to let me know how you did this.”

 

Luca laughed. It was feeble and watery, but it was there.

 

“I just -I think that's the thing I'm dreading the most. I can manage all of the paperwork and everything.” 

 

The NHL was very good at ferrying its players around. There would be plenty of support in getting Luca all of the paperwork, appointments, and support needed to get settled in Boston.

 

“It’s just… the first few months I lived here, almost a year. I didn't really know anybody. I was. It was really lonely.”

 

Luca felt silly saying it. Ilya must have gone through the same thing.

Then again, maybe he didn't. Ilya could walk into any room and immediately everyone there wanted to know him and be his friend.

Ilya Rozanov probably didn’t feel lonely a day in his life.

 

“I know how you feel.”

 

He didn’t, but Luca appreciated the sentiment.

 

“Boston is a good team. Full of good guys.”

 

Luca did believe that. Ilya was always excited to go down and play against Boston. Even if they always got their butts kicked. It was a common sight to see Ilya on the ice during warmups mingling and chatting happily with his old teammates, playfully shoving each other around and chirping.

 

“I have an idea.” Ilya posed.

 

-

 

A few weeks later, right on schedule, Luca stepped out into the arrivals area of Boston Logan International Airport and delivered himself to Massachusets.

 

His stomach was full of butterflies - accompanied by the sort of mild flight-nausea that was typically reserved for the long-haul flights that came with significant jetlag. The flight from Ottawa to Boston was nothing, really. Ninety minutes in the air, no change at all in timezones. 

 

Still, Luca felt like he could crawl into his bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

 

His bed.

 

It wasn’t his bed anymore. 

 

Right now his nice little studio apartment in Ottawa was likely getting viewed and ready to be re-sold. All of his things that weren’t packed up in his bags had gone the way of Facebook Marketplace. 

Some of his paintings had been gifted away to his friends and teammates.

Bubbles the beta fish and his two little houseplants had been re-homed.

Most of the larger furnishings - the bedframe, little kitchen table, the squat IKEA sofa - had stayed behind. They came with the place when he arrived, and probably wouldn’t miss him now that he was gone.

 

Luca tentatively scanned the crowd - though he didn’t have to for long.

 

There was a man among those who were waiting who stood out easily among the crowd.

 

Luca knew Cliff Marleau.

Sort of.

 

He had been at Ilya and Shane’s wedding, of course. He’d seen him at the ceremony as Ilya’s best man. He knew the guy wasn’t too macho to share a slow dance with Ilya during the party. 

 

In one of their games against Boston the man had slammed Luca against the boards so hard he had a magnificent blue-and-purple bruise across his ribs for the next month.

 

That was probably why Luca found the churning in his stomach kicked up a notch at the sight of him.

 

Luca never saw much of Cliff Marleau off the ice and outside the rink.

 

His jet-black hair was slicked back - not plastered down but lightly tousled. One could practically see the route casual fingers might have taken fresh out of the shower that morning. A few errant curls had shaken themselves loose near the front. He was sporting the kind of dark, effortless 5-o’clock shadow that Luca had always been deeply envious of. He was wearing a simple black-shirt under a dark bomber jacket and jeans, along with a Raiders baseball cap. 

 

Luca realized that he was staring at just about the same moment that Marleau’s eyes found Luca’s in the crowd. 

 

He smirked, holding up a notebook. It had been flipped open to a blank page, where the name “LUCA HAAS” had been written in bold black sharpie.

 

Luca’s mouth twitched, clearly trying for a smile.

It was a nice gesture.

They both… sort of knew eachother.

They could recognize eachother in a crowd, at least.

 

Having a nameplate like Marleau was a chauffeur here to drive Luca to a hotel probably wasn’t necessary. 

But it was… sweet?

He considered it as he crossed the floor to him.

 

“Hi.”

“Hey, man.” Marleau beamed down at Luca.

It was a sort of practiced media smile. The sort that became effortless after a while - though it didn’t necessarily mean it was real.

 

“It’s nice to meet you off the ice. Flight go okay?”

“Yeah, all good.”

“Customs give you a hard time?”

“No, it was fine.”

 

It had taken longer than usual. There was a big difference in US customs on an international flight for someone who was just coming by for a week or two to play a roadie - versus someone who was coming over to stay for the foreseeable future.

 

Luckily his agent and an immigration specialist from the NHL had equipped Luca with everything he would need in a thick plastic folder that he had kept clutched tight on his lap like a lifeline during the flight over. Documentation on his visa appointments, his work permit, bank account details and his address. Proof that he had a certain sum of money to his name, and a million other bits of information both from his residency in Canada and his citizenship in Switzerland. 

 

The man on the other side of the bulletproof glass had been quiet and stern, looking everything over. He tapped some information into the computer, stamped Luca’s passport and handed it over with a big grin, as if they’d been spending the last ten minutes chatting amicably. 

 

“Knock em dead this season, Mr. Haas.”

Luca’s bags were already on the turnstile when he and Marleau headed through departures.

