Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warnings:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Dallas Kent/Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter & Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Shane Hollander, Dallas Kent

Additional Tags:

Date Rape, Drug/Roofies, Sexual Assault, Hurt Ilya Rozanov, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Warning: Dallas Kent, Protective Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Homophobic Language, no beta we die like dallas kent, Medical Inaccuracies, Protective Shane Hollander, Traumatized Ilya Rozanov, Anal Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements

Language:

English

Series:

Part 9 of Seasoned Gay to the Rescue

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-21 Completed: 2026-07-31 Words: 12,695 Chapters: 4/4

Meant for Someone Else

Summary

Ilya hates this, all of this. He doesn’t remember anything and he’s not even certain of what happened to him. All he knows is that no matter what’s happened, he’s Dallas Kent’s latest victim. He’s fucking statistic, a tally in that man’s roster.

OR

Dallas Kent meant to roofie and take home a beautiful girl, but instead Ilya Rozanov interferes with his plans. Annoyed at his plans being foiled, Dallas decides that he’ll have to make do with Ilya instead. If only Scott Hunter hadn’t shown up.

Notes

This takes place in between Heated Rivalry and The Long Game, so Shane and Ilya are already a couple. Ilya is still with the Bears and hasn’t moved to Ottawa yet.

This was originally meant to be a one-shot, and then the plot got away from me and now it’s a multi-chapter fic because apparently, I went too hard with the angst 😭

READ THE TAGS & DON’T LIKE DON’T READ

Chapter 1: Not For Him

Ilya needs a drink. A real fucking drink. Not the weak champagne from the MHL’s Annual Charity Dinner that he’d been forced to attend by his agent. Shane isn’t even there to keep him company. He's off in London doing some brand deal that Yuna secured for him. He’s not even in Montreal, he’s in Vegas, so he can’t even retreat to their sex condo.

“Rozanov,” Scott comes up and flashes him a polite smile. “How are you enjoying the night?”

Ilya lifts his glass to hide his mouth, “Wishing I was anywhere else.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Scott lifts his glass to someone who passes by and gives him a nod of acknowledgement.

“Where is Kipstopher?”

“Back in the hotel,” He replies grimly, “Apparently my plus one didn’t extend to him.”

“Fucking commissioner,” Ilya mutters, “homophobic dick.”

Scott grins a little, “Sums it up. I’m only here to ‘prove’ that the MHL isn’t filled with a bunch of bigots.”

“Sure,” Ilya rolls his eyes, “That’s why fucking Kent is here.”

“Crowell keeps trying to get us to talk to each other. Or at the very least get photographed together.”

“Disgusting,” Ilya hisses.

“Fuck, I want to leave already.” Scott finishes his glass and flags down a waiter for more.

“I’m getting drunk after this,” Ilya proclaims, ordering himself another glass of shitty champagne, “you and Kip should join.”

Scott smirks, “Nah. I have much better plans.”

Ilya grins and waggles his eyebrows, “Tell Kip I say hello then.”

“Or you could tell him in person since we’re having breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“Our rooms are next to each other,” Ilya snorts, “I’m sure I can knock on wall, say hello, then pretend I cannot hear you fucking.”

Scott stifles a laugh. The waiter comes back with their refills and soon someone waves Scott over to schmooze with some donors. “Duty calls, see you later, Rozanov.”

He lifts his glass to Scott, and sighs. He times it strategically so in about half an hour, he can quietly slip out without anyone noticing.

“What a fucking shit show,” an irritating, grating, annoying, piece of shit, voice belonging to Dallas fucking Kent says from behind Ilya.

Ilya doesn’t bother turning around to acknowledge him and instead continues to silently sip his drink. Annoyingly, Dallas doesn't seem to get the hint because he comes up and leans on the same high table.

“I can’t believe they’re letting someone like him in here,” Dallas scoffs.

“Who?” Ilya bites back, “A Stanley Cup champion? The winner of this year’s Conn Smythe Trophy?”

“Ugh,” he makes an exaggerated barfing sound, “You can’t be fucking buying into all that bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” Ilya answers smoothly, “He earned those things.”

Dallas scoffs, “Who cares? He’s a fucking fag-”

“Why are you still talking?” Ilya snaps, keeping his voice low enough not to draw attention.

For a moment Dallas looks put off and then he smirks. “I see what you’re doing. Don’t want anyone here to see how you really feel. Got it.” He winks.

“Hunter is brave man. What he did was good,” Ilya announces just loud enough that he knows someone will hear, “He’s incredible hockey player and the Cup proves it. You are too jealous and Cup-less to see his talent.” With that, he pushes back from the table, shooting Dallas the dirtiest look he can muster and finds somewhere else to be.

Luckily, Dallas leaves him alone for the rest of the night and Ilya finds himself chatting with Zane Boodram from the Centaurs. He’s a nice guy and Ilya easily finds himself in good company. He makes a mental note to be better friends with him when he finally leaves Boston.

“Sneaking out early too?” Bood laughs when Ilya checks his phone for the hundredth time.

Ilya shrugs, “We are all here for one reason and is not good one.”

Bood hums his agreement, “Can’t argue with that one.” he hesitates and then, “You’re a good guy Rozanov. I think I underestimated you, I’m sorry.”

“Ah, you assume because I am Russian I am maybe like Kent?”

“Sorry.”

“I get it,” Ilya replies a little sadly, “But I cannot say anything because of Russia, yes? Would not be good for me.”

Bood reaches out and squeezes his shoulder, “If you ever find yourself in Ottawa, hit me up. You're good company.”

“Thanks,” Ilya grins, “I will find myself in Ottawa.”

“You better,” the man grins and they go their separate ways.

Ilya ditches his glass and sneaks out.

After heading back to his hotel room to change into something that isn’t a disgustingly stiff tux, Ilya easily finds some underground dive bar called Salmon Head. There’s some local indie band playing and it’s full of patrons who definitely don’t give a shit about hockey. It’s not like any clubs, but since meeting Kip and hanging around the Kingfisher, he’s finding that there’s a nice charm and anonymity to hanging out in dive bars. It surrounds him with just enough atmosphere to not feel so alone, but he can also just tuck himself into a corner and watch the live bands while texting Shane.

Ilya orders a vodka and makes his way to a dark and empty corner, sitting on the delightfully empty sofa, appreciating the musician singing his heart out. Someone bumps into him, a young woman with short hair and arms covered with tarot themed tattoos. He notes her jacket, covered in various band patches, several queer buttons, and painted stripes down one arm in the colors of the lesbian flag.

“Sorry,” She says, “I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

“Is okay,” Ilya and scoots over, “we can share.”

She sits, “Thanks.”

They sit silently, and Ilya finds himself relaxing into the couch. “Do you come here often?” He asks while the set changes. He winces at how that sounds. He’s honestly not trying to hit on her, he just figured some conversation would be okay. “That’s- I’m not hitting on you.” Ilya quickly clarifies.

The girl raises an eyebrow, “My girlfriend is the drummer.” She nods towards a pretty Filipino girl with a side shave and dark lipstick.

Ilya nods, “I would like to bring my boyfriend here, but I think is too… overstimulating for him.”

“You have a boyfriend?” The girl asks, visibly relaxing.

He smiles and wonders if he should risk it. Fuck it, he’s tipsy enough. “If I show you picture, you cannot say anything to anyone. We are not out yet and would be bad if it did.”

“Oh honey,” She gives him a sad smile, “I’ve been there.”

Ilya pulls out his phone and pulls up a picture of him and Shane. They’re lying on the deck by the lake and Ilya is kissing his boyfriend’s cheek. “I love him so much.”

“You’re so cute together,” She smiles softly at him. “I hope you get to be out together one day.”

“Me too,” Ilya sighs and puts his phone away.

“I’m Maggie, by the way.”

“Ilya.”

Maggie shakes his hand, “Nice to meet you Ilya. So, where is this boyfriend of yours tonight?”

“London with his family,” He sighs wistfully, “Sadly I am forced to be here.”

“Forced?”

“Work,” Ilya shrugs, “He’s supposed to be here too, but he is also working.”

“And what brought you to Salmon Head?”

“Sometimes I get lonely,” Ilya doesn’t know why he’s saying all of this to a stranger, but maybe it’s because she’s a stranger and they’ll never see each other again that he feels safe enough to do so. “So I come to bars like this to maybe not feel so alone.”

Maggie cocks her head, “You don’t strike me as the cheating type.”

“I’m not,” Ilya shakes his head, and waves his hand to indicate the bar. “People, noise. Makes my head feel… less.”

She has that same sad smile, “I’m guessing since you’re in the closet you don’t have many queer friends?"

