Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, New York Admirals Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Kyle Swift

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Crack, Ilya does crazy shit, 5+1 Things, POV Ilya Rozanov, Fuck AI, Made by a real human with love, no beta just vibes, Outing, Forced Outing, Just one of those ideas…

Language:

English

Series:

Part 6 of Hockey and Melodrama

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-05 Words: 5,690 Chapters: 1/1

How to lose a team in ten days

Summary

Five times Ilya Rozanov does something stupid to get himself transferred out of Boston. And the one time the team offers a trade of their own.

OR

When Shane Hollander is outed three years into his MLH career and unceremoniously dumped by his team, Ilya Rozanov sees an opportunity. Hoping the crush he’s been harbouring since he was seventeen might not be completely unrequited, he sets off an insane plan to get himself too transferred to the only team in MLH desperate enough to sign players with similar scandal under their belts. The Ottawa Centaurs.

Notes

This fic is a crack, its only purpose is my own personal amusement, but you are cordially invited to join in!
For the purposes of this story, I have disregarded everything in the timeline that does not fit my idea. Scott Hunter is already out in Shane and Ilya’s third season and Ilya already has secured a way of avoiding Russia, which allows him to be as stupid as he pleases and do… this.
Enjoy.

Ottawa centaurs are thrilled to welcome our latest addition to the 2012 roster. Welcome home, #24 Shane Hollander!

Ilya reads the post a hundred times maybe, still not believing it is real. Shane Hollander. Montreal’s star player. The face of the franchise. Its future. Set to become the team’s captain next season.

Traded right before the playoffs.

Fucking insanity.

All it takes is one — Ilya doesn’t even want to call it a scandal, not when he got up to much worse every weekend, practically. One leak. Few stupid screenshots. And Montreal tanks its season, its whole team, throws out the one player worth his salt.

Over one stupid, semi-anonymous Grindr profile. Why wouldn’t Hollander just deny it? His face isn’t even in the photos, those abs could have belonged to anyone.

Sure, they could certainly belong to Hollander, the pretty freckles across the chest, the body built like a fucking war machine… the pictures do look a lot like the underwear commercial still living rent free in Ilya’s mind. But he can’t be the only built, freckled man out there looking to get fucked in Montreal.

But even if Hollander never confirms the profile was his, his team basically did, kicking him days after the images started circulating.

Ilya feels guilty for scrolling through the leaked pictures, but the feeling is drowned out by a quiet satisfaction. He had his suspicions about Hollander, even if the pretty Canadian ignored every attempt at flirting and avoided any possible interaction with Ilya off the ice. Ran away from him whenever they ended up in a room alone, after the draft, after the CCM shot. Hollander couldn’t get away from his fast enough.

Ilya always had his suspicions. Either Hollander really, really didn’t like him. Or, he really did.

Realising he might actually have a shot, he decides to shoot it. Immediately. If Hollander is looking for easy hookups, he'd be more than willing to provide that for him. If he’s looking for more, even better.

Reading through his profile and the few excerpts of conversations circulating the internet, Ilya has no doubt he is just what Hollander is looking for.

So Ilya decides to reach out to him, then and there, before anyone can beat him to it. He sends a simple message first, expressing his sympathy over the situation into his Instagram DMs. They can start there, Ilya needs to show him he is not a creep.

He doesn’t expect a reply any time soon, Hollander’s messages must be flooded already, and he probably doesn’t want to see what’s in there anyway. But Ilya can wait. He’d been harbouring a crush for years now, what’s a couple more days?

That’s why he's surprised when the reply arrives almost immediately. Surprised, but disappointed, when he reads the formal thanks for his sentiments. Of course Hollander won’t be checking his socials himself.

But Ilya doesn’t give up. He drops his number into the chat, asking whoever is reading the message to forward it to Hollander.

The chat remains empty, even as the message shows a read receipt. Ilya checks it periodically, but no response arrives.

The next morning, he’s blocked.

Ilya swears. But he doesn’t give up. All it takes for Montreal to trade their star mid-season is one rumour. Surely it can’t take much more for Raiders to do the same to Ilya?

It will be hard for Hollander to ignore him once they’re playing for the same team.

