Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Original Male Character(s), Kip Grady & Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander & Kyle Swift, Shane Hollander & Elena Rygg, Shane Hollander & Scott Hunter

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Kyle Swift, Kip Grady, Elena Rygg, Shawn (Game Changers), Scott Hunter (Game Changers), New York Admirals Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Shane Hollander Gets Outed, Slut Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander is Traded, New York Admirals Player Shane Hollander, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Player Shane Hollander, POV Shane Hollander, Unreliable Narrator, Self-Esteem Issues, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Developing Friendships, Friendship, Getting Together, Getting Back Together, The Kingfisher (Game Changers)

Language:

English

Collections:

Hollanov Big Bang 2026

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-22 Words: 68,040 Chapters: 8/8

Things Will Turn Around

Summary

Shane fucks up his career, blocks his situationship, begins an ill-advised slut era, gets outed, traded, and forced to rebuild his life. It's kind of a worst case scenario.

Or: The consequences of Shane Hollander's slump.

[Posted as a full, completed fic with art for the Hollanov Big Bang ❤️]

Notes

TW: internalized and externalized homophobia, homophobic and misogynistic language/slurs, brief thoughts of self-harm, anxiety disorder

Timeline-wise, this fic begins winter of the 2014-15 season.

This fic includes characters and plot points from Game Changer and Common Goal. I've only read each of these books once and my memory of canon is not perfect. I apologize to any fans of these books if I'm a little off. I am loose with the timeline and character ages in order to make the overlap of the Kip/Scott and Kyle/Eric romances work with Shane and Ilya's story. Apparently Elena is supposed to be straight, but I made her bi here. I also made some modifications to the Kip/Kyle friendship so Kyle is already over his crush. Take any other inconsistencies as creative liberties.

Also, this fic is sort of a spiritual companion piece to my Jackparse fic, Lately, There Is No Way Out of My Head. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone but me but in case there are any crossover readers, you may notice some themes and small details tying them together.

Book and show canon are mixed.

Title from Fleeting by Sarah Kinsley.

Thank you to hailstormtsunami for the beta and mockspeed for the gorgeous, beautiful art and CSS help ❤️

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

His head is buzzing as he walks out of the arena, and there's a sick, sinking feeling in his gut as his clammy hand grips the handle to his car door and wrenches it open.

He collapses forward onto the steering wheel, the leather sticky against his forehead. Another loss, eighth in a row. For the first time in his career, the Metros are out of the playoffs, and it's his fault. Fuck a team sport; Shane is Captain now, and he's the team's top scorer every season. This is his loss, his fuck up. He's so far out of the scoring race it's not even funny.

He squeezes his eyes shut, replaying his last shot in his mind. The angle should have been right—he had a clear path. Why the hell didn't it go in? The fact that he doesn't know is exactly the problem. It's like he can't read the ice anymore, can no longer see the plays before they happen, can't even see the fucking angle he needs to hit to get the puck in the net.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Lily.

Fucking Christ, he cannot take any gloating right now. Boston played an early game, so Shane saw that Rozanov got an assist and a goal to give the Raiders a clean 2-0 victory. They're on a hot streak, on a seven win streak, and a favorite for the Cup this year, which would be their second in a row.

Shane can't deal with Rozanov right now. The whole mess with him is bad for his psyche, complicated in ways he cannot deal with that are far too dangerous for his career.

Before he can read the message or second guess himself, he blocks and then deletes his number.

"Rolex is moving your shoot back a month. I just talked to their scheduler."

Shane's hand tightens on his phone. "Moving?" he repeats, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone. "Or dropping?"

"Sweetie, they're not dropping you. They had a scheduling a conflict with—"

"City Seltzer dropped me."

His mom pauses on the other line. "They're not sponsoring any athletes anymore. It's not because of one less than perfect season."

"Okay," Shane accepts with a sigh, not wanting a fight.

"Honey, you know that—"

"Okay, whatever," he interrupts. "Text me the new dates for the Rolex shoot; I'll put it in my calendar."

What any sponsors want to do with him after the disaster of a season he's had, he doesn't know. There are contracts, he supposes, but his mom always handles that stuff, so he doesn't know the details. He can't help the gnawing feeling it's pity more than anything.

There's always next season, he keeps hearing. Trite bullshit. He was just made captain this season and now he will probably get traded. Who would want him when he can't deliver? He's always been able to deliver on the ice. Sure, he's had a bad game here and there, but never a whole season.

The pre-season started okay. He was nervous, of course, as new captain. There were a lot of new things to deal with: more press scrums, figuring out how to mediate teammate conflicts, the expectation to always have a motivating word to say. Some of it he's good at; he's confident in his hockey IQ, and he's one of the most focused players in the league. He's good at remembering details about his teammates and giving them practical, technical advice to improve their game. Coaches always praise his diligence and dedication, and a lead-by-example approach had, at first, been appropriate.

But as the regular season picked up, there were more and more occasions when he felt out of his depth. Management informed him his leadership style was 'too quiet' and 'hard to read,' that he needed to 'connect' better. That word, 'connect,' had come up at least a dozen times. He hadn't known what to do with that advice, and the lack of clarity on a course correction made him feel even more inept when tasked with hyping up the team in the locker room and on the ice.

Abstractly, he understood what was being asked of him. The guys needed more from him vocally, and it was up to the captain to set a tone. It was just hard to turn that into anything actionable. Shane was already doing his best to inspire the team and lead them properly. What 'more' he could be doing was nebulous, and once he lost his already shaky confidence in his leadership skills, it only seemed to compound the problem.

In retrospect, he can pin down the exact moment it started to affect his game. It happened during their first away game of the season against the Admirals, while Shane stood in the visitors' locker room and started talking to his team. Somewhere in the first few seconds he became aware that he was doing it, that he was not just talking, but performing the act of talking. It was like he was watching himself do it, measuring each sentence against whatever 'connect' was supposed to mean. He tried to loosen up, to uncurl the tight coil of anxiety inside him, but that too felt like a performance, and the uncertainty over what the hell he was doing had split him in two—one half still standing there speaking, the other half somewhere near the ceiling taking notes. He doesn't know how long it lasted, but it was long enough that he'd lost the thread of what he was saying and struggled to find it again.

He doesn't remember the actual words, or even really the gist of his speech, but he does remember finishing and J.J. nodding and someone tapping the back of his shoulder as he thought: that was not good. Maybe not disastrous, but not good. Hollow. Maybe his speeches had always been hollow and he'd never noticed, or maybe the noticing was new and the noticing was the problem.

Whatever it was, he took it onto the ice with him. It was the first time he'd been aware of his own shifts while he was playing them, watching his decisions from a half-second behind, so that by the time he'd processed what he was doing he'd already done it or missed his chance. He turned the puck over twice in the first period in ways he couldn't fully explain. Again, it wasn't disastrous, but it was off, a touch too late, slightly not him. He knew his game well enough to feel the difference even when nobody else would have seen it yet.

It spiraled from there, compounding into a catastrophically bad season.

Now it's May and it's the first time he's missed the playoffs and he has no idea what to do with himself or the itchy, anxious feeling lurking under his skin.

He needs a distraction. At first, he tries throwing himself into his training, pushing his body at the gym and on the track as hard as it will go in an attempt to drown out the discomfort coursing through his veins. It works, sort of, until it doesn't. Just a few weeks into the postseason, he's dying for anything to get him out of his head so he can't fixate on his fear of being traded mid-summer.

It's not like he'd be the first player in the world to get traded—it happens all the time, it happens to most players—but he still has an unshakable feeling that he'll die if it happens to him.

When Boston makes it to the finals for a second season in a row, Shane feels nothing but numb as he watches Rozanov score the winning goal.

By August, the draft and free agency opening have passed, meaning most teams have started to finalize their rosters ahead of training camp. Maybe he won't get traded after all. There's a calm, and Shane makes the mistake of letting himself breathe again.

"It's nothing personal, Hollander," Coach Theriault says over the phone, on a hot, sticky day in late August. "It'll be good for you to get back to focusing on your game without any added distractions."

Nothing personal. How can it not be personal when Shane's whole personhood is defined by his hockey? He's not getting traded, at least for now, but losing the captaincy is just as catastrophic. He's been given a job and he's failed. It's the first time in his life this has happened to him, at least when it comes to hockey.

He hardly knows how to think anymore. Everything reminds him of what a fuck-up he's become, and the shame of it is so suffocating that it's like his brain tries to numb itself to keep him from spiraling (or spiraling too badly, anyway—he's definitely still spiraling).

What more does he have to lose? If he was thinking clearly, the answer would be: a lot. He's been moved down to the second line for most games and that likely won't change until his numbers improve (or fall even further), but he's still a professional hockey player with a big contract who scores sometimes.

But he's not thinking clearly, so it already feels like he's lost everything.

The thought keeps popping back up that he needs a distraction. And there is one thing that, historically, has gotten him out of his head enough to fucking chill out for a bit: getting railed within an inch of his life. He still has Rozanov's number blocked, and he thinks he'll actually die if he has to confront Rozanov and all his successes where Shane has failed. He doesn't think women will offer him what he needs right now, but other men exist. Shane is hot, or so he's been told. He could find someone to fuck him.

He should be careful. He would be careful. But he's so tired, frustrated, and spiraling, and there doesn't seem to be much lower to go. Going to a gay bar to pick up sounds overwhelming, but he knows there are apps for this. He does a little research and learns how Grindr works before he sets up his profile.

Jesus Christ, it's overwhelming. Men are really thirsty for sex, it seems. He's immediately bombarded with messages and dick pics and propositions. It's almost too much, but he's already gotten this far, so instead of deleting the app like he should, he picks a guy and arranges to meet up.

It goes... fine. The guy is muscular, but in a gym rat kind of way that Shane doesn't totally find appealing in person, too sculpted for vanity rather than real athleticism. But it's okay, his dick is big, and he fucks Shane hard enough that he is able to get out of his head for a brief, blissful moment, which he counts as some kind of success. The guy isn't as careful at Rozanov was, not taking enough time with his mouth and fingers to make sure Shane is properly loose and ready for it, so it kind of hurts, rough in a way that's just the wrong side of comfortable. Shane thinks he'll include more prep than just douching next time.

There will be a next time because his itch is not satisfied.

It gets easier, though, as he makes his way through an array of men. It would be safer to get a steady thing going with one of these guys, but none of them are quite good enough for him to want a repeat. He's still chasing something—something as good as what he had with Rozanov, although he stymies that thought every time it appears—and it's like playing roulette every time he tries with a new guy. Maybe this time, it will be that good. It never is, but there's always the chance.

It is good, though. He's enjoying himself. It gives him something to do that's not focusing on his failing career. He gets recognized a few times, but the guys who do assure him they won't say anything, and he has no choice but to trust it. Maybe he should be having them sign NDAs. Probably. Is that even a possibility in this sort of situation? His mom would know how to manage this, if there were any chance in hell that Shane would let her know what he's doing.

The shame still lurks under his skin, in the back of his brain, compounding with each new guy he fucks, pulsating deep in his veins and thrumming in time with the rhythm of a new cock in his ass. He's already a fucking failure, and he knows, eventually, people will find out he's a faggot, too. He knows, he knows, he knows that this can't last, that he's being too careless, but he's able to push away the fear just enough that he never has to fully confront it. It just makes the shame worse, pushing him to need more distraction, leading him to fuck more random men.

His game's not improving, either. As the new season picks up, he's surviving—keeping up well enough to maintain his position on the second line, at least—but he's not the superstar player of the Metros anymore, not the kind of guy you build a franchise around. Nobody has stepped up to that role, but Mitty is delivering passably well as the new first line center. He can't put up numbers like Shane used to, but he's solid.

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'll get traded, dropped to the third or fourth line, sent down, or outed. Realistically, the last option is the worst, and probably an inevitability with how he's been acting. He couldn't come back from that. It doesn't stop him from arranging more hookups.

He's... tired, burnt out and disconnected both on the ice and off, as if he's in a haze. He's putting everything he has into his training, into improving, but he can't get over the disconnect no matter what he tries. The coaching team gives him grace—more than he deserves—by trying out new lines, but it's never enough to bring him back to his former glory.

"Mitty's on track to break your point record from last year. He's already a ways ahead of where you were this time last year." The comment comes from Comeau over drinks after a hard loss in Denver.

"Don't fucking say that, man," Hayden jumps in. "Pretty sure Shane's very aware of his stats."

"Good for Mitty," Shane says, taking a swig of his beer. He tried so hard keeping up with his best habits last season and continued to spiral anyway, so now he's trying to loosen up instead, as if alcohol will be the secret to getting out of his funk. It isn't, obviously, but it doesn't seem to make things worse, either, and at least it makes socializing with the team less awful.

"It doesn't bother you?" Comeau presses.

"Of course it fucking bothers him, idiot! Jesus, do you have any tact?"

"It's fine, Hayd. It's reality. It's good we have a first line center who can put up better numbers than I did last year, right?" The words come out sounding flat and empty because he can't quite muster the energy for sincerity.

"I guess. But you've been doing better."

Shane lets out a humorless laugh. "I haven't, but thanks, man." He clinks his glass against Hayden's.

"Is something else going on?" Comeau asks. "Like, personal? You never want to talk about that shit but, like, everybody thought you'd be fixed by now."

"Nothing personal," Shane says, irritated but too tired to express it. "If I knew what the fuck the problem was, I would have fixed it."

"Yeah, alright, fair enough," Comeau says with a shrug.

"Maybe you need to get laid," Gagnon offers. "I swear a good orgasm always helps me play better."

"Hollzy's too prissy for anything casual," Comeau interjects.

Shane almost laughs at that. He'd let a stranger tie him up and edge him for hours the night before their last game in an effort to get out of his own head, and he still couldn't score. He's tried getting laid right before games, too, but it never does shit to help him on the ice.

"Doesn't have to be casual, but I've tried setting him up and he's picky as hell," Hayden says. "Did you ever even call Tara from Jackie's book club? She's gorgeous and perfect for you."

Shane didn't, of course, and as he's trying to think of an excuse, Comeau swoops in with, "Bet he didn't. Dude, you literally never pull. You a virgin or something?"

Or something, Shane thinks, rolling his eyes in response. He's learned that getting defensive never helps his case in situations like these.

"It would be a tragedy if he's a virgin," Gagnon says. "The hottest girls are always throwing themselves at him. Doesn't seem to have died down since he got moved to second line, either."

"Yeah, I do fine," Shane says, ignoring the bubble of anxiety in his chest whenever this subject comes up. "I'm just private. Getting laid is not the problem."

"If you say so."

Hayden's watching him with a curious expression, but he doesn't say anything. Shane swallows down his beer.

"Whatever, you don't want to talk about it, but getting more ass can never hurt. Rozanov's got the highest points of anyone since like the 90s at this point in the season, and I heard he's been tearing through pussy like crazy."

"Dude, I heard he had a fivesome with a bunch of underwear models. Fuck him or whatever, but the man is a fucking legend."

Shane tries not to think about Rozanov too much, but it's become a lost cause. He's following his games religiously, clocking every change to his play style, replaying every goal. He's been playing like hell for over a year now, and with two Cup wins since becoming captain, has solidified himself as the top player in the league.

After Shane first blocked his number, Rozanov was kind of... pissy with him on the ice. Which was fair—Shane never gave him an explanation for ghosting. Although Rozanov did the same to him the year of the Olympics, so maybe it's not that fair. Still, Rozanov never talks badly about him to the press. He expected gloating about how obviously Rozanov has surpassed him, how he squashed the rivalry once and for all by winning a second Cup the very season Shane tanked his own career. But the gloating never came. Rozanov is deflective and diplomatic—for him, at least—whenever Shane's name comes up. The lack of shit-talking is almost worse, like Shane is too pitiable to even chirp.

They don't face off as often now that Shane's been moved to the second line, but when they do, Rozanov is cold and professional. He plays hard, but he doesn't try to rile him up anymore. Shane tries not to miss it.

"I don't think fucking a bunch of underwear models is going to fix my game," Shane mutters, trying to be casual.

"Might as well try, though," Gagnon says, tipping his glass at him. "I bet you could pull like that if you wanted to."

Shane pretends to consider it.

January comes and Shane, for the first time, isn't selected for the All-Star game. He was sent last year, despite his bad season, still riding on his reputation as his downswing was envisioned as only a temporary setback. Now that it's been over a year of his slump, everyone has lost faith in him. Hayden, as the top scoring player on the team and a new fan favorite, is going in his place.

"You're not excited?" Shane asks, bouncing Ruby on his knee. It's early evening on a non-game day, and Shane has come over to hang out and help care for the kids while Jackie enjoys a night out with friends. "It's sorta fun."

"No, I mean, I am," Hayden says, half-heartedly stacking blocks with Jade. "Obviously, but Jackie usually looks forward to having me at home for a week, so she's kind of pissed about it. It's a good time to catch up on stuff midseason without holiday stress, you know? And for her to get out of the house more." He grins. "Hey, you'll get to enjoy a break this time around."

Like Shane would ever be able to enjoy time off that's only being afforded to him because of his failures. "Yeah, sure," he says, failing to mask the resentment in his tone. "You deserve the recognition, though. You've really stepped up this season. You and Mitty have been jiving well lately."

Hayden expressions softens into pity. Shane fucking hates that look. "Yeah, but it's not as good as with you." Shane raises an eyebrow. If it was worse than with Shane, they'd still be playing together. "I mean—you know what I mean."

"You don't have to baby my feelings," Shane mutters.

"So do you have any plans for the time off?"

More training and filling the rest of his time with enough sex to try to forget why he's not playing, hopefully. "Probably just relax at home."

"Sounds nice, man. Hey, Jackie's friend Kate is going to like a special yoga, meditation thing that week. Jackie usually goes with her, but she won't be able to go since I won't be around to watch the kids, so she has an extra spot. You interested? Sounded like it might be up your alley. And Kate's super hot." Hayden waggles his eyebrows. "You could have a little fun with your time off, too."

Yoga and meditation do sound kind of nice. He's been trying these things on his own in an attempt to settle the nauseating bubble of anxiety in his gut, but without much luck. Maybe a class with a real instructor and clear directions would be better.

"Yeah, okay," Shane finds himself agreeing. "You can give her my number and she can text me the info?"

It turns out to be a three-day workshop blending vipassana meditation and hatha yoga. The studio is bright and airy and filled with plants, and there's something relaxing just about being there. Kate seems cool, too. Shane feels his usual anxiety at navigating a new situation, but he has some yoga experience, so he should be able to handle it.

"I think you'll really like the workshop, it's always hella relaxing," Kate is saying as they grab their mats and props. She looks across the room and then brightens. "Oh, hey!" she says, waving at a newcomer. "I wasn't sure if you'd be able to make it this year. Shane, this is my friend Javier. He's done this workshop a few times with me and Jackie."

The man is gorgeous. He must do a lot of yoga and meditation to have such a calm, ethereal aura about him, and probably works out a lot besides, based on his muscular frame.

Javier gives him a knowing look and Shane abruptly stiffens. God, he's getting sloppy—he never used to let himself look like that.

"Nice to meet you, Shane," Javier says, shaking his hand with direct eye contact. He then turns to Kate to answer her previous question. "I thought I wasn't going to be able to, but one of my clients cancelled a project last minute, so I have a few days free."

"That's great! Well, not the work part, but that you could come! We should set up our mats together. I like the back corner so my farts are less noticeable."

Shane cringes as Javier laughs, warm and deep, and they set up in the back of the room. They have a bit of time before class starts. Most of the other attendees are silently stretching or meditating, but Kate and Javier seem to have no shame chatting and catching up. Shane learns that Javier is a freelance graphic designer who models on the side. He wishes Kate hadn't mentioned Shane's job, though—it always attracts too much curiosity from civilians who didn't already recognize him.

"I thought you looked familiar," Javier says. His tone is... coy, maybe? Is he flirting? Fuck, Shane hopes he's not flirting. Or maybe that's not true—Shane would definitely let this man rail him—but he's panicking about having an interaction like this in public. "You must be very athletic."

"Yeah. It's my job."

He's saved from having to say anything else as the instructor calls the class's attention.

The class is grounding, and for at least part of its duration, Shane is able to get out of his head enough to let the relaxation and calm seep deep into his body. There's gnawing guilt in the back of his mind that he shouldn't be enjoying his time off, but it's still a fucking relief. It's easier to settle into it here, where it's expected of him, where he has no other choice but to focus on his breath as the instructor directs. When he practices at home, he always feels a nagging compulsion to get up and do anything more productive instead. Even when he sets the time aside for it—he's read plenty of studies on the benefits of yoga and meditation, so objectively it's worth the time if it'll improve his focus for hockey—it never feels like something he should be doing in the moment. There's always something more pressing.

But when he's lying on the ground in shavasana hours later, there's a calm in his body that he only ever gets from sex. The yoga shit has to be healthier.

Afterwards, Kate insists that they grab smoothies at a nearby shop. The invitation is extended to Javier, and Shane doesn't know how to turn them down without seeming impolite, since he is hungry after the long workshop.

"So, Shane, what did you think?" Kate asks as they sit down with their smoothies. It's late afternoon and they're the only ones out on the patio. "You think you'll be back for the next two days of the workshop?"

Of course he will come back—he's already committed to it on his calendar. "Yeah, for sure," he agrees. "It was good. I try to practice some of that stuff on my own, but I'm not always good at it, so the instructions are a helpful reminder."

"You do yoga at home?" Javier asks. "Cute. I would have thought you jock types would think that shit's too gay or something."

Shane tries not flinch at the word gay. I came to this, Shane thinks, but doesn't say, because he doesn't want to be rude. "Meditation improves focus, and yoga helps with the mind-body connection and flexibility. They're both useful for training."

Kate's phone buzzes on the table. "Oh, shit, I gotta go, my cousin needs me to pick her up early." She gives them an apologetic look. "Sorry to cut this short, but you guys should totally stay and chat and finish your smoothies. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Shane is nervous to be left alone with Javier, but he can't think of an excuse to leave, so he fidgets in his seat and sips on his smoothie as soon as they've said their goodbyes to Kate.

"You don't need to look so nervous," Javier says with a light laugh, putting his hands up. "The gay isn't catching, I promise."

"No, that's not—" Shane says, flustered. "Sorry. I'm not, like, um." He doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

"You're good," Javier says easily. "Kate's cute and she's into you. You gonna ask her out?"

Kate's into him? She was joking about her farts earlier, and Shane is pretty sure girls don't do that if they like you.

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Javier says, as if amused by Shane's disbelief. "Kate's not the type to come on too strong, though, so she's probably trying to feel you out."

Shane is, as usual, perplexed that there seems to be a whole world of communication that other people understand but which he's not privy to. Javier could tell Kate was 'feeling him out?' What the fuck else did he notice?

"Okay, I can tell by your face you're maybe not into her."

"No, I mean—well, she's nice of course. Maybe not, uh, my type."

Javier hums. His tone is too knowing and Shane doesn't know what to do with it. They chat for a few more minutes until their smoothies are done and Javier apologetically informs him that he has to head out for an appointment.

The relaxation Shane felt from the workshop is mostly upended by the stress of the social interactions afterward, and he decides to make sure he has an excuse for tomorrow to head straight home. Although, he'll be sad to miss out on the smoothies; he really enjoyed the açai and kale blend.

When he's back home and changing into his lounge clothes, he notices a slip of paper in his jacket pocket.

'If Kate's not your type, maybe I am?' with a heart drawn on it and a phone number.

Fuck. Javier definitely clocked him. And he is hot, so Shane's not not tempted, but it feels too risky. Although, when he pulls open Grindr a few hours later, he doubts it's any more risky than what he's already doing.

Ugh, he shouldn't be hooking up during the workshop, anyway. He resolves to focus on the meditation and yoga and not think about it for the next two days until the workshop is completed.

Over the next two days, Javier doesn't acknowledge the number, so neither does Shane, but after hours of seeing the other man's muscular body contorted into varying positions, Shane's resolve has crumbled.

Shane

Hey. It's Shane.

Javier

heeeeyyyy

i was worried you weren't gonna text me 😥

but i'm verrryyy glad you did 😉

Shane does not know how's supposed to respond. Grindr lets him follow a script for setting up dick appointments. His profile clarifies what he's looking for, so there are only simple logistics to work out. He's never done this with someone he met in real life, except Rozanov, who always seemed to know exactly what Shane wanted before Shane himself did.

Shane

I'm not looking for anything serious.

Javier

that's okay, me neither

i'll sign your nda or whatever you need and i can be very discreet 😉

Okay. So that meant he was down for a hook up, right? There wasn't a lot that could be misread here.

Shane

There's no NDA, but thank you, I appreciate it.

This would need to be NSA, one time only.

Javier

no problem

Shane

Are you okay topping?

Javier

sure am babe ❤️

Ew, Shane hates when a virtual stranger sends him the heart emoji or uses pet names. But whatever, Javier is hot as hell, so he arranges to meet at his condo in the Plateau. When Shane first started doing this, he refused to host out of paranoia that someone would look up his name on the title of the property, but he quickly learned that some men are willing to have sex in absolutely disgusting places. He's left more than one hookup after being too turned off by the man's living conditions. Nowadays, he sticks to hotels or the condo, so at least he has control over the environment.

Javier is a good lay, and as Shane grasps the sheet in his hands, his chest plastered to the bed, he allows himself to focus on just the pleasure. There's something peaceful in this, in giving into feeling where his only goal is to surrender to the sensation of a cock in his ass. If the sex is good enough that he can stop thinking about performing, about how the other guy is perceiving him, he can get a little... loud and needy. Not all guys like it, but enough do that he tries not to feel shameful about his behavior.

Javier seems to like it, at least, based on the praises slipping from his lips. Shane likes that, too, and he's able to come untouched. That only happens with a handful of guys. It makes him almost consider setting up a repeat, but then Javier calls him 'baby' as he comes and Shane winces and changes his mind. They're still way too unacquainted for pet names.

"So, you do this sort of thing often?" Javier asks when it's over and they've done some cursory clean up. Shane will wash the sheets and take a full shower later.

"Uh, I guess, yeah," he says pulling on his briefs.

"Not looking for a boyfriend, though?"

"No." He rubs his neck. "I mean, I can't. My career—"

"No need to panic, I'm not asking you out," Javier says with a laugh. "You were very clear on your expectations."

Shane exhales. "Sorry. It all just makes me... nervous."

"You think someone's going to out you?" he asks, and then quickly adds, "You don't have to worry about me. I'm not a gossip. I was closeted a long time—my family's very Catholic—so I get it. I mean, maybe not the whole professional athlete side of it, but I'm not going to say anything."

"Okay. Cool." He shrugs on his shirt. "And uh, maybe, I guess, I could get outed. I try to be careful, but there's always risk." It sounds hollow even to his own ears because he knows he's not taking the care he should.

"I've got a lawyer friend who could hook you up with the legalese for an NDA if you want—might give you some peace of mind. I'm assuming you don't want to talk to your usual team about it?"

Shane lets out a humorless laugh. "My manager is my mom, so, no."

"Yikes."

"And I think it might be too late for NDAs."

"Whatever you say." He pats the bed, now dressed, and then stands up. "Well, it's been fun. Text me if you change your mind about a repeat."

It's an innocuous Saturday in February when the other shoe finally drops. Shane spends the morning training, innocently unaware that his downfall is playing out on Twitter. He's thankfully at home when he gets the call from his agent, Farah, that there are gay rumors flying around about a hockey player fitting his description. There's nothing too incriminating yet, but his name's already been linked, and the thread is being spread onto other social media sites.

Shane has no idea what he says on the call since he can hardly attend to it through the buzzing in his head, but he knows that Farah is working on some options for statements based on how the story progresses. As soon as they hang up, Shane's phone starts chiming with notifications from the Metros group text, but he's too afraid of what gossip might lurk there—what terrible shit they might be saying—to check it.

Farah sends him a link of the thread that started the rumors for his reference.

There should be panic. He should be freaking out about this, at the fact that people are talking and they aren't going to stop talking, that it's all been linked to him. The gossip can only spiral from here.

Instead, he just feels numb, that same hazy feeling he has all the time lately, like everything is happening to him at a distance.

His phone buzzes, his mom's contact flashing on the screen.

"Hey," he says, hearing the tiredness is his own voice. His body is shaking, although the anxiety isn't quite registering everywhere. This is absolutely the last conversation in the world he wants to have, but there's no choice but to have it.

"Hi," his mom says on the other line, uncharacteristic hesitance in her voice. "Um, has Farah reached out to you?"

"Yeah," Shane says with a sigh, not bothering to clarify what she's talking about. There's only one thing it could be. "She's helping me to prepare some options for statements."

"Okay," she says, drawing the word out. "And what sort of statements are those going to be, exactly?"

"I don't know. It's, um, true, though. The—gossip." There are tears running down his cheeks—when did that start? "I-I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He draws a shaky breath. "I haven't been careful."

"Oh, sweetie. It's—it's okay. We'll figure this out."

But what the fuck is there to figure out? It's out there: Shane's a slutty cocksucker who sucks at hockey. He'll get traded if he's lucky, sent down if he's less lucky—maybe both—and dropped entirely if he has no luck at all. His contract only has another two years left.

God, he'll kill himself if he loses hockey completely. Why the fuck did he let this happen?

The rest of the conversation barely registers. He goes along with what his mom suggests, as well as Farah, once she's looped back in. They offer him a chance to deny, but it feels impossible now—he's been too careless, there's too much that could be used against him.

It all comes crashing down just as badly as he ever anticipated. There are a few bright spots—Hayden and J.J. are surprisingly cool, weathering some of the bullshit from the rest of the team on his behalf—but it's not enough. He's lost the room. He'd lost it already, over almost two years of declining numbers and diminishing ice time, but this is different. These people fucking hate him. They're outright disgusted by him.

Management calls him in and a lawyer he's never met talks for twenty minutes about 'distractions' and 'team environment' and 'detrimental conduct.' Farah pushes back on speakerphone—'on what grounds, specifically'—and the lawyer pivots. They're just having a conversation and making sure everyone understands their obligations. Shane walks out not technically accused of anything and aware that it doesn't matter.

The story that runs isn't just that he's gay; that might have been survivable, maybe, in some form. Instead, it's that he's shameless, slutty, a whore. The tabloid that breaks it uses the word 'reckless,' which Shane finds very fitting. Sports radio uses worse. He reads some of the comment sections, but there's nothing in there that he doesn't deserve. He's called a distraction, a liability, even a predator, though Shane has no idea how that last one is supposed to apply to him. Someone digs up a photo from three years ago of him at a charity gala with a friend of Jackie's that he'd taken as a date and makes it into a story about deception. The word 'secret' appears in almost every headline.

It's over. No team will trust him now that his dirty, disgusting secret is out and everyone knows he's a cock-hungry slut who'll fuck anyone with a nice enough body.

The day after the lawyer meeting, Coach pulls him aside before practice and tells him they're giving him some time to manage his workload and make sure he gets back in the right headspace. It'll be a good opportunity to get some of the younger guys some ice time, see what they've got. He says all of this in the careful tone of someone who has been told exactly what to say and is saying it, and then he adds, almost as an afterthought, that given everything going on, it's probably best for the team environment if he isn't in the room right now. He says it like he's doing him a favor, and maybe he is.

Shane's life becomes a series of motions. He's used to panicking when bad things happen, but this is so beyond a worst case scenario that it's like his brain can't even process the anxiety anymore. It's not processing anything, really. He stops being able to keep up his routines or do much of anything at all. He's paralyzed by every decision, every action he has to take because nothing he can do fits anymore. There's no script to follow. How can he train when he doesn't know when or how he'll next need to use his body? How can he eat when he doesn't have a clear training plan? How can he leave the house when everyone recognizes him as not just a national disappointment, but a degenerate who let his personal pleasure override his obligations to his team, his city, his country?

No team will want him anymore, he's so sure of that, but that final nail has yet to be nailed to his coffin. He doesn't know that he'll survive when it happens, but for now his career hangs in limbo, not technically over but far from guaranteed. Nobody seems to know what to do with him, least of all himself.

And then he gets traded to New York.

Chapter End Notes

I promise it gets fluffier after this 💔

Chapter 2

It's strange, adapting to a new team. Shane thought for years that he'd retire with the Metros and would never have to do this again, but it's useless to ruminate on that now. The scandal has tainted him to his new teammates, but Coach Murdock has reiterated that he's a strong player who should be treated just like anyone else, and his new captain at least seems on board with that direction. Shane can keep his head down and focus on the game and try to avoid trouble. His mom keeps talking about 'narratives' and trying to get him to do interviews to clarify things, somehow rehabilitate his image, but how the fuck is he supposed to alter a narrative that's true? And why would he even want to? Everything is out there. It's exhausting, thinking how he might defend himself, and he finds himself unwilling to want to try. He deserves whatever people want to say about him, including his new teammates.

At least they don't give him too much shit, which eases the pain of the transition slightly. They don't embrace him, but they don't shun him, either. They've got playoffs coming up and need to focus, so any hint of denigration toward him about the scandal is quickly shut down. It eases something in him because the Metros did not extend him that same courtesy. Bennett, the goaltender, is particularly friendly, making sure that he feels included in the team. It's nice. Or it's fine, at least.

He's not sure what to make of Hunter. His new captain isn't hostile toward him or anything, but there's hesitance there—not that Shane doesn't deserve it. It shames him to be a disappointment, so he throws himself into playing as hard as he can and hopes he can deliver well enough on the ice to gain his acceptance. It's a pipe dream, since he's still very much in a slump, but it's the only angle he has.

It surprises him, then, when two weeks into his arrival, he's informed that they'll be moving him out of his hotel to stay with Hunter. He's given the chance to object, but Shane doesn't feel in any position to reject the team's suggestions.

Move-in is awkward as fuck. Hunter tries to be nice, but he seems kind of terrified of Shane, which doesn't make any sense, so Shane is sure he's misreading it and feels unsettled that he can't figure out what kind of vibe Hunter is actually putting out.

His place is nice, though, well-kept and tidy with no weird smells, which is some comfort. It's a fucking nightmare that he'll have to micromanage himself at all times to make sure he doesn't act too weird or disappointing in front of his new captain, but it's a punishment he deserves, at this point, so he doesn't complain.

By the time they finish the full tour, he's exhausted. New situations always take so much out of him, fatiguing him in a bone-deep way that's more tiring than anything he experiences on the ice. He can't seem to filter himself like he normally does when he gets like this, which is scary, because he doesn't want to let his guard down in front of Hunter.

There's nothing for it, though. They have to interact.

"So you're, like, babysitting me?" Shane asks, cringing as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

"No," Hunter assures him. "Well, sort of," he corrects with an awkward laugh. "I'm not here to police what you do. And I'm not here to intervene in your... personal life."

"And you're... okay with it?"

"Okay with what?"

"Living with a—" He suddenly doesn't know what word to use. He's never had to say it out loud before. "Gay person," he finishes awkwardly. He can acknowledge by now that women were never in the cards for him.

"Yeah," Hunter says, not very convincingly. "Who you want to see in your own time is your business. But I won't lie to you, management is hoping that it'll be a little less... public, going forward."

"So I am being babysat."

Hunter shrugs, looking a touch annoyed. "If you want to think about it that way, I guess."

"I never wanted any of this to be public," Shane says, feeling a sudden need to defend himself. "I just—" He doesn't know how to finish that thought. He wasn't careful and he knew it would fuck him over in the end. Can't exactly be mad at the expected consequences of his own actions.

Hunter puts up a hand. "Hey, man, it's okay. I'm not here to judge you for any of that."

Shane doesn't believe him—who wouldn't judge him for it?

"I'll be more discreet," Shane says. And if he says it, he has to mean it. It's not like he'll be able to get away with fucking different guys every night while living here, anyway.

"Good, that's good," Hunter says, relaxing a little before moving to clap Shane on the shoulder. "You're gonna be alright. Okay?"

Shane flinches at the unexpected gesture. "Okay," he says, not believing it. "Thanks."

"And if you do want to bring overnight guests here sometimes, you can," Hunter tells him. Jesus, as if Shane is gonna bring random guys here to fuck? Is Hunter insane? "Maybe not every night, but—"

"Um, I'm not going to do that," Shane assures him. "Like, I'll keep it out of the apartment." He pauses. "But if you have a girlfriend or hookups that you bring over, that's cool." It's definitely not cool—there's nothing Shane hates more than having to interact with a stranger in his home—but this isn't really his home, so there's nothing he can do about it.

"Oh, I, uh, don't really do that much," Hunter says, something strange in his tone that Shane can't read. "At least during the season."

What? He doesn't? The Metros always made Shane feel like a freak of nature for not bringing girls home all the time or getting something steady going. Hunter is much hotter than most hockey players, so he's definitely getting offers.

"It's okay if you do, I really don't mind," he lies, unsure if it sounds convincing.

Hunter just kind of shrugs and then excuses himself to go do... something. Finally, Shane has some peace, and he immediately goes to his room to flop onto his bed with a groan.

He wants to get fucked, but he can't do that anymore, so instead he pulls up the meditation instructions from the workshop in Montreal and sets up on a pillow to focus on his breath.

Living with Hunter is hard. He's not a bad guy and he doesn't say or do anything cruel, but their interactions are awkward and stilted, and Shane hates constantly navigating around another person, missing having his own space to decompress without worrying how he's presenting himself. He spends most of his time at home reading in his room or working out on Hunter's equipment, but he can tell Hunter's getting tired of him being around all the time, too, so he tries to get out of the house when he can. Mostly he goes to the gym.

On one such occasion, he tweaks his knee when his foot slips during leg presses and decides to cut his session early to rest. He's been out of the house for less than an hour, and he figures he owes Hunter more space, so he wanders into a nearby smoothie shop to kill some extra time. He still remembers that açai and kale smoothie fondly.

The guy behind the counter gives him a rundown of the menu when Shane looks overwhelmed by the amount of options. He's probably gay, based on his voice. Shane knows it's bad to stereotype, but, well, he's met a lot of gay men at this point, and data is data.

"Hey, you look familiar. Shane Hollander, right?"

He nods. Where he used to only be mildly recognizable outside of American sports fans, now every gay person seems to know who he is.

"Pretty shitty what happened to you," the man commiserates, in that awful, pitying tone Shane's become all too familiar with. "Sorry. But, hey, New York is cool! Has anyone shown you around yet?"

He hesitates, wary at where this is going. "I'm staying with another player, so I've got someone who can show me around."

"No offense, but I'm not sure hockey players are the most tapped in culturally," the man says with a light laugh. "I'm Kip, by the way. My friend Kyle works at a gay sports bar not too far from here. My friends and I are regulars. It's lowkey, you know, if you ever wanted to stop by."

What the fuck kind of name is Kip? It seems rude to ask. "There are gay sports bars?"

"I know, right?" Kip says, laughing as if Shane made a joke. "You should come by sometime. Really. It's gotta be lonely, being in a new city surrounded by straight people all the time."

"What's it called?" Why the hell is he asking for details? It's not like Shane actually wants to go to a gay bar with a bunch of strangers.