“I do,” Ilya says, “But not where I live. Everyone is… separated. My queer friends live in New York and my boyfriend is in Montreal. But I think maybe my best friend is bi, like me but I don’t know. He is what you call a ‘himbo’.”

Maggie laughs loudly, “So he’s either queer and doesn’t know it, or he’s just unintentionally a really good ally.”

“Yes,” Ilya chuckles into his vodka. “How did you and your girlfriend get together?”

“High school sweethearts,” She gives a little way to the drummer, “I was still in the closet, and Alex was the brave one of us. She asked me to go to prom with her and I said yes. How about you and your boyfriend?”

“Ah, we were seventeen when we first met,” his voice becomes dreamy thinking about Shane’s beautiful freckles, “But we were stupid and were casual for many years.” He looks to Maggie, “He was the brave one. He asked me to spend the summer with him, and I said maybe. But then one of our friends comes out and it changes things. I say yes and now we are together.” Ilya finishes his drink, “I haven’t said anything to anyone yet, but I’m going to move to Ottawa to be closer to him.”

“Oh Ilya,” Maggie has tears in her eyes, “That’s so beautiful.”

“I love him,” Ilya states simply.

The band starts playing and their conversation lulls into a comfortable silence. At one point Ilya gets up to refill both their drinks and comes back to sit. Irritatingly, he sees the one person he absolutely does not want to fucking see.

Somehow, Dallas Kent has shown up, and is now sitting next to Maggie. He holds out a drink for her with his other arm thrown over the back of the sofa. She looks disgusted and uncomfortable.

“How nice of you,” Ilya says loudly and grabs the cup from Dallas, drinking it all in one go. “She is taken, go away.”

Dallas is fuming at Ilya. “What the fuck, that wasn’t for you.”

“Oh so you are just offering random girls drinks?” Ilya stands menacingly, “She is taken. Go. Away.”

“I’m up for a threesome-”

“I have a girlfriend, fuck off.” Maggie snips.

“She just needs the right man-”

“No, she does not,” Ilya glares at him. “And she said to fuck off, or do you lack basic listening skills?”

Dallas scoffs, “You just had to ruin my fucking night, didn’t you Rozanov?”

“I will drag you the fuck out of here if you don’t leave right now,” Ilya growls.

He sneers at Ilya and stands up, “Fine. Fucking asshole.”

Ilya glares daggers and watches him all the way to the door. He sits next to Maggie and passes her her refilled drink. “I hate him.”

“Me fucking too,” She scowls. “You knew him.”

“Unfortunately,” He replies sourly, “We have same line of work. He’s fucking bigot.”

“He called you Rozanov,” Maggie states, “so I’m guessing that makes you Ilya Rozanov the hockey player?”

Ilya freezes looking at her with fear. Fuck, she knows who he is. And he just outed himself and Shane.

“Oh hey, no.” She quickly puts her hand over his, “I won’t say anything, I promise. Honestly, I didn’t know who you were. My dad is really into hockey and I’ve heard your name thrown around a few times. No idea what you looked like.”

“Oh…” Ilya swallows hard. “I um-”

“Look,” Maggie squeezes his hand, “I promise I’m not saying anything. You’re just a really chill guy who I happened to meet at a bar my girlfriend is playing at, okay? I’m not going to ask you for an autograph or a picture of anything. We’re just… two queer strangers enjoying one night.”

“Thank you,” Ilya whispers.

She smiles and leans back, “Alex doesn’t know you who are either. Don’t worry she’s not into sports unless it’s derby.”

“Derby?” Ilya asks, “Like… horses?”

“No!” Maggie laughs and pulls out her phone, “Roller derby.” She shows him pictures of herself and Alex in their derby uniforms.

Ilya’s eyes light up, “I’ve never heard of this, is fun?”

“Very,” she grins, “Plus it’s super queer friendly."

“When do you play?” He asks.

“Usually games are twice a month, we’re not exactly a big league.”

“Maybe next time I’m in Vegas, and there is game, I can come?”

Maggie grins, “Sure. This is the website.”

Ilya saves it in his phone and then hesitantly asks, “Can I have your number too? I would maybe like more queer friends? If that is okay with you."

“Sure,” She smiles and opens her hand. Ilya gives her his phone and smiles brightly as they exchange numbers.

He gets his phone back and finishes his drink. He wants to talk to Shane, but there’s an off feeling in his head. “I’m going to head out before I am too drunk,” Ilya sticks out his hand to Maggie, “Is nice meeting you.”

She shakes his hand, “It was nice meeting you too, Ilya.”

Politely, Ilya gives a wave to Alex and the band, before quickly snapping a picture of their band’s QR code to tip them an exorbitant amount of money.

His head is spinning and he wobbles a little when he walks. What the hell is wrong with him? He doesn’t get this drunk. Not on shitty vodka.

Ilya pushes the door open, sighing as the cool air gives him a momentary reprieve. He sags against the door and pulls out his phone to call an uber. If he’s this drunk now, there’s no way he’s walking back to the hotel room. It's hard to concentrate on his phone. When the fuck did he become a lightweight?

“You don’t look so good, Rozanov.”

Ilya turns to the source of the voice and is even more annoyed to find Dallas leaning against the brick wall. “Fuck off,” He spits and sways.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Dallas sounds amused. “You fucked up my plans for tonight so I’m going to fuck up yours.”

“You already did by existing,” Ilya snaps back. His voice slurs and his vision is swaying. What the actual hell is going on with him? He looks down at his phone trying to find the strength to open the rideshare app.

“Drink too much?” Dallas teases, stepping closer to Ilya. There’s something predatory about him that makes Ilya’s brain scream. He’s in danger.

“Fuck off,” he slurs and tries to stumble away. Maybe he can make it back inside.

Dallas catches him, sliding his grimy hands around Ilya’s waist. “Oh, I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

The alarm bells ring. Oh fuck. Everything clicks into place. Dallas Kent offering the drink... the drink that was meant for Maggie. The one he drank to spite Dallas. It was fucking roofied. He was going to fucking drug her.

“This was you,” He accuses. “You were going to-”

“Don’t just be throwing accusations out there,” Dallas croons, starting to pull Ilya away. “You’re too drunk to know what you’re saying.”

“I’m not,” Ilya’s tongue feels thick in his mouth, “You’re a fucking rapist.”

Dallas sighs, “No I’m not. They wanted it.”

“She said no and you didn’t leave her alone,” Ilya argues back.

He knows he’s not coherent because Dallas shushes him, “You’re not making sense Rozanov.”

Fuck. Ilya feels himself getting dragged behind the back to a secluded parking lot. Oh god, Dallas Kent is going to fucking kill him and he can’t even fight back. Ilya struggles as hard as he can, but all he manages to do is weakly flail his arms. His legs barely lift as he struggles to walk.

“Fuck you’re heavy,” the Guardian’s center groans.

“Shane,” Ilya thinks weakly, “I need to call for help.” Just his luck because he sees a small group of people heading in their direction. “Help!” He tries to call out, as they pass him, “Please!”

“Ugh buddy,” Dallas’ voice gets louder covering Ilya’s desperate plea, “I’m never fucking taking you drinking again.” The group titters with laughter and Ilya’s last chance for any kind of help vanishes.

“Think you’re so fucking clever do you?” Dallas hisses shoving Ilya up against an expensive Buick. “Well no one is coming to save you.” He yanks open the backseat door and deposits Ilya inside. 

Ilya notes with horror that the backseats are down with some kind of blanket or padding layering the open space. “Holy fuck he’s actually going to kill me.” He struggles with an attempt at a renewed effort but his body doesn’t want to obey him.

“Stop fucking wiggling,” Dallas growls with annoyance as he climbs into the back with Ilya.

“Fuck you,” Ilya tries to shove him.

“More like fuck you,” he laughs. “I was planing on getting my fucking dick wet tonight but you went and ruined that. So I guess you’ll have to do instead.”

What?

Ilya freezes in terror.

You’ll have to do instead? He couldn’t mean- he wouldn’t. Dallas Kent is the biggest fucking homophobe in the league. He wouldn’t be into fucking Ilya, or men for that matter. There’s no way.

“You’re not gay,” Ilya tries to play on his homophobia to see if it’ll get him out of this. Maybe he’ll have some kind of realization and just dump Ilya’s body in the parking lot or something.

Dallas snorts and pulls off his jacket, tossing it in the front seat. “It’s not about being gay, Rozanov.” He leans over Ilya and grabs his chin with brutal strength. “This is about me getting what I want. And if I want to put the infamous Ilya Rozanov on his back and fuck him ‘till he cries for his dead mommy, I’m going to.”

Fear stabs into him, sharp and paralyzing. Oh god. This is happening. He’s actually going to- “Stop, don’t fucking do this,” Ilya tries to beg but Dallas rolls his eyes.

