Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Original Male Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Shane Hollander/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Original Male Character(s), Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Luca Haas, Harris Drover

Additional Tags:

Tags to be added, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, by eventual I mean like Ch2 probably, Cliff Marlow living his best WAG life, unbetad, Anger Issues, Anger Management

Language:

English

Series:

Part 5 of the system

Stats:

Published: 2026-10-01 Updated: 2026-10-13 Words: 9,445 Chapters: 2/?

a plan for you

Summary

NHL rookie Jamie Allens was forcefully outed to the hockey community after being arrested at a gay nightclub in Boston. After being dropped by the Raiders and recruited by the Centaurs, he now gets to see what life has to offer on the other side of the closet door.
Meanwhile, Cliff Marlow is living his best WAG life.

Or - a very unserious extended epilogue to The Same Team, taking the scenic route tying up some loose ends.

Notes

Hello! This fic is for approximately 10 people who wanted to see what would come of OC Jamie Allens after the end of The Same Team, as well as a home for some additional scenes around the Cliff / Ilya / Shane throuple.

I don't plan on this being a structured story, more like a series of self-contained oneshots.

if you have an idea of something you'd like to see here, let me know (though I can't promise anything!)

Chapter 1: April 2021 - Jamie

Jamie Allens was astonished to find himself playing for the Ottawa Centaurs for nearly a month before anybody asked him.

Frankly, he had expected to be hounded about it within the first hour.

But nobody seemed to care, across the various practices and games. Not until they were a few rounds into a post-drinks game at Monks when Nick Young asked - casual as anything. 

“So what went down at that gay bar, man?”

As easily as he might have asked to know what town he grew up in. Like it was no big deal.

Like it hadn’t been the inciting incident that nearly (the jury was still out on it) ruined his hockey career and his entire goddamn life. The moment that led to him getting dropped from Boston and taken in by the only team that would have him and uprooted his life to relocate to Ottawa.

Jamie frowned and stalled, thumbing at the label of his drink.

“Hey.” Ilya Rozanov materialized out of nowhere, leaning over Young’s shoulder. “Allie doesn’t have to talk about this if he does not want to.”

“There isn’t much to say.” Jamie shrugged.

-

The first time Jamie Allens went into a gay bar, it was in New York. He had been practically dragged inside by Cliff Marlow.

He hadn’t minded at the time. 

The strong arm around his shoulders and the solid body against his side was a shield. He didn’t have to choose to do it.

It had been safe because Cliff made it safe.

To be fair, Kingfisher hardly seemed like a gay bar from the outside. Inside, there were a few flags hung up. And there was a sort of… energy to the place.

Jamie lost a foosball game to Ilya Rozanov. 

A man in a loud pink t-shirt and a bomber jacket bought Jamie a beer as a consolation prize. He let their fingers brush and got a wink as it was handed off. 

He told Jamie that he had pretty eyes.

Which sure - Jamie had heard that before. When women flirted with him in the past they'd frequently mention his eyes. They were large and bright and green. 

He didn't like it when women mentioned his eyes. Like they were seeing some flaw in the facade of masculinity that he tried (dubiously) to cultivate. 

Men weren't supposed to be pretty.

Except in places like this, where that was just... okay.

They didn’t do anything, of course.

But the high of that moment sustained him for nearly a month. It lived electric, like a living thing inside of his chest. 

It was a silly thing to feel giddy about. 

Just going to a bar. Having a handsome guy buy him a drink.

But he couldn’t shake it.

Before this year, the last time Jamie had ever allowed himself to experience his own sexuality was an awkward, fleeting moment at hockey camp when he was fourteen years old. It had always just been… something forbidden. 

That he just wasn’t allowed to have.

But things were different now.

Jamie was away from his family. He had money and freedom and he couldn’t help wanting more.

The next time Jamie went to a gay bar, he was alone.

In hindsight, Cliff probably would have gone if Jamie asked him. Cliff had already come out publicly. People knew that he was bi (even if everyone kept saying he was gay). He also had the magical superpower of literally never being bothered by anything ever and likely wouldn’t have even blinked at the concept.

But the idea of asking him for a favor was even more terrifying than the concept of going alone.

After spending a good two hours psyching himself up in a bar next door, Jamie spent all of twenty-three seconds at another gay bar during a roadie in LA.

It had been exhilarating.

He would slowly become more adventurous over time. Researching different places at away games extensively. Finding locations out of the way.

Busy but not too busy.

Coming up with alibis and taking strange routes, as if anyone cared about his comings or goings like that.

He lingered and lurked in the corners like an interloper. Bought a single drink and nursed it too quickly. Bolted if anyone so much as sustained eye contact with him.

He loved it.

After his falling out with Cliff, Jamie got messy.

It wasn’t like Jamie was ever careless, but he broke his rule about going someplace local.

Never in Boston - he had always told himself. Not someplace he would risk being recognized.

But Jamie was pissed and bored and lonely.

And maybe, just maybe a tiny part of him wanted the punishment that would come from it.

Boston had a ton of gay bars, he told himself.

It wasn’t like the entire city revolved around hockey.

“No shit! Allens - Jamie Allens!”

A cold rush washed down his back. Jamie had been in his usual spot - hiding at the corner of the bar hunched over a drink. A man appeared at his side, looking far too ecstatic.

Jamie knew this type of guy, of course.

In the past year or so he was actually starting to get recognized as a member of the Boston Raiders.

Ordinarily, it was fine. He liked fans. He was good with fans.

“Oh man, this is wild! Can I get a selfie?”

The guy’s phone was already out.

“What? No! Shit, no here dude.” Jamie said hastily, pushing away from him.

“Oh come on it’s fine! I won’t tag you or anything, promise!”

“I said no!”

That was supposed to be the end of it. Hockey players and fans had a strict etiquette that they abided by outside of games. If you recognized a player in the wild and they turned down a photo op, you left them damn well alone.

Every once in a while though, you got someone pushy. 

Jamie was at his feet. He spoke hushed and sharply, through his teeth.

But already people were starting to notice, to turn around curiously and shit that was not good. 

