Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

F/M, M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander/Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander/Hayden Pike/Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike

Characters:

Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Jackie Pike

Additional Tags:

Threesome - M/M/M, Coming Out, POV Hayden Pike, Bisexual Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike Has a Crush on Shane Hollander, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Cock Doula, First Time Bottoming, Spitroasting, Double Penetration, Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Series:

Part 5 of Inty's Gay Hockey Boys (Heated Rivalry fics)

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-04 Completed: 2026-03-15 Words: 17,739 Chapters: 3/3

How About That Other Team?

Summary

Rozanov smirked. “Going both ways is most valuable hockey skill.”
“Hey!” Shane objected.
“You have many other valuable skills,” Rozanov murmured. “Let me and Pike have this one, mm?”
Hayden watched, feeling numb, as Shane let Rozanov tug him into a kiss. Oh. Oh fuck. Fuck, that was hot.
“You like watching, Pike?” Rozanov asked, without turning his face away from Shane’s.
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Hayden snapped reflexively. “… Yes.”

Canon-divergent AU where Hayden tells Shane he’s bisexual before Shane gets a chance to come out to him, and things escalate quickly from there. AKA, the Hayden in a Hollanov sandwich smutfic that no one everybody asked for.

Notes

Thank you so much to my super beta bestie squad, hopelessscribe, multifandomhomo, and phoenix_ascended, who as always helped make this fic so much better! Thanks also to my beloved Dragonmuse, who singlehandedly kept me from going stark-raving mad from praise withdrawal by going through this fic yesterday and leaving like twenty comments for me. I love y'all so much! 😍😍😍

Chapter 1

Then

“So, what’s up, Hay?” Shane asked softly. 

Hayden looked across the porch swing at his best friend sitting at the other end, trying to hide the way his heart had just started to pound. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. The words came out sounding slightly strangled, and he made a face and took a long gulp from the Moosehead can in his hand, trying to cover up the scratchiness as nothing more than a dry throat. “Nothing’s up. Just enjoying all the kids being asleep at the same time for once! No chores, no game, nothing to do for once but drink beer and shoot the shit with my best bud. It’s fucking ace.” 

“C’mon Hayds, cut the bullshit,” Shane said—still in that gentle, careful tone, belying the curt words. “You’ve been acting weird all night.” His expression was hard to read, despite the bright full moon tonight—its light obscured even as it illuminated, making Shane’s face a mask of glimmering light and deep, harsh shadows. But the unusual expressiveness of his voice more than made up for it—it was positively dripping with sympathy, and Hayden squirmed internally with embarrassment. 

You gotta tell him, babe, Jackie had said. If you don’t, you’re going to get so into your head about it, it’ll start to affect your game. And worse, your friendship with him. And then you’ll end up having to tell him anyway, and he’ll be upset that you didn’t trust him earlier. 

Jackie was always right. And on the rare occasions she wasn’t, Hayden generally had even less of a clue. Trusting his wife was a mainstay of Hayden’s life. 

Even if trying to come out to his best friend was one of the hardest things he’d ever considered attempting. Hayden rubbed his biceps. It was a warm night for spring in Montreal, but still chilly enough that they were both in their Metros fleece jackets, and the soft nap felt comforting below his callused fingers. 

“Okay,” he said, letting out a lungful of air along with the single word. “Yeah, there’s… there’s something that we should talk about.” 

“Okay,” Shane said, drawing out the end of the word a little. “That’s… You’re kinda worrying me here, Hay. Did I screw something up?” 

“No, no!” Hayden said immediately, kicking himself. Of course Shane would assume that he’d done something wrong. “God, no, of course not, man. It’s… it’s something going on with me.” 

“Oh fuck. Hayd, are you sick?” 

Hayden had to laugh. “I mean, some guys on the team would probably think so…” 

Shane glared at him indignantly. “Hayd, you better be fucking with me right now…” 

“No, dude, I’m sorry. It’s not like… I mean, it is kinda a big thing, but it’s not bad. Or, at least, I hope you won’t think it’s bad,” Hayden couldn’t help but add, feeling a bead of sweat run down his back. 

“Jesus,” Shane said, blowing out his cheeks. “You swore that you were finally getting that vasectomy!” 

Hayden couldn’t help but laugh. Cackle, really. “I did!” he managed to gasp, between paroxysms. “I did. And fuck you for being off at the cottage while I recovered, man! No, Jackie’s not pregnant again, I swear. Oh my god.” 

“Well, what else was I supposed to think you meant?”

“If you’d let me get in a word edgewise here, I’d tell you!” 

“Right.” Shane rubbed the back of his head, chuckling a little. “Right. I’m sorry.” 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Hayden said, waving away the apology. “It’s not like… I’m a just a little nervous, to be honest.” 

Shane frowned a little—well, it was more of a pout, really, although the impact of it was blunted by the dim light. “You know you can tell me anything, Hayd. I’m always here for you.” 

“Yeah, man,” Hayden said. “Yeah, I know.” 

He really did know. He thought he knew. He… 

Fuck. He didn’t know. Granted, imagining Shane as a bigot was… pretty difficult. But even though Montreal was an incredibly liberal city, the Metros locker room had never really caught up to the twenty-first century. Homophobic and misogynist slurs were a dime a dozen, from the coaches and management as well as the players. And Shane, now on his seventh season as captain, had never really done anything about it. Oh, he frowned and chided the guys if they used the worst ones, at least on each other. But he used the mild ones himself—Hayden had heard him call guys pussies or cunts during heated moments on the ice, had heard him tell players like Rozanov or Kent to suck his dick. And he never said anything when he got the racial ones thrown at him in games, either; he just let them roll off his back. Which kinda set the standard for everyone on the team. So maybe he would… 

Fuck. Jackie was right. Hayden couldn’t let this go on, or he’d lose Shane anyway, through his own damn doubts. 

“Okay,” he said, steeling himself. “So… You know that Jackie had some tearing, during Amber’s birth?” 

Shane scooted closer, the concern in his expression becoming clearer. “Yeah…” 

“So, we couldn’t have, you know, like, regular sex, for a while after. She needed a couple months to recover enough to even try, and then it was just, uh, a little painful for her, for a while. Way longer than the usual… Yeah. Oral was still fine, but you know, we both missed, you know, penetration. So, we got a little, um, experimental.” 

“Um, okay,” Shane said, drawling out the word even more than before. He rubbed the side of his jaw. “There’s a reason I need to be hearing way more than I ever wanted to know about your sex life, right?” 

Hayden blew out his cheeks. Took a deep breath. Just rip off the bandaid, babe, Jackie whispered in his mind. 

“So she tried pegging me and it turns out I really fucking love it and then she started saying some things while she was doing it that make me think I might be bisexual?” He managed to get it all out in one breath, then sucked in a much-needed lungful of air and choked on his own spit. He leaned over himself, hacking. 

Shane was suddenly right next to him, pounding on his back. “Jesus, Hay. Are you okay?” 

Hayden kept coughing, his throat spasming convulsively. Shane got up, suddenly, and went inside. Hayden jerked upright, despite the way his lungs were protesting—what would he do if Shane was leaving?—but before he could panic too much, Shane came back with a glass of water from the kitchen. Hayden took it gratefully and gulped down about half of it in quick, successive swallows. Shane sat down next to him again, rubbing his back this time. Right next to him, too, so that their outer thighs were pressed together. 

That meant that he couldn’t be too disgusted by what Hayden had told him, right?

Unless he hadn’t heard it. It wasn’t actually impossible that Hayden had fucked it up badly enough that Shane hadn’t even tracked what he’d told him. 

Finally, Hayden couldn’t stall any longer. He put the glass of water down on the porch table, next to his beer, and turned to look at his best friend. “Did you, uh. Did you understand? What I said?” he asked nervously.

“Yeah, I did,” Shane said, but he was shaking his head a little, with an odd, offsided smile on his face. “Look, no offense, Hay, but I don’t think liking butt stuff makes you gay.” 

Hayden frowned. “I’m not gay, I’m bisexual,” he corrected. “Probably, I mean. Like, I haven’t done anything with a guy, obviously, but… Yeah. Pretty sure.” 

Shane stared at him for a long moment. “How?” he asked bluntly. “How do you know, if you haven’t done anything?” 

Hayden shrugged, a little annoyed. The last thing he’d expected after he came out was Shane trying to convince him he was wrong. “Jeez, man, I don’t know! I’ve just thought a lot about fucking guys, and it turns out it gets me fucking cranked, so I figure I’m probaby not a hundred percent straight!” 

Shane turned away and leaned back, resting his head on the top of the seat cushion, and stared up at the underside of the swing awning. He didn’t say anything. 

Hayden was starting to get more than a little annoyed, now. Okay, sure, he’d had doubts, he’d been nervous, but… He really had believed that Shane would be supportive. Hayden and Jackie had taken Shane in as a rookie, had him over for meals a hundred times; Hayden had been the best goddamn right wing a man could ask for; he was Hayden’s best friend, for fuck’s sake! He was their kids’ godfather! 

“You know what, if you’re gonna be a dick about it, you can just fucking leave, man!” Hayden snapped. He got up from the swing and started pacing across the porch. “Jesus, I can’t believe—” 

“What?” Shane squawked, overlapping Hayden’s words. “No, man, what the fuck are you even—” 

“—that you of all people—” 

“—talking about, Hayd? Of course I’m not going to—” 

“—would be a fucking homophobe—”

“Hayden! No, I’m not a homophobe, Jesus—” 

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to think, Shane?” Hayden growled, turning on him. Shane had gotten up from the swing, too, advancing to meet him in the middle of the porch. Out from under the awning, the moonlight was stronger, shining full on his face, and Hayden was struck by how fucking gorgeous he was. It felt like a familiar, well-worn thought running through his mind, and really, how had he not figured this out earlier? He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. “You try to talk me out of being bisexual, as if I don’t fucking know who I’m fucking attracted to, and now you can’t say anything at all—” 

“Fucking hell, Hay,” Shane snapped. “You just fucking sprung this on me, man, you gotta give me more than thirty goddamn seconds to catch up!” 

“Oh, right!” Hayden yelled, then slapped his hand over his mouth. He and Shane both glanced apprehensively at the baby monitor on the porch table, waiting to see if he’d managed to wake up one of the kids. After a minute of silence, Hayden turned back to Shane, lowering his voice to an angry hiss, “Because you need more than thirty seconds to decide if you want to stay friends with a faggot?” 

“Tabernak de câlisse,” Shane said hoarsely, degenerating into rude Québécois. “Don’t call yourself that, I—no, man, of course I don’t need… It’s just… It’s a lot, okay, and I—” 

“Because if you can’t be a fucking ally right now, Shane, then I don’t know if I—” 

“Hayden, I’m gay!”

“—even want to be your—” Hayden stopped talking midsentence as his brain—in some kind of last-ditch attempt at self-preservation—painted Shane’s words on the inside of his eyelids in bright neon letters, fifty-feet high if they were an inch. “What?” 

“Fuck,” Shane muttered. He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I’m gay, Hayden.” 

“You’re… gay.” 

“Yep.” 

“As in… exclusively attracted to men.” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

Hayden opened his mouth. Closed it. He turned and went back to the swing, sitting down heavily, and picked up his beer, thinking hard, as the last several minutes—hell, the last several years—slowly rewrote themselves in his head. Shane followed him slowly, sitting down on the other end of the swing this time, and leaned over his own knees, burying his head in his hands. 

“What about Rose Landry?” Hayden asked, finally. “Was that, like… a beard situation, then?” 

That would explain a lot, in retrospect. 