“I don’t fucking speak Russian. But it’s not like I care what you’re saying anyway.”

Russian? He spoke in Russian? Ilya’s heart is racing out of his chest, and his coherency is slipping away like a leaky balloon.

“Get off me,” He tries to order but English fails him. His arms have no strength as he tries to prevent Dallas from undressing him.

“Do you get wet like a girl?” The man grins unbuttoning Ilya’s pants and shoves his hand down to grab his soft cock. He gives it a stroke laughing when Ilya’s body responds.

Ilya grits his teeth, “Fuck you, don’t touch me!”

“Fuck you’re really a fag, I knew it. I bet Hunter is a fucking bloodhound for your types.” He removes his hand to grab at the waistband and pull them down to his thighs along with his boxers.

“Get off, stop-!” His voice chokes and he squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth when Dallas shoves two fingers in dry. A burning pain blooms between his legs and Ilya whimpers in response trying to bat his hands away. He doesn't want Dallas touching him, he doesn’t get that same privilege as Shane. 

“No, stop.” He begs.

“Are you asking me to stop?” He croons, thrusting his fingers so roughly that Ilya suspects he’s bleeding. “Say it in English and I will.”

“S-st-Stoy,” Ilya struggles to form words, but his head is spinning, his brain is too overwhelmed with trying to survive and stay conscious. “Pozhaluysta. St-stoy.”

“Was that Russian I heard?” He laughs, “I guess you really do want this to happen.”

“Stop, fucking stop,” Ilya’s breath stutters trying to kick his legs.

The man only scoffs and adds another finger making Ilya lose all the air in his lungs. “Aw,” Dallas mocks him with a pout, “You sound almost as good a girl.” 

Ilya feels tears rush up and leak from his eyes. He’s utterly exposed and there’s nothing he can do about it. His consciousness is starting to wane, but not enough. “Please,” he slurs, “Let me go.’

“Blah blah blah,” he mocks, “That’s what you sound like to me.”

Ilya makes another weak attempt to stop Dallas but is only met with a sadistic grin. He watches in horror as Dallas unzips his jeans and pulls out his hard cock. Ilya wants to die. He’s nothing impressive but the prospect of Dallas’ dick anyway near or inside him fills him with a kind of fear he’s never felt before.

“I’m surprised you’re still conscious,” his would-be rapist says, trying to shove Ilya’s knees farther apart only to be restricted by his half undone jeans locking his upper thighs together. “If I knew I was getting you instead I would’ve doubled the dose.”

“Don’t do this,” Ilya tries to beg again but his tongue isn’t obeying him and he ends up slurring and drooling instead.

Dallas smirks and pulls down the rest of Ilya’s pants, kicking his legs open settling between them. “What’s this?” he fishes through Ilya’s pockets and pulls out the key to his hotel room. “You’re in a fucking penthouse?” He laughs, “Lucky me.” He pats Ilya’s cheeks, abandoning him to move up to the driver’s seat.

Ilya feels the car starting and wishes that Dallas had at least pulled his pants up instead of leaving him exposed. Just as the car begins to move and his consciousness fades, dread fills him as he hears, “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Chapter 2: Last Minute Savior

Chapter Summary

The elevator dings and Ilya feels like he’s being marched to his death. He’s only mere minutes away from becoming a victim of a crime that he won’t even remember because of the drugs coursing through his system. The dread has him in a vice grip and Ilya wishes he’d stayed in the bar. Maybe if he passed out there, then he’d wake up in a hospital with Maggie and Alex to fill him in on what happened. At least he’d be safe.

Chapter Notes

I have a feeling there's going to be a lot of screaming in this chapter 🤭

“At least I managed to avoid taking pictures with him,” Scott sighs, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel in his hair, plushy bathrobe tied in a perfect bow.

“Would’ve made for bad publicity anyway,” Kip says from where he’s lounging on the bed. “Everyone will see right through it.”

“I didn’t even want to see that asshole, and I never thought I’d be saying this… but thank fuck Ilya was there.”

Kip laughs, “Wow. I never thought I’d hear the day you admit you like him.”

“I’ve admitted it before!” Scott snorts, “Just not to his face.” He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. “It is nice though, so see him coming out of his shell.”

“You changed everything,” Kip sits up and hugs his boyfriend, leaning against his back, “What you did was really important. Not just for us, but for everyone like Ilya.”

Scott leans back into Kip, tilting his head back to let his boyfriend pepper kisses into his neck. “I hope he and his boyfriend can come out one day.”

“They will,” Kip reassures him, climbing into his lap. “You’re a great gay grandpa.”

“I am not that old,” Scott whines, wrapping his arms around Kip’s waist.

“Sorry, sorry.” Kip laughs, “Gay dad then.”

“Very funny. Ilya’s been rubbing off on you.”

Kip shrugs, “He’s teaching me to chirp.”

“I wish he wouldn’t.”

“You know you can’t stop him.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“You know what I don’t want to stop?” Kip asks, hovering his lips above Scott’s, “This night.”

“Oh really?” Scott hums with pleasure as he squeezes his boyfriend’s perfect ass. Kip kisses him slowly and sweetly, taking his time. His fingers run through Scott’s freshly showered hair, his mouth tasting like toothpaste.

“I wish you were with me tonight,” Scott mumbles through kisses, “But this is so much better than any stupid party.” His hands untie Kip’s robe, letting it fall off his body before doing the same for himself.

Kip slips his tongue into his boyfriend’s mouth, “So much better. They’d probably mistake me for a server.”

“Absolutely not,” Scott rolls them so he straddles Kip, “They’ll know you’re my stunningly hot boyfriend who’s earning his masters degree in art history.”

Kip grins through their kiss, “Yeah. All so I can study ancient Neolithic art and uncover paintings of you.”

Scott groans at the chirp, “I hate that you and Ilya are friends now.”

Kip laughs, “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. You know chirping is his love language.”

Scott sighs, “I know. One of these days, that kid is going to be the death of me.”

“I’d rather my cock be the death of you right now,” Kip grins.

A short gasp escapes Scott’s lips and he grinds down on his boyfriend’s hard dick. “Fuck, can I ride you?”

“Absolutely.” Kip chokes and finds purchase on Scott’s hips. “Wait, don't I need to prep you?”

Scott grins, “Nope. I have a little surprise for you.”

“What- holy mother of god!” Kip moans loudly, throwing his head back as Scott sinks down on him. He’s already wet and takes him perfectly. “Sc-Scott, holy shit!”

Scott pauses to catch his breath. “I stretched while I was in the shower,” he pants, “and I used extra lube too.”

“Fu-ck,” Kip groans, his fingers digging into Scott’s thighs. “You’re so tight.”

Scott grins and leans over Kip to kiss him. “I wanted to show you how much I’ve been wanting you.”

“I fucking love you so much,” He whimpers into the kiss as Scott rolls his hips. He thrusts upwards instantly finding the angle that makes his boyfriend moan and rock back into him.

“Oh god, Kip!” Scott groans and speeds up, “There! Right there, please!”

Kip whimpers in response trying his best to keep up, his breath getting knocked out of him in waves of pleasure. His sweaty hands tighten on Scott’s hips, holding on for dear life as his boyfriend rides his cock better than a professional bull rider.

“Scott, Scott, Scott!” He chants, “Please, I’m gonna-”

“Do it!” Scott rasps, “Come inside me, make me yours!”

That’s all the push Kip needs to flip them and pound Scott into the mattress. He spills inside Scott, which makes his boyfriend arch up and come on their chests.

Panting hard, Kip collapses on Scott letting his dick go soft inside him. “Holy fuck,” he groans, “That was so hot.”

Scott laughs lightly, kissing Kip’s sweaty chest. “Fucking incredible.”

Kip slides out and watches with renewed interest as his cum leaks from Scott’s puffy hole. “Holy shit. Do you think you can go again? I really want you to fuck me this time.”

His cock twitches with excitement. “That’s a yes,” Scott grins. Kip’s stomach growls and he laughs. “Okay, maybe after food.”

Scott groans as he sits up, kissing Kip languidly. “Room service?”

“Mmm, yes please.”

He reaches for the menu and flips through, “Do you know what you want or do you want me to pick for us?”

“You pick,” Kip kisses his shoulders. “I’m going to go grab a washcloth.”

Scott kisses him before releasing Kip to the bathroom and picks up the phone. He places the order making sure to order extra just in case they decide to fuck well into the next morning.

“Scooch,” Kip orders patting Scott’s legs. He smiles and lets himself be manhandled so Kip can wipe him down. It doesn't take him much to get hard again and Kip sucks him off, swallowing his cum right as room service knocks on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Kip grins and hops up to get the food and thanks the waiter.