There was a throng of a crowd to push through to get back to the door. Not impossible to get by, but slower than he would have liked. 

He didn’t get far away enough that he couldn’t hear that asshole talking loudly behind him into his phone that was angled in his direction.

“Yo whaddup chat! Guess who your boy is out partying with tonight!”

“Hey, I said fuck off!” Jamie grabbed the man’s wrist roughly, wrenching it so that the phone whose camera was pointed at Jamie’s back clattered to the ground.

“What the fuck man!” 

“Hey, get your hands off of him!”

A scuffle broke out. Jamie was unfortunately very good at fighting. 

He won the tussle, but soundly lost the evening.

-

“What, that’s it?” Nick Young frowned, sounding both alarmed and unimpressed. “Just some jerk who wanted a photo with you?”

“Yeah.”

“And you got traded for that?”

Jamie glowered ahead at nothing, downing his beer.

“Yeah.”

“That sucks dude.” Young said empathetically.

“I am sorry, kotik.” Roz ruffled Jamie’s hair - which he normally hated anyone doing. But Roz said they were friends now, so he tolerated it.

“It’s whatever. I’ve… I dunno. Made my peace with it.”

He meant it, as well.

As much as Jamie wanted to be indignant, or wallow and revel in his own self-pity over it.

He wasn’t unhappy in Ottawa.

Wyatt Hayes was nice enough to let him live there for a few more months. He and his wife Lisa seemed to genuinely enjoy having Jamie in their home. They didn’t make him feel like he had to keep himself hidden away and quiet in his room, out of sight and out of mind of any shared living space.

Ottawa was an exciting team to play on.

Sure, he missed Boston. Ottawa was a boring city. 

But it wasn’t bad.

There was also one other thing.

A strange, newfound freedom offered to Jamie on the other side of the whole scandal.

Something he had been too afraid to act on - to even make eye contact with. Instead he skirted around it from room-to-room while it lurked patiently just out of sight, waiting for him patient and hungry. 

Ottawa was more than Jamie still felt like he deserved.

It wasn’t a glamorous way to get outed. 

Homophobes hated him on principle.

Queer fans and allies thought he was bad representation.

He truly didn’t know what Ottawa thought they were getting when they took a chance on him.

“You think the guy would show a little more decorum in a gay bar.” Young scoffed casually. “Especially if he recognized you. He was basically trying to like, out you.” He seemed oblivious to how the mood of the table had shifted slightly. Ilya was watching over the conversation casually, but with rapt attention. Luca had perked his ears up, even if he was trying not to show it.

“I mean, if you were gay I mean.” Young added hastily - finally crossing the finish line in realizing what conversational pitfall he had just stumbled into.

Jamie pondered it for a few beats. He swirled the foam in his glass, then downed the rest of it.

“Yeah.” He breathed out. “I’m gay.”

“That’s cool man!” Young said at once, smacking him on the back. “Next round is on me!” 

Jamie breathed, then breathed again.

He glanced around.

The walls were still standing.

Rozanov looked quietly satisfied. The rest of the guys at the table had already moved on, segwaying seamlessly into various anecdotes of pushy fans looking for selfies outside of the arena.

Jamie breathed out, feeling his heart opening up in a way that was new and strange and frightening.

The other thing that came out of this mess.

The scary thing.

That maybe - for the first time in his life - he would get to be Himself.

Of course, knowing that and acting on it were two wildly different things. 

-

“Yes, you heard correctly!”

Ilya said boldly and brashly and loudly in the locker room - standing on top of one of the benches for height.

“I am engaged to Shane Hollander! We are in love and we are going to get married!” 

There was a smattering of applause from the rest of the team. Some enthusiastic, some a bit awkward in the locker room. 

There was an unspoken ‘So Fucking Deal With It” tacked at the end of the announcement that generally went understood among the Centaurs. 

The two had made the decision to announce their multi-year long affair to the public - the same year a goddamn documentary about their famous rivalry came out. 

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were getting married.

They had - of course - refrained from sharing all of their secrets. Namely a big, Cliff Marlow shaped secret that their relationship was actually a throupleship, but Jamie could understand why they were taking it one step at a time.

“Mr. Rozanov!” Wyatt Hayes held up a pencil, taking on the professional overly-polite tone of speaking that reporters used in the media room. “Will you be taking questions at this time?”

“I will not!” Ilya grinned back fiercely. “But! I am inviting all of you to the engagement party that we did not ask for, but Copperhead is throwing in our honor this Friday!” 

There were some spirited cheers in the crowd - any misgivings about going out to Ottawa’s most prominent gay bar were lost in the infectious chemistry that Ilya Rozanov was bringing forward.

It was one of the last proper nights that the team would be able to go out without any guilt before diving headlong into playoffs, after all. Everyone was eager to let out a little steam. Going out altogether likely wasn’t that big of a deal. That was sanctioned. Plausibly deniable. 

The group made it less dangerous territory.

Though…

Jamie paused, nursing on his bottle of gatorade on the bench in the changing room.

He didn’t really have anything to hide now. 

It was still a weird feeling.

Like a phantom weight that he still carried, after carrying the load so long. 

You still felt it, even after setting it down. 

His body was still pulsing to a frantic beat of Danger! Danger! Danger! In time with his heart even as Bood and Dykstra and his other comfortably heterosexual teammates were discussing various times to meet up - vague plans to pre-game at Monks before going on to Copperhead - like it was just any other night out.

Not one of the forbidden meccas that Jamie would spend quiet hours agonizing over in his own head during roadies. 

“What do you think?” Luca said brightly, appearing at Jamie’s side.

“About what?”

“About Friday!” 

“Oh, um.” Jamie shrugged, stuffing his things into his backpack. “I dunno. I’m probably just going to be watching The Traitors with Jackie? And I’ve got a bunch of laundry to do-”

“You’re not going to Roz’s thing?” Luca said, with wide eyes.

Jamie froze, caught out.

“You know me, I don’t go out.” He shrugged cagily. “And this isn’t like, an official team thing, so.” Jamie shrugged.

Ilya didn’t let Jamie bow out on post-game drinks with the rest of the team. But he did shy away from anything more than that - typically ending the night short and early even when the other younger players tried to invite him to stay out later.