"The Kingfisher." He pulls out a scrap of paper. "Here, I'll give you my number." He jots it down and hands it over. "You can text me."

Is he being flirted with? Kip is, objectively, very good-looking, but Shane is trying to take a break from hookups for awhile.

"It can just be as friends," Kip says, as if sensing his discomfort. "I mean, you're cute, but friends is cool, too."

"Okay," Shane says, relaxing at the clarification. He takes the scrap of paper along with his smoothie, not wanting to be impolite. "Thanks."

If Shane had ever given any thought to what he expected a gay bar to be, the Kingfisher wouldn't be it. It's more or less just a regular bar, as far as he can tell, just with a gayer looking clientele. It's a little more eclectic and colorful, maybe, than the places he used to go with his team. And the music is more upbeat.

"Shane Hollander, it's an honor to serve you," says the slim bartender in a tone that even Shane can't mistake for anything but flirtatious. He's cute, if not exactly Shane's type. Shane lets himself think about these things now.

"Don't hit on him," Kip chastises. "I told him this was just a friends thing."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," the bartender says with a wink. "I'm Kyle, by the way. What can I get you?"

Although Shane has gotten more loose with his alcohol habits and a drink would certainly help ease the tension of meeting new people, he doesn't feel comfortable drinking so close to playoffs and orders a ginger ale. Kyle recommends the ginger beer instead, which Shane accepts.

"So you two are friends?" Shane asks, gesturing between Kip and Kyle.

"Something like that."

"He means we hooked up but we weren't a good match, so it's all very platonic now," Kyle explains with a smile.

It's weird to hear men casually talking about sleeping with other men. Shane knows, of course, that it happens, that gay men are friends with each other, but it's so far beyond any of his experiences. Kip is probably the first gay man Shane's ever spoken to that he wasn't fucking. He only agreed to come because Hunter has been more on edge with the pressure of being captain of the highest seeded team going into the playoffs and all but ushered Shane out of the apartment. Shane gets it; he likes a lot of alone time to prep for playoffs, too, and he would be doing that now except for the fact that he doesn't know where to go and booking a hotel for himself just to do nothing in it felt kind of pathetic, so here he is.

"It's really brave what you did," Kyle says. "Coming out and everything."

Shane stares at him. "Um, I didn't do anything. I was outed."

"I know, but it's brave to be the first out player, no matter how it happened."

There was literally no other option but to deal with it, so he doesn't know what about that is praise-worthy, but he doesn't want to be weird so he shuts up and sips his ginger beer. It's too spicy for his taste; he should have stuck with the ginger ale.

At Shane's lack of response, Kyle asks, "So have you and Kip hooked up yet?"

"No," Kip replies, voice squeaking. "I told you, I invited him because he's new in town and doesn't know any queer people here."

Shane doesn't know any queer people period besides the guys he's fucked.

Kyle hums and addresses Shane. "Well, if you are ever looking for a hookup, there are dozens of guys here that would die for the opportunity. It is a gay sports bar, after all."

Shane clears his throat, feeling his face heat. It's so fucking bizarre to have people talking about this like it's no big deal, like fucking men is something he can and even should do. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

Soon after, two more of Kip's friends show up, who eagerly introduce themselves as Elena and Shawn. They're both smartly dressed as if they have important jobs, and Shane wonders why they're friends with a smoothie shop worker and a bartender, but he knows better than to ask. The bar is getting busier, so Kyle leaves them to attend to other customers.

"I know you've probably heard this a million times, but it's super shitty what happened to you," Elena says with a sympathetic pout. Shane isn't sure whether or not he finds the expression off-putting. "Bravo for making it through all that."

Shane's not sure he 'made it through' but he gives a nod of thanks anyway.

"You used to play for Montreal, right?" she continues. "How do you like New York so far?"

"It's a bit busier than Montreal. I'm, uh, still adjusting."

"New York is a beast of its own. Kip and I grew up in Brooklyn, so we're happy to show you around or answer any questions about the city."

"Our first playoff game is in two weeks, so I probably won't have time to do much outside of training."

"Admirals are in a good spot this season," Shawn comments. "It'd be awesome to get a hometown win."

Hockey is a very familiar subject, and his new acquaintances seem genuinely interested in the nuances of being a professional athlete, so it's with relief that he's able to ease into a conversation with some amount of confidence that he's not being too boring or off-putting, that other people want to hear what he has to say.

"I have a question," Kip says as soon as Shane is finished talking about how differently road games feel when you're new to a team. "Have you had any other players hitting on you since you got outed? Or sliding into your DMs? Because statistically, there have to be a lot of other closeted players, right?"

"Ooh," Shawn croons. "Yes, spill. You don't have to name names but I bet you're getting all the tea."

Shane doesn't know what 'tea' is supposed to mean in this context. "Uh, nobody has come out to me or anything," he says honestly. Although, now that he thinks about it, maybe that defenseman who approached him after the last Philadelphia game might have been hinting at something? "And what do you mean, 'sliding into my DMs?'"

"Like on Instagram, people will message you privately if they're trying to hit," Elena explains.

"What? You think people are doing that?"

The three of them stare at him like he's stupid and he bristles.

"Girl, yes."

"Definitely. They probably were before, too. You're super hot."

"Huh." He thinks for a moment. "Oh my god, my mom manages my account."

The others burst out laughing, but it's a good-natured kind of laughter. He doesn't think they're laughing at him.

"Hopefully she's ignoring the messages from randos," Shawn says.

"She usually just responds to brands and official accounts and stuff."

"I always kind of hoped there was, like, a secret community of queer players," Kip muses.

"That what you fantasize about?" Shawn teases. "All the secretly gay players being all hot for each other and getting each other off?"

"No," Kip says, but the flush on his face indicates maybe yes. "It's just sad to think that they might all be alone, right? It's a hard position to be in, not being able to be open because of your job and being in such a homophobic, heteronormative environment. It would be easier to know others in the same position."

'Heteronormative?' These people keep using words that Shane doesn't know. He'll have to do some research later on terminology.

"So you don't know any other queer players?" Elena asks.

Shane freezes. He's never been asked that directly, and he's a bad liar. "Uh," he says, his chest tightening. He swallows, trying to steady himself. "If I did, I wouldn't be able to talk about it, since they're not out..."

"I thought you just said no players had come out to you."

"Well," he starts, and then clears his throat, "they haven't."

Elena narrows her eyes at him. "So you've hooked up with a player," she deduces. "Multiple players?"

"Ohhh," Kip says, a smile spreading across his face. "Wait, give us deets. You don't have to say who it was or anything."

"He needs to know for his spank bank," Shawn chirps, earning a glare from Kip.

"There's not that much to say," Shane mutters, fiddling with the label of his ginger beer. "I had a casual thing going for awhile with another player, I guess. Just one."

"Boo," Shawn jeers. "How's that supposed to help Kip jerk off?"

"Oh my god, stop." Kip covers his face with his hands as Elena laughs at him.

"Had, like past tense? What happened?"

"I can't really talk about it." Shane doesn't know how to talk about. The thing with Rozanov is all so tied to who they are to each other on the ice, and he still feels guilty for cutting him off without any attempt at an explanation.

"Okay, you don't have to give any details," Elena says diplomatically. "But can you tell us if he was good, at least? I theorize that a lot of hockey players must be kinda bad in bed. No offense, but, like, men who expect that everyone wants to sleep with them aren't always putting in the most effort, you know?"

Shane's face goes hotter. "That... didn't apply to him. It was, um, it was good." Understatement of the fucking century, but this is such a weird thing for him to be talking about at all.

"Look how he's blushing," Shawn coos. "That good, huh?"

"You've had sex with a lot of men, right? How did he rank?"

He should feel embarrassed, and he does, but there's also a strange sense of liberation in being able to talk about this. What's gonna happen if he does? The worst has already happened to him. "High," he admits.

"'High,' he says." Elena bites her lip. "But not the best, right?"

Shane just shrugs and a sound goes around the group, low and delighted.

"Now Kip's definitely going to jerk off about this. He'll probably imagine it's Scott Hunter."

"Oh my god, no," Shane blurts. "He's my captain and I live with him. We're definitely not doing anything like that." He pauses. "But do you... like Scott Hunter?"

"He's hot," Kip says with a flush. "You all can get off my back about it. I can appreciate a good-looking man, sue me."

Hunter is hot, objectively, but Shane just can't see him like that.

This whole interaction is so bizarre, and Shane wonders why he came here. There's freedom in being able to talk about these things, but he's not like these people, will never fit in with them. And even if he wanted to, he's not allowed to want things like that. He wants to be normal, and he's already so not normal. Fucking men in private is one thing, but going to a gay bar, hanging out with gay people, actually being gay in a way that others could perceive is another. He can't do this, he can't—

Fuck, he's hyperventilating. He's freaking out and these nice, new people he just met can see it. Elena swoops in to offer him some water while Kip and Shawn awkwardly ask if he's alright.

"S-sorry," Shane says, trying to get ahold of his breathing. "This is all really... new for me."

Elena rubs his back sympathetically. "Totally understandable. You should have seen the panicked mess Kip was when he came out in high school, and he was dealing with a lot less pressure than you."

Kip looks like he wants to defend himself before deciding to commiserate. "It's hard for anyone," he says gently. "But someone high profile like you in such a macho sport... I can't even imagine. Sorry if we're pushing you too much. I didn't mean to make anything worse for you, just thought you might want some friends since you're new around here. And you seem like a cool guy to get to know." Shawn nods his agreement.

It's such a genuinely kind response that it throws Shane for a loop. Has he ever had peers respond kindly to one of his freak outs? Or anyone besides his parents? Hayden, once, but he hadn't exactly been helpful and acted like he desperately wanted Shane to not be freaking out anymore.

He doesn't know what to do with it, so he does what he does with most things he doesn't know what to do with: he picks up his drink and moves on. "Thanks," he says, and means it more than it sounds like.

Maybe it wasn't so terrible to come out to the bar.

The metallic tang of blood registers in his mouth before he feels anything else. Shane's still on his feet, the boards behind him, the ref already skating away, as he runs his tongue along the inside of his lip to probe the damage. No teeth have fallen out yet, which is a good sign. He spits once, pink on the ice, and wipes his mouth.

Cocksucking faggot. The words ring in his ears as he clocks the puck in the corner and goes after it before he's fully sure his legs are under him. When he gets there, he puts his shoulder into the defender hard, harder than necessary, but it doesn't matter because the puck squirts loose and someone else gets to it first. He turns to follow the play up ice and his vision swims for a second, but he's fine. He's fine.

The whistle goes and he gets to the bench.

"Nasty hit," Huff says. "Looked personal."

"It's fine," Shane says as he pulls off his glove and touches his mouth, checking his fingers. Still bleeding a little. He presses the back of his glove against his lip and holds it there.

"He say something to you?"

"No."

Vaughan leans in from his other side. "Because if he—"

"I said it's fine." He puts his glove back on and picks up his stick. "We're up by one; let's just play."

It's been happening more lately, the slurs and targeted hits on the ice. Being Asian has always made Shane a target, but since getting outed, it's been on another level. For every player that says something kind or accepting, there are four more who sneer and act like he's degrading the whole sport by daring to play. And maybe he is, but he can't not play, so it's whatever.

His new acquaintances ask him about it the next time he joins them at the Kingfisher: how the league has been, whether players have been homophobic. He gives them the short version, which is that it's fine, it's part of the game, it'll settle down, but he can tell they don't believe him. It's hard to explain that their standard for what's acceptable versus what's bigoted is way different from in Shane's world.

They're about to move on when Kip pulls out his phone.

"Wait, I was just remembering that one comment that player made about wanting you to call him. What was that about?"

Shane furrows his brow. "What?"

"Oh yeah," Kyle says in recognition. "Rozanov, right? Yeah, it made it onto gay Twitter so there was a bunch of discourse about it. You didn't see it?"

What the fuck? Rozanov said something? "I wasn't following the press at that time," Shane admits. He wasn't following anything at that point. He went about six weeks barely reading his own texts.

Kip finds the clip and holds the phone out for Shane to watch.

On screen, Rozanov is talking to a reporter.

"Any comment on Hollander's coming out? Do you think it's fair that he's been benched?"

Rozanov looks completely calm, shrugging at the question. "Why should he be benched? Many players have lots of sex, nobody is benched for this. Is good for playing, shows he is virile."

"You don't think it's different because he's been linked exclusively to men?"

"Did not know Hollander had it in him—he is so boring. Probably seeing a lot of very boring guys like him. Maybe he should call me, if he wants a more interesting time," and then he winks salaciously at the camera before the clip ends.

"Kyle's right that this caused discourse," Kip explains. "About whether he was being an ally or a homophobe."

"I think people landed on a mix of both," Elena adds, "that he was just saying shit to get a reaction." She turns to Shane. "What do you think, Shane? Maybe you know him better than we do."

Shane is still gaping at the paused image on Kip's phone. Rozanov said that, like, in public? To the press? What the fuck was he thinking? And what is so different about Rozanov that people would rather believe anything but that he might be serious? People immediately believed Shane was gay based on a few rumors.

"Why do you look so shocked?" Kyle asks. "Isn't he known for saying shit like this?"

"Yeah," Shane says, swallowing. "I don't think he was being homophobic, though." He can't fucking talk about this, but he still feels the need to defend Rozanov from at least that accusation. "He's an asshole, but in general, he doesn't say bigoted stuff like some of the other players."

"It's so shit that players saying bigoted shit is, like, standard and accepted in hockey," Elena says. "How do you put up with it?"

He shrugs as Kip launches into a story about a homophobic customer that yelled at him last week. Shane's not really listening as he replays the comment from Rozanov in his mind for the rest of the night.

It's a week before playoffs and living with Hunter is... intense. Shane respects his captain's rituals and the specific routines he needs to follow to get into the right headspace, but they don't jive with Shane's, which means that Shane is trying to find as many excuses as he can to be out of the apartment. It's fucking with his own rituals, but he's not the captain or the star player of the team; he's a second line center brought in last minute for a playoffs push, so he's trying to respect his place.

He fills his time mostly at the gym or running, sometimes even just walking around the park at times he doesn't want to keep up his heart rate. But it's a busy city, and even though people tend to leave celebrities and high profile people alone here, he still hates that there are always eyes on him. His face and name are recognizable to the general public in a way they weren't before his scandal.

The mix of feeling on edge both at home and out of the apartment is quickly getting him into a bad place mentally, which he can't afford right now. He's managed to mesh well enough with the team that he doesn't think they regret trading him for Zullo yet, and he absolutely can't let them down. Maybe that's why when Kip invites him to hang out a park with him and Elena on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, Shane finds himself reluctantly agreeing. Coach did instruct him to take some rest time this week.

They meet up at a park in Brooklyn on a lawn overlooking some piers and Manhattan on the other side of the East River. It's one of the first truly sunny days of spring, and some people are out and about taking advantage, but it's relatively quiet given it's the middle of a weekday. The lack of typical city noise is a balm, immediately calming the persistent buzzing in Shane's brain. He thinks Coach would approve of this 'rest time' activity as he settles onto the picnic blanket Elena packed.

"I'm so glad we haven't scared you off yet," Elena says as she opens up a thermos and begins pouring them each some iced tea. "It's cool you could meet up with us."

"Thanks for inviting me," Shane says politely. "Is that unsweetened?"

"It's a hibiscus blend my mom used to make. Normally there's a ton of sugar in it, but I substitute monkfruit and a little pineapple, so it's not as sweet."

Monkfruit is in his diet plan, so he accepts the drink with a nod of thanks.

"Oh my god, I have to tell you about this customer that came in yesterday," Kip starts before launching into a long rant.

It's nice to have the focus on someone else for awhile, and he finds himself enjoying the relaxed conversation between Elena and Kip. He doesn't chime in too much, but they include him easily without too much pressure or expectation. He learns that Elena is a cybersecurity expert, but her explanation of what she actually does leaves him confused.

"Don't bother trying to figure it out; it's been five years and I still don't understand what her job entails or why she's able to take hours off in the middle of the day on a Tuesday," Kip says. "I think she's secretly a spy."

"It's all part of the mystique," Elena says with a flourish. "If I got into the nitty-gritty you'd learn my secret that it's actually nerdy computer shit."

"I think spies these days need computer skills—at least that's how it is in the movies. They all know hacker stuff," Kip counters, and Shane is pretty sure he's kidding.

"I guess you'll never know," Elena says, waggling her eyebrows. She turns to Shane. "So, how are you settling in so far? Missing anything from Montreal?"

His misses his routines and his own apartment, knowing where everything is and what stores carry the things he likes, always feeling sufficiently prepared for the places he has to go. People get weird when he says stuff like that, though, so instead he says, "Having my own place was nice. If I stay with Admirals another season, I'll find my own apartment, but I don't know yet if they just want me for a quick playoff push."

"What does that mean?"

"They got me right before the trade deadline. Sometimes teams do that if they think a player might help them do well in the playoffs, even if they might not plan to keep them long-term. And I'm not cheap. My contract is based on how I was playing a few years ago, not my points now. It'd be expensive to keep me, but that's true of any team who takes me. The longer I'm not at my best, the less lucrative I become, and with the whole scandal... I don't know who will really want me. My contract is up at the end of next year, so my salary is set until then."

"But you're still good, right?" Kip asks. "I mean, we've seen some of your games, and you still play a lot and score goals. It seems like you score as much as Hunter does, and he's our best player, right?"

"I don't score as much as Hunter does," Shane quickly corrects. "But yeah, I don't know, the Admirals wanted me for now, which is good. It's just hard to get settled when I don't know what will happen to me."

"Damn, that sucks," Elena says with a sympathetic frown. "So they could just trade you across the country or to Canada or something, and you'd have no say? What if you had family or something?"

"Some players have no move clauses. But yeah, women who date hockey players know what they're signing up for, I guess. Sometimes players end up living away from their wives for awhile if she has an important job or something, but most of the time the family will move with the player. It probably sucks for the kids, I guess."

"What's this 'women' and 'wives' shit—if you had a partner, it would be a man, right?" Kip says.

Shane's brain stutters. He's never thought of that before. "Well, I've never dated any men. And I'm the only gay player, so it's still wives and girlfriends for anyone else."

"No way you are the only gay player," Elena says with a laugh. "Didn't you say you hooked up with another guy in the league?"

"We're not talking about that," Shane quickly replies. "And he likes women, anyway. He hooks up with men sometimes, but he'd never date one publicly."

"What an asshole," she scoffs. "He told you that?"

"Well, no," Shane says, feeling oddly off-balance. "He didn't have to. There's just... no way."

"But you're paving the way!"

He pauses, trying to think of a better way to explain this, but he comes up empty. "I don't think it works like that."

"This is depressing," Elena announces. "Sorry, but your sport is depressing." She takes a sip of her tea. "What other sort of stuff are you into? Any hobbies?"

None of his friends from hockey ever ask him about 'hobbies.' He reads and runs and does a lot of research on the best diets and supplements and training regimes for peak performance. When he tries to explain this, Kip and Elena specify that they want to know what he does that's not related to hockey, but Shane doesn't really do anything that's not related to hockey. Even the hookups were, in their way, about hockey.

"I go to my parents' for dinner when I'm in town?" he offers, but it sounds weak even to him.

"This boy needs help," Elena declares. "Don't you have time for other stuff?"

"The schedule actually sounds brutal," Kip points out. "It's what, like eighty or ninety games a year? Plus all the practices and other stuff? It sounds fucking exhausting."

Thank you, Kip. "I don't really have time for a lot of other stuff."

"But is that true for every player? Like, I thought they were partying all and picking up women and stuff." She snorts. "Well, I guess you're picking up men. Does that count as a hobby?"

"Depends how you do it," Kip says, which makes Elena laugh. Shane doesn't get the joke. "I do wanna know, though—were the tabloids exaggerating? 'Cause they made it sound like you were having orgies with dozens of guys every night. I have to imagine that's not true."

"Not quite," Shane says, feeling his face heat. "It was one to five a week for a little over half a year. There were no orgies."

"Pfft, that's nothing! All that drama over a little casual sluttiness?"

"I guess I don't really know what a lot is," Shane admits.

"Depends on who you ask," Elena says. "There are people who go from monogamous relationship to monogamous relationship who act like anything over ten is crazy, but people who like casual sex could easily fuck hundreds of people if they're hot enough."

"Sometimes even if they're not," Kip adds with a laugh.

Shane wonders if Rozanov has fucked hundreds of people. Probably.

"How have the men of New York been treating you so far?" Kip asks. "It's a real... mixed bag, I have to say."

"Oh, I mean, I don't know," Shane mumbles. "I kinda stopped doing all that."

"Why?" Elena asks. The question is blunt but it doesn't sound judgmental, only curious.

"Uh, it's kinda complicated," Shane says, pulling at a thread of the picnic blanket. "I started doing it when my slump started. I couldn't get out of my own head. I was stressed out and freaking out all the time and that was just making me play even worse. Sex was the only thing that kind of helped me chill out, but the only guy I was hooking up with was... not convenient, so..."

"Oh," Elena says. Shane's not the best at reading tone, but he thinks that 'oh' is judgmental. "Well, maybe a break is good, then. That doesn't sound healthy."

"Most people don't start a ho phase for healthy reasons," Kip points out. "I mean, some can, but for me, it's usually been after a bad breakup when my self-esteem was at its worst."

Elena gives Kip a pat on the back. "And that's why you've started therapy, so your next ho phase can be more healing." She turns to Shane. "Have you talked to your therapist about all this?"

"What? I-I don't have a therapist."

"Don't they have sports psychologists and stuff? For your 'slump?'"

"Uh... sort of. I worked with the team's performance consultant briefly, but it wasn't... therapy."

There's something wrong with what he's said because Elena and Kip exchange a look.

"There's nothing wrong with therapy," Elena says slowly.

"No, I mean, sure," Shane quickly corrects. "But it's not..."

"Not?"

"It's just not something guys do. It's not—it's a distraction. You're supposed to handle it." Elena raises an eyebrow at him. He bristle and explains, "Either you can play or you can't. That's not a... feelings problem."

"Right. And of course hockey players don't have feelings, right? That would never affect you on the ice?"

"I don't—" Tears start to prick behind his eyes—what the fuck? Why is this making him want to cry? "It's just not... done. Therapy."

Elena blows out a breath and says, "Wow, hockey is toxic as hell."

Shane takes a moment, trying to calm himself. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do you mean? You can't even go to therapy because it's, what, not manly? Too gay? Hate to break it to you, but you're already gay."

Shane sniffs, grateful that his tears seem to be subsiding. It would be so fucking embarrassing to cry in front of these people he barely knows. "It doesn't matter, anyway, because I stopped hooking up with people, so there's no need to talk to anyone about it. I'm on a new team and they want me to keep a low profile about this stuff."

"Ew."

"That is so gross, I can't believe they'd tell you to do that!"

Shane is so fucking confused. "Didn't you just tell me to do the same thing?"

"Yeah, as, like, healing!" Elena corrects. "Not because we're slut-shaming you and trying to hide the gay away."

"We're slut-shaming him a little bit," Kip mutters.

Elena takes another breath, settling herself. "Look, I'm not trying to say you're crazy or anything. Normal people go to therapy for all sorts of reasons. Kip and I both go. It could be helpful, that's all."

Shane nods, skeptical, and changes the subject.

The team is at a bar celebrating a game five closeout, one round away from the finals, when Vaughan asks, "So when are we gonna be allowed to talk about the elephant in the room?"

The question earns a glare from Bennett, but it's asked without a ton of judgment, so Shane only feels a mild amount of tightness in his chest.

"Ask whatever you want, Vaughany." The topic makes him nervous, of course it does, but it's all so fucked up already and people make so many assumptions about him that the idea of talking about it doesn't terrify him like he thinks it should.

"You're not gonna get, like, offended and shit?"

"Depends on what you ask," Bennett interjects. "Don't be an asshole. He's been through enough."

Shane doesn't think he deserves that grace, but it's nice of Bennett, anyway.

"So... is it really true?" Vaughan asks. "Some of the articles said there were, like, hundreds of guys."

Shane's done the math. He averaged three hookups a week for around seven months, which rounds up to seventy-four guys. The number doesn't feel real to him.

"I didn't keep count, but it was probably less than a hundred. Maybe seventy-five?"

"Damn, man," Wagner says, offering him a fist bump. "That's kinda legendary."

Shane accepts the fist bump with complete bewilderment.

"That's not that many. I mean, guys like Kent and Rozanov are pulling multiple chicks a week, right? Over years that must be hundreds."

"Yeah, but it's gotta be ten times easier with chicks," Wagner argues.

"No way," Huff counters. "Think about it: guys are always horny for it, but girls don't always wanna put out, right? So if it's just guys with guys, like, you can get laid whenever you want, I bet."

"Probably even easier if you look like Hollzy," Vaughan says with a laugh.

This conversation is fucking crazy. How are they all talking about this as if it's normal? With Kip's friends is one thing, but—

"The media's acting like Hollzy is some kind of turbo-slut, though. I don't think seventy-five is that many, either," Huff says. "I mean, over your whole life? I've probably hooked up with seventy-five chicks in my whole life."

"Nice humblebrag, but we know you scrape the bottom of the barrel. Some real butterfaces," Wagner says, earning himself a punch in the arm.

"It wasn't over my whole life," Shane says, feeling an odd compulsion to clarify.

"Since when, then?" Vaughan asks.

Shane flushes. "Uh... last summer?"

"Dude."

"Damn, what?"

Okay, maybe he shouldn't have overshared based on the disbelieving looks on his teammates faces. He freezes, wishing he could backtrack, until Huff starts a slow clap that has the others joining in and whistling, clapping him on the back. What the fuck. Only Hunter has a normal reaction, observing the others as if they're crazy.

"I mean, I don't understand all the gay shit, but, like, respect," Huff says, tipping his glass at him. "That's a ton of ass. Or dick, I guess. How does it work, do you switch who gets to do the fucking, or how do you decide? Rock paper scissors?"

"You can't ask that, man."

"Why not? I'm just curious!"

"Some men like it both ways and some have a preference for one or the other," Bennett, of all people, clarifies.

"How the fuck do you know that, haven't you been married a gazillion years?"

"Just because I'm married doesn't mean I'm ignorant."

Why are they still talking about this? The easy acceptance is cool but Shane kind of wants to sink into his chair and die.

"Maybe we should lay off pestering Hollander about his sex life," Hunter says, speaking for the first time in this conversation.

"You live with him—he still bringing a bunch of dudes home?"

Hunter's face goes pink. "What did I just say?"

"I'm not," Shane interjects, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea. "I haven't, really, since everything came out."

"Bro, that's so sad!"

"Yeah, what's the point of everyone knowing you're gay if you're not even getting laid?"

Tell him about it. "I didn't exactly want everyone to know I'm gay." He's proud of himself that he only sounds a bit panicked saying the word aloud in front of his teammates.

"But it's out now, so why not?"

Shane clears his throat awkwardly. "Let's just get through playoffs and then we'll see."

This sparks off a conversation about sex bans and who follows them and whether they actually do any good, which thankfully takes the attention off of Shane for the rest of the night.

Shane's been doing a pretty good job not thinking about sex and the fact that he's no longer having it, but they're facing off against Boston in the Conference Finals, and time has not cured his Rozanov fixation.

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to go back to their old arrangement. Would Shane be able to handle it, now that they're no longer on the same playing field? At the beginning of his slump, the answer was decidedly no. The pain of seeing Rozanov has eased slightly—even though it hurts that the 'rivalry' has only faded due to Shane's own failures—but he thinks of the way Rozanov ordered him around in bed and cringes. He always liked that, how Rozanov took control and gave him clear directions, but he always knew, in very objective terms, that they were equals outside of bed. Now that it's no longer true, he doesn't know that he'd be able to stomach that kind of subservience.

Or maybe he could. His dick seems to think so, but it's a moot point anyway, because Rozanov is still cold and distant to him on the ice, so he's definitely still pissed. Whatever they had is over because Shane ended it, so he shouldn't be thinking about it.

Ugh, he is thinking about it, though. He watches a replay of Rozanov's interview after game one—3-1 Boston—and stares at the sweat beading down his jaw, wishing he could lick it.

Game two is in New York, and Shane is relieved as hell to score the only goal for either team in the game, bringing them to a tie. He's floating that high as he exits the arena to head to the Kingfisher. Celebrating after games used to fill him with dread—having to deal with a loud environment and social interactions when he was already exhausted from a game was its own kind of hell—but somehow it's easier with his new friends. And he's happy to finally have someone besides his parents to offer his free tickets to.

He doesn't make it far beyond the arena's side exit before he spots Rozanov smoking by a loading dock. His curls are haloed by the warm sodium light, giving him an almost angelic look.

"Nice goal," Rozanov calls as soon as he spots him.

Shane's heart skips as he walks over, a mix of excitement and dread swirling in his veins. "Thanks." He should say more, but being in Rozanov's presence has thrown him off balance and he can't find the words.

He expects chirping, maybe a comparison to how terribly he's been playing otherwise, but instead Rozanov says, casually, "Heard you are living with Hunter." He puts the cigarette out with his thumb and then tucks it into his coat pocket. "I would have thought it's too much boring for one house, but seems you are not so boring anymore." There's a edge of something in his voice that Shane can't identify. It's not quite hostile, but it's not friendly, either.

Shane still can't think of what to say and ends up blurting, "I'm still boring."

This makes Rozanov almost grin, and the sight is so beautiful that Shane can barely regret embarrassing himself.

"Press does not agree," Rozanov says, still in that unreadable tone. "People have a lot to say about your social life."

"Yeah, well. They were always going to have a lot to say about whoever was first, I guess. Can't say I'm glad it was me."

Rozanov doesn't answer right away, evaluating him. Shane represses a shiver under the scrutiny. "I was surprised anything came out about you. You've always been so careful."

Shane sighs. "I kind of spiraled when my slump started, and then I... wasn't so careful anymore."

He swallows, thinking now would be right time to apologize for ghosting, but he's interrupted by the side door swinging open as three of the Raiders tumble out.

"Yo, Roz! You coming?"

"Coming," Rozanov calls. Then, to Shane, he says, "Good luck in game three. You will need it," and saunters down the street to join his teammates.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

In the end, the Admirals push the Raiders to game seven, but they can't manage to eke out the victory. If Rozanov wins a third Cup in a row while Shane has none, he might lose it. This thought makes him feel guilty because it's not that he doesn't want Rozanov to win for his own sake, but he still hasn't figured out how to handle the increasing disparity between them.

It doesn't matter, though, because Vegas takes it in five. Shane isn't happy to see a new franchise team win, especially in a market like Vegas that cares fuck all about hockey, but whatever. The season's over and now he can focus on his panic over whether the Admirals just wanted him for a playoff push or whether they intend to keep him on for awhile.

"When do you think you'll know?" Elena asks over brunch at a trendy café in Midtown, because brunch is something Shane does now.

"It depends. If they don't trade me by August, I'm most likely safe. But it'd probably happen sooner than that. A lot of trades happen around the draft."

"August is forever away," she points out. "What, you're just gonna sit around all anxious and panicking until then?"

"I guess so."

"Boo," Kip says with a frown. "Are you at least staying in New York for the summer?"

Shane hesitates. "I don't know. I have a cottage in Quebec I had built a few years ago where I usually spend the offseason. It's by a lake, nice and quiet. But I don't know, I feel like I should be looking for an apartment around here in case I don't get traded."

"You're still staying with Scott Hunter?" Kip asks.

Shane nods.

"I can't believe you've still never invited us to see his place," Kyle pouts. "He's rich, so it must be swanky."

"It's nice," Shane allows.

"Is it well-decorated?" Elena asks. "I imagine a lot of hockey players are tasteless, no offense."

"No, it's nice," Shane repeats. "I think he hired somebody to do it. I don't know."

"So why haven't we seen it? What, he doesn't let you have people over?" Kyle prods. "Is he, like, controlling?"

"No, he's said I could have guests." Which is true, but it's still Hunter's place, and Shane is a guest himself. It would feel weird to bring people over into a space that's not his.

"I would kinda like to see it," Kip says.

"Me too."

"Yes!" Kyle says eagerly. "See, Shane? You're holding out on your friends. You don't have to host us or anything—we just want to stop by for a peek."

Something warm twists in Shane's gut at the word 'friends,' and then he gets embarrassed that he hasn't had a lot of people refer to themselves that way in his life. His social circle is usually limited to teammates.

"I guess maybe," he acquiesces. "Just for a peek."

He arranges for a quick visit during the afternoon when Hunter is usually out of the apartment. That'll be fine, right? In and out, and he won't bother his captain. On the way up, he instructs them all to be quiet and respectful, just in case.

"Wow!" Kyle says too loudly as soon as they're inside. "Holy shit, the view."

Elena and Kip also look impressed, though they are quieter about it, gushing over the furniture and open floor plan.

"You can tell the decorator didn't put much thought into the art, though," Kip comments. "This is some stock Home Goods kinda shit."

"You brought people over to criticize my art?" Hunter interjects, coming around a corner and into the main living space.

Shane whips around, startled. "Oh, uh, hey. Sorry, I thought you were out. My friends just, uh, wanted to see the place. We'll head back out soon."

Kip is blushing and staring at Hunter as he stumbles to apologize. "I am so sorry," he says quickly. Shane's never seen him look flustered like this before. "Your place is gorgeous; I'm just being a jealous bitch."

Hunter actually chuckles at that. "No worries. You're right, I didn't put much thought into the art. I just went with what the designer selected." He puts out his hand. "I'm Scott, by the way."

"Kip," Kip says, taking the hand without breaking eye contact. "Uh, and this is Kyle and Elena."

Both of them wave as Elena offers a polite greeting. Shit, maybe Shane should have introduced them? Is he doing this wrong? He's pretty sure a guest isn't supposed to be doing the introductions.

"Kip works at the smoothie shop down the street," Shane offers, trying to be normal. "Straw+Berry? Have you been there? That's where we met, and he introduced me to Kyle and Elena."

Hunter looks up at him and then between the others, as if trying to puzzle something out.

"We're just friends, though," Kip clarifies.

Oh, maybe it did kind of sound like Shane was introducing him as a boyfriend or something? He told Hunter he wouldn't bring guys back here, and he doesn't want to make it look like he's going back on that.

Elena and Kyle share a look, and then look at Shane, trying to communicate something, but he can't catch their meaning.

Hunter offers them all something to drink, assuring them that Shane is allowed to have guests, and Shane feels embarrassed at having said otherwise, even though he still hates that they're imposing. It's weird that Hunter is trying to be friendly with these people who are so outside of the world of hockey, but it's nice, too, that he makes the effort.

"So what are you doing over the summer?" Kip asks. "Shane said you guys have some time off?"

"Yeah," Hunter says, shoulders tensing. Shane doesn't know what that's about. "I'm, uh, going to Europe for a few weeks. It's nice to get away for a bit, you know?"

"Oh, that's awesome," Kip says as the others nod. "Where are you going?"

"Spain, then taking the train to Denmark. Maybe Germany, too, if I'm up for it." He clears his throat. "You know, there's a lot of cool architecture and museums and stuff."

"Germany's awesome," Kyle says. "I spent a semester in Berlin in college and then stayed over the summer just traveling."

"Your ho trip," Elena adds with a smirk.

Kyle shrugs. "I was nineteen, newly out, and Berlin is a very gay-friendly city. Of course I wanted to get laid while I was there. What's the point of a trip like that if you don't get to experiment a little?" He catches Hunter's eye. "Not that I'm implying that's why you're going, obviously."

"Oh my god, Kyle."

"I said I'm not implying it!"

Hunter looks suddenly awkward and Shane cringes. This is exactly why he didn't want to invite his friends over here. Mixing these two different worlds is too weird, and while it's nice that Hunter doesn't seem to judge him for the gay shit, he's sure there is a limit. Kyle's bullshit seems like it's crossing it.

The small talk continues for awhile, but it's stilted, until finally there's enough of a lull for Shane to suggest they head out.

In the hallway waiting for the elevator, Elena rounds on Kip.

"So," she says.

"Don't," Kip says.

"You were so obvious."

"I was being normal."

"You were hanging on his every word," Kyle says. "I could practically see you drooling."

"I was not drooling."

"Kip." Elena gives him a look. "Babe."

Kip makes a face and presses the elevator button again, which doesn't help.

Shane's not totally following. "Wait," he says. "You're into Hunter?"

Three heads turn toward him.

"Shane," Elena says slowly. "He was vibrating every time he looked at him, which was practically the whole visit."

"I thought he was just being friendly."

"Oh my god," Kyle says. "You are so oblivious."

Shane is a little offended, but he can be oblivious about these things, so it's not an unfair assessment. The elevator arrives with a ding and they crowd in.

"So do you think he's into men?" Kip asks, casual.

"I don't know," Shane says honestly. "I don't think so." He considers it for a second. It would be a strange kind of cosmic joke, if after everything, after the most public and humiliating outing imaginable, to end up living with his closeted captain. Not that he thinks Hunter is closeted, obviously.

"You don't think so, or you don't know?" Elena asks.

"Both," Shane says. "I mean, I guess he doesn't bring women home? But I haven't lived there very long, I guess."

Kip nods, processing this with great seriousness. Shane decides not to join the others in needling him about it or pontificating on Hunter's potential reciprocation, not wanting to encourage anything so doomed and unlikely.

The cottage doesn't offer the reprieve he was hoping for. It hadn't last year, either, when Shane was in a panic about being outed or traded, but he at least appreciated the solitude. Now, after getting used to the noise and bustle of NYC, the quiet is more stifling and lonely than relaxing. His parents are also nearby, and it kills him that time spent with them now is so stilted. Ever since his scandal—since his slump, really—his relationship with his mom in particular has been strained. She's taken a step back with his management, due in part to brands dropping him, and they haven't figured out how to navigate a new normal.

"So, how are the Admirals treating you?" his father asks over dinner one night at his parents' place. It's not the first time they've asked, but maybe Shane is bad at communicating convincingly because they keep asking.

"Fine," Shane says, because what else is there to say? "We'll see if they want me for another season, I guess."

"And they've been... okay?" his mom prods.

About his sexuality, Shane assumes. "Yeah, sure." He thinks back to the conversation at the bar, when some of his teammates clapped over his sex life. So at least those guys are somewhat okay with it. He hasn't experienced too many comments about his race, either. Less than with Montreal, anyway. He never thought the little jabs and jokes about it bothered him too much, but their absence has been a relief. "They seem okay with... me."

"That's good," his mom says with a smile that comes off forced. "It's good that you can be in a more supportive environment."

Shane doubts that his mom is really happy about everything that went down, though. Shane's no longer captain or even on the first line; his face isn't on promotional material and it's not his name that comes up first when the team's discussed in sports media. He knows that loss hurts her, but he doesn't know what to do about it but what he's been doing, which is to try his fucking hardest to get out of his slump and do what he can to rebuild his personal reputation by not sleeping around so much.

"It's a good team," Shane says, because it is. They made a strong playoffs run.

