Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov (mentioned), Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Hayden Pike, Patrice Drapeau, Gilbert Comeau, J.J. Boiziau

Additional Tags:

Shane's well-deserved crashout, Homophobia, Homophobic Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros (Game Changers), Fuck the Metros, All my homies hate the Montreal Metros, Locker Room, Showers, shower sex (planned), shower checking out (allegations), bitchy Shane Hollander, Mean Shane Hollander, the metros deserve it though lbr, Insults

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-08 Words: 2,807 Chapters: 1/1

hit (on in) the showers

Summary

The Metros make a request of Shane: can he wait ten, fifteen minutes before he gets in the shower after practice? Just so the rest of them can shower first? It's only fair that they get to go first, since they have wives and girlfriends waiting for them at home, and obviously they can't shower at the same time. They wouldn't want Shane checking them out, or anything.

Shane gets the vicious crashout he deserves and gives the (individualized, highly personal) callouts the Metros deserve.

Notes

Hello! I paused in the fic I've been working on all week to crank this whole thing out this afternoon. I guess there was something meanspirited in the air.

At this point Shane is out to the Metros, but they don't know about Ilya.

A note on layers: Shane is wearing his practice uniform at the top of this. Google says players typically wear moisture-wicking compression shirts and leggings under their uniforms. When he takes off his uniform and his undershirt, he is still in his leggings. He does not spend this whole fic buttass naked yelling at people, though honestly, that would be iconic.

There's lots of talk about checking someone out or sex in the showers but no sexual content occurs. Sorry if you were looking for shower smut! It's out there, but it's not here :(

Shane’s phone vibrated softly on the locker room bench next to him, the custom pattern he’d set for Ilya’s messages. It was almost enough to make him smile, but not quite. It had been the practice from hell, but then again, wasn’t it always, these days? 

They didn’t really get anywhere. They didn’t get any better in areas they really need to improve in because they weren’t willing to listen to his feedback. He was a damn good player and a damn observant one, too. He knew exactly what they were doing wrong and how to fix it, but no. They’d rather keep on making the same mistakes in practice, make them in games as well, then be mad at him when he couldn't singlehandedly secure a win.

 His teammates didn’t respect his authority anymore. They’d never really respected him as a person, a little too much “hockey robot” and a little not enough “misogynistic stories about the women he was cheating on his girlfriend/wife with on the road,” but at least they’d listened to him on the ice. That was gone, now. Apparently they thought being attracted to men meant that he was getting the hockey skill fucked out of him. He couldn’t begin to guess what they’d say if they knew he was seeing Ilya. 

He finished taking his skates and socks off and flipped over his phone, looking at the notification panel. 

Image.

Oh, boy.

Ilya wouldn’t send him anything personally-identifying when he was in the locker room, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t send him anything dirty. Shane picked up his phone and angled it so no one would see if they walked past him. Not that anyone was likely to be walking past him—he’d taken off his socks. His feet were bare. That was naked enough that his “personal space bubble” was about to double. 

He opened the photo, and that was enough to make him smile. It wasn’t something explicit at all. It was a picture of his own front door. Ilya was early, and he’d be waiting for Shane when he got home. It was the motivation he needed to stand up and keep taking off his clothes. He’d take a super quick shower—not really thorough, just enough not to get hockey sweat all over his car seat—then hit the road. 

Just as he started to set his phone down, a second photo arrived: his own shower, followed by a ?.

He laughed slightly. The last few times their schedules had aligned to have Ilya waiting for Shane, he’d begged Shane to skip the shower after practice and come straight home so they could shower together, but Shane had been refused each time. For the sake of his car, sure, but also for the sake of his own comfort; he hated the feel of dried sweat on his skin and the way his hair dried to the back of his neck. (It was a little longer than usual. He kept meaning to get it cut, but then Ilya would run his fingers through it, and suddenly Shane would completely forget to make an appointment.) He hated putting on clean clothes when he wasn’t clean, too. No, he at least needed to hose off before heading home. 

He stripped off his practice uniform and gear, leaving him in just his base layer. He pulled his clean clothes out of his bag, stacking them on top of his towel so his dirty clothes could go straight into the bag without contaminating anything, and tugged off his compression shirt before noticing the room had gone quiet. 

He looked up. 

Nobody was looking at him, but not in the casual way that meant no one happened to be looking at him. Nobody was looking at him in the way that meant everyone was very pointedly Not Looking At Him. 

“What?”

Nobody said anything. They kept changing, but slower. Drapeau’s padding suddenly wouldn’t fit in his stall, and he needed to fix that before he took off the rest of his gear. Wilson set down the towel he’d just picked up on his other side, as if he’d just been moving it. Most incriminatingly, Berkes stepped out of the showers with a towel wrapped surprisingly modestly around his waist, saw Shane, and casually stepped back into the shower area. Shane didn’t hear any words exchanged, but the water running inside cut off. 