 

“These yours?”

“Yeah, I’ll get them.”

 

Marleau moved first. Though they were two massive bags - each full to the maximum carry weight allowed - he lifted both of them with an ease that looked effortless. 

 

“My car’s in short term parking, this way. Did you have lunch?”

“I’m okay.”

 

The flight had been too short to serve food, and Luca had been too unsettled to eat anything at the airport.

He still felt that way even now. 

 

“That’s not what I asked.” Marleau said to Luca with a sly smile. “You like Italian?”

“It’s okay.”

“Hm, you must not have been eating at the right places.”

 

They chatted a bit as they made their way into the car park. Marleau’s sleek black sports car stood out like a sore thumb among a fleet of far more sensible vehicles. 

The inside was clean and smelled new, even though the model was a few years old. 

Marleau chatted a bit about the city as they drove out of the airport. What areas were nice, what spots to avoid. Luca felt bad not being able to engage with him more, and eventually the two lapsed into a quiet that made Luca squirm.

 

Say something.

 

“So, have you had roommates before?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, when I was younger.” Marleau shrugged. “I never billeted before, but everyone agreed it was a good idea.”

 

Luca’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. 

‘Everyone agreed it was a good idea’ was a good few paces away from ‘I thought it was a good idea.’

The space between had a tang of unfortunate truth that hung unspoken.

Because Ilya asked me to.

 

Marleau glanced aside, perhaps noticing Luca’s expression had fallen.

 

“You okay?”

“This - I’m not billeting.” He did his best not to sound petulant, but in his effort to do so it almost sounded like he was pleading. Luca clutched his seatbelt tightly as he spoke.

“Right, sorry.” Marleau backtracked immediately. He did seem to look genuinely apologetic as well, and Luca breathed.

 

Billeting was something that Junior Hockey players did when they were in their teens - or barely out of them. Kids who had never lived away from home before and needed the structure of a family unit to ease them into the change of lifestyle that came with professional hockey.

 

Luca was still only twenty, but he’d played a full season in the NHL already. He had lived on his own before.

He just didn’t like being alone, that was all.

Didn’t everyone?

 

“I just meant, ah. No, I haven’t had a roommate in a long time.” Marleau took another shot at it. “But, I am really happy to have you. As long as you want to be there.”

 

Luca gave Marleau a quietly wary sort of look.

He was being nice - and Luca did deeply appreciate it.

Hopefully he wouldn’t be in the guy’s hair for too long.

 

Cliff Marleau lived in a tall, modern apartment building. He pulled into a designated space in an underground parking lot.

 

“These two spots are mine. Or, well. Ours. The apartment’s. I only have one car though, so the other one is yours.” 

He continued to carry Luca’s two large checked bags to the elevator.

“These are operated with a key card. I have yours upstairs, don’t let me forget to give it to you. Anyone coming over to visit on their own has to come in through the front where the doorman is.”

 

Marleau continued to rattle off some details of the building as the silent elevator rushed smoothly up. 

 

There was office space available to reserve on the third floor. They weren’t far from the subway, which was nice as well. There was a rooftop terrace that did cocktail mixers once a month.

 

“Oh, are they fun?”

“I’ve never gone. Could be a good way to meet people, though?”

 

Marleau’s apartment was nice, if a bit sparse.

Anything that came with the place was lovely. There was an open-plan kitchen with a large marble island counter. The appliances were sleek and hi-tech. It opened up into a high-ceilinged living room - that was mostly taken up by a large television flanked by a massive sectional sofa with a backdrop of clean floor-to-cieling windows.

 

“The bedrooms are down the hall. Mine is at the very end. I set up the larger guest room for you, it’s on the left. It’s got its own ensuite and everything, though the bathroom in the hallway is a bit nicer if you want to use that one.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Marleau stalled. 

A moment of awkward silence stretched between them. 

 

“I, uh. I’m just gonna go and, unpack a little.”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course.” Marleau fumbled. “Let me know when you want to eat, I’m happy to recommend a good place.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

 

-

 

Luca closed the door behind him in his bedroom and let out a long breath, heavy and deep enough that it made his shoulders sag.

 

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Roz had been so excited about it. He knew that Cliff Marleau was like, Ilya’s best friend or something. 

But he was also going to be Luca’s Captain.

And the guy probably was only doing this as a favor.

 

If he was just a friend of Ilya’s and nothing else,  it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they didn’t get on well as roommates.

But if he ended up causing friction with his team’s captain…

It could be a disaster.

 

Luca pined quietly, rubbing his palm against his forehead.

The entire move had been such a blur, he hadn’t had time to consider or worry about that element at all. 

 

Nothing bad has happened yet. He reminded himself quietly. Pull it together.

Luca forced himself to take a deep breath as he gathered his bearings.

 

The room was minimally furnished with a dresser, full-length mirror, an armchair tucked into the corner and a queen-sized bed. It was made up with a deep blue duvet that looked thick and heavy. A few clean towels were folded up and laid out for him.

