Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Eric Bennett/Kyle Swift, Ryan Price/Fabian Salah, Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Zane Boodram, Luca Haas, Evan Dykstra, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Brandon Wiebe, Wyatt Hayes

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, spoilers for game changers books, Fluff and Angst, Mostly Fluff, Dumb Hockey Boys, BAMF Shane Hollander, Canon-Typical Homophobia, Found Family, Belonging, learning to grow and let go, Hockey-Typical Violence, blends book and movie cannon, Established Relationship, Ottawa Centaurs Player Shane Hollander, Ottawa Centaurs as Family (Game Changers)

Language:

English

Series:

Part 3 of It Takes A Village AU

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-27 Completed: 2026-04-17 Words: 86,480 Chapters: 35/35

From the Top

Summary

After the events of It Takes a Village, Shane must navigate how to move forward in his career when the team he has grown to love ultimately sets a ceiling on his growth. In another life, he would have won his Stanley Cups with the Metros, been their star center and Captain, and the face of a franchise. Here, he is second line to New York's beloved captain and one of his best friends, Scott Hunter. He knows that to grow, he has to move on, but leaving the family he found in New York might be the hardest challenge he's faced yet.

This is a sequel to It Takes a Village and will not make sense without having read that work first. If you haven't read it yet, please do! For those who have read and enjoyed ITAV, I hope this sequel does it justice <3

Chapter 1: End of an Era

Scott

“I just don’t understand why he has to go!” Kip whined, starfished across the couch in the living room. Scott sighed and walked over to free enough space up to lay Kip’s head onto his lap and sat down, careful not to sit on his arms.

“He’s not leaving because he doesn’t like it here, Kip,” Scott explained. “The Admirals couldn’t meet the kinds of offers he was getting from other teams.”

“But that’s stupid! Why couldn’t the Admirals make a better offer then, he’s almost as good as you! We’ve won two Stanley Cups with him now!”

Scott ran his fingers through Kip's hair, an effort to soothe himself as much as Kip. “Exactly,” Scott sighed. “The Admirals can’t afford two players like us and stay under cap. They took on his old contract before, and that was already high. The kind of contracts he can and will be offered now, with two Stanley Cup wins, and the playoff stats that he has are not something the Admirals can match."

Kip huffed and buried his face in the fabric at Scott’s abdomen.

“It’s not like when he left the Metros, Kip. This team loves him. We’re going to be really sad to see him go.”

“He’s my friend,” Kip whined. “I’m going to be really sad to see him go! They leave in a week, and it’s not just for the summer, this time.”

Scott tugged at Kip’s hair, wishing there was more he could say to comfort his husband. They had grown used to having Shane just a few floors down, to him and Ilya terrorizing them at any given time, dragging them over for dinner, or invading their space to watch terrible reality TV with Kip on their couch.

“I know it won’t be the same,” Scott murmured. “But he’ll still be here a few times throughout the season. He’s staying in the division, so they’ll come to New York at least a couple of times to play the Admirals, and if you can make it work with school, you could come with me when we play against him on our roadies. We don’t have to let this be the end of our friendship.”

Scott felt the front of his shirt getting damp and sticky with Kip’s tears. His shoulders shook. Not knowing what else to do, Scott gathered his husband into his arms and carried him into the darkness of their bedroom, pulling him under the covers and holding him close.

“I love you,” he whispered in the dark. “We’re going to be okay, Kip. We all will.”

Kyle

“I hate this, you know,” Kyle groaned, helping Shane and Ilya load a bookshelf of hockey books and titles in Cyrillic into a sturdy cardboard box.

“Yes, packing is very boring,” Ilya agreed. “Must be Canadian invention.”

Shane threw a paperback at Ilya, one of the lighter tomes that still made a satisfying thunk when it hit Ilya in the chest and knocked the breath out of him.

Kyle laughed at the wounded look on Ilya’s face and the murderous glare that lingered on Shane’s.

“You know what I mean,” Kyle said. “It’s like an 8-hour drive!”

“Flight is only hour and half,” Ilya reasoned. “Not so bad. Almost same for Boston.”

“And their logo is terrible!” Kyle cried.

Shane and Ilya both burst into laughter at that. Kyle didn’t get what was so funny. You had your team’s logo on everything when you worked for them. Half of Ilya’s wardrobe was Boston Raiders merch. Granted, black and gold were definitely his colors, and he was gorgeous enough to look hot in a paper bag, but that was beside the point.

Kyle had worked incredibly hard over the last year and a half to get Shane to wear clothes that actually did his beautiful friend justice, and this logo was going to ruin it.

“It’s really not that bad,” Shane sighed.

“He can only say this because his room with Hollanders is covered in their merch and posters. Good little Canadian boy supporting home team even when they never win,” Ilya chuckled, risking his boyfriend's wrath to roast him to Kyle yet again. This was why Kyle loved Ilya. He was the best. Shane needed a guy like that to pull the stick out of his ass.

“The Centaurs’ logo is not that bad!” Shane protested. “Besides, I like their colors.”

“You’re going to look like even more of a dork than you did when you first got here,” Kyle complained. One of his best friends was leaving him, so he was allowed to complain. Shane would just have to deal with it.

The doorbell rang, and Ilya went to answer it.

“Eric!” Kyle exclaimed when he saw his boyfriend step into the chaotic mess of Shane’s condo. Boxes were everywhere, and it was funny watching his giant boyfriend struggle to navigate them.

“I figured you guys might want some help,” Eric laughed. “Glad to see they haven’t killed you yet, Kyle. One of these days, Ilya isn’t going to find your jokes very funny.”

Kyle spluttered. “Hey! Ilya loves my jokes!”

“Yes, is very funny,” Ilya agreed. “Would make good hockey player. You should take advice from boyfriend on your chirps, Eric.”

Eric groaned. “I forget that the two of you are just two peas in a fucking pod.” He looked over at Shane and made eye contact. “Why did we do this to ourselves? Will you run away with me?”

Shane laughed and shook his head. “They would just follow!”

Eric sighed dramatically and grabbed another box to take with him into the kitchen. “I’m assuming everything goes in a box?”

“Pretty much,” Shane agreed. “Thanks, Eric!”

Ilya

By the time Eric and Kyle left, the living room and kitchen were boxed up and more organized. The packed boxes were stacked against one wall, leaving room to move around again without tripping, and the drawers, cabinets, and bookshelves were bare.

He found Shane in the living room, holding a framed picture Ilya had given him for Christmas of their first CCM photoshoot together. They grinned at each other in the mock face-off, eyes dancing with joy and laughter. It was one of Ilya’s favorite pictures, one shane had included when he announced his love for Ilya to the world for the first time.

“What if this was the wrong decision?” Shane asked.

“What? Us?” Ilya chuckled.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it!” Shane grumbled.

“Yes,” Ilya nodded. “I know.” He took the frame from Shane’s hand and set it back down on the end table, then used both hands to gently frame Shane’s face and catch his gaze.

“This is growth,” Ilya sighed, smiling sadly. “Is hard, and it hurts, but still growth. You can’t stay stuck because you are afraid, Shane.”

“You’re just happy because you might actually have a shot at the cup again this year,” Shane groaned.

Ilya laughed and kissed him full on the mouth. “Wow,” he said. “Very hurtful.”

Shane rolled his eyes.

“Wait here, okay?” Ilya asked. Shane looked perplexed but nodded in agreement, and Ilya left him there to walk to the bedroom.

It had been easy enough, when Eric and Kyle were here, to ask them to keep Shane distracted long enough for Ilya to sneak away. He walked into the bedroom and inspected his work. Hundreds of electric candles flooded the space, all over the nightstands and shelves, forming little islands of light on the floor. The bed was a sea of rose petals. He walked to his nightstand and pulled out the little box he’d been hiding since he arrived at the end of his own season, knocked from the playoffs in the first round after a goalie injury.

“Ilya?” Shane called. Ilya could hear his impatience. He chuckled.

“In bedroom!” he called. “Is okay! You can come in!”

Ilya turned to face the door and knelt down. It opened minutes later, setting Ilya’s heart thundering in his chest.

“Ilya?” Shane whispered, his voice catching in the middle as he took in the bedroom full of candles and rose petals. “What-“

Ilya cut Shane off before he could lose his nerve. “Shane Hollander,” he said, bringing Shane’s attention back to where he knelt on the floor. “This past year has been best year of my life. I know we live apart most of the year, play for different teams in different cities, but off the ice, the only team I want to be on is yours. Will you please marry me?”

Ilya watched Shane’s eyes fill with tears, his hands going to cover his mouth as he stared. The light of the candles caught in his hair, glowed against his skin, and cast prisms from the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

“Yes,” he choked, falling to his knees in front of Ilya. “I love you. I want to be your husband, Ilya. More than anything.”

Ilya cried too, little tears catching in the corners of his eyes, caught against the bunched skin of his cheeks when he smiled. He pulled the ring out and held one hand out for Shane’s, then slipped the ring on his left hand and kissed the band to seal it.

“I thought you were going to do this at the cottage on the dock,” Shane chuckled, wiping away Ilya’s tears with the pads of his thumbs. Ilya twisted and bit one, sucking the thick digit into his mouth and teasing at it with his teeth.

“I was,” he agreed when he was done. “But this city is where we got together, no? Not as lovers, but as more? Is very special. I will always love New York.”

Shane wasn’t just crying anymore; he was sobbing. He pulled at Ilya’s shoulders and tucked his face into Ilya’s neck, tears pooling against his skin and in the fabric of his shirt collar.