---

1:

If rumours of Hollander’s sexual orientation are all that it takes to get him kicked out of the Voyagers, surely Ilya confirming his own, publicly, will be enough to get him traded right away too.

He checks Hollander’s socials, at least he isn’t blocked across all the platforms. He worried for a moment Hollander or his team might to do it, so he didn’t reach out again. He wants to talk to him, desperately, but trying wouldn’t be worth it losing access to his profiles altogether.

Not that there is anything to see. Aside from sharing a very sad-looking portrait in his new jersey from the official Centaurs page, and removing all mentions of his old team from his profile, the leak remains unaddressed.

Ilya decides to address it himself, in a comment right under the jersey picture. Getting Hollander’s attention and moving forward his plan for his own trade in one step? Ilya is nothing if not efficient.

Congratulations on a team that values a player for their hockey and not sex life. You can be a legend in bed and on ice. Ask me how I know ;)

The admins on Hollander’s page are fast, but the person behind @rozfanclub is faster, screenshotting the comment before it’s deleted and spreading it across internet.

Ilya knows it reached the popularity he needs when it appears in the Raiders group chat and his agent starts blowing up his phone.

Ilya doesn’t pick up.

He knows he fucked up when he sees the reaction. Maybe he should have been clearer. Make it very clear that the Tweet was not teasing, but an honest offer.

Of course, when he tries again, he is no longer allowed on Hollander’s page. No matter. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work both ways and Hollander will see his work eventually.

In a strike of genius, he leaves the message in a comment under the post on the official MLH account announcing the transfer.

Are we sending all players that like sucking dicks to Ottawa now? Cause with me and Hollander on the same team, there will be a cup in Ottawa by the end of this season ;)

There. Couldn’t be clearer. Ilya Rozanov likes sucking dicks.

Still, refusing to take any chances, Ilya finds the Metros’ page too and leaves one more note under their post announcing the departure.

Imagine losing the second best player in the league for some grainy photos (Sorry Hollander, you can do better. Message me if you need someone to show you how to take a nude properly. I promise you will like what I send ;))

He looks over the comment. Maybe he should be clearer, but he likes the wording a little too much to change anything.

So he replies to his own comment, adding, I am not teasing. I am offering to exchange nudes, in a very gay way. Bisexual, technically. He adds the little flag at the end.

Liking the visual, he decides to add a flag to his profile too. It’s as far as he gets before he is locked out of his account.

He wonders and appreciates that it took his agent so long. He’s done now. Even with all the comments probably already deleted, he's sure the internet did its thing.

Now there is nothing else for him to do, just follow the blow out in the team group chat and expect a call from the team management.

He laughs with his teammates, who, unsure if he's teasing, trying to be supportive, or actually flirting with Hollander, fall into a very inappropriate debate, calling Hollander some names in the process that Ilya shuts down immediately.

The chat clears out after that. The few teammates not sufficiently discouraged continue discussing possible improvements to Holander’s Grindr profile, and debating if he is out of Ilya’s league or the other way around.

Ilya’s phone buzzes the whole night with their messages. But the message he is hoping for from the management doesn’t come.

Ilya doesn’t give up. He just needs to up his game.

---

2:

Ilya decides that if a leaked Grindr profile worked for Hollander, it will have to work with him too. Not that he has one, currently, not when he has no trouble meeting people in person. He prefers it that way, really. Less digital trace which, as Hollander proved already, can sometimes be a problem.

He creates a profile then. He wasn’t lying to the twitter people when he said he knows how to take a good nude picture, even if for his profile, he settles on the upper body only.

Still, the effort he puts into the photos for his profile is new even to him — with his body, it doesn’t take much for a good picture — but knowing, hoping that this picture might reach Hollander, he hits the gym first.

Muscles pumped, sweat coating his chest, he plays with the lightning before he snaps the pictures he needs. He makes sure his cross and the Boston logo on his shorts are in view, just to make the authenticity of the picture a little harder to doubt.

He sweet talks his agent, who, despite knowing he must be up to something lets him back into his account anyway. Ilya sends him a gift basket consisting of vodka, vodka and more vodka as a thanks.