 

Luca collapsed onto the bed, needing just a moment to zone out and collect himself.

He fished out his phone.

He had changed over his sim card on arrival at the airport - though he’d need to ask Marleau for the wifi details. 

Luca scrolled listlessly. His feed was still largely full of his friends and teammates, local groups and community updates. 

Maybe he could just sit here for a few hours and feel sorry for himself…

What time did Marleau go to bed?

 

Luca’s thoughts were disrupted by a soft sound at the door. 

He turned and watched. 

A gentle scratching started, then stopped.

Then, a little white paw appeared under the door.

It scrabbled, then turned. 

Pink toe beans flexed uselessly at the door as something whined indignantly from the hallway.

It was followed by a soft voice.

 

“Penny, stop that.” 

 

Luca opened the door curiously.

 

Marleau was standing there, cradling a fat old orange tabby cat in his arms.

 

“Oh, that’s your cat?” Luca asked, stupidly.

“She doesn’t like closed doors.” Marleau explained.

“Oh, sorry.” Luca opened his door a little wider.

“No,” Marleau laughed. His teeth were very white. “It’s okay. She’s a cat. She’ll get used to it.”

 

Marleau put Penny down. Bottlebrush tail held high, she trotted into Luca’s room to conduct a thorough inspection of the luggage on the floor.

 

Luca turned his head toward the kitchen.

Something smelled good. Like onions and garlic and basil.

 

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to order something on your own, so I just started cooking dinner.” Marleau seemed to pick up on where Luca’s mind had gone. “I know you said you weren’t hungry, but I always end up making too much - if you wanted?” He gestured invitingly.

“Oh. Um,”

Luca faltered, immediately getting lost in his own head again. 

He had just resolved to stay out of Marleau’s hair as much as possible. But now that he offered, would it be rude to refuse?

 

“Or, sorry. Is that like, a cultural thing?” Marleau rubbed the back of his neck. “I read online that in Switzerland you're not supposed to cook for each other or something?”

“What? No!”

Luca found himself laughing - real and genuine - for the first time that day.

 

“I saw that also! That’s Sweden, not Switzerland. No, families just don't typically feed other people's kids who come by unexpectedly to play.”

“Seems kind of mean.”

“I mean, Isn't it meaner to assume a kid's parents isn't making dinner for them?”

 

Luca hadn't consciously made the decision to move, but he found himself at the island counter or the kitchen getting served a plate of spaghetti.

 

Marleau whistled softly.

“You’ll want to avoid the topic if you ever meet my mom, she’ll never let you hear the end of it. Food is like, her love language.”

 

The food was simple, but it was good. 

A powerfully flavorful sauce with ground beef, onions and garlic all soaked up by the noodles.

 

Marleau didn’t sit himself, instead opting to lean against the sink and eat from a cereal bowl that he had cradled in one hand. 

 

“Good?”

“Yeah, this is great.” Luca answered honestly. Marleau grinned, looking properly pleased with himself.

Maybe it was something he got from his mom.

 

It was a bit early for dinner, but Luca hadn’t eaten properly since the night before. It only took a few bites for him to realize he was ravenous. 

 

“I wish I could take the credit, but it pretty much all comes down to the sauce. My family makes a giant batch of it when the tomatoes are ready. It’s a whole production.”

“Oh. Are your family farmers?”

Marleau laughed.

“No, we’re Italian. You should come down to visit this summer for canning day, I’ll show you what I mean.”

 

Luca felt his nerves loosen a little bit. Maybe it was Marleau seemed so sincere about that - and most people didn’t typically casually hand out family invites to individuals they wanted out of their hair. Maybe he was just too tired and fried to feel the stress. Or, it could have been the simple effect of a big bowl of meat and carbs sitting warm and heavy in his stomach. 

 

The two chatted a bit more as they ate their way through two helpings each, and Luca turned in for an early night.

 

It was still strange, and new.

But… maybe not as awful as his mind had been making it out to be.

Chapter 2

Three days to decompress, three weeks to establish a routine, three months to feel at home.

 

That was what the girl at the shelter told Marleau when he had adopted Penny two years ago.

 

He wasn’t sure if that was totally true, because that same evening he brought her home, Cliff had woken up to Penny sprawled out on his chest, purring and drooling onto his t-shirt.

 

But the words resurfaced and niggled at him as Luca Haas settled into the environment of Cliff’s apartment. He tried to swat them away each time, like a fly buzzing around his face.

 

Luca wasn’t a pet, he was a guy.

Even if he had been staying more true to form over these past few days. Luca seemed to be… skittish? Was that the right word?

 

He seemed to wait until Marleau had moved into his bedroom, or out of the apartment before he moved about. When he came home in the evenings, he’d quickly retire to his own room. When they ran into one another they would chat, certainly. Once he managed to corner the guy he was perfectly pleasant and polite. 

Marleau found himself wondering more than once if he had maybe done something to upset him.

But maybe he was just… decompressing?

 

Marleau added a few scoops of protein powder to his breakfast smoothie as he considered it. His thoughts drifted back to that day and the advice of the woman at the cat shelter.