“This city caught me,” Shane sobbed. “When the Metros dropped me, and everything felt upside down, this city caught me and put me back on my feet. I’m going to miss it so much. The Admirals were the second-best thing to ever happen to me, second only to meeting and loving you.”

Ilya rubbed a soothing hand up and down Shane’s back, shifting to sit cross-legged and pull him into his lap. “Shh,” he whispered into Shane’s hair. “Centaurs could be very good too. They already know you, already know me, and they want you. You will be captain by next year, probably. This is Scott’s team, but Centaurs can be your team, no?”

Shane nodded. It felt like his tears were abating, less water gathering on Ilya’s skin and spreading across his shirt. His shoulders had stopped shaking, and the next thing Ilya knew, Shane was licking his neck, biting and sucking, tugging at the skin. Shane pushed him back onto the candle-strewn rug, and Ilya groaned.

“I love you, “ Shane sighed, pressing another kiss to Ilya’s temple, following it down to his jaw. “So. Fucking. Much. Ilya,” each word was broken by a determined kiss. “How are you this perfect?”

Ilya grinned. “Perfect, huh?”

Shane laughed. It was a little thick and wet from crying, but a joyful sound nonetheless. “The candles are beautiful,” Shane said. “But rose petals? I’m not going to let you fuck me on a bed of rose petals, Ilya. They’ll get everywhere. Why don’t I go shower, and you can figure that part out.”

Ilya guffawed. This was the man he was going to get to marry. This man right here. Too delicate to fuck on a bed with rose petals that might stick uncomfortably to his skin. Ilya really fucking loved him, too.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Go shower, I will fix bed.”

The next day, Ilya and Shane packed what they needed for summer into suitcases and set them by the door, then finished everything they had time for in the condo itself. Like Shane’s move from Montreal, he wouldn’t bring movers in to collect everything until he had a house bought and ready to bring the furniture to.

Ilya didn’t know whether he was excited or terrified about spending the summer house-hunting with Shane. He wondered if it might make for a good TV show, the kind Kip liked to watch with Maria and Elena.

“Are you ready?” he asked. His phone had just sent an alert that their car to the airport was a few blocks away.

“Yeah,” Shane sighed, looking around the condo one last time.

“Okay,” Ilya continued, taking two of the rolling suitcases and throwing a large duffel over his shoulder. “The car is almost here.”

Shane nodded and grabbed the rest of the bags, then locked the door behind them. They would be back in New York for a couple of weeks in August to work with some of their brand deals and had already set aside every extra minute to spend with their friends.

He sent a text to the group chat with the others. It was a close-up of his left hand on the handle of his suitcase, gold band glinting in the sun while they waited for the car.

Shane: think the Kingfisher could host an engagement party in August?

He turned his notifications off and helped Ilya load their suitcases into the trunk for the drive ahead.

Chapter 2: Babysitting and Other Highlights

Chapter Summary

Shane has moved into his new house in Ottawa and helps a friend unpack nearby. Meanwhile, he and Ilya make the most of the summer they have left before Ilya has to leave for Boston.

Chapter Notes

Heads up that there will be smut in this chapter. I probably won't keep up with warnings for every chapter that happens in, because tbh this is going to be a pretty smutty fic and that would get old fast. Please note that this time the rating is "Explicit" straight out the gate and a majority of chapters will live up to that rating... Sorry?

Anyways, thank you for continuing on this rollercoaster with me! I hope you enjoy the chapter <3

Shane

Shane’s new house in Ottawa sat in Rockcliffe Park and was an enormous estate with an indoor pool, a large basement he had every intention of converting into a gym and synthetic ice rink to match the cottage, and a beautiful study with bay windows that he planned to make his yoga studio. Even better, one of the houses two streets down was also for sale, and Jackie thought the yard and park across the street would be perfect for the girls and Arthur.

“I still can’t believe we get to play together on the same team again!” Hayden enthused, bouncing Arthur on one hip while Jackie instructed the movers on where everything needed to go.

Shane’s smile was bright enough to compete with the late summer sun. “I know that was what we wanted, and that our agents worked hard to make it happen, but I didn’t think we could pull it off either,” he agreed.

“RUBY!” Hayden cried. “YOU COME BACK DOWNSTAIRS RIGHT NOW! THE MOVERS ARE STILL HERE!”

Ruby squealed and flopped back down the stairs on her butt, thumping against each one with a giggle all along the way.

“And you said Jackie’s having another one?” Shane laughed.

“I’m getting snipped, man. Three was enough, four might make me crazy,” Hayden chuckled, shaking his head. “But hey, you’ll have an abundance of adorable flower girls and a very cute ring bearer for your wedding!”

Shane nodded, still beaming. “A year isn’t that long, you might have to help Arthur down the aisle.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” Hayden snorted. “Here, take your godchild. He likes you more anyway. I'd better make sure the girls don’t trip up the movers.”

Shane took Arthur and cradled him against his chest. Arthur was a great baby, generally happy and easy to manage. As long as someone was holding him, he was happy.

“Shane?” Ilya called, walking into the Pikes’ chaotic living room. He stopped when he saw Shane with Arthur, and his smile turned dopey with affection.

“Hello, little Pike. You are so cute. Must get it from Mama Pike, no?”

Shane chortled and nudged Ilya with one shoulder, unable to hit him with a baby occupying his arms. “Cut it out,” he admonished.

“First we were neighbors with old man Hunter, now we must be neighbors with Pike. You have terrible taste,” Ilya sighed, leaning in to nudge Arthur on the nose and coo at him. “At least his babies are cute.”

Shane kissed Ilya on the cheek. “Aren’t they, though? I missed out on spending time with the girls. I can babysit for Hayd and Jackie on date nights again now.”

“Ah, yes,” Ilya agreed. “Free child care, is real reason they move to same neighborhood.”

“You better not be besmirching my name in front of my own child, Ilya!” Jackie cried, walking into the living room. Her usually neat brown hair was falling out of its ponytail.

“Never, Jackie! You are so beautiful! Pike is unworthy!”

Jackie laughed at Ilya’s antics and went to take Arthur. “Lunch time for little ones,” she explained. “Thank you for coming by. I know Hayden’s excited to have you over for dinner soon! Let us know if you need any help with anything, too, okay?”

“Thanks, Jackie,” Shane smiled. “We’re mostly moved in, though. If you need a break from the girls to get some unpacking done, feel free to bring them over anytime.”

“Careful,” Jackie warned. “I’ll take you up on that!”

Ilya laughed and took Shane’s hand. The movers had finished unloading and were leaving the house, so they waved and followed them out the door. There would be plenty more time to reconnect after the Pikes had been given a chance to settle in a little.

They walked back to Shane’s house hand-in-hand, Ilya stopping them every few feet to pull Shane into increasingly silly and exaggerated kisses. With the preseason starting in just over a week, he would have to leave for Boston soon. Shane really didn’t want to see him go.

The inside of their house still smelled like fresh paint when they walked through the door, even though Shane had done everything possible to air it out and diminish the odor. His condo in New York was a fraction of the size, and so had the one in Montreal been, which meant most of the furniture throughout the house was new, too. It had been fun letting his interior decorator get her hands on the place. He was impressed at how much it already felt like him, like them.

They settled on the giant sectional in the primary living room, and Ilya turned the TV on for background noise, then pulled Shane into his lap.

“Have you heard from new coach yet?” Ilya asked once they were settled.

“No,” Shane sighed. “He’s probably got other things to deal with this close to preseason. Besides, I’ll meet him in person soon enough.”

Ilya nodded, brushed Shane’s hair off his forehead, and pressed a kiss just under his hairline. “This will be good for you.”

Shane gave a genuine smile. “I know,” he sighed. “I’m nervous, but I’m starting to get a little excited, too. It’s a new beginning, you know? And I’m not alone, I have Hayden.”

Ilya kissed Shane’s cheek just under his eye and on top of his freckles, then his nose, and finally his lips. “No,” he agreed. “You are not alone. I am glad.”

Shane returned the kiss, deepening it from something chaste to something a little more questioning. Ilya returned with more fervor, delving his tongue between Shane’s parted lips in answer.

“You know,” Shane teased. “This couch is new. We haven’t broken it in yet.”

Ilya laughed and rolled over to hover over his fiancé. He slipped his hand under Shane’s shirt and reached up to lightly pinch a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “This we must change,” he agreed. “What do you want, Hollander?” Ilya asked, voice low and thick with desire. Shane whined.

“You want me to blow you?” he offered, biting the skin of Shane’s abdomen hard enough to leave a mark and soothing it with his tongue. Shane cried out, one hand going to Ilya’s curls and seizing them between his fingers, the other gripping the back of the couch.

“You want me to eat your ass?” Ilya continued, pulling Shane’s joggers down his hips and sliding them off his legs to the floor. “No underwear at Pike house?” Ilya asked. “Very naughty, Hollander.”

Shane groaned and pushed Ilya’s head lower with the hand buried in his curls. “Shut up and fuck me, asshole,” he demanded.

“Oh, you want me to fuck you?” Ilya teased. “You have lube in here yet, Boy Scout?”

Shane banged his head back against the couch in frustration. Sometimes he wondered how he ever could have fallen in love with someone so infuriating. “Yeah,” he groaned. “Coffee table drawer, wooden box.”

Ilya followed his instructions and brought the box back with him to the couch. Shane used the time it took him to locate the box to remove his shirt, lying naked against the cushions. Ilya looked him over, set the box down, and smiled. “Wait one minute,” he demanded, then disappeared into the hall and returned with a towel. Helping Shane sit up, he laid it out over the couch and pushed Shane back onto it.

