Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Multi

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais & Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander & Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Hayden Pike

Additional Tags:

POV Outsider, but the outsider is JJ, Shane Hollander Being an Asshole, Hockey Captain Shane Hollander, Good Friend Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Shane Hollander Character Study, Everyone Loves Shane Hollander, Everyone Hates Shane Hollander, Angst, Racism, The FanMail Incident, Homophobia, Shane Hollander Walks Everyone Like A Dog

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of playing it any way i want

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-04 Words: 4,159 Chapters: 1/1

nothing makes me feel as good

Summary

JJ didn't think the others saw it. Hayden, maybe, but Jackie was the only WAGs's name Shane had committed to memory so Hayden never brought it up. JJ didn't have a wife or girlfriend. He had his hookups and the names of the best restaurants in each city they player in. If JJ had a dog, Shane would probably mix its name up with Drapeau's. The others didn't get that however pathetic or sad they might think Shane, Shane thought the same of them tenfold when they missed shots at practice or ate fast food on weekdays. Shane wasn't being prissy or funny when he said, don't embarass me—JJ still doesn't know exactly what it was, but he doesn't care to find out.

Shane had poured everything into his team (possessively: it was his team) and he asked them to give it back that day, so they delivered. When Shane smiled at them afterwards, it felt like love.

Character study on neurotic batshit hardass Captain Shane Hollander. The awe-inspiring and aloof Canadian Hockey Jesus Shane Hollander. Unwilling MLH sex icon Shane Hollander, the face on many mens' dart boards.

or, JJ on the enigma of (his feelings for) Shane Hollander over the years.

Notes

One must imagine JJ as the Starbuck to Shane's Ahab

thanks for reading!

During the end of Shane Hollander's first year of captaincy, JJ gets smacked with the world-altering realization that Shane takes genuine pleasure in beating their opponents—and you might be thinking, sounds pretty obvious, but listen. It's so not. Shane doesn't like winning so much as he likes victory, and he doesn't hate losing so much as he gets a vaguely suicidal/homicidal air about him after a loss. JJ had never been so scared nor so turned on in his life when, once, before a game against the Bears, Shane had said completely-dead-fucking seriously, don't embarrass me. Like they were just cogs in his machine, like they were just the mice and birds dressing the blonde chick in Cinderella.

It hit JJ after a match against the Scouts. They were skating back to the bench together, Shane after just having scored, and overheard a Brooklyn fan in a thick accent groan, Fucking Hollander. JJ watched a sick little grin etch itself across Shane's round cheeks. It wasn't an embarrassed or bashful smile, but a sanguine, truly sadistic look that hit JJ like a bus. It wasn't even for the cameras. It was soul-baring. And then Shane had settled on the bench, and his face relaxed into a neutral expression as he watched the ice. And JJ had to sit next to him as if his blood wasn't running cold.

JJ was drafted to the Montreal Metros two years before Shane Hollander, and it's not like those two years make all the difference experience-wise, but he remembers what the league was like before them. Them being Hollander and Rozanov, obviously. It wasn't dead, playoff games were selling out stadiums, and they weren't leaking money, but there was a lull. The Stanley Cup was won every year by a team that beat other teams, by a team that deserved it. But something changed when Hollander and Rozanov hit the ice. They were rookies being invited to the All-Star game and they were the rookies the All-Star game was advertising, pushing, centering itself around. They were breathing new life back into the sport.

JJ was glad they got Hollander, not Rozanov, because Shane had good intentions whereas Rozanov was an asshole on purpose. Shane didn't hog the spotlight; it just followed him like the Lighting Man in the Rafters (God) couldn't imagine putting it anywhere else. Nothing was more captivating than a Hollander Goal, nothing was more interesting than Hollander biting the nub of a shitty plastic water bottle.

But that didn't mean Shane couldn't be an asshole, because he 100% could be. Was often, even. He didn't give a shit about the names of the WAGs, didn't bother learning really anything about the assorted Metros. They were his. That's all he needed to know. And they couldn't complain, because Shane really did give them everything he had.

JJ didn't think the others saw it. Hayden, maybe, but Jackie was the only WAGs's name Shane committed to memory, so Hayden never brought it up. JJ didn't have a wife or girlfriend. He had his hookups and the names of the best restaurants in each city they played in. If JJ had a dog, Shane would probably mix its name up with Drapeau's. The others didn't get that, however pathetic or sad they might think Shane, Shane thought the same of them tenfold when they missed easy shots at practice or ate fast food on weekdays. Shane wasn't being prissy or funny or demanding when he said, don't embarrass me—JJ still doesn't know exactly what it was, but he doesn't care to find out.