“No,” Shane rasped. He sat back up, picked up his own beer, and took a long gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing. “No, I—I didn’t know for sure, then. Or, like, I knew I was attracted to men. Some men, anyway. But I really thought… You know, I thought one day I’d meet a woman who I’d be as attracted to, as much as I am to… some men. And I really liked Rose. I do really like her, I mean; we’re still really good friends.” 

“Oh,” Hayden said. Still processing, mostly. 

“It was kinda her who helped me figure it out, actually,” Shane said. “I mean, if I couldn’t get it up for her…”

“Oh, fuck,” Hayden said, wincing. “That must have sucked, dude, I’m so sorry.” 

Shane laughed a little—not as if he found it funny, but as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. “Yeah, it was… It was a hard time. But I’m glad it happened. I don’t know how much longer we—that I would have kept lying to… myself, without her.” 

“Okay, and… Boston Lily?” Hayden asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer. Shane had always been so squirrely about his Boston hookup. For a while, Hayden had thought he was just that weird about sex, but then he hadn’t been like that with Rose, so—

Shane looked away, over toward the kids’ playhouse. “Yeah, um. Lily’s a fake name.” 

“Lily’s a guy.” 

“Yeah,” Shane repeated, his voice raspy and deep. “Fuck, this is weird. I’m sorry, I just… I’ve really never talked to anyone about it, except my parents and Rose, and I don’t know if…” 

Hayden scooted closer, pulling one knee up onto the cushioned seat so he could pivot to face his friend. “Shane, it’s okay—I mean, I wish you’d felt safe to tell me before, but I get it, you know? I mean, I was pretty scared to tell you,” he added, laughing a little.

“Yeah, but you got over it,” Shane muttered. “I mean, jeez, Amber was only born last summer, so you’ve known you were bisexual for what, six months?” 

“I—well, maybe eight or nine, but—” 

“I’ve known for eight years,” Shane muttered. “Known for sure, I mean, not just… suspected. Fuck, man, I’m so sorry, I should have told you—” 

“Hey, no, don’t—don’t do that to yourself, man,” Hayden said. He shuffled even closer, until his bent knee pressed into Shane’s thigh. Shane still wouldn’t look at him, staring down at where his hands were twisting in his lap, and on impulse, Hayden grabbed his hands, holding them lightly clasped between their torsos. “I don’t know if I would have told you if it weren’t for Jackie,” he admitted. “She told me that I needed to, that I’d get fucked up about it if I didn’t, that you would be… you know, cool about it. And if you knew since before we even met… I get it, you know?” 

“Yeah?” Shane pleaded, clutching at Hayden’s hands when he would have pulled away. 

“Yeah, dude,” Hayden said. “Even if you kinda just went and made my coming out all about you.” 

Shane gaped at him for a moment, his mouth hanging open, then visibly realized that Hayden was fucking with him, and started laughing quietly. “I did, didn’t I?” he asked finally. “Jeez, man, I’m sorry—” 

Their hands were still clasped together between them, and it was starting to be a little awkward—not because Hayden wouldn’t have fucking loved to just keep holding hands forever, but because not showing too much affection, for too long, or in the wrong ways, had been so ingrained in him. He was just about to pull his hands loose when it suddenly struck him, and he tightened his grip, instead, leaning forward. 

“Wait. You’re gay.” 

“Um. Yeah…?” 

“And I’m bisexual.” 

“We’ve established that, yeah…” 

“Fuck, Shane,” Hayden said, grinning so widely that his cheeks actually hurt a little. “How the hell did we get so lucky?” 

And then he leaned even closer, slipped one hand up to cup Shane’s cheek, and brought their lips together. 

Now

Hayden knocked on Shane’s door, his heart pounding irregularly. 

Well, no. Not Shane’s door. Apparently this was Shane and Rozanov’s home, now, because fuck Hayden’s entire life.

It was Shane who answered the door, at least. But he just stood there for a second, blinking. 

“Uh,” Hayden said. “Can I come in, or…?” 

“Yeah, of course, sorry,” Shane said easily, moving aside. “I just… Why did you knock?”

Now it was Hayden’s turn to blink, even as he came in and toed his shoes off, operating on autopilot. It was a fair question; he’d had spare keys to Shane’s apartment for years, and at this point, he generally just texted that he was on his way and went over without waiting for an answer, letting himself in and shouting at Shane that he was there.

“I don’t know, man,” he said, running a hand nervously through his hair. “It didn’t seem right to just walk in, now that you don’t live alone any more. I mean, the two of you could have been… busy.”

To his surprise, Shane started laughing. When Hayden raised his eyebrows at him, Shane just shook his head. 

“It’s a long story,” he said. “Let’s just say that I wish my parents were as, uh, tactful, as you.” 

Hayden gaped at him. “Oh my god, they didn’t.”

Shane just shook his head again and wandered off toward the back of the apartment. “Come on, Ilya’s making dinner.” 

“Rozanov cooks?” Hayden found it hard to imagine the massive, irritating asshole who’d bruised his ribs at least once a season for the last seven years doing something so… domestic. But at least it meant that they wouldn’t have to suffer through the bland, healthy, boring rabbit food that Shane made. 

“Oh yeah, he’s a great cook,” Shane said, then laughed again. “When I had him out to the cottage, last summer, he let me do all the cooking. It’s apparently some Russian etiquette thing; like, if you try to help without being asked, it’s like saying you don’t trust your host? But he was desperate for me to let him take over. I kept asking him what he wanted me to make, and he’d choose, like, the easiest option each time, thinking even I couldn’t fuck up something like hamburgers or hot dogs, and then it’d turn out I’d made veggie burgers or salmon sausages. My dad made him some pasta when we went over to their place, and it was the first decent thing he’d had in a week. Not that he told me any of this at the time—I had to find it out later, when he came here for the first time and begged me to let him do the cooking.” 

Hayden shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine Ilya Rozanov—the chirping king of the League—suffering through a week on Shane’s diet (even the slightly less horrific off-season version) without saying a word.

But then, everything he’d heard over the last couple of months had made it clear that the version of Rozanov that existed in Hayden’s head bore little to no resemblance to the real man. 

“Wait a minute,” he said, as he and Shane walked through the spacious apartment. “How have I not ever walked in on the two of you? I mean, why would you give me a key, and let me drop in whenever, while hiding a giant secret relationship like this? Weren’t you worried I’d come over and find him here?” 

He finished the second question just as they passed into the kitchen, and Rozanov, chopping away at something on the big center island, started laughing. “Yes, Shane, tell fifth-best Metro why he never saw me at your apartment.” 

“Oh god, you’re such an asshole,” Shane muttered, leaning resignedly against a neighboring counter and sneaking a bite of whatever Rozanov was making. Looked like tuna steaks. Predictable. Hayden bet he wasn’t all that great of a cook. But then—

“Wait a sec, fifth best?” Hayden asked, blinking. “You’ve always put me somewhere in the teens.” 

It was one of Rozanov’s most annoying chirping habits, ranking everyone on his opposing team, generally to their detriment (although he’d been known to up-rank guys who weren’t much liked just to piss everybody else off). It should have been easy to shrug off… Except that the way he did it, he clearly wasn’t just making the numbers up on the spot—he had some kind of internally consistent metric that he was using, and it was nearly impossible to not try and puzzle it out. 

“Yes, well,” Rozanov shrugged. “Turns out you are more interesting than I thought.” 

Hayden stared at him, dumbfounded. “You… you rate players based on how interesting they are?” he sputtered. “And you think being bisexual makes me…” 

“No, no, I rate players for how good at hockey they are,” Rozanov said, halting Hayden’s fumbling sentence. “But going both ways is most valuable hockey skill.” 

“Hey!” Shane objected. 

‘You have many other valuable skills,” Rozanov murmured, putting down his knife and pulling Shane closer to his side. “Let me and Pike have this one, mm?” 

Hayden watched, feeling numb, as Shane smiled and blushed—blushed!—his skin tinting a dusky pink underneath his freckles, and let Rozanov tug him into a kiss. 

Oh. Oh fuck. Fuck, that was hot. 

“You like watching, Pike?” Rozanov asked, without turning his face away from Shane’s. 

“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Hayden snapped reflexively. “… Yes.” 

Shane pulled away from his boyfriend, blushing furiously. “Stop teasing Hayden,” he murmured. “You promised you’d try to behave.” 

“But I want to hear you tell him why he’s never walked in on me fucking you,” Rozanov said, with a light, playful whine in his voice.

Shane groaned. “I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t,” Rozanov said, leaning into his boyfriend and catching his earlobe in his teeth. 

“No, I don’t,” Shane admitted, melting against him with a small, breathless moan. 

Jesus. That was almost nauseatingly cute. And also fucking hot. 

“I also want to hear why you were never worried about me walking in on the two of you fucking,” Hayden said. If only because if he had to stand here and watch them make out, he was going to do something incredibly stupid. 

“Et tu, Hayden?” Shane asked, shaking his head. “Oh god, fine. You know that investment property I bought in Griffintown?” 

“Uh, the one with the condos that you keep saying you’re going to flip or rent out and never actually—oh my god.” 

Shane rubbed his jaw. “Look, it’s still a good investment! It was just, you know, handy, so—” 

“Shane, did you buy an entire fucking building just so you could fuck your archnemesis?!?” 

“ … Shut up,” Shane muttered. “He was never my nemesis, for god’s sake.” 

“You did. Holy fucking shit.”

“First time he brings me there, I think he is planning to murder me,” Rozanov said, clearly enjoying himself immensely. “He makes me come through alley, so no one can see me—” 

“See you,” Hayden repeated disbelieving. “At a property that, like, ten people in the whole world know he owns—” 

“Fuck off, Hayd, it’s part of the public record—” 

Hayden started laughing at the whining note in Shane’s voice and couldn’t stop. He felt slightly guilty when Rozanov joined in, the two of them cackling in harmony; but not enough to get him to stop. Shane crossed his arms in front of his chest, visibly sulking, and that just set both of them off more. 

“Oh my god,” Hayden finally wheezed. “Holy fuck, dude, I love you so much.” 

Shane’s offended aura deflated like a stuck balloon; he let his arms fall to his sides and looked down at the floor too late to hide a goofy smile. How had Hayden gotten so lucky to have him for a best friend?

The rest of the pre-dinner period passed surprisingly quickly. They had a game against Toronto the day after tomorrow, so Shane and Hayden started dissecting how the Guardians’ first line had been playing—always a fun opportunity to shit on Dallas Kent and his toadies, the fuckers—while Rozanov passed around some kind of fucking nonalcoholic cocktail, ginger beer paired with muddled lime and crushed pear and honey that was actually fucking delicious. Then Rozanov made some contributions to Hayden’s Kent-bashing agenda, and it turned out that his chirps were way less fucking annoying when they were directed at a team that Hayden didn’t like. And then, the motherfucker pulled a fancy appetizer plate out of the fridge—actual fucking caviar; and some mixture of chopped olives with garlic, herbs, and some tiny round balls that looked like curly bugs but were intensely flavorful and savory (jeez, Hayden hoped they weren’t actually curly bugs, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask); and a minced tomato and basil spread—all in separate tiny little bowls with spoons to load them onto little toasted sourdough points arranged around them. Shane helped himself liberally, cramming the food in his mouth with happy little noises, and the last of Hayden’s dislike melted away into a quiet, bewildered resentment. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed how fucking weird Shane was about food. It wasn’t like it hadn’t fucking worried him. He just… hadn’t known what to do about it, other than keep having him over for dinner. But no matter how hard Jackie had tried—and she was a really great fucking cook!—he hadn’t ever seen Shane actually enjoy eating before. And trying to talk to him about it had been a giant fucking waste of time. At worse, Shane would get all defensive and withdrawn, and at best, he’d shrug and say he didn’t really care about food as long as it fit his diet. Which was clearly fucking bullshit, because Jackie had tried like a hundred different fucking recipes from websites about macrobiotic diets, and Shane had always eaten them with an indifferent air that reminded Hayden oddly of how he felt about lifting weights—something that had to be done, and would make him feel better once it was over, but was just mildly unpleasant while it was happening. 