And before his agent can rethink his terrible decision, he posts the screenshots of his profile onto his twitter.

Since he’s still blocked from all of Hollander’s accounts, he does something desperate. Something he never thought he’d have to lower himself to.

He tags Hayden Pike. Hopefully this way, it will reach Hollander through his best friend — if they even are friends, after the Montreal fall out.

He has no way of knowing, but he decides it’s worth a try.

@HPike35 pls send this to your buddy Hollander, let him know what a proper profile looks like (not that he needs one again, he has my number ;))) Or DM me his address and I’ll print them out and send myself ;) He might want to keep them…

He doesn’t learn if Pike replies — the post is deleted in minutes and his access revoked again.

He watches the fallout from his burner account, distancing himself from the team chat as they still insist on mostly calling it a prank. He doesn’t fail to notice how few of them join the conversation this time. And although a steady group of deniers online agree with them, they are no longer the majority and it looks like now he is properly out to the world.

The management reaches out. Finally. They chew him out. They ban him from his account and this time, no amount of bribing his agent gets him the new password.

They still think it’s a bad joke. But there is no talk of dropping him. Yet. It doesn’t matter, even if Ilya is becoming impatient. It’s only been a couple of days, there’s no way Hollander already found someone in Ottawa, right? He still has a couple of days to make it there before the playoff trade deadline.

Plus, they’re playing in New York in two days. Just the place to be for a queer MLH player.

---

3:

The gods of queer hockey must be watching over Ilya, he thinks as he skates onto the MSG ice to meet Scott Hunter. A miced up Scott Hunter, already waiting for him in the middle of the rink.

“I’ll see you after the game to celebrate destroying you tonight, yes?” Ilya asks, already planning his big night out. He is not leaving New York without pushing his point through, he can’t, not now that he is cut off from all social media. He needs to do something big enough for it to make it onto other people’s social media instead.

“Aren’t you a little young for a mid life crisis?” Hunter raises an eyebrow. Ilya knows there’s so much more he’d like to say, but he is a good boring boy so…

“I need to suck a dick on live TV for everyone to believe me?” Ilya replies immediately, knowing the opportunity won’t repeat itself and he enjoys seeing Hunter choke on air.

“You know I’m miced up?” Hunter asks. So unnecessary. So fucking boring.

“Have you been practicing your chirps since you found out? What’s the worst you have for me? Will you make me blush?”

“You know what, Rozanov? I think you are all talk, but you’d run like a little girl if someone actually took you up on your words.”

“Why don’t you try it and find out?” Ilya teases, “Or are you worried I’ll suck your dick so good you’ll never want another mouth? Ruin you for your pretty boyfriend?”

“Jesus, Rozanov! You can’t say that!”

“Now who’s blushing?” Ilya chuckles. “We continue this discussion in your bar, yes? Your gay bar?”

The puck drop interrupts the conversation. It’s no matter. Surely some of it will make it out of the room. Even if the fun parts get beeped out or cut, rumours always follow. Just enough to get all eyes on Hunter’s bar tonight, hopefully.

The game passes, happening around Ilya more than to him, but it doesn’t take his full concentration to still wipe the rink with the leading New York palaeontology exhibit.

His teammates laugh, but aren’t really surprised when he announces his celebration plans after the game. That is the problem, a big part of it. It’s not easy for Ilya Rozanov to scandalise the league anymore.

But Ilya Rozanov is nothing if not determined.

The Kingfisher is crowded tonight. Maybe it’s the regular Admirals’ celebration, maybe it’s the added curiosity if he really is going to show up.

He does. He orders a beer, just the one for tonight. Whatever happens, he doesn’t want it dismissed as him being drunk.

His favourite flirty bartender Kyle takes his order, and Ilya knows he’s been following his social media escapades. It’s written all over his face.

“I have to say, that is one way to come out,” Kyle says as he leans over the bar to take Ilya’s order.

Ilya only shrugs. “Not really, league seems to think I’m joking. Can’t even leak a sex tape to prove it, they took my social media away.”

“Would be some sex tape I bet,” Kyle chuckles. “You can always send it to me,” he adds, winking. “I don’t have your following, but I bet it’d still make a splash.”