“Is new couch,” Ilya explained with a shrug. Shane smiled at him.

Leaving his own clothes in a pile on the floor, Ilya crawled back onto the couch and bent down to bite where Shane's shoulder met his neck, then bit and licked a path down Shane’s chest and stomach to his very interested dick.

Looking up at him with a little sideways smirk, Ilya lifted Shane’s dick with one hand and sucked on the tip, fucking the slit with his tongue before swallowing the whole shaft down into his throat in one go.

Shane cried out, his hips bucking off the couch as his whole body spasmed. “Fuck, Ilya. Take it easy.”

Ilya hummed around Shane’s cock and hollowed his cheeks, ignoring the request. Shane panted above him, running trembling fingers through Ilya’s hair, and carefully lay back down against the couch. He closed his eyes and tried his best not to come right then and there.

Ilya had mercy on him soon enough and slid from his dick with a distinctive pop that echoed in the large living space. He admired the flushed and glistening results of his labor and fondled Shane’s balls for a minute before pulling Shane’s legs over his shoulders and ducking down to tongue at his hole.

Shane shuddered and sighed, his cock twitching at the attention to his rim as it leaked all over his stomach. He was abruptly grateful for Ilya’s foresight in grabbing a towel.

“Please,” Shane begged, voice catching in his throat. “Fuck, Ilya.”

Ilya hummed, the vibration buzzing against Shane’s sensitive rim as Ilya teased a lube-slick finger into his hole and dipped his tongue inside. He sucked at the rim and added another finger, finding Shane’s prostate with the ease of long practice.

Shane keened and writhed against the couch; the hand holding the back of the couch fell limply overhead, while the one in Ilya’s hair lost its grip on Ilya’s curls and went slack. Little hitching breaths fell from Shane’s lips. He was so close. He could come just from this. Had come just from this too many times to count. He knew Ilya could hear it in his voice.

“Is okay, sweetheart,” Ilya assured, breaking away from Shane’s hole and adding a third finger, thrusting them in and out, punching Shane’s prostate with every plunge inside. “You can come. Will make you come again for me, no? Your little dick is so slutty. Gives me so many orgasms.”

Shane cried out and came just as Ilya asked, his cum shooting up against his chest and pooling between his pecs.

Ilya collected it on his tongue on his way up to Shane’s mouth and fed it back to him. Shane groaned. “That’s disgusting,” he complained into the kiss.

“You love it,” Ilya chuckled, filling Shane’s mouth with his tongue over and over. Shane moaned and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck, urged him closer with his feet on Ilya’s bare ass.

“Fuck me?” he asked, kissing under Ilya’s jaw. “Please?”

Ilya chuckled and reached for another packet of lube. Tearing it open with his teeth, he squeezed it onto one hand and spread it generously over his own cock. “Yes, моя любовь,” he sighed, guiding his cock to Shane’s hole and pushing inside.

Shane moaned. “So good,” he praised, tightening his arms around Ilya’s neck. Ilya kissed him again, diving between his lips with abandon. His hips stilled once he was all the way inside, then rolled against Shane and ground him down into the couch.

“Please,” Shane whined. He was already getting hard again. His cock smeared against the cum still on his stomach as it stiffened.

Ilya responded by pulling out almost completely and slamming back inside. He braced one arm on the armrest, the other he used to bend Shane practically in half and hold him in place as he fucked against him hard and fast.

“Yes!” Shane cried. A high whine caught in his throat, and he thrashed against the cushions, unable to move and desperate for friction for his own aching cock. His mouth opened and closed like he was searching for words, but no longer able to speak them. Little cut-off grunts and keens fell from his parted lips and spilled into the space between them.

Ilya shifted them, moved to brace himself on a forearm near Shane’s head, and used his other hand to slip behind Shane’s back and pull him closer. The new angle let Shane’s erection grind against Ilya’s abs with every thrust of Ilya’s dick deep inside him.

Ilya cursed a string of Russian expletives that Shane’s rudimentary duo lingo practice didn’t have a hope of keeping up with. He caught “my love” and “sunshine” and maybe “kitten,” but he was too fucked out to parse through the rest.

Ilya licked into his open mouth and panted against his lips. His hips stuttered, losing rhythm as his own orgasm approached. Shane knew Ilya was close when he wrapped a hand around Shane’s cock and pulled at him desperately.

Shane came again with a choked cry, and Ilya followed right after, fucking through his own orgasm until he was too sensitive to continue and had to pull out.

They both lay there for a minute catching their breath, then Ilya disappeared into the hall bath and came back with a wet towel that he used to gently clean the cum from Shane’s chest and stomach, swiping carefully at his dick, then wiping at his own cum that dripped from Shane’s fucked out hole and pooled on the towel beneath him.

“Towel was a good idea,” Shane panted, amused.

Ilya chuckled. “Yes,” he agreed. “We are very messy.”

“Shower?” Shane asked when he felt like he could communicate with his own body again.

Ilya grinned and helped Shane to his feet. He hugged him from behind, and they waddled to the shower together, Shane growing increasingly more frustrated and amused by the Ilya-shaped barnacle attached to his back.

Ilya

Ilya spent the next morning reviewing plans with Coach LeClaire over a video call in the room Shane had set aside for Ilya’s office. Shane's interior decorator had done a great job of translating Ilya's vision for the space, and the dark wood and brass fixtures matched it. He ran his fingers over a brass lamp on the desk, catching his warped reflection as he considered how to answer Coach’s questions.

That summer had been even better than the one before. They spent most of it at the cottage, swimming in the lake and basking in the sun, but their time was also broken up with trips to Ottawa for house hunting and the couple of weeks they spent with their friends in New York.

Kyle reserved the entire bar at the Kingfisher for their engagement celebration, projecting a slideshow against one wall that played pictures of them together and highlights from their hockey matches on opposing teams. Marlow flew in from Boston for the occasion, and the entire Admirals team was there with their SAPs. Nikki had gotten her way, and the name change from “Wives and Girlfriends” to “Spouses and Partners” had been widely accepted by all.

Ilya never pictured a time when so many people would come together to celebrate his and Shane’s relationship. When he dared to imagine their future together prior to Shane’s outing, he imagined years more of denial, then years after that of hiding what they truly meant to each other from the world. Even after they retired, he imagined that they would love each other quietly, maybe settle down in Shane’s hometown full-time.

He never dreamed he could love Shane so loudly. That Shane would welcome it. Their wedding would not be a small one; it could not be, with all the friends who would not want to be left out.

He would have Marlow as his best man, and Shane would have Hayden. Kip, Scott, Eric, and Kyle would insist on helping them plan and decorate. The Admirals would want to come with their families, and so would the Raiders. It was likely that at least a few of the Centaurs would too.

When the video call ended, and Ilya was finished with work for the time being, he wandered back into the main living space of the unnecessarily big house Shane had bought and found his fiancé in the kitchen, smoothie in one hand and a book propped open against the granite with the other.

He wrapped his arms around Shane from behind and tucked a kiss into the nape of his neck.

“I love you,” he murmured, nuzzling his face into Shane’s neck and shoulder.

Shane hummed and leaned back to rest his weight against Ilya, one hand raised to run through Ilya’s curls. He turned to kiss Ilya on the forehead before turning back to his book.

“I love you too,” Shane sighed. “All finished with LeClaire?”

Ilya nodded. “Swim with me?” he asked.

Shane chuckled. “Okay,” he agreed. “Give me a minute to finish my smoothie, and I’ll come join you."

Ilya loved the indoor pool. It was surrounded on three sides by glass and leafy green plants lined the windowed walls. It was summer, so the double doors were propped open, letting in the sound of birds and children playing nearby stream in from the backyard. He knew that it would be stunning in winter, when the garden was blanketed in snow. He wanted to see this space in every season. Shane hadn’t just bought it for himself after all, he had bought it for them.

He floated on his back in the middle of the heated pool when he heard the water splash as Shane slipped in to join him. Standing up, Ilya turned to see Shane and splashed a wave of water in his direction, sending him spluttering.

“Hey, asshole!” Shane cried. “That’s so immature!”

Ilya laughed. “Race me?” he asked. “First to twenty laps gets blow job from the loser?”

Shane’s eye took on Ilya’s favorite competitive edge. “You’re on,” he agreed.

And they were off.

Chapter End Notes

Hi guys! I hope you're enjoying the sequel! A few notes addressing timeline and whatnot: this story takes place a year after the end of ITAV. So this is the summer before the 2016-2017 season. This means that, timeline-wise, it's a lot closer to the bulk of the story of Heated Rivalry than it is to The Long Game. They haven't started the Irina foundation yet, Ilya's father is still alive (though Ilya is a lot less involved in his life in this AU) and Shane is fresh off winning back-to-back Stanley Cups (this time with the Admirals instead of the Metros, but the seasons are the same.

So what does that mean for the Centaurs? Well, from what I have been able to find out, Weibe isn't set to be their coach until the 2020-2021 season in cannon, Harris doesn't start until 2018, Barret doesn't join until 2020, Hayes not until 2018, Haas is drafted in 2018 but doesn't start his rookie year until 2020, etc... So who is on the team? Well, now we have Shane and Hayden, Zane Boodram is on the team already, Dykstra can be because we don't know when he joined and same for Tanner Dillon and Nick Chounard other players described as "younger" during the plane crash (Holmberg, LaPointe, Young) would probably not be there yet either, though I may wrap one in for a "rookie season" with Shane.