Scott rolls off the bed and heads to the drawer where the ice bucket is. Disappointingly, it melted so he dumps the water. “I’ll be right back babe,” He says, throwing his robe back on and slipping the key into his pocket.

-

Ilya is pulled back into semi-consciousness as he feels Dallas parking the car. They’re right under a streetlamp that shines directly into his eyes. He hears Kent getting out of the car and opening the back seat. He can barely move, his limbs disobeying him even as Dallas pulls up his pants and fixes them.

He gives Ilya’s crotch a squeeze hard enough to make him cry out in pain, and grins down at him. “Don’t get too comfortable.” Dallas gets back into the car and continues driving until Ilya partially recognizes the lights of the hotel’s front lobby.

“I’m so sorry,” Dallas gets out of the car, calling to the valet, “My friend had a little too much to drink.” He opens the back and drags Ilya’s body out taking care as if they actually were friends. But his hands grip just a little too tight, digging into this skin.

Ilya’s arm is thrown over his shoulder, mumbling and trying to beg the staff for help. Except that they seem to completely buy Dallas’ story and help escort them to the elevators.

“Please help me,” Ilya groans out in Russian.

But the bellboy doesn’t understand. “Wow, he’s really drunk.”

Dallas laughs, “Yeah kid. That’s what happens when a bunch of hockey players go out.”

“Man, I wish I could be cool enough to go drinking like that.”

“One day you will,” He grins.

“Stop,” Ilya begs, “Let me go.”

But still, the bellboy doesn’t understand. “Do you need me to help carry him?”

“No, that’s alright. Thanks man,” Dallas smiles, “When I come back down I’ll get you an autograph or a jersey or something. Anything you want for all your help tonight. Plus a fat tip, promise.”

“Thanks Mr. Kent!” The excitable bellboy replies and leaves them alone.

No. Fuck.

Ilya feels tears dripping down the sides of his face. He needs to get away, he needs to fucking leave. He tries to swing his arm up and hit Dallas, anything to get him to move.

“None of that now,” the other man smirks and leans in close to whisper in his ear, “You’re as weak as a fucking kitten. No use fighting back.” He shoves his tongue in Ilya’s ear laughing cruelly when he’s met with a weak flinch.

The elevator dings and Ilya feels like he’s being marched to his death. He’s only mere minutes away from becoming a victim of a crime that he won’t even remember because of the drugs coursing through his system. The dread has him in a vice grip and Ilya wishes he’d stayed in the bar. Maybe if he’d passed out there, then he’d wake up in a hospital with Maggie and Alex to fill him in on what happened. At least he’d be safe.

Ilya knows his body will feel the pain afterwards, and not knowing…  that scares him more than anything. Will he feel like his father? A whole night of memories just gone with nothing in its place? He’s made sure to never even get blackout drunk. He wants to keep every memory he’s got even if they’re bad because it means he isn’t turning into his father… at least not in that way.

The elevator dings again indicating they’ve reached the penthouse floor. Ilya feels himself getting dragged down the hallway. Fuck, this is it. He knows Scott and Kip are on the same floor but it’s too late in the night. They’re most definitely asleep or getting busy. No one will be around, no one is coming to save him. He’s about to be violated in the worst possible way. Distantly he hears an ice machine humming and then-

“Kent, what the fuck?”

Ilya’s heart soars. It’s Scott. Oh god. It’s Scott! He’s here! He’s awake! He can save him! “Please,” Ilya prays to his mother’s spirit, “let him save me.”

“Ugh, Hunter. You’re here?”

“Yep,” Scott sounds annoyed, “What are you doing with Ilya?”

“Yes, please!” Ilya thinks desperately, “Please help me!”

“He’s just drunk,” Dallas tries to move them past Scott. “I’m taking him back to his room.”

“Ilya?” Scott calls out to him, ignoring Dallas entirely. The alarm bells are ringing louder than a thousand church bells. He’s heard the rumors about Dallas Kent; how he takes advantage of women and assaults them. And right now, Ilya does not look good. His skin is too pale and his movements are too sluggish. It looks like there are tears stains on his cheeks. This is not the look of a man who is drunk.

“Pomoshch',” Ilya whimpers, “Pozhaluysta.”

“Okay, no.” Scott immediately steps forward abandoning his ice bucket. He knows very little Russian, but he knows the words for “help” and “please”. Combined with how Ilya looks, he knows the kid is begging for someone to save him. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”

Dallas scoffs, “Like I’m going to leave him with a faggot predator like you.”

“Don’t even try that shit with me,” Scott growls, “I might be gay, but I’m not a fucking known rapist. And I fucking know he’s asking for help right now.”

“It’s just Russian,” Dallas rolls his eyes, “What you fucking speak Russian now? For all your little rent boys?”

Scott doesn’t take the bait. He needs to get Ilya away from this fucker. “If you really care about Ilya, how about we all go back to my room while I call the cops and they can figure out what really happened to him?”

For a moment, Scott is worried that Dallas will push back but he doesn’t. Instead he simply drops Ilya forcing Scott to catch him before he hits the ground. “All yours you fucking homo.”

Ilya moans softly, his eyes screwed shut with tears staining his cheeks. He’s starting to shiver as he weakly tries to push Scott away, muttering cries for help in Russian.

“Ilya?” Scott calls gently, “It’s me. You’re okay. You’re safe. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Slowly, his eyes open with more tears spilling from his blue-green eyes. His pupils are dilated but there’s a soft gasp of relief when he sees Scott. “Pomoshch'.”

“Hey,” Scott smiles, “I got you, you’re okay now.” He scoops up Ilya, horrified at how limp his body is but Ilya doesn’t seem to be panicking anymore. The kid leans his head against Scott’s chest, doing his best to cling to the fuzzy white robe.

Scott kicks their door a few times until Kip opens it with a look of confusion. His face morphs into horror when he sees Ilya in Scott’s arms.

“Oh my god, what happened!?” He opens the door wide, rushing to the other bed and arranging a pillow so Scott can set him down.

Scott swallows, “Nothing good. I just saw Dallas Kent dragging him down the hall.”

“Kent?” Kip’s voice hardens.

Ilya whimpers softly as Scott lays him down gently on his side. “I think…  he was going to do something to him.” He kneels next to the Russian. “Ilya? Can you hear me?”

“Da,” came the slurred mumble.

“I’m going to take off your shoes, but I’m leaving the rest of your clothes on, okay?”

“Okey,” Ilya mumbles.

Scott carefully takes his shoes off passing them to Kip who sets them by the door. On his way back to the bed, Kip grabs a water bottle. “Here. I’m getting a clean washcloth, cool him down a little.”

“Thanks,” Scott cracks open the lid. “Ilya, are you able to drink water? What did Kent want from you?”

More tears leak from Ilya’s eyes and he starts whispering in Russian, nothing coming out as intelligible. But it’s clear he’s becoming distressed again. His hand fumbles for Scott and he quickly slides his hand into Ilya’s. It’s terrifying how little strength he has and how scared he looks trying to hold onto Scott like a lifeline.

“Hey, you’re okay.” Scott leaves the water bottle open on the nightstand. “You’re safe. He’s not coming back.”

Ilya’s eyes are starting to flutter shut, and it’s obvious he’s trying to fight unconsciousness. “Don’t… leave…” He chokes out in rough English like it took every ounce of strength in him to beg.

“I won’t,” Scott promises and holds Ilya’s hand tighter, “I won’t leave. I’m right here.” After a few more seconds of fighting, Ilya loses his battle and his eyes shut. Keeping his promise, Scott settles on the floor still holding Ilya’s hand.

“He’s sleeping?” Kip asks softly and sits next to Ilya. Gently taking the washcloth, he wipes tear stains from his cheeks and pushes curls away from his face.

“More like passed out,” Scott’s voice cracks. “I think Kent drugged him with something. I know Ilya doesn’t get drunk like this.”

“Fuck,” Kip hisses. “Does he do that?”

“They’re only rumors,” he answers uncomfortably, “But they’re real enough for me.” Scott presses his head to the side of the bed. “Fuck, Kip.” He looks up at his boyfriend, “I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found him tonight.”

Kip pales, “Oh god. He would’ve… but he’s not gay.”

Scott shakes his head, “It’s not about being gay. I'm pretty sure Kent does it because he wants control and power over someone.” He stares at Ilya’s unconscious form. Nausea builds in his stomach as he thinks about what could’ve happened to him.

“Maybe we don’t jump to conclusions tonight?” Kip tries to quell the churning of his gut. “Let’s wait until he wakes up.”

“Yeah, okay.” Scott forces himself to agree. “I’m not- I can’t leave his side.”

“I know,” Kip smiles and grabs the plushy armchair dragging it to Scott’s side. “So you’re not on the floor.”