 

“A lot of people want to jump straight to petting and cuddling their new cat right away, but it’s important to let them settle in first!” She had said, writing up the adoption paperwork.

 

Stop it. Marleau thought, stubbornly shaking the memory loose.

 

He had a pot of coffee going in the kitchen and a blender running on the countertop. 

 

The door in the hallway opened, and a bleary-eyed Luca Haas stepped out into the morning light. He was wearing an oversized black t-shirt for a band that Marleau didn’t recognize and a pair of shorts. There was still a little bit of softness around the profile of Luca’s face. But his legs were sturdy and strong, with decent musculature on his calves and thighs. Still…

Marleau hummed thoughtfully around his coffee. 

Luca blinked around a bit owlishly, trying to orient which direction of the hallway led to the kitchen.

 

“Hey.” Marleau called out. “You want coffee?”

“Yes.” Luca answered automatically, making a beeline for the kitchen island.

“Milk, sugar?”

“Black is fine.” 

 

“I’m going for a run after breakfast. You should come with me.”

“Hm?”

 

There was still a bit of sleep in his eyes. They looked up at Marleau, big and blue.

 

“There’s a nice park near here where I go for runs. It’d be a nice way to show you the neighborhood.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay.”

 

Marleau smiled, taking a gulp of his chalkie protein smoothie.

 

-

 

“That place over there does great breakfast sandwiches.” Marleau pointed out as they continued their jog. “It’ll cure a hangover better than anything I’ve tried so far.”

 

Though they had to be coming up on eight kilometers, Marleau hardly sounded winded. 

The park was nice. It was big and sprawling, with purposeful trails and copses of trees and hedges that broke up the eyeline and made it feel even bigger than it was. 

They passed by a dog run and some soccer fields, with the majority of the path taking them adjacent to a small manmade lake (or was it a large pond?) with plenty of benches and shady areas. 

 

Marleau must have run this way a lot. A few people waved to him or greeted him as they went. It made sense. Ever since he arrived at the airport to pick him up (which was a really nice thing to do on its own). Cliff Marleau had been nothing but polite and welcoming. 

 

And - fuck, Luca was being a dick, wasn’t he?

 

They eventually stopped near a water fountain. 

Marleau stretched a bit while Luca took a long drink and collapsed down on the grass. 

 

“Out of practice?”

“I must be.” Luca laughed weakly. “I’m sorry, I’m holding you back.”

“No, this is where I always stop. You should stretch though, or you’ll be sore later.”

“Yes, I will-” He would, he meant it. He just needed a second-

 

Which was apparently too long for Marleau.

He knelt down in the grass over Luca and picked up his left leg. Luca pined and shifted, allowing Marleau the space to kneel between his legs.

 

Luca knew what Marleau was doing, the Centaur’s team sports doctor did this often enough. Marleau braced his leg and leaned forward, encouraging his hamstring to stretch and hold the position. 

 

“Breathe.” Marleau reminded him. Without even thinking, Luca gusted out the last hold of air in his lungs, allowing his leg to be pushed a few centimeters farther back until his knee was nearly flush against his chest. 

 

“Good, other one.”

Luca followed suit automatically, lifting his other leg.

Marleau was large enough to nearly cover all of Luca’s body. While he was hovering there,  it was like the park had briefly stopped existing. He could feel the heat of Marleau’s body. Despite the cool sheen of sweat over his skin, his body was oddly odorless. His hand was heavy against Luca’s leg. Solid. 

 

He tipped his head back and counted slowly to ten, thinking very deliberately about the mundanity of groceries.

 

-

 

Over the next few weeks, Luca got himself settled.

He squared away his visa at the registry office.

He met with the new team manager and coach.

Got promotional photos and headshots re-taken in the gold-and-black Raiders jersey.

 

Did some interviews for various media outlets.

He discussed some new brand options with his agent. 

 

The task of “find a place to live” was technically on that list of things to do - albeit at the very bottom. 

But he found himself ignoring it a bit as his to-do list wound down in the leadup to pre-season training.

 

It was hard to ignore that the apartment he shared with Cliff Marleau had been hand-picked for its convenience as someone playing for the Boston Raiders - and as a result set a pretty high bar to beat when looking for a new place to live for the foreseeable future. 

It was a stone’s throw away from the stadium.

It had a 24-hour gym and fitness center. 

It had its own in-house dry cleaning service which was going to be a godsend when dealing with game day suits.

 

And also… Cliff Marleau took really good care of him.

Which was an embarrassing thing to admit. Luca tried and failed to come up with another way of saying it that was a little less wounding to the ego.

That he was a good friend? They still didn’t know each other that well.

Was really helpful in getting him settled in? That seemed disingenuous to the extent of it.

 

 So Luca was currently very deliberately ignoring it whenever he could.

 

But it was true.

The guy didn’t have a wide range of culinary skills, but whenever he didn’t cook he tended to make sure Luca was eating. 