Please also keep in mind that this is an AU and I have every intention of messing with canon where I see fit. I will do my best to have changes make some logical sense so as not to interfere with the story telling but... I do what I want lol

Please let me know in the comments if you have any other questions I can help answer! I'm loving this new story already and so happy to see everyone's reviews <3

If I don't reply right away, I promise I'll catch up with responses when I can. I'm prioritizing writing right now because I will be out of town for the weekend and won't be able to post anything Saturday or Sunday so... don't worry when you don't see anything from me? I know I'm intense and post a lot but even I have RL interruptions sometimes lol

Chapter 3: Coach Who?

Chapter Summary

Shane and Hayden begin the preseason excited to play on the same team again. To their disappointment, the current head coach lives in his office and does very little actual coaching of the team. They rope Bood into helping them do something about it.

Chapter Notes

So.... I get that this probably isn't a very realistic problem for a team to have but the Centaurs have been terrible for years and there has to be some kind of reason so... let me have it, please? lol, you can still let me know in the comments if you think it's too out of left field. I won't get offended, promise! <3

Shane

Preseason started and Shane entered the Centaur’s training facility with Hayden at his side and determination straightening his spine. Every rebuild had to start somewhere, and Shane would see this team thrive as quickly as possible.

“Hey, Hollander, Pike, welcome to the Cens!” a booming voice echoed when Shane and Hayden walked into the locker room. The speaker had warm, light brown skin and dark, curly hair, and his arms were covered in full sleeves of tattoos.

“Name’s Zane Boodram, but friends call me Bood,” he introduced, walking up to shake their hands.

Hayden smiled and shook his hand. “Call me Hayden, or Hayd.”

“And Shane is fine, though my teammates call me Hollzy on the ice usually,” Shane added, taking Bood’s hand when he was finished with Hayden.

“I know you both have been in the MLH a long time, but I’m captain this year, so if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask!”

Shane smiled. They hadn’t even hit the ice yet, but he felt they were already off to a good start. He couldn’t wait to introduce Bood to Ilya; he just knew the two would get on like a house on fire.

The rest of the team, alongside the rookies and hopefuls, filed into the room one after another until the space was overfull and hot from the press of too many bodies. Shane escaped it for the ice as soon as his skates were laced.

Bood hit the ice shortly after and set about encouraging the team to warm up and run through a few simple drills. It wasn’t until almost an hour after the start of practice that Shane noticed the coach at the boards.

“All right, line up!” the man called. He was old, even for a coach, and his jaw was blanketed in days-old stubble that looked less like something intentional and more like he couldn’t be bothered to spend the time on grooming.

When Shane skated over with the rest of the team, he could smell stale sweat and beer on the man. His nose wrinkled in distaste, and Hayden elbowed him in the side. “Control your face, Hollander,” he muttered under his breath.

Shane tried his best to level out his expression. It wouldn’t do to get on the bad side of their new coach on his first day here.

“All right, boys, listen up,” the coach said. “Command goes from the As to Boodram to me. You got any questions, I expect you to ask them first, and if I find out you’re bothering me and haven’t even brought your petty problems to Bood yet, I ain't gunna do shit to help ya, got it?”

“YES, COACH,” the team chorused.

“Good, now I want 3 on 3 for the rest of practice with rotating goalies every two games. Bood, you pick the lines, and if you run into any problems, come find me. I got shit to do in the office.”

“YES, COACH!” Bood shouted, then split from the boards to start divvying the team up.

Shane caught Hayden’s eye. “Is he serious?” Shane asked when they were out of hearing range of the others.

“Looks like it,” Hayden grimaced. “That’s not a good sign.”

Shane huffed. “No, shit,” he said. “How is he even going to know who to keep if he’s not here for practice?”

“Or who to try together in games,” Hayden agreed.

Uneasy, the two skated over to Bood and were put on a line together with a player named Tanner Dillon that had been on the team the year before too.

“We’ll try this combination for the first line for now,” he explained. “Though I want to try a few combinations before we commit to anything. Hayd, I know you usually take the left wing, but how do you feel about the right?”

“I’ve done it before,” Hayden replied. “I could probably make the switch easy enough if that’s what we need.”

Bood nodded. “Good, I play left too, and I’ll be honest, I’m good, but I’m not very versatile, so it’s better if I stick to what I know. After you guys go a few rounds with Dillon, I’ll have you run a couple with me, and we’ll see what seems to be clicking.”

They nodded and skated towards Dillon.

The rest of the practice went well enough. Bood had a good eye for strengths and weaknesses and seemed to intuitively understand who on the team could work well together. Their coach never showed back up.

The same was true for the rest of the week, and the team loaded into the bus for their first pre-season game against Detroit without the coach making any changes to Bood’s suggestions.

Shane had never heard of anything like it in his life.

He called Ilya most nights before bed, and Ilya was just as confused as he and Hayden were.

“No wonder the team is so shit if there is no real coach!” Ilya exclaimed, angry on their behalf.

Shane agreed. Bood was great, but he was not a coach and wasn’t anywhere near ready to be. Besides, he was too close to the action to see the bigger picture. It wasn’t sustainable.

Coach tried the lines Bood recommended for their first game, and Shane at least felt confident that he, Hayden, and Bood could work well together on the first line. The second line was made up of Dillon, Boyle, and a rookie named Holmberg, who went red every time Shane got within two feet of him and hadn’t strung more than three words together around him.

The second line was heavily disconnected and played like shit. The next two lines were even worse. They had a couple of decent defensemen, but most of them were half asleep out there, and their goalie needed to stay in the amateur league for a couple more years and gain some experience before he stood a chance of keeping the puck out of the net against even the most mediocre of MLH forwards.

One game into preseason, and Shane could already tell that it was going to be a shitshow.

“Can you talk to GM?” Ilya asked later that evening when Shane called from his hotel room, which he shared with Hayden.

“I need to,” Shane sighed. “But it also feels wrong. I’m not the captain here, I’m just their new center.”

“Maybe you and Hayden should talk to your captain. He has to be upset with coach too.”

Shane sighed and flopped back onto the hotel bed. He heard the shower cut off as Hayden finished up in the bathroom. “Yeah,” he sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“I am always right,” Ilya teased. “You share room with Hayden?”

“Yes,” Shane laughed. “So no funny business!”

“But I want to hear your voice when I jerk off,” Ilya whined.

“Too bad. Listen to an interview or something,” Shane laughed. “I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

“Yes, yes, okay,” Ilya grumbled. “Я тебя люблю”

“I love you too,” Shane replied. “Good night.”

Hayden was just coming out of the bathroom when Shane hung up.

“Was that Roz?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Shane grinned. His expression soured. “He thinks we should talk to Bood about going to the GM.”

Hayden scowled and nodded. “Something has to be done,” he agreed.

“You and Ilya agreeing with each other? Must be the end of days,” Shane laughed, grabbing his toiletries on the way to the bathroom for his own shower. “Let’s figure it out back in Ottawa, yeah?”

Hayden agreed, and Shane went to get ready for bed. They had an early flight scheduled for the next day.

They met with Boodram for dinner at a little restaurant downtown later that week and brought up their concerns with the Coach’s lack of… well… coaching.

“I know,” Bood groaned. “He’s been like this since I joined the team. It’s what I was most nervous about when they named me captain. Our captain has always been more of an assistant coach position.”

“That’s not right!” Hayden exclaimed. “Has nobody approached the GM about this?”

“I don’t know,” Bood replied, pushing a sausage around his plate with the tines of his fork. “I would think so. It’s not exactly new.”

“Maybe we should try again, then,” Shane added. “Look, you’re a great leader and you have an intuitive understanding for the guys on this team, but in a game you’re too close to the action to see the bigger picture and Coach doesn’t know us well to make decisions for how to adjust our plays.”

Bood nodded. Shane was just relieved that he didn’t seem offended.

“Do you think you could get us a meeting with the GM?” Hayden asked. “If we all approached him together, he might be more ready to listen.”

“Okay,” Bood agreed. “I can try, at least.”

They had two more games against Detroit before Bood managed to secure them a meeting, and so far, the team was 0 for 3 against even the least seasoned and most rookie players Detroit had to offer. Shane and Hayden hadn’t played since the first game, Bood recommending Coach save them for the real season.

“Well, boys, how can I help you?” the GM asked when they collected in his office. He had an affable face, with warm brown eyes and smile lines. Shane had barely seen him since arriving.

“Coach hasn’t been coming to practices,” Bood started, his authority as captain lending weight to the claim. “Hollander and Pike approached me because they're concerned. Frankly, I am too. We have some great players this year and a strong chance at winning some games this season, but Coach still lives in his office like he always has.”

The GM nodded, expression twisted with thought as he considered what Bood was saying.

“He’s been here longer than even I have,” the man said after some thought. “I know recent years have been tough on him since his wife left, but it wouldn’t be right to just drop him.”

Shane let out a heavy breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. That’s why they hadn’t fired the guy? Because they felt sorry for him? How did they expect to run a hockey team with that kind of attitude? It was one thing to be considerate of your staff and players, and Shane really appreciated just how nice everyone here had been since he started, but they couldn’t afford to let being nice get in the way of good hockey.

“What if we brought in an assistant coach?” Hayden asked. “Someone young who wouldn’t need that high an offer? Bood can’t keep coaching the team and playing almost every game. He can’t make decisions on the bench when he’s on the ice.”

The GM considered what Hayden said, tapping his fingers on the table. “It’s not a bad idea,” he agreed. “And it would be good to start training someone who could take over, eventually. Let me make some calls and see what I can do.”