Chapter End Notes

Love y'all! Next chapter is the aftermath 💖

Chapter 3: The Terror of Not Knowing

Chapter Summary

Ilya feels nauseous, “I… fuck, I tried to leave but he-”
Tears sprint forth and his body starts shaking. The image of Dallas Kent hovering over him with his hand down Ilya’s pants fills his memory. The ache between his legs must be from… he feels sick. Scott seems to notice because he reaches down and grabs the trash bin. Ilya vomits into it. He takes heaving breaths through a sob that forces its way out.
“I can’t remember,” Ilya’s voice is trembling, “Scott I can’t remember!”

Chapter Notes

Lots of angst in this chapter folks!

Ilya wakes up in terror. There’s someone holding his hand and he’s in a bed that he knows isn’t his own. His memory is fuzzy but the only thing he knows for sure is that he’s in danger. He panics, jolting upright and-

“Ilya!”

Scott’s voice.

It slices through his panic automatically and he realizes the hand he’s holding belongs to the Admiral’s captain. Why was Scott holding his hand?

“Scott,” he rasps, his throat dry and hoarse.

“Hey,” Scott leans forward, letting go of his hand to grasp his shoulders, “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“What-?” He coughs hard, the dryness catching up to him. Scott grabs a water bottle from the nightstand and hands it to him. He snatches it and drinks, the tepid water soothing his throat.

“That’s it, easy.” Scott gets up from the armchair (why is it so close to the bed?) and sits next to Ilya, rubbing his back gently.

Ilya pulls the bottle from his lips to breathe a little before finishing it. His heart is still racing, but Scott’s presence and hand on his back ground him to reality. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Scott takes it from him. His heart hasn’t stopped screaming and he feels like he’s on the verge of a panic attack but doesn’t know why.

“Can I hug you?” Scott’s voice sounds so far away but it doesn’t matter. Ilya gives a shaking nod and soon he’s enveloped in warm arms. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” Scott soothes him gently, rubbing his back. “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Ilya’s eyes shut, letting Scott’s body pull him back into his body. He takes stock of where he is. Scott is in sweats and he’s in a hotel room. Not his own, so he must be in Scott and Kip’s. His shoes are off, but he’s fully clothed including his jacket which feels a little too warm now. His neck and arm feels a little stiff, but what’s the most concerning is the strange, sharp ache between his legs. A lump forms in his throat, pain like that means...

Ilya pulls away from Scott and voices his fears, “What happened to me?”

Scott searches his face for a minute, “Can I ask you something first?”

He swallows hard and nods.

“What do you remember from last night?”

Ilya’s heart picks up again. “I… the charity dinner… um… I went drinking afterwards.” He furrows his brow and a soft choking escapes his lips as he remembers. “I was at this bar, he- Kent was there. He bought a drink for this girl. She wasn’t interested so I drank her drink instead.” Ilya feels nauseous, “I… fuck, I tried to leave but he-”

The image of Dallas Kent hovering over him with his hand down Ilya’s pants fills his memory. The pain between his legs must be from… he feels sick. Scott seems to notice because he reaches down and grabs the trash bin. Ilya vomits into it. He takes heaving breaths through a sob that forces its way out.

“I can’t remember,” Ilya’s voice is trembling, “Scott I can’t remember!”

“That’s okay,” Scott keeps rubbing his back. “You were drugged. I came out to get ice last night and I saw him with you.”

Ilya’s breath catches, “I was- what was happening?”

“He was trying to carry you back to a room, yours I think. I noticed that you didn’t look good, and you were partially conscious. But I heard you,” Scott nods, “You asked for help.”

“I did?”

“You did,” Scott reassures him, “I heard you and I made him leave you with me.”

Ilya lets out a sound of relief. It could’ve been so much worse then. “What happened to me?” He chokes, “I can’t remember- he- he… did he ra-” Ilya can’t bring himself to voice his terror. “It hurts,” is what he manages to say instead. “Scott, what did he do to me?”

Scott swallows and pulls Ilya into a hug, “I don’t know, kid. I don’t know how far he got before I found you. You said you’re hurt?”

“My…” Ilya’s voice catches, “inside me.”

Scott stiffens and hugs Ilya just a little harder. “Okay, we can handle this. I think a trip to the hospital-”

“No!” Ilya begs, “Please no. I can’t- this can’t leak.”

“I know, kid. But at the very least, we need to get a blood test done. If it’s a roofie, it’ll show up in your bloodwork and if the team doctors find it, we need an explanation.”

“Fuck,” Ilya buries his face into Scott’s shoulder and just cries. He hates this, all of this. He doesn’t remember anything and he’s not even certain of what happened to him. All he knows is that no matter what’s happened, he’s Dallas Kent’s latest victim. He’s fucking statistic, a tally in that man’s roster.

Scott holds him, gently rocking them, “We’ll figure it out. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

There’s a soft click of the door and Kip’s soft voice filters through, “Scott?” He pads into the room carrying takeout bags of breakfast. He sees the pair and immediately puts the bags down. “Oh, Ilya.”

Ilya can’t stand how the softness makes him feel both worse and better. He pulls briefly away from Scott to allow Kip to envelop him in a hug. He buries his face in Kip’s stomach letting the other man hug him protectively.

“Ilya,” Scott puts a hand back on his back. “We should really get you to a hospital or a clinic. The sooner the better. Especially if you’re in pain.”

Ilya sniffles, “I need… my phone, I need to talk to Jane.”

“Sure, of course.” Kip gives him one last squeeze. “Scott and I will get changed. We’ll just be in the other room, okay? We’ll give you some privacy.”

“Thank you,” Ilya mumbles. He waits until they leave before he fishes out his phone from his pocket. There’s a crack going down the middle and it’s at 5%, but at least there’s something. There’s a charger plugged into the wall and Ilya uses it for his phone.

Jane 💗🍆🏒

Good Morning ♥️

How was last night’s dinner?

Text me when you’re awake

I love you!

Ilya holds back tears. What’s he even supposed to say? “Hey Shane, just wanted to let you know that I’m on my way to the hospital because I got roofied and I think Dallas Kent raped me.” He absolutely can’t fucking say that. But he can’t keep it inside either. They’re partners, they just said ‘I love you’, he’s going to move to Ottawa.

Outgoing Call… Jane💗🍆🏒

“Ilya!” Shane’s joyful voice fills his ears.

He tries to match him but all that comes out is a choked sob.

“Ilya!?” His boyfriends’ beautiful joy turns into fear. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Something happened last night,” he whispers.

“Oh god,” Shane sounds like he’s on the verge of a panic attack, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember everything. I just- I think…” Ilya takes a shaky breath, “Kent, he meant to roofie a girl but I drank it instead.”

“Oh god,” Shane whispers, “Did… did something happen?”

“I don’t know,” he croaks, “But I woke up in Scott’s room and he says that he… that Kent was trying to take me to hotel room.”

Shane lets out a strangled cry. “Are you hurt?”

“Maybe? Scott is taking me to hospital to test my blood. I am…” Ilya doesn’t want to lie to his boyfriend, “It hurts, Shane. And I don’t know what he did to me.”

“I’m coming home,” Shane sounds like he’s moving around, “I’m booking the next flight. Are you still in Vegas?”

“Da. Scott and Kip are with me.”

“Okay good,” Shane exhales, “Stay with them, okay? I’m flying to Vegas. I’m coming to you. I’m not letting you do this alone. No matter what happens, I love you, okay? I love you.”

He lets out a soft sob. How did he get so fucking lucky with a man who loves him this much? “Ya tak sil'no tebya lyublyu.”

“Ilya, I love you so much, too. I’ll see you soon, okay? You can tell Scott about us, he’ll find out anyway when I show up.”

“You are sure?”

“Very,” Shane reassures him, “I care about you, not how many people know about us. And I trust Scott and Kip. They’re your friends and they kept you safe.”

“Thank you,” Ilya whispers.

“I love you,” Shane repeats, “I’ll see you soon.” Ilya hangs up and hugs his phone close.

-

Ilya curls up in the backseat of Scott and Kip’s rental car. He didn’t bother changing clothes because he couldn’t bear the idea of getting naked. He doesn’t want to know if Dallas had left marks on his body. The most he’d done was use the bathroom and immediately panic at seeing spots of blood in his underwear. He’s not in enough pain to believe that he’d had a cock inside him, but he's sore enough that he’s still scared.

They pull up to the clinic; Scott had called ahead to make sure they were guaranteed a private room and a way to enter without drawing attention to themselves. They’re ushered inside and a nurse enters, shutting the door behind her.

Ilya feels like a small child, sitting on the stupid table covered in paper. Scott stands next to him, holding his hand with Kip on his other side.