When Shane excused himself to the bathroom during his third helping of dinner—ahi tuna and black bean ceviche over corn tostadas—Hayden couldn’t help it any longer. 

“Where the hell did you learn to cook,” he hissed, leaning over the table toward Rozanov, “and how the fuck are you getting him to eat like this?” 

It wasn’t like the food was that great—oh, it was good and all, but not better than Jackie’s cooking. And it certainly wasn’t Russian, other than maybe the caviar, so where was all of this coming from?

Rozanov leaned back in his chair and looked steadily across the table. For a moment, Hayden was certain he was going to play it off—act like he had no idea what Hayden was talking about, and leave him even more at sea than he’d been originally. 

Then, finally, he said, “Is the textures.” 

Hayden cocked his head and waved his hand in a “go on,” gesture, and Ilya leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. 

“Nothing mushy, soft, or creamy,” he said. “If you make tofu, must be grilled or baked; he does not like how slimy it is when you cook in a pan.” 

“Hold on. I need to make notes,” Hayden said, pulling out his phone. He opened up a text window to Jackie and typed out what Rozanov had said already. “Okay, go on.” 

“He hates eggplant and cooked tomato—too soft, bad texture. Fruit must be very fresh. Very hard avocados, not soft, and no guacamole. If you make salads, he hates dressing, but does not like it too bland, either—put in fresh herbs and nuts, chopped onions, apples. And he does not like dips—is why the olive tapenade was chopped, not pureed.” 

“Pureed?” Hayden repeated. 

“It means when you—” 

“I know what it means, shithead! How do you know what it means?” Rozanov raised his eyebrows, and Hayden winced. “I didn’t mean that how it came out. Just, like, it’s not exactly a word you come across every day…” 

Rozanov shook his head. “When I was drafted, I could read and write English fine, speak it okay, but had hard time understanding when people talked—so fast, and with so many different accents. So I started watching American daytime TV.” He shrugged. “Cooking shows helped the most—not too much shouting or fast talking, just same words over and over.” 

“Huh,” Hayden said. “Okay, I guess that tracks.” 

“So glad you approve,” Rozanov said drily. 

Hayden winced again. Fuck, everything was coming out of his mouth wrong tonight. “I’m not… Look, I appreciate you telling me. Jackie’s gonna be so happy—she’s been trying so hard, and it sucks to see Shane eating with that look on his face like he really couldn’t care less, you know?” 

Rozanov nodded, thawing a little. “Tell her also, she must chop everything to same size—no pieces too big or too small.” 

“Holy shit, okay, yeah.” He quickly added that and sent the message. “This is gonna be a fucking game changer. How—I know you two have been together for a long time, but you haven’t been cooking for him that whole time, right?” 

Ilya shook his head. “Only since last summer, mostly. I ask Yuna and David, then experiment.”

Hayden blinked in shock. “Jackie’s been experimenting for seven years, and I don’t think she’s figured out half this stuff.” 

Rozanov smirked. “Helps that I know what his face looks like when he is very happy, and when he thinks something is gross, but is trying to hide it.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Hayden muttered, picking up on the innuendo almost immediately. 

“No,” Rozanov said, smirking even wider. “I am going to fuck you, remember?”

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Then

The kiss was glorious. 

For all of about thirty seconds. 

Shane stayed frozen for just long enough that Hayden almost pulled back, a thrill of terror rippling down his spine. What if he’d fucked it all up? What if Shane never talked to him again? Well, no, he probably wouldn’t do that no matter what, but what if—

But then Shane sort of melted, his weight pressing into Hayden, his lips softening, and one of his hands snuck up to grab the back of Hayden’s neck. It felt so good, as good as kissing Jackie, and really fucking exciting, and underneath it all, a deep, giddy happiness fluttered in Hayden’s belly, because this was Shane. This was Shane, who he’d had a crush on—he could admit it now, thank fuck—for seven long years; Shane, who’d been with him through thick and thin; Shane, his best fucking friend, whom he loved not like a brother. 

He pressed harder into the kiss, rubbing his thumb across Shane’s cheek, relishing the barely-there scratch of stubble, and parted his lips, letting his tongue graze across Shane’s lower lip. For just one split-second, Shane’s mouth fell open, too, letting Hayden’s tongue sneak forward, and a shudder went through Shane’s body, only perceptible because of how close they were pressed together. Hayden wanted to fucking eat him, wanted to lean back against the rocking porch swing and pull Shane over him, wanted to feel every inch of that strong, powerful body against his. 

And then Shane jerked away with another low, hoarse curse word in Québécois, leaping up from the swing and running a shaking hand through his hair. Hayden fell forward, barely keeping himself from comedically face-planting into the seat cushion. 

“What the fu—” he started. 

“What the hell, Hayden!” Shane whisper-shouted, stopping the words in Hayden’s throat. 

Shane’s voice was shaking, too, and guilt drowned out the confusion and disappointment and thwarted lust swirling in Hayden’s gut. 

“I—I’m sorry, I—” he started, frantically trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Was Shane just not attracted to him? Except he’d kissed him back! He’d totally kissed him back, so what—

“You should be!” Shane hissed angrily. “How could you do this to Jackie?!?” 

Oh. Oh. Hayden exhaled gustily, then chuckled weakly, relief running through his veins. “Oh thank fuck, man, you scared the shit out of me. No, no, Jackie’s totally cool with it. We talked about it, man.” 

Shane stared back at him. “You… you and Jackie talked about… Me and you…?”

“Yeah, well…” Hayden chucked again, ruefully this time. “Okay, don’t make fun of me, but you’ve maybe been one of my hall passes for like… a couple years?” 

More like five, but there was no need to get into that right now. 

“You—you and Jackie agreed that you could sleep with me a couple years ago, but you only figured out you were bisexual last summer? Okay, you know, now I’m feeling a little better about the whole—” 

“Shut up!” Hayden groaned. “It wasn’t like that, it was just… You know, like an ‘if you had to sleep with any guy in the world’ kinda conversation? I don’t know, leave me alone,” he added, off of Shane’s disbelieving expression. “But we talked about it recently, too, you know, more seriously, after she told me she thought I should tell you about me being bi. I mean, not that I suspected in a hundred fucking years that you would actually be interested in guys! But Jackie said she always kinda thought there was, you know, a vibe.” 

“Oh,” Shane muttered. “Oh. Yeah.” 

“You felt it, too?” Hayden asked, way too eagerly. 

“Uh… Well. Actually, Jackie kinda said something to me about there being a vibe, too? Years ago, actually, but… I just thought she was drunk? I mean, she was definitely drunk. And you know the guys have made jokes about the three of us before, so. I just thought that’s all it was—not, like, a serious offer?”

“Oh,” Hayden said, laughing full out this time. “Yeah, that’s my Jackie. No filter when she’s got a few margaritas in her.” 

“Yeah,” Shane said, joining in on the laughter.

They grinned at each other in comfortable silence for a minute, then Shane came back to the porch swing, sitting frustratingly far away. 

“So,” Hayden said, gathering his courage. “Then, can we—” 

“Look, Hayd, I—” 

“—maybe go back to what we were doing, because I—” 

“—it’s not that I wouldn’t want to, you know that I… I love you man, it’s just—” 

“—really fucking want you to fuck me, Shane, I’ve been thinking about it for months, I can’t—” 

“—I sort of already have a boyfriend?” Shane finished, in a rush. 

“—get it out of my head… A boyfriend?”

“Fuck,” Shane whispered. “I didn’t want this to be how I told you.” 

“You have a boyfriend,” Hayden repeated numbly. “An… exclusive…?” 

Shane leaned back against the swing, blowing out his cheeks. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. Yeah. We… It’s serious, we’re talking about, like, long-term plans, you know?” 

Hayden stared at him in disbelief. His next words came out as a plaintive cry. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” 

“I’m sorry, Hayd, I know I should have, it’s just—” 

“Am I that bad a friend?” Hayden asked, his voice shaking a little. He swallowed hard. “You really thought I’d be a dick about it?” 

“No!” Shane said immediately. “No, of course not, I didn’t, I—well, not about the gay thing, I knew you’d be okay about that, it’s—” 

“But I’m your best friend,” Hayden whined. “I—you’re the godfather to my kids, man, I don’t understand—” 

“It’s Ilya Rozanov!” Shane blurted out. 

They stared at each other for a long time. 

“Could you, uh. Repeat that?” Hayden said hoarsely. He was positive that he had to have… He had to have hallucinated for a minute, or misheard, or—or maybe he was asleep, yeah, this whole thing had been nothing but a dream, no, a nightmare—

“I’m dating Ilya Rozanov,” Shane muttered, staring at the girls’ playhouse again. “I’ve been… He’s Boston Lily. It was just hooking up, at first, not exclusive, but we got serious this last year. We’re starting a charity together, for mental health, a hockey camp for kids. He’s going to try to move to Ottawa next season, instead of re-signing with the Raiders. He’s—he’s leaving Boston for me. I… I love him, Hay. I’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

The next silence was more intense, and it stretched out for a long time, Hayden once again running through the last several years in his head, this time putting every on-ice interaction he’d witnessed under a microscope. Replaying every time he and the boys had shit-talked Rozanov or told Shane how much they hated him. Egged Shane into saying he hated him, too…

“You’ve been texting Boston Lily since, like, your second season,” he said finally, his voice rasping painfully in his ears. 

“Yeah. Um. We hooked up for the first time the summer before our rookie season,” Shane said, still not looking at him. And not like the way Shane normally didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes on Hayden’s chin or forehead—no, this was a full-on head pointed the other way, refusing to even glance remotely in Hayden’s direction. 

“Jesus fuck,” Hayden whispered. “Before your—Jesus fucking Christ, Shane.” 

“I… It wasn't... I swear, it was just casual, at first, we didn’t even… Just a couple times. I kept… I thought it wasn’t going to keep happening, or I would have told you. And then, once I gave up on trying to stop doing it, they’d beaten us in the playoffs a couple of times, and vice-versa, and everyone kept playing up the rivalry, and he’s such an asshole on the ice, I know he is, I know you hate him, and I couldn’t tell you—” 

“Hey,” Hayden said, unable to bear the guilt and sadness in Shane’s voice. “Hey, no, man, don’t do that! I mean, you just fucking knocked me for a loop, Shane, it’s gonna take me a hot minute to get with the program. But you don’t have to fucking apologize, I get why you wouldn’t tell me… this…” 

But that was also clearly the wrong thing to say, as Shane’s head hung even lower. “Yeah.” he whispered to his own lap. “I know that… I know it’s not gonna play well. I tried to not want him. To not… love him. To fall for anybody else, someone easier, but—” 

“Fucking hell, Shane, stop.” 

Shane stopped talking. Unable to believe that this was actually somehow his life now, Hayden scooted closer to Shane and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to turn and look at him. Shane resisted for a second, then sagged into his grip, letting Hayden pull him forward and press their foreheads together. The two of them just breathed together for a moment, sharing the same air. Hayden could smell the beer on Shane’s breath, over an oddly intoxicating savory richness. He wanted, very badly, to bring their lips together again. 

He didn’t. “Jesus. I can’t listen to you apologize for falling in love, like… Fuck, man.” He took another few breaths, getting himself under control, then went on, “Look, you know I’m not a big fan of Rozanov's.” 