Shane had poured everything into his team (possessively: it was his team) and he asked them to give it back that day, so they delivered. When Shane smiled at them afterwards, it felt like love.

His reputation built itself over the years. Guys who got traded in and out on the third and fourth lines. Social media managers who got brushed off by him when he was busy meditating. Even an interim assistant coach who got told to fuck off by Shane in the parking lot, once, when he tried to correct Shane's form after a loss by the team bus. Every eye had snapped towards him and poor Coach O' Callaghan during that incident. A beat passed, and then two. Shane was so deep in thought, or wherever he went, he didn't notice that Coach Theriault considered telling him off before dismissing it. Shane had scored twice, but Pittsburgh scored three times, so yeah. Where did Coach O'Callaghan get off critiquing Shane Hollander, anyway?

So the word gets spread around the league that Shane is polite, mostly. Would never bad-mouth anyone to the press, never chirp about someone's mom (dead or alive) on ice, wouldn't even high-stick you by accident. But Shane is… frigid. Above them. Aloof. He's not even being arrogant. He's just that good.

JJ keeps watching. It's like his show. Shane keeps winning and their opponents keep cursing him and Shane thrives off of how much their cities seem to hate him, want him, need him, etc. Nothing lights a fire in Shane more than getting to play Boston; he spends the days beforehand deep into preparation mode. He meditates, he skates harder, he does more yoga, he… checks his phone more often.

The team can't really make Shane do anything. If he doesn't want to go out after a game, no amount of begging or cajoling can convince him. He won't fold to Hayden's puppy-dog eyes, which JJ would have thought he knew better than to give him at this point. Really, nothing works. Everything optional is rarely an option Shane considers.

He doesn't post on socials except for the bare minimum endorsement announcements. On media days, he gives polite answers, nothing more. He's seen reporters beseech him on the verge of tears to give them something, anything interesting, anything more than yeah, the team's been working hard this year or it's always a pleasure to face [INSERT CITY], we're wishing them well this season. Nothing but respect for the [INSERT TEAM NAME]. Thanks, guys. The media can't get enough of Hollander when he's on the ice and can't get enough out of him in the media room.

(It's a funny contrast to Shane's reaction when Hayden badgers him about Boston Lily, the hookup he's apparently been texting for a couple of years. When do we get to meet her? What does she look like? What does she do? C'mon, Hollander. Shane blushes down to his neck and shakes his head like a dizzy lamb at every question.)

Shane Hollander is his intense and neurotic Captain, Shane Hollander is a spoiled cat terrorizing the MLH with a killer my way or the highway conviction. Sometimes JJ thinks he might be in love with him. Sometimes JJ thinks he has Stockholm Syndrome. As long as they keep winning, JJ doesn't give a shit what it is.

JJ agrees to come early to morning practice once a week to help Shane run drills. It's always interesting, watching Shane correct himself over and over with more vigor than he ever paid to the rest of the team. It's nice to know that, however high Shane's standards are for the team, the ones he holds himself to are fucking unattainable. JJ asks him what he thinks about the defense line one day and Shane rips it to pieces with hyper-specific critiques. He has enough ammo that JJ thinks he might have been saving them up for the right moment.

"Makes sense. But you might want to wait to bring that up to Gagnon."

"Why?" asks Shane obnoxiously.

JJ sighs. Shane never checks the group chat. "Gagnon's wife is leaving him. He's been playing like shit because they're getting a divorce and he's losing the kids."

"I know that." JJ closes his eyes. Of course he knows; he just doesn't care. Shane says, "You'd think his wife's been leaving him his whole career."

"Capitaine, tu es un connard," JJ exclaims under his breath before he can think about it. [Captain, you are an asshole.] He freezes, and so does Shane for a microsecond.

"Si c'est comme ça que tu veux voir les choses," muses Shane. [If that's how you want to see things.] "But we're still winning. At this point, it's in my contract."

He barks a laugh at that and claps Shane on the shoulder, resetting the drill without being told.

What JJ learns, over the course of his career, is that at any given moment, half the NHL wants to kill Shane Hollander and the other half wants to fuck him, and those groups are not always mutually exclusive. During the week of an All-Star game that JJ barely snags a place in, a Carolina D-man approaches him while Shane yells at Rozanov in an empty hallway and asks, "Is this… normal?"

"Yeah, they go at it all the time," says JJ with a peculiar expression. The rivalry isn't even common knowledge. It's national news.