His mom clears her throat. "You know, Visa reached out to me. Their campaign for Pride month has been good for business, and they're planning to expand it with a focus on athletes. They told me Megan Rapinoe was already on board and—"

"Mom," Shane interjects. "I don't... I don't want to do that. Pride stuff or whatever."

"But honey, you're—"

"It's already hard enough. I don't need to give anyone extra reminders that I'm gay, okay?"

For a moment, she shuts up, her lips drawing in a tight line. "Alright. I'll let it go. But there is interest, if you ever change your mind. It could be good for you."

Shane's not sure about that, but the subject is thankfully dropped. The rest of dinner is as awkward as ever, and Shane hates being in this position, the failed son, after all his parents have done for him. The weight of this disappointment is heavy as he swallows down the meal.

When he gets home, the cottage is too quiet while is brain is too loud. It's not relaxing like it used to be, and he itches for a distraction. He's isolated enough up here that getting laid is not much of an option, but he isn't sure that's what he wants, anyway. He misses his friends; hanging out with them has a way of making him feel lighter.

Fuck it. He heads back to New York a few weeks early, while Hunter is still on his Europe trip. Having the apartment to himself is a relief, but he still has people around if he wants. Shane has people now. Friends. They go to the Kingfisher a few nights a week and out to brunch most Sundays, and there's always an event or birthday or something happening to get strung along to. At first, he wonders if he's annoying them, imposing on an already established friend group, but they keep inviting him to stuff and seem to genuinely enjoy his company.

He also reinstalls Grindr. It's the offseason, and he's allowed to enjoy himself, right? But more guys recognize him now, and they all seem so eager to get to be with the Shane Hollander. You're that gay hockey player, right? Awful what happened to you. It makes him feel gross, like a prize, like they want the accomplishment of fucking him more than they actually want to fuck him.

"Maybe you should try dating," Elena suggests one afternoon while they're at Hunter's place, some reality show playing on mute in the background. Since Hunter's still on vacation, he doesn't feel too bad having them over, and it's nice to be able to socialize without all the noise and bustle of a bar sometimes. Hunter's is much bigger than any of the others' apartments.

"How would I even meet someone for that?" Shane asks, unsure why the thought of getting something long-term makes him queasy. It's just, he's had a lot of sex, and none of it was so good that he wants it forever, with one notable exception he tries not to think about. To put all that effort into dating just to find they're not that compatible is daunting. He had enough of that when he was trying to date women.

"I'm right here," Kyle says with a wink, earning a half-hearted slap from Kip.

"Stop hitting on him."

Kyle rolls his eyes as Elena suggests, "I could set you up. My coworker Mark is super hot."

"He is hot—how come you've never set him up with either of us?" Kip asks.

"Well, Mark's very... ambitious."

"Wouldn't date someone who works at a bar or a smoothie shop, got it."

"You guys just haven't figured out your long-term careers yet. How are the grad school applications going, by the way?" she asks Kip.

"We're not talking about that. Forget I said anything."

"Don't bother setting Kip up with anyone anyway—he's so fixated on Scott," Kyle teases. "What are you gonna do with yourself when he comes back all tanned and relaxed from Europe?"

"Can you guys stop with that? He's probably not even into men." But he flicks his eyes up to Shane as if hoping he'll argue the point.

"Don't look at me," Shane says. "I mean, like I said, I don't think he is."

"No, he wants Kip," Elena says, sounding sure of herself. "I just don't know if he's admitted that to himself yet, and you can do better than a closet case."

"Not if the closet case looks like that and lives in an apartment like this," Kyle argues. "That's worth a lot. And Shane, you're just as hot and rich and famous as him. You seriously could date whoever you wanted if you were interested. We'll help you if you want to start dating."

"What's your type, anyway? You've never said."

Strong and athletic, someone who gets under his skin. He shouldn't get turned on by being annoyed, but sometimes it does it for him. At least more than the guys who praise him like they feel unworthy of hooking up with a famous athlete, which makes him oddly insecure. Sometimes cockiness doesn't do it for him, either, if it's unearned. He wants to be treated like an equal by someone who is his equal, but also to have his boundaries pushed, as long as he can fully trust the person pushing them, and to have that balanced with being treated kindly, sweetly, but not coddled.

He doesn't know how to put that all into words, and he hates admitting to himself that he found it in the first guy he hooked up with and then threw it all away. Not that there was ever a future with Rozanov, but he's still the one all others are up against, whether Shane wants to acknowledge it or not. When he pictures his ideal type, it's Rozanov's body in his mind.

Ugh. "I don't know," he says, running a hand through his hair. "An athlete would be nice, someone who gets what the lifestyle is like. At least as strong as me physically. And successful, like, someone who is motivated in their career to be the best?"

"Didn't you say your hockey player was the best you ever had?" Elena asks. "Makes sense with what you just said."

"There's no my hockey player," Shane says with a blush. "But yeah, I guess he was my type."

Shane is able to deflect enough away from his dating life that the conversation dissolves into Elena announcing she needs someone to come to a new yoga studio near her place. Shane doesn't see why she needs a buddy for something you do in silence, but he's gone before and liked it well enough, and he has the time. He goes, and it's good, bringing him a similar calm and peace that he got from the workshop in Montreal.

Kip and Kyle take him to museums and galleries, a few places Shane wouldn't have found on his own and wouldn't have walked into alone. He likes it more than he expects to. He has the money to buy something, and a few times nearly does, but he still hasn't gotten an apartment, so he doesn't have a good place to put any new art and it feels like a waste to send to the cottage, where he only spends a few weeks each year. Occasionally, he does look at apartment listings, but if the Admirals don't keep him next season, the math on a lease gets complicated, and he's nervous to commit to a city he might not be in, like he's tempting fate.

When Hunter gets back in town, Shane tries to discourage his friends from coming over so much, but they've gotten a taste for Hunter's luxurious apartment and now prefer hanging out there over anywhere else. Maybe Shane's too easily peer-pressured by the way he keeps inviting them over. At least Hunter doesn't seem to mind, sometimes even hanging out with them during visits.

By late August, it's looking like Shane won't be traded. He brings it up to Hunter one morning over breakfast, wondering if he's expected to find his own place before the season starts.

"You don't have to rush," Hunter says, not looking up from his phone.

"I don't want to impose."

Hunter does look up then. "You're not imposing. It's probably good for me to have someone else around." He pauses, an expression crossing his face that Shane can't read. "And if you want to have people over, have people over. You always apologize when you invite your friends, but it's your place while you're here. They're welcome."

"Okay."

He wonders if Elena's theory that Hunter is into Kip is accurate. It seems preposterous, but at the same time, he's never seen Hunter flirt with women or bring any home, so it's not out of the question. Regardless, he's not going to get involved. Kip is very out and even if Hunter were interested, Shane doubts any other players have any intention of joining him out of the closet. It's not glamorous.

The only benefit is that he can hook up without so much looming anxiety. He's more careful about it, not wanting to fall back into the old pattern of new guys every other night, but once in awhile seems okay, if he's careful and intentional about it and doesn't bring them back to Hunter's. It's fine, but it doesn't do much for him anymore, which is a new problem: the hookups were the one thing that reliably worked to get him out of his head, but something about the risk of it put him in a different space mentally. Now they feel like transactions that leave him vaguely flat after.

He spends some time trying to figure out if the shame was the point, if it was the secrecy or the recklessness that made it work, and concludes he doesn't actually know.

Maybe Elena and Kip were onto something about telling him to get a therapist.

As he settles into the new season, the slump becomes his new normal, and Shane is trying to accept it. The disconnect he feels on the ice, the sluggish delay where he can't quite keep up with plays like he used to, is still there, but rather than trying to play like he used to through brute force and failing, he's trying to adapt. It pains him to accept that he might never recover completely, but all things considered, he'd rather play mediocre hockey than not play at all, so he's got to work with what's got.

And, slowly, he starts improving. With the weight of his big, shameful secret lifted, he feels lighter, and this translates to the ice. The expectations of being a generational talent, the best in the league, are disappearing. It's crushing to accept, but liberating, too. At least that's what he tells himself.

Shane can't help but eagerly anticipate the first game of the season against Boston. Maybe he's burned his chance to make anything happen with Rozanov again, but he hopes anyway. Rozanov might even be pissed enough at him to take it out on him in bed, holding him down and roughly fucking him into the mattress. He jerks off to that fantasy more than a few times.

He can't keep comparing every guy he fucks to Rozanov, though. It's not healthy. Surely he built it up to be something more than it was in his head, that he's remembered it better than the reality, because there's no way it was really so much better than all the other sex he's had. He's been with other men who were very competent in bed. So why is it never enough? If he just fucks Rozanov again, maybe he can prove to himself that he's chasing a fantasy that was never real.

He doesn't know how to get Rozanov's attention, though, or what he would say if he did.

"Can't you just find him after the game and apologize?" Kyle offers. It's humiliating that Shane has asked him for advice on this, but he's desperate. He didn't say who he was talking about, and he asks enough in advance of the game that Kyle assumes it's a player for Buffalo.

"How, though? Sometimes he goes for a smoke outside the stadium, but I'm not guaranteed to run into him."

Kyle crosses his arms. "How would I know? You don't interact with the other team after?"

"Not really. Sometimes teams go out to bars or something, but usually not with whoever they just played against."

"Okay, well, if they play in New York a few times every year, maybe the team has a regular spot near the arena? I could ask around—I know a lot of other bartenders."

Shane perks up. "Really? That actually... yeah, that could work."

Kyle smiles. "Maybe if we find the right bar, we could all go out to it after. Then you'll be there to meet your friends, and if you just happen to run into him..."

"But then you'd know who it is. I mean, he's not out, so..."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Do you want our help or not?"

Shane couldn't come up with any plan better than Kyle's. He had to tell him what team in order to coordinate the plan, and he doesn't realize until after he's said it that Kyle is going to figure out who the other guy is. He makes him promise not to tell the others, and Kyle seems trustworthy enough that he wouldn't out someone and cause them problems. Sober, anyway.

He goes home after the game to change before the bar. And maybe he grooms and douches because, well, better safe than sorry, even if the plan is stupid and he's probably not going to run into Rozanov, let alone convince him to sleep with him.

As he's debating what to wear, a text comes in from Kyle.

Kyle

ALERT ALERT 🚨🚨

five of the raiders just walked into the bar!!

we're trying to figure out who they all are. a few of them are hot though

rozanov, marlow, connors, a big guy with a red beard, and a shorter guy with a godawful combover. please tell me that last one is not your guy

they all came in together, doesn't look like anyone else is joining them? i'll keep you posted

Shane

Okay I'll be over in fifteen minutes or so

Kyle

👀👀👀👀👀👀

so it's one of these guys????

holy fuck rozanov is hot. oh my god. i mean i've seen him on tv and stuff but dear lord his body is unreal

marlow is hot too, damn he's big

am i allowed to flirt with whoever of these guys you're not claiming?

Shane

Hold your flirting for now, please

Kyle

i should also let you know that scott and eric bennett are here. which i'm sure has NOTHING to do with kip being here and scott's massive crush

eric is so hot too 😭 such a shame he's married...

Shane

Eric is like 40 years old

Kyle

and?

you're telling me a man over 40 can't be hot?

Shane

Whatever. I'm leaving now

A gust of cool fall air hits him as he walks outside to hail a cab. Once inside, he glances down again at his phone.

Kyle

WAIT I JUST HAD A THOUGHT

that clip of rozanov saying he wanted you to call him for a better time. was that real???

holy shit lmfaoooo

why did none of us think he could be serious? kind of problematic of us ngl

okay but if true: confirmed he still wants you

i'm actually so upset that you got to tap that life's not fair 😭

Shane

Oh my god, stop! That clip is old anyway

Kyle

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so you have fucked him??? your best ever??????

wow it's totally unfair to be that hot and also good at sex

Shane

DO NOT say anything to anyone else about this!

Shane's face heats as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket, aware that anything else he says is only going to make Kyle more annoying. He feels guilty that he's outed Rozanov, and that there was probably a way to handle this all more carefully. Ugh, another thing for Rozanov to be pissed at him about. Shane's not optimistic about his chances of patching anything up, but he's resolved to try.

When he gets to the bar, he almost turns around and flags a new cab, because there's very low likelihood that things will go well tonight, given the specific mix of people that are inside. Why did he think this was a good idea? Bringing his friends was bad enough, but with several of the Admirals here too... But when's the next time he's going to get an opening to talk to Rozanov? He at least still owes him an apology. He can give him that.

He steels himself and steps inside.

Immediately, he's overwhelmed by the loud buzz and heat of the crowd. As he adjusts and slips off his jacket, he scans the room. Connors, Marlow, Travers and Dubek are all chatting at the bar. Rozanov isn't with them, but as Shane makes his way deeper into the bar, he sees him seated at a table with Kyle and Bennett. Elena, Kip and Shawn are at the table next to them with Hunter, engaged in a separate conversation.

Shane takes a deep breath, steadying himself as he walks forward through the crowd. He's not sure if it's good that Kyle is already talking to Rozanov. Probably not, but at least it's an opening.

"Hey, Shane!" Kyle says as soon as he spots him, waving him over. He drags out the 'hey' like he's already got a few drinks in him.

Rozanov looks over with an expression Shane can't interpret. It's not openly hostile, though, so he gives a nod of acknowledgment and heads to the table to take the open seat next to Rozanov.

"I was just complimenting Bennett on shutout," Rozanov says. "Very impressive for an old man like him. Creaky bones still moving."

"Watch it," Bennett replies. "I'm young enough to keep you from scoring."

"Exactly, is impressive."

"Can I get you a drink, Shane?" Kyle offers. "I was just going to get myself a refill."

Shane is worried about Kyle drinking more and getting sloppy given what he knows, but he does like having a drink to give him something to do with his hands. "Sure. Ginger ale?"

"You got it. Anyone else?" Rozanov and Bennett both shake their heads.

"Adventurous," Rozanov comments as Kyle leaves. "Good to know you still have some boring in you."

"I told you I was still boring."

Rozanov tilts his head. "Yes, but it is hard to believe. These days you are doing lots of... interesting things, no?"

Shane opens his mouth, wondering how he transition this into an apology that won't reveal too much in front of the others, when Bennett interjects, "Don't antagonize him. He gets enough of that shit already."

A guarded smirk crosses Rozanov's face. "You think I give Hollander shit? For what, being slutty? Would make me hypocrite, no?" Bennett gives a look like that's not what he meant, but he doesn't say anything as Rozanov turns back to Shane. "Actually, I have a theory that you were trying to catch up with me."

"What?"

"I fuck many people. You fall behind on points in hockey, you think maybe you catch me in body count instead."

"That is not what I was doing," Shane sputters.

"It is okay if you were. Impressive, actually. I sleep with many very hot people, not easy to compete, but you have made a good effort."

Shane blinks, not sure what the hell to do with that.

"And with men only is more challenging. Extra points."

"Shut up."

"Mm, no. I think you have missed me teasing you."

Heat pools low in Shane's gut. Fuck, he has, and he can tell by Rozanov's smirk that he knows it.

Bennett clears his throat. "On second thought, I'm going to get another drink, too."

Shane is thankful for the dark lighting of the bar, hoping it hides his blush as Bennett definitely caught on to something weird between them. He won't complain about being left alone, though.

He takes a breath and says, "Uh, I wanted to apologize. I've been wanting to apologize for awhile. For, uh, blocking your number and everything. I didn't handle things well when my game started slipping. Obviously. But it wasn't... anything you did."

Rozanov is thoughtful a moment as he sips his beer. "I know."

"You do?" Shane asks in surprise.

"Sure. I have met you. Very competitive. Was very obvious from your press you were panicking about rivalry comparisons. Then I win second Cup..." He shrugs. "I think I would not handle it well, either."

"Oh," Shane says, processing.

"You were not the first to run away." Rozanov adds, turning his beer in his hand and not looking at Shane. "I was maybe... not kind, during the Olympics."

Shane sits with that for a moment. It's true that Rozanov never apologized for ghosting him for those six months, but he never blocked Shane's number or cut off contact like Shane did. He's about to offer another apology when Rozanov cuts in with, "But I did not expect you to turn into big slut."

"Ugh," Shane says, rubbing his face. "It's so embarrassing that everybody knows about that."

"People think you were always slutty," Rozanov offers. "Not, uh, coping?"

"Yeah," Shane admits with a sigh. "I just... don't like being bad at hockey. It kind of made me crazy."

"Only Shane Hollander would say fifty-nine points in a season is 'bad.'" He turns his gaze toward the bar, where Kyle is leaning his head toward Bennett's, engaged in what looks like a deep conversation. "I think your drink is not coming."

"Oh, god," Shane says with a grimace. "Kyle is way too flirtatious. I regret introducing him to my teammates."

Rozanov grins. "Does not look like Bennett minds. Probably makes him feel young and cool to have hot twenty year old hit on him."

"Kyle's twenty-four."

"He is not the only one enjoying some flirting," Rozanov continues, turning his attention to the table next to them. "I did not know Hunter flirted with anybody. He has been playing in this league longer than some of these guys have been alive, I thought maybe he was too old to know how to do this. But he looks very interested in your friend."

"You think?" Shane asks. "I don't know... Seems unlikely Hunter swings that way." But if Rozanov sees it, too, maybe there is something there?

"What, you think you are the only fag in the league?"

Shane doesn't think Rozanov's supposed to use that word. At least Kip, Kyle and Shawn don't use it—some of the guys he's hooked up with have used it in passing, which Shane always hates. Rozanov's not totally gay, anyway, but Shane still hasn't figured out all the the rules. There are too many unspoken rules about being gay—it stresses him out.

"I guess... probably not?"

Rozanov scoffs. "I suck your dick for 'probably not?'"

"Besides you," he mutters.

Rozanov is thoughtful for a moment. "So you've never fucked him? Hunter?"

"What?! No! Oh my god. Why the fuck would I do that?"

He shrugs. "He is hot, you are hot. You live together, would be easy. What, this is beneath you? You would never make bad decision like fucking another player?"

Shane inhales sharply, too flustered to think of a response.

"There are more," Rozanov assures him, taking another sip of his beer. "Gay players."

"What, do you, like, know?" It never occurred to Shane that Rozanov could be fucking players other than him, but now that it does, it seems likely. He's embarrassed at the bitterness churning in his gut at the thought.

"Jealous?" Rozanov asks before taking another sip. "No," he admits, swallowing. "Well, maybe I have had threesomes with some players, but they are very not gay about it if there is a woman involved."

Shane is curious about that, like, logistically, but he doesn't actually want details about the sex Rozanov has with other people. He's sure the jealousy is plain enough on his face as it is.

"You really think Hunter likes Kip?"

"Kip? This is your friend's name?" He smiles. "Cute."

"Yeah, he works at a smoothie shop near our apartment. Or Hunter's apartment. He's cool—he helped me make friends here."

Rozanov hums.

"I'm serious, though, do you really think he's into him? Some of my friends think so, but I—I don't know."

"How have you fucked all those guys if you're this bad at recognizing flirting?"

Shane laughs despite himself. "There weren't very many of them that I met in person."

Rozanov breathes out a laugh through his nose. "Okay, this makes sense. You used apps? Did you make them fill out forms? Spreadsheets to arrange your dick appointments, maybe calendar app?"

It's not far off from the truth. "I like clear expectations."

Rozanov grins, looking charmed, and Shane lets himself hope. This is flirting, right?

"Hi, Shane!" interrupts the cheery, slurred voice of Elena as she plops down in the chair recently vacated by Kyle. "You didn't come say 'hi!'"

"Hi."

She clenches her fists and lets out a short, pained sound. "You are so fucking cute." She turns to Rozanov. "Isn't he so cute?"

"Oh, definitely," Rozanov agrees, amused.

"Wow, you are really handsome," Elena muses with glossy eyes. Fuck, why was Shane worried about Kyle when Elena's the one who loses all filters when she gets sloppy drunk? "I always thought most hockey players were kinda busted, but everyone Shane's introduced us to is crazy hot."

"Mm, he keeps good company."

Shane blushes as he scrambles to think of how to get Elena the fuck away from them.

"Oh, shit!" Elena says, something clicking behind her eyes. "You're him, aren't you? You're the one he said was the best he ever—" She claps her hand over her mouth and snorts.

"Elena, what the fuck?!"

"Sorry," she slurs in a sing-song voice, sounding not very sorry. "Didn't mean to say that. I'm drunk." That part is certainly true.

Shane flushes red hot and refuses to meet Rozanov's eye.

"Elena!" Kyle's voice cuts through from across the bar. "Come here, I need you—"

"Oh—" Elena turns, distracted, and starts stumbling over to Kyle.

"Best ever?" Rozanov's eyebrows are raised as he appraises Shane.

"I am so sorry," Shane says. "I didn't, uh... My friends are kind of gossips. Elena figured out that I had slept with another player and then she kept pestering me about it. I didn't give any details; I really wasn't trying to out you, but—"

"Why sorry?" Rozanov interrupts, the corner of his mouth curving up. "This is a big compliment if true. I have heard you fucked hundreds of guys. Elite spot to be number one."

"There weren't hundreds." Shane wishes Kyle had actually gotten him that ginger ale, so that he could have something to focus on besides Rozanov's looming form and intense gaze.

"You do not say she lies, so I will assume she was telling the truth."

Shane lets out a sigh that's half laugh. "Fine. I guess I said that."

Rozanov hums. "Interesting. You blocked my number, so I thought you found better." His hand finds Shane's thigh under the bar. "Good to know this was not the case."

Shane lets out a slow breath through his nose as heat creeps up his throat. Rozanov just grins, sliding his hand further up Shane's leg.

Shane lowers his voice. "Meet me out front in ten minutes?"

The hand edges inwards. "I think your friends can already guess we are leaving together."

"What about your teammates?"

Rozanov brushes him off. "They are not going to think we are fucking if we leave at the same time."

"Okay, whatever," Shane says, grabbing his jacket.

Rozanov stops at the bar to say something to his teammates while Shane makes his way directly outside. He's always found goodbyes to be awkward, especially if it requires interrupting someone's else's good time, so most people he knows are used to him leaving without a word.

Outside, he takes out his phone and checks the rates on his ride share app to see if it'll be cheaper than taking a cab with price surging. He isn't sure where they're going, though.

Shane is still looking at his phone when Rozanov appears at his shoulder. "Your place?" he asks in a low voice.

"Don't you have a room?"

"Sharing with Connors."

"I live with Hunter."

Rozanov shrugs.

"I told him I wasn't gonna bring any guys back."

"He has forbidden you from hookups? Very homophobic of him."

"No, it's just, like—" They're on a public sidewalk, and while city noise muffles their conversation, they really should be more careful about what they say out loud. "Whatever. Hotel?"

Rozanov groans. "I do not have supplies on me." Fuck, how did Shane remember to douche but forgot lube and condoms? "Let's just go to yours—who cares about Hunter?"

"I don't know how long he's gonna be here. He could see you—"

"He's gay as fuck for that smoothie boy. He won't say anything."

Shane sucks in a breath. "Fine, okay. Let's just get a cab."

They don't talk on the ride to the apartment, and Shane is oscillating between lightly panicking and being too horny to care. He's built up sex with Rozanov so much in his mind, and he isn't sure if he's more afraid that it won't live up to expectations or that it will. Because if it does, it's not like he can do anything about it. And if it doesn't, then he feels like sex is going to be kind of disappointing for the rest of his life, always a step down from what he used to imagine was possible.

When they finally get to Hunter's, Shane takes off his shoes at the door and Rozanov follows suit.

"Can you, uh, carry those into my room?"

"Oh, so you are hiding me."

"No, just, it's weird if he comes home and knows I'm hooking up, you know?"

"He will know from the noise, anyway—you are so loud."

"My room's on the opposite side of the apartment from his!"

"Oh, good. So you can whine and cry as much as you want."

"I'm not going to cry." Except maybe he is. There's precedent. Actually, he kind of hopes Rozanov will take that as a challenge.

"We will see. Your hundreds of guys cannot fuck you properly, maybe you will cry in relief."

"Awfully confident you're going to fuck me better than all of them."

Rozanov is on him immediately, and Shane smiles into the kiss. He forgot that this thing with Rozanov is fun. Somewhere along the line, sex has become mechanical, something he does to get out of his head and feel relief, but it never gets him as light and eager as he feels right now. It's unreal how easily Rozanov is able to get him there.

Okay, so maybe his whole 'just need to prove it was never actually that good' idea is not going to work. Shane's not thinking about it as he lets Rozanov lick into his mouth. They stumble into Shane's room, tugging at each other's clothes.

"You don't want to fold them?" Rozanov asks as Shane's pants fall to the floor, following his shirt.

"Oh." He forgot he used to do that. "Isn't that, like, a mood-killer? A few guys made fun of me for doing that, so..."

"But you want to fold them."

Well, yes, he does. Shane bites his lip and picks them up, folding them and setting them on his dresser. He attempts to do the same with Rozanov's, but his shirt is already wrinkled, so he lays it on top instead.

Before he can feel embarrassed, Rozanov is grabbing at his wrist and pulling him onto the bed. Shane forgets that he was supposed to be nervous about this, consumed only by need, need, need as he falls on top of him, Rozanov moaning as their mouths meet. They make out for awhile until Rozanov groans and rolls them over, pinning Shane down by his arms. He shifts up the bed as Rozanov kisses down his neck until he finds his nipple, laving at the bud. The twitch of Rozanov's cock against thigh makes him groan with anticipation—he needs that in him.

"Need you to fuck me," he whines, voice ragged, as Rozanov's hand moves to his hip.

Rozanov lets out a whine and trails down Shane's torso until he gets to his cock and sucks him down, his hand brushing at Shane's taint.

He pops off to ask, "You have lube?"

Shane pulls away just enough to grab it along with a condom. Rozanov takes it, settling between his legs, as he pushes them up and bites at the inside of his thigh.

"You can use your mouth," Shane blurts with a high sigh. "Ah, I mean, it's—I cleaned up earlier."

Rozanov pauses, his hand ghosting over Shane's hole. "Who were you expecting to fuck tonight?"

"Um. You?" His neck goes hot. "I didn't expect it, I just wanted to be... prepared."

"Fuck, Hollander," Rozanov breathes, his exhale warm over Shane's opening. "Yes, you can get your ass eaten for this."

And fuck, Rozanov is good at this. Shane groans, his head falling to the side, as Rozanov licks into him. He missed this, he needs this, craves the perfect feeling of Rozanov's long tongue pressing against his rim, just barely breaching.

He needs more, but before he can even think the thought, Rozanov has clicked open the lube and slicked up his fingers, sliding two inside. He finds Shane's prostate immediately, rubbing against it with small circles. He crooks his fingers, just right, until Shane is leaking and Rozanov swallows him down.

"Oh, fuck," Shane hisses, his hips jerking off the bed, already close to the edge. "Stop, I—" But he's too blissed out to speak properly.

Rozanov pulls off and grabs at the base of Shane's dick. "You want to come on my cock?"

Shane moans and nods as Rozanov puts on the condom, then hoists Shane's legs over his shoulders, lining himself up. The first breach of his cock feels so good he almost sobs. Tears well in his eyes as Rozanov presses in, slow and deliberate, his cock thick against Shane's walls.

"Okay?" Rozanov asks, but Shane can only whine in response, nodding his head again. "Fuck, still so tight."

His pace starts slow, agonizing—his cock reaching so fucking deep. Fuck, he's huge, but not so huge that it hurts, just—perfect. Shane grinds his hips, meeting each thrust, encouraging him to go faster. His speed increases, along with the intensity, until Rozanov is fucking into him so hard that Shane has to reach up and brace against the headboard to avoid a concussion.

It feels amazing, Shane's head fuzzy and thick with the pleasure of it, but he needs more, needs the heat of Rozanov's warm, sweat-slick skin against his. He only has to tilt his head up before Rozanov senses his need, surging down to kiss him as Shane adjusts his hips and wraps his legs around Rozanov's back, his heels digging into his ass. Rozanov's mouth finds his ear, biting at the lobe as he keeps fucking into him at a relentless pace.

Shane's senses gray out as he comes, his cock pulsing between their stomachs. He's not even sure he makes a sound as it happens, his voice choked out and breathless. It's the hardest he's come in years as he clenches around Rozanov's cock and feels him pulse inside of him with a punched out groan.

Fuck. Fuck. This did not work. Or worked too well—he's not sure.

Fuck.

Rozanov is muttering something in Russian as he pulls out. They're both breathing hard, chests heaving.

"Still best ever?" Rozanov asks, voice ragged and breathy.

"Yes." Shane's too blissed out to even worry about the ego boost. He's not even sure why it's so good. Mechanically, it's not that different from other sex he's had. But it is different.

Rozanov lets out a low groan and shifts on the bed, presumably to tie off the condom and throw it away. Shane's not really registering much of anything but the comedown of his pleasure. He feels so fucking good. Why is this so fucking good?

He's not sure how long they lie like that, just catching their breaths. Eventually, Shane looks over at the clock and registers the time. How long were they at it?

"Damn, it's late," he comments. "You don't have curfew after games, right?"

"No."

"You wanna stay over?"

Rozanov is quiet for a moment. "We did not do that. Before."

"Okay. Well, I don't mind." Shane's slept over with plenty of guys now. It's not his preference, but sometimes it's more convenient than going home. Although, he never let people sleep over at the Plateau condo, and he didn't invite them to his actual condo in the first place, so this would actually be the first time someone has stayed over at Shane's.

That doesn't mean anything, right? It's not even Shane's apartment.

"Okay," Rozanov agrees in a tone Shane can't read.

The process of cleaning up and getting ready for bed is somewhat awkward, but Shane has an en suite, so at least they don't risk running into Hunter.

When they settle into bed to sleep, Shane expects that to be awkward, too, but Rozanov kisses him and then blows him until he's boneless and sleepy again.

In the morning, when Shane wakes up and notices a warm body next to him, his gut reaction is to feel annoyed until he remembers it's Rozanov, and then he freaks out a little that he's less annoyed to wake up with Rozanov than any of the other dozens of guys he's woken up with.

"Good morning," Rozanov says, pressing a kiss to his elbow. "Your bed is very comfortable."

"It's Hunter's bed."

Rozanov grimaces. "Do not remind me." He stretches and looks at his phone.

"What time is it? When do you have to get back?"

"Eight. Bus leaves at ten-thirty from the hotel."

Shane doesn't usually sleep this late, but it's not a big deal since he gives himself extra sleep after an evening game to recover if he can afford it, especially when combined with a late night. Their next home game is tomorrow, so he has the day free.

"You want breakfast?"

"First I want a shower. And blowjob."

"Are you offering or asking?"

Rozanov waggles his eyebrows. "Both."

They make quick use of Shane's en suite. When they're clean and sated, Shane offers Rozanov a t-shirt, since his silk button-up from the bar last night is sweat-stained and wrinkled. Hunter usually sleeps in later than Shane—which is fine, Shane likes the hour or two of quiet he gets in the morning to himself—so he wonders if Rozanov might be out of here before Hunter even notices. Rozanov doesn't seem particularly concerned about it, though, as he scrolls his phone while Shane prepares breakfast.

"I can do eggs and turkey sausage if you want, but I usually have Greek yogurt with some fruit and protein granola or a protein shake in the mornings."

"Whatever you are making is fine," Rozanov says with a sniff. "You have coffee?"

"Uh, I don't, I do green tea. Hunter might? I don't know how to use his machine..."

"Green tea is okay. Thank you."

It's more polite than Shane was expecting, but he supposes Rozanov isn't always an asshole. As he goes to prepare the tea, he hears the door to Hunter's room open and freezes.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Rozanov?"

Shane looks over to see Hunter dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt, his usual attire on days off. There's a comical expression on his face as he gapes at Rozanov.

"You, uh," Shane starts sheepishly, and then clears his throat. "You said that I could have overnight guests, so..." Shane said that he wouldn't, but a one-time thing was okay, right?

"Don't be too jealous, Hunter, that I am having sex in your apartment and you are not."

"Dude," Shane chastises, refusing to give Rozanov the satisfaction of smiling and admitting that he does find that kinda funny. "He's leaving soon, I promise," he tells Hunter.

"But he is jealous," Rozanov continues. "Looks like he did not take hot smoothie boy home. Too bad, I was rooting for them."

"What?" Hunter sputters. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. You are very gay for the smoothie boy."

Hunter continues to bluescreen as Shane intervenes. "Stop antagonizing him."

"Mm, but you know he wants to fuck the smoothie boy." He turns back to Hunter. "What, you think Hollander is going to judge you for being gay? Or maybe he fucked the smoothie boy and you are jealous?"

"I didn't fuck Kip!" Shane interjects. "Why does everybody think that?"

"You would be hot together," Rozanov muses.

"Oh my god," Shane says, exasperated, and then he whips around to look at Rozanov. "You know, he did seem interested in me when we first met. We decided on just friends, but who knows? Maybe I will fuck him."

Rozanov's eyes go wide as he tries to backtrack. "Wait, no—" Shane raises his eyebrows in challenge. Rozanov looks momentarily called out before relaxing. "You would not do that to Hunter, your captain. You are a good boy."

Shane turns his head toward his captain. "Hunter's not interested, I heard."

Rozanov barks out a laugh. "Your new friends have made you bitchy." His expression turns serious again. "But do not fuck hot smoothie boy. Please."

"Well, since you begged."

Rozanov looks properly chastised. "Watch him," he tells Hunter. "Make sure he doesn't. I heard you are babysitter."

Shane wonders why Rozanov even cares who else he fucks, but he does not want to have that conversation in front of his captain. Who still isn't saying anything.

"He is broken," Rozanov states.

"Because you're being an asshole. He doesn't have to explain himself or entertain your nonsense theories about who he wants to sleep with."

"Oh, nonsense? So you think he doesn't want to fuck Kip?" Rozanov's accent is weirdly cute when he pronounces 'Kip.'

Shane flushes. "It's none of my business! Or yours." He turns to Hunter. "Sorry about him. Do you want tea, breakfast?"

Hunter seems to shake himself out of it and nods. "Tea, I guess. Thank you."

He then doesn't seem to know what to do with himself as he takes a seat at the bar, drumming his hands on the counter and looking as if he wants to say more and then thinking better of it. Rozanov is still at the table, scrolling through his phone. He announces some of the results from other games last night. It's thoughtful, since Shane hasn't had a chance to check his phone to keep up yet. The hockey talk is familiar and eases some of the awkwardness.

"Denver is a fucking problem this year," Rozanov muses. "They are on eight game streak now. Playing them next week, their forecheck is very annoying lately."

"Oh, is it annoying when someone won't get off the puck?" Hunter asks. "Can't imagine."

"That almost sounds like a compliment," Rozanov replies. "I am very flattered—not often hockey elders notice these things. Memory gets bad in old age."

"Does he ever turn it off or is he always this irritating?" Hunter asks Shane.

Shane doesn't know how to answer that—Rozanov is always chirping—but he's sweet, too, and there's no way to say that without embarrassing them both.

"It is my charm, Hunter."

Shane serves Hunter a cup of tea and then brings over the rest of the pot, two cups and the yogurt bowls to the table. Hunter seems to have gotten over the shock of Rozanov spending the night, but they don't talk about it as the conversation stays focused on hockey. When they've finished eating and Shane goes to put the bowls in the sink, Rozanov checks his phone and notes that he should be going.

"You can, uh, keep the shirt if you want," Shane offers as he walks him toward the door.

"You are not worried about my teammates seeing me in your shirt?"

"It's a plain white t-shirt. But if you are worried about it, you can put on your gross, wrinkly one from last night."

"Probably they won't notice," Rozanov says, rubbing the hem absently with his thumb.

They look at each other for a beat, and Shane kind of wants a kiss goodbye, but it's too weird in front of Hunter.

After retrieving Rozanov's things from the bedroom, Rozanov clears his throat and calls, "Hunter will not say anything about me being here, right? And I will say nothing of his big, gay crush on the smoothie boy."

Hunter doesn't even have a chance to defend himself before Rozanov is out the door.

Shane takes a breath, and turns back toward the kitchen. "Um, we don't really have to talk about him being here."

"Sure. Your business is, uh, your business."

Shane nods and goes to finish cleaning up from breakfast. When everything is tidy, he checks his phone, which has been buzzing with notifications all morning.

Shawn

So did Shane go home with Ilya Rozanov or did I hallucinate that?

Kip

no, he did, they left together

Elena

lmao guess who's getting fucked by a big beautiful hockey player in Scott's apartment? NOT YOU 😂

Kip

bitch

Kyle

just because they left together doesn't mean they hooked up

Shawn

Be so fr, they were flirting hard. You weren't paying attention because you were too busy getting lost in Eric's heterosexual eyes.

Elena

yeah no they left to fuck. i went by their table and told ilya that shane said he was the best he ever had lol and then they looked all horned up and left together

Kip

girl what the hell

Elena

i'm a matchmaker ❤️

Kip

how did you know Rozanov was the player he was talking about hooking up with?

Elena

lucky guess but i was right ❤️ you're welcome shane ❤️

Shawn

Damn girl, nice job!

Kyle

well since everybody apparently knows now

fuck you elena, i get the credit. I figured out what bar the raiders go to regularly, I got us all there so shane would have a plausible reason to come, I texted shane when the raiders arrived, I got eric to invite rozanov over to chat, I manipulated the seating so you fuckers wouldn't ruin it, and then I distracted eric so he wouldn't go back to their table and bother them so they could flirt in peace.

WHO was the matchmaker????

Elena

oh.

Shawn

This is sending me 🤣🤣🤣

Kip

wait how did you know to do all that, shane asked you for help?

Kyle

yes! cause I'm trustworthy! and not spilling his business everywhere like some people

Shawn

oop

Elena

...

well it all worked out, right? 😅

Kip

girl 💀

Shawn

We still don't know if it worked out.

Elena

yeah shane, get your ass in the chat and give us an update!

Kyle

his ass is probably busy

❤️ you're welcome shane ❤️

Shawn

🤣🤣🤣

The last message was sent half an hour ago.

Shane

Thank you, Kyle

The chat immediately blows up asking for deets, and Shane is quick to make them promise not to say anything to anybody else about this. When he got outed, he looked up some things about what would happen to a Russian player in a similar situation. There are propaganda laws, and though Shane couldn't find an example of a public figure who had been persecuted under them, it still sounded like there was risk. The way Rozanov acted in Sochi backed that up.

Shane

Seriously, you shouldn't even use his name in this chat. Or out loud for that matter.

Shawn

What do we call him then?

Kyle

yeah I didn't go to all that trouble for you to fuck once, I'm assuming this will be an ongoing thing

Shane takes a deep breath, not letting himself consider the implications of that assumption.

Elena

how about shane's man? simple enough

Shane

No.

Kip

cute and easy, i like it!

Kyle

so are there plans to see your man again?

Shane bites his lip, torn between annoyed and pleased, and starts typing.