The trio thanked him and said polite goodbyes, heading out to enjoy what was left of their break before the game that night. They hoped whoever the GM managed to find would be able to establish some order for the team in time for the real season. As it was, they were going to have to start making decisions on who to keep around soon and who to send back to the farm team.

“I am proud of you,” Ilya said over the phone later that night. “I hope new coach is better.”

“Me too,” Shane groaned. He put the phone on speaker and plated leftovers to heat in the microwave. He didn’t have the energy to cook that night.

“First game of the season is in Boston, no? Can come stay at the house with me. I will help you feel better.”

Shane laughed at Ilya’s one-track mind. “I’m sure you will,” he agreed.

“Can console you after terrible loss,” Ilya added.

“Console, huh? That’s a good one. You’ve been reading the New Yorker with my dad again?”

Ilya laughed. “Always, Hollander. Have to keep up with boring Canadians, no?”

Shane ate his dinner while talking about Ilya’s teammates over the speaker phone. It was almost like having Ilya beside him. The start of the season was always the hardest, before the games picked up and while summer was still fresh. Shane’s bed felt too empty, his giant house too quiet.

He turned the radio on just to have some background noise.

“I love you,” he said that night, phone resting on Ilya’s pillow, curled up on his side with his nose pressed to the pillow’s fabric to catch the lingering scent of Ilya’s shampoo.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Ilya sighed.

Chapter End Notes

Okay, last one for the day! And the weekend!! I hope everyone enjoys it and that you all enjoy your weekend too. See you monday! Until next time <3

Chapter 4: Promise

Chapter Summary

Ottawa starts looking like an opportunity, and not just for Shane Hollander. Moves are being made, and careers are progressing. With hope and promise on the horizon, the 2016-2017 season is starting to look up.

Chapter Notes

Fabian

The interior of Rideau Underground had a modern feel, with industrial elements painted in little pops of color. Posters in simple black frames lined the walls alongside colorful records and pictures of the artists and producers at various award shows and events. It smelled like coffee and wood polish, and none of the furniture looked comfortable, but Fabian also kind of wanted to live there forever.

“Fabian Salah?” a young woman with pencil-straight blond hair and big daisy earrings asked.

“That’s me,” Fabian said cheerfully, standing up and walking over, an easy smile on his face. He held out a hand for her to shake.

“Hi, I’m Allison. Mr. Morin asked me to give you a tour of the place while he finishes up his meeting."

“That would be great, thank you!”

Allison walked him through the office space, taking him through the lounge first and then the vocal booth and live room. There were a few isolation booths, and the true star was the control room. Huge monitors hung from the ceiling, speakers gleamed, and a giant mixing board spanned half the wall.

When they were finished looking around, Allison led him back to the lounge and brought a couple of sparkling waters over for the two of them.

“How are you liking Ottawa?” she asked. “Had you been here before?”

Fabian twisted the green bottle between his fingers, drawing lines through the condensation. “It’s a bit smaller, but everyone has been really nice,” Fabian smiled. It was a beautiful city, but it wasn’t Toronto. He loved The Village. While he had done some research and hadn’t had a chance to explore much himself yet, he understood that the queer community in Ottawa was pretty small.

Signing with this label would be a huge step forward for his career, but Fabian’s excitement warred with dread. Could he handle a step backward with his community and fans? The thought pressed a tightness into his chest. At least Montreal had a great queer community and wasn’t too far—a faint hope he clung to, afraid of letting go of what mattered most.

The meeting with Mr. Morin went well. The offer was fairly standard: a licensing deal granting Rideau Underground rights to his music for 5 years, with ownership of the masters ultimately remaining with Fabian. He worked hard through the deal memos to retain as much creative freedom as he could. The advance even seemed generous, considering Fabian was growing traction in the queer community in Toronto but hadn’t grown at all outside of that yet.

Fabian’s boyfriend of over a year had just left him, his rent was overdue by almost a month, and Fabian might have to start couch surfing if he couldn’t get a better part-time job. This felt like the kind of lucky break he desperately needed.

All he had to do was sign. Well, that and move to Ottawa for the foreseeable future. He walked back to the hotel where the label had reserved a room for Fabian’s visit, and pulled out his laptop. A draft of the contract was already there. Fingers crossed that he wasn’t missing anything and the deal was actually as good as it looked, he sent it to an attorney Vanessa recommended.

Two days later, he was at the airport for a flight back to Toronto. To pack. Because he was a newly signed artist with a record company in Ottawa. It still didn’t feel real.

Brandon (Wiebe)

Brandon’s life as a retired hockey player was normal, if often chaotic. He had a wife, three daughters, an overweight golden retriever, and a Diet Coke addiction. In recent years, he’d coached college hockey but had taken a break to explore other options. Thanks to savings, private lessons, and coaching consultations, they managed just fine.

Wanting to return to the professional side, he had applications out to several farm teams for assistant coaching jobs. Applying to the lone NHL assistant coach position he found nearby was a whim. He knew he was underqualified, but they also didn’t seem willing to pay much at first, which he knew would limit their options, so there was no harm in trying.

Getting an email back days later was a shock. Being asked to meet with the GM for an in-person interview felt like a prank.

“They can’t be serious!” he exclaimed, turning to Alice with the email open on his phone.

“What about?” she asked, looking over their eldest’s math homework.

“The Centaurs want me to come in for an interview in a few days.”

Alice gave him a smile while circling one of Trish’s answers with red ink. “That’s great, sweetie!”

Brandon smiled and shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense, though!”

Alice laughed. “Well, you can take an opportunity when it’s handed to you. Who knows, you might even get the job.”

“And you would be okay with moving to Ottawa?” he checked.

“I’ve moved worse places for you,” she agreed. “Besides, the girls could use a change of scenery, I think.”

“You’re not worried about school?” Brandon checked.

"Have you seen Millie’s grades? She could probably apply to the space program and get in. Kid’s going places," Alice said with a proud, wistful smile. Her voice softened as she continued, "Hannah’s switching schools soon anyway, and at this point, a new teacher could only help Trish. Poor kid needs all the help she can get." She sighed, circling another answer with added care. Brandon winced, his chest tight with concern. Trish got her math skills from him, and he foresaw a late night fixing those corrections, wanting nothing more than to help her succeed.

“Okay,” Brandon conceded. “I’ll let them know I can be there for Thursday.”

He leaned over to kiss Alice on the cheek, and she pulled him in for a real kiss, bit his lip, and smacked him on the ass for good measure.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she admonished. “You’re an excellent coach, give them a chance to see that, yeah?”

Brandon grinned and nodded, but as he left Alice to her crusading pen and reached for the leash, a wave of tenderness washed over him. He ruffled Lolly’s soft fur, hoping a walk would lift both their spirits. Maybe, just maybe, things were about to change for the better.

Bood

Bood watched the rookies huddle at the end of the ice for practice. This year’s batch seemed even more skittish, especially their best player, Holmberg, who had real potential but was the most nervous.

Hollander and Pike skated past their group, warming up for practice, and Holmberg went tomato red.

He waved at Hollander and Pike, then skated over to the pack of rookies.

“You all have got to stop acting like a bunch of nervous school kids, Hollander isn’t going to bite.”

Holmberg chewed his lip. “I know,” he groaned. “I need to like, be normal. But it’s Shane Hollander!”

Bood sucked his teeth, eyes narrowed. “And you’re in the MLH now, what did you expect, kid? Think you can function past your fanboy nonsense?”

Holmberg swallowed visibly, then nodded. “Yeah, just, ah… give me some time?”

“You had time,” Bood snorted. “Get over it. He's just another teammate, yeah? His pads stink just like yours do. Now get out there and actually warm up before I kick you guys out of practice.”

When practice was over, and Bood had done all he could, he called everyone together and stood tall, voice full of firm command. “I’m having a barbecue at my house tonight. Every single one of you is going to be there, understood? Mandatory team bonding, captain’s orders.”

Some snorted, others rolled their eyes, but eventually everyone agreed. Only when the locker room door closed did Bood let his shoulders slump, frustration heavy in his chest. If he couldn’t get this team to practice well together, how could he coax belief into them when it mattered? The weight of responsibility pressed on him—a fear that maybe he wasn’t enough.

“You handled that pretty well,” an unfamiliar voice called from the boards. Bood turned to see a man standing with the GM. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, with a friendly smile and relaxed posture.

“I do what I can,” Bood replied, keeping it vague and shooting a questioning look at the GM. Their GM just smiled and shrugged, which was incredibly unhelpful.

“Brandon Wiebe,” the man introduced, giving a small wave. “I’m here interviewing for the assistant coaching job.”

At least someone was capable of providing an explanation around here. Bood gave a tight smile and nodded.

“I caught the tail end of your practice,” the man continued. “You had the team running some solid drills, you’re still trying new line combinations?”

Bood nodded. "Yeah. It’s hard to know what works best under real pressure. Some guys practice well here but lose chemistry in front of a crowd. We’re working on it."

Weibe nodded, tapping a finger against the boards. He shot a questioning glance at the GM, who gave another shrug, this time seeming to give permission.

“The barbecue is a good start, I think,” he praised. “Have you tried reaching out to local hospitals or food banks and doing some community service? Sometimes it helps when teams see each other approaching off-ice problems, too.”

Bood beamed. “No, but that’s a great idea. Thanks!”

Wiebe nodded and smiled, then made a shooing gesture with his hands. “You should go get changed and head home. Rest is important, too.”

“Yes, coach,” Bood chuckled, nodding to the GM also and skating off to hit the locker room.

