Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

the videos, The wedding, scott hunter pov - Freeform

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Married in Vegas

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-08 Words: 2,793 Chapters: 1/1

I'll make your inhibitions all disappear

Summary

Scott's PoV of the Rozanov-Hollander wedding.

Notes

I am so overwhelmed by the amount of love you guys have shown for this fic, so I just had to continue the series. I hope you all like!!!

Keep screaming at me about sequel ideas (I currently have a list of 20, and yes, Hayden and Shane's parents reactions are on the list, dw)

Also, before anyone comes charging in at me about historical accuracy, yes, I am aware that the awards are in June and that same-sex unions were not legalised in Nevada until October 2014. I simply just do not care x

Scott Hunter was in a gay bar. It was late, and he’d peeled away from the rest of his teammates who had come to the awards maybe an hour ago now, and he’d been walking aimlessly when he’d noticed the bar, had clocked the clientele lining the pavement outside waiting to enter, and he’d impulsively joined the back of the line, his head down.

No one looked twice at him, but it had still made his heart pound.

At the door, he paid the cover and slipped inside, buying a beer at the bar for courage before finding a corner to hide in. He wallflowered for a while, just… drinking it all in while he sipped his beer.

He’d never done anything like this before. It was terrifying. It was wonderful.

A guy eyed him every now and again, but Scott was careful to flick his eyes past them in disinterest. He wasn’t here for that. He was way too jittery to try and get laid.

No, he just wanted to exist here. To feel, for just once in his life, like he wasn’t some kind of freak for wanting this.

Which was why he’d been shocked, and a little concerned, as Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander all but staggered into the bar, giggling like little kids. They were practically propping each other up, and Shane was listing a bit, his eyes a bit dazed.

Protective instincts welled. He’d moved before he’d even decided it, propping up his other side.

“You alright there, Rook?” he asked. But he was looking at Rozanov, who was giving Scott this sleepy sort of crooked grin. There was a challenge in his eyes, like he was daring Scott to question him. Them. Being there together.

“Hunter!” he yelled, reaching around Shane to punch his arm. “Did you come out to dance, too?”

Scott blinked. “Huh?”

“We’re dancing,” Shane said, beaming up at him. And he looked… happy. Shane Hollander was in a gay club in Las Vegas with Ilya Rozanov, and he was smiling so hard it was almost cracking his face in two.

It was, quite frankly, adorable.

“You are very drunk,” Scott said to him, unable to keep the fondness from his tone.

“Yes, yes,” Rozanov said dismissively. “We will get water and be responsible and then we will dance, yes?”

“Sure,” Scott agreed easily.

“Hollander?” Rozanov asked. There was a change in his voice when he spoke to Shane, a softening to the normally harsh sounds of his Russian accent.

Shane turned away from Scott to look up at Rozanov. “Yes please,” he said. “Water sounds amazing.”

Rozanov nodded and then suddenly Scott was propping up basically all of Shane’s not inconsiderable weight as Rozanov left them standing there, making his way unsteadily over to the bar.

Scott watched him go, eyes narrowed.

“Shane,” he said urgently, drawing his attention. “You’re okay, right? Like, here of your own free will and all that?”

A little furrow appeared on his face. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“With Rozanov,” he clarified. “I thought you hated him?”

Shane shook his head, and oh, the look on his face was… very telling. His brow smoothed out, a fond smile making his lips curl up. “No, I don’t,” he said simply.

It made Scott’s heart race. He’d felt so fucking alone for so much of his life. Not just because he was an orphan, though of course that was still something that crippled him with grief even at the best of times, but because he was gay. He’d always known he was, but it had been a secret that he’d kept buried so deep for so long now, to protect himself. 

He’d heard all the jeers in the locker room, on the ice, online. He’d been terrified to go to Sochi, knowing the risk he was taking in even existing in a country like that, where homophobia was legally encouraged and loving another man was a crime.

So to see Shane and Rozanov like this, so openly affectionate and clearly in some kind of a relationship? It was cracking something he hadn’t even known had been there, this hard protective shell that had protected his heart, yes, but also prevented it from hoping for something better, something more.

Well, then.

“Alright,” Scott said gently as the foundations of his world rocked beneath his feet. “I trust you, Rook.”

Shane’s smile brightened. “I trust you too, Scott!”

Rozanov looked amused as he returned with two glasses of water. “Having fun catching up?” he teased. “Commiserating over being second and third best losers?”

“Asshole,” Shane said, grinning as he took one of the cups from Rozanov.

And yeah, he could kind of see it now. The way they seemed to move in sync like the two of them had their own gravitational pull. Shane was giddy under Rozanov’s attention, and Rozanov was fond and quick to smile back at him. 

A proper one that actually reached his eyes.