“Hi, I’m Nurse Batista. I’m a SANE nurse.” She introduces, “I have your notes here and I just want to make sure I have all the information first before we proceed, is that alright?”

Ilya nods, “Yes.”

“Are you alright if your… friends stay with you? Or would you prefer to-”

“Stay,” Ilya pleads softly, looking at Scott and Kip. “Please?”

“Of course,” Kip gives him a gentle smile.

“We’re here for you, kid,” Scott agrees.

Nurse Batista takes note, “They can stay, but let me know if you change your mind at any time.”

“Okay.”

“It was mentioned to me over the phone that you suspect you might the victim of a sexual assault?” Her tone is kind, non-judgmental but it still makes his skin crawl.

He swallows hard, “I think so, maybe, yes. I know I was drugged, but I don’t know what was done to me.”

She nods, “Are you in any  kind of pain?”

Ilya bites his lip and avoids eye contact by shutting his eyes. Slowly he nods and hears Scott’s soft, but sharp intake of breath when he says, “I saw blood when I went to the bathroom.”

“Alright,” she says. “We’re going to take this slow, since you’re not sure what happened. We’ll start with a blood test and make sure to identify whatever is in your system. I suspect it’s Rohypnol based on your memory loss, and the fact that it’s a very common date rape drug. I do want to let you know that it is a fat soluble drug so it will show up in a drug test. However, due to the circumstances it won’t affect your ability to play or interfere with your career, so don’t worry about that.”

Ilya breathes out a sigh of relief. At least that’s something. His hockey won’t be in jeopardy. His relief doesn’t last for long. 

“We would be using your blood to test for any potential STIs.” She continues, ”This next portion of the exam is the rape kit. It's going to require a collection of evidence. I’d be conducting a physical exam and asking you to recount the events that happened.”

His blood freezes. “No,” he automatically says, starting to panic. Ilya squeezes Kip and Scott’s hands harder. “I don’t want that.”

“Okay,” She says without pressuring him. “It’s entirely optional, you don’t need to do it. You’re in control here, if you don’t want something done, we don’t do it. Are you okay still submitting to a physical exam? You mentioned that you’re bleeding so we’d like to get that treated.”

The “no” sits at the tip of his tongue. He’s starting to regret being here, it’s all too overwhelming. Maybe not knowing is easier than knowing.

“Can he have a minute?” Scott asks.

“Of course,” Nurse Batista nods, “I’ll go and prep to get a blood draw done. You have time, it’s alright.” With that, she leaves them in silence.

Ilya breaks down allowing himself to be pulled into Scott’s arms. “I can’t do it,” he chokes.

“You don’t have to,” Kip reassures him, “You heard her. It’s optional.”

“No one will make me?” He croaks.

“Absolutely no one,” Scott remains firm, “The choice is yours and only yours, okay? We have your back, I promise.”

Ilya nods, “Okay.”

Nurse Batista knocks on the door and enters. “Hi there, are you ready to do the blood draw?”

He sniffles and quickly rubs his eyes. “Yes.”

Ilya’s done this a million times with the team doctors, but doing it now feels so much worse. It feels like there’s actually something wrong with him. He feels the prick of the needle and tries not to vomit. He can’t actually feel the blood leaving his body, but it nauseates him anyway.

“Before we continue to the physical exam,” She says, “I want to check in again and ask if you’re okay with your friends being here.”

“Da, please. I want them to stay.”

She gives her approval and hands him a fabric gown instructing him to undress. Ilya does as he’s told, fully disassociating from his body. It feels like he’s standing in a corner watching things being done to him. He hates when the pain forces him back into his body and he ends up crying on the damn exam table while she’s got her fingers inside him.

“I know, I’m so sorry,” She says, “The worst part is almost over.”

Ilya can’t fucking breathe. He’s abandoned squeezing Kip’s hand in favor of letting him block his view of Nurse Batista and whatever is happening between his legs. He crushes Scott’s hand in a death grip to the point where he knows it’s probably painful but Scott does nothing to show it. Instead, he murmurs words of encouragement, gently stroking his hair.

“Okay,” the nurse says, finally removing her fingers, “the good news is that the tearing is minimal. Nothing I found would indicate penile penetration. Your injuries are still indicative of some kind of penetration, so you will bleed for a couple of days. I’ll send you home with some medication and some antibiotics as a preventative for any potential STIs. If it gets worse, please come back.”

Relief slams into him like a semi-truck. Ilya lets out a ragged gasp, “He didn’t- there’s no-“

“Nope,” she says with a soft comforting smile letting him close his legs so he’s not exposed anymore.

Fuck. He cries with the sheer relief of knowing and Kip wraps his arms around him. He vaguely hears Scott talking to Nurse Batista but he doesn’t really care at the moment.

Dallas Kent didn’t fuck him. He doesn’t have the memories but he has proof that he hasn’t been fucked. Dallas isn’t his first. That privilege was supposed to be Shane’s one day. He still gets that. Kent didn’t take everything, just his memories and whatever other violation happened. But not this.

Once the tears subside, Kip wipes his tears. “Ready to get dressed?”

Ilya stares at his stupid clothes sitting in the chair. He doesn't want to put his clothes back on because it keeps reminding him of last night.

“Hey,” Scott says quietly once Nurse Batista has finally left them alone. “I brought a spare change of clothes. They’re mine and Kip’s, but I know they’ll fit you.”

Ilya’s eyes snap to Scott’s, “You brought…?”

“Of course,” he says as if it’s obvious and Kip picks up a Vegas souvenir bag that Ilya hadn’t noticed.

“Thank you,” Ilya tries to hold back tears. He’s been doing a lot of crying already and he’s exhausted by it. He slides off the table and takes the bag of clothes disappearing into the bathroom to get dressed.

Scott takes a second to breathe. Watching the exam and listening to Nurse Batista narrate what she was doing was brutal. He could tell that Ilya had detached himself and the kid held his hand so hard, he can already see the bruises forming.

“Oh god,” Kip chokes, staring down at his phone.

Scott frowns, “Babe what is it?”

Kip turns his phone so Scott can see a photo, obviously taken from Dallas Kent’s cell phone. It’s him, in his bathrobe, clearly carrying an unconscious Ilya. But even worse is the headline that follows.

SCANDAL! NIGHT OUT GONE WRONG! GAY HOCKEY PLAYER SCOTT HUNTER SPOTTED CARRYING UNCONSCIOUS ILYA ROZANOV INTO HIS HOTEL ROOM!

Chapter End Notes

I'm so sorry!!! I was actually going to end the fic here and then thought “What if I made it worse”?

Chapter 4: Send Him to Hell

Chapter Summary

Ilya looks down and sees the article pulled up. His stomach drops out from under him and his vision goes blurry. He’s… his unconscious body is plastered everywhere. He’s being painted as a victim. But not Dallas Kent’s, worse. They’re acting like Scott is the one who assaulted him.

Chapter Notes

The final chapter! Enjoy! 💖

Shane hangs up the phone, his heart racing. He needs to go home. He needs to get to Ilya. His vision is blurry and his hands are shaking so bad he can barely type.

“Honey,” Yuna calls opening the door to their hotel room, “I was able to get the- Shane!?” She immediately drops the dinner bags by the door. Her son is hyperventilating on his knees, clutching his phone with tears streaking down his face.

“Shane, honey,” She rushes to his side falling to her knees, “I need you to breathe with me.” She puts a hand on his back, coaching him through his panic attack. He’s trying to speak, but the words are incoherent and all she can make out is that he’s saying Ilya’s name. It feels like forever to get Shane’s breathing under control, but finally, finally he’s grounded.

“Shane,” Yuna keeps her voice steady, “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I need to go home,” He chokes, “Something happened to Ilya.”

Her heart stutters and she immediately snaps into planning mode. “What happened?”

“He just called me,” Shane’s voice is shaking, “He says he was roofied and doesn’t remember what happened except that he’s in pain. Scott and Kip are taking him to the hospital.”

Yuna’s body grows hot with rage. Someone dared to assault her second son and she will hunt them down and make them regret being born. “Okay,” She says with a cold calm, “I will handle our flight back home- is he still in Vegas?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we’ll fly to Vegas on the next flight out. Shane, pack our things and let me know as soon as you hear from Ilya again. You said he’s with Scott Hunter and Kip?”

“Yeah, Ilya said Scott found Kent trying to take him to his hotel room.”

“Kent?” Yuna latches into the man’s name. Shane nods his confirmation. She knows that Kent is a known predator but never in her life did she think he’d be the type to go after Ilya. She’s going to fucking bury him. “I will handle things honey, don’t worry. Just focus on Ilya and I’ll do the rest.”