He made sure Luca found his way to important appointments - often driving Luca himself when he was available and able to, and while Luca was still figuring out the public transport system.

He took Luca with him on runs in the morning and helped him stretch down after. During their walks back to the apartment building he even introduced him to a few of those familiar faces every now and then. 

 

They didn’t spend all of their time together.

Luca still went out on his own - taking time to explore a few nearby art supply stores, coffee shops and other places as he got acquainted with the city.

But it was hard to deny a routine was starting to settle.

 

They would get up, have breakfast together, go for their run. Talk a bit about the day, and then go their separate ways until the evening.

 

At the beginning, Luca kept to his room. He felt awkward and intrusive in Cliff’s space. But it only took a few days to get bored with that. He eventually joined Cliff out on the big living room sofa. And that became part of the routine as well. The two of them watching some game or movie after dinner. Cliff mostly scrolling on his phone, Luca sketching in one of his artbooks while Penny was curled up in a perfect little ball between them. 

 

As time passed, Luca’s unease about Cliff Marleau did as well. 

His kindness wasn’t his media-training mask - he seemed perfectly genuine.

He could be a little dense at times, when he stepped outside of his routine. For example, not knowing that dragonfruit was a “real thing” or being genuinely confused as to why Luca spoke German if he was from Switzerland. However, he was very receptive to learning new things once they were pointed out to him - especially for things pertaining to Luca’s own history and culture.

 

-

 

“So things are going well?”

“Yeah. Luca’s no trouble.”

 

Ilya made an immensely pleased sound about that, then proceeded to snipe Cliff’s main attacker. He threw his head back and groaned, button mashing his way back to the respawn point.

 

“Get it together, Marly!” Connors bit back through the speaker in Cliff’s headset.

“I am, just keep Roz out of our territory for like two minutes…”

 

Two minutes was more than enough for Ilya to take out the rest of their defenses. He wasn’t sure how the guy managed to find the time to get so damn good at this videogame. Though he did like that they had managed to keep up the tradition of meeting up on a regular basis even after his trade.

 

Just as Cliff was considering it, he spied Luca wandering in through the kitchen.

He grinned deviously.

 

“Hey, Haas. Ilya’s here. Come say hi.”

The effect was instantaneous.

“Moy mladshiy brat! How are you? Is Marly bullying you?”

Luca leaned over the back of the sofa, Cliff tugged him close so his ear was pressed close to the headset so he could hear through the game.

 

“No, Marleau is great! We bought some houseplants at the market yesterday.”

There was a litany of coos and affectionately glib sounds from the other guys on the group chat. Marleau just rolled his eyes, navigating his character to the corner of the map that would let him clip up to the perch where Ilya’s sniper was undetected. 

 

“Good. Marly’s apartment is boring.” Connors added in.

“You must tell me if he is being mean. I will be on the next flight to Boston and we will have words.”

“C’mon man. You know how nice I am.” Cliff said smugly as he lined up his attacker directly behind Ilya’s sniper. Luca grimaced as Cliff smugly took Ilya out, resulting in his headset to nearly jump from the deluge of angry slavic cursing. Cliff threw his head back and laughed, ruffling Luca’s hair affectionately in gratitude for his collusion.

 

-

 

Luca fell back against the grass at their usual stopping point in the park.

Though it was less necessary now. The daily runs had done well to wake up his resting muscles. Now, he felt less fatigued and more energized, ready to go - like he could push himself even farther.

 

But he also liked to stop, because it meant-

 

Cliff settled over him, helping him stretch out his calves.

 

“You’re getting the hang of this.” He said proudly.

“Thanks for taking me.” Luca said breathily. The grass was fresh and warm with the scent of fast-evaporating dew under the warm summer sun. Everything was soft and wonderful. 

 

Cliff had Luca’s leg pressed fully back. The early morning sun was orange-warm against Cliff’s skin, catching against the slight sheen of sweat.

“Breathe. Good,” Cliff held Luca’s stretch in place. 

 

But instead of holding him there, his hand slid down.

 They slipped under the hem of Luca’s shorts, confidently caressing and stroking the velvety skin of his balls. Luca moaned with soft surprise, spreading his legs a bit more.

 

“You’re doing so good…” Cliff praised. His cock jumped obediently in Cliff’s hand, as he was jerked in long, lazy strokes. 

 

Luca’s arms were leaden. He couldn’t move them. 

He was distantly aware that anyone could walk by and see them, what they were doing. The thought seemed far away and fuzzy. The shock and panic of being manhandled for anyone to see only served to stoke the embers of erotic thrill of the moment. 

 

“Such a good boy for me…” Cliff praised. “Are you my good boy?”

Yes, yes!

 

Luca keened, struggling against the sleep paralysis that kept him in place as the lines began to blur. 

No, he didn’t to wake up… he wanted-

 

Luca blearily opened his eyes, humping a pillow from his bed with jerky, stuttering motions and helpless little whimpers. His body was tangled up in the twisted sheets of his bed.

He could distantly hear the sounds of Cliff in the kitchen, starting to make breakfast.