Chapter End Notes

If anyone is wondering where Maria is, I decided not to include her for simplicity since it already felt like a lot of characters to manage, and I wanted to include Shawn in the core friend group since he is canonically queer.

Thank you again mockspeed for the art ❤️

Chapter 4

Games against Montreal are still awkward. That's the team he thought he'd be with forever as their star player, one who would leave a real legacy. The fact his former teammates now feel varying levels of disgust and betrayal towards him gives him extra anxiety during games, which only makes him play worse and stress about whether or not he's proving they were right for trading him.

Predictably, he plays like shit, but Montreal kinda sucks now, too, and Hunter was on fire, so the game still ends 2-1 Admirals. It's some kind of relief.

"Yo, Hollander!" Gagnon calls, when they're both in the corridor outside of the dressing rooms after the game. "It's been forever, man, how are you?" He slaps Shane on the back as he grabs his hand to pull him in for a bro hug. The gesture is so unexpected that Shane barely remembers how to reciprocate.

"I'm... good?" he responds, flustered. "It's an adjustment still, but I like the team."

"Admirals are a better team, anyway. We're kinda shit now, but you guys got a chance to go all the way this year!"

"Bit early in the season for that kinda talk, but we'll see."

Gagnon's face gets more serious as he clicks his teeth. "Hey, man, sucks how everything went down for you. The team gave you some real bullshit about your whole gay thing."

"Oh," Shane says, surprised to find any support outside of J.J. and Hayden. "Thanks for saying that."

"It must have been so frustrating for you that everyone was calling you a virgin all the time, and you couldn't even defend yourself when you were actually getting hella ass." He shakes his head in genuine commiseration. "That's rough. Sorry, bro."

What the fuck? "Uh. I appreciate that."

Gagnon shakes his head. "'Course." He pats him on the back again. "It was good to see you! Maybe we can grab a drink after the next game?"

"Yeah. Sure. Good to see you, too."

As Gagnon waves him off and heads down the hall, Shane shakes his head and pulls up his phone to confirm he still has plans with Hayden and J.J. He does; Jackie is making dinner for all of them. It'll be good to see the kids again.

Dinner is weird, though. Shane used to think he felt comfortable around Hayden and J.J., but he finds himself self-censoring more than he remembers, unsure what's okay to say and how to keep the conversation going whenever it steers away from hockey. Is this because he came out, or was it always like this and Shane just didn't know better?

"The room's been even worse since you left," J.J. is saying, after dinner is finished and the three of them are sharing drinks in the living room while Jackie puts the kids to bed. "It's like since there's no longer a star Asian player on the team, they've given up all pretense of being anything but bigoted shitbags. And they just encourage each other. I wish Drapeau would get fucking traded—he's the worst of 'em—fucker doesn't have the stats to justify how long he's been with the team, but Theriault loves him for some reason. Birds of a feather, I guess."

Shane feels a twinge of guilt. He was the captain, at least briefly, and it wasn't just him who had to hear the shitty comments people like Drapeau threw around. He should have been better at speaking up, but he was always so afraid of making himself a target.

"Hey, it's not your fault," J.J. says, as if reading his thoughts. "If you'd said anything, it wouldn't have helped. Half the team was talking crazy about you behind your back and then acting normal to your face. Fucked up."

Shane knew, abstractly, the kinds of things people said about him, but to hear it confirmed still hurts. He wonders if that's happening in New York, too? He could ask Hunter or Bennett, even Vaughan, but those guys are all pretty no-nonsense about tolerating that stuff. The rest of the team would have to be secretive to be talking shit without any of them hearing. So, probably not? Maybe he should ask, anyway.

"I'm sorry it was so shitty," Hayden says. "I guess I always just thought it's, like, the culture, what can you do? But it sounds like the Admirals aren't like that?"

"No, they're cool. The team's pretty good about shutting shit down."

"We need some of that energy in Montreal," J.J. says. "I can't fuckin' take it, man. I'm the only person of color on the team now. I'd hate to leave Montreal—all my friends are here—but I put in a trade request, anyway. We'll see."

"You did?" Hayden asks.

"Yeah, just a few days ago."

Hayden groans and gets an eyebrow raise for J.J. "Sorry, I get it—you should leave if it's that bad. It just would suck to lose both of you."

"If it's that bad? Man, you know it's that bad. But it's easy to ignore if you're not the target, I guess."

Hayden looks chastised as Shane reflects. Is Montreal really that much worse than other teams? Not worse than Toronto, probably. And why is it the Canadian teams that are disproportionately full of assholes? Or is New York the anomaly?

"I hope you can get onto a better team," Shane says. "I didn't realize what a difference it would make until I was gone. It's still... hard, I guess, to give up on the career I thought I would have with Montreal. But there are a lot of things that are easier."

"What about your love life, is that easier? Can you at least date normally now?"

"Um," Shane replies, face heating as he recalls his thing with Rozanov. "I could. I mean, I have some gay friends now in New York who aren't involved in hockey, and they've offered to introduce me to people. But I guess I'm focusing on hockey for now."

"Ugh, you're always focusing on hockey!" J.J. leans his head back with a groan.

"Yeah, I thought when the gay stuff came out that maybe you were hiding behind that as an excuse for not dating, but you're really just like that?"

"Dating is not more exhausting than hooking up," J.J. argues.

"Dating, maybe. But if it leads to marriage and kids, it's a different story," Hayden says, gesturing around his toy-strewn living room.

"Shane can't get knocked up."

"Gays really have it easier, huh?"

The comment probably comes from a place of fatherhood-induced exhaustion—Hayden didn't mean anything by it—but it irks Shane all the same. Nothing about being gay makes things easier. And if he did want kids, it would be a huge process to try to make it happen.

They don't hang out for long after that, and Shane leaves feeling listless and weird. He never used to feel this way after spending time with J.J. or Hayden, and it makes him sad. On the way back to his hotel, he pulls out his phone.

Elena

where is shane he's ignoring us

Shawn

He's probably not responding 'cause he's tucked in bed early with some book about the origins of hockey

Kip

oh, that reminds me! that new hobey baker biography just came in at the bookmark. i picked it up for you, shane, remind me to give it to you next time we hang out

i read the first few chapters but i promise i didn't crease the spine! it seems interesting, being queer in that era sounds like a nightmare. maybe i can borrow it after you're done?

Elena

nerds

Shane types off a quick 'Thanks Kip, I'll grab it on Thursday? Are we still on for the gallery opening?' He gets a thumbs up in reply and grins before pocketing his phone.

Before Shane blew up his life, he and Rozanov didn't text much outside of arranging or discussing hookups. Since they reconnected, however, something has changed, and they chat almost daily, usually over text, but occasionally over phone. Aside from the occasional sexting and one memorable video call, they mostly talk about hockey. Shane would have freaked out talking about hockey with Rozanov a year ago, but it's not as crushing as he once imagined. They rarely talk about their own 'rivalry'—if it even still exists—usually focusing on other teams and players. It's nice. Shane's new friends don't really care about hockey, and without J.J. and Hayden around, he's been missing this casual outlet. It's a lot of shit-talking, and Rozanov is kind of a bitch, but maybe Shane is, too.

Shane

Did you see Henderson's wrister in the third? I've seen beer league guys with a better release.

Cost them the game

Lily

he does this often. my grandmother could read that shot. does his coach not watch tape?

Shane

Clearly not or Henderson would not still be playing

Lily

🤣

Lily

no awareness of his positioning either. leaves very big openings

Shane

Harding did the same thing in the second! Just standing there like an invitation

Lily

speaking of invitations. i have three days off after the 18th. you also have time off

Shane

You checked my schedule?

Lily

yes. could make a visit

Oh, fuck. Shane does want that. They hooked up again two weeks ago after a game in Boston, but it was in a middle of a roadie and they were on a tight schedule, so they only managed quick blowjobs in Shane's hotel room. The idea of getting to take their time is enticing, but he doesn't want it here.

Shane

I still live with Hunter. Maybe I could come there?

Lily

having cleaner at my house

Shane

Oh, so you just need somewhere to go

Lily

and i have been dreaming of your ass 🥵

Shane

What about a hotel?

Lily

ugh fine

Shane

What's so special about here? You have a kink for Hunter hearing you fuck?

Lily

he would need hearing aids

maybe i am tired of hotels. always hotels on the road

It doesn't feel like a completely honest answer, but he has to admit that it would be less disruptive to his schedule to stay where he lives. This would all be easier if he just had his own place. He's feeling more secure in his position on the team as his stats slowly but steadily improve, so maybe it's time for a change.

He brings it up with Hunter again over dinner.

"I'm sure you don't want me staying here forever, though, right?" Shane argues, when Hunter once again tries to put him off.

"No, but it's the middle of the season. That wouldn't throw you off?"

It would. They've been on a hot streak, and Shane knows their chances of a good playoff run are high. Maybe it would be unwise to switch things up midseason, right when Shane's finally starting to get his footing.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," he admits. This doesn't solve this issue of privacy, though. "Um, so there's another reason I thought it might be a good idea to get my own place..."

"Look, I don't expect you to live like a monk while you're here. If you want to have people spend the night, I told you I don't mind."

Shane tilts his head in doubt.

"Rozanov's not that bad." It doesn't sound convincing.

"He wants to come over for a few days during his next break. And doesn't want to get a hotel for some reason. I don't know." Shane fidgets, embarrassed that he's even discussing this.

"It'd only be for a few days, right?"

"Probably two nights, given our schedule overlap."

Hunter nods, his expression turning serious. "It might be good. For me." Shane furrows his brows as Hunter takes a deep breath. "I'm gay," he states. "Wow, I don't think I've ever said that out loud before."

Shane shouldn't be surprised given everyone who's seen Kip and Hunter together thinks they want each other, but it still comes as a shock. Nobody's ever come out to Shane before and he's not sure what he's supposed to say.

"Oh. Um. Thanks for telling me?"

Hunter chuckles nervously. "I always thought I would just stay closeted until I retired and deal with it later." Shane nods—so did he. "But you seem—happy, I guess. I know that there's shit, too, that players target you more on the ice, but isn't it worth it?" There's a tinge of desperation in the question, as if Shane's answer has the potential to change Hunter's life trajectory. Maybe it does. Shane is not equipped for this.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. But as he thinks about it... maybe he is happier. It's crazy to think that now, still in his slump, after all the shit he's gotten from being outed, dumped by the team he thought he'd retire with, he could be happier. Yet, he is, isn't he? On a daily basis, Shane's general mood is better than it was when he was playing with Montreal. "Yeah, I guess so." He pauses. "Is this because of Kip?"

Hunter blushes. "Partially. I don't think I'm ready to come out. And Kip is so out. I don't know if it would be fair to him to ask him out if I'm not... ready."

Shane thinks about it. "Maybe you should let him decide whether or not it's fair? I mean, you're right, I don't think he would want to be with someone who was closeted forever. But it sounds like maybe you won't be?"

Hunter lets out a shaky breath. "Yeah. Maybe. I need to think about it." He's thoughtful for a moment. "And it's maybe not a good time, midseason like this."

"So when's the right time?" Shane asks. "Kip's not going to be single forever." He pauses. "If you're worried about it messing up your season, I mean, it never has for me. Good or bad." He's tracked it thoroughly, and he can find no correlation between when he hooks up or doesn't and how he plays, with the exception of Rozanov, where he sees a mild bump in performance.

"The press implied otherwise. They made it sound like you started sleeping around and it fucked up your career."

"That's not what happened," Shane says, cheeks burning. "It was the other way around. I started playing badly and it stressed me out so bad that I..." He doesn't finish the sentence; Hunter knows the story.

Hunter nods, and for a moment neither say anything.

"So do you ever—" Shane starts. "Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It's your business."

Hunter looks down. "Is it pathetic if I say not really?"

"No, I get it. I used to sleep with women. Honestly, I would have preferred celibacy."

A soft laugh. "I do hook up, sometimes, when I travel, like overseas where I'm less likely to be recognized. I'm just—paranoid."

Shane is never, ever going to tell Kyle about that.

"You should invite Rozanov," he adds after a beat.

"Really? I didn't think you would be... supportive."

Hunter shrugs. "I don't love the guy but it's encouraging, I guess. Like I said, I think it might be good for me if he visits. Just to see that it's possible, I guess."

"I don't know that it would show that. I mean, he's not out or anything, and we're not dating."

"Aren't you texting all the time, though?" He tilts his head. "He seems to like you a lot."

"Kip seems to like you a lot," Shane counters, in what is obviously a deflection, but gets the job done because Hunter stops needling him about his situationship status. He learned that word, 'situationship,' from Kyle, and he appreciates its ambiguity when he's so reluctant to define what he's doing with Rozanov.

In the end, Shane's desire to get laid overrides any awkwardness he feels about inviting him over.

Shane

FYI I can't come to brunch this Sunday

Kyle

boo, why?

Elena

i hope it's because you'll be too busy getting laid

Shane

I'm having a guest over

Kip

hmmmMMMMM

Elena

👀👀👀

Shane

What?

Kip

can't help but notice the raiders have four days off overlapping with sunday

Shane

WTF you're tracking their schedule?

Elena

girl you give us noooottthiiiiing and we are nosy

you're CLEARLY involved with him since you're always texting while we're hanging out

rude btw

Kyle

you should invite him to brunch! we can do it at Elena's since he's not out

Elena

omg PLS

i can even cook!!!

Kyle

we're not going to poison him. we'll order take out

Elena

rude! i can cook. kind of 😅

Kip

that would be cool actually, i am really curious about him

Shane

Um. No

Kyle

why nooooot????? i helped get you together. by the way. and i don't even get to really meet him?

Elena

we need to make sure he's good enough for you!

Shane

We're not even dating

But fine, I'll ask

He could just lie and tell them Rozanov said no, but Shane hates lying, and if he gets caught out, he's really bad at covering.

Shane

My friends want to meet you, they invited us to brunch on Sunday. Sorry, they clocked that we were leaving together from the bar and they keep pestering. Just tell me you're not interested and they should lay off.

Lily

who says i am not interested?

Fuck, it did not occur to Shane that he wouldn't have an ally here. Switching tactics.

Shane

Won't we be busy? It's not like we'll have a lot of time together...

Lily

my dick will fall off if we fuck for two days straight

Shane

I don't think that's medically accurate

Lily

you do not want me to meet your friends?

Asked bluntly, Shane's not entirely sure why he is so put off by the idea. Rozanov is not his boyfriend, so why would he introduce him to his friends? Then again, Rozanov is his friend—they text daily, like friends do—so maybe it's not that weird for them all to meet?

Shane

Do you want to meet them?

Lily

i thought you would have boring friends but they seem interesting

Shane

They're cool. It's just weird, no?

Lily

weird that they want to meet me? why? i am very sexy and famous

america has many gay people but most of them are not hockey fans

Shane furrows his brow. Rozanov wants to meet his friends because they're gay? Or queer, he thinks he's supposed to use—Elena is bisexual. That word has always been used so negatively around him, so he's still not used to using it as a neutral descriptor.

Shane

If you're sure, we can do brunch. But don't say I didn't warn you if they're rude and ask a lot of intrusive questions.

Lily

hollander is friends with rude people? hard to believe. i must see for myself

Shane sighs and opens the other text thread.

Shane

Ok fine he said yes

Elena

yaaay ❤️

Kyle

you don't sound very excited. it'll be fun! we'll be on our best behavior

Shawn

What did I miss?

Ooooh yes! I want to meet the boyfriend!

Kip must be excited. He's still striking out with his hockey crush, but at least he can live vicariously through you and your boyfriend

Shane

NOT my boyfriend!!!

Kip

oh fuck off

As Shane lies fucked out in his bed, arm over his face as he tries to catch his breath, he thinks it was definitely worth it to invite Rozanov here. There's no way he can keep writing these experiences off as flukes—it really is that good, every time. The implications of that are terrifying because Shane is starting to believe that he's never going to be satisfied with sex that isn't like this. Maybe very specifically this. He's not eager to embark on another quest to prove to himself that it could exist out there with someone else.

Pillow talk quickly shifts into hockey talk, a natural continuation of their text conversations. Rozanov is complaining about the Orcas, who have been running a neutral zone trap all season.

"Fucking boring to play against. Too defensive, they clog the neutral zone, not letting anyone through with speed."

"We played them last week," Shane says with a frown. "I kept trying to force it through instead of slowing down. Gave it away twice."

"You scored anyway."

"That's not the point."

"It is a little bit the point. Points are how you win the game, yes?"

"I'm just saying I should have—"

"You are saying you did not play perfectly so somehow this is bad because you think now you are bad at hockey, so none of your plays are good," Rozanov says. "Oh, you win game but you didn't win as good as you want. Okay, so what? You are still the most annoying person I have ever had to play against. This is a compliment."

Shane is caught off guard by the bluntness of the assessment. "You're only saying that because you want in my pants."

"I am already in your pants," he purrs, cupping Shane through the sheet. "And I think you would not let me anymore if I lied to you about hockey."

Shane considers that this is probably true.

"You could be first line again somewhere," Rozanov continues, settling back with a stretch of his arms. "Hunter is good but he will never move, basically has his name on the building." He stretches, a casual movement. "It has been lonely. Finally you are playing good enough to be interesting again and you are in the wrong city."

"I'm not—my points per game are still down from where they were three years ago."

"Yes, okay, you are not where you were. But you talk about yourself like now you are some fourth line grinder who got lucky when you are in top ten percent of centers in the league by points. This is insane."

"But I'm not—"

"What, not me?" Rozanov rolls his eyes. "I am serious. You are Shane Hollander, you should be on a team where you are the number one center, not stuck behind Hunter because he has been there for ten thousand years and has squatter's rights."

His chest clenches at the thought of the pressure he'd be under if a team was building around him again. Being made captain was what started this off in the first place, and if it triggers the same kind of meltdown, he can't go through that again. But it's still an enticing thought, that he may one day anchor a team's front line, the playmaker that makes the difference between a good team and a great one.

They clean up and get dressed and decide to order take out on Shane's phone, since they fucked as soon as Rozanov got there and missed dinner. Shane normally cooks or heats up meal prep, but he's trying not to inflict Rozanov's presence on his captain any more than necessary, so he expects they'll be spending most of the next day and a half in Shane's room. At least it's a nice room, decent in size, for this city. He'd looked the place up out of nosiness his first week; the last sale price came up in about thirty seconds. After three weeks of apartment-hunting in this exact market, Shane knew enough to know the number was insane even for here. He'd put his phone down and decided some things were better left unexamined.

They do have to leave the room when the food arrives, though, and Shane is too particular to eat it in his room. Hunter's absent, which Shane feels guilty about, since he's usually home at this hour.

Shane thought hanging out together casually might be awkward, without a game or sex to focus on, but dinner is comfortable. Actually, when he thinks about it, he's always pretty comfortable around Rozanov. Everything around their relationship, their rivalry or lack thereof, the media narratives, that all makes him nervous, but simply being in Rozanov's company is more relaxing than not. Which is weird, since Shane is usually not relaxed around people.

After dinner, they watch a movie in Shane's room on his laptop, some action movie Rozanov's been wanting to see. The plot is convoluted and nonsensical, which means Shane can't stop talking through it and commenting on all the elements that don't make sense. Rozanov ends up blowing him to get him to shut him up, and they miss the end of it, anyway.

"This Dodge Charger is a very good car," Ilya comments. "It can outdrive heat-seeking missile?"

"Oh, I don't know, I wasn't paying attention. Should we rewind?"

They do, but Shane returns the favor and sucks Rozanov off through the climax, so he's not sure either of them actually figure out what was happening with the plot.

The next day, they don't have any specific plans, and spend almost the entirety of it in bed. Shane didn't know he could come so much or so often. Rozanov is some kind of sex god, though he'd never tell him so. Shane doesn't think he's bad in bed; he's read tips and techniques, he practices with his dildo and in person, and he pays attention to his partners’ responses to make sure they're enjoying themselves. With Rozanov, though, he's usually out of his mind before he's able to apply any of his techniques. He's not focused on Rozanov's reactions because he's not focused on anything, he just wants desperately and lets himself take. There's no veil of discomfort or awkwardness like there is with others; he's fully in it.

It's good. Really fucking good. When he's not using it as a coping mechanism, Shane can take or leave sex, for the most part. It's a necessary release, a biomechanical process he respects the need to satisfy. With women, it was objectively bad, so he's not surprised he was never motivated to seek it out. But sometimes he doesn't feel that differently about it with men. As a panic suppressant, it's reasonably effective, but he doesn't crave sex for the sake of it most of the time. If he told Rozanov how much different it is with him, how his presence magnifies his want and pleasure from sex tenfold, his head would probably get so big he'd float off into space.

Shane's reactions probably make it obvious enough, anyway—he is shameless in his want when he gets this worked up. But sometimes it seems like Rozanov is just as desperate for him.

When they emerge in the evening for sustenance, Hunter is in the middle of eating dinner.

"Oh, I thought you guys went out." He pauses, looking somewhat impressed against his will. "Have you really been in there all day?"

Shane folds his arms as Rozanov smirks.

"Your place must have good soundproofing," Rozanov comments, taking a seat at the bar. "Surprised you could not hear."

"We're not talking about this," Shane says, which thankfully shuts him up. "Chicken and broccoli okay? I can make some quinoa, too."

"Ugh, your diet is so boring."

Rozanov is a direct benefactor of his diet, since Shane is particular about cleanliness and makes sure to eat high fiber, non-irritating foods. He'd eat that way anyway, since those things are also crucial for optimal athletic performance, but whatever, Rozanov shouldn't be complaining given his appreciation for Shane's ass.

"It's not that bad with a good sauce. Do you want me to cook for you or not?"

Rozanov hums and doesn't complain further.

"You're in town until tomorrow?" Hunter asks.

"Yes, we are doing 'brunch' tomorrow morning with Shane's friends. Is this something gay city people do? I am unfamiliar."

"It's just a meal," Shane says flatly, pulling out ingredients.

"I don't know," Hunter comments, "but he is the only hockey player I know who goes to brunch."

"Mm, he is gay city person now."

Shane sighs. "What does being gay have to do with eating a late breakfast?"

Rozanov makes a vague gesture. "You tell me. You're the expert."

"Well, you're gay enough to come with, so I guess you'll find out."

Rozanov just smiles.

They show up at Elena's the next day promptly at noon, which, in Shane's opinion, makes this solidly lunch. Despite what Rozanov says, Shane is not the expert. The cultural tendencies of his new friends are still confusing and foreign to him, no matter how gay he is.

Right as Shane knocks, he says, "Should we have brought something?"

"What?"

"I don't know, like as guests? Usually we go out to brunch at a restaurant, but since Elena's hosting, it feels rude to bring nothing."

"You have brought me. That's what they asked you to bring, yes?"

"Um, sure, but I don't think it's typically good manners to bring another person instead of, like, a bottle of wine?"

"Yes, your friends seemed very concerned with manners."

Elena opens the door before Shane can come up with a response.

"Hello!" she says, giving Shane a warm hug and then offering the same to Rozanov. Which is weird; this isn't the first time one of them has brought a casual date—or not a date, whatever—to brunch, but they've never gotten hugs before. "It's nice to meet you sober!"

"Nice to meet you," Rozanov replies with genuine warmth and politeness that Shane wasn't expecting.

They do introductions with the rest of the group and it's not as awkward as Shane feared. Everyone seems happy to be there and not solely to torture Shane. The food's already arrived from a restaurant down the block, which Kyle and Elena work to plate up.

Shane was resigned to getting dogpiled, to being teased and interrogated about his relationship status and choice of friends and who knows what else, so he's surprised when Rozanov sets the tone by asking everyone what they do, what brought them to New York, how they find the city.

"It's a huge city, but it's easy to get stuck in your bubble and just go to the same places with the same people all the time," Kip's explaining. "It's been really fun getting to know Shane and the whole hockey world. It's so different from our usual circles."

"It's been good for me, too," Shane says, meaning it. He doesn't often say how much he appreciates having people in his corner here. It's made the transition to a new city easier at a time when everything felt unbearable.

"We've been trying to get him out and doing things besides just hockey," Elena adds. "Kyle and Kip are always dragging him to art galleries and things, at least when his schedule allows. And we go to yoga every week when Shane's in town."

"Elena has a crush on one of the instructors," Shane informs Rozanov.

"Yeah, because she's fucking gorgeous," Elena says with a laugh. "There's a reason her classes always book up immediately."

"I thought that's because she's the best instructor," Shane replies, brow furrowed. "She's the clearest about when and how to time to the breaths to the movements. Isn't that why she's popular?"

"Shane, no offense, but possibly the gayest thing you've ever said. No, it's because she's a smokeshow."

"Oh," Shane says, embarrassed. "Well, she also gives very clear directions. It's easier to follow than some of the others. And her Vinyasa Flow is very well-structured."

When he looks over at Rozanov, he expects to find boredom, but instead his eyes are bright.

"I was surprised you made friends who do not play hockey," Rozanov comments. The others look mildly offended on Shane's behalf and he clarifies, "You are very, uh, single-minded? And the schedule is difficult—most hockey players do not have time for other things."

"Yeah, that's fair," Shane allows. "I never really hung out with people who weren't somehow involved with hockey before now." Shane's never been the most social, period. Even on the teams he's played for, he's never bonded with his teammates like other players do. He was grateful for Hayden, who married young and therefore didn't go out and party, yet still invited him over for lowkey dinners that ended early. Thinking back, though, he can't say what it was about Hayden specifically that made them close other than they were two of the only guys who regularly turned down invitations to strip clubs.

"Can get boring," Rozanov continues. "Same teammates all the time, same activities: team dinners, video games, strip clubs, bars. If you do not like these things, there are not many other options."

"You do, though, don't you?" Shane asks.

Rozanov shrugs. "Sure, but the world is... small."

"Like, too insular?" Kip asks. "I could see that."

"Rozanov is way more social than me, though," Shane adds. "Like, when I was—"

"I'm sorry, you call him Rozanov?" Kyle interrupts.

Shane blinks. "His name?"

"Yeah, his last name. Unless there's a Russian naming convention I'm not familiar with where it's inverted or something." There isn't. "Is that not weird?"

"Oh. It's a hockey thing, most people use last names. I don't know, I never really thought of it as weird."

Shawn laughs. "I would die if a hook up called me by my last name, can you imagine?"

Yes, Shane can imagine. It seems normal, but the looks on the others faces tell him it's not.

"Sorry, we're not calling him Rozanov," Elena announces. "This is a friendly brunch." She turns to him. "Is Ilya okay? Is that what most people call you?"

"Ilya is fine. But I am used to Rozanov, or Roz. Shane is right, it is normal for hockey."

It should not be giving him warm fuzzy feelings to hear Rozanov—Ilya, he mentally corrects—use his first name, but it does.

"Is that why you still call Scott 'Hunter?'" Kyle asks. "I always thought that was weird, too, since he's your roommate."

Shane opens his mouth to defend himself when Elena interjects, "Speaking of Scott Hunter." She levels Kip with a look of equal parts affection and zero mercy. "Kip, you still haven't said how your date went."

Shane knows it at least went well enough for Kip to spend the night, but he wasn't able to glean much beyond that.

"Hunter actually asked you out?" Ilya asks. "Surprised he had the balls."

"Shane encouraged him," Kip says with a light blush. "Thank you, by the way. Yes, the date went fine. He's not ready to be out yet, so, I don't know. I don't know if I'm prepared to be with someone closeted, especially when I'm friends with his teammate who's out, you know? It's too weird. I don't want to pressure him, but... I can't really see a future if he's waiting for retirement, so what's the point?"

"The point is to fuck one of the hottest men in New York," Elena says.

"Yeah, well, we did do that."

The table erupts as Kip picks up his tea. Kip is tight-lipped on the details, which Shane appreciates—he doesn't need to know that about his captain.

"It's sad, though, that he won't come out," Kyle says with a frown. "I don't get why it's such a big deal. I mean, Shane's out. I know it hasn't all been perfect but are the consequences really that bad?"

Shane shrugs, because it is a big deal, even if he's surviving it. "People already kind of targeted me and said shit because of my race. So what's one more thing? It might be different for Hunter who's not used to it."

"Jesus."

Ilya frowns at him. "Who is targeting you for this?"

"You gonna beat them up for me?"

"Maybe. Give me names."

"Hot," Kyle says. He leans toward Ilya, elbows on the table. "Okay, but genuinely—do you think it would be that bad? If more players came out?"

Ilya is thoughtful for a beat. "I think it would depend on the player, the team." A pause. "Eh, I am Russian. Maybe 'bad' is not the same for me."

"Fair," Kyle says. "So you don't think you would come out? You're gay, right?"

"Ah, half."

"Half?"

"What do you mean, like demi? Or like bi?" Shawn asks. "Or maybe pan—I shouldn't assume."

"I would love some bi solidarity," Elena adds. "The monosexual energy in this group is oppressive sometimes."

"You're edging into homophobia, babe."

Elena rolls her eyes. "You know I'm very kind not to call you all out on the frequent casual misogyny. Could use some feminine energy in this group, too, by the way."

Ilya looks like he's not following, and thank god Shane's not the only one who doesn't know the gay dictionary. He guesses it's not just the language barrier; sometimes it sounds to him like another version of English entirely.

"Um, Elena is bi—bisexual," Shane explains quietly. "That means she likes both men and women, like to date and stuff."

"And people of other genders!" Kip adds.

Ilya looks over, confused. "There are other genders?"

There's a beat of awkward silence before Kyle clears his throat and says, "I mean, yeah, but don't worry about it. I know the hockey world is—"

"No, no. Explain it to me."

Shane appreciates that Ilya bluntly asks rather than adopting Shane's strategy of bumbling through like he knows what they're talking about and then googling the terms he remembers later. It hasn't yielded the most comprehensive education.

After the others offer a quick rundown of gender identity, Ilya turns to Shane and says, "You are becoming so worldly." It sounds like a chirp, but Shane thinks it's meant genuinely.

Shane always thought of Ilya as worldly. When Shane still hadn't yet admitted to himself that he was interested in men, Ilya was instructing him to get on his knees, telling him about the guys he'd been with before. It felt like Ilya knew all about what it meant to like men, dragging Shane along with him. But there's a whole lot more to being queer, Shane is learning. It's only just now occurring to him that Ilya might be interested in that world, as someone who's not quite a part of it.

"So, you all are teaching Shane how to be gay?" Ilya asks after they move to dessert. "He is a good student?"

"Well, I don't know from experience, but I'm pretty sure he had the basics down already," Kyle teases.

Shane's face heats as Ilya hums in the affirmative, a grin on his face.

"What do you think we're teaching him, exactly?" Elena asks with a laugh.

"You are doing gay city things like brunch. I do not think he knew about brunch."

"I was familiar with the concept of brunch," Shane corrects, although Ilya's half right.

"I don't think he's ever going to be like, a circuit gay," Shawn says. "None of us are really, either. We tried to get him to go out to a club on an off night for some dancing and he was not interested."

Ilya looks charmed by the thought. "You don't dance?"

"No comment."

"Probably for the best. You are too pretty—would get too much attention."

Shane hides behind his coffee cup to disguise how pleased that comment makes him.

Brunch continues comfortably and Shane tries not to think too hard about how it feels more like he's introducing his boyfriend rather than a friend. Ilya—Rozanov—is not his boyfriend, but it would be nice to introduce a boyfriend, to have his friends embrace someone he's dating like they're embracing Ilya. The possibility of it is almost overwhelming. It used to fill him with dread, imagining someday he'd have a WAG to bring to team events, like every other player. Even before he accepted he was gay, there was a part of him that knew that life could never make him happy. It used to seem impossible, the idea of having a partner he likes and friends he likes without feeling like he's hiding or denying some part of himself. It wouldn't have even occurred to him to hope for something like that. And he still doesn't have it, of course, because Ilya is not his boyfriend, but—whatever.

When they get back to the apartment, Hunter's absent, which Shane assumes is intentional to give them some privacy. They only have a few more hours before Ilya has to head back to Boston, since he has an early practice the next day. The train would have been more convenient, but with the risk of being recognized, Ilya decided to spend an exorbitant amount of money on parking instead.

They make out on Shane's bed for awhile before Shane starts to get restless. They've fucked multiple times since Ilya got here, but he wants it once more, hard enough that he can feel the ghost of it for weeks. Ilya gives it to him, a parting gift.

They keep using each other's first names. It was one thing at brunch, but the change sticks even in private, and neither of them bring it up. Shane's name has never sounded so pretty as it does on Ilya's lips when he comes.

"Your friends are nice, by the way," Ilya says as he pulls his shirt back on. "It is good you have people. They are not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know," Ilya says a pensive look. "You are always so focused on hockey. I didn't know you would want to talk to people who don't care about it."

"Yeah, I didn't either," Shane admits, tugging on his briefs. "Kip kind of dragged me into his friend group. He was afraid I was going to be, like, miserable if I just hung out with straight hockey players all the time. And I guess he wasn't wrong. People are kind of weird to me now." He doesn't admit they've actually always been weird to him—or maybe it's Shane who's weird.

"Weird how?"

"I guess before, people always saw me as very serious about hockey, the guy who keeps his head down and plays a clean game, always focused. And I knew how to do that—it was a clear role and I knew how to be that person. But then when I wasn't playing as well and my scandal came out... it's like people don't know what to make of me anymore or something. Some people are dicks just to be dicks, but a lot of people kind of just avoid me altogether." He shakes his head. "Hunter acts like he's afraid of me half the time."

"He is afraid of you," Ilya laughs. "He sees you are out living the big gay life he wants. Hanging out with his crush. He is jealous."

"Maybe," Shane says, doubtful. "If he was that jealous, he could have it himself. But he sees how people treat me differently, so it must not seem worth it."

"He is not as brave as you."

"People always say that, but none of this is bravery. I didn't choose any of this. I'm just... dealing with it."

Ilya leans forward, a hand on the bed, and draws him into a kiss.

"You are brave," he murmurs when their lips part. "I am jealous, a little."

"Really?"

He shrugs as he moves to put on his jeans. "You do not have to worry so much about what people think of you. You can go out where you want with who you want."

"Only because everyone already judges and hates me."

"Okay, fine. It's all terrible."

Shane relents with a soft laugh. "I guess there are perks," he admits. "But I always wanted to be remembered for my game, you know? To make a name for myself, to have stats that would stand on their own. But now I'm just the gay player. That's my legacy. Even if I get back to how I was playing before, or better, even, people will still remember me for being gay first."

"Probably you will not be the only out gay player forever."

"But I'll still be the first. I didn't—I didn't set a good example. The first player to be out should have done it differently than me."

Ilya is quiet for a moment. "So what, slutty people cannot aspire to play hockey? They do not need role model, too?"

"Shut up," Shane says with a snort, but the chirp does make him feel lighter.

Shane throws on a shirt and some sweats and walks Ilya out. He's not quite sure what to say as they leave. In the past, Ilya usually let himself out, but Shane has learned some hookups get pissy at that expectation and now walks them to the door. He doesn't know when they'll see each other next, since he's unsure if he'll be selected for the All-Star game this year. It makes things awkward, since their usual parting script is to reference the next time they'll be meeting. Thankfully, he's saved from having to think of a comment as Ilya leaves him with a filthy kiss and then slips out the door with a curt 'bye.'

After he leaves, Shane shakes out his arms with a slow exhale and then sits on the couch to check the group chat.

Elena

Shane, we debriefed after you and your man left and determined that we're all insanely jealous and way too single.

Kyle

you need to LOCK DOWN a man like that. especially if the sex is good

Elena

your man is gorgeous and charming and SO into you. it's not fair 😭

Shane

You really think he's that into me? We don't even know each other that well. We only really see each other for games or to hook up...

Elena

he's so charmed by everything you say, it's crazy

not that you're not charming! but like he's completely besotted, he couldn't stop staring at you with heart eyes

Kip

it's true, you have very good chemistry

Shawn

Probably complicated to date, though.

Kyle

what's life without a little mess? LOCK HIM DOWN

Shane

How exactly would I lock down a man who lives in a different city?

He sees some typing in the chat, but nobody has a response, and eventually they change the subject.

Right.

"Admirals want to talk extension," Farah says over the phone on after practice one day, without preamble. "Reached out this morning."

Shane's heart skips. "Okay."

"You want me to engage or hold them off until summer?"

Shane knew this call was coming, but he hasn't let himself think too hard about what it would mean to stay. It's what he wants, right? He's starting to feel solid on his team, like a real asset who has secured his position, even if he's not the star player or captain. He likes New York and the life he has here, but something in him hesitates, that feels like this is still temporary, a transitional phase. Ilya's words echo in his mind: 'You should be on a team where you are the number one center.' That's not quite what he wants, either, but if he lets himself think about what he actually wants, he'll make himself crazy. He and Ilya aren't even dating, so—no, he's not going down that path.

"I think if you're planning to stay," Farah continues in response to his silence, "you talk now and get it done before the market gets complicated. I think if you're not, you let them make an offer in the summer so you have a number to work with." A pause. "So which is it?"

Shane still doesn't say anything.

"Shane."

"I don't know yet."

Farah is briefly quiet on the other line. "There's interest from other teams already," she says finally. "I'm not going to tell you who because it's January and nothing is real yet. But I want you to know it's there."

"Okay," Shane says again.

"You want me to tell the Admirals you're focused on the season right now?"

"Yeah," Shane says. "Tell them that."

Which is true, technically. He is focused on the season.

"Okay," Farah says. "We'll revisit after the deadline."

Shane hangs up and resolves not to think about it until then.

Their last game of the regular season against the Raiders comes in March, both teams already aware of where they'll land in the standings, but still a fierce match-up. The last time Shane saw Ilya was in February, before a home game. He came over to Hunter's for an hour or two, but there was barely enough time to fuck before Ilya had to leave for the arena. This time, their schedule has some breathing room, which means Shane has almost a whole day and night free to spend at Ilya's. He wonders if it'll go like his short trip to stay with him in New York. That felt so domestic, almost like they were in a real relationship, only to shift back to casual sexting and hockey talk immediately after. Shane isn't sure whether he regrets that, and he isn't sure what he wants now, either. What he wants isn't possible, so he's trying to keep his expectations realistic.

"Wow, this place is really great," Shane says as he steps inside Ilya's house, slipping off his shoes. "Did you have this built, or... ?"

"Tour after, okay?" Ilya says, stalking up in front of him.

"Okay," Shane breathes into his mouth.

It's been too long since they did this. Shane has a weird relationship with sex—something he can live without but needs badly. The contradiction doesn't make sense because how the hell is he okay with celibacy most of the time when right now he feels feral with want? When it's here, in front of him, he's so desperate for it that it consumes his whole body, the force of it so strong he thinks he might pass out.

Ilya is so fucking hot—the size of him, the weight of him, the scent of him. Shane wants to bury himself inside of his skin, but that's physically impossible, so he'll settle for taking his cock as deep as he possibly fucking can.

"Fuck me," Shane pants, naked on the bed, Ilya's body heavy and hot on top of him.

As Ilya's fingers brush his hole, Shane is gripped with the sudden, visceral compulsion to take him raw, to feel him come inside him. It's startling how thick and immediate his want is and he lets out a garbled sound.