“Oh.” Luca visibly drooped. “I guess I just thought-”

“Why?” Jamie rounded on Luca sharply. “Because I’m gay?”

It was meaner than he meant to be, his tongue immediately going hot and sharp.

“Because Roz is our Captain, asshole!” Luca bit back, holding his hands up defensively. 

Shit. Fuck.

Jamie hated when he got like this. Whenever he got even a little frazzled, he immediately started responding to every little thing as if it were a life and death situation.

For hockey, it worked out great. He was able to go all-out on the ice.

But when it came to talking to people he wanted to make friends with, it was a special kind of hell. 

 Jamie turned away sharply, packing his bag rapidly.

“Fuck, sorry Haas.”

“It’s okay.” Luca replied at once.

Luca was too sensitive to be friends with an asshole like Jamie. 

He didn’t get why the guy was trying.

It was why Jamie had always kept his head down in MLH, and why he had virtually zero friends when he played for Boston. 

He was toxic as fuck, and people were better off keeping their distance from him. Sooner or later, Luca was going to realise that.

Jamie slung his bag over his shoulder and charged off into the hallway.

He and Dr. Goldberg had come up with a few strategies for dealing with his temper back in Boston.

Breathing exercises, mental steps. 

But often, just leaving a situation was necessary for him to cool down.

To keep him from saying or doing something he’d regret.

“You should also go because you’re gay, you know.” 

Harris Drover had appeared in front of him as if directly summoned by Jamie’s inner turmoil because, yes, perfect. That was exactly who he needed right now. Harris Fucking Drover and his goddamn rainbow pins blocking Jamie’s way out.

“Of course you’d say that.” Jamie seethed, before he could stop himself.

Shit, shit! You have to go! Danger! Abort!

Jamie was running too hot. He couldn’t stop himself when he got like this. He couldn’t help throwing around words like barbs. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, he just couldn’t stop biting - like some mangey dog that needed to be put down-

“Ha! You little shit!” Harris was laughing with his hands on his hips. “You might be less of an asshole if you got out every once and a while, you know. Let out some of that steam.”

“Well I don’t okay?”

“Why not?” Harris challenged him, getting up in Jamie’s face. Luca had followed them out into the hall, just in time to watch the spectacle go nuclear.

“Oh, I don’t know!” Jamie threw his hands up angrily. “Maybe because the last time I was at a gay bar it ruined my fucking life!” 

That at least finally gave Harris pause. His smile fell and his expression went soft and sad.

“So I don’t go out.” Jamie continued, the words spilling hot out of him. “I might be gay but that doesn’t mean I have to go out and do gay shit like go to gay bars and celebrate my Captain’s big gay engagement! I just want to keep my head down and play hockey and never do anything else for the rest of my life!”

“Oh, Jamie…” 

Harris didn’t look mad, or afraid. 

He looked at Jamie like he felt sorry for him.

Like he was pitying him.

And that was so much worse.

Jamie breathed out sharply through his nose, because if he breathed through his mouth at that moment he was terrified it might come out as a sob.

He turned to run, but found himself cut off at the pass. 

Dr. Gabriel Wright was in the hallway, leaning casually against a wall as if he had been there all along (he might have been, Jamie hadn’t been looking). It shouldn’t have surprised Jamie. A few other members of the Centaurs had picked their heads up curiously as well at the commotion. 

“Is everything alright out here?" He asked, his gaze sliding from Jamie over to Harris, who shrugged with a sad smile.

He looked back over to Jamie loftily.

“You’re late for your appointment.” Dr. Wright moved into Jamie’s space. “How is your ankle?”

“My leg is fine. Whatever, let’s go.” 

Dr. Wright moved to cut Jamie off.

“You should apologize to Mr. Drover first.”

Though the words evoked a suggestion, there was clearly nothing optional about the statement.

Dr. Wright loomed over Jamie sternly. His eyes were clear and sharp.

And he- fuck he wasn't wrong.

If Jamie was still seeing Dr. Goldberg, she’d tell Jamie as much as well. They’d spent a long time around the importance of taking responsibility for one’s actions and the effect they had on others.

Jamie clenched his hands into fists.

“M’sorry, Harris.”

He said, feeling every bit like a petulant child.

Harris’ eyes went wide. He whistled softly, impressed.

“Yeah, of course man.”

He was already grinning again, rosy-cheeked like they had done nothing more serious than squabble over where to go for lunch. 

-

Jamie lay face-down on Dr. Wright’s medical table. His arms crossed, his head lying miserably on his folded forearms. Wright’s office was quiet. There was a clean, dry sort of smell in the room that he didn’t know how to identify. But it was soothing.

Dr. Wright had done his usual workup on Jamie’s stiff ankle, rubbing down the muscles before going in with his thumbs to pay deep attention to the stiff joint. 

He was deeply grateful for the quiet distraction. The steady, impersonal touches gave him something to focus on and detach from all the worked-up agitation that had taken the wheel out in the hall.

“I’m going to apply an electrode pad to your ankle.” Dr. Wright said calmly, retrieving the small rectangular squares from a kit at his desk. “Its going to help your muscles relax. They’re going to stay on for about twenty minutes.”

Jamie pined softly.

“You can either stay here - I can put some music on or get your phone for you. Or, if you want I can give you a standard sports massage.”

“Do you think I need it?” Jamie asked, propping himself up a bit onto his elbows. Dr. Wright applied the pads to Jamie’s ankle. 

A gentle, barely-there tingling sensation ran up and down his calf down to the foot. 

“Medically? No. But I have heard it helps if you need to unwind a bit. You're carrying some tension in your… shoulders."

It was the first time Jamie had heard Wright give pause over anything. He had a feeling what the guy wanted to say was “your everyplace” but was saving face.

“It can lead to greater risk of injury on the ice.” He added.

Jamie glanced to the side. Dr. Wright had already gotten a bottle of unscented oil down from the cabinet, as if he knew what Jamie was going to decide.

Part of him wanted to say no, if only just to be a petulant little shit.