By the time he was fully lucid, he had spilled over into his hand, leaking between his fingers and making a mess of things. 

 

“Fuck…” He breathed out, his voice hoarse and ragged.

 

It was fine. It was.

It was fine.

 

It wasn’t the first time that Luca had found one of his teammates attractive (he had played on the same team as Ilya Rozanov after all). 

 

You’d have to be lacking eyes not to find Cliff Marleau to be handsome - on a purely physical level. And Luca had to deal with seeing the man casually spread across their shared sofa in a thin tank-top and boxers on hot evenings.

 

Luca tucked the thoughts away - set a private goal not to jerk off thinking of the guy more than once a week - and carried on.

 

-

 

Pre-season training was on them.

 

Luca had been to the TD Garden arena before. Not even just as a player for Ottawa, but in a few visits to sign some documentation, get acquainted with the staff there, that sort of thing. He did his best to remind himself of that as he stepped out of Marleau’s car for the first day playing alongside his new teammates. He knew logically that the TD Garden was actually a little bit smaller than the CTC Stadium in Ottawa, but it certainly didn’t feel like it. The Boston Stadium was a large, modern building right in the middle of downtown Boston. On game nights, the crowds and the vibes around it were electric - so much so that even on an ordinary, grey Monday morning it was difficult not to feel the phantom force of latent kinetic energy about the place as they headed inside.

 

Luca followed Marleau in, doing his best not to feel too much like a little kid being escorted into his first day of school by his dad.

 

The Boston team was louder and roudier than Ottawa. Entering the locker room, Luca was hit with a wall of noise from the players already there. 

 

Some of them cheered as they walked in. 

“Marly!” 

“Hey, Cap!”

 

Before Luca realized what was happening, a heavy arm slung over his shoulder. Marleau had him pressed snug against his side as he was steered into the fray. 

 

“Hey guys! This is Luca Haas. Let’s make him feel welcome, yeah?”

 

There was a sudden rush of friendly platitudes and energy thrown his way. Hands slapping him on the back or the shoulder or ruffling his hair.

 

“Hey Haasy!”

“Glad to have you, man!” 

 

He was introduced to a rush of players all at once. Some he knew from their reputation and legacy. Others were newer players just starting out this year. In the minor fray, Luca realized that Marleau had peeled off - now at his own locker and chatting amicably with Connors as he dressed.

 

“You’re over here, Haasy.” Ryan Carmichael directed Luca over to the far side of the locker room. 

Carmichael was another man that Luca only really knew from reputation. He was a powerful right-winger. On the few occasions they had gone head-to-head, Luca had to be careful with his stick and footwork to avoid the guy laying him flat-out on the ice.

 

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh! Good, yeah.” Luca said, surprised to find he actually meant it. “Everyone’s been really great so far.”

“That’s good. You didn’t eat anything too heavy this morning, did you?”

“No.” Luca frowned. He had thought it was odd. Even though it was the first day of training, Marleau had halved the portion of their usual breakfast smoothies and wordlessly handed Luca an energy bar in lieu of anything more substantial.

 

-

 

Luca very soon found out why.

 

Coach Reilly was a far cry different than Wiebe.

Which was to say, he was quite a bit more like how most coaches in the NHL typically carried themselves. While Wiebe was almost disarming in his kind and laid-back nature, Coach Reilly was a stern, no-nonsense older man with little patience and a booming voice. 

 

Once they stepped out onto the ice, the team’s rowdy camaraderie flipped at once to a strict, professional demeanor. 

They ran drills and exercises, tearing up and down the ice at a ruthless pace that stretched on through the day.

 

By the last hour of training for the day Luca was doubled over, his vision swimming. His hair was soaked with sweat, salty and plastered to his cheeks and forehead. 

 

“I’ve never done this many bag skates in my life.”

 

“Yeah.” Marleau skated up to Luca, giving him a comforting clap on the shoulder that nearly knocked him flat out in his weakened state. “Coach likes to start the season with it as a punishment for us taking time off during the summer. He’ll ease up once one of the rookies throws up.”

“This is insane.” Luca said weakly.

“You didn’t do this in Ottawa, huh?” Marleau squirted some water into his mouth from his bottle. He swished it around a bit in his mouth, then spat it back out onto the ice.

Gross.

“No.” 

“Well.” Marleau shrugged. “It’s rough now. But it makes a difference once the season starts.”

 

Luca looked up at Marleau, hands still braced on his knees.

Marleau was breathing heavy too, though he was doing a good job at keeping from showing it.

The back of his neck was streaked and shiny. His chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths in a way that was deeply controlled. 

 

“Alright boys.” Coach Byrne blew his whistle. “Back on the ice! I want another twenty-”

Just as he said it, one of the rookies doubled over the backboards and emptied whatever was left of his breakfast into the penalty box. 

 

There was a moment of silence as Coach threw his hands up and sighed.

 

“Pack it in.”