-

Ilya, now comfortably wrapped in one of Scott’s hoodies and one of Kip’s joggers, climbs back into the car. He knows the pair are hiding something from him, based on the way they keep giving each other furtive glances.

Jane💗🍆🏒

My mom and I are flying in

We’re at the airport now, waiting to board

We’ll land at 2am

Are you at the hospital?

Lily

Not anymore

We just got into the car

Jane💗🍆🏒

… typing…

… typing…

… typing…

Are you hurt?

Are you okay?

Lily

Nurse says he did not fuck me with his penis

She says the bleeding will stop in couple of days

I am on antibiotics because she says I might have STI

Jane💗🍆🏒

Ilya I’m so sorry

I wish I was there right now

Soon, I promise

I love you

Lily

I love you too

“Hey, Ilya.” Scott has started the car, but they haven’t started driving yet. He gets out and climbs into the backseat with him.

“Da? Why are you back here?”

Scott takes a breath, “I need to tell you something, but I want you to know that no matter what happens-”

Panic already surges through him, “What happened?”

Kip passes Ilya his phone, “I’m really sorry.”

Ilya looks down and sees the article pulled up. His stomach drops out from under him and his vision goes blurry. He’s… his unconscious body is plastered everywhere. He’s being painted as a victim. But not Dallas Kent’s, worse. They’re acting like Scott is the one who assaulted him.

“He took this picture, didn’t he?” Ilya chokes and thrusts Kip’s phone back into his hands. “He fucking took pictures!?” It opens up a whole new can of worms that Ilya didn’t realize was possible. Had Dallas Kent taken pictures of him? Was there photographic evidence of what had been done to him?

Ilya’s chest collapses in on itself and his lungs burn with the lack of oxygen. His body, his face is plastered across the internet. Shane will see him like that. Thousands of people will see him like that. Have already seen him like that.

He can’t fucking concentrate.  His skin is buzzing and his head is spinning. He wants to vomit and pass out at the same time. Fuck, he doesn’t want to be here at all.

“Ilya,” Scott puts a hand on his chest, “I need you to breathe kid, you’re having a panic attack.” He breathes in and out, exaggerating the sound, trying to give Ilya something to focus on. “Come on, kid. Follow my breaths.” It’s not fucking working.

“Ilya,” Kip calls out, “Listen to me. I need you to name three things you can see.”

For a minute he doesn’t answer and then slowly, “Shoes… air vent… Scott.”

“Good, now name three things you can hear.”

Again, with a slow and shaky breath, “Cars… y-you… um… engine.”

“Okay, last three,” Kip encourages, “Three things you can move.”

Ilya lets out a loud exhale, “Air… fingers… shoulders.” He takes another breath, still shaky but he starts to breathe along with Scott.

“You’re okay, kid.” Scott reassures him, “You’re going to be okay.”

“What if he took other pictures?” The words punch them all in the throat.

“No,” Scott suddenly answers, “He wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.” Ilya pushes back.

“I don’t,” He confirms, “But I don’t think he did. Think about how homophobic he is. If he was caught with pictures like that the narrative would shift. For someone like him, I think he would be much more careful about keeping evidence with men than women.”

Ilya lets the words sit and he decides to believe Scott.

“I need to tell you something,” Ilya hugs himself, curling up to the best of his ability. “I um… my Jane is coming and you will find out who he is.”

“I promise, whoever he is, we won't judge you. Or out, either of you.” Scott reassures him.

Ilya nods, “He says I can tell you because… well you will meet him. Um… is Shane. Shane Hollander.”

“Can I say something?” Scott asks gently. The panic must flash on his face because Scott quickly shuts it down. “It’s not a judgment. I promise. I… already knew.”

“What?” He stares at the Admiral’s captain. “You know?”

Scott smiles a little, “Yeah. You’ve been seeing each other since your rookie season, right? Or sooner, I’m guessing.”

Ilya’s mouth drops, “How-?”

“You exchanged room numbers in front of me during your first All Stars, not exactly subtle.”

“Oh… so…” Ilya can’t help but be stunned, “You knew this whole time? But you didn’t say anything?”

“I was in the closet too,” Scott reminds him, “And I wasn’t going to pressure either of you to come out.”

Ilya leans his head against the car window. “Thank you.”

“So,” Kip asks, “What time are they coming?”

“Middle of the night,” Ilya says, rechecking his phone, “Shane says it will be 2am.”

“Alright,” Scott nods, “Plenty of time to start on a game plan.”

As soon as they’re about to pull into the hotel, Scott realizes that they can’t go inside. The press are swarming trying to capture pictures and accost them for answers.

“Ilya,” Kip holds out his hand, “Give me your room key. I can go inside and get everyone’s things, check us out, and we’ll move to an air bnb.”

“But they will recognize you,” Ilya protests.

“No they won’t,” Kip has a strange smile on his face, “Trust me. Scott, can you stop by that Walgreens?”

Ilya watches and waits in confusion while Scott drives them to the pharmacy and Kip goes down. A few minutes later he walks back out with a plastic bag and gets into the backset with Ilya.

“What are you doing?” Ilya stares in confusion, and in slight awe at Kip’s incredibly toned body as he starts to undress.

“The best disguise,” Kip says, shoving on gaudy green swim trunks and a souvenir ‘I Heart Vegas’ shirt, “is to dress like a tourist. Works every time.” He slips on a nasty ‘FBI: Female Body Inspector’ hat.

“There’s no way that works,” Ilya gawks, “you look like asshole.”

“Like he said, it works every time,” Scott says, pulling into the hotel’s parking garage, “Do you know how many places Kip and I have traveled to without anyone knowing it’s us? Even on dates in New York. We might look like dipshits, but we get to do real couple things.”

“Huh,” Ilya makes a mental note to try that with Shane if his boyfriend was ever up to getting potentially spotted in public.

Kip gets out of the car, kissing Scott, “I’ll text you when I’m ready and I’ll meet you at the rideshare pickup.”

His phone goes off and Ilya winces seeing that it’s his agent. Scott sighs just loud enough that he can hear it and Ilya peeks to see it’s someone named “Todd (Agent)”. Both silence their phones.

“Fuck,” Ilya groans, “We will need to drop statement.”

Scott unbuckles so he can turn around, “Yeah. We will.”

“I… I will just say that I am drunk,” Ilya reasons, “You were helping me. Is close enough.”

“We could,” Scott agrees, his stomach churning.

“But does not help with what it looks like and what article is saying?” Ilya correctly speculates.

“Yeah,” he replies grimly. “I’m pretty much fucked. There’s already the stereotype of gay men being predators and this picture spins that narrative.”

“No one is even asking how or who took this picture,” Ilya’s hands ball into fists.

“Of course not,” Scott shakes his head, “The public only sees what they want to see. We can’t ignore our agents forever though,” he sighs. “Whatever statement we drop-”

“You can tell your agent,” Ilya decides quietly, “Is important he doesn’t think you are… like Kent.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, very sure.”

“Thank you,” Scott breathes a little.

Ilya’s heart is racing. He can’t keep fucking feeling like this, he doesn’t deserve it. All of this is his fault. If only he had just stayed put in the bar instead of leaving, then none of this would’ve happened. He wouldn’t have been violated, the picture wouldn’t be online, Scott’s reputation wouldn’t be wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispers, “this is my fault.”

Scott gets out and climbs into the backseat. “Don’t you fucking dare say that.”

“Is true though,” He insists, “If I wasn’t stupid-”

“Look at me,” Scott orders, forcing Ilya to meet his eyes, “You aren’t stupid. What happened is not your fault. Kent basically warned me what was going to happen and I didn’t listen. I actually should’ve seen this coming.”

Ilya freezes, “What?”

“When I tried to take you from him, he called me a predator and said he wasn’t going to leave you with me. I said I’d call the cops and that’s when he left. Or at least, I thought he did. I guarantee he took the photo and posted it as revenge because I... interrupted him.”

Ilya feels sick, “It’s still my fault.”

“No, it’s not. Because even if I knew what the outcome would be, I would still do it. I need you to understand that none of this is your fault.”

He can’t keep eye contact anymore, the guilt weights too heavy.

Scott lets out a quiet sigh and pulls Ilya into a tight hug. “Not your fault, kid. I promise.”

They pick up Kip a few minutes later, successful in his disguise and getting all their belongings. Well, most of them. Apparently, Kent had utterly destroyed Ilya's room forcing him to pay a fine. They book an air bnb in Henderson, just outside of the city. Ilya continues to ignore his agent but picks up a call from David who reassures and comforts him.

-

Scott’s agent is fucking pissed at the picture. “What the hell are you thinking Hunter!” Todd explodes as soon as he answers the call. He’s in one the bedrooms with Kip in the kitchen making food, and Ilya taking a nap in the other one.