Instead, Jamie sat up and pulled his shirt off over his head in resignation. 

Dr. Wright gave a really good massage.

Strong hands worked their way up Jamie's legs and over his back. Fingers pressed into the nodes of his spine, seeking out and releasing pockets of stress with each push. Outside of the usual shoving and horseplay involved with hockey, Jamie tried to grimly think of the last time someone had just touched him.

When Cliff hugged him goodbye at the airport?

Probably.

Jamie let go of the sad little notion and let Wright’s hands guide him down into someplace quiet and dark where those thoughts and feelings couldn’t follow.

By the time the twenty minutes were up, Jamie's body was lax, his mind a bit soft and fuzzy.

“Don't rush to get up. Take your time.”

The pads were removed from Jamie's bad ankle. After a few moments, Jamie sat up gingerly. He thumbed away a trail of drool he hadn't realised had been making its way down his chin.

Gross.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good.” Jamie stared ahead at nothing. “I still feel like an asshole.” He admitted grimly. 

“It’s an understandably sore topic for you.” Dr. Wright said empathetically. He was back at his standing desk, adding a few notes to the session. “We all work for hockey players. Mr. Drover has thick skin, and a very strong heart.”

He spoke with the same clipped, no-nonsense sort of tone that he did when discussing Jamie’s shitty ankle.

“Jamie?”

“Hm?”

“If you’d be inclined to do me a favor?” Dr. Wright slid a few files into a padded envelope. “I assume you’re heading out. Can you please drop this off on Gen’s desk for me?” 

“Oh, yeah. Okay.”

Jamie flustered. He wondered if Dr. Wright might have possibly been new to working for a professional hockey team.

He hadn’t been in the NHL long himself, but he knew his fair share of hotshot players who would have had a very different reaction to a member of staff tasking them with idle errands like that. Those that might have scoffed or scolded him or even tried to get him in trouble for the audacity. 

Jamie took the envelope, feeling a strange flustered sense of protectiveness toward Dr. Wright. It was lucky for the guy that Jamie didn’t mind. That maybe he even felt a little grateful for a chance to prove he could be genial towards others. That he could get along, be okay.

I can be good.

He took the envelope off of Dr. Wright and accepted his thanks before heading off. 

-

“Hey.” Jamie appeared in the doorway of the cramped office. “I, uh. I’m looking for Gen?”

She wasn’t in the workspace that Dr. Wright had pointed him towards. Instead, Harris Drover was sitting there, working away over his laptop. 

The guy was halfway through a cake pop, and did a double-take seeing him there.

“Oh, hey! Hey Jamie. Yeah, Gen’s desk is here.”

“Oh, okay.” Jamie suddenly wondered if there was anything actually relevant in the envelope at all. He glanced over at Harris cautiously and idled near the door. 

“I uh. Just wanted to apologise. Again. For earlier.” Jamie said sullenly, picking at an invisible spec on the cuticle of his thumb.

“Hey! No, it’s okay.” Harris waved his hands frantically. “Look I think we all know that gay bars have to be, like, a bit of a sore spot for you.” He stood, walking around to the edge of his desk. “I’m the one who should be apologizing for rattling the bars of your cage there.”

“It’s okay. You uh - didn’t? I’m not in a cage.” Jamie fumbled.

It was a weird metaphor.

Hayes and Lisa didn’t have a curfew set for him or anything.

“That’s true!” Harris said brightly. “The worst has already happened, right?”  

“Has it?” Jamie said, with a weak, wavering sort of smile. 

“Oh, honey.” Harris smiled, setting down the stick of his cake pop. “Can I give you a hug?”

“What? No!” Jamie bristled in immediate alarm.

“Okay, okay!” Harris laughed. “Too much, huh?”

“I guess? I don’t know.” 

“All I meant to say was this,” Harris spread his hands out. “You’re already out. So is Ilya. The whole team is going to be there. You’re probably never going to get a safer opportunity to just go out and be out.”

Jamie rubbed his arm. 

He knew that. 

That was the very thing that had him so worried. 

“If you want to just keep your head down, never leave your bedroom again - that’s okay. But, before you do. This could be a good chance to go out and get what you’re owed for all that shit you went through, right?”

Harris’ tone was carefully neutral. Not pushing or prying. His stance was casual and open, patiently giving Jamie the space and the time to process his feelings and his fear. 

“I guess… maybe, it could be fun.”

“Great! That’s settled then. I’ll add you to the group chat!”

-

Copperhead was a refurbished warehouse that had popped up in the last few years and quickly established itself as a prominent gay bar in the city.

Jamie knew about it, of course.

He’d even been there before.

When Jamie was still playing for Boston, Cliff always evaporated the moment that they arrived in Ottawa - summoned off to where Ilya happened to be. Without Cliff around, Jamie didn't have many people keeping tabs on him, neither within his team or in the larger hockey world. Ottawa games were rarely very exciting.

So Jamie had gone to check it out. He stood for an hour or more in the queue to get in, trying not to look too much like a creep as he did standing there by himself.

He liked that the club kept the old catwalk that stretched over the writhing dance floor. It let him get a good look at everything without actually being in the thick of things. 

He could take in the lights and the sounds, watch the men and women dancing open and unafraid and ravenous. He absorbed the contact high from a distance, then sheepishly vanished.

Tonight was very different. 

To start, there was no waiting in line with his hood pulled up and his hands fisted tight in his pockets.

He arrived in a throng of fellow teammates. Not the entire team - while Ilya had a pretty solid support of his fellow teammates, not everyone was ready for a night out at a gay bar - but a pretty solid retinue. 

They had gone to Monks ahead of time for a few drinks - the buzz helped bolster Jamie’s confidence as they were ushered to the front of the queue and through the doors - some of the people waiting outside in the freezing cold actually cheered when they showed up.

Jamie kept his head down, sandwiched between Hayes and Dykstra. 

They were spread across a few tables quite close to the dance floor.

Harris disappeared for a while, and brought around shots over to the table. 

“These ones were on the house!” He said, practically shouting over the din. “Except this, which was ordered by those guys at the bar for Allie!”