"What?" Ilya asks, rubbing down his taint.

"Ah," Shane breathes, almost too horny to speak, before blurting, "What if next time, we both get tested before? I wanna—ah—feel you without a condom." Ilya stills as his face goes blank. Shane tenses. "I mean, if you... want that. I-it was just an idea."

"Yes," Ilya says, scrambling off him.

"What are you—"

"I have results on phone." Ilya's voice sounds almost manic. "We can do now. I am on PrEP also. Unless you..."

"No, me too," Shane answers, although if he has to show Ilya the proof, it will also be admitting he hasn't fucked anybody else in the past two and half months since he was tested, which is embarrassing. "What, did you just get tested?"

Ilya's hand freezes on his phone. "Uh..."

"What, did you lie?"

"What? No! You think I would lie about this? You think I am asshole?"

"No," Shane says, because he doesn't, he's just confused.

Ilya hesitates, and then says in a rush, "Results are from November."

"Oh, well, like I said, you can just get tested again before next time. We don't have to do it right now."

"No, it's accurate. Unless you have given me something."

Shane blinks. "Wait, you mean you haven't..."

Ilya shrugs, eyes going somewhere across the room. "Is not a big deal."

Shane gets dizzy at that admission, his dick twitching against his stomach. "Okay, same—I can show you the results if—"

Ilya cuts him off with a kiss. "I trust you."

He moves to show Shane his own results, but Shane brushes him off. "It's fine, I trust you, too."

Ilya stares at him, something wild in his expression, before he tosses his phone aside and captures his lips, pressing him down into the bed.

The knowledge that Ilya is going to fuck him raw has Shane more responsive and on edge than usual as Ilya pushes his legs up to eat his ass and finger him. It would be embarrassing, how eager he is for it, except that Ilya has never been so desperate and clumsy as he is right now. If Shane were less dizzy with want, he might find it endearing.

As soon as Ilya is in, buried to the hilt, he stops. It's warmer without the barrier, and the thought of feeling Ilya spilling into him is hot as hell, but right now, it doesn't feel that different. Ilya, however, lets out a pained noise like he's on a hair trigger as he grips Shane's thighs, keeping him still.

Shane attempts to roll his hips, anyway. "Okay there, Rozanov?"

"Fuck," Ilya bites out, strained, as he digs his fingers harder into Shane's flesh. Shane hopes it'll bruise.

Shane finds a bit of leverage against the bed, shallowly pushing himself up and down against Ilya's cock. He's able to get the angle right, brushing against his prostate, and he doesn't think he'll last long either. He lets out a groan, rough and desperate.

Whatever restraint Ilya was holding onto snaps as he falls onto Shane, his body hot and sticky against Shane's skin, and starts thrusting into him, blissfully deep. Shane fucking loves his cock. It never, ever feels this good with anyone else. Ilya suddenly pulls out and manhandles Shane onto his stomach, his hands gripping tight at his ass as he takes him from behind. The new angle is deeper, god, fuck, it feels crazy.

"You feel bigger like this," Shane gasps.

Ilya lets out a broken noise as he pounds into him harder. Even during sex, Ilya usually seems in control, able to direct things when Shane goes out of his mind. Right now, though, he's lost all composure, his pace frantic and erratic. Shane loves it.

"Fill me up," Shane whines. "Want to feel you dripping out of me."

Ilya's hips stutter as he comes with a strangled groan, much quicker than he usually does. Shane feels it, the warmth of his release pumping deep inside him. It sends him over the edge, his cock jerking hot against the sheets as he gasps and comes.

Before he can even think, Ilya's hands are spreading him wide, and Shane knows without looking that his gaze is fixated on the sight of his own release that Shane can feel pulsing out of his ass.

"Fuck," Ilya breathes, rubbing his fingers through the mess and pressing some of it back inside.

Shane shudders, torn between being turned on and grossed out. It's unbearably intimate. Ilya is almost reverent in the clean up. Shane never imagined he could feel worshiped by someone cleaning cum out of his ass, but there's no other way to describe it. This was an awesome idea.

Once they're both clean and recovered, Ilya throws Shane a pair of his own sweats and t-shirt. Shane knew he was staying over, so he brought his own lounge clothes, but he decides to wear Ilya's anyway. They're all cotton with no tags on the inside, just like Shane prefers.

"Are you going to give me a tour now?" Shane asks, after they're both dressed. "I was serious that this place is really nice."

"Sure," Ilya says with a small grin. "I didn't have it built, by the way. It was custom designed by the previous owner, but they only lived here for two years."

"Do you think you would have picked something similar, if you got to choose?"

Ilya admits that he doesn't know what he would have asked for if he was designing a place for himself, but he knows what he likes when he sees it, and he likes the way the house is laid out. It's open with lots of daylight, high ceilings, and natural finishes, with large, open views out to the expansive yard. The architecture is modern but without the heavy metals and dark colors that unmarried hockey players tend to favor. It's tasteful, not dissimilar from what Shane would pick for himself.

"There is more space than I need," Ilya says as he shows him the extra bedrooms. "I do not really have guests. My friend from Russia, Svetlana, lives in town, so she usually sleeps at home if she visits."

"Your family never comes from Russia?"

A pause. "No." They turn the corner. "I think you will like this room. The gym." It's huge, with light pouring in from large clerestory windows on one side, as well as a large picture window out to the garden on the other. The walls are finished with a clear-sealed wood, giving the room a light, natural air.

"Wow, it must be peaceful to work out in here," Shane comments, stepping side. "I would love to do yoga in a space like this."

"Ah, I do not do yoga. But I would not mind watching you do it."

Shane bites back a grin. "The overhead lights must be kind of harsh at night, though. Like, you'd think that they'd have put in some dim, warm accent lights with how tranquil the space is."

"Mr. Real Estate. Any more ideas of how I can upgrade my property?"

"Shut up, I'm just saying. I mean, there's not a lot to improve; the house is great."

Rozanov looks pleased at that as he leads him to the outdoor spaces, explaining that he hires a landscaper to manage it, which costs way too much for how little time he spends out here. Shane wonders how often he hosts team events, since it's a great space for it, but he's anxious to bring up anything team-related with his unrestricted free agency status floating nebulously a few months away. He can't get into that.

They finish the tour back in the kitchen, where Ilya offers to make them an early dinner. The food's not on Shane's diet plan, but it's a nice gesture, so he figures he can let loose a little. The memory of Ilya emptying into his ass is still visceral as he takes a seat at the bar.

"So," Shane says, clearing his throat. "You really haven't been with anyone since—" He pauses. "Sorry, I don't think you lied about it, just—"

"No," Ilya admits, tone neutral as he pulls ingredients out of the fridge. "You have not either."

"Uh, no. Not since summer." Which sounds weird now that he says it out loud, so he adds, "My friends suggested that I take a break. Like I was harming myself or something?"

Concern crosses Ilya's face. "Men were hurting you?"

"No,"—well, sometimes, usually not—"that's not what they meant. My friends were saying that sleeping around like that was, like, bad for me? That I should get therapy about it?"

Ilya stares at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Yeah, I didn't exactly get what they meant."

Ilya shakes his head. "Your friends have strange ideas. What they were saying about genders, okay, makes sense, never thought about it. But sex feels good, yes? How is it bad for you?"

"Yeah, I bet if I were having sex with a bunch of women, nobody would make such a big deal about it."

He pulls out a chopping board and a knife. "Of course they would not," he says, slicing an onion. "Eh, but you are not? Having a lot of sex?"

"With women? Definitely not. But in general, uh, no."

"Hunter does not let you bring guys back?"

"No, he's cool with it. He told me that I should invite you, at least."

Ilya puts on an exaggerated grimace. "Do not tell me this, now I will feel I owe him something."

Shane's mouth curves. "He said it was, like, gay inspiration."

Ilya grins as he moves on to the celery. "Great, so we're even. Usually people tell me I am inspirational for scoring many goals. Never get proper credit for fucking you very good."

"That's not what he meant."

"No?" Ilya flicks his eyes up from the cutting board with a smirk.

"Anyway," Shane says, "I don't really have a lot of time for hookups these days. It helped me get out of my head when I was playing at my worst, but it stopped working." Well, with the random guys, at least. He can get out of his head with Ilya, but that's just for pleasure. "I don't know, I don't need it, I guess."

Ilya raises his eyebrows. "This is not my experience. You seem like you need it very bad. Always begging for it."

"Yeah, with you. It's different." It doesn't occur to him until he notices Ilya's face reddening that maybe that's an intense admission, but it's true. "But you've always hooked up a lot. I didn't think you would—stop."

Ilya pulls out a loaf of whole grain bread, not looking up as he slices it. "I was fucking this woman I met at a bar. In November. She was very hot, not bad in bed. But I thought: I would rather be at home jerking off and sexting Shane Hollander." He rubs his nose with the back of his hand. "So, not worth the extra effort, right? Why pay for drinks when you are always easy for it?"

Ilya's trying to be nonchalant, but it's a massive ego boost that Shane's sexting ranks over actual sex with a woman, especially considering a lot of his sexting consists of telling Ilya to fuck off and giving simple 'yeah' or 'okay' responses when instructed to do things.

"Oh," he breathes. "Are you going to... keep doing that?"

Ilya just shrugs, but there's tension in his shoulders. Shane knows this is a serious conversation. If neither of them are fucking other people, then, what? That's like dating, right?

Shane, rubbing his forearm. "Okay, uh, me too. I don't really enjoy myself the same when it's not you."

Ilya sets down the knife, his breathing audible. "We cannot be—" But he doesn't finish the sentence.

"Maybe it's just for now?" Shane suggests. "I know we can't, like, date." He pauses, but Ilya doesn't challenge him. "But if you're already not sleeping with other people, I... like that. I won't either. And you can just tell me, if you change your mind?"

"And if you change your mind?"

I won't. "Um, same thing."

For a moment, neither of them say anything, before Ilya gives a small nod. "If you want," he says, casual, as if it's not crazy to commit to exclusivity when they see each other so little and aren't dating.

This is not a practical approach to a relationship—situationship, whatever. Do people have exclusive fuckbuddy agreements? Maybe Shane can look it up later. Kyle would know. But even as alarm bells are ringing in Shane's head, he can't make himself back down because he's obsessed with the idea of Ilya jerking off to him and saving himself for their brief and rare encounters.

They eat dinner, get off together on the couch, watch the Scouts-Guardians game on TV, and don't talk about it further. But they do cuddle on the couch, which is sweet in a way that Shane's not used to.

On the plane back to New York, Shane decides to text Kyle.

Shane

Do people have exclusive fuckbuddy arrangements? Is that normal?

Kyle

💀💀💀

girl

Shane

Okay I was worried you might say that

Kyle

to answer your question: yes, they do. there could be a variety of reasons, but safety is a main one, that you both know you won't give each other anything. some people need it for security to feel comfortable with a sex partner, even if there aren't feelings. some aromantic people might want the stability and convenience of a regular partner but without the romantic side.

any of that sound like it applies to you?

Shane

Safety IS important...

He said he hasn't slept with anyone else since November.

Kyle

WOW isn't he a huge slut? he's so gone for you lol

how did this even come up?

Shane

We were talking about test results because I wanted to try not using a condom

Kyle

hot

but yeah it's super normal to be exclusive with your fuckbuddy, definitely no feelings involved here 👍

Shane

Well what do you think I should do? I locked him down, like you said. Aren't you proud of me?

Kyle

you know what yeah

this isn't what i meant exactly, kinda was aiming for the whole dating angle since i'm pretty sure he's in love with you, but yeah

Shane can't begin to think about love. Kyle's exaggerating—he likes to do that for dramatic effect.

It makes his heart swell, anyway.

Shane's been nervous to think too confidently about the Admirals' chances this year, but as they cruise through the first round of the playoffs with an easy four win streak, he has to admit: it feels possible. He's never had this kind of lightness and freedom coming into the postseason before. It's like he convinced himself so hard that his hockey was destined to be mediocre forever that his brain can't process that he's supposed to be anxious about delivering. Every win is like a bonus, a gift, positive momentum that keeps him moving forward, ever closer to the Cup.

Of course, it's not all on Shane—Hunter is having an absolutely killer season, and their defense is more solid than in recent history. Bennett is like a wall in the net. But Shane's contributing, too. Minute for minute, he's not that far off from Hunter's numbers, or any of the top scorers in the league, really. It's terrifying to consider, like he's afraid if he thinks about it too hard, he'll jinx himself and get stuck back in his head where he can't read the ice anymore.

They face Boston in round two, and Ilya's dealing with injured ribs from a bad hit against Buffalo, so he's not playing at his best. It's still a good match up, but Shane feels in his gut, from game one, that they'll take it. By game five, they do.

Regardless of injury, losing in the playoffs is its own specific kind of grief. You spend six months building toward something and then it's just over. Shane doesn't expect Ilya to want to see him after the loss, so he's surprised when he gets a text asking when he can come over. When he arrives, he's listless, almost depressed, and Shane feels oddly honored that Ilya's letting him see him this way. Mindful of his ribs, Shane takes care of him, slowly riding him to a mind-numbing orgasm. Even when Ilya lies back and does almost nothing, it's still that good. Shane can't comprehend it.

"I think you will win," Ilya murmurs into his neck after.

"Don't jinx us," Shane replies, tilting his head to give him better access. Ilya presses a kiss into his flesh as he tucks himself into Shane's side.

"No jinx. I am not saying saying you will win. But I think you will."

Shane lets out a breath. "Maybe. It feels too... easy. This whole year has kinda felt like that."

Ilya chuckles against him, the vibrations resonating against Shane's ribs. "Only you would complain about this. Easy is good, yes?"

"Sure, but... I don't know. I fucked up my career, so why do I deserve this?"

"Oh, yes. Your career is so fucked up as you go into Conference Finals with seventy-nine points on the season."

"You know what I mean."

Ilya hums. "My friend Sveta tells me sometimes that I am very bad at letting myself be happy. Maybe we have this in common."

"Maybe."

Ilya leans over and kisses him, soft and warm. This is also too easy, but Shane's aware it's not his to keep.

"When are you going back to Russia?" Shane asks.

"Do not remind me." He groans. "Should leave now, but—" He doesn't elaborate. "In a few weeks probably."

"You don't like going home?"

Shane has asked several times over the years about Ilya's home life in Russia, but he's never gotten a clear answer.

"No," Ilya says in a low voice. "I do not like going home."

"I'm sorry." He pauses. "Your family seems kind of... intense?"

A humorless laugh. "That is one way to put it." He looks up at the ceiling as his hand traces patterns on Shane's bicep. "My father is difficult man to please. He is not very impressed with my life."

"What? You're the best player in the league. How could he not be impressed?"

He sniffs. "Did not medal in the Olympics. Took too long to win a Cup. He will not be pleased that we don't make Conference Finals this year."

"Those are insane standards."

"Oh, you want to talk about insane standards?"

Shane deflates. "Okay, I see your point. But you know that's crazy, right? Nobody in the world can win everything."

Ilya sighs. "I know. But thank you for saying so. Maybe he will not even know we got knocked out. He gets... confused."

"What do you mean?"

A pause. "Dementia."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Sorry feels woefully inadequate for what Ilya's describing.

"Does he have anyone caring for him? Family?"

"Yes, but my brother is... difficult. I send him money for care, but it's never enough. He wastes half of it on drugs and gambling."

"Jesus, I'm sorry. So why go back if it's that terrible? It doesn't sound like your family appreciates you like they should."

"There is no 'should.' It is home, so I go. That is how it works."

This explanation is unsatisfactory, but Shane senses he shouldn't push.

"Your free agency is coming up," Ilya says. The change of subject doesn't go unnoticed, but Shane allows it. "You are re-signing?"

"I haven't made any decisions yet," Shane admits. He hesitates. "You thought I should go to a team where I could be first line."

"I did." His voice is careful. "But you like New York. You have friends here and a good team. A gay captain. Probably you would not find these things again. Not easily."

"But you're not here." The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it.

Ilya goes very still beside him.

Summoning his courage, Shane continues, "I'm not as expensive as I used to be." He chews at his nail, wondering if he's about to fuck this whole thing up. "Do you think Boston could afford me? I talked to my agent about it in loose terms, when we were discussing possible teams. I know you could use some depth at center, but—"

Ilya rolls over and cuts him off with a kiss.

"Come to Boston."

"Really? It's not too—"

"No. Come."

Shane stares up at him, eyes glassy. They should definitely talk about this more, because it's kind of a huge deal if Shane uproots his career to be with Ilya. Is that even what it would be? Being together? There are a lot of logistics to consider and even more things that could go wrong.

Shane doesn't mention any of this as he surges up to kiss him. Ilya moans into his mouth, a broken sound, as Shane rolls them over. He grinds down against Ilya's cock, and feels him harden against him. It's so perfect—Ilya is so perfect—he's dizzy with it.

"Shane, fuck," Ilya breathes.

He's so beautiful Shane could cry. He reaches down and takes both of their cocks in his hand. It's too dry, but Ilya is reaching for the lube, handing it over with shaking hands. There's something so heady in being able to make a man like Ilya come undone like this. Shane slicks up his hand and grips them both, but he only manages a few strokes before he can't stand that they're not kissing and leans down to capture his mouth. Pressed together, there's no room for his hand, so he ruts against him instead, graceless, as Ilya's hands grip at his ass to pull him closer.

They come like that, too quickly, a sticky mess between their stomachs.

There's a question in Ilya's eyes as they clean up, but he doesn't ask. Shane can't talk about Boston when he's focusing on the playoffs, and he appreciates that Ilya understands that. Fuck, he can't think about this until he gets through the postseason, but depending on how far they go, there might less than a month to make a decision.

He breathes in Ilya's scent and pushes the rest out of his mind.

The clock reads thirty seconds and Shane stops thinking.

It's game six of the finals, a home game, and a win here means they take the series. They're up by two and the other team is scrambling to score a last minute goal. It's chaos in front of the net and Shane is just a body doing what his body knows how to do, blocking a passing lane, winning a puck battle in the corner, getting it out, getting it out, just get it out—

He never let himself imagine this. He knows too well what it costs to want something this much and not get it.

The puck hits the boards and Shane puts his body in front of it and holds, just holds—

The buzzer goes.

Vaughan hits him from behind hard enough to knock him forward and someone else is on top of both of them and the ice is suddenly full of bodies and Shane is on the bottom of a pile that keeps getting heavier and he's laughing, he thinks, his sweaty face pressed against the ice. Everything is loud and heavy and bright and incomprehensible.

He gets up eventually, pulled up by one of his teammates. Tears sting his face as his ears ring with the screams and cheers of the arena. Bennett has both arms around his neck and is saying something directly into his ear that Shane can't parse into words.

The Cup is on the ice. Hunter lifts it first, and then it's moving around, hand to hand. When it gets to him, it's heavier than he expects as his lifts it and thinks, Oh, so this is what it feels like. He never let himself imagine it. He still doesn't quite believe it, but it's heavy in his hands and real, and his whole body is telling him it happened. At some point his parents come down, embracing him with words of praise and love.

In his periphery, he catches sight of Hunter waving towards the stands and looks over to see Kip making his way through the crowd. Holy shit. Is Hunter really doing this? It seems so as he moves to the boards and opens the gate to pull Kip onto the ice and into a kiss.

Shane's chest is so thick with raw, unprocessed emotion that he doesn't know how to feel about it.

The celebrations pass in a haze, hours of champagne and partying in the dressing room as media passes through. They ask him a lot about Hunter's coming out. Did Shane know? How does he feel? What does it mean to have the only two gay players win in the finals? It's exhausting—doesn't anyone care about the goal he scored? It registers that this win, his and Hunter's and the whole team's, will always be the gay win. There is a small sense of vindication in that, even as the qualification annoys him. So many people, himself included, thought his career was over when his slump started and he got outed. To get here so quickly is overwhelming, and he can't quite parse how he feels about it.

A splash of cold champagne hits him from behind, the last of one of the bottles. Shane sucks in a breath as Bennett laughs. For now, he lets himself be.

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

As the adrenaline drains out of his body following the win, Shane feels scooped out and listless. He should be enjoying this more, the crowning achievement of his career, but he can't escape the feeling that he wasn't the one who got them here. It's a team sport—a line he's heard and repeated many times over the years—but he knows that if he'd won as captain, at the top of his game, this would feel different. Instead, it's Hunter's win, and he's just riding on his coattails. The way the media is framing this as if Hunter has done something new and progressive for hockey, when Shane was the one who was out first—whatever. He never wanted to be a gay icon or anything, but still, what was all that suffering for? Why does Hunter get to coast in with his big public kiss and suddenly get all the praise without all the bullshit?

His friends are thrilled. Kip is blissfully happy to be able to celebrate his boyfriend's win, a boyfriend he can now show off and date publicly. They make it look so easy, and Shane can't help but feel bitter that Hunter was so afraid of this, yet the consequences of his coming out are so immediately more positive than they were for Shane. It's almost wholesome; Hunter has a nice, sweet, acceptable, monogamous partner to present to the world. See? Not every gay person is a hedonist slut like Shane.

"I had a hard time, too, after my Cup wins," Ilya tells him over the phone, after Shane has vented his complaints.

"Really? Why?"

"You work so hard for it for so long. Then you get it. Now what? Cannot make you happy forever."

"I thought it would make me happy for longer than a day, though," Shane huffs.

Ilya makes a warm sound on the other line and lowers his voice. "Maybe you should come here. I can cheer you up."

"I wish. I thought you'd be leaving for Russia by now. And I'm supposed to go visit my parents in Ottawa for my Cup day next week."

"Bring it here instead. We can fuck in front of it."

Heat pools in Shane's gut. "That would be, like, sacrilegious, wouldn't it?"

"You think nobody has fucked in front of the Cup before?"

Probably not? He's heard the Keepers don't take their eyes off of it, which would make it logistically difficult. But he's not confident Ilya's joking, so he decides not to ask. He can kind of imagine him fucking one of the Keepers and he can't decide if he's horny about that image or not. Or maybe the Keepers leave it at night, and it's actually not that complicated. "Well, that too, but I meant bringing the Cup to a rival captain's house. I feel like I'd get cursed or something."

"Or blessed," Ilya counters. "If you were serious about coming here, would be good to show the Cup where it is coming next. Make sure it is prepared."

It's the first time either of them have brought it up again, Shane's idea to come to Boston. He still feels crazy for considering it, but the want is stronger, and he needs to make a decision, like, now.

"I've been talking to my agent. Admirals have offered eight point five, five years. They're invested in keeping me, so it's better than I could expect from most other teams. Ottawa's desperate for centers—they're the only other team that would likely offer that high, could maybe even get to nine if my agent's pushy enough, and they like the whole hometown angle. Boston is seriously interested, but cap space is tight, so I'm not sure I could expect much over six."

Ilya is quiet for a moment. "Are you asking me to be, ah, sugar daddy?"

Shane laughs. "No, fuck you. I'm just giving you the information."

"Maybe I should have been less greedy when I re-signed." He says it flippantly, but Shane thinks he notes genuine nervousness in Ilya's voice.

Shane steadies himself. "I want to come to Boston. If that's what you want." He chews his cheek. "Is that crazy?"

"Maybe," Ilya says, tone warm. "But I like your crazy."

"It would be fun to play together," he says, because it would be and getting to play with someone as talented as Ilya, who he also likes and likes him, is something hockey's never given him. Then, bracing himself, he adds, "But I would need some, uh, clarity. About us."

"Clarity?"

"Seeing each other when we're in different cities is one thing, but if we were on the same team, seeing each other all the time... I'm not sure that I could be casual about that." Not that he feels casual about the arrangement now. Sometimes it doesn't seem like Ilya is, either, but neither have ever spoken it aloud.

Ilya says nothing for a moment. "I think if you move here and we don't fuck other people, it's not casual."

He should ask what that really means. Is Ilya planning to stay closeted the rest of his career, the rest of his life? How careful would they have to be around the team? What's the backup plan if someone finds out, or the world does? Shane's out, so the risk is much less for him, but with the Russia of it all and the potential scandal of two players together.... They've always taken this risk, a tacit agreement that what they have is worth it, but this kind of escalation puts it on another level.

His heart beats fast, clenching with anxiety. It's the same ominous feeling he had each time he was arranging new dick appointments—this can't last, you can't have this, you're being insane, this isn't safe. Just like then, he pushes it aside and wonders what the fuck is wrong with him.

"Okay," he says, because what else can he say? He's weak and he wants, he wants so fucking bad, to just have this. "I want to make things work. With you," he continues. "And you just signed a new contract last year, so you won't be able to move anywhere anytime soon. I could negotiate a shorter contract with the Admirals, but who knows what might change in a few years. I'm trying to be, you know, practical—if I can do this now, then maybe I should. But I know it's fast, and maybe reckless if things don't work out."

Ilya is quiet on the other line and Shane feels like he might burst out of his skin.

"You think things will not work out?" Ilya asks eventually.

"I don't know. It'd be stupid to not consider that they might not. But I wouldn't be considering this at all if I didn't really believe it could work."

Another pause, which spikes Shane's anxiety.

"The risk is higher for you. What we're doing now is one thing, but if we're on the same team... it could get out. I don't want to put you in danger."

"I think I have already accepted this danger."

Shane hums, thinking. "I think you should apply for permanent residency in the US anyway. I've read a little about the propaganda laws and stuff in Russia. The risk seems low that anything would happen to you even if it did come out, but it would make me feel better if I knew there was no risk at all, that you'd have a safe backup option."

"This is possible?"

"What? Yeah, of course. I'm surprised your immigration lawyer hasn't already discussed it with you. You could easily qualify for an EB-1A green card based on extraordinary ability—you could have applied years ago. Your team doesn't even need to sponsor you. You're the best player in the league, so you're basically guaranteed to get it, but the processing can still take one to two years, so you should start now. And then if you wanted to get citizenship from there, the path takes years but is fairly straightforward. But Russia doesn't recognize dual citizens, so you might lose your ability to go back. Who knows what might change by then, though."

"You have researched."

"I want—I want this to work."

"Yes," Ilya replies, almost a whisper. "We will fuck all the time. Will be great."

That part does sound great, but there's a whole lot of other shit that might not be. Why is neither of them stopping this? He sort of thought Ilya would try to talk him out of it, tell him he's crazy, that it'll never work.

Instead, Ilya distracts him with phone sex and Shane decides the overthinking can wait.

They're having drinks out on the rooftop of Elena's Tribeca apartment—which Shane is pretty sure is a code violation, since it's not set up for occupants—when Shane decides to drop the news. The roof doesn't have the best view, the river blocked by taller buildings, but it's a nice evening, warm and comfortable, the sky alight with pinks and purples.

"So. I'm thinking of signing in Boston," he says without fanfare, turning his drink in his hand, some mocktail recipe Kyle's test driving. "I've really enjoyed my time in New York, but since my contract's almost up, I only really have this opportunity to switch teams on my own terms and... yeah."

"Damn," Kyle says. "For your man, right? It's that serious?"

"I guess so."

"You guess?" Kip asks. "Tell me you're not upending your life for a 'you guess so.'"

"Well, it's fast," Shane admits. "But we might not get an opportunity to be in the same city if I don't try now. And I could still get traded or who knows what, but... I want to try."

"Kind of crazy, but it is romantic," Kyle sighs.

"Is it that crazy?" Shane asks, but he knows the answer as the others stare at him.

"I don't think it's that fast," Elena comments.

"Because you're operating off of lesbian relationship timelines," Shawn says.

She glares at him. "No, I mean, you've been involved with him a long time, right?"

"Yes," Shane confirms. He doesn't love talking about their relationship timeline, but he wants them on his side, so he decides to divulge a little. "Since we were teenagers. He kind of—showed me that it was possible. I had really been ignoring my sexuality until he... forced me to look at it."

"Wait, how have we not heard this story?" Shawn asks. "I want details."

The others nod their agreement.

"Oh, uh," Shane starts, feeling his face flush, "we did this commercial together, on the ice, so we were geared up and had to shower after. And I swear I never look, but this time I did, and... yeah. Escalated from there, I guess."

Kip lets out a high, shocked noise.

"Goddamn, is that a real story?" Kyle asks. "That's like the plot of a porno."

"Seriously, what gay man doesn't have a fantasy like that?"

"How did you know he wouldn't react badly?"

"Um, I didn't? I wasn't really thinking at all, to be honest. But we had... a moment, I guess, at the draft, in the hotel gym that night. He probably clocked me then, and that's why he arranged for us to do the commercial together."

"He arranged it?" Elena asks.

"So he's been down bad since day one," Shawn says. "This is making more sense to me."

"Wait, I want to know more about the locker room situation," Kip says.

"Of course you do," Shawn chirps, earning a glare from Kip.

"I don't really want to talk about it," Shane says, rubbing his hand through his hair. "It was definitely a violation of locker room etiquette. Not that we—we really didn't do anything. He came to my hotel room after."

"So he saw you in the gym and was so into you that he contrived a situation so he could cruise you in the locker room," Kyle says, eyebrows raised. "This would have blown my mind if it happened to me as a teenager, especially with a guy that hot. My dick would have exploded."

"Yeah, congrats on the 10/10 gay awakening," Shawn says, miming fanning himself. "Holy hell."

Shane is sure his face is beet red, but he's quietly pleased at their reactions.

"Wait, we're getting distracted here," Elena says. "You're moving to Boston?"

"Maybe," Shane says, hiding behind his mocktail. "Probably. Free agency opens on the first of July, so there aren't any formalized offers from other teams to review until then, but informally, it seems likely."

Kyle frowns. "Damn, we'll be sad to see you go."

"And Elena's moving, too!" Kip adds. "This is such a bummer."

"Wait, she is?" Shawn asks.

"Way to expose me." Elena closes her eyes briefly. "Nothing's finalized, so I didn't want to say anything yet, but Equinox is opening a West Coast headquarters and they want me to run the cybersecurity team there."

"You're moving?"

"That's an awesome opportunity, but that sucks to lose you."

"Yeah. Although..." She bites her lip. "They're also opening a Boston location as part of the expansion. It's a smaller branch, so it's not as lucrative of a position. But honestly, the pay is almost as good, and I wouldn't necessarily mind less responsibility."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Kip asks, doing a poor job of sounding casual about it.

"Because I knew you would try to convince me to stay closer, and I'm trying to convince myself to go for the better opportunity. But I don't know, if Shane's there, at least I'd know somebody in the city. I'd already have a yoga buddy."

"You shouldn't base your decision off of me," Shane says.

"No, I wouldn't be. But I've already been waffling, so it does kind of tip the scales... I don't know, I need to look at the offers again."

"Boston's not that far," Kyle comments. "It's, what, a five hour train ride? We'd still be able to visit."

"It won't be the same," Kip pouts.

"You've got your new, hot, rich and famous boyfriend," Kyle points out. "You'll survive."

"So I can't miss my friends?"

"People are always coming and going from the city," Shawn says. "C'est la vie."

"Yeah, but I didn't think Elena would leave. We grew up here." He shakes his head and then looks over at her. "Sorry, I don't mean to make this about me. It's a great opportunity and I understand why you'd take it. I'm just sad."

"I know, babe," she says, taking his hand and rubbing it. "I'm sad, too."

"At least she's not moving for a man," Shawn says, turning the attention back to Shane.

Shane shifts in his chair. "I thought you guys wanted me to 'lock him down' or whatever."

"We do, but keep your dignity in tact. Why can't he move?"

Shane stares at him and then launches into a detailed explanation of contracts and timelines and why this has to happen this way and right now, if it's going to happen at all.

"Okay, okay, we get it," Shawn says, almost rolling his eyes. "And he loves you, right?"

This gives Shane pause. They haven't exactly said the words. Which, okay, is maybe an oversight.

"Babe," Elena deadpans.

Shane takes a deep breath. "I'm going to stop at his place on my way up to Ottawa to visit my parents. I'll, uh, try to have that conversation."

"Do not sign a contract without an 'I love you,'" Elena instructs. "I'm so serious. I know men can be very emotionally constipated, but what you were saying about contracts and shit means you'll be locked in. You need to be sure you're on the same page. You love him, right?"

Shane hasn't said so, even to himself, but he knows it's true and has probably been true for a long time.

Fuck.

Shane decides to rent a car to drive up to Ottawa. One, because it gives him an excuse and means to stop in Boston, and two, because he appreciates the quiet of a long drive. It forces him to sit back and do nothing but focus on the road. After a long, hard season adjusting to a loud, busy city, and everything else new in his life, the reprieve is welcome.

That itching anxiety at his recklessness keeps popping up, though. Is he really going to let himself do this? Let him do this to Ilya? The image of playing on the same team, together on the power play, celebrating their wins in Ilya's bed—he wants it so bad his teeth ache. But is it another temporary distraction, an indulgence? Shane's never been an impulsive or indulgent person, at least he didn't used to be. He doesn't know what the fuck keeps coming over him.

When he gets to Boston, his anxiety is immediately calmed as Ilya welcomes him by eating his ass until he cries and then slowly, tortuously fucking him through two hands-free orgasms. It's a nice reward for getting through this season. After, Ilya lets him rest while he goes to prepare dinner. Shane doesn't try to fight it, letting himself be taken care of for once. He's almost asleep when his phone starts ringing, flashing with his mom's contact. He's seeing them soon, so it can't be that urgent as he declines the call. When it starts ringing again a minute later, he starts to worry and quickly makes his way into the guest room to answer it.

His mother's face looks concerned and serious on the small screen of his iPhone. He wishes he hadn't accepted a video call.

"Where are you?" his mother asks. "That doesn't look like Hunter's apartment."

The wall behind him is painted a light cream with some generic art on it; not immediately recognizable.

"I'm, uh, staying with a friend in Boston."

He hopes his mom doesn't ask for more specificity because he's not ready to get into all of the details, but he's not prepared to lie either. His anxiety must show on his face because she softens, just slightly.

"So the rumors are true? Farah told me you were in talks with the Raiders. She seemed to assume I already knew about it."

Shame curls in Shane's gut. "Yeah, I'm sorry. Things have been moving kinda fast."

"Clearly." She pauses. "Why Boston? I thought you liked New York. You just had an incredible season. I understand if you want to get out of Hunter's shadow, but that's definitely not Boston."

"I know," Shane says, wincing. "It's... hard to explain." It's actually not, but Shane has been avoiding thinking about how he will explain it. The media is going to want answers, too.

"Can you try," she prompts, "to explain it?"

He owes her that much at least, no matter how disappointed she's about to be with him.

"Can we talk about this in person?" he asks. "I'll be there in two days."

Her face is unreadable as she says, "Sure, honey. But you're worrying me a bit."

"Sorry. I—" He wants to say it's nothing bad, but he's not sure his mother would agree with that assessment. He remembers what Elena said, about not committing to anything before he talks to Ilya for real about their feelings. He's still been avoiding that. "I'm still figuring some things out," he admits. "I promise I'll... explain soon."

His mother hesitates, but ends up nodding. "Okay, sweetie. We'll see you on Wednesday."

"Yeah," he says, swallowing thickly. "See you."

"I love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

He lets out a shaky breath as he hangs up the phone and then walks into the kitchen, where Ilya is finishing up dinner.

"All is okay?" Ilya asks, worry plain on his face.

Shane groans, unsure if he's annoyed or pleased at how easily Ilya can read him. "Yes. No. I don't know. My mom called. She heard from my agent that I'm looking at Boston. She asked me to explain myself and I couldn't."

Ilya turns down the heat on the stove and walks over to him, moving as if to touch him and then holding back, which makes Shane anxious. "You do not want to tell them?"

"You would be okay with that?"

Ilya shrugs. "They are your parents. I did not think you would hide it."

Which is kind of a heavy admission, but Shane can't focus on that right now.

"I just—Okay, let's say I tell them. That still doesn't solve how the fuck I am going to explain it to anyone else. I mean, people are going to know what types of contracts I was being offered. It makes no sense for me to come to a team for two mil under market, just to be on the second line in a city I have no attachment to."

Something hurt crosses Ilya's face. "You are changing your mind."

"No," Shane says, moving forward to drop his head to Ilya's shoulder. "I want this. I just don't know how to have it."

Ilya leans in, rubbing Shane's back. "You can say it's for personal reasons and that's it, yes?"

"I guess. I'm not very good at lying. And I don't want to, like, mess up your life, if I'm not good at answering questions about it."

Ilya pulls back to look Shane in the eyes. Like he's searching for something, but Shane doesn't know what. Suddenly all of Shane's doubts swirl up within him, threatening to bubble out. How stupid are they being? Does Ilya even want this? It's been Shane driving this, Shane making decisions and Ilya quietly agreeing. Does he know he can say no?

He wants to say this, wants to let Ilya know that they can take a step back, that Shane doesn't have to sign with Boston for them to be together.

What he blurts out instead is, "I love you." Ilya's eyes go wide and glassy. "I mean—"

Ilya kisses him, fast and intense. When their lips part, he leans his forehead against Shane's and says, "I love you, too."

There's a rush of relief, like the coiled up anxiety Shane has been carrying about this suddenly springs free and dissipates. He surges forward, capturing Ilya's lips in a kiss as he lets himself be pressed back, the counter's edge digging into his ass.

"The food is going to burn," Shane murmurs when they break for air.

"Fuck the food," Ilya says, grabbing Shane's thighs and hoisting him up on the counter.

Shane smiles into the kiss as his feet press into Ilya's ass, pulling him closer.

Ilya bites his ear and murmurs, "I need to fuck you."

"You just fucked me."

"I need to fuck you again."

Shane lets out a low whine. "Okay." He looks back at the stove. "But it's really going to bother me if the food is just left like that."

Ilya leans forward, breathing out through his nose. "Okay. I will put it in the fridge and finish later."

"Won't that mess it up if it's in the middle of cooking? The temperature change is already going to make the texture weird."

Ilya kisses him, soft, and then returns to the stove, turning the burner back on and grabbing the spatula. Shane feels feral, seeing him heed his quirks just because he asked. People tend to get annoyed when Shane is too fussy or particular about details, but while Ilya might tease, he has never made him feel bad about the ways that he prefers things done.

Shane watches with open lust as Ilya finishes the stir fry, the way it sizzles and steams as he turns off the burner and the fan and then moves to transfer the food.

"Okay, now you can put it in the fridge," Shane says.

"But now the food is hot and ready, you don't want to eat?" he asks, already pulling out the Tupperware. "What about the temperature?"

He's grinning as Shane slides off the counter and pulls him into a kiss.

After the food is put away, Ilya makes good on his promise to fuck Shane, hot and fast on the couch. He must have anticipated this happening, at least the sex, because there's a towel and lube conveniently stashed in the coffee table. Shane rides him, one hand gripping the back cushion as he fucks himself on Ilya's cock, leveraging himself to get the angle as deep as possible. Their mouths barely part the entire time, Ilya's hands warm on his ass, his back, pulling him closer.

"Oh, fuck, I love you," Shane gasps into his mouth.