“I was thinking,” He replies back sourly, “That the picture isn’t what it looks like and it’s entirely taken out of context. I can tell you exactly who took the picture and why.”

“So explain it to me, because this is bad. Worse than bad! Catastrophically bad!”

“I caught Dallas Kent trying to drag Ilya back to his hotel room claiming he was drunk.” Luckily for Scott, the name is enough to get Todd’s attention.

“Fuck, Dallas Kent? Really?”

“Yeah,” Scott answers grimly, “He was pretty insistent on keeping Ilya, but I didn’t let him.”

Todd sucks in a sharp breath, “Fuck. This is bad, Scott. With a story like that, this would be…”

“I know.” He replies, “Can we hold off on a statement right now?”

“The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

“I know,” Scott grimaces, “But this involves Rozanov and I don’t want to drop a statement without clearing it. If I say he’s drunk then it looks bad on him, but if I say the truth it’s worse. Either way, we face retaliation from the league.”

“Twenty-four hours,” Todd says, “That’s the max I can give you. After that, we need to say something.”

“That’s all I need, thanks.”

-

Ilya lays on the bed staring at all the treads dragging Scott through the proverbial mud. He hates the names and slurs they call him, finding “evidence” of previous exploits, and saying Kip is trapped in their relationship. But there are others that call Ilya a willing victim. Things that paint him as someone who wanted to be violated and was just using this as a way to get attention. Some are truly heinous, thanking him for “taking one for the team” and exposing Scott.

He needs to fix this. His statement could fix this. But doing that means he’ll have to admit what happened to him. Ilya will have to tell the world that it was Dallas Kent who drugged him, assaulted him, and then took the picture as retaliation when he got caught.

That idea fucking terrifies him.

Ilya knows his agent won’t approve. He’s already proven that by the myriad of texts, missed calls and voicemails that got sent. He wants Ilya to immediately drop a statement claiming drunkenness and not address the situation. Nothing that would implicate that he was assaulted, or anything to clear Scott’s involvement.

His doom scrolling is interrupted by a text message.

Maggie🐟🛼

Hey, Ilya it’s Maggie from last night

I just want to say that I’m really sorry

… typing …

Outgoing Call… Maggie🐟🛼

“Holy shit, Ilya?” Maggie’s voice comes in breathless. “Are you alright?”

He laughs bitterly, “Not really.”

“I’m so sorry about…” Her voice chokes, “That drink was meant for me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ilya confirms quietly.

“Fuck,” She whispers, “I- oh god. If-”

“Don’t,” he cuts her off, “Do not think about ifs. You are safe.”

“But you-”

“The picture is a lie,” Ilya cuts her off before she makes assumptions about Scott. “The man in the picture, he saved me. But the media is… how you say, spinning it.”

Maggie breathes out a sigh of relief, “He saved you? Thank fuck.”

“Yes,” Ilya finds himself breathing with her, “But I need something from you.”

“Anything, what is it?”

“I need…” he shuts his eyes, “I am going to release statement on what happened to me. I… will you help me?”

“Of course, how?”

“It will involve telling your story. You will need to accuse Kent with…”

“You want me to accuse him of attempting to drug me with the intention to assault me.” She finishes.

“Yes,” Ilya whispers.

“Okay.” She says simply, “I’ll do it.”

“Y-you will?”

“Ilya,” Maggie’s voice is both firm and gentle, “You did something for me that saved my life at the expense of your own. I believe in the power of speaking up. If you do this, I’ll be there for you. One voice is all it takes. I believe your friend Scott Hunter proved that too, didn’t he? When he became the first openly gay hockey player.”

“I thought you didn’t follow sports.”

He can hear Maggie’s smile, “I follow queer news and he made history. I’m glad he’s there for you.”

For the first time, Ilya feels hope. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Send me your statement when it’s posted, I’ll add my support.”

Tears choke him as he thanks her again and hangs up. Ilya takes a moment to take deep steadying breaths before falling asleep.

Ilya wakes up to a soft voice and his boyfriend’s warm hand brushing curls from his face. “Lyubov moya,” he whispers sleepily, rolling over and opening his arms.

Shane falls into them immediately snuggling close. “Ilya,” he breathes into his lips, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he’s too sleepy to have a proper conversation but it suits them just fine as he falls back asleep with Shane fingers stroking his hair.

-

The next morning Ilya wakes up as Shane’s little spoon. It doesn’t happen often, but he finds that it’s a nice way to wake up. It feels safe and warm and he never wants to leave.

“Good morning,” Shane whispers, sensing that he’s woken up.

“Did you sleep?” Ilya asks rolling over to face him, “Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come pick you up.”

“I slept on the plane, and Kip came to get us. With the… photo circulating he was worried about either of you getting spotted. Plus, I didn’t want them to wake you up."

Ilya grumbles a little, “I am glad you’re here.”

Shane kisses him lightly, “I am too. I’m sorry that it was like this.”

From outside the bedroom, they can hear Yuna and Scott talking. Their voices aren’t coherent enough for them to hear the exact conversation but the tone is obvious. They’re making plans on what to do.

"Also, my mom already sent out cease and desists to every new outlet running the story." Shane informs him.

“Can we stay here for a minute?” Ilya asks quietly, “I don’t want to think right now.”

“Of course,” Shane presses a gentle kiss to his lips. He holds Ilya close, each cherishing the presence of the other.

“I think I need to tell the truth,” Ilya finally speaks. His palms are sweating as he sits up. “I’m- I cannot let Scott take the fall and Kent can’t get away with what he is doing. Maybe… because I am famous someone will listen to me. And…” he takes a deep breath, “The girl Kent was trying to drug, she is friend now. She says she will speak out too.”

Shane nods, “I’m glad that she will. And I’ll support you. All the way, I promise. I’ll stand with you. Even if it means coming out.”

“Thank you,” Ilya feels the tears fall and he turns his head, but Shane climbs into his lap and hugs him close.

“I love you Ilya, no matter what. I love you.”

He cries in his boyfriend's arms, terrified of everything that’s about to happen. He knows they will face backlash and it will be rough. But… Ilya knows what he’s doing is also right. He’ll save Scott’s reputation, and he’ll fuck up Dallas Kent’s.

Ilya pulls away and rubs his eyes. “I think I will need new agent too. He will not approve of this.”

“I’ll talk to Farah,” Shane immediately says, “She already agreed to represent you anyway. My mom can help you and Scott draft statements.”

Ilya takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

They get up and leave the bedroom hand in hand. Yuna has coffees and Kip has smoothies, breakfast waiting to be made.

“Mama Yuna,” Ilya says, “I need help making statement. I want to tell the truth.”

-

Ilya holds his breath and hits post. In a matter of seconds, it gets reposted, news outlets pick it up, and the accusations trend worldwide.

He sends the post to Maggie who immediately adds her voice stating that Dallas had approached her and would not take No for answer. She explains that it was Ilya who saved her. Her story is backed by Alex, and shockingly others from Salmon Head who saw the exchange. Someone even posts footage from the band which has the interaction in the background.

Maggie is right. Her voice amplifies his and soon, there are many other women exposing Dallas Kent. It goes viral. Ilya is shocked to find that he’s not the only man either. Other victims speak up, even one that he never expected. Troy Barrett reaches out to him and offers his support.

Rumors fly, the attention shifting from Scott being a predator to him being a stand up hockey icon. There are still those who throw their disgust around, but those comments drown in a sea of support. #BelieveVictims trends, the Bears all post their support, the Admirals do as well, and so do a lot of other NHL players. And then, a video of Troy calling Dallas a rapist goes viral. Maggie sends it to him and Ilya watches the video on repeat.

It takes a while, and the NHL tries to bury it with Ilya even getting not so subtle threats from the commissioner. But, the damage is already done.

“Ilya!” Shane screams, nearly kicking down their bathroom door while Ilya stands in the shower, soapy loofah in hand.

“What’s wrong!?” He panics for a split second but sees the excitement on his boyfriend’s face.

Shane rushes over and gets into the shower with him, fully clothed. “Look!” He shoves the phone in Ilya’s face (thank fuck for the waterproof case). 

“What am I looking at…?” The words die in his mouth and Ilya’s breath catches. It’s a video of Dallas Kent getting arrested. “He’s… holy shit.”

“He’s going to get locked up,” Shane grins up at Ilya, tears brimming in his eyes.

Ilya can't find the words he wants to say. Instead, he celebrates by laughing and kissing Shane.

Chapter End Notes

We've made it to the end!! Thank y'all so much for being here!! 💖

I've got a few more fics in this series that are ready to be posted (you can find the list in the series description). They'll all get posted eventually, so let me know which one you want to see first 😘