Shane laughed, his forehead vibrating against Hayden’s. “Yeah, something kinda gave me that idea. I don’t know what it could be…” 

“But I don’t know him,” Hayden pressed on. “I know that I don’t really know him. I’ve maybe talked to the guy a dozen times in my whole life, and they were all, like, a few words each. Just chirping each other on the ice or saying, you know, hard fought or well played or whatever, during the handshakes after a series.” 

“Yeah…” 

“So. It’s not like I don’t know that there are guys who are assholes on the ice and, you know. Not that. Off it.” 

Shane snorted. “Yeah, no, he’s pretty much an asshole off the ice, too, it’s just…” 

“He’s nice to you, though?” 

“…Yeah. I mean, he gives me a hard time, too, but… He’s really good to me, Hayd.” 

“… Okay, but like, that’s not just in bed, right?” Hayden asked, unable to stop himself. “Cause no offense, but if Rozanov has, like, dickmatized you, or something…” 

Shane pulled away, laughing again. “Jesus, Hayden. Yes. He’s really good to me. In bed and out of it.” 

He was blushing, now, enough that it was visible even in the dim light, and Hayden hadn’t actually thought about it up until that point—he’d kinda had other things on his mind. But all of a sudden, all he could see was Rozanov and Shane in bed: naked, sweaty, muscles straining, limbs entwined, mouths open and locked wetly together… 

Fuck.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about Rozanov that way, before. Half—or more!—of how fucking irritating the man was, was down to how fucking good he was at fucking everything. Skating, chirping, shoving, checking, shooting… And fucking sex. You could tell how good he was at that, both from the massive confidence, and how fucking gorgeous he was, and obviously, from the hordes of women he’d been seen going home with, or who had posted stories about him online… 

“And you’re sure that he’s never slept around on you?” Hayden demanded. He knew that the jealousy was making him sound irrational. Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t make it any easier to knock it off. 

“For fuck’s sake, Hay,” Shane muttered. “Yes, I’m sure. I just told you we weren’t even exclusive before last summer. And he didn’t sleep with anyone else for like, half a year before that, too.”

Hayden still kind of wondered exactly how Shane was so sure of that, but he just barely had enough brain and willpower to restrain himself from asking. After all, he knew exactly how he would have reacted to anyone asking how he knew that Jackie hadn’t cheated on him, because that was, in fact, a topic that had come up multiple times in the Metros locker room. The guys loved bragging about having a girl in every port, and then they’d tell Hayden that he should do the same thing, because Jackie was probably having her fun when he was out of town, and what did he mean he trusted her? He felt his fists start to clench just at the memory, and he exhaled slowly, deliberately relaxing. 

“Okay, then,” he said. The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but he forced himself to go on. “Then… If you love him, then… I guess I have to give him a chance, right? So maybe… You could have him come over for… I don’t know. Dinner, or something. Jackie and the kids would love to meet him. Properly.” 

Shane’s eyes softened immediately. “Hayden… wow. That means a lot, man.” 

“Yeah, well,” Hayden said, shrugging off the gratitude. “Sorta the bare fucking minimum there, but sure.” And because apparently his fucking mouth was never tired of digging its own fucking grave, he heard himself go on with, “Not really the kind of evening I was hoping to have, you know, but hell, at least it’ll still involve both of us getting laid, right?” 

Shane’s eyebrows flew up, then quirked inward, forming that adorable little sympathetic crease in the middle of his brow. “Hayden…” he said. 

The pity in his voice was harder to bear than any display of anger or embarrassment would have been. 

“Fuck, forget I said that,” Hayden said hurriedly, even as he absolutely fucking died inside. “I didn’t mean it that way, obviously, uh—” 

“Hayden, it’s okay,” Shane said, shuffled closer and tugging on Hayden’s arm, keeping him in place as he tried to pull away.  

“How the hell is it okay, man?” There were tears stinging behind Hayden’s eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Refused to throw a guilt trip like that in Shane’s face after the way he’d already screwed this up. “I basically just… Jesus. Can we please just pretend this night never happened?” 

“I don’t want to do that,” Shane said steadily, keeping his hand firm on Hayden’s arm. “I… It means so much to me that you know, Hayd, that this is… is something we have in common. And… God, Hayden, you have to know that I would, if I…If I hadn’t fallen for him, first. Okay? I mean, I love you—and Jackie, and the kids—so fucking much. You’re my family. And you’re fucking hot, man. And a really good kisser.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Hayden said, but he was smiling, now, in spite of himself, the squirming discomfort in his belly finally subsiding. An answering grin lit up Shane’s face, making Hayden catch his breath. “You know you couldn’t do anything that’d make me drop you, right man?” 

“Right back at you,” Shane said, finally releasing his arm, and then patting it. “Although you had me scared there for a second when you thought I was a homophobe!”

They both laughed, and Hayden sagged against the swing cushions, then figured, fuck it, and let his head drop down to Shane’s shoulder. Shane rested his own cheek on Hayden’s hair, and they swung comfortably in silence. 

“Although actually, you know, I’m not sure how compatible we’d be,” Shane said, several minutes later. 

“What the hell does that mean?” Hayden asked, pulling his head up. “We’ve got mad chemmy, dude!” 

Shane laughed and wrapped his arm around Hayden’s shoulders, tugging him back down to his shoulder. He petted Hayden’s hair a little, and Hayden sighed and relaxed into it. “No, I just meant, when you… You know what, forget I said anything—” 

“No, come on, you can’t start saying something like that and stop,” Hayden complained, without lifting his head. 

Shane groaned. “I just meant… When you said you’d been thinking about me um, fucking you. I don’t really… do that? I mean—and I’m just saying—you’d kinda want Ilya for that.” 

Hayden froze. Unfortunately, since he was still leaning against Shane with his head on his shoulder, it wasn’t immediately evident, and Shane didn’t appear to notice. 

He went on, laughing a little, each word driving a stab of urgency right to Hayden’s dick. “I mean, if you wanted me to suck your dick while Ilya fucked you, that might be a little more in my wheelhouse—” 

For the rest of his life, Hayden would have no idea what sound came out of his mouth at that moment. His mind was far too full of florid fantasies to have parsed it: Shane on his knees, mouth open, as Hayden fed him his dick; Rozanov pressing Hayden up against a wall, a hard knee grinding between his legs; Shane straddling his lap, pinning his hands above his head; Hayden on  a bed underneath Rozanov’s strong body, writhing in ecstasy; Hayden pressed between the two of them, Shane sucking him off while Rozanov fucked him, utterly overwhelmed in the best way possible. 

But whatever noise he made, it clearly gave Shane far too great an insight into what he was thinking, because he turned in his seat, jostling Hayden off his shoulder, and looked down at him with wide eyes. Hayden scrambled for leverage, stared back at his best friend like a deer caught in headlights, frantically trying to come up with a joke or a distraction: anything to keep Shane from realizing how fucking desperately he was gagging for it—

And then he realized exactly how dark and hungry Shane’s eyes were, boring into his. 

Now

“Fuck off,”  Hayden said, far more shakily than he would have liked. 

“This is my boyfriend’s place,” Rozanov said, shrugging. “You fuck off, Pike. I am here because you ask for it, and Shane says ‘please, please,’ with those big brown eyes of his. ‘Please, Ilya, you are so good in bed and your dick is so big. You make my first time so good. Hayden wants to be fucked so badly, won’t you please help him?’” 

Hayden ground his teeth together and stewed in silence, staring at the almost empty bowl of ceviche on the table. 

Rozanov smirked at him. “So, if you want to leave, be my guest. I go to bed with Shane alone, is even better night for me.” 

“Oh, so it wasn’t you who asked me for a threesome like ten different times?” Shane asked. Because naturally, he'd come back from the bathroom at the worst possible time. 

Rozanov pouted performatively at his boyfriend. “I meant with Svetlana. Or even hot dinosaur Scott Hunter. Not Pike.”

“Scott has a boyfriend. And I said that I’d consider Svetlana, if this goes well.” 

“You what?” Hayden squawked. 

“She’s Ilya’s best friend,” Shane said apologetically. 

He came up behind Hayden and bent down, nuzzling at his temple. Hayden couldn’t stop himself from swaying into it—and after a second, he realized that he didn’t need to stop himself, and he tilted his head back and silently asked for a kiss, then smirked at Rozanov after Shane obliged him with a soft, promissory smooch. Rozanov rolled his eyes. 

“Anyway, if we do something with Svetlana, it’d probably be just her watching us,” Shane explained. “Or, like, both of us having sex with Ilya. Cause I’m not really attracted to her, but Ilya is, and I think I’d enjoy giving him something he wants.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” Hayden asked Rozanov suspiciously. 

He shrugged. “I am okay with whatever Shane wants. Is fine if it never happens, too.” 

Hayden scoffed. Of course Rozanov had to go and say something perfect like that. Shane slapped him lightly upside the head. 

“Hey!” Hayden protested. He turned to retaliate, but Shane was already out of reach. 

“Play nice,” Shane said, then added, as Rozanov started laughing. “You too! You promised.” 

“Oh, I will play very nice,” Rozanov said, smirking and tilting his own face up as Shane crossed around the table toward him. 

Their kiss turned messy, Shane letting his weight sag into his boyfriend as Rozanov’s arms came up around him. Hayden watched, caught hopelessly between lust and jealousy, until the two finally parted and turned to look at him in almost creepy unison. 

“I’m done with dinner,” Shane said softly, his eyes dark and intent. “Are you done, Hay?” 

Hayden swallowed hard. Last chance to back out. 

“Yeah,” he said roughly. “I’m ready for dessert.” 

Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Shane insisted on cleaning up from dinner, first, which meant them all trying to dance around his kitchen loading the dishwasher and putting the leftovers away, and while Shane’s kitchen was generously sized, it had clearly not been meant to hold three bulky six-foot guys at the same time. Hayden shoved the last of the little plastic containers Shane had given him for the leftovers into the fridge with a sigh of relief, then turned around, straightened up, and found himself pinned between the fridge and Rozanov’s broad shoulders. He shifted to the side, attempting to go around, but Rozanov moved at the same time, blocking him. 

“Uh,” he said. “Would you mind, um, moving out of the way?”

“No,” Rozanov said softly. His tone set off alarm bells in Hayden’s head. 

“No, you don’t mind, or no, you won’t move?” he asked, trying to deflect the sudden tension in the air with a light laugh. 

“Yes,” Rozanov said, still doing fuck-all to clear up the confusion, and then he planted his hands on the stainless steel to either side of Hayden’s shoulders and pressed in closer, and wow. Okay. That kind of answered the question, didn’t it?

Hayden slid his eyes to the side, looking for Shane to save him. His best friend was standing a few feet away, watching them, chewing on his bottom lip. He was… very clearly not going to provide any kind of a rescue. 

Rozanov pressed in even closer, his entire forearms braced on the fridge, now, pinning Hayden in place. Hayden could feel his hard-on very distinctly, now, the bulge pressing against his thigh, and his own dick was rapidly responding.

“Okay?” Rozanov asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His face was only about an inch away. 

Fucking hell, Hayden hated that Rozanov was taller than him. And kinda loved it. 

“Yeah,” he said, once it became clear that Rozanov wasn’t going to touch him—any more than he already had, at least—without some clear affirmation. “It’s okay.” 