“Who was that?” Hollander asked, meeting him at the boards.

“Said he’s here to interview as assistant coach,” Bood explained.

Hollander looked excited. “Oh? What did you think?”

“Honestly?” Bood asked. “Didn’t talk to the guy for more than five minutes and he was already more helpful than Coach Beergut.”

Hollander winced. “That’s a low bar,” he said.

“True, but it’s the only bar we’ve got for now. Let’s hit the showers, yeah? We can talk more at my place tonight. I’ll be sure to send the address into the group chat for all you newbies.”

Bood had been thrilled when he heard they signed Hollander, of all players. And that he and Pike would play together again. Bood had faced that line: the two were terrifying. Sharing the ice with them was one of the most exhilarating experiences of his life. They pushed him to skate faster, turn sharper, and always watch for passes and open lanes.

They bantered and joked, but rolled him right into the conversation as if he’d always been there.

If he could get the rest of the team to meld as well as he was on the first line with Pike and Hollander, they could actually win some games this season. It was the kind of hope he hadn’t felt since being transferred here in 2014, fresh off his ELC on the west coast.

It was the kind of hope that had him dreaming of playoff runs and shootouts, taking teams that used to wipe the floor with them to overtime and beyond. Winning. Filling the stands in their home arena. He forgot what that kind of hope felt like.

The locker room was mostly empty when they filed in, though Pike was loitering, with damp hair and his day clothes on, waiting for Hollander to finish up. Bood was pretty sure they carpooled.

The three of them left the facility not long after and split ways in the parking lot. Bood had to go to the store and get supplies for the barbecue he’d spontaneously offered. Hockey players could put away a lot of food, and he was almost out of beer, too. The cart was so full that he worried he might need a second one by the time he reached the register.

The team needed a lot of help, but maybe that Wiebe guy could turn things around a bit. It at least had to be a start.

Chapter End Notes

Okay guys, I got this done before needing to head out the door but will probably need to come back and do a better edit later. Have a great weekend! Until next time <3

Chapter 5: Unexpected Guest

Chapter Summary

Wiebe gets started coaching the Centaurs right away, they have their first preseason game under his direction in Detroit, and Shane has an unexpected guest.

Chapter Notes

Brandon (Wiebe)

When Brandon applied for the coaching job in Ottawa, he didn’t expect to be moving there with only a few days' notice to start work immediately for a team that, frankly, had no business having as little coaching staff and structure in place as it did. It was an MLH team, not a high school hockey team. The whole time he was there, he didn’t meet a single other full-time assistant coach. The rotating band of part-time consultants, covering everything from tape analysis to goal tending and defense strategy, definitely didn’t count.

He didn’t know how he would have managed without Alice, who listened to his shock and grumblings about the tight deadline, helped him pack two large suitcases, and assured him that she could handle arranging for movers once he figured out which house she was sending everything to.

Their girls, used to Brandon traveling for consulting work with other teams, were just as unfazed by his rapid departure. Brandon just hoped they wouldn’t be too upset when they learned they were leaving and changing schools. He and Alice agreed it was probably best to wait a few weeks in case something went wrong and this job didn’t pan out.

He arrived back in Ottawa with only a week and a few games left in the preseason before the regular season was set to start. He went straight to the rink from the airport and met the GM at the door.

“Brandon!” the man boomed happily. “Great, you could make it in time for practice today! I’ll show you your office, and you can leave your bags there.”

“Thanks,” Brandon nodded, smile tight with nerves.

The office he was led to was a decent size with a wooden desk and a small couch. The GM explained that it used to be their social media manager’s office, but they hadn’t hired another one after promoting a woman he called Theresa to the director of communications role. Brandon couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for the current state of their social media accounts.

As soon as Brandon was settled into the office, the GM waved goodbye and left for a meeting. Brandon used the signs in the hall to navigate towards the locker rooms. From the sounds of it, a few players were already there for practice, though it was still pretty early.

“I’m telling you, I didn’t get any sleep last night,” one voice groaned. Brandon lingered on the other side of the cracked door to listen in.

Another player laughed, responding through chuckles with “those girls of yours sound like a fuckin delight, Pike. And the matching pink nails you and Hollzy are rocking? Iconic! Maybe we can get them to do the whole team.”

“Please don’t encourage them,” grumbled the same voice. Brandon guessed it must be Pike.

Brandon shook his head in amusement and walked in. He found the Captain, Zane Boodram, standing near a locker with Shane Hollander and Hayden Pike sharing a bench. The three of them had relaxed postures, and the latter two wore messy pink nail polish.

“Morning,” Brandon greeted, making his presence known.

Bood beamed at him. “Coach!” he exclaimed. “Good to see you again! They said they hired you.”

Brandon grinned and nodded his way. “Coach Wiebe,” he said, introducing himself to Hollander and Pike.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Hollander said, standing to shake Brandon’s hand. Pike gave a small wave and stayed seated.

“Are you going to be there for practice today?” Pike asked.

Brandon gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah, looks like it. Anything I should know?”

Hollander’s face twisted as if he bit into a lemon. “Probably, yeah. But I wouldn’t know where to start.”

The door behind Wiebe swung wide as more players trickled in. Once everyone was there and geared up, Wiebe introduced himself and let the players know he would be leading practice.

There wasn’t a single complaint. A few sent him curious looks, some smiled with brief amusement, and others just looked bored. Brandon left them to lace their skates and went to the ice to set cones out for drills. They trickled in behind him and went to warm up.

It was immediately apparent from watching practice that a number of these guys were not ready to be on an MLH team, including their goalies and several defensemen. They had enough solid players to fill two, maybe three lines of offense and one truly solid defensive pair, but the rest were… actually pretty hopeless and definitely in need of both experience and guidance.

They were set to fly to Detroit for another preseason game the next day, and Brandon left practice with a list of different combinations he needed to see and players he needed to vet while he still had a chance.

This was going to be a lot of work. It didn’t help that the actual head coach hadn’t bothered to show up at all. That was going to be a problem. He couldn’t coach an entire team on his own.

Shane

In the next game against Detroit, Shane and the rest of the first line saw very little ice time as Coach Wiebe put the rest of the team to the test and worked to get a handle on their dynamics for the first time. It became obvious that their defense was not clicking. Dykstra and Chounard were great, but that was all they had. When those two were off the ice, even the best goalie in the MLH wouldn’t be able to handle the onslaught let through by defenders that worked together about as well as a pair of feral cats in a rat maze.

The head coach didn’t even fly out there with them. There were rumors going around that he refused to work with the new assistant coach. Shane kind of hoped they were true and that it would be what ultimately got the man fired. On the days when he really let himself dream, he wished for a new GM too. The current one seemed friendly enough, but Shane wasn’t sure how he had even gotten the job, considering how poorly he was managing the team.

They flew back from Detroit, went straight to the rink for practice, and then the coach sent them home. The next day was an optional practice day, but Wiebe told all the defensemen and goalies that he expected them there if they wanted to make the final roster. They had some serious work to do. Shane thought it was a good call. Maybe if he and Hayden took an off day, he could convince Bood to get some rest and let the new coach handle it. Their overworked Captain deserved a break.

Shane left practice feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks. Wiebe had obviously been thrown off the deep end with them, but even after just a couple of practices and their first game under his direction, Shane could see that Wiebe would be good for them. So his mood was already elevated when he arrived home to find Ilya leaning against the front door, cocky smile splitting his face.

“Ilya!” Shane exclaimed, stride lengthening as he crossed the driveway to reach his fiancé faster. “You didn’t say you were coming! Why didn’t you let yourself in?”

“Wanted to see this look on your face when you see me,” Ilya laughed. “Coach gave me some days off. Wants to focus on new players for the last of the preseason. I don’t need to be back until a few days before our game next week.”

“Is he sick of you terrorizing the rookies already?” Shane laughed.

Ilya’s smile turned predatory. “They should not be so easy to scare.”

Shane smiled and pulled Ilya into a deep kiss. “I missed you,” he murmured into Ilya’s lips.

“I missed you too, любовь,” Ilya sighed and peppered kisses up Shane’s jaw and across his freckled cheeks. “Let’s go inside, no?”

Shane unlocked the door and pulled Ilya in behind him. “Are you hungry?” he asked. He should have known better. Instead of the answer Shane expected, Ilya groaned and pushed him up against the kitchen island.

“Never hungry enough to eat food you cook, Hollander. I will get us something. Later.” He already had his hand up Shane’s shirt, hips pressed against him as he mouthed at Shane’s jaw, scraping his teeth over smooth skin and licking his way to Shane’s mouth.

“You’re such an asshole,” Shane chastised, biting Ilya’s bottom lip when it came within reach. He sucked Ilya’s tongue into his mouth and moaned.

“Let me suck you?” Ilya asked, pressing Shane further into the counter with his weight.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Please."

Ilya smiled into the kiss. “So polite, Hollander,” he teased. “Such good Canadian boy for me.”

“Suck my dick, Rozanov,” Shane snapped. Ilya laughed and smirked as he went to his knees.

“Anything you want, Shane,” he agreed, pulling Shane’s joggers down and freeing his dick. It was already half-hard. Ilya leant forward and cradled the tip in his mouth, rolling it across his tongue and taking him deeper.

Shane used one hand to brace himself on the counter, the other fell to thread through Ilya’s curls. He moaned when Ilya hollowed his cheeks and sucked.

“Fuck, Ilya,” he cried, chasing the heat of Ilya’s mouth when he pulled back. Ilya used one arm across his hips to hold him to the counter and bobbed faster. It never took Shane long to reach the brink of orgasm, especially after not having seen Ilya for weeks.