Jamie did a double-take as a second shot practically big enough to be a drink in its own right was slid over to him. A few guys at the table laughed and jeered, though in a warm and commissary way rather than teasing him. It was the same sort of way he’d expect them to react if it had been a hot woman at any other bar that had bought him a drink.

Jamie glanced over with wide-eyed trepidation, then went red to see two boys who looked barely legal waving at him from the bar. 

He gave a weak wave back, fighting the urge to grimace. 

“Not your type?” Harris leaned in conspiratorially. 

“I uh.” Jamie fumbled. He looked around to check that nobody else was particularly interested in their conversation before continuing. “I like tall guys.” He said, feeling terrified and somehow very lame all at the same time. 

“Are they making fun of me or something?” Jamie asked Harris cautiously. 

“What? Why would you say that?”

“C’mon man it’s your job to know. I’m like, super cancelled in the gay community right now.” Jamie said, sinking down a little further. He was eyeing the shot suspiciously, like he was waiting for it to burn a hole through the table and sink down to the floor.

“What?” Harris barked out a laugh over the din of the club. “Who told you that?”

“It’s all over the internet.” Jamie said sheepishly. 

Though the rest of the hockey community moved on after Jamie was dropped from Boston, certain threads and forums on the internet were still seething about it. Up until Rozanov and Hollander’s announcement, there were only two other out gay men in the NHL at the moment (or ever, really) and Jamie could hardly hold a candle to Scott Hunter or Cliff Marlow. The two of them were handsome, charismatic. Donated huge sums of money to local charities and had conducted themselves with flawless aplomb after coming out to the wider community.

Jamie meanwhile, was a thoroughly average hockey player who got into fights with his fans and had the media skills of an angry wet cat.

Harris laughed, big and loud and open. 

“Oh man, don’t worry about that! You’re never going to make the internet happy!” He clapped Jamie soundly on the back. “Take it from a professional, you’re just going to make yourself miserable if you're looking for a sense of self-worth online!”

Jamie absorbed Harris’ words for a moment, then took his shot gamely. The other guys around the table were laughing and chatting, teasing Dykstra about some woman he was seeing. 

The tequila settled warm in his stomach. Most of the guys from the team were sticking close to the table, chatting a bit, drinking and cheering Ilya on - the guy had been ushered up onto the stage and was now dancing between two drag queens wearing Centaurs jerseys. 

“It’s no Scott Hunter night.” Harris shrugged, leaning his shoulder against Jamie’s. “But then again Ottawa is no Manhattan. Anyway, cheers!” Harris picked up the second round of shots, passing the other to Jamie. 

“To Ilya and Shane  Hollander!” 

“Oh! Yeah…” Jamie stalled, but tossed the second back as well. 

It was still a bit wild to consider.

Scott Hunter, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander…

Cliff.

Now Jamie.

When he was growing up, the idea of anyone being gay in the hockey world was simply impossible. Let alone being out. Being allowed to exist like that.

Up on stage, Ilya Rozanov had gotten the mic off of the DJ. 

“I am getting married, Ottawa!” He yelled with furious delight.

The crowd roared and writhed. A confetti cannon exploded in time to the beat dropping as Rhianna blasted over the speakers.

Were they allowed to have this? 

It didn’t feel real.

“So.” Harris nudged Jamie warmly. “Your first and last night out before you retire to hermithood. What do you want to do?”

Jamie was watching the crowd, pupils blown wide. 

The lights strobed across a sea of bare, glittering skin out on the dancefloor.

Maybe it was the alcohol making quick work that was causing his heart to beat a bit louder in his ears. The DJ was playing a remix of Don’t You Worry Child that was pounding in his veins. 

“I want to dance.” Jamie said, his voice sounding a bit raw over the loud pulse of the music. It came out roughly. Torn out of a deep dark place Jamie had carefully constructed to keep safe all of his wants and desires. 

“Woo! Go Allie!” LaPointe cheered from the table as Jamie charged out onto the dancefloor. 

He was immediately swept up in the color and the lights. 

Harris smiled, watching him go. 

“Nice work.”

“Good job on the assist.” Harris flashed finger guns back at Dr. Wright, who was standing nearby.

He was seemingly there on his own, dressed down in dark clothing that was fetching for the scene without being too revealing. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He hummed, taking a sip of his drink.

Out on the dancefloor, a buff man with an oiled up torso had his hands on Jamie’s hips, while another man pressed up behind him moving in time to the music.

Dr. Wright smirked, it was impossible not to - seeing the stars in Jamie’s eyes. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him tonight.” Harris said smugly, watching Wright with amusement. One of the men dancing with Jamie had slid his hands up the back of the boy’s shirt, and Wright’s smile lost its warmth.

“Hm.” He murmured, taking another sip of his beer. 

“Though maybe the best thing would be for you to go out and dance with him. Make sure that the world’s most coddled ankle doesn’t get twisted up out there?”

Wright looked back to Harris with a lofty arched brow. 

Harris in turn, looked absolutely unrepentant - practically kicking his feet in delight. 

“Have a good evening, Harris.” Wright smiled, and turned away to disappear back into the crowd.

“Boo, you’re no fun!” Harris blew a raspberry after him while he went, disappearing into the saturnalia. 

-

Jamie woke up feeling groggy, his head like a lead balloon.

And it was bright. 

Why the hell was it so bright?

He was on a sofa that he didn’t recognize, in a living room that he didn’t know. A living room with massive windows.

Ugh. Where is this. Where am I. I hate this. I hate everyone.

Jamie seethed, pulling a blanket up over his head like a cowl.

I hate - oh a dog!

Jamie sat up straighter - eyes wide, hangover momentarily forgotten.

The little spotted mutt had been watching Jamie sleep, paws tapping on the ground in excited anticipation. Seeing him awake, she burst forward and quickly scampered over and up onto the couch, peppering Jamie with messy kisses.

“Hi! Hi, hello!” He hugged her happily, fishing around for the collar around her neck to check the tag. “Hi - Anya?”

A door at the far end of the living room opened. From the other side of the foyer, the heavy thunk and slide of a front door’s lock was opened, and a familiar figure stepped through from outside.