Suddenly, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed. He’d stayed back on the ice working through something with one specific player a few times. Coach had pulled him off for some issue or another a few more times. Everyone had been in a hurry and showered quickly, or in no hurry and spent longer than usual shooting the shit before starting to get changed. 

He hadn’t been in the showers at the same time as a teammate since he’d come out. 

“Is there a problem?” 

Silence. More awkward looks exchanged. Hayden looked up from his phone and looked around, confused.

Finally, Comeau spoke up.

“Yeah, Hollander. Were you about to shower?”

“Yeah? I worked pretty hard, that practice. I need to wash off.” 

“Can’t you give us ten, fifteen? Some of us actually have people waiting for us at home.”

Shane froze. 

“Excuse me?”

A beat of silence. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Shane would have preferred it if everyone suddenly made themselves busy again, refusing to meet his eyes, but they didn’t. They all sat there, or stood there. They looked at each other and looked at him. 

“Maybe I’ve misunderstood you. Clarify what you meant by that.”

He knew he hadn’t misunderstood shit, but he wanted them to say it to his goddamn face. 

“I mean, we have people waiting on us, man. It’s not fair to make all of us wait so you can shower first.” 

Hayden finally got what was happening and looked angry. J.J. looked upset, but more like he didn’t want to see a fight than like he disagreed.  Everyone else looked uncomfortable, but some looked relieved, too, like they were glad someone else had said it so that they didn’t have to. 

“I may have missed a memo, but last I checked, this was a locker room. The showers are communal. No?”

Comeau looked around for backup. It wasn’t coming.

“Well, yeah, but. Come on, man.” 

Shane crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. 

“So what’s the problem?”

“You know what the problem is.” 

“I definitely don’t. We’ve been using these showers communally for the decade I’ve been playing here and you’ve never had a problem with it before. Has something changed?”

He would not let them get away with implications or deniability. If someone was going to imply that his sexuality had any bearing on his ability to do his job and be a goddamn professional, he wanted it from their own mouths, in their own words, so he had something specific to tell his lawyer. 

For a second, no one had the balls. He let them stew in the awkwardness they’d created. He hadn’t done a damn thing wrong and refused to let them make him feel like he had.

Finally, Drapeau spoke up. 

“What’s changed is that we didn’t know you were staring at our junk. Maybe you’d love us perving on you in the shower, but the rest of us just want to get clean and get home to our girlfriends, not get hit on in the fucking locker room.” 

Hayden audibly inhaled. J.J. cringed like someone watching a disaster they’d known was about to happen but couldn’t prevent, not that he’d tried. Shane was unfazed. 

“Oh fucking please.” 

He laughed bitterly.

“You think I want to hit on you? Or have you ‘perv’ on me? Any of you? Be so for real.” 

This was his breaking point. They’d finally found it. The line that, once crossed, could never be uncrossed. Well, they’d started it. He would be more than happy to finish it. He looked around the room, wide-eyed and mocking, before making eye contact with Drapeau again. 

“Drapes, man, come on. My boyfriend’s got, like. Two inches on you? Maybe three?” Then, with all the grace of a man holding a lit match over an effigy of Drapeau’s dignity that had been thoroughly soaked in gasoline: “And he’s taller, too.” 

A few of the quicker-witted players caught the insult immediately. He didn’t give the rest a moment to catch up. 

“You’d need stilts to catch my eye. Who else is worried?” 

Comeau was the one who started this shit. 

“Comeau, I appreciate that you decided to bring your concerns to me. Unfortunately, both on and off the ice, you don’t start a fight unless you know it’ll be at least three to one. You crumble the moment you lose your precious safety in numbers, as you just showed. You felt real brave there a minute ago, but then no one else was stepping up, so you shut up real fast and needed Drapeau to bail you out. You wouldn’t be able to handle me without backup, and I’m a one-man kind of guy. So, pass. Who’s next?”

He looked around the room. Who else had pissed him off today? Personally, not just by being bad at hockey? Well, Berkes was still next to the entrance to the shower area. Whoever had turned the water off after hearing Shane was showering had apparently had the good sense to stay out of sight. 

“Berkes, your last three girlfriends have not been shy about sharing performance reviews, and none of them have bothered checking who’s in earshot, either. You’re selfish in bed, and when you’re in a rare giving mood, you’re still not very good at it. That’s why you always feel like the WAGs are laughing at you behind your back, by the way. Because they are. My boyfriend is generous as hell, always. Why the hell would I trade him in for a worse model?” 

A stifled laugh from around the corner—was that Schneider? A quick glance around the room confirmed that, of the teammates who’d actually bothered showing up to practice today knowing Shane would be leading it without their coach, he was the only one unaccounted for. Shane raised his voice.