He also never struggled to get hard again almost immediately after. Ilya would probably give him more shit for it if he wasn’t too busy reaping the benefits.

His dick slipped from Ilya’s mouth with a smacking pop. “Are you going to come for me, Hollander?” Ilya asked.

Shane whined. “Please,” he begged. “Yes, Ilya, please.”

“You will come in my mouth,” Ilya commanded. “Then you will go to bedroom and get ready for me to come upstairs and fuck you while I figure out dinner.”

Shane whimpered, nodding. “Yes, fuck. Please, Ilya, please.”

Ilya bit his thigh hard enough to leave a mark. “Patience, Hollander.”

Shane cried out, hand twitching against the counter. Ilya took mercy on him and swallowed him straight to the root, bobbing and sucking with speed while fondling Shane’s balls. It was a matter of minutes before Shane was right there at the edge again, whimpering as he came down Ilya’s throat.

Ilya

Shane had two fingers in his ass, left arm braced against the headboard, when Ilya joined him after arranging delivery from a Shane-approved restaurant nearby.

“Good boy,” Ilya praised, then pulled Shane back until his face and shoulders hit the sheets, ass in the air and knees spread low and wide. Shane whined at how the abrupt motion jolted the fingers in his ass.

Ilya took some of the lube to coat his own fingers, sliding one in next to Shane’s. “So tight, Shane,” he groaned. “You did not fuck yourself when I was gone.”

Shane shook his head against the sheets, tears starting to gather in the corners of his eyes. “No,” he confirmed, keening when Ilya added a second finger. Between Ilya’s and his own, he was up to four. Shane left his hand there, motionless and still in his own hole, while Ilya fucked his larger fingers in and out of him and avoided his prostate.

He didn’t want Shane coming again too soon, after all.

“Fuck, Shane. This hole is only for me, no? You save it for me?”

Shane cried out, beyond words. His breaths hitched, right hand falling from his ass to lay above his head with the other arm, sides trembling. Ilya slipped his fingers from Shane’s hole too, leaving it empty and twitching. He lubed up his dick and shuffled forward, pulling Shane’s hips back to meet him before thrusting in hard and fast.

“So good, Shane,” Ilya moaned. “Fuck, so tight. Made for my cock, no?”

Shane nodded, sobbing against the mattress, face red from tears and cock dripping onto the rumpled sheets beneath him. Ilya draped himself over Shane’s back and leaned down to lick the tears from his face. His hips pounded Shane into the bed. He braced an arm across Shane’s shoulders, holding him down and fucking him faster.

“Going to fuck you all night, Shane. In here, in kitchen after dinner, in shower. When you wake up and do yoga I will fuck you in yoga studio. You will live with my cock in your ass until I leave.”

Shane groaned, drooling into the crook of his own arm. He didn’t so much as flinch when Ilya bit him over the wing of his shoulder blade, almost hard enough to break skin. Ilya licked up the divot of his spine, and Shane whimpered and moaned, little high-pitched whines escaping as his flushed cock dripped and twitched beneath him, rubbed up against the sheets, and saturated them with precum at every thrust of Ilya’s hips against his ass.

Ilya pulled out and flipped him over. Shane cried out at the sudden emptiness and whined. His eyes were distant and glazed with lust, cheeks damp from tears. Ilya needed to see him, needed to watch him fall apart while Ilya pumped him full of his own cum.

“Is okay,” Ilya soothed, wiping tears from Shane’s cheeks and following the motion with his tongue. “солнышко, you are so beautiful. I want to watch you come. Can you come for me? Come on my cock?”

Shane keened and writhed against him, rubbing his weeping cock against the hard plane of Ilya’s abs. Ilya used a hand on his hip to push him back into the sheets. “Not like that, моя любовь,” Ilya demanded. He angled Shane’s hips to line him up for Ilya to fuck into again. “You will come on my cock.”

Shane whined and arched into him, wrapping an arm around Ilya’s neck. Ilya took him slowly, rolling into each thrust with steady control. He leaned down and covered Shane’s lips with his own, fucking Shane’s mouth with his tongue to the same rhythm as the rocking beat of his hips. He could tell Shane was close. It wasn’t long before Shane cried out and came, shuddering in Ilya’s arms. His expression was just as lost and beautiful as Ilya could have hoped for.

Ilya wasn’t ready to be finished with him. He tried to make himself last, extend that moment right on the brink as long as he could. Shane was slack against the sheets, out of tears, oversensitive and overwhelmed, gasping little breaths that puffed from his lips in time with Ilya’s dick pounding into him. His eyes had fallen closed, but Ilya could tell he was still with him from the twitch of his lashes as they flickered each time Ilya brushed against his prostate.

Ilya lost his rhythm, lost the ability to hold back, burying himself in Shane with quick, shallow thrusts until he came deep inside, filling Shane’s hole and fucking through his orgasm as his own cum slicked the way. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he let his softening dick slide out and shoved his fingers into Shane’s hole instead, shoving his cum back inside and plugging him up. Shane whined at the action, doubtless oversensitive after two orgasms and beyond fucked out.

Ilya didn’t care; he wanted to see if he could get Shane hard again, get him to come again. He felt greedy with it after so long spent away. He licked the cum from Shane’s chest and traveled lower, past his limp cock to his hole, still plugged up with Ilya’s fingers. He licked around them, withdrew his fingers, and used his thumbs to spread Shane wide enough to thrust his tongue inside and fuck his hole with it.

Shane screamed, sobbing against the sheets, back with Ilya and writhing from overstimulation.

“Please,” he begged, though Ilya couldn’t tell if he was begging for more or begging him to stop. He pulled away and looked up at Shane’s wrecked face against the sheets.

“Is okay?” he asked.

Shane whined and bit his lip, clearly considering the question before nodding. “Please, don’t stop,” he begged, and Ilya didn’t need to be told twice. He returned with vigor, pulling Shane’s hole apart with his thumbs and fucking his tongue inside as deep as it would go. He added a finger, searching for Shane’s prostate, and knew he found it when Shane screamed and thrashed against the mattress.

Ilya replaced his tongue with two more fingers, propped himself on an elbow to admire his work, and saw that Shane was half hard again. He sucked one of Shane’s balls into his mouth and then the other, then left them to bite into the bruised skin of Shane’s hip, deepening the mark he'd left earlier.

Shane was shaking against the sheets.

Ilya kissed and licked at his shaft. He kept going, sucking the head of Shane’s cock into his mouth and closing his lips around it. He swallowed until he could feel it in his throat and held him there, not moving, just holding Shane's cock in the warm heat of his mouth as he added another finger to his hole and toyed with his prostate.

When Shane came for the third time that night, his cum dribbled pitifully down Ilya’s throat. Ilya had wrung him dry, with nothing left to give.

“That was so good, sweetheart,” Ilya praised, voice hoarse as he crawled up Shane’s still trembling form to lay kisses across his face and stroke a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “So perfect.”

Shane didn’t so much kiss Ilya back as part his lips to allow Ilya to do as he pleased. “Stay here,” Ilya murmured, getting up to draw a bath for them both. It would take some time for the energy and awareness to come back to Shane. Ilya knew he would appreciate being clean when he did gain more awareness of his own body though.

Dinner was cold on the porch by the time Ilya made it downstairs, so he brought it to the kitchen to reheat and plated it up to eat on the couch. He’d left Shane curled up under a blanket and wasn’t surprised to see Shane had dozed off by the time he returned. Ilya shook his shoulder gently to wake him, then handed him a fork and his bowl. Once they were finished eating, they could go upstairs.

Chapter End Notes

I'm baaaaaack! Not sure if I will have time for a second chapter today, but I hope you all enjoyed this one at least! As always, please feel free to reach out with any favorite parts/questions/concerns in the comments. I always love hearing from you guys, and your feedback helps me grow as a writer :) (though I will say the hockey inaccuracies are likely to continue... I know I take a loooot of liberties where the actual sports stuff is concerned lol. Sorry, pretty much everything I have experience writing before this is fantasy, and tbh I'm sure my sword fighting and battle scenes are as inaccurate as my hockey.... oops <3)

Until next time! <3

Chapter 6: Date Night

Chapter Summary

In which Ilya is a supportive house-fiancé, and Shane and Ilya explore the local queer scene in Ottawa and make a new friend.

Chapter Notes

Shane

Shane worked with Hayden the next day to convince Bood to take a day off and miss optional practice. Instead, Hayden spent the day going to the park with Jackie and the girls, Bood took his girlfriend Cassie out on a nice date, and Shane had Ilya all to himself for an entire day.

While Ilya had ambitious plans of how that day could be spent, Shane’s ass was not up to the challenge so after letting Ilya fulfill his fantasy of taking Shane apart mid-session in the new yoga studio, an experience solidly enhanced by the floor to ceiling mirrors in the room, Shane convinced him to go for a hike nearby and to a nice dinner after.

In turn, Ilya convinced Shane to go to a bar with him. Neither had really had the chance to check out the queer community in Ottawa yet, but they missed hanging out with Kyle and the others at the Kingfisher. While it wouldn’t be the same, they could at least report back to their friends about the experience.

Thursday nights were typically drag nights at Ottawa’s The Lookout, but that Thursday, they had a special event highlighting a new artist signed by a local label. Luckily, Shane had the foresight to check their website before leaving the house, letting Ilya know and also buying tickets in advance. The performer was still setting up equipment on stage when they arrived, so Shane followed Ilya to the bar and grabbed a seat next to him.