“Drink your water, Hollander,” Rozanov said.

“Bet I can drink it faster than you,” Shane shot back.

Rozanov’s eyes narrowed.

Scott sighed.

Shane won and crowed about it, ribbing Rozanov about how slow he was, and then Rozanov leaned in, stage whispering about how Shane was just so much better at swallowing than him, and well, Scott had to turn away, his cheeks flaming. He wasn’t a saint, nor a prude, but the possessive way Rozanov was talking was doing things that they definitely should not be.

He heard Rozanov chuckle, and then he was discarding their cups, and was drawing Shane, and by default of the fact that Shane was still stumbling slightly, Scott as well, to the dancefloor.

Bodies moved around them, and the dancefloor was dark, with only a strobe light every now and again illuminating the hungry look Rozanov was giving Shane as he moved with him.

Impulsively, Scott brought up his phone and pressed record. Not because he had any intention of sharing it, or doing anything with it, but because the two of them together was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, and he felt like he was doing the history books a favour by filming the filthy way the two of them moved in sync to the music.

Rozanov had his hands on Shane’s hips, helping to move him, and Shane’s arms were gripping the front of his tux. The distance between them sizzled with tension, and it was more charged than any face-off had ever been. They looked like they wanted to devour each other.

Scott felt his blood running hot. Maybe he needed to rethink this getting laid thing. 

He ended the video before either of them could notice him being a massive creep, pocketing his phone.

Nearby, a loud cheer had them all turning. Two men were kissing in front of the DJ, both crying, while everyone around them jumped up and down and cheered. A woman leaned in to whisper to the DJ, who nodded and handed her the microphone.

“Hey y’all, I just wanted to let you know that CJ and Damien here have officially tied the knot!”

The cheer was raucous. Everyone around them screamed, and there was a rush of people moving forward to congratulate the happy couple.

Scott stood there, blindsided. He knew that gay marriage was becoming a thing, now, in some states. Since Massachusetts had legalised it in 2004, slowly other states had started to come on board. Nevada must have done the same, even sooner than anticipated.

Hopefully, New York wouldn’t be too far behind… Not that this was something that was even on the cards for him, at the moment. But still, he wanted that, someday.

He turned to look at Shane and Rozanov. Shane had gone still in Rozanov’s arms, looking past him to where the happy couple was being embraced by wellwishers, lining up like a hockey team approaching the goalie after a game. 

A strobe light passed over his face, illuminating his expression. Longing.

Rozanov reached up and cupped his cheek.

Something had Scott bringing up his phone again, pressing record.

“You want?” he asked Shane quietly.

Scott could barely hear him over the music that had resumed. He stepped closer, around slightly so that he could see both of their faces, or at least his camera could.

“Yes,” Shane said, and oh, his eyes were welling up.

Rozanov closed the distance between them, and their kiss was sweet and soft. Shane’s hands slid up from Rozanov’s lapel to bury in his curls, holding him close as Rozanov’s arms wrapped around his lower back, holding him close like he was something precious.

It was very moving.

“Come on,” Rozanov said, and as he pulled away, there was a spark of determination in his eyes. “Is Las Vegas, has to be some dumb place nearby where we can marry.”

Shane spluttered. “Wait, now?”

Rozanov made an impatient noise. “Before you change your mind,” he said. And then he was looking at Scott. “Hunter, find us somewhere to be married.”

“Sure thing, buddy,” he said with a laugh, ending the recording and opening up a search bar.

It turned out that there was somewhere nearby, and a quick scan of their website confirmed that they were able to perform same-sex unions. They moved away from the loud music so that Scott could read the requirements out to them,

“You have to have an ID on you,” he said. “And you can buy rings there, so all you really need is a witness,” he explained.

Rozanov nodded. “Easy. You will come.”

It wasn’t a question. Scott was touched nonetheless. “You want me to be your witness?”

It was Shane who responded. He was tucked into Rozanov’s side, looking adorably happy. “Of course we want you, Scott. Who else would we trust?”

There was that word again. Trust.

His throat closing over, Scott just nodded, and Shane smiled at him.

“Lead the way,” Rozanov said, and he was almost squirming out of his skin with impatience, like a dog straining at its leash. 

Scott could understand it. He’d seen the amount of attention Shane had been garnering in the club, eyes travelling slowly up and down. He’d want to get him off the market and locked down as soon as possible too, if it were him.

“Alright,” he said with a bemused shake of his head. “I guess we’re doing this.”

***

The chapel was small, quaint, and blessedly private. Scott hung back, watching and taking a few more videos as the two of them filled out the necessary paperwork and chatted to the celebrant, a lovely woman called Helena who had been able to set even Rozanov at ease.