Ilya lets a choked sound and clutches at Shane's thighs, his hips jerking up as he comes. Shane tries to pull off, knowing Ilya must be sensitive, but Ilya holds him down and frantically jerks him off as his cock softens inside of him. Shane comes with Ilya's name on his lips. Quiet words in Russian are whispered into his skin as Ilya kisses his face and neck, still not letting Shane off his cock.

After the comedown, Ilya finally pulls out and attempts a cursory clean with the towel, but they're both too fucked out to do it properly. Shane presses his forehead to Ilya's, their breathing heavy.

"I do not know what you will tell people," Ilya says, ducking his head away. Then with a smirk adds, "Maybe you can say it was always your dream to play for Boston. But sadly you were drafted second."

"Oh, fuck you, asshole." But it's the first time Ilya has chirped him with a comparison about their careers since his slump, and it's a balm to hear.

"Or maybe you can say I am so great player that you had to come play with me? This is true, no?"

Shane breathes out of his nose, almost a laugh, and takes Ilya's face in his hand, rubbing his cheek softly. "It's a little true," he admits. "I'm going to tell my parents I'm switching teams for a guy, and they're probably going to be pissed, but they'll deal with it. The press... you're right. I guess 'personal reasons,' leave it at that? Maybe my mom will have some ideas."

"So you are going to tell them about me?"

"You'd really be okay with that? Because I could. Or I could keep it vague."

Ilya feigns nonchalance, though Shane can tell this means something to him.

"I'd invite you to just come up and meet them, but the Cup Keepers are going to be there, and I don't know how discreet they are."

"You would introduce me?"

"I'm moving for you." The words are heavy in his mouth, as if made tangible. He steadies himself. "Yeah, I would introduce you to my parents, if you wanted that."

Ilya's expression is stoic. "Probably they are not big fans."

"Not yet. But they don't know you."

Ilya looks away, as if not trusting it, and Shane decides to drop it for now.

The rest of the evening is domestic, the way it was when Ilya came to visit at Hunter's. Is it supposed to be easy like this? Shane's never really had any relationships in his life he would qualify that way. His new friends in New York, maybe; it's easier than friendships he's had in the past, at least, where he felt like people were humoring him just because he was in their class or on their team. His new friends don't judge him, but he still isn't fully comfortable with them, still always having the sense that he's an outsider, a novelty. Which is maybe unfair—all of them have been nothing but inclusive, but he can't shake the feeling.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night in Ilya's plush bed, he's alone. No big deal, maybe Ilya is just peeing, or he couldn't sleep and didn't want to disturb Shane. It doesn't mean anything is bad or wrong, but after half an hour passes, Shane's anxiety is building too high, and he decides to go looking for him.

He finds him out on the patio smoking, on the ground with his back against the wall of the house. He brushes his cheek as he hears Shane approach. Shane decides not to nag about the cigarette.

"You okay?"

"Mm," Ilya says, nodding, flicking the butt of his cigarette and then stamping it out on the pavers. He sniffs, and Shane thinks he might have been crying.

"Really?"

He shrugs, the way he always does, a brush off, as Shane takes a seat on the ground next to him.

"You can talk to me if you want."

Ilya inhales. "My brother," he says, flat. "He is very angry with me because I am delaying my trip back. I am 'neglectful.'"

"Oh." Ilya's home life sounds miserable, but Shane doesn't know enough about it to know what he's supposed to say. "That doesn't really seem fair, since you're always sending money back. It's not like you have a lot of free time to go visit."

A long pause. "I wanted to stay until you signed," Ilya says, not looking at him and bouncing his leg. "So maybe it is fair." He clears his throat. "I am selfish."

Shane's chest goes hot. "Well, if I do sign here, or even if I don't, that's—it impacts you, your life. I don't think it's selfish to want to be here for that. It's a big change."

Ilya looks over at him. "Even if you don't?"

Shane's chest warms. "I will. But if something happened, or... I don't know. It makes sense that you would want to be here right now. I would want to be here, if it were the other way around."

Ilya leans into him, tucking his head on Shane's shoulder. "I shouldn't get to have this. You here. But if I tell you that, then you will go away, and then I will be sad and crazy like when you dumped me before."

Shane gets stuck wondering what 'sad and crazy' means, but it doesn't feel like the important part. "Why shouldn't you get to have it?"

Ilya lets out a frustrated noise and doesn't answer, but he stays tucked at Shane's side. Shane turns his head, cupping Ilya's cheek, and draws him into a kiss.

"You taste gross," Shane mutters when they pull away.

"And you kiss me anyway."

"Must really love you, then."

Ilya makes a wounded noise at that and kisses him again, this time with more intensity. They make out for awhile in the warm, quiet nighttime air.

"Thank you," Ilya says, voice quiet, as they make their way back to the bedroom.

Shane's not sure what he did to help, and he's stressed that whatever Ilya's concerns are, they aren't resolved. "Did I help?"

Ilya rubs his shoulders, his expression fond. "You always help."

The rest of the drive up to Ottawa gives Shane too much time to think. His hands are clammy on the steering wheel as he thinks about how he'll explain this to his parents. The shame of it makes his skin itch with the knowledge of the inevitable disappointment. The high of hearing the words 'I love you' is quickly fading, replaced with guilty nerves. It was one thing to deal with the anxiety of his decision when on his way to Ilya, it's another when on his way to his parents, to whom he's going to have to justify himself. It sucks that he's so stressed when he's about to have his Cup day, what's supposed to be one of the highlights of his career. Of course he cares that he won, but the symbolism of having the Cup physically there doesn't mean as much to him as he thought it might. 

His parents are happy, though. They seem more relaxed around him now, so maybe Shane's win has done something to ease the disappointment of his slump and scandal. It's a joyous occasion, after all, to celebrate winning. Too bad Shane is about to ruin it.

At dinner, his mom gives the two Keepers each a plate of food and sets them up on the back porch, while the Cup sits in a chair at the head of the table like an actual guest.

"So," his mom says, flexing her hands after the food is served. "Boston? I heard we were going to get an explanation."

Shane stiffens, not liking the scrutiny, but he owes them that much. "Yeah," he says, trying to settle the fluttering in his chest with a slow exhale. "I know it probably doesn't make much sense." She gestures for him to continue. "I'm seeing someone. Who lives there. And he can't really move with his job, and I can, so. I guess that's it."

Both of his parents look at him with wide eyes.

"You're moving for a boy?"

Shane folds his arms, shrugging. "And the team is good. They won two Cups recently."

"Your team just won a Cup. I—" She blinks rapidly. "You never even told us you were dating."

There's a touch of hurt in her voice that makes Shane cringe with guilt. "Sorry. It's all been moving kinda fast. There's no flexibility with when I have to make a decision, so."

"But you've been thinking about it for awhile?"

"I—yeah, for a little while."

"So who is this guy?" his dad asks.

"Wait," his mom interjects. "Who it is doesn't matter." Shane almost snorts, because he's pretty sure it matters a lot. "Shane, you need to think about this—you have a good thing going with your team. Your team has been supportive, you said. That's not easy to find, after how awful Montreal was. I mean, your captain just came out as gay! What could be more supportive?"

"I have thought about it."

"But—Boston? Do you even know what the culture is like there? You'd be in Rozanov's shadow."

Shane's jaw clenches, and he tries not to let his irritation show on his face at those words as he stares at the table. It's not untrue, but... well, he's been avoiding thinking about that, so he's not fond of the reminder.

"And he's... you know," his mom continues, "he's no Scott Hunter."

Shane shakes his head. "Yeah, I know he's no Scott Hunter. But he's not, like, a terrible person."

She seems surprised he would say so. "Do you even know him? I mean, he's Russian, he's an agitator on the ice, all those women, it's not hard to assume—"

"Is that your concern?" Shane asks, incredulous. "That Rozanov is going to be, what, homophobic to me?" He almost laughs.

"It's a fair one!"

"We just want you to be safe and supported," his dad adds.

"I know. Thanks. But"—he tilts his head, wondering how much he should say—"your concern is misplaced."

"Is it?" she prods. "How do you know what the room will be like?"

"I don't, but—"

"So it's a fair concern! This isn't like other jobs, you can't just leave if the environment is bad."

He gapes at her. "Do you think I don't know that? I'm the one who has to actually live with this. You can't trust that I know what I'm getting into?" Which is kind of a stupid thing to say because it's not like this isn't a reckless decision, or that he actually knows how the team will treat him, outside of Ilya. Maybe even including Ilya—they've never been on the same team.

Ugh, he's stressing himself out.

"If you would explain why we should trust, it would help. You say you're moving for a boyfriend, but is he making you give all this up? It doesn't seem fair. Going to Boston, playing on a team where you can't even be first line, under Rozanov, it's—"

He can't keep having this conversation if he doesn't just come out and say it.

"Mom, Rozanov is my boyfriend."

His mother inhales sharply as silence falls over the dining room.

"Well, he certainly is handsome," his dad comments after a beat.

"You're not serious," his mom states.

"Um. Yes. I am. I'm dating Ilya Rozanov. And he just signed a six year contract last year with a no move clause, so Boston's sort of the only option if we want to be in the same city."

"Rozanov," his mom deadpans, and the incredulity in her tone pisses Shane off, "is your boyfriend."

"Yes." He gives a flippant shrug.

"Shane, sweetie"—Shane cringes at that; he does not want to be fucking babied right now—"have you really thought this through? He's—"

"He's what?"

"Well, he has a certain reputation..."

"Oh, so unlike me, then?"

"Shane. Come on. That's different."

"Not really. I know you want to pretend my scandal didn't happen, but it did. I did all of that."

"But you were closeted; you were dealing with it how you could—"

"He's my fucking boyfriend! You don't think he's closeted?"

His mom goes quiet, stricken by Shane's tone, and Shane deflates.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"But are you sure he's not... taking advantage? Of your situation?"

"How?!" He snaps, getting heated again. "None of this benefits him—"

"It gets you on his team."

Shane pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, you think Ilya Rozanov seduced me for center depth?"

"Well! I don't know!"

"Let's all take a breather," his dad interjects. "Shane, I think your mother is just trying to understand. This all feels a little out of the blue. Why don't you help explain it to us?"

Shane exhales, giving himself a moment to calm down.

"I understand why you might be concerned with his reputation. But you don't know him. He's never, like, cheated on anyone. He actually stopped seeing other people months before we decided to be exclusive."

Something in his mother's expression shifts. "How long has this been going on, exactly?"

Shane's not sure that admitting Ilya kind of turned him gay is going to endear him to his parents, but maybe the timeline will help get them on board, if they know it's not new.

"Um. A long time."

His mother raises her eyebrows.

Shane sighs and scratches his neck. "He was actually the first guy I ever—kissed." There, that sounds slightly more wholesome. "Um, when we did that commercial for CCM."

Her eyebrows raise higher.

"That was before your rookie season, wasn't it?" his dad asks.

"Yes."

"Wow, that's—" She cuts herself off, not finishing the thought.

Shane takes another steadying breath. Getting defensive is not helping his case—their case. It is out of the blue, so it's fair for his parents to be confused and reactionary. He tries to remember this as he thinks of how to better explain it.

"I've liked him for a long time," Shane says thickly. "But neither of us ever thought it could be anything serious." He gestures at them with his shoulders, because their reaction—or his mom's, at least—kind of proves this point. "Obviously. I broke it off when my slump started because I couldn't handle the comparisons, when he was winning Cups while I was failing to produce. And then... you know what happened. I wasn't handling anything well and I got careless with who I was seeing. But through all of it, the whole time, I thought: I don't like any of these guys as much as I like him. None of them made me as comfortable. He doesn't treat me like I'm weird or—whatever. It's just better." He blinks back tears, trying not to get emotional. "And when we reconnected, he felt the same way, I guess. So we're... trying."

It's a bit more of a PG explanation than the reality, but it's close enough to the truth that he doesn't feel like he's lying.

When he finally looks up at his mom again, her eyes are glassy.

"Oh," she says, the fight drained out of her. "Well. Isn't that something?" She grabs her now empty wine glass. "I need a refill. Anyone else?"

As she steps out of the room, his dad looks warmly at him and says, "I'm happy for you. It's not easy to find someone like that, that you can just be yourself with and feel good."

"Yeah," Shane says, exhaling.

His mom comes backs with a wine bottle and refills their glasses before sitting back down, her face serious like she's about to start interrogating. It's suddenly too much, the buzzing anxiety inside him reaching a breaking point. He needs to calm down or he's going to freak out for real.

He stands up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "Can I—I need a breather. Sorry."

He rushes to the guest room and sits on the edge of the bed, trying to steady his breathing as he clenches and unclenches his fists, but he can't calm his racing heart. Before he can second guess it, he pulls out his phone and hits dial.

"Hey," comes Ilya's voice on the other line, familiar and grounding.

"Hey," he replies, the nerves evident in his voice.

"You are okay?"

"No. I don't know. Yes, I'm fine, but I'm kind of freaking out. I just told my parents about us. Can you just tell me everything's going to be okay, even if you're lying?"

"Everything is going to be okay."

"Are you lying?"

Ilya lets out a soft, warm sound that immediately puts Shane at ease. "I am not there, so how do I know? Your parents hate me, yes? They think I am a bad choice for their son."

"It's not that." He pauses. "Okay, it's a little that. I just got really defensive when I was telling them and they're disappointed in me. I hate that I keep disappointing them."

"You are there with the Cup, yes?"

"Yeah." But it's not enough, and he recalls Ilya saying that his father wasn't that impressed with it either. "I don't know. The conversation didn't go very well; my mom was pretty upset."

"She is mad? Or worried?"

Shane forces himself to think about it and concludes that her actual words leaned more toward worry than anger, but the disappointment was there regardless. It's hard to talk about, so he deflects a little by saying, "She was worried you were going to have a problem with me being gay. Like on the team."

"Hmm, it is a big problem for me. Very sexy new teammate is going to make me hard on the ice, get too distracted, miss many goals."

"Now I know you're lying because you have no problem scoring on me when we're on opposite teams. Wouldn't that also be distracting?"

"Yes, I love to score on you. And in you."

Shane's not sure that innuendo makes sense, but he feels better anyway. "I wish you were here," he says, soft. "I feel like if they met you, they would like you, like my friends did."

Ilya doesn't respond to that, deflecting with, "Probably you should talk to them."

"Yeah, okay."

"You are feeling better."

He takes a breath. "Yes. Thank you. I love you." The words are still new, fresh, and give him a rush when he says them out loud.

"I love you," Ilya says, quiet, the words an immediate balm.

When they hang up, Shane ventures back into the main living space. Dinner's been cleaned up, and his parents are seated on the sofa. They stop talking when he enters the room, the silence heavy.

"Uh. Sorry," he says, taking a seat on the couch. "I just, uh, needed to cool down."

"Were you on the phone?" his mom asks. "We weren't eavesdropping, just sounded like talking."

"Yeah. With Ilya."

His mom gives a tight grin, glancing over at his dad before clearing her throat. "We're not trying to attack you," she says carefully, "but this all seems a bit impulsive. It's not like you."

Shane scoffs. "At this point, you have to admit it's a little bit like me."

She opens her mouth and then closes it, which is as close to conceding a point as she gets.

"We're just worried about you," his dad says. "We never wanted things to be so hard."

Shane looks at the coffee table. He understands what's underneath that, whether they mean it or not. We never wanted you to be the way you are.

"I know," he says. "I'm sorry."

"Don't—" His mom's voice catches, which is so unlike her that Shane looks up. She pulls herself together visibly, but it takes a second longer than usual. "Don't apologize for who you are. That's not what we want."

Shane nods. He believes she wants to mean it, but he's not sure he believes it applies to him, in this instance.

"So," his mom says, collecting herself. "What is Rozanov doing for the summer?"

The question surprises him. "He'd normally be in Russia by now, but he's sticking around until my contract's signed." He pulls at the thread on the couch. "And then he's going to Russia to take care of his dad, who doesn't sound like a very nice guy, not that Ilya would ever admit it. And he has dementia, so he needs a lot of care."

A beat of silence.

"Wow, that's—" his mom starts.

"Yeah." Shane lets out a slow exhale. "Look, I get why you guys are worried. Our relationship is going to be tied to our careers now, and I know that's reckless. But I don't really know what else to do. We can't see each other very often in different cities. And... I want to play with him. I think it will be good."

They nod, as if a silent concession not to press, but it's not quite acceptance. There's a weight behind their eyes, as if processing, recalibrating, understanding that Shane is never going to be the model son they envisioned. It must be a heavy thing to accept—it's been hard enough for him to accept it—so he doesn't begrudge them.

It hurts, anyway.

Chapter End Notes

I think realistically Ilya probably doesn't cook regularly and has his meals prepped, but he needs to impress Shane with his domestic skills, so I'm letting him cook here.

Chapter 6

As the ink dries on his contract with Boston, Shane can't decide how he's feeling. There are a lot of emotions competing for space, making him dizzy. Excited, terrified? Somewhere in there is probably accurate.

He gives Farah clear instructions to avoid any comment beyond 'personal reasons.' People can infer what they want. That he's fucking the captain isn't a top theory, but there's a (mostly joking) narrative that Shane turned Hunter gay. Kyle screenshotted and sent him a few tweets suggesting he was going to do the same to Ilya. Shane wonders if it'll ever come out publicly that it was the other way around. Hopefully not.

Kyle and Bennett both offer to accompany him back to Boston to look for apartments—Kyle because he has expensive taste and no money, so he likes to live vicariously, and Bennett because he likes real estate and wants to be helpful. Bennett came out to both him and Hunter as bisexual shortly after the Cup, though he's still married, so Shane wonders what the point is of telling anyone. Elena would probably call him 'biphobic' for that. If he thinks too hard about how much easier it would be for a bisexual hockey player to just stick to women, he gets stressed out, so maybe he should feel relieved that Bennett's willing to put his sexuality out there.

It's strange that both of them are coming, together, but neither of them act put out. They both have good taste, at least. Maybe Ilya was right that Bennett enjoys Kyle's flirting; it can be flattering. Shane would rather just look with Ilya, but he's trying not to impose too much, and the optics would be weird. If they want to keep a low profile, best not to start out by looking at property together.

"Why does it seem like Kyle knows why you chose Boston, but you won't tell me?" Bennett asks on the drive up.

Kyle keeps his mouth shut as Shane says, "I'm, uh, moving for a relationship." He and Ilya decided that this is as much as he'll say if anyone presses on 'personal reasons.'

"Oh, really?" Bennett asks, intrigued. "I didn't know you were dating. That's cool! Boston, though. You think the team will be supportive?"

At least one person on the team will be. Shane wants to tell Bennett. Maybe Ilya would appreciate knowing he's not the only bisexual in the league? He shoots off a quick text as he says, "I don't know, but I hope so. I don't get slurs from any of the Boston players, at least, so they're probably alright?"

Shane

So Bennett came out to me and Hunter as bisexual, FYI. Said he's not telling the world but okay if it's an "open secret" so I guess I can tell you.

He offered to come look at apartments so we're driving up together. But it's kind of weird that Kyle knows about us and Bennett doesn't? How do you feel about telling him? I won't if you don't want me to, but it might be nice to know another bisexual player?

Lily

i thought he was married

Shane

What? Bisexual people can be married

Lily

yes but he wants to fuck kyle

Lily

did not think he was the type to cheat

Shane

Why do you think that?

Lily

they were flirting at the bar back in fall. and now they are both coming with you? i thought maybe bennett did not know he was into men but…

Shane

They both offered separately to come with me, just neither declined when I mentioned the other wanted to come

Lily

hm

Shane

Do you want me not to tell Bennett?

Lily

i don't know him. invite him to dinner and we will see

Shane

Oh okay I'll invite him to dinner with my ???

Lily

new captain

Shane

I never invited new players to dinner when I was captain. Nobody's ever done that for me either. Do you do that?

Lily

sometimes. it is not weird, don't stress

if he is good then we will tell him

Shane

How are you going to explain why Kyle and I are staying at your place?

Lily

i am a friendly captain. so supportive, love gays. new player shane hollander is visiting with his friend, i am helping him

Shane still thinks that sounds weird, but when he explains it to Bennett, he doesn't seem to think anything of it.

Touring houses and apartments is exhausting. His realtor, a brisk woman named Maria that Ilya recommended, shows them five properties, a mix of condos and detached homes. By dinner, she's already texting him about a sixth becoming available in the South End next week. He appreciates her efficiency. The units are fine, perfectly nice, with the right amenities that would make sense for a single professional with his income, but when he stands in each of them and tries to imagine living there, something feels off.

The market is tight, limited inventory, with tough competition. He'll find something, but Shane's always prided himself on being able to find just the right space for himself, and after looking online and being disappointed by the best options in person, he's starting to doubt it'll be that easy to find here.

"That place in Back Bay was nice," Kyle comments over dinner. "That bathroom suite was gorgeous."

It was nice, in a cozy neighborhood not too far from the arena, but most of the windows face west, and Shane hates evening glare. The kitchen was small, too, and kind of outdated. Not that he couldn't redo it, but—

"I thought the last place we looked at was pretty great," Bennett comments. "Lots of space, good light."

"None of them were like this, though," Kyle says, gesturing around Ilya's house. "This place is insane."

"You are flatterer," Ilya says, taking a sip of his vodka, but Shane can tell he's charmed.

"I'm a bartender, comes with the territory. But there's no need to exaggerate in this case because your house is stunning."

"You don't need to find something right away," says Bennett, addressing Shane. "I know you weren't thrilled by any of the places we toured today. You could get a short-term rental or stay with another player or something until you find the right property. No need to rush."

"Yeah, maybe." It is an option, but Shane has felt unsettled for the year and a half he's been with Hunter, unable to feel fully relaxed in his space while staying with someone else. He's missed having a place he feels really comfortable.

"So, Rozanov," Bennett says, stabbing into the steak Ilya prepared on the grill. "How do you think the team will be? About—" He gestures with his fork to Shane. "'Cause some people are assholes, teammates included. That shit needs to be shut down or it'll fester. I assume you're alright if you invited Hollzy to dinner, but the room can be different."

Ilya's lip quirks. "Did you do this with the Admirals?"

"Sure. Not just me, though. Vaughany is quick to make sure there's a supportive environment on the team, but a captain needs to set the tone, and Hunter's always no nonsense about that kind of stuff. Keeps guys in line."

Ilya raises his eyebrows. "Ah. Good for you."

"Are you willing to do that? Do you have any idea how the team might act?"

Ilya purses his lips, taking a moment to answer. "Yes. It is important to me that Hollander is comfortable." He looks over at Shane, briefly, and Shane gives a small nod. "Hollander told you he is moving for a guy, yes?"

Bennett looks briefly confused at the non-sequitur as Ilya grins and gestures at himself. "I am the guy."

Bennett freezes before opening his mouth to speak, but Kyle cuts him off. "Oh thank god. I was getting stressed with him not knowing."

"Wait," Bennett says, brow furrowed. He looks at Kyle, gesturing his fork between Shane and Ilya. "Are they for real?"

"Yes, very," Kyle confirms. "A star-crossed queer love story for the ages."

"It is good that you look out for Shane," Ilya says, taking a bite of his steak. "Montreal was, eh, not good. I will do my best."

Bennett is still staring at them. "You're really together?"

"Yes," Shane says, just as Ilya replies, "You can congratulate me on the hot boyfriend."

"Huh," Bennett says, processing. "Congrats?"

Ilya grins widely, his hand moving to Shane's shoulder.

"You can't tell anyone," Shane insists. "It's not really safe for Russian people to be in same-sex relationships."

Bennett puts up his hands. "No, of course. Wow. This is surprising. But good for you?" He shakes his head. "Your rivalry was such a big deal after you guys got drafted. Good thing it's cooled down, I guess? Especially if you'll be on the same team."

"Mm, we were fucking back then, too," Ilya says. "But yes. Maybe now is easier."

Not how Shane would have phrased it, but he's relieved to not have to explain it to Bennett.

After dinner, Ilya offers his second guest room to Bennett, who had been planning to stay at a hotel. It's a nice gesture, but Bennett is someone Shane respects, and it makes him feel weird about having sex with him in the next room. At least Hunter's room was on the opposite side of the apartment.

"I am nice to your friends and this is how I am repaid," Ilya says with a pout, once everyone has gone to bed.

"We can still do... stuff," Shane says, voice low. "I just want to be quiet."

"Impossible for you."

"Maybe you can gag me." He says it flippantly, but Ilya's eyes go dark at the suggestion.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

It would be kind of hot. "Who says I don't mean it?"

Ilya groans and kisses him. "You have very good ideas, moy lyubimyy."

Shane goes warm at the pet name. He always hated it when hookups used them, even generic terms like 'baby,' so he didn't expect to like it so much now.

"You have to be quiet, too."

"I can be quiet," Ilya murmurs, biting at his neck.

They don't end up using a gag, but Ilya puts his hand over Shane's mouth when he starts to get too vocal. Having his moans stifled, vibrating into the flesh of Ilya's palm, turns him on like crazy as he writhes up with his hips, both of their cocks heavy and hot in his hand.

When they've both finished, Ilya rolls off of him with a satisfied groan and grabs wet wipes from the side table.

"You think Kyle and Bennett are doing same thing?" Ilya asks.

"What the fuck, don't say that while you're wiping up cum," Shane protests.

Ilya grins, but he finishes cleaning up and then tosses the wipe into the trash before speaking again. "I know Bennett is married, but is he happy? Because he still wants to fuck Kyle. They were flirting at dinner."

They were? "Don't start. You're not breaking up any marriages."

"I am not fucking either of them. I am taken man. What they do is their own fault."

Those words, 'taken man,' make Shane feel warm and possessive.

When he wakes up, it's still dark out. He normally burns off early morning energy with a run or a workout. He's quiet as he gets out of bed and puts on his workout gear, slipping out of the room and down to Ilya's gym. Immediately, he notices that there's a new light switch installed next to the old one, this one with two dimmers. He slides one on, revealing warm wall washers illuminating the wood finish from below, the other controlling soft sconces. Neither were here before, so they must have been installed sometime in the past few months after Shane suggested dimmer mood lighting. He's gripped with the need for an alternate workout, but Ilya likes to sleep in, so instead he goes through an hour of yoga and showers before climbing back into bed and waking up Ilya with a blowjob. Ilya had suggested once, offhand, that he would find that hot. Ilya has a lot of good ideas that Shane is more than happy to see realized.

"Fuck, Shane," he groans, voice still sleep-thick, as he spills into his mouth.

"I'm close," Shane pants when he pulls off and shifts up the bed, straddling Ilya's chest. "Can you just—"

Ilya sucks him off obediently, and it's only a minute or two before Shane is coming, too.

After he comes down, he says, "You put in mood lighting in the gym."

"Ah," Ilya says, a light flush on his cheeks. "Good investment for the property, yes?"

"Yeah," Shane says, swallowing down how emotional he feels about it. "It was, uh, really nice for yoga. Thank you."

Rozanov squeezes his hip. "If you want to wake me up with blowjobs every morning in thanks, feel free."

He wishes. It's nice waking up with Ilya, feeling his morning wood against his backside or his thigh. Sometimes when Ilya is the little spoon, Shane imagines reaching over and stroking him to wakefulness. Not that they've woken up together too many times, but he wants more.

Ilya clears his throat and says, casually, "You can stay here for awhile. If you want. Since you did not like any properties available right now."

Shane freezes.

"Or you could get temporary apartment. Like Bennett suggested."

"Hold on," Shane says, turning in the bed to face him. "Do you mean that? Me staying here?"

"Why not?" Ilya's voice is light but strained.

"That's not—" Shane pauses, staring at him. There's tension in the corner of Ilya's mouth, as if he's not quite being honest. "You don't actually think this is a good idea."

"Is any of this a good idea?" Ilya says, exasperated.

Shane pulls back. "You don't have to offer if you don't want it."

"That's not what I said." He shifts, the sheets rustling, and kisses Shane's shoulder. In a quieter voice, he adds, "I want."

Shane sits up, taking a moment to process. "I wouldn't want it to be like when I lived with Hunter, where I was a guest. Even if it's temporary. I want—it's important to me that we're equals. I would need to bring my stuff and be able to do my routines. And if that's too much, it's fine, I can just get a temporary apartment and keep looking for something more permanent."

Ilya nods, still affecting a casualness that Shane doesn't buy. "Okay, so, temporary. Will be good, you can wake me up with blowjobs."

They should talk about this more. Moving in together is a really big step, even if it's temporary, even worse if it's not. What if they settle into something too comfortable? How would they explain it to others if Shane doesn't move out? He's getting way ahead of himself, but then, he doesn't plan on breaking up, so there's a logical sequence of—

"Shane," Ilya interrupts. "You are thinking too hard."

"Maybe you're not thinking hard enough," he grouses.

Ilya rubs his head. "Maybe not."

Shane turns to look at him. "Are you serious about this?"

Ilya nods. "Just while you look for another place, okay? It will be easier; you will not be moving around so much."

"And I can bring some of my stuff here?"

"I have been thinking that I need more boring hockey books on my shelves." Shane gives him an unimpressed look and Ilya pinches his arm. "You can bring your things. Obviously."

"Okay. Maybe, yeah. Thank you."

Yet another thing he's not going to want to explain to his parents, but he'll keep looking for places; the market's just bad right now. He'll find something eventually.

Ilya leaves for Russia as Shane, Kyle and Bennett head back to New York. On the drive back, Bennett starts opening up about his impending divorce, so maybe Ilya had a point about the flirting, but he's not going to get involved. Kyle hasn't mentioned anything about it to him aside from the occasional comment that Bennett is hot, which he says about everybody. It is kind of funny that Bennett keeps not too subtly asking Kyle questions like he's some kind of gay guru, though. Shane would be offended that none of the questions are directed at him, but he's in no place to offer any advice to anybody about how to be gay. He's pretty bad at it. Well, some parts of it.

Packing up from Hunter's place takes surprisingly little time. Shane never really got settled here. He's hoping to bring more with him to Ilya's, like his favorite blender (Hunter's is cheap and doesn't get the right texture—he should tell Kip to recommend him something better), his yoga equipment, and his preferred linens for the bed. He'll need to talk to Ilya about that, since it'd be rude to just swap out if they're sharing, but he doesn't like how silky his sheets are. They're expensive, surely, but Shane prefers a bit of texture and is attached to a particular brand of linen sheets he has custom ordered from France. Ilya told him to bring whatever he wants, make whatever changes, but Shane isn't good with that kind of open instruction. There are always still limits and rules, and Shane prefers when they're clarified.

For now, he tries to be unobtrusive while bringing over his essentials. He starts by setting some boxes in the garage, but having them packed up and unorganized starts to stress him out, so he slowly starts bringing some things into the main house. He texts Ilya pictures of where he puts things, not wanting to surprise or confuse him by finding things in unexpected places or having his things moved. Usually he just gets heart reacts to the images.

Being in Boston gives him a chance to get familiar with the neighborhoods before training starts. He finds a grocer that carries many of his preferred brands—one thing that'll be much easier here than in New York, thank god—and scopes out the best running routes. He finds a gym and gets set up with a new dentist, since he was overdue for a cleaning anyway. Ilya's place is a ways out, a decent drive from the rink, but it's quiet and private, with lots of trees. It reminds Shane of his cottage, a little bit. He likes the location.

Ilya calls him most afternoons when it's late evening in Russia, and it's like he can hear the joy fading from his voice the longer he spends away. The whole situation, from what Shane is able to glean from half-admitted details, sounds unfair and shitty. It makes Shane hurt for Ilya and all the effort he's putting in to just get shit on in response. So he starts researching, and on one of their calls, he's brave enough to bring up his concerns.

"Hey, can I say something? And maybe it's not my business, so you can tell me to fuck off." Shane readjusts his grip on phone as Ilya gestures for him to proceed. "You seem like you're kinda miserable there? I've been researching some options for how it might be a little... easier? Like, what if the money didn't go through Alexei at all? You could pay the care people directly—the home, the nurses, whoever's actually with him—so there's nothing for Alexei to mismanage, it just goes straight where it needs to. And you hire someone local in Russia who does this for a living, a care manager, somebody who oversees everything and reports back to you, not your brother." He pauses, aware he's rambling. "Because it seems like a lot of your stress is arguing with him about the money and the care plan? How he's spending your money isn't fair. You could even set up a trust—like, a fund that's only for your father's care, with someone neutral in charge of it. They pay everything out, they handle it all. And you could get someone local in Boston, too, to help manage it. I started to look into lawyers in Boston that might be able to work with a Russian counsel on that sort of thing, but I didn't get too far because I didn't want to, uh, overstep. Am I overstepping? Can you say something?"

Ilya's face is unreadable on the small screen, but his eyes are shining. "I miss you." The non-sequitur throws him, but at least he isn't mad. "You are right, I hate it here. I wish I could leave."

"So why don't you?"

"You Americans have different ideas about these things."

"I'm Canadian."

"North Americans."

"I don't really know what that means, but if you're miserable, you shouldn't be forced to stay. Your flight's in, what, three weeks? Maybe you need to get back early for captain duties? That might be true, even."

Ilya looks doubtful and changes the subject, so Shane doesn't press. But two days later, he gets a text that says, 'you're right, fuck this,' with a link to his revised flight information. Something must have happened, but Shane doesn't ask and just makes sure the house is in order for Ilya's return.

Shane's never seen Ilya right after a visit back home, and he's surprised how changed he is, more reserved, sentimental, clingy. Shane doesn't mind taking care of him; it feels good to be useful, and he can tell that Ilya appreciates having someone here. He even asks him to walk through the options for setting up a care manager and trust, and while Shane can tell Ilya's not ready to make such a decision, he at least considers it. He at least asks.

It's a week before he's back to chirping him normally, slowly coming back to himself as he starts getting back into his regular—or what Shane assumes are his regular—habits.

They learn how to orbit around each other, how to navigate each other's routines. The offseason takes off some of the pressure of figuring out a rhythm, but it also gives them a lot of time together. Shane is worried Ilya might get sick of him, that it's too much, but so far, that hasn't happened, at least that he can tell. It helps that they get to have a lot of sex. Shane's never gotten laid so much in his life.

When Shane comes back from his run one morning, about a week and a half after Ilya's return, there's a curly-haired woman in his kitchen.

"Shane Hollander," she says with wide, gleeful eyes. "Many things now make sense to me." She holds out her hand. "Svetlana Vetrova."

"Vetrova, like—you're not related to Sergei Vetrov, are you? Is that rude to ask? I don't really know how common most Russian names are."

She shakes her hand in the air, still encouraging him to take it. Apologizing for the delay, he does.

"Yes, his daughter, actually," she says, grasping his hand firmly, practiced. "I am surprised you know the name."

"Oh, I've read, like, books about Soviet hockey, I guess. The one I read was a kinda shitty translation, though." He pauses. "Sorry, what are you doing here?"

"Checking on my idiot friend. He has been very vague in his texts making me think something bad has happened in Russia. I wanted to make sure he is okay." She gives him a conspiratorial look. "Sometimes he lies, says he is fine when he is not."

"Right," Shane says with a nod. "That's, uh, nice of you. I think it was hard, his last visit home. I-I don't really know, I guess. I'm just staying here temporarily until I find a place, since I just transferred teams, but we talk sometimes."

She tilts her head, squinting at him. "Hm. You are not the partner he won't tell me about?"

"Uh—"

"You don't need to lie. You are his 'Jane.' From Montreal, who moved to New York, right?"

She's kinda scaring him. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you," he says honestly.

She laughs, the expression making her less intimidating. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Picking up food, I think." He knows; Ilya offered to grab omelettes from Shane's new favorite brunch spot, since he's a brunch person now. They were planning to eat them out on the patio. Maybe he should text him to grab a third meal if Svetlana is sticking around.

He offers her tea while they wait for him, but he's still nervous to say anything too revealing, unsure of what her relationship with Ilya is like. He knows that she's one of his oldest friends and sells luxury cars, but that's about the extent of it. Luckily, she puts him at ease by talking about hockey, congratulating him on his win, discussing various team's chances for next season.

"I should have figured this out when you chose Boston. A confusing decision, since you would be first line, star player on most teams, but not here. Admirals or another team would have made more sense, offered more money. So you must care a lot about my Ilya, hm?"

Shane hates how easily guessable that is and is saved from answering by the door swinging open to reveal Ilya with several take-out boxes. He looks caught out to see Svetlana there and spouts off something in Russian to her. Shane can't tell his tone since Russian often sounds kind of aggressive to him.

"You would not answer my texts," Svetlana replies in English.

"I answered them."

"You brushed me off." She turns to Shane. "But I can see now you had better things to do."

They have another brief conversation in Russian as Ilya unpacks and plates the food. "I hope you were not expecting to be fed," Ilya says, though he grabs a third plate, anyway, and puts some of his omelette and the side of fruit onto it.

Shane offers to leave them alone to talk since he's seen plenty of Ilya lately, but both of them brush off his concerns and insist he join them outside on the patio for brunch.

He likes Svetlana. Shane is a worrier and it relieves him that someone besides him is worried about Ilya, too. He still doesn't exactly explain what happened in Russia—not in English, at least—but he opens up to her in a different way than he does with Shane.

When brunch is over and Shane is quietly doing dishes (by hand; he finds it meditative), he reflects that quite a few people now know about their relationship. It doesn't bother him that one of Ilya's friends knows—he's glad he'll have someone else to talk to—but the risk is building with each new person. He's starting to get that itching sense of dread like when he was hooking up all the time, that ominous sensation that this won't last, can't last, will come out and fuck up his life someday.

If looks at the fear directly, he'll spiral, and he needs to keep it together. It's easier this time around to push it away, but he questions if this is any less reckless. Is he a shitty person for dragging Ilya into it, making him take on this big risk? Ilya could be with someone like Svetlana. She's Russian, gorgeous, into hockey, has her own money and, most notably, is a woman.

His paranoia continues to build and he wonders if they should avoid being seen in public together, but Ilya doesn't seem so concerned.

"I am captain, you are new player," Ilya says with a wave of his hand. "I don't think anyone will assume we are fucking if we are seen at the store together."

Maybe for now that excuse will hold, but what about when they keep associating like this? They did not think any of this through.

"Don't you get groceries delivered, anyway? Or like meal prep? I talked to the team nutritionist and she's—"

"Oh my god, it is just the store. I cannot see all the snacks if I do not go in person."

Shane relents. At least the grocery store is low risk. Who's to say they even came together? Except Shane does make Ilya go to the one that carries more of his preferred brands and foods, which would be suspicious to anyone tracking Ilya's grocery habits. Okay, maybe he's being kinda crazy.

"Have you looked at the macros on this shit?" Shane says, reading the label of a cereal Ilya picked up. "It's like all carbs and sugar with no nutritional value. There's no fiber or protein."

"Carbs are brain's preferred energy," Ilya says, taking the box from him and tossing it in the cart. "Did you know this? Maybe not because you starve your brain."

Shane rolls his eyes. "You know that I eat plenty of vegetables and whole grains. Those are carbs. I make real breakfast every morning, anyway, so you don't need to buy this shit."