"No, I mean like… to be turned on by it."

JJ startles, staring at the Carolinian while the Carolinian stares at Hollander.

"Um. I think so," JJ croaks. The Carolinian nods slowly, as if this makes sense, and it really, really does. Rozanov laughs in Shane's face and Shane gets louder, and then something in Rozanov's eyes shifts. There might have been real fear in his expression. A Columbus forward takes up post on JJ's right.

"He's like his bitch wife," he says too loudly. Both JJ and the D-man quickly take a step away from him as both pairs of eyes in the Hollander-Rozanov rivalry snap towards the forward. "Fuck."

"The fuck did you just say?" snarls Rozanov. It could be a show of hyper-masculinity, how-dare-you-accuse-me-of-marrying-a-man response thing. It could be Rozanov getting pissed at the implication that he'd ever be willingly associated with, let alone married to, Hollander. It could even be him protecting Shane's virtue from a second-rate forward peon from Raleigh. Either way, JJ doesn't envy the man. Shane crosses his arms over his chest, a death sentence.

The relationship between Shane and the Metros only grows weirder over time. Shane's skill endears him to the players with fucked-up internal hierarchies about where players like JJ and Shane stand compared to them. Their teammates don't seem to give a fuck that Shane is Asian, nor that JJ is Black, because they're winning games. When they do lose games, it's never Shane or JJ's fault. Shane doesn't fuck up enough for Comeau or Drapeau to start making snide comments about him, and JJ's too 6'6 for them to think about starting shit with him.

But JJ can feel the pressure even when it's not being directly applied. There are rules for them. When they're alone, JJ mentions the little comments, the microaggressions, the double standards to Shane. Complains about them, and Shane good-naturedly reassures JJ that JJ's really fucking good, and less-good-naturedly tells him, fuck those assholes because they're nothing.

Which feels really nice, actually. Shane's not going to tell him to stand up for himself or report them to HR like Hayden might because Shane knows the rules as well as JJ does. On JJ's behalf, Shane goes extra hard on those guys during practice, bites down on their flaws and explains them to them slowly, with a tone that borders on simpering afterwards. Shane never leaves JJ out to dry for long.

Shane goes out with them to the club after a win, early in his captaincy. He's in a better mood and actually ends up doing one (1) shot with them before retiring to ginger ale. The team diffuses across the floor and bar, and the girl JJ's been dancing with heads to the power room, so he goes to find Shane. He's sitting alone in a booth, watching the mini mirror ball above them.

"Capitaine, est-ce que t'amuses?" [Captain, are you having fun?]

"Oui, Jean-Jacques, beaucoup." [Yes, Jean-Jacques, lots.] Shane gives him a smile that makes JJ's heart pound. It fades into a frown. Shane nods his head somewhere towards the bar and confides, "Ce blanc là-bas… a fait ça quand il m'a vu," Shane reaches up and pulls the skin around his eyes back, "Et puis il a dit, 'mon Dieu, tu es Shane Hollander!'"

[The white guy over there... he did this when he saw me. And then he said, my God, you're Shane Hollander!]

JJ says, "I'll kill him."

"He asked for a fucking autograph."

"Did you give him one?"

"Fuck no, I told him to get out of my face. He's probably tweeting about how rude and stuck-up I am now, how I crushed his son's dreams of owning a signed paper napkin." JJ doesn't say, well you are rude and stuck-up. He thinks it hard, though, and Shane laughs like he can tell where JJ's mind is. JJ laughs with him, but it's not funny at all.

He and Shane couldn't be more different. He's got half a foot and like, fifty pounds on Shane. They play opposite positions. Shane gets called the people's princess on Twitter, and JJ gets told that he puts his height to use well on a good day. JJ often feels far from home but he doesn't think Shane ever left his. JJ was the only Black person on the team before Shane joined and he still was after, but he felt less alone anyway. What brought them together, he thinks, is that they are playing a sport that wasn't made for them. JJ's been carving out a space for himself in hockey since he started playing; he suspects Shane's parents had been chipping away for one since Shane was born.

Shane likes beating people. He likes listening to them curse his name and city. JJ also suspects that Shane likes that the bigoted players think Shane's stealing the sport from them. Shane never says white people with derision. Shane doesn't repost the MLH's obligatory AAPI month recognition post. He does something better: he's so good, and it hurts them because they don't think Shane should be.

One of his favorite things about playing hockey with Shane is getting to play enforcer. He isn't one necessarily, but JJ's 6'6 and a defenseman, so it comes with the territory. JJ gets to watch Shane score goal after goal, and Shane gets to watch JJ throw punches when Shane goes down before he can make one. He loves being a Metro. He would hate to play against himself.