Somehow, he hadn’t thought they would kiss. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought that—Hayden and Shane had kissed, and clearly Shane liked kissing Rozanov, so logically… But anyway, even if Hayden had thought about it beforehand, he wouldn’t have been prepared for the way Rozanov kissed—tentative, light, seductive brushes of his mouth against Hayden’s, until Hayden groaned and swayed forward, desperate for more, and suddenly Rozanov’s tongue was in his mouth, dancing against his, fucking… warping Hayden’s mind, because there was no other fucking explanation for why he was letting Rozanov’s knee thrust between his thighs—why he was fucking spreading his legs for it and sagging down to grind against it—or why he was clutching at Rozanov’s shoulders like they were the only thing holding him up. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Shane whispered.

Rozanov pulled away from the kiss and moaned, his breath hot against Hayden’s jaw. Hayden’s head fell back against the fridge with a thump, and Rozanov started kissing his neck, his mouth hot and wet and sharp in a way that made Hayden groan and tilt his head the other way to give him room to do it some more. His eyes slid over to look at Shane again, and his best friend was right there now, crowding in next to Rozanov, his pupils blown so wide that with the bright overhead light, Hayden couldn’t even see the sliver of brown around the black that he knew had to be there. 

“Shane,” he said, pleading, gagging for it, and Shane swore under his breath and moved in even closer, leaning over Rozanov’s shoulder and bringing their mouths together. 

It was so much better than that brief kiss back in the spring that Hayden almost wept with it. This time, Shane was instantly, obviously into it, his hands coming to caress along the side of Hayden’s waist and then floating up to cup at his pec and bicep. This time, when Hayden gasped into Shane’s mouth, whispering delirious, nonsensical endearments, Shane was right there with him, muttering variations on Hayden’s name in a lust-drunk, gravelly voice. This time, when it ended, it was only so that Shane could lay a trail of open-mouthed kisses down Hayden’s neck, on the other side from where his goddamn boyfriend had his teeth latched into Hayden’s throat like a fucking vampire. 

“Fuck, Hayd, I can taste him on you,” Shane said, his mouth also turning sharp on Hayden’s neck. Jackie was going to laugh until she fucking peed herself when she saw the wreckage they were making of it. “You taste so good together.” 

“Oh shit,” Hayden swore, and deliberately bit his tongue to keep from embarrassing himself by coming right fucking then and there. 

“Bedroom,” Shane said, definitively, catching Rozanov’s wrist as his hand grazed across Hayden’s belt buckle. “We’re not fucking on my kitchen floor.” 

Rozanov—no, Ilya, Hayden couldn’t keep fucking calling him Rozanov in his head when he’d had the guy’s tongue in his mouth—chuckled. “Would not be first time.” 

“It’s Hayden’s first time, and I promised to make it good for him,” Shane said, severely. 

“I mean,” Hayden protested. “It’s not really my first time. Or, like, only in a really specific sort of way? Like, pretty sure I’ve had way more sex than you overall, man.” 

Shane sighed. “Not helpful, Hayd. Ilya?” 

“Yes, yes, my—” Ilya said, adding some kind of incomprehensible endearment in Russian—or at least, Hayden assumed it was an endearment, from the way Shane’s expression went soft. 

And then Ilya stepped back, grabbed Hayden around the waist, and threw him into a fireman’s carry. 

“Jesus fucking—” The rest of Hayden’s exclamation came out in a sick, guttural groan as Rozanov’s shoulder slammed into his gut, “—Christ.” 

Ilya slapped his ass as he turned and stalked toward Shane’s bedroom. Hayden thought about struggling, he really did. But the floor was a long way away from here, and just because it was the offseason didn’t mean that he wanted to break an arm. 

Besides, the view was actually quite good from here. It wasn’t like he could ever risk getting caught staring at Rozanov’s butt under any other circumstances—the man’s ego was plenty inflated enough already—but hanging over his shoulder like this, there wasn’t anything else to look at, and Hayden could let himself enjoy the sight of those perfect fucking globes bouncing under tight black jeans all he wanted. 

To give Rozanov credit, he was even fairly gentle about the way he hauled Hayden down off his shoulder and dropped him on the bed. Hayden still complained loudly, just to keep up appearances, but as he rolled over onto his back and groped for his belt buckle, nothing fucking hurt at all. 

Ilya stripped fast, flinging himself onto the bed while Shane was still folding his pants neatly on the top of the dresser. Hayden followed suit, tossing his clothes hastily on the floor. Shane tsked and came over to pick them up, which was ridiculous and very Shane, but Hayden was too distracted by a naked Rozanov stretching out next to him on the bed to do anything about it. 

“Mmm,” Ilya said. He eeled over and ran a hand across Hayden’s chest, palming his nipple and then bending over and taking it in his mouth. “You have better chest than I thought.” 

“Was that… a compliment?” Hayden gasped, even as he arched back in pleasure as Ilya bit down. 

“No,” Rozanov said, letting go. “You should hit much harder, with these muscles. You are either holding back, or you need better form.” 

Hayden couldn’t help but laugh. Because of course he was getting a fucking technical critique from Ilya Rozanov while both of them were naked in bed. What else had he expected?

“Or both,” Ilya added. he lifted himself up over Hayden and then settled down over his torso and between his thighs, which seemed to open themselves to give him room. Hayden stifled a gasp as their hard dicks slotted together. “Probably both.” He bent down and kissed Hayden again, slower and dirtier. Fuck, Hayden hated him, so why was this so fucking good? He wrapped his hands around Rozanov’s head and pulled him closer, trying to get his tongue as far down the man’s throat as possible. Maybe if he fucking choked him with it, he could have Shane all to himself.  

“Hayden’s hits are just fine,” Shane said, the bed shifting as he settled onto it. “Not everyone is trying to drive their opponents’ ribcages into the fucking boards every time they deliver a check.” 

Ilya pulled away. Hayden did not whine a little as their mouths separated. 

“Mmm, and is he as flexible as you are?” Ilya asked, adding another of those quick words in Russian. “Or should I take him on his stomach?” 

“Umm, yeah, probably face down would be better,” Shane said. 

“Hey!” Hayden objected. “I’ve got four kids, I’m plenty flexible.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Shane muttered. “I was trying to make it less uncomfortable for you, but hey, your funeral, I guess.”  

Rozanov drew back, and the two of them repositioned themselves around Hayden, guiding him with gentle touches on his shoulders and hips that drove him crazy, until he found himself lying on his back with Shane behind him, his knees bracketing Hayden’s shoulders, and Rozanov in front of him, kneeling between his widely-splayed legs. Shane lifted Hayden’s head to rest on his lower belly and gently stroked his hair back from his forehead. Ilya vaulted off the bed for a moment, grabbing a strip of condoms and a tube of lube from the bedside table, then crawled back between Hayden’s legs. 

“Is okay?” he asked again, running a hand caressing down the inside of Hayden’s thigh. 

“Yeah,” Hayden said, nestling into the mattress to get more comfortable. “It’s good. Like I said, I have done this before. Just, you know. With store-bought instead of naturally grown.” 

“Oh my god, Hayden,” Shane muttered.

“Is okay, Shane,” Ilya said, laughing. “He does not need my dick after all! He has store-bought dick at home.” 

“I didn’t say—” Hayden protested. 

“Stop while you’re ahead,” Shane advised, sneaking a hand over Hayden’s mouth. 

Hayden licked his palm. It wasn’t an action under his conscious control, at this point—he’d simply spent far too much of the last seven years with toddlers not to do it. 

“What the hell, Hayd?” Shane snatched his hand away and shook it. “Gross!” 

“Really?” Ilya asked, laughing. “His tongue can be in your mouth, but not on your hand?” 

“Well, it’s—” Shane stopped in mid-sentence, looking conflicted. 

“You want to see what gross things I can do with my tongue?” Ilya said, looking gleeful. 

“How did I get myself into this?” Shane muttered; but as Ilya pushed Hayden’s knees up to his chest, he grabbed onto the bottom of Hayden’s thighs, holding his legs up and out as Ilya slithered down onto his forearms and buried his face in Hayden’s ass. 

“Oh, fuck,” Hayden choked out. He breathed slowly, trying to get used to the stretch and the sensations, but Rozanov was relentless, tonguing Hayden from dick to taint, sucking on his balls; his strong hands spread Hayden even wider, refusing to let him pull away, even as tiny whimpering noises and moans started to force themselves out of his throat. 

Shane’s lips grazed across Hayden’s forehead as he writhed, held securely in place by Shane and Ilya’s firm grips. Ilya’s tongue was fucking magic, opening Hayden up in tandem with his slick fingers, making him pant and swear and scream. Embarrassingly quickly, he found himself reduced to a quivering, babbling mass of sensation, begging incoherently for more, deeper, faster, something. 

“You think he is ready?” Ilya asked, sounding amused. 

“He sure sounds ready,” Shane said. 

“I’m—right here—” Hayden managed to gasp out. His dick was so hard it hurt. “You could just—ask me—” 

“If you can still chirp, I think you need little more time,” Ilya teased. 

“No!” Hayden gasped. 

He kicked out reflexively with one foot as Ilya dipped his head down and grazed his tongue across Hayden’s overstimulated hole, just barely missing clocking him in the head. Ilya ducked out of the way with hockey-fast reflexes, laughing like a hyena. 

“Please,” Hayden added. “I can’t, I… Please just fuck me.” 

Ilya smiled evilly down at him as he lined up his dick at Hayden’s gaping hole. “Well, if you ask so nicely.” 

And then he pushed slowly in. A strangled gasp exploded out of Hayden’s lungs, and he groped blindly out to the side, searching for some kind of anchor. Shane dropped his thighs, letting his legs fall down to clutch around Ilya’s hips, and snatched up his right hand, holding it in a therapeutically tight grip.  

“I’ve got you, Hayzy,” Shane whispered. His other hand smoothed back Hayden’s hair again, and he pressed his mouth to Hayden’s forehead, lips moving wetly against skin as he spoke. “You’re doing so great.” 

“I—I don’t—ah Christ…” 

It was just so much. Hayden understood now, too late, why Shane had thought he should take it on his belly. Rozanov’s dick had to be at least half again as thick and long as Jackie’s strap, but that wasn’t the real issue. It was having Ilya looming above him, looking like a fucking god, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. It was Ilya’s weight pressing the air out of Hayden’s lungs. It was being unable to look away as Ilya pushed in deeper, until Hayden was willing to swear he could feel him in his throat. 

Shane peppered his forehead and hair with kisses, whispering encouragements, until Ilya bottomed out, coming to a stop with his forehead pressing into the crook of Hayden’s neck. 

“Holy shit, Shane,” Hayden said. His voice echoed strangely in his ears, shaking and slurring on the words, as if he was drunk. “Holy fucking hell…” 

“Yeah, Hayds?” Shane breathed. “It’s good, right? He’s so fucking big, it feels like you’re going to die, doesn’t it?”

“So big, Shane, oh my god, so good—”

“You two are going to kill me,” Ilya grated out, the strain evident in his voice. “Is okay? I can move, now?” 

“Yeah, baby, he’s ready. You’re ready, right, Hayd?” 

Hayden felt like if Ilya moved, he might actually fucking die. It felt that fucking overwhelming. But if Shane had asked Hayden if he was willing to light himself on fire, in that moment, he would have said yes. It was like the very best moments on the ice, when his entire body was nothing more than an extension of his mind, except that instead of being oriented toward getting the puck to the net, it was geared toward pleasing Shane. 

Which… wasn’t actually as big of a difference as he might have thought. And anyway, how many times had he done something he hadn’t thought was physically possible, just because Shane had told him he could?

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I’m ready.” 