"Protein shake is not real breakfast," Ilya counters. "You will wear cute apron like housewife and make me eggs and sausage every morning?"

"Maybe not every morning," Shane says, eyeing the cereal skeptically. "But my granola has better macros and micros."

"Hm." Ilya takes the cereal out of the cart and throws in another bag of Shane's preferred brand of granola. Though he picks the cinnamon sugar flavor, which is the least nutritious. "Better?"

"I guess. You could get the eggs and sausage and make it yourself, though, if you don't like granola. The apron would look better on you."

"Yes, I would look hot in cute apron because I look hot in everything." Shane doesn't disagree with the mental image. "I will cook dinner, sure, but breakfast, no. Too early."

Shane mulls it over. He has more energy for cooking in the mornings, so he'd prefer that responsibility rather than dinners. During the season, they'll be relying mostly on meal prep, anyway, so it's not like either of them have to cook that often. "Okay, I'll make breakfast, then, and I'll avoid protein shakes if you don't like them. I could do more hot meals if you prefer, but granola and yogurt bowls are my usual. What type of fruit do you like?"

Instead of answering right away, Ilya gives him a look like he wants to kiss him, which is inappropriate for a grocery store aisle but makes Shane blush. Shane's not sure what prompted it and is about to repeat his question about the fruit when a booming voice interrupts them from down the aisle.

"Hey Roz!"

They both turn to see Cliff Marlow standing in front of the peanut butter. See? Shane's paranoia was justified. Shane senses Ilya tensing, just slightly, as he saunters up to Marlow and clasps his hand, patting him on the back.

"You're not usually back from Russia by now, right?"

"Family was stressful," Ilya says casually. "Came back early. And somebody needs to show Hollander around."

"Hey, man," Marlow says, giving Shane his own bro hug. "Congrats on the Cup! Stoked to have you on the team. Crazy that you decided to come here!" Yes, crazy, but Marlow doesn't seem to mean anything by the comment by the way he moves on. "We're gonna have a killer season."

It's a relief that Marlow isn't immediately hostile toward him. It can be a crapshoot with some players whether they treat him normally or act like he's going to sneeze and turn them gay or whatever bullshit they believe, or else avoid him entirely.

"Are you staying in this part of town? You find a place yet?"

"Uh, still looking," Shane says, trying very hard to be casual. "Roz is putting me up for the moment."

Marlow barks out a laugh. "Damn, must be a fuckfest over there, huh?" Shane completely bluescreens before Marlow continues, "Your hookups ever run into each other the morning after? That must be awkward, huh?"

Oh. Right. They're both massive hoes.

"Ah," Ilya says, also recovering from the shock of Marlow's words. "Hollander is—what word did your friend use? Reformed slut?"

Marlow laughs again as Shane tries not to blush. "You know, Roz kinda is too these days," he muses, turning to Ilya. "Didn't seem like you really took too many people home last season? I still can't believe you turned down a threesome with those Victoria's Secret models. Would have been a legendary pull."

Ilya shrugs. "I have already fucked hottest people. Gets boring. Maybe I am looking for something more serious."

"Hah! Yeah, serious, good one."

The comment's not meant meanly, but Ilya still seems bothered by it, even if he's trying not to show it as they quickly wrap up the conversation and move to finish their shopping.

"He didn't mean anything by it," Shane says as Ilya tosses a package of turkey sausage into the cart with too much force.

"Mean anything by what?"

Shane rolls his eyes but holds his tongue as they check out and head back into the car.

"Are you okay?" Shane asks as soon as they're alone.

"Yes, fine."

Shane bites at his cheek. "It kind of stresses me out when I don't know what's bothering you."

Ilya rubs at the back of his neck, seeming to consider this. "Fine," he relents. "I don't like that Marly thinks I cannot be 'serious' about someone. It feels very fucking serious that you moved here. But it is my fault, he does not—we are not close."

Shane takes a moment to process. "Do you want to… tell Marlow?"

"No, I don't want to fucking tell Marlow. I—" He clenches at the steering wheel. "I do not have friends like your friends," he admits, as if it's painful for him to discuss any emotional weakness. "I have friends who will go to strip clubs, golfing, whatever. They are not 'serious.'"

It takes a moment to discern what Ilya's talking about. The memory of brunch with Shane's friends flashes in his mind, how genuinely happy Ilya seemed to be around people who knew about them. Queer people. It's so fucking weird that someone would be jealous of Shane's social circle. That has never, ever happened to him. He always thought of Ilya as so social, how easily he gets along with anybody and can navigate any group with ease. But maybe there's something shallow to it, too, if he's always hiding part of himself.

"What about Svetlana?"

"Yes, I have Sveta. She is not stupid like Marlow." He starts the car as if considering the conversation done.

"I think you're good at serious," Shane says as they pull out. "For the record."

Ilya reaches for his hand over the center console and doesn't let go for the rest of the ride home.

As the summer progresses, Ilya is pulled into more obligations than Shane. It's normal as he's the captain. He has to welcome new teammates, discuss the roster with coaching staff; there are press and media and sponsor obligations. Shane has some of that, but there's a clear disparity, and it makes sense—he's new. He tries not to let it get to him, but it means he has more free time than he likes. In a new city, he's not sure how to spend it all. He goes to the cottage for a few days and hangs out with his parents, but it's not as relaxing as it should be, and he doesn't stay long.

At least Elena will be here soon. She's got another month in New York before transferring, but she's already working to get settled. His own transition is easier when he has a friend who is making it, too.

"Did you say you liked your realtor here?" she asks over coffee on her first visit to Boston since accepting her new job.

"She's good, but she didn't find me anything that I liked, so maybe not that great? But I looked online and I didn't find anything, either, so maybe the market's just not great right now."

She purses her lips. "Hm. So what are you doing in the meantime? You getting a short-term rental or something?"

"Uh," he says, flushing. "I'm staying with Ilya."

She raises her eyebrows, smiling. "Ah, you're U-Hauling! Nice. Don't feel weird about it—Kip already moved in with Scott, even though he won't admit it in the group chat because he knows Shawn and Kyle will be on his ass about moving too fast. But when you know, you know, right? Who cares if people say it's fast."

"I'm still looking for a place," he assures her, and then pauses. "What's U-Hauling?"

"Like moving in right away with a partner. You know, getting a U-Haul? It's a lesbian term."

"Oh, well, I didn't move any furniture. I just packed stuff in my Jeep."

Elena smiles. "Not really the point of the term, babe. I think it still counts if you didn't move furniture in a big truck."

"Hmm."

"Kyle said his place is gorgeous. You gonna invite me over, or you going to be weird about it like with Hunter's place?"

"I invited you over to Hunter's." It's fair that he was weird about it, though. "Yeah, you can come over sometime."

"Cool. And things are going okay with you two?"

Shane nods, ducking his head a little. "It's good. Better than I expected. I keep waiting for something terrible to happen, though. It feels like it did when I was hooking up all the time, like I'm just waiting for people to find out and for everything to get all fucked up again."

Elena looks pensive before carefully saying, "I'm not going to say getting outed wasn't traumatic for you. It was a lot of shit. But it's not like it ruined your life. You still have a career. And now you don't have to worry so much about being seen with guys or doing gay shit or whatever."

The assessment makes him bristle. "You know how it is in Russia. It's not like here."

"Yeah," she says slowly, "but he doesn't live in Russia. By all accounts he actually hates it there."

He tells her about how he looked into care options on Ilya's behalf, tentatively, because he's not sure he can get him on board. Elena callously suggests that his dad will die someday, freeing Ilya from Russian obligations, but that doesn't seem like a solution, waiting for someone to die. It's not just his family, either—it's his home country. Shane can't, and doesn't, expect Ilya to give all that up for him. It makes it hard to plan for or envision a future together, but there's no clear solution, so Shane blocks it out and changes the subject.

After coffee, Elena takes him to look at properties for herself. She's not sure if she wants to buy or rent to start out, and Shane helps her by laying out the pros and cons of each option.

The third place they tour is huge and expensive, a brownstone that's been newly and tastefully remodeled. It's in a convenient neighborhood and it's gorgeous, with ample southern daylight that comes in dappled through large street trees. Just being in the space is calming.

"This place is fantastic."

"And aspirational," Elena comments, out of earshot of the listing agent. "I thought you might like it. Little out of my budget." She leans in, nudging him. "I heard you were looking for a place."

Right. He is, isn't he? This place would have almost all of fit all his criteria if it'd been available when he was looking with Kyle and Bennett. Why does that thought make him queasy?

Elena grins at him and sing-songs, "You like living with your ma-an."

"Shut up," he mutters, cheeks heating. "Is that bad? Should I be looking?"

"Sounds like a conversation to have with him. But I am extremely skeptical that he wants you out of his house anytime soon."

They haven't had a real conversation about it since Shane moved in. Instead, he's slowly been making himself more and more at home, moving in more of his things from storage and his cottage. Ilya always seems happy to accommodate.

There will be a breaking point. It's one thing to stay with Ilya for a few months while he gets settled—he's not the first player to do it—but he can't do it for too long before they will start getting questions. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he doesn't want to move out. He likes living with Ilya, he helps keep Shane grounded, and they have so much sex, it's awesome.

Elena raises her eyebrows, awaiting a response.

Shane doesn't have one.

Things gets easier once camp starts in earnest. There's something to do again, somewhere to put himself, and the relief is almost physical. Shane shows up early and stays late and lets the structure hold him.

The line testing starts in the first week. Shane knows his place as second line center, the depth they signed him to be, slotting in behind Ilya. It goes fine—Connors is slow on the wing, holding the puck too long instead of moving it, killing the rhythm Shane likes to play. But it's fine, passable, he's adjusting.

Then one afternoon, Coach pulls him and Ilya aside and says he wants to try something, putting Shane on Ilya's wing.

There's a kind of magic to it. He has a second sense for where Ilya will be at any moment on the ice, and he knows Ilya feels it too, feeding him passes with barely a second glance, almost before he calls for them. That easy give-and-go is electric, automatic, like they've been playing together for years. He doesn't love playing wing, though. Adjusting to a new position on the ice throws him, and while his connection with Ilya is strong, it's not enough to overcome the clumsiness that comes with adapting. But Coach still watches, spouting out advice, and Shane wonders if this is something they'll try in a real game.

A few days later, he flips it—Ilya to the wing, Shane at center.

Something clicks in a way Shane hasn't felt in years. He almost cries with the relief of it.

It's not subtle; the whole rink must feel it. The puck moves between them like it's on a string, like each of them always knows exactly where the other is going to be before they get there. Shane has never had chemistry like this with anyone, and it's like that veil that's been in front of him since his slump started, the one that leaves him feeling a half-second behind and struggling to catch up, that he's adapted to but never quite gotten over—it's like it finally evaporates. He's not sure he wants to give Ilya that much credit, but he must know, must be able to feel it.

Coach doesn't commit to it. It's early days and Shane's still learning the system. The season opens with Shane at second line center, as planned, and it goes fine. He adjusts, delivers passably well, about in line with how he was playing with the Admirals. Quietly, his underlying numbers are better than his linemates can convert, which is at once satisfying and frustrating. At least he's not the one dragging things down. The chances are there, but the finish isn't quite. The first line is fine, not bad, but not clicking like they were in their Cup winning seasons. Since Carrera got injured and forced to retire, they haven't been able to find the same chemistry or rhythm. Ilya always seems a half-step ahead of his linemates, and Shane can tell he's getting frustrated.

"I would play wing for you," Ilya says on a random Wednesday night, which is unfair since he's just fucked three orgasms out of Shane and Shane's brain is not at full capacity.

"What? Really? Like, permanently?"

Ilya nods. "You have noticed, yes? Power play, we are unstoppable. Then the buzzer goes and they split us up again. Makes no sense."

It's not untrue. The power play is the strongest thing the team has this season, and it's because of how Shane and Ilya play together. The media has picked up on their chemistry, and Shane has seen a few minor comments here and there that they should put them on the same line, so it's not like other people can't see it.

"I could play wing," Shane offers.

Ilya chuckles softly. "Oh yeah? When we tried it in summer, you did not like it very much. It's okay. I am more adaptable, you can admit."

It's so like Ilya to act cocky when offering up something so huge.

"You'd really be okay with that?"

"Sure. I want to win games."

"Has any of the coaching staff talked to you about this?"

"Ah, sort of," he says, hesitating. "Coach wants to try you on my wing, replace Carmichael because he is being too slow. But we tried at camp. It's better with me on the wing. He does not want to offend me, I think. As if my ego is so fragile."

"Your ego is fragile."

Ilya blows a raspberry into his shoulder. "Good thing nothing will break it when we are winning so many games on the same line."

"Maybe."

Ilya hums, his hand tracing patterns on Shane's ribs. "Remember when I told you that you should go to a team where you can be first line center again?"

It is a nice idea. Kind of rude, though? Like, Shane just signed onto the team, and now he's going to be usurping their star player's position, their captain? The pressure of it could fuck him up again.

"Maybe just for a game, we could try it. Only if the coaching staff is all on board," Shane allows.

The coaching staff is on board.

The first game is good, good enough that Shane doesn't complain when they want to keep trying it. The second is great. The third is something else entirely, making the coaching staff go quiet on the bench and start exchanging looks. The possession numbers are unbelievable. The two of them are generating chances out of nothing, out of broken plays and bad bounces, finding each other in traffic like they're working off the same nervous system, their communication intuitive. Shane will look up and Ilya is already there, already moving to the spot, already gone.

Coach stops rotating them apart and Shane stops questioning.

Chapter 7

That looming sense of something will fuck this up remains persistently ominous in Shane's periphery, even as his season is going better than he could have hoped and being with Ilya is fucking blissful. He didn't expect them to slot so easily into each other's lives. It's comfortable in a way that Shane's not used to, and that friction and frustration he's used to feeling around other people—even those he genuinely loves and wants to spend time around—never shows up. Ilya seems happy, too, by the way he's constantly finding new ways to show affection.

Lately, he's taken to writing observations about Shane on sticky notes and leaving them around the house in covert places for him to find. It's unnerving in a way, to realize he's so observed, but it's sweet, too, the things that Ilya notices. Each time Shane discovers one, his cheeks go warm with embarrassment and affection. Usually they're small things like, 'You have cute mole on top of left ear. I like to bite it,' or, 'You always have something in mouth while reading or watching TV. Sometimes blanket. Very cute ❤️.' That last one surprised Shane, since he used to always have the collar of his shirt or the edge of a blanket in his mouth when he was relaxing, until he was told it was weird and gross and he stopped doing it in front of people. He didn't realize he was doing it front of Ilya, but at least Ilya finds it cute. It's crazy that Ilya has the cool, aloof asshole reputation that he does when he's actually a giant sap.

The most recent note, however, left innocently on the edge of the bathroom counter, says, 'You honk like clown horn when you are frustrated,' with a little picture of a clown smiling.

"I do not honk like a clown," Shane yells from the bathroom.

"Yes you do!" Ilya calls back, and then makes a weird squeaking noise that Shane is certain he's never made. "It's cuter when you do it."

"That can't be right because I definitely don't do that," Shane replies, walking out of the bathroom to find an increasingly familiar look of affection on his boyfriend's face.

"You are not much like a clown. But sometimes, there is a honk. I will point out next time you do it."

Shane rolls his eyes and lets it go, forgetting about it entirely until a week later when they're remaking the bed after a particularly vigorous sex session.

Ilya throws the corner of the sheet down with a groan, abandoning his efforts. "This is too hard. Why do you make me do this?"

"I can't believe you used to let your housekeeper wash your sex sheets. That's so gross."

"My past partners were not as... wet." Shane fumbles his grip on the sheet as the corner of the sheet doesn't make it to the bottom of the mattress. "Besides, I always use towels." Shane decides not to point out that having a housekeeper wash sex towels is not really better. "It is your fault you knocked it off the bed."

"You weren't complaining at the time."

"When do I ever complain about anything you do in bed?"

Shane's face heats. "This would be easier if your mattress wasn't two feet deep and set into the frame like this. Why does it need to be this thick?"

"Comfortable."

Shane rolls his eyes and starts tucking his corner back in neatly. "If your housekeeper can do this, I think we can do it."

When he moves to the next corner, though, the ridiculously thick mattress gets the better of him, snapping back down before he can leverage enough space to tuck the sheet properly. As it does, he lets out an involuntary, indignant little squeak.

Shane draws his hand over his mouth. When he reluctantly looks up, Ilya is pointing at him.

"Clown."

"Shut up," Shane says, snorting as he says it. "That was not a honk—"

"It was honk."

"Barely a squeak. More of a sigh."

Ilya crawls onto the half-made bed, further messing up the sheets. "Moy malen'kiy kloun," he says, pulling at Shane and tackling him onto the bed.

"We're not messing up the sheets again," Shane says after several minutes of making out.

"Nooo, but my clown is so sexy," Ilya pouts, and, well, Shane's never been good at resisting him.

At least people have stopped asking about why he's come to Boston, mostly. Results speak for themselves; clearly Shane knew what he was doing given how he's playing. Still, he's put off dealing with the inevitable consequences. Notably, he's been blowing off his parents. His mom is happy he's finally delivering, but she wants to talk about it, wants to meet Ilya, wants to start up new sponsorship opportunities. He can't shake the feeling that letting anyone intervene in this precious, new thing they have is going to fuck it all up, but eventually the guilt is bigger than the anxiety, and he invites them over to dinner and to stay the night at Ilya's after a home game in Boston. They want to see where he's living, even if it's temporary.

Ilya is adorably anxious about it. In the preceding days, he keeps asking Shane questions about what his parents like, what foods and toiletries he should have stocked, if he should change around the decor.

"I've never seen you this worked up about impressing anybody," Shane laughs as Ilya contemplates flower arrangement options on his phone.

"First impressions are important, no?" he replies, serious.

"Think it might be too late for that."

"Hm. Second impressions, then."

At least Shane is confident they won't be able to fault Ilya's taste. There's not much to complain about in the house itself. It was an early game, so it's still light out, the house cast in warm, golden hues when they come over.

"Mr. Hollander, Mrs. Hollander," Ilya greets, sticking out his hand, more polite than Shane's ever seen him.

"No need for the formality," his mom says, taking his hand, though her tone isn't overly friendly. "Yuna is fine. And my husband, David." Shane's dad shakes his hand as well in greeting.

"Wow, this place is beautiful," his dad adds. "Don't suppose we could get a tour?"

"Of course," Ilya says, gesturing them inside. There's too much tension in his posture and Shane rubs his back, trying to provide some comfort, as they follow his parents.

He can tell his mom is reluctantly impressed, her eyes going wide in admiration at each new room.

"Must have cost a fortune," she says when they get to the yard, eyebrows raised. "Whoever built this spared no expense."

Which is kind of rude. Shane wants to apologize on her behalf, but he holds his tongue.

"Ah, yes," Ilya says, still nervous in a way that's making Shane anxious. "Good thing they pay me too much."

The conversation remains stilted as they move to the dining room to eat. Ilya has set fresh flowers out on the table and serves them a meal of blackened salmon with lemon couscous and veggies and a light salad. It's the sort of meal his mom would order at a restaurant, so he's fairly certain she'll have nothing to complain about.

"You know, I was skeptical about Shane joining the Raiders," his mom remarks halfway through dinner. "But it's hard to argue with your numbers. Did you know you would play like this together?"

"No," Ilya says. "I hoped. But you cannot plan for it. It is"—he glances at Shane, something softening in his face—"rare."

"Mm." His mom takes a sip of wine, watching the two of them over the rim of the glass.

Things relax after that. Ilya is good at this, better than Shane expected, better than Ilya himself seemed to expect when he was nervously preparing a few hours ago. He asks David about his work, listening attentively to the answer, and refills Yuna's glass before she has to ask. When Shane reaches for the couscous, Ilya slides it toward him without breaking conversation, his attentiveness reflexive and automatic.

His mother seems to clock all of it as the tension in her posture slowly unwinds over the course of the meal. By dessert, his parents are laughing at one of Ilya's stories, some disaster from a roadie years ago, told with the kind of self-deprecating charm Shane himself can never pull off. His dad is delighted, and even his mom is smiling, the fight she came in with mostly gone.

Shane feels something he isn't proud of. He's jealous, and not of Ilya, exactly, but of how easy it is for Ilya to win them over. There's real warmth in their interactions, and it's such a quick shift from the tension of an hour ago. It's not fair to feel this way—he wants them to like Ilya, and Ilya deserves it—but after years of feeling like nothing but a disappointment and facing the inevitability of their disgust over his choices, it's hard to watch them so easily accept someone else, someone who isn't him and hasn't fucked up in the same ways he has.

Goodbyes happen at the door after the evening gone fully dark. His dad hugs Ilya first with two solid claps on the back. "Take care, son." Son. Shane's not sure how he feels about that as his dad turns and embraces, him, too, with a soft, "Happy for you, kiddo."

His mom hugs Ilya, not quite as warmly as his dad did, and says something to him quietly that Shane doesn't catch. Then she turns to Shane, holding him longer than usual as they hug goodbye. Her hand comes up and presses flat against the back of his head, the way she used to when he was small, and she breathes out against his shoulder. Shane stiffens, not knowing how to react. When she pulls back her eyes are wet.

"Thank you for dinner," she says in an unfamiliar tone.

Shane decides it must be reluctance. She came here ready to disapprove and she's leaving having been won over, and the tears are what it costs her to let go of the version of him she wanted: the one who didn't blow up his career, who didn't do all of it so publicly, who didn't leave a Cup-winning team to move in with his controversial boyfriend. He thinks she's grieving that son, the same way Shane has grieved the person he never got to become.

"Text me when you're back at the hotel," Shane says as they put on their coats.

"We will." His mom touches his face once, briefly, on her way out. "It really was a lovely night, sweetheart."

After they're gone, Ilya comes up behind him at the door and wraps an arm around his chest, chin on his shoulder as they watch his parents climb into their Uber.

"That went okay, right?" Shane asks. "Better than I thought. You won them over."

"Mm. They love you," Ilya says, nuzzling into his neck.

"Yeah." Shane watches until the taillights of the car turn the corner and disappear. "I know."

At least, he thinks he knows. They love you and they're disappointed in you are two things that can sit side by side.

He leans back into the warmth of Ilya and tells himself this is the best he could have hoped for.

The bar is loud, similar in vibe to the the Kingfisher, if a little more boisterous. It's dark but colorful, a bit of a dive, not explicitly a gay bar, though there's a Pride flag in the corner. Elena's been trying to convince Shane for months to come out more, but there's been a lot of new pressure this season in addition to navigating his new life with Ilya. Unlike when he lived with Hunter, he's not looking for excuses to get out of the house, so he's been blowing her off more than usual. It was Ilya's idea to finally take her up on trivia night. Shane is surprised when he offers to come with.

Svetlana also comes, though the way she eyes the place as she takes a seat at their table suggests she thinks she's above it, like maybe she's humoring Ilya by attending. She has a poise and air about her that still intimidates Shane.

"I did not know such beautiful women did this sort of thing," she says, swirling her wine in its glass.

Elena scrunches her face. "What, hot people can't be nerdy?"

Svetlana puts her hand up. "I do not mean to offend."

After a few rounds of questions and drinks, though, she starts to get into it. She nails every question in the figure skating category and looks extremely smug about it.

"My niece trains with one of the top figure skating clubs in Russia. I have become an expert," she explains.

"That almost seems like cheating," Elena says, but she's grinning as the earlier frost between them melts.

The history round is where Ilya comes alive, which Shane hadn't expected. There's a question about some eighteenth-century European war, and he's jotting down the answer before the host has finished the sentence. He knows the exact year a treaty Shane has never heard of was signed and can name the order of succession of monarchs in a country that no longer exists—and then, two questions later, has no idea what year the United States declared independence.

"Ilya," Shane says, "you live here."

"I do not know American history," Ilya says, unbothered as he reaches for his beer. "I know real history. This country is a baby."

"The date is on the money and all sorts of stuff. I'm not American either and I knew that."

"Mm, I knew it, too," Svetlana says over her drink.

"I do not look closely at the money," he grouses, which makes Elena snort.

"You knew a lot of these answers, though. I did not know you paid so much attention in history class," Svetlana comments.

Ilya shrugs. "It was Mama's favorite subject."

Shane likes Ilya like this, loose and comfortable, leaning back in his chair with one arm slung over the back of Shane's, throwing himself into the dumbest questions with the same intensity he brings to a power play. He knows a lot of random shit and Shane feels a surge of pride that, despite what stereotypes might lead people to believe otherwise, his boyfriend is really fucking smart.

Even Svetlana has stopped pretending she's above it. She's competitive in the same precise and slightly terrifying way that Ilya is. During the music round, she and Elena form an alliance, the two of them bent over the answer sheet conspiring while Ilya protests that they are supposed to be a team. The poise that intimidated Shane two hours ago has cracked open, and she laughs with her whole face at some stupid joke Elena makes. She elbows Ilya and spits something in Russian, and the snappy banter between them is fast and loud, both of them grinning through it.

They come in a respectable fourth. The teams that placed higher are much larger than theirs, and Svetlana idly comments that they should recruit more players for next time.

"Next time?" Elena asks. "Ah, so you're into the nerd shit after all."

"I am very competitive," Svetlana says, pursing her lips. Then, leaning forward, she adds, "And there are worse ways to spend an evening than watching a beautiful woman display her intellect."

Elena's eyes are bright as she fans herself. "Whew. What a line."

Ilya looks charmed by the interaction and says something teasing to Svetlana in Russian that makes her blush and slap him lightly on the shoulder.

Shane hopes they do come back, at least when they're in town and don't have a game. Elena's been looking to get out more and expand her social circle in Boston, and Shane's not the best suited to help her in that quest. The structure of a scheduled social event is right up his alley, and he thinks Ilya had fun, too. Boston's not so bad. It's less overwhelming than New York, and he still misses Canada, but he he's getting comfortable. Maybe it won't last, but he lets himself enjoy it while he can.

Meeting up with J.J. and Hayden after games has been a tradition since he left the Metros, but things have been more stilted since he decided to go to Boston. He doesn't mind hanging out with them, but they have less and less in common these days.

"I just don't get it, man," Hayden says, taking a sip of his beer. They're out on the porch at J.J.'s place, which Shane prefers over going out to a bar—at least it's quieter. "You won a fucking Cup with the Admirals. Why make the switch? It's not like they were offering you a stellar contract."

"And now the Raiders are first overall," J.J. says, tipping his glass at Shane. "Seems he made a smart move."

"You don't know it wouldn't be the Admirals in first if he'd stayed there."

"Am I allowed to defend myself?" Shane interjects. J.J. gestures for him to continue. "I moved here for a relationship. He couldn't move and I could, so… that's it. How well we're playing is definitely a bonus, though."

Hayden and J.J. both look surprised, but J.J. recovers more quickly. "Must be some guy! Tell us about him."

"It's, uh, private. He's high-profile in his field and can't really be out. But it's going well, so…" He shrugs.

"Wow, okay," Hayden says, and then he whistles. "Must be some guy to be worth putting up with Rozanov."

"What do you mean?" Shane asks, trying not to get too visibly defensive.

"Rozanov's an asshole," J.J. says, like it's obvious. "He pissed he got moved to the wing?"

"Probably not too pissed with those numbers. Guy's a cocksucker but you guys are playing some fucking beautiful hockey. It's like you're telepathic."

Cocksucker. Shane assumes he means it like 'bastard,' as a general pejorative without consideration for whether it's literally accurate. It's not like he doesn't hear it used that way all the time, and Hayden's probably not trying to be homophobic. But it is literally accurate; Ilya is a fantastic cocksucker. He could win an award for it.

"Roz isn't that bad," Shane says, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "It was actually his idea to try moving to the wing based on how well we were doing on the power play."

 "Whatever works, I guess," Hayden says, taking a drink of his beer, but he doesn't look convinced.

"He is okay to you?" J.J. asks. "I know sometimes Russians are, eh, not so nice with gay people?"

"He's fine," Shane says, flat. "In fact, he's letting me stay with him until I find a place." Fuck, that was maybe too much to divulge. "The housing market's kinda shit right now."

He realizes too late that this is too many clues, that he's making it too guessable. Good thing J.J. and Hayden are idiots. Or maybe that's unfair—good thing his boyfriend is so straight-passing that the thought of him being into Shane is too unfathomable to register as a possibility. That thought makes him a little sick, but it's safer this way, so it's for the best.

"You really aren't going to tell us anything about this mystery man? Why are you not living with him?"

"Uh." Fuck. Shane is so stupid. Yeah, he moved here for a boyfriend but is living with a different guy, makes total sense. "We're not ready to take that step yet. You know, since we were long distance before."

"But it's going okay?" Hayden prods.

"Yeah," Shane says, swallowing. "It's going well."

"C'mon, man, you can give us something, right? What's one thing about him?"

"He's a cocksucker," Shane mutters, unable to help himself.

J.J. looks momentarily confused while Hayden looks chastised. "Fuck, I forgot that word is homophobic. Sorry, man."

Shane waves him off and tries to redirect the conversation to J.J.'s dating life instead. He's seeing someone new, a photographer who did a shoot with the Metros. Shane isn't really paying attention and soon excuses himself to the restroom where he pulls out his phone.

Roz

Блять

marly is pissing me off

солнышко help me 😭

Shane

Help you with what?

Hayden and JJ are kinda pissing me off too

Roz

they are being bad? should i come and beat them up?

let me punch pike

Shane

No they're just saying some not very nice things about you and I hate not being able to defend you.

Roz

not as fun to punch pike for me. rather defend you

Shane

What, you get off defending my honor? Getting yourself all bloody for me?

Roz

yes 🥵 you should know by now i am happy to start fights for you

It's true that Ilya has been dropping gloves more on the ice this season, specifically with players who target or say shit about Shane. Shane tries to chastise him but it's hard to pull off when it makes him more horny than upset.

Shane

You still didn't say why you need help

Roz

marly says i am "boring" and is sending hot women to hit on me and telling me to take them home. but they are all terrible

won't my pretty pretty boyfriend rescue me?

Shane

I believe you're perfectly capable of defending yourself from a few women

Roz

((((((((( 💔💔💔💔💔💔

what if i just miss your pretty face?

Shane rolls his eyes, reluctantly charmed. He sees Ilya every day, but it's nice to get a reminder that it's not too much, that Ilya still misses him when he's not around.

He washes his hands and heads back to J.J.'s porch to make his excuses. They're used to Shane dipping early, so they don't try to keep him as he takes his leave. He drives to the bar, hoping he won't have to stay out too late.

"Yo, Hollywood!" Marlow calls when he walks in. Shane hates that nickname. It doesn't even make sense; he's Canadian. "Hey, man." He swings an arm around Shane's shoulder. "I've been trying to set Roz up all night, but he's pouting like a bitch. Feels like he never pulls these days. You live with him—can you confirm or deny?"

"Uh, I think he does okay?" Shane says evasively. "I'm gonna grab a drink."

Marlow pats his back and lets him go. After grabbing a seltzer from the bar, he heads over to the table to find Ilya looking drunker than usual.

"Pretty," Ilya coos as Shane takes a seat, giving him heart eyes. "You come to rescue me? My hero."

"I still don't think you need rescuing," Shane says, taking a drink of his seltzer as he surveys the room. Nobody is really looking at them. Marlow has moved on to flirting with some woman at the bar. "Where are the rest of the guys?"

Ilya nods his head toward the back of the bar. "Playing pool. Trying to impress girls. Boring."

"I thought you liked boring."

"I like your boring." He slides his hand onto Shane's thigh. They're hidden behind the table, so it's probably fine. "I am tired of making excuses. Team thinks I will die because I don't pull like I used to. But they are stupid. I am getting laid every day, sometimes many times. Probably why I am playing such good hockey."

Marlow has directed the woman he was talking to toward their table and Shane subtly scoots away to a groan from Ilya, though his hand doesn't leave his thigh, so Shane doesn't get far.

"Fend her off for me."

Shane rolls his eyes, not knowing exactly how he's gonna do that.

"Hey, I'm Fiona," says the woman as she approaches the table. She's got perfectly waved blonde hair and large breasts, the kind of woman Shane could imagine Ilya getting with before they started dating. She gestures back at the bar. "Your friend insisted I come talk to you. He was being kind of annoying about it."

"He is very annoying!" Ilya yells.

"I don't think he's interested in flirting with anybody tonight," Shane says, apologetic. "And he's already a bit drunk. Sorry. You seem nice?"

She smiles at him. "No worries." She grabs a piece of paper from her pocket and slides it over to Shane. "You seem nice, too. Text me if you want."

"He's gay," Ilya states, slamming his hand on the paper and crumpling it.

"Alright," she says with a startled laugh. "Whatever. Have a nice night!"

As soon as she's gone, Ilya groans. "This is not what I wanted. Do not rescue me by hitting on the women."

"I didn't hit on her!" Shane laughs, incredulous.

He's unable to defend himself more as Marlow makes his way back to the table, this time with Connors in tow.

"Man, I hope you got that chick's number—she was a ten!"

"She gave her number to Hollander," Ilya grouses.

"Damn, what a waste," Connors says with a shake of his head. "No offense."

"None taken," Shane mutters.

"What's your type anyway, Hollywood?" Marlow asks. "You don't have to, like, hide it if you're picking up dudes. We're cool. Right, Conny?"

"Sure?" Connors says, voice going high like he's afraid of saying something offensive. "I mean, yeah, it's cool. I dunno much about helping you with dudes, though."

"I don't need any help," Shane assures them. "Thanks."

Ilya squeezes his thigh, his hand inching up higher. "Hollander is very picky."

"You know what kind of guys he's into?" Marlow prods. "He must bring them back sometimes, right?"

"He only likes very handsome and sexy men with lots of muscles and talent. So probably not like many guys you know."

"We have muscles!" Connors protests.

"You know, speaking of muscles, I never thought about it, but gay guys like good butts, right? Same as straight men?" Marlow asks Shane. "And you're a hockey player. Most of us have fat asses. Girls usually don't care that much, but I bet you clean up. Your ass is pretty fat."

Ilya grins in a self-satisfied way that is not very subtle and Shane decides it is time for rescuing.

"Sure," Shane confirms. "I do fine. But, uh, I think I'm gonna head out, actually. I'm a little tired, think I underestimated my energy." He turns to Ilya. "You want a ride?"

He watches Ilya pretend to think about it. "Mm, yes."

"Man, when did you become so lame?"

Ilya just keeps grinning as Shane wraps up the goodbyes and herds them out of the bar.

"My hero," Ilya swoons as soon as they're in Shane's car.

"How drunk are you?" Shane asks as he starts the engine. "You usually don't drink this much."

Ilya hums, nudging his hand toward Shane's crotch. "Russians don't get drunk. Definitely not too drunk to suck you off."

"While I'm driving?! That is such a safety hazard. No."

"You are no fun," Ilya pouts, withdrawing his hand.

"I'm plenty fun. You can suck me off as much as you want when we get home."

On that, at least, Ilya can deliver.

Sometime in late November, Ilya starts to get listless. It's not immediately noticeable—he hides it well—but there's a lethargy about him, a reluctance to chirp, that doesn't feel right. It doesn't show during practice, where he's as boisterous and annoying as ever, but at home, the mask starts to slip. Shane tries to bring it up several times, but Ilya keeps brushing him off, insisting he's fine. It's not until Shane starts blaming himself that Ilya finally opens up.

"It's not you," Ilya insists. They're on the couch, not quite cuddling, on opposite sides with their legs entwined. There's an Admirals game playing quietly in the background. "Why would you say this?"

"Well, you won't talk to me. You're not mad about being moved to the wing, are you? Because if it's bothering you—"

"What? Yes, I'm so mad to be playing the best hockey of my life with my beautiful and talented boyfriend. Hate winning so many games."

Shane's chest goes warm. "Then what is it?"

Ilya looks up at the ceiling. "I am… sad sometimes. Some days are hard. It's not you." For a moment, he's quiet, and then adds, "I am like my mother, maybe."

Ilya told Shane months ago that his mother had killed herself from depression (he didn't use that word, Shane inferred), but he never mentioned feeling the same way. "Oh," Shane says, rubbing Ilya's calf with his hand, attempting to be soothing. "Do you—do you think about, like—”

"No," Ilya says, still not looking at him. "I don't know. Maybe. I think I could think about it."

Shane is quiet for a moment, processing the weight of that, as he continues rubbing Ilya's leg. "Is there something that brought this on? Or is it random?"

Ilya turns to look at the television, which is zoomed in on Hunter. "I don't know. Random, sometimes, but I do not like that people do not know about you. Us."

Shane lets out a breath. "We could change that."

"Probably not."

The Russia of it all is beyond what Shane knows how to handle. "Have you ever talked to anyone about this?"

Ilya's brow furrows. "You, right now?"

"No, I mean like a professional."

Ilya scoffs. "No."

"If you think about"—he swallows, finding his nerve—"if you think you could think about, like, hurting yourself, I don't think it would be a bad idea to get a therapist."

"How about you get a fucking therapist?"

Shane tries not to take that personally, but it doesn't totally work. "You know, Elena and Kip said I should. Because of everything that happened to me. So, fine. I'll get therapy if you do. I'll look into Russian therapists, even, so you don't have to use English."

Ilya is quiet and Shane nudges him with his leg. "Fine. I will think about it."

It doesn't really seem fine.

"I am sorry that I can't be happier," Ilya mutters after a beat.

Shane disentangles their legs and crawls onto the other side of the couch, covering Ilya like a blanket. "It's okay," he says when they're cheek to cheek, his voice muffled into the couch. "Thank you for telling me. I know that it's… stressful. I keep waiting for something horrible to happen."

Ilya rubs his back. "Horrible?"

"Like, we get outed and then you break up with me."

"I am not going to break up with you. I would do a lot of stupid shit before I broke up with you."

Shane's not exactly comforted imagining what 'stupid shit' means, but he lets it go as Ilya starts kissing his neck and kneading his ass in his hands.

One of these days, that's going to stop working as a distraction. Not today, though.

"Hey, so my aunt Mai usually spends Christmas with us, is that cool?"

Ilya squints over at him over breakfast. "What? Why are you asking me this?"

Shane stiffens. Fuck, maybe he's gotten ahead of himself. "Oh, uh, sorry. I assumed you weren't going back to Russia for Christmas since you celebrate it in January, and I know things with your family aren't great. Svetlana made it sound like you weren't going home."

"I'm not," Ilya confirms, still confused.

"Okay," Shane says slowly. "Do you not want to come to my parents' for Christmas? Sorry, I should have asked you about it. I can tell my mom—"

"Wait," Ilya interrupts, hand on Shane's arm. "You want me to come to Christmas?" he asks slowly. "With your family."

"Yes? My mom already assumed you would be coming. But if you don't want to, I can talk to her."

"She assumed?"

"Yes? You're my boyfriend."