He watched them select each other’s rings from a collection that was laid before them, and the way they couldn’t keep their hands or eyes off of each other.

It made him wonder when this had started for them. The level of comfort they had… it couldn’t just be the alcohol and lack of inhibitions. This was… devotion. That required time.

Scott didn’t know when they’d found the time to fall in love like this. They were in each other’s cities only a few times a year, and he knew that Rozanov went home to Russia during the summer breaks, while Shane went back to stay with his parents. So, when? How?

After a few more minutes, Scott was called forward to fill out his own information as their witness, and while he did so, he could hear Rozanov talking quietly to Shane.

“If you want to wait, Shane, we can. Is legal in Boston, too,” he was saying, rubbing a thumb over Shane’s cheek.

But Shane shook his head. “I want it now,” he admitted. “I can’t wait to be your husband, Ilya.”

And it was that, hearing them calling each other by their first names, in those soft, tender voices, that made any of Scott’s speculations or doubts fade away.

They loved each other. Nothing else mattered.

“Alright,” Helena said, beaming at them. “We have everything ready. Let’s go get you married!”

Shane gave a little cheer and the three of them followed the smaller woman through to the actual chapel. The lights were on, showing a small, quaint wooden room lined with a few pews,  ribbons twined around them. A lectern stood in the middle of a small stage at the front, flowers and candles framing it, while an organ dominated most of one side.

It was pretty, and Scott snapped a few photos on the way.

The ceremony was short, and lovely, and Scott filmed the entire thing. They recited after the celebrant in stock-standard vows, and Rozanov was definitely crying a little bit, and Shane was looking up at him with this soppy, adoring expression on his face.

Rozanov slid the ring he’d chosen onto Shane’s finger, promising to love and honor him, and then Shane did the same, and as they kissed, Rozanov dipped Shane low.

They both giggled as they stood back up, giddy with happiness.

And then they signed their marriage certificate in duplicate, with Scott watching over them, adding his own name underneath theirs, saying yes, yes he could see their love for each other, yes he knew they would cherish each other always.

Ilya picked up the marriage certificate like it was the most precious thing he’d ever held.

“You can apply for your official copy after it's been registered,” Helena informed them, “but that one is yours to take with you.”

“Thank you,” Rozanov said thickly.

She wished them well, and soon they were spilling back out onto the street, and Rozanov was wrapped around Shane, pressing kisses onto his face while Shane blushed prettily.

“Let me buy you two a drink, to celebrate,” Scott said, clapping Shane on the shoulder.

Which was how they ended up back at that same bar, Scott buying them shots, and then there had been dancing, and a few more videos.

In one, very memorably, Rozanov had turned to Scott, his eyes flashing as he smirked.

“Record this,” he’d said, and then he was dipping Shane once more, and their kiss was filthy, all tongue and teeth, and their hands were gripping each other tightly, their rings on prominent display.

Rozanov brought Shane back up slowly, never letting him go, kiss after kiss landing on his mouth until he was shuddering in his arms and Scott was turning red and a little hot under the collar.

Jesus Christ.

“Maybe you two should uh, head in for the night?” Scott suggested, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

“Mmm, good idea,” Shane agreed. He was looking even more drunk than earlier, and he was clinging to Rozanov like a limpet, eyes glassy but adoring. “Take me to bed, husband.”

Scott snorted. He doubted they’d get up to much with how obliterated they were.

Still, he called them a cab back to whichever hotel they were staying at, and made sure they got into it safely.

He decided to walk back to his own hotel. It wasn’t that far, and he could do with the time to think.

With his hands stuck in his pockets, he walked, brushing past the early morning revellers with practiced ease. 

It had been weird, seeing them so open and affectionate with each other. They hadn’t been looking around furtively to see who might be clocking them, and they hadn’t shrunk away from Scott as he’d approached. He wasn’t really sure what to make of that, of them, of how fucking brave they were.

Some part of Scott had long ago decided that love wouldn’t be for him, at least not while playing professional hockey. And yet were these two, several years younger than him, clinging onto love with both hands, choosing each other despite what might come afterwards.

He wasn’t sure if people would get wind of them or not. He hadn’t specifically noticed anyone other than him filming them, but they hadn’t been particularly careful either. 

Either way, Scott resolved, he would be there, supporting them. 

And maybe, one day, if he actually opened himself up to love and found the man of his dreams, maybe they could return the favour.

That would be… nice.

Scott smiled, slipping into his hotel room. 

A few streets down, Ilya was stripping off his jacket and flinging it aside, while Shane was impatiently tugging at his tie.

They fell into bed, mostly disrobed, mouths meeting for kisses that went from filthy, to sweet, to sleepy.

And then they stopped altogether, and Ilya buried his face in Shane’s neck and closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips as he held his husband in his arms.