 

The team cheered. They swarmed the rookie, grabbing him around the middle and under the arms, chatting “PUKE BITCH! PUKE BITCH!” as they hauled him off to the showers.

 

After a beat, Luca glanced over at Marleau.

 

“Is this why you had me run so much with you?” He marveled. 

“Rozy would never forgive me if you ended up as the season’s Puke Bitch.” Marleau smiled, clapping Luca on the shoulder and skated off for the showers. 

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

This is a short chapter - but I wanted to celebrate the official casting of Luca Haas with an update to this story! Thank you for reading 🥰!!

 

The first half of pre-season training progressed with harsh efficiency. Coach Reilly had the team focus on strength and agility training rigorously and relentlessly. It was difficult, though Luca realized without Marleau’s daily runs he would have started off in a far worse state.

 

Soon enough he started working in technical skills and scrimmages.

 

Luca would be playing on the second line this year - which was where he was accustomed to playing. Boston’s first line center was Brad Hammersmith. He had been a reliable player on the team for years, but lacked the power and skill that Ilya Rozanov had. What was more, the guy had been vocal the last year or two about getting ready for retirement. He had taken a bad hit to the knee a while back that had never fully recovered. It made sense for Boston to look in investing in young players to fill the upcoming gaps. 

 

So, yes. Boston was a lot less fun than Ottawa.

But it also felt - and Luca felt badly for thinking it - a bit more like a professional hockey team. 

 

They trained hard.

They took themselves seriously on the ice.

The Raiders didn’t have any running jokes or quips about half-full stadiums or disinterested fans or ever-present losing streaks. Boston had stumbled the last few seasons, sure. But the groundwork of a great team was a rock-solid foundation.

 

By the time the first game of the season came around, Luca could feel his skills were sharper.

His body was stronger.

His movements were fast and precise. He had been heated and beaten and forged into a solid line with his two linemates.

 

Their season kicked off with a brief roadie - a local west coast leg that had them playing in Elmont, just outside of New York City. From there, they would be playing in the Admirals in Madison Square next, followed by a trip down the west coast for Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and Washington before flying back up to Boston. 

 

During the trip, Luca was paired up to room with Matías Noh, a defenseman about his age. He had a handsome, solid build that many hockey players their age had. He had warm copper skin and dark hair that he wore shaggy and long. He was a nice guy to room with. It felt strange knowing that Marleau was close by in the same hotel but not… with him.

 

Which was dumb.

Marleau was just his roommate. Not even that - he was a guy he was crashing with until he found a more permanent place to live. And from what he had heard, Marleau always roomed with Connors. So there was no problem.

 

He put it from his mind, tearing onto the rink during his first game with determination. Luca didn’t score any goals, but he did get two killer assists that helped them secure their 3-2 win for an electric start to the season. Each time he did, Marleau found him, cuffing him on the shoulder or knocking their helmets together in approval that stoked his determination.

 

The team headed off to a bar afterward in high spirits.

There was a kind of switch that the team seemed to be uniformly in-sync to - going from militant and determined to rowdy and rancorous as soon as they walked through the doors. 

 

It was customary to share a round of shots after winning a game. 

Luca didn’t like whiskey, but the MVP of the game got to decide, and Luca didn’t want to be left out. 

He downed it gamely, then switched immediately after to a light beer the club had on tap.

 

“It’s time to watch the master at work, boys.” Carmichael slung his arms around Luca and Matías’ shoulders. Connors snorted around his beer. 

“What?”

“Hush, just watch.”

 

Luca glanced over to the bar. 

Marleau leaned casually against it as he placed his order. Luca tried not too hard to stare at the way the position drew Marleau’s jeans taut against the muscles of his thighs or the curve of a solid, iron ass. He was wearing a plain black tank top that Luca had seen him in plenty of times before. But the dim, rose-tinted light of the bar seemed to be doing something to it - the altogether picture of him made the guy look like he ought to be walking onto a movie set. 

 

Luca shook his mind free of the intrusive thought. 

Sure enough, in the span of time it took for Marleau to order a drink, two girls had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and were suddenly flanking him.

They didn’t even seem to be hockey fans - by the lack of the usual sort of motions and humble hand gestures from Marleau that might accompany being recognized out in the wild. 

 

No autographs or signatures, just two women genuinely enamoured by the overall presence of the tall, handsome man with the Hallmark movie smile.

In short order, they were all talking and laughing together.

 

“I don’t know how he does it.” Carmichael whistled. 

How can you not? Luca demanded silently. 

He didn’t know if the other guys were blind, or what. They were talking about staging a heist to steal Marleau’s cologne - as if that might be it. They were half serious and half joking, while Luca nursed his beer and tried not to stare too openly. If anyone asked, he could say he was ogling the women.

 

“That’s him sorted.”

“Wow, you’re right.” Matías whistled, impressed. 

 

Marleau had locked in. One of the girls had her hands on the wide curve of his shoulder. The other had pressed in close on the other side, angling her body in a way that was far too deliberate. 

 

“Is he seriously pulling both of them?”