Ilya goes quiet, like he hadn't expected to be invited and isn't sure what to do with it. Which is weird, right? Ilya is his boyfriend and if he's not going home for the holidays, then it makes sense for him to come visit Shane's. That's how these things work, or at least, that's how Shane thought they did.

He relents, though, when he realizes Shane and his parents are sincere in the offer. He's okay with aunt Mai, too. She's single with no kids and doesn't give a shit about hockey, so Shane doesn't think there's much risk there. And she's funny. She'll like Ilya. His dad's family is on a cruise in this year for the holidays, so it's a smaller gathering than usual. Ilya slots right in. He's solicitous and polite, assisting his mom with the baking and his dad with the decorating. He wants to make a good impression, Shane knows this, but he can't help but feel guilty that Ilya offers to do more to help out than Shane ever has when he's back home.

Shane's glad, of course, that his family has taken to Ilya. It was a major point of contention when they doubted Shane made a wise choice moving to Boston to be with someone they thought they hated, and this is better, of course. He wishes he could be happier about it.

"You are grumpy," Ilya comments on Christmas Eve, when they're tucked up in Shane's childhood bedroom. It's been stripped of everything but some awards and trophies from his youth, replaced with a simple but elegant guest room. At least the bed fits them more comfortably than his old twin would have.

"Sorry. My parents put so much into my career, you know? And I can never stop feeling like I'm disappointing them or shaming them or something with where I've ended up. That I've made it all harder. I don't know. Being home is hard."

"They love you."

"Well, sure, they have to love me." Ilya's posture goes rigid. "Sorry. I—sorry. That was thoughtless of me." He sighs, snuggling up against Ilya's chest. "I'm not being logical. I know that."

"I do not think they are disappointed," Ilya says carefully. "You are playing well. You won a Cup last year. Why do you still feel this way?"

"I don't know," Shane says, honestly, rolling over in the bed to face Ilya. "I know that I've been out of my slump for awhile. But it's still not—my life isn't where I thought it would be. That's all."

"Not where you thought it would be," Ilya repeats.

Shane blinks. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe it is not your parents who are disappointed."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and then, slowly, he starts to feel guilty in a new way. "Maybe you're right. And I don't—I don't want you to think I'm ashamed of you or something."

Ilya sniffs. "You are a little."

"No, I—No, you're great," Shane says, blinking back tears, because none of this is on Ilya, who has been perfect where Shane is weak. "But I guess I still... " He sighs, not knowing how to finish the thought without repeating himself. Maybe something to talk to his new therapist about.

"You cannot do everything your family wants. Is what you said to me, no?"

"Yeah," Shane says with a sigh. He thinks it's different, but he doesn't know how to say that without sounding like a jackass.

"I have been talking to Svetlana about your idea. About a trust and care manager for my father," Ilya says, looking up at the ceiling. "She thinks it is a good idea. She is looking into options."

Shane shifts to make Ilya look at him. "Ilya, that's great. I think it would really be for everyone's benefit."

"But my family will be, eh, disappointed?"

Okay, point taken. "Hm."

"Hm," Ilya repeats, almost a laugh. "Maybe we don't talk about it now. Is Christmas."

Shane looks over at the clock and see that it's past midnight. "Oh shit, it is."

"Should sleep," Ilya says. "Or Santa will not come."

Shane bites his lip, his hand creeping down Ilya's body. "I bet I can make somebody come."

Ilya smiles and kisses him. The heavy conversations can wait.

The Kingfisher is louder and brighter than Shane remembers. He's gotten used to the more moderate pace of Boston and the quieter, familiar vibe of their local trivia bar.

"He returns!" Kyle says as Shane approaches their table, throwing his arms around him and kissing his cheek. Shane prefers this to the typical bro hugs he usually gets. It feels more genuine.

"Hey, Kyle," Shane says, returning the hug. "Is it your night off?"

"Yes, thank god," Kyle says, ushering him toward the table where Kip, Shawn and Elena are seated.

"Where's Hunter?" Shane asks.

"I think it's time you can call him Scott," Kip says, giving him a welcome hug. "And he's still at the arena. Not sure how you escaped so quickly."

"I'm pretty good at press dodging by now," Shane says, taking a seat.

"Is that what your man's doing? Press?" Shawn asks.

"Uh, yeah, he's always got more of that stuff than I do." He prefers not to think about the reasons why.

"Eric's on his way over soon, too," Kyle says. "Did I tell you him and Scott are talking to the owner about buying this place?"

They continue catching up over the next half hour. Shawn's got a new boyfriend who works in finance, but nobody's met him yet, and Kyle suggests it's because he's embarrassed of them. Kip's moved in with Scott and is applying for grad schools next year. Kyle is, too, though he's aiming for different schools. Elena's getting settled in Boston, has started casually seeing Svetlana, and is loving her new paycheck, but Shane already knew that.

Shane is in the middle of talking about how his season is going when Ilya walks into the bar and finds their table.

"Hello, Shane's friends," he says as he pulls up a stool next to Shane.

"I forgot how beautiful your man is," Shawn says, sweeping his eyes up and down. "We never stood a chance."

Shane chokes on his drink. "What do you mean?"

Elena laughs. "Shane, babe, they all wanted to fuck you."

"Hey!" Kip protests. "I was friendly from day one."

"So you wouldn't have folded immediately if he showed any interest?" Shawn asks.

Kip's mouth hangs open for a beat. "Well. It all worked out for the best."

"I'm surprised you're surprised," Kyle says to Shane. "I don't feel I was particularly subtle. But I'm very happy we're friends."

"Kyle, you flirt with everyone," Elena counters. "It's hard to take you seriously. The flirt who cried wolf."

He blushes, not looking particularly ashamed. "Like Kip said. It all worked out."

"And how's it going with Eric?" Elena prods.

"We're just friends," Kyle says with a conspiratorial grin. "Who fuck sometimes. It's not serious. Don't be weird."

"Uh huh."

"Does not surprise me that all your friends want to fuck you," Ilya whispers to Shane, which makes his chest heat. Louder, he adds, "You all were too subtle. Too bad for you."

"I think you had us all beat before we ever had a shot," Shawn says, taking a sip of his cocktail, something fruity and expensive.

Ilya smiles, possessive. "Maybe."

The conversation gets Shane kinda horny and while he's enjoying catching up with his friends, he's eager to get back to the hotel. He's about to make his excuses to drag Ilya out of there when Hunter and Bennett finally show up. It's good to see them, too. Hunter seems much happier and lighter than he did when Shane was living with him. It's bittersweet to witness because he doesn't know if he and Ilya will ever get that same kind of easy, out lifestyle.

Shane's still anxious to get out of there, but there's something nice about seeing Ilya relaxed, easily talking to his friends, acknowledging Shane as his boyfriend. It's a luxury they don't often get. Shane worries that it's too much, that Ilya won't like how many people know, the danger it puts them in. But he seems comfortable, teasing, happy to show off that they're together. Shane likes showing off, too. Ilya is a catch.

When they do eventually take their leave, they head back to the hotel, and Shane retreats to his own room to clean up and change before sneaking into Ilya's.

"Are you okay?" Shane asks when he slips into the room. Ilya is sitting on the edge of the bed looking, well, depressed. Shane's learned to recognize it.

"Better now," Ilya says, tugging him onto the bed.

"I'm serious." He seemed fine at the bar, so the change is startling.

Ilya lets him go with a soft huff. "I am okay," he says, looking at the floor. "You, your friends, Hunter, Bennett, you are all very… out. And I am not."

"Oh." Shane takes a seat next to him on the bed. "You're out with them, at least."

"I know." His tone is rueful. "It feels good."

It always takes a minute for Shane to process what Ilya's actually talking about when he opens up like this. "You mean, you want that… all the time?"

He nods, curt. "It did not used to bother me. But now, maybe, it does."

Because now he's seen the alternative. Shane gets that. He never thought he would have this, either. It's more freeing than he would have imagined.

Before he can figure out how to respond, Ilya tackles him to the bed, pinning his arms above his side. "No more talking. I don't want to do feelings."

"Okay. But we can talk about this later."

Ilya responds by kissing him, and Shane goes along with it. The big Russia question mark is looming, unsolvable, and Shane doesn't know what to do about it, either. Ilya reaches for the remote and turns up the TV, drowning out their moans.

They're still clothed, making out on Ilya's bed, when a loud pounding at the door interrupts them. They both freeze. Shane's pulse jumps before his brain catches up.

"Roz!" Marlow's voice comes through muffled. "You up? I can hear your TV."

Ilya stares at him with a question in his eyes.

"Do you want to—now?" Shane whispers.

Ilya groans like the answer is no, but he says, "Marly is… probably okay. His sister is lesbian."

Shane shrugs. "It's up to you."

Ilya climbs off the bed to answer the door.

"Hey," Marlow says. Then, as he looks inside, "Man."

"What?" Ilya asks, dropping his hand off the door and stepping aside to let Marlow in.

"You're always blowing me off lately, but you always seem to have time for Hollander." He walks in, letting the door swing shut. "I'm being so chill about it but it kinda seems like you've replaced me."

It's shockingly heartfelt from Marlow. Shane didn't realize they were that close. He watches Ilya and sees a joke loading up behind his eyes and braces for it. Humor is Ilya's way of handling emotional situations that he doesn't want to deal with.

But Ilya doesn't do it. "Hollander is my boyfriend," he says instead, flat and serious.

Marlow stares at him for a moment and then laughs nervously. "Okay, that's—that's kind of homophobic to joke about, right?" His eyes flick over to Shane as if looking for confirmation, but Shane isn't sure what he's supposed to do. "He's like right there."

Ilya's tone stays flat. "Marly, I am not joking."

The grin slides off him, replaced with pure confusion. "Wait, you're—is he messing with me?" he asks Shane.

"… No?" Shane ventures, feeling extremely awkward.

"It is true," Ilya confirms, and Shane can see the moment he decides he's been serious long enough. "My dick is so good he left Cup-winning team to come here for garbage contract. So really, you should be thanking me."

Shane rubs his face in his hand. This was more along the lines of what he expected.

Marlow barks out a laugh, real this time. "Damn. Okay. I guess that does make more sense why you'd sign here."

Shane feels compelled to explain that he came here for Ilya, not just his dick, but he expects that clarification won't help.

"Well, you don't have to blow me off just 'cause you and Hollywood are shacking up," Marlow continues, still pissy. He looks at Shane. "You like Chel?"

"Um, sure? I like Chel."

Marlow throws his hands up. "Great. Then you can come, too, and Roz can stop turning down my invites."

"Hollander is very bad at Chel."

"What the fuck! I am not! You cheated last time."

"How do you cheat? It's a video game."

"You"—he blushes, remembering how Ilya had started dirty talking the moment his team started winning—"distracted me."

Ilya hums, looking pleased. "Fine, I will not distract you. And Marly is also terrible. You can have loser league."

"Ouch, dude."

They agree to come over for video games when they're back in Boston. Marlow stays another twenty minutes, sprawled in the desk chair like he's settling in for the night, talking at length about a goal he scored two games ago that nobody else has been appropriately impressed by. Ilya tells him the goal was lucky and Marlow takes deep offense.

Eventually Marlow hauls himself up. "Okay. I'm leaving. You've probably wanted me gone for awhile." Well, that's not untrue. Marlow points at Ilya on his way to the door. "I'm still kinda mad at you. But like, congrats or whatever."

"Goodnight, Marly."

After he leaves, the room goes quiet. Shane looks at Ilya, who's still standing by the door, his posture neutral.

"That went okay," Shane says, hoping Ilya agrees.

"Mm." Ilya crosses back to the bed and drops down next to him, his shoulder warm against Shane's. "He will not say anything."

Shane doesn't know Marlow well enough to confirm or deny, but he trusts Ilya's judgment. "You good?"

Ilya doesn't answer right away. Then he tips his head against Shane's and leaves it there. "Yes," he says, and Shane believes him.

Hockey is still going well. So well that Shane is worried that if he looks at it too closely, he'll jinx it, so he's trying to keep his focus on his own game and keep delivering. Boston was already a great team before he joined, and they're only more dominant now. They coast into the playoffs as heavy favorites. It's not dissimilar to how it felt last year, when Hunter was at his peak and the Admirals couldn't stop winning.

These things can change quickly, though. Best not to get his hopes up. He can tell the rest of the team is on a similar wavelength when they're out at a bar after their first win of round one against the Guardians. Everyone is stoked about the win, but there's pressure with being the favorites, tension in knowing how easily it can all fall apart.

They don't talk too much about hockey. Instead, Connors is ragging on Ilya for his apparent celibacy.

"You think because I have moved on from puck bunnies that I am not getting laid?" Ilya retorts.

"You used to pull like crazy, man," Connors continues. "It's just weird that you're all private now."

Carmichael nods his agreement. "Yeah, like, there was a year or two there around 2015 when you were fucking so many women that I thought your dick would fall off." He pauses, a nervous look of horror crossing his face. "It didn't, right?"

"I don't think that's medically possible," Shane mutters, trying to find the line between being too quiet and saying too much when these topics come up. He catches Marlow's eye and sees him looking at him in curious confusion, like he's connecting dots. Shane knows that Ilya went wild with hookups at the same time Shane did, so it's not a stretch that Marlow might find some correlation. He gives him a subtle glare, hoping he'll drop it. They don't need anyone else asking questions.

"I thought you'd be pulling more, too," Connors says, nudging Shane with his the shoulder. "With the way the press used to talk about you. But you've private as fuck."

"You are upset Hollander does not tell you about all the gay sex he's having?" Ilya asks.

"Ew, no!" He freezes and starts backtracking. "Oh—shit, I don't mean, like—"

"It's okay, man," Shane assures him. "I don't really want to hear about your sex life, either."

"Hah!" Marlow barks. "Not like there's much to talk about."

"Bro."

"Nobody should be having any sex right now, anyway," Carmichael says, tone serious. "It's bad luck during playoffs."

"Pfft, this is myth," Ilya says quickly. "Don't talk nonsense."

Shane bites back a smile. He doesn't believe in sex bans, either, but it's funny to imagine Ilya whining about it if he did.

"It's not a myth! It's good for discipline. I know none of you fuckers were following it last year, and we lost!"

"We lost because Roz got nailed by that fucker from Buffalo in the first round and hurt his ribs," Connors counters.

"Thank you, Conny," Ilya says. "Yes, I am carrying team."

"Fuck off, man."

"You're the latest champion," Carmichael says, addressing Shane. "Do you think they're worth it?"

Shane's ears heat as he recalls that he hooked up with Ilya once during playoffs last year, but he can't resist a little teasing as he says, "I dunno, might help with focus." He bites back a laugh at the annoyance in Ilya's face. "But, uh, I didn't follow one last year, and it all worked out okay."

"Exactly," Ilya says with a decisive nod. "Getting laid relieves tension. Helps with nerves. Good for hockey."

"I dunno," Marlow says, looking between Shane and Ilya with a grin. "Seems like it might be a distraction."

Ilya shoots him an icy glare as Shane says, "It seems like it might be more distracting to abstain. Especially if it's your wife or someone who you see all the time. Wouldn't that make you lose focus?"

Ilya lets out a relieved breath. "Hollander is logical. Listen to him. Go fuck your girlfriends and wives or whoever else so you can clear your heads. Focus on winning."

"Who are you even fucking, Cap?" Carmichael presses. "You still won't tell us shit."

"He's probably just dating that Russian chick he's always with. Svetlana. I don't get why it's such a secret."

"No, I am fucking your mother," Ilya corrects, glaring at Carmichael. "She's a screamer. Thought you wouldn't want details."

Carmichael rolls his eyes but drops the subject.

It falls apart in the Conference Finals.

It's no one thing. Shane is playing the best hockey of his life and they're dominant, they're the team to beat, the heavy favorites. It's a setback when Shane tweaks his knee, and it's not horrible, but he's slower when he's being held together by KT tape. The other team's goalie gets hot at exactly the wrong time. The line that's carried them all season keeps generating chances that they fail to capitalize on. By game four, the confidence that has carried them this far starts to shake, and with it comes crumbling their ability to hold it together.

They lose it in game six. Their defense collapses under the pressure and their offense can't make up the gap. It's not his fault, or anybody's really. It's a team sport and they aren't the best team in that series.

The night of the loss is horrible. It's one thing to lose as the underdog, another to lose as the favorite. Neither Shane nor Ilya say much as they lie awake in Ilya's hotel room, Ilya's body blanketed on top of Shane's, both of them unable to relax. There are a thousand what-ifs running through Shane's mind. A puck bounce that could have gone another way, a failed shot on goal that might have gone in if he'd just passed instead—there are so many little ways the games could have ended in their favor.

But they didn't, the final buzzer has sounded, and their postseason is over.

And in the days that follow, Shane feels… okay. It should be crushing, and yes, it's disappointing, but he's not as devastated as he thought he might be. He imagined it would be suffocating, to make this big gesture of moving to a team for a mediocre contract only to get crushed so close to the finish line. Maybe his reaction is delayed and the disappointment will kill him later, but for now, he's shockingly fine.

Ilya, however, is acting like Shane's made of glass, nervous that he's going to freak out at any moment over the loss.

"I'm fine," he assures him for the tenth time. "Are you fine?"

Ilya nods, dismissive.

"We made it to the Conference Finals. You and I were still the top scoring players by points for the regular season. I'd say we did okay."

Ilya squints at him. "Who are you? This is not Shane Hollander I know."

"I'm serious," Shane says with a laugh. "This season was good. I mean, losing sucks, but I'm… happy that I came here. I feel like we've proven it was a good decision."

Ilya's answering smile is like the sun.

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

The summer goes easier than the last. The loss never hits him as hard as he thought it might, and maybe he should feel guilty about that, but mostly he's just relieved. Shane is settled now, comfortable in Boston, and in Ilya's house, which is its own conversation.

"A few of the guys have already started asking about why I haven't moved out yet," Shane brings up one afternoon, when they're both out on the patio. Shane's drinking tea and reading sports news on his phone while Ilya grills up some veggies, tofu and chicken for a late lunch.

"I want to get a dog," Ilya responds, a complete non-sequitur.

"Huh? A dog? But we're on the road so much." Ilya's never mentioned wanting a dog before.

"I know. But I have money for dogsitter. Or dog hotel." He shifts his weight between his legs, which Shane has learned means he's nervous. "I have wanted a dog for a long time. But it is not fair, when I go to Russia for the summers, longer than roadies." He clears his throat. "But, eh, maybe this will be the last time."

Shane bolts up in his seat, nearly spilling his tea. "What?"

"The trust is set up. I will interview care managers in person when I go back this year. Already there is short list. Sveta has been very helpful with legal parts, organizing lawyers, this sort of thing. And I have green card now." He pulls some of the veggies off the grill and then closes the lid to let the rest cook, turning to face Shane. "If you stay here, then you are right, there will be more questions. Maybe it will be hard to keep things… private."

Shane looks up at him with wide eyes. "Holy shit. Ilya, that's—yes, of course I want to keep living here. I didn't know you were doing all that."

"I know. I did not want to tell you until I was sure."

"And you're sure?"

Ilya nods slowly. "Yes."

Shane swallows thickly, his eyes wet as he blinks at Ilya. "We can get a dog."

Ilya pumps his fist and Shane wonders if he's been lightly manipulated by having the dog conversation tied to the sad family and living-together-permanently conversations. He decides he doesn't care. Ilya can definitely get a dog for giving up his fucking home country for Shane. Holy shit.

Ilya heads back to Russia two weeks after their last game of the postseason. Shane tries not to be nervous about him changing his mind while he's over there and decides to distract himself by heading to the cottage. After two weeks alone, he invites some of his friends so the silence won't be so stifling. Some of them are able to stay longer than others based on their work and other vacation schedules, but it's nice to have the place full for once. He's glad he took the architect's recommendation to build multiple guest rooms, even if at the time, he didn't expect to use them.

Ilya joins them after just three weeks in Russia, shorter than his usual stays. Svetlana comes with, and Shane is glad that Ilya has some support from home. Shane offers to kick everyone out, or else go home, because Ilya is more depressed than he was last year when he came back from Russia. It makes sense, given the circumstances, and Shane would want space to decompress and process it all, in Ilya's place, but Ilya insists he likes the distraction. He's cheerful and easygoing during the day with the group and then weary and exhausted in the evenings with Shane. It's fine, though, if this is how Ilya chooses to cope.

On the way home, they take a circuitous route to stop in Ottawa and at Shane's storage unit in Montreal. Shane got rid of a lot when he moved to New York and sold his place in Montreal, but he kept his favorite art, furniture, linens, kitchenware, and other things in a storage unit. He's been slowly bringing a few things over, but it's time to finally clear it out and stop paying the rent. They get a big moving truck—which Ilya is way too excited to get to drive—and bring the rest of his things to Boston. If they're doing this, they're doing this.

They go through the house room by room, deciding whose things they prefer in each space. Shane is particularly attached to a few pieces of furniture from his last place, and Ilya is more than accommodating. It's a little overwhelming, blending their lives like this, even if it's overdue after a year of living together.

They don't get a dog right away. Ilya starts volunteering at a shelter, though, spending time with different breeds and mixes, getting a feel for what sort of dog would be the best fit. He also pays an exorbitant amount to get a large fence built around the property so they're nice and prepared. There is a lot of space, and both of them go for frequent runs. They could handle a high-energy breed.

As the preseason approaches, they make a joint decision to disclose their relationship to management. Ilya dumps his Russian agent and lets Farah take him on, since she's proven herself to be adept with rolling with the punches and handling scandals, as when Shane got outed. She helps them go through all of the legalese of their contracts, outlining anything the team might come back with to try to punish them if things go south. Ilya doubts they will; Shane is less sure. The way they play together is undeniable. Ending the season as the two top scoring players in the league is the best they could possibly have hoped for, outside of also winning a Cup. Management has to see what an asset that is, right?

The meeting is nerve-wracking, anyway. For all of Ilya's confidence and bravado going into it, his leg is shaking nervously and he's chewing at his thumb when it comes time to actually make the announcement. The meeting is held with the team's GM, coach LeClaire, and Farah.

"You boys got me nervous," their GM, Dale Rivers, says as he takes a seat at the head of the table. He's a portly man in his 50s, friendly but pragmatic, with a background in business management. "Your agent wouldn't tell me what this meeting was about."

"Nothing disclosed in this meeting should have any bearing on how either of my clients play in the upcoming seasons," Farah assures him. "Let me put you at ease about that up front, Mr. Rivers. This is more of a courtesy meeting."

"Good, good to hear," he says, and then gestures at the two of them expectantly.

Ilya is still chewing at his thumb, so Shane decides to take the lead. "We are here to disclose a romantic relationship," he says, keeping his voice even.

Coach LeClaire's eyes go wide as Rivers looks confused. "What, both of you? That's... not something you usually need to hold a meeting about."

A soft, quickly stifled laugh comes from Farah as Shane clarifies, "With each other. Um, that's mostly why I signed here, actually."

"I would like to assure you again, Mr. Rivers and Mr. LeClaire, that nothing about my clients' relationship has any bearing on their contracts, their ice time, or their standing with this organization. They are disclosing in good faith, and I'd like that good faith reciprocated."

Rivers still looks in mild shock, but he recovers quickly. "I see." He looks over to LeClaire, who still seems to be processing. "Well. That is, uh, not what I expected this meeting to be about." He turns to Shane. "You did not disclose this when you signed, Mr. Hollander."

"There is nothing in my client's contract that required him to make such a disclosure," Farah says placidly.

"With all due respect, Ms. Jalali, this is a bit of a unique situation," Rivers says carefully. "Now, I don't like surprises. Would have been nice to know upfront what we were signing up for—might have made different choices. Normally, if a relationship between two employees goes bad, you can put some distance between them. I can't do that with you two. You're my top line. Personal issues can cause drama that affects the whole team. Something goes wrong, I might lose two assets, not one. That's a lot of risk concentrated in one place, and I don't have an easy way to manage it."

Farah folds her hands, her expression calm. "I would like to point out that you have currently signed one of the top-scoring players in the league on a six million per contract, which is well under his worth. You would not be in this position if not for my client's personal relationship with your team captain." Rivers puts his hand up, conceding the point. "There is always a risk of interpersonal problems between players, Mr. Rivers. This is not something that can be controlled for, contractually or otherwise. And I'm sure I don't need to remind you that how this organization responds to interpersonal problems between these two players, specifically, would be held to a different standard. Your inclusion messaging has been very public, which is commendable. It would be unfortunate if anything that happened down the line invited the question of whether my clients were treated differently because of who they are to each other."

"Alright, alright. I see you've thought this all through," Rivers says, then clears his throat. "Coach LeClaire, anything you would like to add?"

"Never made sense to me why you signed here," LeClaire says to Shane. "We got you on a cheap contract and you're playing like hell. Keep that up and we're all good."

"Yes, sir."

LeClaire then turns to Ilya. "Rozanov, in all our years together, I have never once seen you do something for another person without bitching about it." He gestures vaguely. "You moved off center for this guy without any complaint. I knew something was up. Did not guess this—maybe I should have."

"Was my idea," Ilya says, nonchalant. "I want to win games."

Shane thinks this is a bit of an unfair characterization. Ilya does kind things for other people all the time. Yes, he's egotistical, too, and sometimes he bitches or deflects or pretends it's somehow no burden for him to accommodate others, but he still does it, and you'd think his coach would recognize that kind of selflessness after this many years.

The meeting wraps up shortly after. They talk briefly about how the owner will take the news, but he's pretty detached from the team as a whole, some tech guy with too much money, so hopefully there will be no issue. As they knew going in, there's not much retribution that can be had for two top scoring players with no move clauses. They also discuss coming out, but this conversation is mostly deferred to a later date. Shane and Ilya confirm they plan to tell the team but have no imminent plans to come out publicly. They'll brief the team ahead of time if that changes. The GM looks wary about that, but Shane can tell he's afraid of saying the wrong thing. Hey, at least they'll be saving the team the cost of a hotel room on roadies.

As summer comes to an end and training starts ramping up, Ilya invites the whole team over for a barbecue. It's a large gathering, including a few bubble players and staff, but excluding family. Making an announcement that big is overwhelming, so they control what they can. Shane offers to do most of the cooking since Ilya is still nervous as fuck planning for it.

"You must actually flavor the food if you are planning to get the team on our side. They will not be so nice as me about your bland cooking."

"Dick. I flavor it."

"Mm," Ilya says skeptically. "Please use my spice mixes. And the sauces in the fridge."

Fine, Shane will use more spices. And sauces. Whatever. He's nervous, too. He's not the captain and the players that are weird about him being gay are already weird about it, so there's less pressure, but it's still a big deal. It was a big deal for the Admirals to contend with having a gay captain, and Shane wasn't even there for most of that fallout. This is bigger than that.

They don't plan exactly how or when they are going to say it. Ilya insists they'll find a natural opening. As the event goes on, though, the lack of plan and structure is starting to stress Shane out.

"Cap, why were you at Hollander's vacation home over the summer?" asks Carmichael, as the team is assembled in a loose circle on their patio.

Shane freezes in middle of a bite of chicken.

"What?" Ilya asks.

"It was on Instagram."

"Whose Instagram?" Ilya presses, his tone carefully casual.

"Hollywood's hot friend's. Elena."

"You follow Elena?" Shane asks. "Her Insta is private."

"Yeah but I slid into her DMs awhile ago! She added me but I haven't tapped that yet. Shame."

"Please don't tell me that," Shane grimaces.

"You didn't answer the questions, Roz," Dubek presses.

"Maybe he's dating Elena!" Connors suggests, swinging his beer. "She's too hot for you anyway, Carms."

"His girl was there, too, though," Carmichael counters. "Svetlana."

"What if he's dating both of them?" Connors says, eyes wide. "Dude! Fucking epic!"

Ilya rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his chicken, making them wait before saying, "I am not dating Svetlana or Elena. They are dating each other, actually."

Connors' mouth hangs open. "Holy shit. That's hot."

"And you're not trying to get in on that?" Carmichael asks eagerly.

"Mm, no," Ilya says, licking sauce off his fingers.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Is that why you were there, though, 'cause of Svetlana? You guys all hang out or something?"

"Dude, maybe I should be gay!" says Harper, one of their new rookies. He looks over at Shane with wide, bright eyes. "You get to hang out with hot lesbians?"

"That's not how it fucking works, idiot," Dubek pipes in, slapping him on the shoulder. "If you were gay, you wouldn't think it was hot."

"That's impossible. Who wouldn't find it hot?"

Dubek shakes his head. "You are so fuckin' stupid."

Shane meets Ilya's eyes across the circle. They've been wanting to tell the team. Now is maybe the opening. Ilya gives him an almost imperceptible nod and Shane gives one back.

"You fuckers have a lot of questions," Ilya says, leaning back in his chair. "Why do I spend summer at Hollander's cottage? Why don't I pick up anymore? Why is Hollander still living with me? Why did Hollander sign here for shitty contract?" His raises his eyebrows, lips drawn in a tight line. "Big mysteries."

Shane sighs as the group goes quiet. This is probably not the best way to go about this, but he'll let Ilya take the lead.

"Uh…" ventures Dubek. "Are you saying those things are related?"

Ilya shrugs, feigning nonchalance, but his posture is tense as fuck as he spins his beer in his hands. "Use your brains. Maybe you can connect dots."

There's another strained beat of silence.

"No fucking way," Carmichael breathes.

"I don't get it."

Several of the guys turn to look at Shane, who wishes very much that Ilya had taken a different approach. They should have discussed this more ahead of time.

"Um," Shane starts, but it must be obvious he doesn't want to be the one to say it, because Ilya cuts him off.

"We are together. Dating. Is why he signed here."

"What do you mean?"

"What the fuck do you think I mean?"

It doesn't bode well that Ilya's getting defensive before anyone has had a chance to process the news.

"Who's the girl?" Harper asks.

"Are you fucking stupid? You see any girls here?" That Shane appreciates because he knows what Harper is really asking, and Shane is the girl.

Shane clears his throat and tries to raise his voice enough to cut through the disbelieving murmurings of the group. "I signed here because it was hard to make our relationship work long distance. But we're not—nothing is changing; you don't have to worry. We were together all of last year and we will continue to be discreet and not let it interfere with team dynamics."

"I did not agree to this," Ilya mutters.

"Well, you're agreeing now," Shane says, steady, and then immediately regrets it as someone whistles.

"Damn, Cap, you let him talk to you like that?"

Ilya's eyes go icy and Shane can tell he's about to say something inflammatory. He shoots Ilya a warning look and he bolts up out of his chair instead, storming into the kitchen.

Shane says nothing as he stands up to follow him inside. Probably better to let the team absorb it without them there, anyway.

Ilya has his arms braced on the kitchen counter, staring at nothing with a tight expression.

"Hey," Shane says, sliding the door closed behind him.

"Don't say it. I handled badly."

Shane walks up to him and starts rubbing Ilya's back. "It wasn't… ideal."

Ilya lets out a breath that's half laugh, a smile creeping onto his lips as he turns to face Shane. "I am sorry, moya lyubov."

"It's okay. It was going to be a shitshow no matter how we handled it."

Ilya leans into him. "You think they are saying very terrible things about us out there?"

"I'd prefer not to know. But I think we've got a few guys in our corner to keep 'em in line."

Ilya wraps his arms around him, leaning his weight on him fully. "I love you," he says into Shane's cheek.

"I know. I love you, too. This is gonna be okay. Just give them a sec, okay? Some of them might be shitty, but we knew that already. Most of the guys are cool about me and they'll be cool about us, too." Shane says it with more confidence than he feels, but he has to trust it.

The rest of the barbecue is awkward, but nobody storms off or tries to hate crime them, so Shane counts it as a win. Things will get easier when the season starts up again and they can remind everyone what a powerhouse they are on the ice. Shane should be stressing from the pressure, knowing how badly it's fucked up his game before, but his drive to prove himself is stronger.

They kick off the season with a bang, winning all but one of their preseason games and then immediately going into a seven win streak in the regular season. They're on fire and Shane's having fun. It's so fun to play with Ilya, the love of his life, to be so connected on the ice, like they share one brain, and then to go home or to the hotel and fuck out the rest of their adrenaline. Last season was great, but he's more relaxed now, somehow. He thought he would have needed a Cup win to feel like this, something to prove the move was worth it, that he can anchor a team's first line again and bring them to the top. But this is good enough. He's playing well and even when they lose, it doesn't hurt like it used to.

They keep going to trivia, mostly at the insistence of Svetlana, who has expanded their team to include a few of her friends and is dedicated to winning every week. Her and Elena have started to get serious and Shane is happy for them. It's fun to be close friends with another couple. Elena is outgoing and has expanded her social group in the city, meeting lots of new people she's introduced to Shane and Ilya. Shane's still getting to know them, not totally comfortable yet, but it's nice to talk to people outside of hockey. They still keep up with the old group chat in New York, even if it's less active now.

Ilya doesn't talk much about his therapist, but Shane knows that going has been a huge boon for his mental health. He's skeptical that Ilya would have ever made the necessary moves to set up the trust and caretaker in Russia without his therapist's insistence that it's a healthy and good idea, no matter how hard Svetlana might have pushed. Shane's been diligently going to therapy, too, because at least it keeps Ilya going. He doesn't know how much it really helps, but they've been working on his shame issues, and he thinks he's getting better.

In late fall, they finally get a dog, a Labrador mix with a lot of energy. She's soft and smiley and boisterous and Ilya names her Anya. He buys way too many toys and takes her to the spa and pampers her as much as a dog can possibly be pampered. Shane likes her, too, and they get to know each other through long morning runs.

They settle into something real, and slowly, Shane's fear that something terrible is going to happen to ruin it starts to fade away.

Shane

So we're thinking of coming out this season, like soon. As a couple. But not sure how yet. Thoughts?

Kyle

!!!!!!!!

Shawn

Oh shit congrats!

Elena

yay ❤️ and yes i have thoughts

Kip

you could make out on the ice

Kyle

BORING

Kip

excuse me?

Kyle

no shade! but it's been done

Shane

We thought about just posting something on Instagram. My mom thinks it'll cause too much drama though, lets the narrative get away from us.

Shawn

If you post on insta, you need to include some steamy pictures together. Get the fujos fighting for you. They'll drown out the haters.

Shane

Fujos?

Kyle

lmaaooo i didn't even think about the fujos but they are gonna eat this up, you're both SO hot

Kip

i don't really see how a bunch of horny women help the situation, it's just going to piss off the regular sports bro fans more if they start getting into the discourse. trust me.

Elena

you're not going to have control over fujos or sports fans, we know that from what happened with kip and scott. they're gonna react how they react. shane, fujoshi are women who like to see hot men kiss and bang each other. it's a term from anime or manga or something idk

Shane

Huh??

Elena

ANYWAY hear me out. you give a joint interview, something long form in a major publication like vanity fair, esquire, the new yorker, something classy that will appeal to the general public, get the story beyond just sports fans. you talk about your relationship, how it developed, the stakes with russia and everything. you can give it way more depth than an insta post

it'll give you some control over the narrative and it'll satisfy both the personal and sports side. nobody can doubt that you're playing amazing hockey together, right? the sports analysts have been trying to break down how you have such good chemistry. this would explain it.

Kyle

that's not a bad idea

Shawn

Okaaay Miss PR!

And you can do a steamy photoshoot to go along with it!

Kip

kinda sounds like you just want to see them take horny photos together

Shawn

Oh and you don't?

Kip

… touché

That's very thoughtful, Elena. Thank you

I'll talk to Ilya and our team about it

His mom loves the idea. She immediately starts brainstorming which publications make the most sense, which journalists and photographers would be the best fit. It's like she has the article clear in her mind before Shane's even done explaining the concept. Shane's not as concerned with what his mother thinks about his life and personal choices as he used to be, but it's a relief nonetheless that she's supportive. Farah likes the human-interest angle and that it would give them a chance to clarify things in their own words, but she's hesitant about ceding narrative control and is already working up terms that would give them the final approval on what's published.

Ilya's quiet, initially, and Shane is nervous that he doesn't want to do it. It would draw a lot of attention, making the story bigger than it might be otherwise. But maybe that was always going to happen.

"We don't have to do this just because my mom and Farah like it," Shane tells him later that evening when they're cuddled up on the couch looking at their phones. "If you want to just do an Insta post and be done with it, that's fine with me."

"No, I like it," Ilya says softly, brushing Shane's cheek with his nose. "I would like to be able to tell the world how much I like you. But they will label me world's biggest sap. My cool image will not survive."

Shane's insides turn to mush.

It wasn't long after coming out to the team that Ilya started to get restless about being closeted in any capacity. If they're living this openly, it's going to come out, and better to do it earlier in the season when it won't be such a contentious story. They decide that waiting until next year is too long, which moves their timeline up significantly. There's only a few weeks between deciding to come out in early winter and arranging something with a journalist to make it happen. Management isn't thrilled that they're coming out, but they, too, understand the practical side of things. Keeping a relationship under wraps forever isn't realistic, especially when they already live together. They prefer to have some control over how the story comes out rather than being blindsided like the Metros were when Shane's scandal came out.

All in all, it's a smoother process than Shane ever anticipated. So much smoother than when he got outed, anyway. The photoshoot and interview are almost fun. Ilya is lighter and happier with the knowledge that they won't have to keep hiding. He's just as mushy about Shane as he promised. Shane is much more private about his emotions, but he makes sure that his words illustrate how deeply he cares for Ilya. He wouldn't want it to feel unbalanced, after all.

Game seven of the Finals goes to the last shift. It's been a brutal series, each game a tough fight, dragging them past the point of exhaustion. Shane doesn't know how he has anything left in the tank but he keeps pushing, keeps going, they're so close.

The clock reads under ten seconds and the game is tied. It's their building, and the roar of the crowd is so explosive that the sound no longer registers. The grit of ice shavings are melting with the sweat on his face, and there's a tremor in his thighs, his legs just barely holding.

Ilya takes the puck up the wing with his head down and his legs churning, and for a second it looks like he's going to go himself, driving the net, the way he's done a thousand times. The defense bites. They lean toward him, two players and the goalie sliding to cut the angle.

And then, without looking, he sends it back. A blind drop pass, backhanded through the space he just vacated, into the seam the defense abandoned when they swung toward him. He doesn't turn his head. He puts the puck where Shane will be because he knows Shane will be there.

And Shane is there. He read the whole thing the second Ilya put his head down—he saw the defense start to lean, found the gap they were leaving open, and planted himself in it. The puck comes off Ilya's stick and finds his tape. There's no time to set or think—the catch and release collapse into one motion as the puck sails off his blade and goes skittering toward the open net Ilya pulled the whole defense away from.

He doesn't know if he got the angle right. It could be wide or it could be saved. Time slows as he blinks away sweat from his eyes.

The buzzer's about to sound.

Whatever the result, Shane knows he'll survive it.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks for reading! This is the longest thing I've ever written and occupied a lot of space in my brain for the better half of a year I was working on it. There are some things I'm not happy with, but I'm proud of myself for finishing a fic this long, a first for me.

Thank you again mockspeed for the art and hailstormtsunamifor the beta ❤️