Oh, Ilya knows why he likes him. He hands Kyle his phone and the bartender appears shocked for a moment, but he takes it.

“Put your number in. If tonight doesn’t work, I might reach out,” he instructs Kyle.

Kyle laughs, but he obediently puts in the digits.

“You can text me anytime you’re in New York, you know,” he says with a wink as he hands the phone back. “Not just when you need a sex tape leaked.”

“You’re not camera shy?” Ilya teases and he earns himself another wink.

“Not when it’s for a good cause.”

“So,” Ilya asks before heading deeper into the bar, “Hunter and his boy, they’re still serious?”

Kyle appears offended at this change of topic, playfully swatting Ilya’s arm. “Replacing me already? But unfortunately for both of us, they are still very much in love, very monogamous last I heard.”

Ilya sighs. “So fucking boring.” Kyle nods.

Ilya is aware their conversation isn’t really private, the bar is too packed yet no loud enough to keep his secrets, but that is okay. They’re not meant to stay secret.

Still, making out with Scott Hunter in public — however disgusting — might be just enough to push his point through. He will try, of course, he’s not just going to take Kyle’s word for it.

But maybe, it would be smart to have a backup anyway.

He scans the room, looking for a different opportunity. Something that would make it very clear he is serious about getting his hands on a hot hockey player.

He considers Kyle as an alternative, there’s no doubt he’d be more than willing. But Kyle is not really his type, and it is already a dangerous line he’s walking, properly outing himself without scaring Hollander away. If he’s doing this, it should be with someone no one in their right mind would assume is actually his boyfriend.

The resignation is clear on the faces of all present Admirals when he finally makes it to their table. Ilya forces his way in, scooting next to unimpressed looking Jalo who, despite his clear confusion, makes space for him.

As to confirm what Kyle said already, Kip is sitting with the team, leaning into Hunter’s space without shame, their arms link, his face resting on Hunter’s shoulder.

“This thing still serious, yes?” Ilya asks anyway, pointing between the two. It’s not dignified with an answer, not unless Hunter’s murderous look counts as one. But no answer is not yes.

“I have a favour to ask, Kip.” Ilya likes the way his name sounds in his mouth, how loud the p at the end gets if he says it with a pop. He adds a wink, to warm Kip up.

He is aware he might get himself thrown out of the bar at some point. It will probably be after his next sentence, if he’s not careful. “How would you feel about getting to watch your boyfriend making out with hottest player in league?”

Ilya wags his eyebrows suggestively, pushing his point through, but someone still has the helpful comment, “Didn’t realise Hollander was here.”

“Second hottest,” Ilya amends, not able to argue with that point. He doesn’t take his eyes of Hunter’s face which is changing colours faster than the bar’s mood light. Kip is shooting confused looks between the two, but he honestly seems amused more than anything. He probably doesn’t think Ilya’s being serious.

“Sorry, I don’t share,” Kip tells him when Hunter makes no move to answer Ilya’s proposition himself.

“Not even for a good cause?” Ilya teases. Maybe he can provoke them into agreeing, if he just gives Hunter something to prove.

“What are you, shooting a charity calendar?”

“Yes,” Ilya lies, “Is video calendar. Kyle offered to make a sex tape with me and you won’t even lend me Hunter for one kiss?”

He is met with stunned silence. When no answer comes even after the shock subsides, he sighs. “Boring.”

“Why do you really want to kiss my boyfriend?” Kip finally reacts, staring him down. Like he is actually jealous, as if Ilya ever wanted to become his competition. Over Scott fucking Hunter.

“Would make good coming out video, no?” Ilya shrugs, offering an innocent smile. If Kip is jealous, he needs to backpedal quickly before he stops talking to him altogether. Or, maybe a catfight over Hunter could…?

Kip laughs at last, killing that idea, but Hunter seems still shocked, his face scrunching in disgust.

Ilya looks around the table, and although all the eyes are still on him, the Admirals’ faces are guarded, still waiting to see where this leads before committing to a reaction. Maybe they still think it will turn out to be a weird chirp from Ilya. Which is precisely why Ilya is here, taking the pains to put any doubts about how serious he is to rest.