“Jamie?” 

Cliff Marlow was there.

“Huh?” Jamie made a thoroughly undignified and confused sound.

“What are you doing here?” A broad smile had burst out over Cliff’s face as he walked inside, setting down his bag.

“I’m hungover.” Jamie pined.

“I’ll get you some water.”

He moved with ease and familiarity through Ilya Rozanov’s kitchen. Jamie realized belatedly that someone had already set out a glass of water on the coffee table across from him- as well as plugged in his cellphone to charge during the night.

He took the glass and downed half of it by the time Cliff came over- if only so he could ignore the fresh glass in favor of crawling into Cliff’s arms.

“Hey! Easy let me sit down first.” Cliff slid onto the sofa as he looped his arms under Jamie’s and around his back. “You had a good night at Ilya’s engagement party, huh?”

“I did.” Jamie said smugly, nuzzling into the crook of Cliff’s neck.

Fuck, he missed this. Cliff had strong arms.

His chest was warm. Under his jacket was a worn cotton t-shirt that radiated heat that Jamie just wanted to press his entire body against and into. 

Anya pawed at Jamie’s back, suddenly distraught at a cuddle party now happening without her.

“Shit, sorry. Is this okay? I mean,”

“Of course it’s okay.” Cliff laughed and squeezed him tight, keeping Jamie from pulling away. “I’m only up for a night, but I was hoping I’d get to see you too.”

“You should have come up for the party.” Jamie moved to straddle Cliff’s hips, chomping petulantly at his neck. Or at least he was about to, when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

Nick Young had wandered into the large living area. He was halfway through brushing his teeth, wearing a too-large old KLM t-shirt and his boxer briefs. He froze where he stood, looking a little groggy and owl eyed.

“Hn?” He asked, as best as he could with a mouth full of toothpaste.

Jamie blinked back at Nick, while Cliff sighed heavily from where he was splayed out on the sofa.

“I uh.” Jamie attempted. “I really missed my old Captain.”

“Uh oh.” Ilya grinned, joining them in the living room. He stood as Young’s opposite - bare chested and wearing only a pair of sweatpants. 

“Who invited Boston to the hungover Centaur sleepover?” He turned to Nick, his smile falling. 

“Whose toothbrush are you using?” He demanded, eyes narrowed.

Cliff snorted with laughter as Young sheepishly fled back into the bathroom. Ilya sighed and shrugged, then clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

“Okay! Who wants eggs?”

“I brought you more bacon from that shop you like.” Cliff rolled off the couch, causing Jamie to whine petulantly at the loss.

“You bring enough for six people? LaPointe and Haas are sleeping in the guest room.”

“Is my room empty? You could have let Jamie sleep there.”

“I tried! We were lucky to get him on the couch, he wanted to fall asleep in the bathtub.”

Jamie watched over the top of the sofa as Cliff and Ilya busied themselves in the kitchen. They pulled out a litany of pots and pans. Ilya rummaged through his fridge, handing off cartons of eggs and packages of sausages to Cliff without having to look up to make sure he was there.

Watching them now, Jamie couldn’t help but wonder how it had taken him over a year to realize that there was clearly something more between them. 

They moved around each other with a perfectly effortless ease. 

Would he ever have that with someone? 

He rested his head on the sofa, petting Anya’s silky ears and wondered.

Chapter 2: July 2021 - Cliff, Shane and Ilya

Chapter Summary

Cliff, Shane and Ilya enjoy their honeymoon

Chapter Notes

Wow, thank you so much for all the support on Chapter 1! I didn't expect this story to get much traction as it's largely focused on an OC. Thank you so much for reading along :)!

“Alright. No eggs on the tail. Good color. Final length-”

The slight woman held out a measuring tape on the deck of the boat. 

“14 centimetri!”

“Woo!” Ilya cheered. He had taken his diving flippers off of his feet and was now waving them in the air. 

Shane scowled with fire-eyed determination. 

The lobster - having been confirmed the required length to be legally fished within the scope of their permit - did not have any expression at all, and went with an air of dignified resignation into the bucket on deck of the boat.

“You think you can beat that?” Cliff asked with amusement. 

“I know I can. There are bigger lobsters than that at Loblaws.” Shane pulled on his own light scuba gear, having remembered the instructions that Captain Guilia had given them an hour earlier perfectly. 

“Hey! Do not be mean to Dimitri.”

“Don’t name it, Ilya.” Cliff chided sharply, pulling off Ilya’s diving mask. “That’s our dinner.”

The three were currently three weeks into their honeymoon. They had traded the big beautiful vessel that their wedding had taken place on for a smaller but equally beautiful mini yacht - and were slowly making their way from Ibiza across the Mediterranean and down the Amalfi coast. 

The boat had a large, comfortable and sunny master cabin and ample deck space for lounging around. The boat was Captained by Giulia - a formidable woman with a no-nonsense attitude but a big booming laugh once she had enough wine. Her wife Mia meanwhile was a slender, rosy-cheeked woman who took great joy in showing the three men around various towns, islands and hidden gems across the Italian coastline. She also greatly enjoyed the ample catering budget used to cook on whatever nights were spent on the boat and not in town.

It was a very relaxed affair. With the small crew, Cliff, Shane and Ilya joined in to make light work of things like cleaning, laundry and food prep - and many nights having all five of them talking and laughing together over bottles of local wine. 

It was the ideal setup for their honeymoon - the men not having to worry about being cornered in a hotel or resort, or snapped in transit at local airports. Just that morning, they had been recognized having breakfast in a cafe in Sorrento by a tour group of Americans passing by. 

Less than an hour later, the three were disappeared and gone - enjoying lunch in a deep blue grotto somewhere between there and Positano.Steep cliffs of limestone were jutted up high around them - the water beneath was deep and dark, cutting them off from the rest of the world. 

Instead of going to the market to get ingredients for dinner, Guilia had suggested they dive for lobsters in a hidden cove that she knew of. It had been on the itinerary anyway - with the boat already having received permission to hunt a certain number of kilos for recreational purposes.