Ilya must have seen through some of his bravado, because when he started to move, it was in tiny little nudges—just rocking back and forth, really, getting Hayden used to the feeling of having him there. Hayden arched back anyway, overcome by the burning ache and the pleasure that was so intense, it was almost indistinguishable from the pain. He clutched at Shane’s hand and breathed through it, feeling tears press behind his eyes. He refused to let them fall, but it was a nearer thing than he would have liked. Unlike when Jackie fucked him, it didn’t fucking matter what angle Ilya was coming in at, because he was so big that he pressed on Hayden’s prostate constantly, keeping him in a never-ending state of near-overstimulation; he was drowning in the sea of pleasure, waves of sensation rocking him over his head every time he almost got his bearings. He lost track entirely of what words were spilling out of his mouth, whether he was cursing Rozanov out or begging him to never stop. 

His only consolation was that Rozanov seemed, if not equally affected, at least also somewhat unhinged by it all. As he amped up the speed and force of his thrusts, he pressed his forehead against Shane’s thigh next to Hayden’s head, his mouth gaping open and breath coming in agonized moans. Shane moved his hand from Hayden’s forehead to bury it in Ilya’s curls, anchoring him in place. 

“Can you come more than once, Pike? Hayden!” Ilya self-corrected, as Shane shook him by the curls, like a kitten being scruffed. “Fuck, Shane, sorry. Hayden, can you come twice?” 

“Ye—yes?” Hayden asked. He didn’t feel certain of his own name at the moment, but… “No, yeah, I can.”

“Good boy,” Ilya said. 

“—the fuck did you just—” Hayden breathed, but before he could finish the sentence—or reckon with the way his dick had just gotten even harder—Ilya had pulled out and flipped him over, wrenching him away from Shane’s grip, manhandling him onto his belly as easily as a sack of potatoes, and then buried himself again, balls deep, in two sharp thrusts. 

Hayden wailed into Shane’s lap as Rozanov started to roll his hips again, battering the backs of Hayden’s thighs hard enough to bruise. For this, the angle mattered—Ilya was so deep, now, deeper than Hayden had ever had anything inside him, his weight pressing Hayden down to the mattress, his dick like a constant brand against his prostate. Shane’s hands were massaging encouragingly at his neck, his shoulders, and as Hayden got his forearms braced underneath himself, he could smell the musk of Shane’s lust deep in his nostrils, feel his hard dick against the side of his cheek. He turned his head and nosed at it, getting his lips wrapped around the head for a second before Rozanov’s rocking hips jerked him away from it. 

“Jesus, Hayds,” Shane breathed, and suddenly, both of his hands were bracketing Hayden’s head, holding it steady right in front of his dick. “You really want this?” 

Hayden nodded eagerly, straining for it, unable to help feeling a little smug about getting Shane’s full attention. And then Shane pulled him down onto his dick, and Hayden's mind dissolved into a wordless haze of pleasure and want and need. He knew he couldn’t possibly be doing much of a good job—he felt barely coordinated, given the overwhelming sensations still running through his body, and Ilya was still thrusting into him from behind, rocking him back and forth despite Shane’s attempts to hold his head steady. But Shane didn’t seem to mind, hissing as his dick slipped back and forth between Hayden’s lips,  then groaning as the head brushed against Hayden’s soft palate, making him gag and cough around it. 

“Fuck, Hayden,” Shane moaned. “Can’t believe you’re doing this—” 

“Is not bad,” Rozanov admitted, his voice ridiculously nonchalant given the vigor with which he was currently fucking Hayden. “For a first time.” 

“Shut up, it’s impressive and you know it.” 

“But not as impressive as me, yes?” 

“I mean, I can’t do a real comparison—it’s not like I was there the first time you gave a blowjob. Maybe I should call Svetlana, I bet she could—” 

Thankfully for Hayden’s continuing sanity, Ilya cut Shane off—with a kiss, from the sound of it—and reached under Hayden, wrapping a fist around his soaking, fever-hot dick. Hayden moaned and panted around Shane’s dick as Ilya jerked him off. His toes curled and his back arched, and it took barely three strokes before he was coming almost violently, in hot, messy spurts over Shane’s clean sheets. 

He’s gonna hate that, Hayden thought deliriously.

Chapter End Notes

If you're waiting for one of my other WIPs to update—soon, I promise!

---

Comments give me life.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Many thanks again to my bestie beta squad for this one, hopelessscribe, multifandomhomo, and phoenix_ascended. I owe a special h/t to Phoenix on this one, for making sure that Ilya's hands didn't get accidentally disconnected from the rest of his body! (Blocking three people having sex is so hard 😅 *cough* that's what they said *cough*).

Thanks also to my cheer-reader and constant inspiration, Dragonmuse — if y'all like my work in this fandom, run don't walk to go read theirs!

I love y'all so much! 😍😍😍

Now

“Ilya,” Shane said, panting lightly, “we gotta check on Hayden.” 

“Hayden is fine,” Ilya said, low and urgent. “I need you, sweetheart, need to make you scream—” 

“Soon,” Shane said, even more breathlessly. “C’mon, I want to make sure he’s okay.”

“‘M fine,” Hayden managed to mumble out, from where he was collapsed on top of the wet spot. “‘S’all good.” 

“Why would he not be okay? You don’t think I fuck him well?” 

“Fuck off, you know you did.” 

“Yes, because I am best fuck you ever had, is why you wanted me to do it—” 

“I wanted you to do it because I love you,” Shane said quietly. “And he’s my best friend, so I want to share the very best part of my life with him.” 

There was a brief pause, then—

“Fuck, Shane—” Ilya sounded wrecked, and Hayden was actually a bit tempted to roll over to see what his face looked like as the wet noises of another kiss sounded above his head. But he was too comfortable to move. 

“Hey, buddy,” Shane said gently. It was some time later. Maybe five minutes, maybe thirty. Hayden jerked, realizing he’d almost fallen asleep. Shane went on, a note of laughter underlying his voice, “How are you doing?” 

“I think you and your boyfriend fucking murdered me,” Hayden mumbled groggily. “Holy fuck, dude.” 

“You know, that’s actually pretty close to what Ilya said to me after our first time.” 

“Mm.” 

Shane snorted. “Okay, cloud-brain. Turn over and let me clean you up, Hayds.” 

“Mmm,” was all Hayden was able to get out this time, but after Shane poked him in the side—irritatingly hard, Jesus, you'd think he was a hockey player or something—for the fifth time, he finally groaned and managed to flip onto his back. 

He fully expected Shane to force him to get up and go take a shower, so that he could fuck his boyfriend in piece; or maybe, at best, for Shane to rub him down with a washcloth before kicking him out of their bed. What he absolutely didn’t expect was for Shane to crawl over him, apparently oblivious to how gross Hayden was, and take a position straddling his lower thighs, looking down at him with a salacious grin.  

“What are you doing?” Hayden asked. He thought he could be excused if came out sounding a little dazed—Shane looked like an angel perching above him, his bare chest gleaming with sweat and dark hair haloed by the overhead light.

“Don’t you remember what I told you?” Shane said, all sweet concern and performative innocence. “I’m going to clean you up.” 

And then Shane eeled down lower, his body moving so sleekly and sinuously that Hayden couldn’t take his eyes off him, laid his forearms across Hayden’s thighs, and started to carefully clean the cum off Hayden’s belly with his tongue. 

“Holy fuck,” Hayden breathed, watching him wide eyes. “Shane, I can’t believe you’re—holy fuck!” 

He squirmed wildly as Shane finished with his belly and moved down to his dick, which was still massively oversensitive with everything that had been wrung out of it already. After less than a minute, Hayden couldn’t take it any longer; his hands flew down without his conscious intervention and buried themselves in Shane’s hair, yanking at the soft strands to pull him off of his dick with an obscene slurping sound. 

As Shane let out an urgent moan, straining against Hayden’s grip to get his dick back into his mouth, Hayden realized what he’d just done and snatched his hands away, resting them safely above his head. “I’m so sorry,” he panted. “It was just… too much. Holy fuck.”

“Ilya, a little help?” Shane said, pulling up and grinning down at him. 

Ilya chuckled softly and clambered over to sit above Hayden’s head, then grabbed Hayden’s wrists and pinned them to the mattress.

“Oh. Unless you actually wanted me to stop, Hayd?” Shane asked, the grin settling into a cocky smirk. It was the same expression he wore right before he pulled off another impossible play and buried the puck in the net. 

“Oh, you are actually going to kill me,” Hayden said wonderingly. He tugged a little, testing Rozanov’s grip—to his utter non-surprise, he couldn’t budge his arms even a centimeter. “Fuck it, go ahead.” 

Shane took him at his word, diving down and sucking at Hayden’s still mostly-soft dick with an eagerness that would have been a huge turn on in and of itself, even if it hadn’t felt overwhelmingly good. Hayden fucking loved it even as he reflexively struggled against it—uselessly wrenching his wrists inside of Ilya’s painfully tight grip, futilely bucking his hips under Shane’s weight, trying to get away from a pleasure so acute it was almost painful. By the time he was finally fully hard again, hips working spasmodically as he attempted to thrust up into Shane’s mouth, tears were streaming down his face and his voice had gone hoarse from shouting.

And then Shane sat back on Hayden’s knees, a satisfied smirk on his face, and reached behind himself to pull out… a butt plug?

“Holy fuck, dude,” Hayden said shakily. “Have you been wearing that thing the whole fucking night?” 

“He wears it whenever he is not on the ice or training,” Ilya said,  his voice impossibly smug. “Keeps himself ready for me all the time.” 

Hayden gaped up at Shane, who didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. It wasn’t like the toy was gigantic, or anything—Hayden could easily imagine that taking Rozanov’s dick would still be a stretch even after having it in for a while, although it would probably make it possible to do it a lot faster, and wow, that was maybe not the best line of thought to pursue if he didn’t want to come again too fast—

And then that last thought became significantly more urgent as Shane leaned forward, so deeply that his pecs grazed Hayden's chest, placed the plug carefully in a dish on the nightstand, and then sat back down squarely on Hayden’s dick. 

“Holy shit,” Hayden gasped, as Shane sunk down hilt-deep in one smooth motion. He slammed his head back on the mattress, closed his eyes, and thought desperately of clowns. 

Shane ran his hands caressingly down Hayden’s torso and rocked back and forth a little, experimentally. Hayden groaned breathlessly, tugging again to try to free his wrists from Rozanov’s grip. Ilya just leaned forward and pressed them harder into the mattress, and Hayden knotted his hands in the sheets, catching up large fistfuls to distract himself from coming then and there. 

“How’s it going for you, Hayden?” Shane asked, rocking a little harder. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Hayden said, prying his eyes open just enough to glare up at him. It was a mistake—Shane looked fucking glorious sitting up there, a little closemouthed smirk on his face, eyes starting to cross as he fucked himself on Hayden’s dick. 

Shane laughed. “Sounds like you better get over here, Ilya. We might actually murder Hayden if we let him come and have to get him up again.” 

“No, no, is perfect strategy,” Ilya said, his voice burbling with amusement. He finally released Hayden’s wrists, leaving the skin beneath them tingling and feeling strangely light. Hayden still didn’t move them—his grip on the sheets was all that was anchoring him to reality at the moment. “Is what your dad is always telling me to do to fix things—turn it off and turn it on again?” 

“Fuck you,” Hayden groaned, closing his eyes again. “Wait. Why would you even have to turn it—I mean, me—on again?” 

If they were going to make him fuck Ilya after he fucked Shane, he might actually have to tap out, excruciatingly embarrassing though it would be. 

“You did not tell him the plan?” Ilya asked, sounding vaguely surprised. 

“ … I didn’t get a chance,” Shane said, in the awkward monotone he used when he was lying. 

Hayden opened his eyes and peered up at Shane, wondering what on earth Shane hadn’t been able to tell him. 