“I thought you were pretty clear on your socials already, why do you need coming out video?” Kip asks all serious. Maybe Ilya should kiss him. It would definitely be more pleasant than his ancient boyfriend.

“Thank you, Kip. For believing me. Most people think it is prank or something. I don’t have a pretty boyfriend to kiss when I win the cup, and no chance of getting one if he doesn’t believe I’m serious about sucking—”

“You also don’t have a chance of a cup, so I don’t think you need to sweat it,” Hunter interrupts him, his timing a little too convenient.

“You don’t want to hear me talk about sucking dicks?” Ilya teases him and Hunter’s uncomfortable expression confirms his timing must have been deliberate. “Worried you make like it too much?” he adds just to make him squirm.

“You’re worse at this than me,” he laughs when Hunter does just that.

“So, want to tell us who’s this he that doesn’t think you’re serious?” Kip jumps in. He doesn’t miss anything, does he? “And why do you want to make out with my boyfriend if you have someone else?”

“There is no he,” Ilya denies, “just, uh, stupid English. Putting more meaning to my word.”

“Sure.” Kip doesn’t even pretend to believe him. “Go make out with your boy and leave mine alone, how about that?”

Ilya rolls his eyes. Maybe he should push harder, but Hunter is still green in face, and if Ilya wasn’t thrilled by the idea of having his tongue in his mouth before, he certainly isn’t now, seeing that Hunter might actually fucking puke on him if he tries.

Instead, he gives the rest of the table a look over, his eyes landing on Bennett. Even older than Hunter, probably. But at least there’s none of that terrified deer in headlights look Hunter is sporting.

How he was brave enough to be the first man to come out, Ilya will never understand. Even if he’d never forget it, either.

“Anyone here questioning something? Want to take me up on the offer?” Ilya makes point of not looking at Bennett anymore as he says it. He is a dick, but he is not trying to out the man, in case not all the present teammates know what Ilya’s been long suspecting.

Which is why it only delights him more when Bennett is the one to reply anyway. “Pretty sure everyone here is either straight or way past questioning, Rozanov,” he says with a chuckle, and Ilya watches him take a sip of his beer and neither breaks the eye contact.

“But you’re not my type either, sorry.”

Ilya smiles so wide the corners of his mouth begin to hurt. “Then at least I won’t break your heart when I leave,” Ilya says with a wink. “And the pretty bartender would find it hot.”

“What pretty bartender?” Bennett asks and his poker face is good, but this isn’t Ilya’s first time in the Kingfisher and Bennett is not subtle where Kyle is involved.

“We both know what pretty bartender. The one that gave me his number earlier.” Ilya’s suspicions — which needed no confirmation — were confirmed immediately in the expression of Bennett’s face.

“Relax, Benny, is so he can help me, my agent banned me from twitter.”

Bennett does relax, visibly, as the table breaks into a laughter around them.

Ilya wasn’t even aware of how deep the silence around them became until the sound of them surrounded him. He probably shouldn’t be surprised he was making them uncomfortable.

“Dance with me?” Ilya offers and is only half-surprised when Bennett actually takes him up on it.

Which is how, a dozen different videos of Ilya grinding on the Admirals goalie make it online that night. Bennett even lets himself be recorded with his hands on Ilya’s ass, making out sloppy on the dance floor. Ilya isn’t sure who was doing whom a favour in the end, not when both Bennett and Kyle are nowhere to be seen in the bar afterwards.

Especially, when his agent and the Raiders management call, accepting, finally, his queerness is not a joke that would play itself out and go away, and reminding him about optics, game integrity, and other topics he is only 80% sure he understands the words for, but still no threat of a trade.

Ilya sighs. Now is not the greatest time to find out that his team management is supportive of queer rights. He’ll have to come up with a new plan, then.

---

4:

For his next trick, Ilya Rozanov spends a night in jail. That wasn’t the plan, of course, he was aiming only for a reasonably sized scandal, but he can’t say he is too mad about this outcome.

It starts with a night out with the Raiders. Ilya doesn’t drink, which is new to him, but he wants to be in control of how he scandalises the public tonight.