Shane initially chafed at the sudden change in schedule, but he forgot about his concerns the moment Cliff suggested that he and Ilya should make a game to see who could get the largest catch.

Fully kitted up, Shane jumped into the deep cobalt water. He paddled over to Giulia, who tugged on his straps and checked his valve and his light - running through a regimented safety check and reminding him of various important hand signals before beginning the next dive. 

Cliff was more than happy to sit aside while Shane and Ilya riled each other up. He found their competitiveness endearing - when it wasn’t downright hot. He didn’t have the disposition for it himself. Cliff liked winning in hockey as much as the next guy. But it didn’t burn through his blood the same way that it did for Ilya and Shane. 

And that was okay.

Cliff appreciated being a cool and steady force in their lives. Someone to be there when they got tired, to sit with and be lifted back up after a hard day.

Ilya finished divesting himself of his own light dive gear and shook his fingers through his hair, chasing out the droplets across the deck. He was left in his swimming trunks and his skin, which had slowly begun to glow dark and bronze after weeks under the sun.

“Your family is Italian, aren’t they Marly?”

“Hm? Yeah, my mom’s family is from Sicily. Why?”

“Because I am thinking about it.” Ilya answered simply, in a way that made the corner of Cliff’s mouth crook up whenever he was being his particular flavor of bratty.

Ilya spread himself over Cliff’s lap like a contented cat, careless of the water he was now dripping all over him. The sun made quick work of it though, and Cliff didn’t mind one bit. 

"We will dock there in a few days," Ilya said, looking over to him with bright eyes. "You are excited?"

"A little." Cliff shifted his fingers through Ilya's damp hair. "But my family's been in America for generations. We don't really have roots there, you know?”

It was a bit funny, really. The name Marlow was from his father - a man with no siblings, whose parents were both only children as well. Now, he had four kids and a dozen grandchildren to carry on the name. 

"Hm," Ilya said, unsatisfied, and turned his face into Cliff's stomach. 

Cliff just smirked, continuing to pet Ilya’s hair in a way he knew that he liked. He let Ilya drift off, continuing his internal train of thought about Cliff and Sicily and family ties to wherever it was naturally going to take him. 

With Cliff’s other hand, he traced the patterns of moles across his back.

They really needed to get these mapped.

It was an annoyingly adult thought that passed through Cliff’s mind and he filed away for later. Shane had been extremely diligent on keeping Ilya in sunscreen over the course of the trip, they had been very lucky to get this far in without any burns.

“We should go to Japan next summer.” Ilya finally decided. 

“Japan, huh?” 

“Yes. I think Shane would like this.”

“You’d look hot in a… what are those robes called. A kimono.” Cliff mused. His fingers had naturally made their way down Ilya’s back, thumbing against where his waist curved sharply to form the hip. 

“You know who would look hot in a kimono?”

The surface of the water broke.

Shane tossed his hair back and with a whoop and swam up to the boat with powerful, elegant strokes.

In one hand he was holding a large brown lobster the size of his forearm. 

He hauled himself up onto deck, his back arcing so the mid-afternoon sun caught across his skin - his freckles dark and out in full force. 

The inertia of lifting himself up onto the deck had caused his trunks to ruck low on his hips - the man himself too busy unstrapping his rebreather to notice. 

“I definitely caught the biggest one!” He said proudly. “Hey Mia! Come weigh this!” He held the lobster up over his head. With the other, he pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“Also, I saw an octopus down there!”

“Fuck me, our husband is hot.” Ilya breathed out.

“Hell yeah.” 

The two fistbumped.

-

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“So. We should talk about Jamie.”

Shane looked up from his book and lowered his shades.

In the end, they had each brought up four lobsters. However, Ilya had no choice but to return Dimitri to the water (“I told you not to name it”) and declare Shane the winner.

Now, the sun was hanging low and ushering in a rich orange sunset still an hour or so away from its full glory.

Mia was down in the galley, preparing dinner. Captain Giulia was back at the helm, putting the boat on course for their next stop. Ilya and Shane had showered and changed, and the three of them were lounging around in the very comfortable sitting area on deck and making their way slowly through a chilled bottle of white wine.

The ocean was a deep blue, and the waters were calm. 

They had passed through to an area with decent enough reception for Cliff to receive a text from Jamie that was a funny one-liner and clear setup for a dirty joke, and Cliff decided it was time to have that conversation. 

Ilya sat up from his lounger, putting away his phone.

“Yes, okay.”

“I’m going to be living in Ottawa when we get back. He lives there now too.” Cliff continued. Shane set down his book and joined them at the large plush U-shaped sofa arrangement on the deck. 

“I don’t want to do anything to make the two of you uncomfortable.”

“Hm.” Shane leaned back on the couch, hugging one knee up to his chest. “I mean. You’ve been having sex with him for a year. And it was… fine.” Shane shrugged. “He had a hard time learning about the three of us, but he seemed okay at the wedding? I don’t think I would want you to sleep with other people besides him though. Not since we’re married now.” He said, looking deep and thoughtful about it.

“What, really?”

“Well, yeah.” Shane said, drooping a bit. “Do you… want to sleep with other people?”

“No!” Cliff laughed. “Christ, I asked because I thought you guys might want me to stop being friends with him. I wasn’t asking for permission to keep having sex with him.”

“Oh.” Shane’s face fell. “No, I mean. That would be super mean?”

Shane felt a twinge of guilt. Did Cliff think that he would ask him to stop being friends with Jamie?

“I… am okay with whatever Shane is okay with.” Ilya shrugged, looking thoughtful. 

Ilya’s trust in Cliff was a perfect thing - honed over years of playing together in Boston. Knowing he could piss off literally anyone or say anything, and Cliff would instantly be at his side - getting between him and anyone who might try to take a swing at him. Every time they went onto the ice together it was a trust fall - Ilya jumping off of ledges and Cliff being there to catch him. 

It was why Cliff was the only person Ilya felt safe topping him. Why he never worried about letting Cliff’s side of the relationship be an open one while he was in Boston. 

There was never anything that Cliff Marlow and Jamie Allens could have that Ilya would feel threatened by - because the idea of Cliff doing something to hurt Ilya was just not possible to do.