“I wouldn’t be laughing, if I were you, Schneider! You just got out of the shower and I can still smell you from here. There’s a reason you strike out every time you try to pick up!” 

An exaggeration, but honestly, not by much. 

“Who else is uncomfortable sharing a shower with me?”

No one raised a hand. 

“Really? Because no one was saying shit, earlier. Really made me feel like that was a popular opinion, and those two were the only ones with big enough balls to say anything. Metaphorically, of course.”

This time the insult went over far fewer people’s heads, but still, no volunteers. Well, he might as well just continue in the order they were standing in. 

“Stedlund, you’re not bad to look at, but I don’t want to catch something. Wilson, you are bad to look at. I’m not looking at you in the shower because you’re fucking ugly. That’s all there is to it. Roy and Olsson, you’re so far up each other’s asses, there wouldn’t be any room for me. Gagnon, yes, you should see a doctor about that thing you keep trying to show people. Hayden—”

He turned to look at his best friend, who looked a little bit scared but mostly delighted. He was also holding his phone weirdly—was he recording this? 

Fuck. 

Well, too late to go back now. He would probably only show it to Jackie, anyway, and Jackie would be proud of him (and how he used some of the intel she’d given him). Maybe he could get Hayden to give him a copy for Ilya. 

“Buddy, you’re a great friend and all, but you’ve met my boyfriend. You know damn well what my type is, so you also know damn well you’re not it, and also, if he thought for a second I was even slightly into you, he would have killed you by now.” 

This next one was going to hurt, but it had to be said.

“And, last but not least, J.J.” 

What a stunning depiction of the phrase a deer in headlights. 

“Your favorite insult is cocksucker. You use it at least two times a week against men who’ve never sucked a cock in their lives, as far as we know. I have a boyfriend who is a cheerful, enthusiastic, and deeply talented cocksucker, with emphasis on the deep. My man thinks sucking my cock is an honor. Why the hell would I look twice at you?” 

J.J. cringed. Good. Maybe he’d finally consider the misogyny and disrespect to his own girlfriend inherent in using “person who gives blowjobs” as an insult, and the homophobia it implied when that’s what he chose to use to insult whoever they were playing against. Shane, who, not to brag, was quite a skilled cocksucker himself, did not have the mental and emotional energy to be the one to have that conversation with him, but somebody probably should. 

Shane looked around at the locker room full of upset, insulted, and uncomfortable Metros and decided he was over all of it. They could have what they’d asked for: a peaceful, heterosexual locker room communal shower experience. He was going home, where a deeply non-heterosexual experience in a much cleaner shower with much better water pressure (and much better company) was waiting for him. He grabbed his clean shirt from the bench next to him, pulling it over his head. He’d ignore the discomfort if that got him the hell out of there faster. He was still in just his compression tights, but couldn’t really find it within himself to give a shit.

“Genuinely, fuck this. You win, I guess. I’ll shower at home. I prefer to shower here, not because there’s anything worth looking at, but because I don’t like getting in my car when I’m all sweaty and gross, but my boyfriend always begs me to shower at home so we can shower together. I guess today he’ll get his wish. Yeah, you want to talk about some of us have people waiting for us at home? Me too, and I can guarantee he’ll be a hell of a lot more excited when I walk through that door than any one of your girlfriends or wives is going to be.”

He shoved his feet into his shoes, not bothering with socks. He’d just crunched up the back of one of his officially-sponsored-Reeboks, but he didn’t give a shit. He’d fix it in the car, where his teammates weren’t staring at him. No one said a word as he did so. He made it all the way to the door before pausing, turning back over his shoulder. 

“And by the way, when my boyfriend wants to shower with me, it’s because it’s intimate and a nice way to take care of each other, but also because it’s a nice way to get at least two orgasms apiece, not because he’s using sex as a way to incentivize me to actually take a shower. And he’s not recommending it as a technique to all the other WAGs when they all complain about how bad their men’s hygiene is. He’s never gotten drunk at a gala and cried on my shoulder about how much she hates her mother-in-law for raising such an entitled pig who can’t even wash himself properly, so she’s the one washing their nasty-ass sheets every morning and regretting having kids with such a pathetic manchild but she did and now she’s stuck with him and she’s so jealous of me and feels guilty because she bullied her gay classmate in high school but she saw him at the class reunion she went to alone because her husband had an away game and he looked so happy and his husband looked so in love with him and they were both so well-dressed and well-groomed and she bet neither of them had ever gotten an infection because his husband thought basic nail maintenance or hygiene was too gay to bother with.” 

The only sound was Hayden spluttering out a scandalized laugh in the corner. Everyone else seemed too much in shock to react. Good. 

“I’m not going to say who that was, but I will say I know damn well her husband cheated on her while she was at that reunion. Unfortunately, that doesn’t really narrow it down, does it?”

That was what Shane believed was known as a mic drop moment. He left the locker room and went home to get fucked in the shower.