“Sometimes.” Carmichael shrugged. “Sometimes if they have friends, he introduces them to us. When he's feeling generous.”

 

Luca tried to pretend he wasn’t looking. He stole a glance over every now and then. 

Marleau chatted with them a while longer.

Not for very long.

Soon enough, the three of them were heading off to the dance floor together.

 

The group was set to party late into the evening, but Luca felt like the good mood had bled out of him.

He made up an excuse and retired early, heading back to the hotel room for a long shower.

 

The rest of the roadie was much like that.

Win or lose, Cliff Marleau seemed to disappear into the evening after each game. He still started the night off with the team. He would have dinner with them, and a drink or two. But he never seemed to be interested in spending the night alone.

 

Luca was determined not to let it bother him. He knew he had absolutely no right to, after all. Luca was his roommate - with a stupid shallow, entirely surface-level crush. Pining over him was immature and downright unprofessional.

 

Luca made it his goal to shake it off and turned his attention to bonding with other members of his team. 

 

He discovered some shared interests, learned about their inside jokes.

They commiserated at breakfast over their wins, groused over their losses.

 

And discussed the ominous threat of the Ottawa Centaurs, who had exploded into the new season with a vengeance. 

While the Raiders were playing their way south, Ottaway was playing a scattering of home and local away games - tearing through any team that met them on the ice. That infectious, fiery momentum that drove them through the second half of the last season appeared to have galvanized into an unstoppable force. 

 

Without him.

 

Sports journalists and pundits were all over the news, talking about their incredible presence on the ice and the odds for the season overall. 

 

Luca was happy for them. 

He was. 

He wanted to be.

But it was also difficult to shake the knowledge that he could disappear from their ranks without having made so much as a ripple of an impact.

 

Really, the opposite. Trading Luca away had somehow played a role in making it all possible. The Centaurs were finally securing their well-deserved place in sports history.

 

He tried not to dwell on it. 

 

It got easier to do as the roadie carried on. The team won far more games than they lost - the group off to a powerful start that had everyone feeling energized - but well-worn by the end of it. 

 

Their last game was followed by a late-night flight in the evening that got them back to Boston in the early hours of the morning.

 

It had been an awkward flight as well. The short-haul nature of it meant that they spent nearly as much time in the airport as they did in the air - long enough to make you lethargic, but too short to properly rest. They arrived tired and disoriented and scattering in different directions out the gate toward their own respective homes and looking forward to some well-earned time off. 

 

Luca practically sleepwalked out of the airport. He found himself standing listlessly at a large train schedule. He realized through a muddy fog of fatigue that what he was searching for was the time for his usual train on the S-Bahn that left from Zurich airport.

He was searching for the train that would take him home.

No, that wasn’t right. He wasn't in Switzerland, he was in Otta- 

He was in Boston-

He was-

 

A warm, heavy hand braced on his shoulder. 

 

“C’mon Haasy. This way. Let's go home.”

 

Oh, right. 

Marleau drove them here.

He didn’t take his hand off of Luca’s shoulder. Instead, he steered Luca in the right direction and led him along. As they rounded a corner, his arm stretched over Luca’s shoulders. It gave him a bit of leverage to lean gratefully against the solid wall of Marleau’s body.

 

“You’re not too tired to drive?”

“Yeah, I’m fine man.”

 

Luca didn’t remember much of the trip back. He dozed in the passenger seat of the car, pulled by the steady thrum of a smooth ride. He also wasn’t terribly sure how they got from the car park to the elevator. The next conscious thought he had was tumbling onto the sofa in the apartment, ready to let sleep take him.

 

Or he would, if not for the hand on the small of his back.

 

“You’re ten feet from your bed, Haasy. C’mon baby, get up.”

Luca was half asleep, and thoroughly out of it.

He was imagining nicknames now.

“Go away.” Luca huffed.

 

He was tired and cranky from the roadie and he knew it. His well-earned personal growth was thin. Marleau had basically ignored Luca’s existence the entire time (no) hooking up with all these different women. Why did he care where Luca chose to sleep?

 

Marleau wasn’t leaving him alone though. He took off Luca’s cap and eased him out of his jacket and shoes, one after the other. His movements were firm but gentle. As Luca's body was moved, he tried not to dwell on or relish how Marleau's strength made it feel effortless when he manipulated his limbs.

“Hips up, c’mon.” 

 

It should have been weirder than it felt, letting Marleau help him shimmy out of his jeans so he was left in his boxers.

For a wild delirious moment, Luca wondered if Marleau was going to carry him to bed. 

Instead, he felt the warm heavy weight of a large soft sherpa blanket spread out over Luca’s body.

Hours later, Luca was half-asleep on the sofa as the morning light peeked through the soft curtains of the living room. Penny was curled up against Luca’s side, pawing little biscuits into the blanket and purring loudly.

He clutched the sherpa blanket close against his face. 

And-

He wondered if his sleep-addled brain had imagined it - after Marleau got him settled, but before he drifted off. The feeling of fingers carding softly through his hair.