It was deeply unfair, of course. Some deep flaw in the fabric of the universe. Because Ilya didn’t deserve that sort of thing. Not in a million years. 

The most he could do was his very best to never abuse it.

“But. More important I think is that Jamie is okay. You would need to talk to him. Very clearly. Like how we do now.” 

The three of them were exceptional communicators, after all. 

“He needs to hear you say you will not be made a… cowboy.” Ilya said, with a wave of his hand.

“I don’t think that’s the right use of the term.” Shane mused, fishing out his phone. Shane had been reading up voraciously on the topic of polyamory, both in published works and on various online forums dedicated to the subject.

“Of course.” Cliff smirked. 

“He needs to know for his sake, not for ours.” Ilya corrected firmly. “Jamie is a good boy. And a very good right wing.” He nodded. “It would be bad to see him hurt again.”

Cliff and Shane both nodded in commiseration.

Ilya still looked thoughtful. There was a furrow in his brow, and a distance to his gaze that tipped Cliff off that there was something still on his mind that he hadn’t finished thinking over.

Ilya needed that extra time, when it was something big he was considering.

Before he could however, Mia interrupted the conversation to brightly announce dinner was ready to served.

The three of them helped her shift the lounge area of the deck to its dining table configuration, busily setting out a tablecloth and cutlery. 

There were a few light bites preluding to the main event of dinner - fresh pasta with a decadent sauce piled high with fresh lobster meat. The five of them sat together and enjoyed the meal along with more wine. Giulia regaled them with more stories of her time sailing the Mediterranean and in turn the two women politely pretended to have even a modicum of interest in hockey.

After, the three men headed back to their blissfully air conditioned room for long and decadent lovemaking.

Changing the sheets went quickly with three people involved. They made quick work of it, and before long Cliff was kissing Shane down on clean sheets, their bodies glowing and warm from a quick shower.

Kissing Shane was different from Ilya.

Cliff had long since mapped every inch of Ilya’s body. He spent years deeply attuned to the man - able to read his mood by the pulse of a muscle in his jaw, or the barest shift in his posture. It made things like sex easy and effortless.

Cliff and Shane kissed like there were still things about one another to learn - a journey of mutual discovery that was endlessly exciting as it was rewarding. 

He could feel Shane falling asleep in his arms. His mouth was growing softer, less reciprocal. Cliff moved his lips away from Shane’s, instead kissing his cheeks and forehead - areas that he knew were less likely to stimulate him as he encouraged Shane to drift off. 

For a long while he lay there, holding him and basking in the deep afterglow. 

Then - gently as he could - he extricated himself and headed out onto the deck. 

The sky was clear and velvety black. The horizon was a strip of ambient gold glow that offset the canopy of bright stars. 

Ilya was sitting on one of the lounge chairs on deck. A cotton throw was slung around his back as he watched the heavy yellow moon slowly rise.

Cliff was pleasantly surprised to see Ilya hadn’t snuck away for a smoke. He had been trying in earnest to quit for well over a year now - though the urge still caught up with him in low or stressful moments. 

Now though, Ilya seemed quietly peaceful. 

“Shane?” Ilya asked.

“He’s asleep.”

“Hm.” Ilya leaned his head against Cliff’s shoulder.  He turned toward Cliff, his eyelashes brushed soft against his skin. The two basked in the quiet, peaceful moment for a long while before Ilya finally spoke.

“This thing with Allens…” He said lowly. 

Cliff was alert at once.

“Yeah, man?”

“It’s, hm.” Ilya stalled, as if re-thinking his words to begin with.

“You want me to stop seeing him.” Cliff affirmed, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

“No, I mean.” Ilya paused again. This time Cliff sat back, letting the man take his time to gather his thoughts.

“It did not bother me when you two were together. It still does not. Conceptually.” Ilya said evenly. “I trust you would never do anything to hurt us.”

Cliff squeezed Ilya’s hip in silent, ardent adoration. 

“But. I do not think it is what he needs now.”

Cliff opened his mouth, then closed it, looking out over the water.

“I know. I should have been better about how I handled him finding out about all of us-”

“No. That is not what I meant.” Ilya continued, speaking carefully and deliberately. “I think. Allens has been through very much. I think… he needs someone who will love him completely. Want him more than anybody else. And… I think he would like very much for you to be this person. I think he would wait for you to be this person. If he thought it might happen. Or he might try to convince himself that he is okay with only having a piece of you. Even if it makes him sad. Because he is used to always being a little sad.”

Perhaps it wasn’t Ilya’s place to say. It was quite a lot to read into another man who he only knew after playing together for a few weeks.

To make that sort of call, just because he recognized that same sort of loneliness in the shadows of Jamie’s eyes when he thought nobody was watching.

Cliff frowned.

“I was always clear with him…”

“Yes, I know.” Ilya interrupted, placing a kiss on his shoulder, and another on the dip of his neck. “I know.” He said softly. “It is not your fault. You are a difficult person to not fall in love with.”

Cliff smiled sadly, threading his fingers through the back of Ilya’s hair.

He let the words ruminate for a while. 

“You’re right, huh?” Because it was Ilya, and that made it right. 

He closed his eyes as Ilya settled his weight more properly against him, grounding him.

“This is okay then, yes?”  Ilya asked cautiously.

“Yeah. Yeah I get what you mean.” Cliff sighed. “I just… I don’t know. It feels like it sucks and I’m not sure why.”

Ilya laughed.

“Because you are a spoiled mama’s boy who always gets whatever he wants.” Ilya’s grin turned impish.

“What!” Cliff exclaimed, with amused indignation. He tugged on Ilya’s ears playfully who had made a move to nip at his chest. “If I got whatever I wanted, we’d have Penny here as well.”

“Ugh. This just proves my point. Penny and Anya are getting spoiled by their grandparents back home!” 

Ilya flopped down with his head in Cliff’s lap and his arms loosely around his waist.  

“They would not be happy flying on a plane.”

“No, that’s true.” Cliff leaned back, petting Ilya’s hair. 

“It’s worth it to miss them. If it means they can be happy.”