“You were too embarrassed,” Ilya corrected, after a short pause. “My shy little—” 

“Shut up and get over here,” Shane said, blushing at whatever Russian pet name Rozanov was using for him now. He looked down at Hayden. “Sorry, I should have told you what I was thinking, I just—you said you were up for whatever, so I kinda didn’t…” 

Hayden had said that because he’d figured that Shane was probably pretty tame in bed, all things considered, and wouldn’t want to do anything too wild, especially their first time. This had clearly been the universe playing a cosmic-sized joke on him. 

“It’s fine, just, uh… What are you thinking?” Hayden asked. At least Shane had stopped moving, for now, but Ilya was climbing off the bed and circling menacingly around it, and Hayden was genuinely starting to get a little nervous. 

“Well,” Shane said, rubbing the back of his head. Even that little shift of his weight made Hayden see stars. “One thing I’ve never gotten to try is, uh, two guys at once?” 

Hayden blinked up at him for a second, his brain almost too drunk with pleasure to function. Shane obviously didn’t mean just having a threesome, since they’d already accomplished that, but what else could he—

“You mean, like… taking us both up the ass at the same time?” 

“Yeah,” Shane confirmed, his eyes going even more glassy just at the thought. “Would you, uh, be up for that?” 

As if Hayden would have ever been able to say no to him. But still, his muttered “sure, man” earned him a beaming smile, so. Even if this actually killed him, what a way to go. 

“You tell me if it starts to hurt,” Ilya said sternly, as he pressed Shane down onto Hayden’s chest. 

Shane rolled his eyes. Having him so close, with Hayden’s dick still inside him, was starting to make his heart do strange things. 

“I’m not suddenly made of glass,” Shane said over his shoulder. “You know that I can take a little pain. Hell, you usually enjoy it when—” 

“Shut up,” Ilya said bluntly, even as he fit a finger in alongside Hayden’s dick. Hayden squirmed at the sensation as he tested the fit, pulled out, and then came back with two fingers, pushing in a fresh flood of lube along with them. “I was talking to Hayden.” 

He had absolutely not been talking to Hayden, but Hayden wasn’t going to say anything about it if Shane wasn’t. 

“Oh, fuck,” Shane whispered into Hayden’s neck, as Ilya slid in another finger. 

Hayden craned his head up, reaching for Shane’s jaw, his cheek, his lips. Shane stretched up and met him, kissing him roughly, both of them uncoordinated, sloppy with it. It felt fucking amazing. Ilya pulled out, and Hayden tensed for his dick, next, but instead, he came back with more lube and four fingers, rubbing between Hayden’s dick and the sleek, wet insides of Shane’s ass. It felt like being jerked off while he was fucking someone. 

Shane pulled away from Hayden’s lips and pressed his face back into his neck, swearing, “Jesus Christ, Ilya, enough! Just get in me, now. I need it, need you to fill me up—” 

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groaned. 

Between one moment and the next,  Shane’s tone turned from demanding to seductive. “Please, Ilya?” He twisted his head to look back over his shoulder at his boyfriend, showing off his insane flexibility. “I promise you won’t hurt me. I’m ready, I want to feel it when you both fuck me, want to feel it for days—” 

Ilya swore in Russian and yanked his fingers out. He kept speaking, the irritated, incomprehensible words coming fast and furious, as he lined himself up. 

“Christ,” Hayden muttered, as Ilya leaned down and pressed his lips prayerfully to Shane’s back, one hand pushing Shane’s head back down to Hayden’s chest. “You really are a fucking menace, aren’t you? Just as bad here as on the ice—convince everyone that you’re this shy, quiet, innocent thing and then you steal the puck from right between their legs and have it in the net before they’ve even turned around.”

He wasn't entirely sure what the puck was in this metaphor. Didn't want to examine it too closely.  

Shane craned his head back up and winked at him before dipping back down and sucking another sharp mark just below the hinge of Hayden’s jaw. 

And then Ilya pushed in. 

“Mother fucker,” Hayden swore, slamming his head back against the mattress again. 

It felt… indescribable. Unlike being fucked, it wasn’t painful at all, but it was so intense that the world pleasurable didn’t seem remotely adequate. Even Shane was tearing up as Ilya bottomed out; as his best friend stopped pressing openmouthed kisses against Hayden’s jaw and chest and reared up, Hayden caught the telltale sheen in his eyes, and as he leaned back down and thrust his tongue back through Hayden’s willingly parted lips, he felt the hot drops against his cheek as they finally overflowed. Hayden finally managed to unclench his hands from the sheets and brought them up to cup the sides of Shane’s face, gentling the kiss, turning it from torrid to loving. 

They moaned into each other’s mouths as Ilya began actually fucking Shane; he started slow at first, but quickly amped up his rhythm, his dick sliding back and forth against Hayden’s. God, it felt fucking amazing. Hayden let his hands slide down from Shane’s face to his hips, steadying him between them. 

“Are you going to actually do any of the work here, P—Hayden?” Ilya asked, his voice only a little breathless. 

Shane broke away from the kiss and laughed against Hayden’s cheek. 

Jesus. Hayden had known that Rozanov was a beast—had gone up against him in at least one playoff game that had gone to double overtime periods, and seen him play as strong after almost a hundred minutes of play as he’d been at the start. But this was unreal. 

“I don’t know,” he managed to pant out in response. “You seem to be doing fine for both of us.” 

Shane laughed harder and reached behind himself—it was hard to see from Hayden’s angle, but from the feel of it, he’d grabbed Ilya by the ass and yanked him into delivering a harder thrust. 

“C’mon, Hayd,” he breathed, leaning back down and nipping at his jaw, “show me what you’ve got.” 

Looking over Shane’s shoulder, Hayden made direct and sustained eye contact with Ilya for what felt like the first time in the evening. Ilya raised his eyebrows, and Hayden nodded, feeling a grin spread across his face. And then they both began to thrust; first in sync, and then, once they’d made Shane sufficiently vocal—and not with fucking chirps—they found a back-and-forth rhythm that allowed them to batter Shane senseless between them. 

Hayden’s hamstrings were soon burning—he could already tell that he was going to be spending a decent part of tomorrow in an ice bath. But like hell was he going to give up before Rozanov did. More importantly, the noises tumbling from Shane’s mouth had turned urgent and blissful and genuinely needy, with a high-pitched whining edge that was driving Hayden crazy, and Hayden wasn’t sure he would have been able to stop even if he’d known he was crippling himself before a game. No way in hell was he going to call it quits during the off-season until he’d driven himself to the point of exhaustion and beyond—no matter how hard Jackie was going to laugh at him when he could barely walk. 

“Oh god,” Shane whimpered. He’d lost the ability to keep himself upright, and was clutching onto Hayden’s pecs for dear life. “Oh fuck—” 

“Can you—come from—this?” Hayden had to force the words out between desperate gasps of breath. He could feel Shane’s dick trapped between their bellies,  hot and leaking, and he tried another angle, rolling his hips to try to increase the friction against it. 

“He can,” Ilya said, even his voice showing the strain. “Come on, sweetheart, come for us, Shane, fuck—” 

Rozanov groaned and swore, his hips slowing and stuttering, and Hayden closed his eyes, reaching for the reservoirs of strength and endurance that Shane had trained into him. He remembered years of showing up early to every practice, staying late at every drill, going to every optional skate—not because Shane expected it of him, but because he inspired Hayden to be a better player, even as Jackie inspired him to be a better man. And he kept going, fucking up into Shane until his moaning reached a fever pitch; until Ilya's softening dick slipped out with a deliciously wet slide, and he fell off them to lay prone on the mattress; until Shane screamed, and finally went entirely boneless and limp against Hayden's chest. And then, for good measure, he fucked him a little longer, until he was whimpering and writhing with blissful overstimulation as Hayden’s dick milked every possible ounce of pleasure out of him. Only then did he finally open his eyes, and let the sight of Shane’s sweat-drenched, bliss-soaked face tip him over into orgasm. 

“Holy shit,” Shane muttered, his breath falling wetly onto Hayden’s chest.

“Was everything you dreamed of?” Ilya asked; the words were altogether free of his usual cockiness, coming out warm and tender. 

“More,” Shane said. He let himself slide off of Hayden, nestling in between him and Ilya. “Fuck, that was incredible.”  

Hayden rolled onto his side and laid his head on Shane’s shoulder. He knew their time was limited—they were all sweaty and gross, and he was honestly surprised that Shane hadn’t already gotten up to shower—but he fully intended to wring every possible moment of intimacy out of this encounter before it inevitably came to an end. 

“Heh,” he realized, his words echoing in the comfortable silence. “I lasted longer than either of you.” 

On Shane’s other side, Rozanov reared up, glaring down at him incredulously. “Are you fucking serious?” he demanded. “It was your second time! You got nice little nap break while I went straight from fucking you to fucking Shane!” 

“Mm-hm, you know, all that I’m hearing right now are excuses—” 

“I will fucking murder you, Pike—” 

“Guys!” Shane protested, wheezing weakly between them. “Come on—” 

Then

Hayden woke up as Jackie came in through the front door, her high heels clacking on the tiled floor. He opened his eyes, peering around the darkened living room, but didn’t move or call out. Amber was comatose on his chest—sleeping the just sleep of an infant who had spent a busy and excellent day tormenting her caregivers—but she might still wake up if he made too much noise. She was the lightest sleeper of all their kids so far, defying the established wisdom about youngest children. After Shane had woken her up by leaving—not that it was really his fault, he hadn’t been super loud or anything, but Hayden wasn’t feeling especially charitable at the moment—it had taken him a good hour to get her back down, and he didn’t want to do it all over again.

Jackie went upstairs, and he closed his eyes again, one hand slowly moving up and down over Amber’s head and back. She still had barely any hair, just tiny blond wisps over her soft little skull, and she felt incredibly soothing under his hand. 

“Honey?” Jackie asked softly. “Hayd?” 

He pried his eyes open slowly; he’d almost fallen back asleep, he realized. “Hey, Jax,” he whispered.  

She had already washed off her makeup, taken off her fancy outfit, and changed into her favorite pajamas, which he secretly thought were the hottest thing she owned. They were simple, nothing but skimpy navy blue shorts and a cream and blue crop top with delicate spaghetti straps that crossed across her back—all in some incredibly soft, loose, stretchy fabric, with a scalloped hem that flirted over her breasts and ass and adorably pouchy stomach, with the gorgeous tiger-like stretch marks that Hayden could track from each child that had produced them. She had a hundred outfits, cocktail dresses and lingerie and swimwear, that were objectively sexier—but in these clothes, she always looked happy and comfortable, relaxed and entirely edible and his.

“You want me to take her back up to her crib?” She sat down delicately next to him, putting her mouth up to his ear so she wouldn’t wake the baby. “Or does she need feeding?” 

“No, I gave her a bottle of the pumped stuff when she woke up earlier,” he breathed. “She’s sleeping hard—probably better not to move her. How was the bachelorette party?” 

“Great,” she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder. “Michelle’s pregnant, so we were all drinking mocktails in solidarity… I haven’t been to a club in ages, and I don’t think I’ve ever been to one without drinking? It was actually way more fun. We danced all night—everyone showing off their best moves, playing silly games. It was nice.” 

“That’s fantastic, babe.” 

“And how did it go with Shane? I wasn’t sure whether you not texting me was a good or bad thing.” 

He laid his head down on top of hers. It was the same position he’d taken with Shane, he realized, just in reverse. “It was… a complicated thing?” he offered finally. “Fu—dge if I know.” 

“Nice save.” 

“Shouldn’t count if the kids are sleeping.” 

“You’re never going to stop swearing around them unless you keep it up all the time.” 