Clearly his past social media statement made some impact because he is approached by as many men as women tonight, and he dances with both. It’s better for his image that way, not denying the part of himself everyone already knows anyway. That is what makes it so hard to believe, isn’t it? Ilya Rozanov, the great womaniser, cannot be gay.

Sadly, the world likes to forget that bisexuals exist when it's convenient. So Ilya has to remind them.

He thinks he does a decent job of it, sandwiched between a gorgeous woman and her boyfriend, the two of them taking turns to devour his throat with kisses. They both let him kiss them back, the man grinds into him as Ilya makes out with his girl before snatching him for himself and pushing his tongue down his throat.

Ilya lets him. He sucks and licks, anything he can get his mouth on, man or woman, mouth, neck, ear. He looses himself in the passion and can barely remember why he denied himself before.

His teammates. Russia. They barely feel real anymore. Monsters he faced and suddenly they weren’t as scary as he imagined. He wishes he could kiss his beautiful, American passport in all of Russia’s face. Just like he’ll wave the Ottawa jersey in front of his homophobic teammates. Soon.

Ilya looks around the club. He notices some cameras pointed his way. Good. Let everyone know he’s not going away. Very good. But not enough.

He knows he needs to up his game if he wants the Raiders to trade him anytime soon. He’s been a nuisance and a PR nightmare his whole career, and they’ve threatened before but he never worried they might actually mean it, not enough to stop. Well, he’ll make them mean it.

A man catches his eyes. He knows from the first moment why; the sad eyes, the freckled cheeks, if he had a couple more drinks he could almost imagine it was Hollander.

The man doesn’t look away, not when Ilya meets his eyes, with his dance partner’s lips still glued to his jaw. He smiles when Ilya raises his eyebrows in question, so Ilya walks over, leaving the couple who’s names he never learned behind, forgetting they existed the moment they leave his sight.

The freckled man wraps himself around Ilya, and doesn’t protest when Ilya drags him out after less than one song. He doesn’t complain when Ilya pulls out a cigarette, asking to bum one instead. Ilya shares, even if he’s disappointed that he asked. But the man isn’t Hollander, of course he isn’t, Ilya needs to remember that.

The man audibly sighs when he spots Ilya’s car, and they make out over the central panel the moment he drops onto the passenger seat. Ilya doesn’t protest. Not then and not when the man wraps his lips around his dick either.

Ilya doesn’t return the favour — not because he doesn’t want to but because the man begs him to fuck him instead and Ilya has no complaints about that.

The car purrs as Ilya guides her out of the parking spot, and the man next to him is loud and horny, but not horny enough to complain when Ilya guns the car and drops the windows, and the Boston night echoes with lyrics full of sex and drugs.

The man shouts with glee as Ilya breaks every traffic law in existence, he doesn’t ask when he reaches for the cigarette box in Ilya’s breast pocket and lights two of them, pressing one between Ilya’s lips. He sings over the noise of the car radio and wind trying to rip through the car as the speedometer flirts with the red numbers.

It’s too easy. Whatever he does, the man grins like it’s everything he ever wanted and Ilya is bored. He wants a fight, a challenge, resistance.

He drives them to his house but he doesn't want this man, who is very much not Hollander, coming into his bedroom. He fucks him against the hood of his car, and the man is too compliant to even complain when Ilya offers him bunch of tissues and no shower.

At least he drives him home - if only because he needs to be somewhere that isn’t his house, alone, and inside his newest car is as good as he can get these days.

If they broke every traffic law before, they break them twice now. Ilya zooms past the night traffic, sparse but still very much present, and the man who’s decidedly not Hollander screams and waves his hands out of the window like he’s on a fucking rollercoaster, making Ilya roll his eyes.

Ilya doesn’t know what he was hoping to accomplish tonight. Up until tonight, he always had a plan. But tonight he just decided to go out, hoping a scandal would find him, and ended up with a poor excuse for the man he really wanted and nothing accomplished.

In one last hope of getting his team management’s attention, he does the stupidest thing yet. He’s an expert on getting speeding tickets, and subsequently, avoiding them. Tonight, he is very much in the getting them mood, and he turns the car towards a particularly inviting stretch of highway where the cops like to camp and catch people like him. He makes sure to hit the maximum speed right before the long stretch.