Shane doesn't get into very many fights himself, but to say that he doesn't instigate them would be false. Hockey is a ripe beating heart and Shane was born with a hand on its pulse. He knows when to say the wrong things, and it's when JJ is two strides away. JJ was a very proud teammate the day he had to hold Shane back from fighting Scott Hunter. The morning after the game, JJ pulled Shane aside before practice and said, "Have you fought anyone before?"

"No," Shane said like he was aware how silly he sounded.

"Bien sûr que non." [Of course not.] JJ offers, "I can teach you."

"What, you getting tired of fighting my battles for me?"

"Never, Capitaine. But it would be fun."

Shane grins. They add the punching bag to their pre-practice routine.

JJ's on the bench when Cliff Marleau bulldozes Shane eight seconds into the first period of the game and knocks him out. He's glad Hayden's out there and not him, because JJ would have done something irreversible.

He doesn't pay attention to the fight after it starts, just watches Rozanov circle Shane's body like a dejected shark. It's comical, it's strangely protective, it's a feeling JJ understands. He is scared when they carry him off the ice, no signs of consciousness from their captain. He feels untethered.

But Shane is fine, of course. Mild concussion, fractured collarbone, out for the playoffs they likely weren't going to advance through anyways. Every non-Montreal fan online is appropriately delighted. Everyone loves Shane Hollander, but everyone hates his ass on ice. He's a curse to play and a blessing to watch. Shane doesn't seem all that disappointed either when JJ visits him in the hospital. He's been lighter these past few months: still focused, but with the alleviated intensity usually only displayed by Shane after (Hayden once pointed out to him) hooking up with Boston Lily.

Drunk as fuck at a post-season house party, JJ topples over the back of the couch and lands with his legs thrown over it, head a healthy few inches from Shane's right thigh. He's entirely too tall for this position, but he bears it for the view. "Capitaine, comment ça va?" [How's it going, Captain?]

"Ça va bien, et toi?" [I'm good, and you?]

"Je suis putain de génial! Mais, tu es différent maintenant, non?" [I'm fucking great! But, you're different now, no?]

"JJ?"

"T'es en vacances d'été!" [You are going on a summer vacation!]

Shane shakes his head, lips curling upwards. "Non, juste à mon chalet." [No, just to my cottage.]

"Ah! Tu as quelqu'un à la maison!" [Ah! You have someone at home!]

"Non!"

"Oui, oui, je peux le voir." [Yes, yes, I can see it.] He tips his head back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling with giddiness. JJ slurs, "Capitaine… tu es un chien." [Captain, you are a dog.]

Shane laughs, but then his expression becomes serious. "Je suis gay, JJ."

He looks embarrassed for a second, because there's no better word to use in French. JJ's world stops turning for all of two seconds. He thinks, oh, and wills himself to sober up. He pats Shane's leg beside him and nods seriously. "Pour toi, je m'en souviendrai demain matin."

[For you, I will remember this tomorrow morning.]

"Merci."

"Tu es un bon capitaine." Shane smiles, less sure of himself than JJ has ever seen him. It makes him sad, makes him angry and desperate, so he thinks back to what Shane used to tell him and says, "Tu es vraiment fucking bon."

[You are a good captain. You are really fucking good.]

Things change when Shane comes out to the rest of the team. Every fracture exacerbated. The quirky behaviors they used to indulge in become some of their teammates' reasons to hate him, judge him, belittle him. They become less careful, more crude. Being weird to Shane hurts their lines: they're less trusting and their jagged edges get caught on him constantly. They start losing more and more, and so the bubble around Shane Hollander bursts.

No longer untouchable or tolerated. Half the team won't shower with him and he gets checked harder at practice and conversations stop when he enters the room and, as Shane told Hayden and JJ, he can't even bring it up to Theriault because he'll just say Shane brought this on to himself by bringing his personal life to the locker room.

Shane persists for an entire year, the absolute madman. He whips them back into shape, snaps at them more, becomes more critical and pushes where he can. Eventually, everything gives. They win the cup in 2020. JJ privately thinks that if they kept fucking up, Shane would've left the team—not because of the way they were treating him, but because of how much of an embarrassment the Metros had become on ice. But the Metros are reminded of how nice victory is after the cup. More importantly, they're reminded of how much nicer Shane is when he's coming down from the high of winning. It's fucking golden with Shane. Everything's warm.