“The guys’d never let me live it down if—never mind,” he cut himself off as Amber started to stir a little, responding to the rising note of irritation in his voice. He petted her little head again, staying quiet and enjoying the still peacefulness of the evening, until her breathing evened out once more. It was one of the arguments he and Jackie  relitigated every time they got punch-drunk tired or stressed or both, and he fucking well knew better. 

“What happened with Shane, Hayd?” she asked again. “You’re being… squirrely.” 

He grinned mirthlessly. Squirrely. Yeah, that was a word for it. 

Thankfully, Shane had given him permission to fill Jackie in on the details—in exchange for Hayden’s reluctant agreement for Shane to tell (ugh) Rozanov—or he’d have been reduced to hiding in the girls’ playhouse overnight to keep the secret. 

“Well. It turns out that Shane is gay.” 

“Ha!” Jackie’s exclamation of victory came out much closer to normal volume than she’d meant it, and they froze, looking down at Amber. She let out an adorable little whistling snore, and they both relaxed. Jackie whispered, “I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah, you called it, babe.” 

“So… what’s wrong, then? Is he not… interested, or…?” 

“Well,” he went on. “Funny story about that. Apparently he’s in love with Ilya Rozanov.” 

“ … He’s what?” 

Hayden took some comfort from the shocked disbelief in Jackie’s voice. 

“When? How? Why? When?” she asked, each question following rapid-fire after the others. 

“I guess they’ve been hooking up since they got drafted,” he said, eager to spill the details. Anything to have someone else to share and appreciate his utter confusion. “Or shortly after that, anyway—he didn’t get too much into the details with me. But he said they get together whenever they’re in the same city. Plus for most of the last year they’ve been meeting in little hotels halfway between us. Doing the Vermont leaf-peeping tour, or whatever.” 

Jackie giggled. “Wow. That’s a visual that’s going to stick with me. Ilya Rozanov looking at leaves changing colors…” 

“Shane says he’s different, when they’re… you know. That him being an as—a jerk, is mostly an act.” 

“Wow. So, it’s serious between them, then? I mean, I know that you said Shane is in love with him, but… Rozanov feels the same way?” 

“Yeah, Shane says he does. Apparently they have a ten-year plan, or some sh—stuff.”

“Holy cow. I would have never called that.”  

“I mean, I guess it kinda makes sense, in a weird sort of way?” Hayden said, feeling perversely called to defend Shane’s choice. “Like, they’ve always been the best. Who else have they had to measure themselves against but each other? Who else would ever understand the pressure they’re under? You know?” 

Jackie hummed thoughtfully. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, babe.” 

“Well… yeah! I just still can’t believe it, you know? I mean, Rozanov? He’s not what I would have thought Shane’s type was at all! He’s loud, he’s slutty, he’s arrogant, he’s—

“—incredibly hot?” 

“So hot! It’s not fair! How am I supposed to compete with that?” 

Jackie sat up and turned to look at him. “Are you trying to compete? Still?” 

Hayden opened his mouth. Closed it. “I mean, I can’t be, right?” he asked finally. “It wouldn’t be fair. I’m in love with you. If he were single and wanted to have an occasional thing, like we talked about, that would be one thing, but… I should be happy that he has someone. A real relationship. Even if it’s the last man on earth I’d want him to be with.”

She snorted. “Mmm, no, that’s Dallas Kent.”

Hayden huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, fair. So…I should be as excited for him to be in love as he’s always been for us. I should be happy that someone sees what a great guy he is. Hopefully. It’s what I always wanted for him.” 

“Yeah, Hayd, it is. So why do you sound like someone just kicked a puppy in front of you?”

Hayden closed his eyes, his hands moving automatically up and down Amber’s back. Hearing Jackie verbalize the exact question he’d been asking himself didn’t feel as good as it usually did.  “I don’t know,” he whispered miserably.

Jackie hummed again. They’ve done this for almost as long as they’ve been together—ever since their first big fight, when Hayden had started packing his things, assuming they were over, only to have Jackie kick him square in his self-pity, announcing that he wasn’t getting out of admitting he’d been wrong that easily. He relied on her to help him talk out his feelings and figure out what the hell they were—and very occasionally, like right after Jasper had been born, he’d even been able to return the favor. 

“Are you worried that Rozanov will hurt him?” Jackie asked. 

Hayden sighed. “A little, yeah. But I don’t think… I mean, I hate the guy, he’s an as—jerkface, but you’re right, he’s not as bad as Kent or others in the League. Even some of the guys on our own team, to be honest. Rozanov never goes for the really cheap shit, you know? And Shane’s a good judge of character. If he’s been with the guy for eight fu—for eight years, and he says he’s a good guy, deep down, then… He can’t be that bad.” 

“Okay, then,” Jackie said, accepting that. “Are you hurt that he didn't tell you earlier?” 

Hayden forced himself to consider that possibility seriously, but eventually, he shook his head. “I mean, I know exactly what he was scared of. And when I think about how he’s been alone—if I hadn’t had you to help me through this? If I hadn’t been attracted to women at all? Fuck, that would have been so fucking hard. No. I don’t blame him for not telling me.” 

“Swear jar!” Jackie said. “Twice.”

Hayden rolled his eyes. “Sure, babe. Do you want me to get up and pay it now, or…?” 

“Shut up, Hayden,” Jackie said, with more of an edge of irritation in her voice now. She sat up and glared down at him. “I’m not having a repeat of Ruby’s teacher calling me on her first day of preschool and telling me that my daughter taught a roomful of three-year-olds how to say the F word.” 

Hayden swallowed the automatic defense that rose to his lips. No, Amber wasn’t likely to pick up swearing as a sleeping infant, but he’d thought that about Ruby and Jade when they’d been toddlers, too, and he’d been dead wrong. And while he really didn’t give a flying fuck if his kids swore, he knew that Jackie already felt out of place among the other moms at the kids’ private school—they were almost universally older, and mostly had successful careers or inherited money, and had given her a lot of condescending, judgmental advice when Ruby and Jade had first started going there. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, instead. “You’re right. I’m just frustrated. I don’t understand why I’m feeling so lousy about this. I mean, it’s not like I actually thought that I’d come out of this with a fuck-buddy, you know? All I really wanted was for Shane to not hate me. And he doesn’t, even when I made a complete fool of myself! It went great. Better than I expected. So why?”

“Do you think…” she started, a little tentatively. “And we’re looping back to how exactly you made a fool of yourself later, but… When we talked about how this might go, we planned out what you’d do if he was gay and wanted to sleep with you—” 

“Which I didn’t get my hopes up about—”

“—Which you didn’t think was likely,” she agreed, “and we talked about how it might go if he was straight and was okay with it, or straight and not okay with it, just in case.” 

“Sure.”  

“But we never really talked about him being gay but not wanting to sleep with you,” she pointed out. “Maybe part of what you’re feeling is just that this wasn’t a scenario that you planned on?” 

Hayden thought about that. It felt not completely wrong, but not completely right, either. “I guess… I don’t know. I think maybe I just don’t… I mean, for me it was never a question of…” He freed one hand and grabbed a nearby throw pillow, smashing it into his face so that he could vent his frustration into a short whisper-scream that was swallowed up by the soft fabric. 

When he was done, he tossed it to the floor and sighed. “I always knew that if I was really attracted to men, then I wanted Shane. I mean, he’s my best friend! How would I not want him? So I guess I just…” 

“You’re worried that if he doesn’t want you, that means that you’re not really his best friend?” Jackie asked, her voice miraculously free of judgment. 

“I’m being really stupid, aren’t I?” Hayden said. “Especially when he made a point of saying that if he hadn’t fallen for Rozanov first, he’d be all over me. I mean, geez, he even said that he’d ask him about a threesome for me, if I really wanted to!” 

Jackie sat up again so quickly she almost overbalanced, and had to grab at Hayden’s arm to keep from falling off the couch. “He said what now?” 

Unfortunately, she said it in a normal tone of voice—louder, even—and Amber woke up with a jolt and started to cry. 

They made a silent agreement to suspend the conversation while they got her back to sleep and then got ready for bed themselves. It wasn’t until they’d closed their bedroom door behind them that Jackie dove under the covers and turned to Hayden with a giant grin on her face. 

“Oh my god, Hayden! Shane wants you to have a threesome with him and Ilya Rozanov?!?” 

“I mean, obviously I said no,” Hayden said stiffly, setting up his water bottle and the baby monitor on his nightstand. 

“Why is that obvious?” she asked, as if it was a genuine question. 

He turned toward her in shock. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t do that to you!” 

She cocked her head to the side. “I mean, of course I would have expected you to talk to me about it before you said yes for sure, Hayd, but… Why wouldn’t I be okay with it? I’d already said you could sleep with Shane.” 

“Well, yeah, but… Shane is different. Shane is family. Shane is…” 

“The guy you’re in love with?” 

Hayden felt his face go cold. “What? No! No, of course I’m not…” 

“Honey,” she interrupted, laying a hand on his arm. “You are. You have been for years.” 

“No,” he insisted. “I love him, he’s my best friend, but I’m not in love with him. I’m not, I can’t be, it’s… It would be…” 

“Gay?” she asked drily. 

He stared at her with his mouth gaping open, trying to work his way through the cloud of panic filling his head. As he struggled with it, Jackie threw off the covers and climbed onto his lap, straddling him and draping her arms over his shoulders. 

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay.” 

“But—” 

“I’m not mad. I love Shane, too,” she said, then leaned forward and kissed him softly.

The weight of her in his lap, the press of her lips, and the smell of her hair all worked their usual magic, and he slowly calmed down. When his panic had finally ebbed enough that he started to kiss her back, she pulled away with one final nuzzle and pressed their foreheads together. 

“You’re right, he is family. And I love how much you love him, Hayden. I love that you’re the kind of guy where it really doesn't occur to you to have sex with someone unless you're in love with them. And if you don't want to have sex with Rozanov for that reason, that's totally okay. But if you do want to—if the idea turns you on—then why wouldn't you?” 

Hayden really thought about it for the first time, as a serious possibility. Thought about how turned on he'd been, thinking of Rozanov and Shane together. Thought about how the idea of Rozanov fucking him made him feel. 

He was getting hard, and Jackie's gentle smile turned into a smirk as she ground down on him. 

Hayden took a deep breath. “And… you really wouldn’t mind? If…” 

“If you had smoking hot sex with Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov? Honey, I’m going to be so honest with you right now, I think standing in the way of that threesome would just be homophobic.” 

“I hate him, though.” 

“ …Hate sex could be fun?” 

“Jackie!” 

“Hayden,” she said, laughing. “Come on. Can’t you just imagine it?” 

He closed his eyes, groaning. His best friend, the Lady Byng winner, and the guy who won the most hated player in the league poll more years than not, locked together in bed, the intensity between them as tangible as it always was on the ice… Hayden shuddered, his dick twitching inside his boxers.

“You can imagine it,” Jackie said, her voice growing throaty. “And it’s turning you on. Mmm, Hayden…” 

“I kissed Shane,” he admitted, all in a rush. “After he told me he was gay. Before the part about Rozanov.” 

He felt her shiver against him, then she sat up straighter, grinding down on his dick again. He moaned, the sound punched out of him. 

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “And then he asked if you wanted to… Did he kiss you back?”

He let his hands wander up her back, reliving that kiss. God, but it had been good. “For just a moment, yeah. It was… Jesus, Jax!” 

The last two words were yelped as she thrust her hand into his boxers and grabbed his dick. 

“You’re going to have that threesome,” she growled in his ear. “And then you’re going to come home and tell me all about it…”  

Chapter End Notes

If you enjoyed this work, please consider checking out some of the other fics I've written for our gay hockey boys, and remember that comments are the lifeblood of fandom! Praise keeps me going and coming back.