And sure enough, the sky lights up blue and red behind him. Ilya is feeling himself, and he is possibly insane, so he gives them a little chase. Not long enough to get his beautiful car shot at. Just enough so that they know he’s trouble. He swerves too, driving as poorly as he can and the man next to him keeps screaming with joy.

He’s dragged out of the car when he finally stops. He looks for flashes of camera. For any signs that someone is seeing the show he’s putting on.

When he’s bailed out the next day, he gets the good news. Not only his arrest, but somehow also him fucking the stranger against his car in his driveway were captured and posted online.

He also gets the bad news. He’s suspended, fined, but still very much on the team.

---

5:

Ilya is fucking pissed. He tried everything, and the line he’s walking, between getting kicked from the Raiders and getting kicked from the whole league, labelled as too much trouble even for a team as desperate as the Centaurs, is getting thin.

He might be stepping over it this time. But he is desperate. He is running out of scandals.

So this time, he’s not aiming for the biggest scandal. No, this time, he’s going to piss off the GM personally.

Ilya is not a very patient man, not when it comes to things that aren’t hockey and aren’t cars. But he makes himself be patient as he looks up everything there is to find about the team’s GM.

More money than anyone would know what to do with. New wife every couple of years, the latest one younger than all of his children. The regular rich asshole.

Ilya reaches out to his wife — she’s beautiful in a doll-like way, blonde and perfect and mind-numbingly boring. But she’s young, she likes fun, and she agrees too easily to meet him when they both know her husband will be out of the country.

She arrives in an unremarkable car, an Uber, probably. Sunglasses covering most of her face, silk scarf covering her hair. The disguise and her eagerness to meet him make it obvious this is not the first such rendezvous for her.

Ilya might be an asshole, but he’s also a gentleman. He offers her a drink, and doesn’t hesitate when she asks for a martini like he’s a fucking bartender. He makes her the drink, and shows her into his guest bedroom. If she realises it’s not his actual bed, she doesn’t complain.

She lets Ilya worship her without offering much initiative herself, her main contribution looking beautiful. She does look beautiful, both in person and on the tape Ilya makes of the act.

Even coming from Ilya’s burner account with zero real followers, it ends up being big. The GM divorces. The woman curses Ilya forever, stalking his social media as if he cares.

But the result. The revenge. It doesn’t. Fucking. Come.

Even having fucked the GM’s wife, Ilya Rozanov remains a Boston Raider.

---

+1:

The team management calls Ilya in at the end of the month. That at least is something. In high hopes of his plan finally, finally, maybe working, he does the stupidest thing he can thing of. He doesn’t tell his agent about the meeting.

He actually enjoys listening to one of the lawyers as he lists Ilya’s most recent scandals with the enthusiasm of a person reading a grocery list. He doesn’t even try to hide his smile.

Then finally, the question he’s been waiting for. “What are you trying to accomplish Rozanov?”

Ilya practiced the answer, yet the excitement still threaten to twist it on his tongue. “Same as before,” he says, forcing himself to sound calm. Collected. “Fuck who I want, do what I want. It wasn’t problem when I was fucking only women.”

“And the social media?” the lawyer isn’t satisfied. Ilya doesn’t blame him.

Ilya just shrugs. He expected the question. “I had to rip the bandaid. See how my team reacts. It was not great. I don’t think they want me here.”

There. Seed planted.

“Do you think you’d be happier on a different team?” The question comes much sooner than Ilya expected. He hoped, he pushed, but it never came and almost stopped hoping. Until now.

“I don’t think most teams would react differently,” he shrugs.

“Except Ottawa, right?” the lawyer isn’t buying his nonchalance. He reads him one of his first tweets, about all dick sucking players moving to Ottawa. Ilya doesn’t fight it.

“They’d want you, probably,” he continues, and no one stops him. Not his coach, not the GM have any complaints. Ilya tries not to look too happy.

“If he wants out that bad,” one of the assistant coaches mumbles, “they’d probably trade us Hollander for him if we throw in some draft picks.”