JJ goes through more than five stages of grief when Shane gets outed to the press by that fucking FanMail video in March. He did not know that while Hollander, rightfully and Rozanov, unrightfully, were clogging up hockey media and news with their rivalry, they were also fucking. He's pissed because a) why didn't Shane tell him, b) why did Hayden know when Hayden never knows shit, c) oh, and d) Shane Hollander Was Committing Hat Tricks Against The Boston Bears While the Actual Boston Bear was Fucking Him In The Ass. He was that good, and in love with their starting center. God fuck JJ's life.

He's not homophobic. He has a gay cousin. He volunteered to be his lesbian friend's beard in high school and didn't even turn homophobic when she started fucking girls during their fake public relationship. He had to break up with her and the whole school thought she'd dumped him for pussy. To reiterate: half his high school thought he was so bad at sex Gabrielle LaCoeur switched sides, and that experience didn't make him homophobic, so JJ sure as shit wasn't going to let this rock his boat.

He drives to Shane's home in Montreal. The only thing on his mind is the memory of telling Shane before a game against the Bears, if Rozanov fucks you tonight, I'm going to fuck him back. Shane had quirked an eyebrow with amusement, but there was something else in his expression JJ hadn't been able to pinpoint. He doesn't have the stomach to try now.

The street parking is more crowded than usual. The front door's already open and the apartment's in disarray. Shane stands in the middle of the mess, hands clasped behind his head and squeezing his temples with his forearms, in complete hysterics.

"I'm not a fucking gay icon, are you fucking kidding me? I'm not doing brand deals with fruit snacks, you can't make me," he borderline shrieks. He has a right to be concerned, unfortunately, knowing Yuna Hollander.

JJ goes to hover near Hayden, who is clutching Jackie's hand. Ilya Rozanov stands a bit behind and to the side of Shane with wide eyes, hands held up like he's offering preemptive support for whenever Shane faints or gets tackled. David Hollander is also there, standing beside his wife, but he's not doing much.

Yuna yells back, "No one's making you get a Skittle endorsement, Shane! I was just suggesting you get ahead of this and come out properly before-"

"GET AHEAD OF THIS?"

"Oh fuck," says Hayden.

"'THIS' IS ALREADY THERE. IT'S THE HARE IN THAT FUCKED-UP FOLK TALE AND I'M THE TORTOISE SITTING ON MY ASS—SORRY, SITTING ON MY BOYFRIEND'S DICK—WHILE IT HOPS ACROSS THE FINISH LINE, MOM." He turns to Hayden. "WHAT THE FUCK?"

And then, in the most shocking turn of events, Rozanov gets in front of Shane like he's cornering a wild animal (which he is) and holds his arms out toward him. Shane collapses into them and bursts into tears—burying these heavy, wet, explosive sobs in the crook of Ilya Rozanov's neck.

Not that anyone was really talking before, but the room goes very, very quiet while Shane cries. JJ has never seen Shane cry before. It's horrifying. He's gaping and Hayden shuts his mouth for him.

Rozanov rubs Shane's back in a way that would be soothing only for Shane: roughly, rapidly. He finds Yuna and makes eye contact as well as an incomprehensible gesture at her. She grabs her work bag and her husband, and disappears down the hallway into what JJ assumes must be a study. Then, he walks Shane backwards into the couch and smushes him between his body and the back of it.

"Oh my fucking Godddd," comes Shane's wail while Ilya says to them loudly, "Get out."

JJ, Hayden, and Jackie book it.

Shane doesn't show up for practice nor games for a week, which is the most voluntary time off he's ever taken in the nearly-a-decade JJ has been working with him. The team arrives in groups at the Bell Centre, filtering into the locker room to find Shane already warmed up and waiting for them as what used to be usual. JJ gets a good look at him and realizes that he looks fairly normal. No nervous energy or nausea. If anything, Shane looks a bit raw, but JJ assumes that's what you'd look like if you were wrung dry with your famously big-dicked big-biceped boyfriend for a week. Kudos to Shane, JJ guesses.

Comeau arrives just before they head out to the ice. Immediately, he goes, "What the f-"

"You guys got fucking demolished by Buffalo two days ago. If anyone here has the right to be violently baffled, it's me," hisses Shane. His body is a loose line in the doorway, decked out in his pads and jersey while leaning all his weight onto a hip, arms crossed. JJ feels that weird turn in his stomach again, the anxiety/arousal one-two punch from hell. Some days it truly fucks with him, some days he just accepts it as natural. Shane cocks his head. "Get into gear."

Comeau does as he's told.