“And what can I get you two boys?” the bartender asked, leaning against the bar with an arm covered in colorful tattoos, their green-streaked black hair pulled into a high ponytail.

“I will have vodka, Russian, please, no American bullshit,” Ilya ordered, grinning. He draped an arm around Shane’s waist possessively. “And boring Canadian will have a beer.”

The bartender laughed. “Coming right up,” they declared, then walked off to get the requested order for them.

There was a sharp sound as the speakers for that night's performance came on, and the artist setting up tested the microphone.

“Sorry, everyone,” he apologized into the mic after making a few adjustments. He was slim, wearing a flowing purple shirt over black fishnets. His eyes were done up with complementary eyeshadow and dramatic liner.

“Kyle would love this,” Ilya murmured, studying the setup of the bar.

Shane nodded. “I know!” he agreed. “We should bring him next time he comes to visit.”

The bartender delivered their drinks and opened a tab after Ilya passed over his card. Moments later, a man of Shane’s height, in a plaid shirt and with a neatly groomed beard, took the seat to Shane’s left and ordered a cider.

He looked over to see who he was sitting next to, and Shane saw the recognition light in his eyes. “OH!” he exclaimed. “Oh my god, you’re Shane Hollander!”

Ilya’s arm tightened around Shane’s waist.

“Um, yeah,” Shane shrugged, then held out a hand. “And you are?”

“I’m so sorry, that was probably incredibly rude! I’m just a huge fan of hockey and the Centaurs, especially. I couldn’t believe it when I saw they managed to sign you this season! I’m Harris.”

Ilya cleared his throat. Harris followed the arm wrapped around Shane’s waist to the intense glare Ilya was throwing at him.

“And you must be Ilya Rozanov! Congratulations on the engagement!” Harris continued, seemingly unfazed by Ilya’s threatening gaze. Shane elbowed Ilya in the ribs in a silent command to back off.“Yes,” Ilya replied, winded but mollified. “Very lucky. Shane is catch.”.”

Harris chuckled, finally seeming to pick up on some of the tension. “You’re both gorgeous together, of course,” he said, rather than agreeing with Ilya, which was definitely the right move to make. Ilya relaxed against Shane’s side.

“What is cider?” he asked.

“Oh, um, my family has an orchard nearby. My sisters supply cider, an alcoholic drink made from apples, to many local bars. It’s really good.”

Ilya nodded. “Shane will have to try. Maybe we will get him to drink something that is not ginger ale or beer,” he teased.Shane blushed, glaring at Ilya.

“Do you have to?” he grumbled.

“What? Is true!”

“Like you drink anything other than vodka and Coke!” Shane protested.

“I am Russian. We drink vodka, is normal,” Ilya groaned.

Harris laughed at them. “Are you visiting from Boston, then?” he asked.

Ilya nodded. “Yes, got some days off from coach before regular season starts. We have been meaning to check out this bar for a while, was good opportunity.”

Harris beamed. “I know it’s old news, but it really is incredible having so many queer and out star players in the MLH these days. I’m glad you’re out getting to know the community here. Have you heard Fabian Salah play before?”

Shane couldn’t remember the last time he heard anyone play before. To be honest, he wasn’t really a music person. “No,” he said while Ilya shook his head too. “Have you?”

“Yeah! I first heard him a few weeks ago. A friend of mine lives in Toronto, and he’s pretty popular in The Village over there. His music is so unique, it’s really amazing.”

“Will be nice to get to enjoy show then,” Ilya said. Shane nodded in agreement.

“So you know who we are,” Shane stated. “What do you do here in Ottawa?”

“I specialize in public communication, like social media and marketing. But I just graduated, so I’m still trying to find something local. Staying with my parents in the meantime.”

“You are hockey fan?” Ilya asked.

Harris nodded and laughed.

“You should apply with centaurs. Their social media is so sad. No new posts ever. I can’t see my beautiful fiancé play during practice!”

“You follow our social media?” Shane asked, incredulous.

“Of course,” Ilya agreed. “You never take pictures of yourself. Admirals used to post pictures and videos of you all the time.”

Shane blushed.

“Do you not have a social media manager?” Harris asked, eyes wide with shock.

“We don’t have a lot of things,” Shane grumbled, taking a deep pull from his beer.

“I’ll look into it,” Harris promised, smiling at Ilya. “Can’t deprive the great Ilya Rozanov of content surrounding his beautiful and equally amazing star center fiancé!”

Ilya smirked. Just then, the speakers came to life again, this time with the sound of Fabian Salah introducing himself to the crowd.

“Hello, Ottawa!” he greeted. “Can I just say how incredible it is to see such a crowd? This is my first time playing here in Ottawa, as many of you know. As a new resident of this beautiful city, I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”

The crowd cheered, some whistling in appreciation. Fabian smiled through the applause. “I hope you enjoy the performance tonight. Of course, if you have any questions or would like to purchase any merch, please feel free to stick around after. I also have a pre-order sign-up for my first album release in a couple of months, so feel free to check that out too!”

With the introduction over, Fabian’s unique blend of classical violin and modern electronic sounds filled the bar. Shane, not typically a music fan, was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. The sultry lyrics, crooned into the microphone, fit the mood of the night.

“He is very good,” Ilya praised. He, Shane, and Harris had moved to the dance floor for a better view, and Ilya had his arms wrapped around Shane, head resting on his shoulder so he could press kisses into Shane’s neck whenever he liked.

“I know! Isn’t he amazing!” Harris enthused.

Shane hummed, dropping his head to the side to give Ilya better access.

Ilya swayed them to the music, hands idly wandering Shane’s body as they enjoyed the performance together.

Shane wished their friends could be there. He pulled out his phone to record the moment and sent the short video to their group chat. It was immediately reacted to with hearts as the others chimed in.

Kyle: oh my god, who is that?

Kip: where are you guys?

Scott: is he wearing makeup?

Kip: omg scott, you can’t just ask shit like that. Yes he’s wearing makeup though

Scott: what? It’s hot! Maybe you could wear makeup when we go to the Kingfisher next time

Kyle: don’t you guys live together? Why do we have to suffer through this in the group chat?

Scott: home alone, Kip has left me

Elena: fucking dramatic, Scott. It’s girls night at my place, get over it

Eric: someone’s horny…

Kyle: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Maria: gross

Shane watched the chaos unfold for a minute, chuckling at their antics. Then he lifted his phone and angled it so Ilya could see the screen. Ilya snorted with laughter and rolled his eyes. “Put your phone away, Hollander. We can talk to Hunter and friends later.”

Harris was still dancing nearby, vibing to the music with a giant smile on his amiable face.

After the show, Shane waited for the crowd to thin before approaching the stage. He placed a preorder for Fabian’s first album, while Harris picked up a shirt and Ilya found a way to leave a generous tip using a QR code.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the performance!” Fabian exclaimed as Shane gave his card for the purchase. Some of his hair was plastered to the front of his face with sweat, but whatever makeup he was using must be waterproof because it didn’t budge.

“I don’t really go to concerts,” Shane said. “But this was an amazing performance. Do you know when you will play here again?”

Fabian smiled but shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied. “If you keep an eye on the bar’s website, though, I’m sure they’ll announce it.”

Shane gave an easy grin and nodded, stepping back to let others have their turn. Ilya took his hand and kissed the back of it. “This was fun,” he said.

“Yeah,” Shane agreed. He turned to find Harris. “It was really nice to meet you, Harris! If you need any help getting in touch with the team to ask about that social media job, just let me know. I can give you my number in case you need it?”

“Seriously?” Harris looked a bit starstruck at the offer. “Fuck yeah, dude! That would be awesome!”

Shane handed his phone to Harris to punch in his contact information, then shot him a quick text.

“Was nice to meet you!” Ilya said, smiling and seemingly over the jealousy from earlier.

“You too! Hopefully I’ll see you both around sometime!”

They nodded and waved, leaving the bar together to head home. Shane had early practice and a split-squad game the next day, where he would have to stay here and play while half the squad went to Detroit to play there. Ilya planned to stay and watch, but then he would need to leave the morning after to return to Boston.

They snacked on leftovers in the kitchen before heading upstairs to call it a night. Ilya got his wish for some shower sex before bed. Shane, too keyed up from the concert, didn’t have it in him to deny Ilya what he wanted.

Ilya

Ilya couldn’t go with Shane to practice the next day and instead spent time alone around the house. He made meals that were easy enough to freeze in single-size portions that Shane could eat on nights when he didn’t have the energy to cook, swam a few laps in the pool, and watched some programs speculating on the upcoming MLH season. Most had written off Shane’s chances with the Centaurs, which, while harsh, was also fair. Especially considering the coaching situation.

Boston was projected to make it to the playoffs that year, and if Ilya had his way, he was gunning for that second cup. With Shane off the Admirals, it was their best shot at a comeback.

He had lunch ready for Shane when he returned from practice, a simple salad with grilled chicken. Shane smiled at the food laid out on their kitchen table and kissed Ilya on the cheek.

“Thank you,” Shane smiled. “This is perfect.”

Ilya returned the smile, and they sat down to eat together. He took his time blowing Shane on the couch after, edging him close to orgasm and backing off to Shane’s increased consternation and frustrated groans. When he eventually caved and let Shane come down his throat, his fiancé collapsed breathless to the couch.

“I’m exhausted now!” he complained. “Our game starts in just a few hours!”

Ilya laughed. “I guess you will have to take nap with me then, such hardship,” Ilya teased. Shane didn’t usually nap before a game, but he made an exception and followed Ilya upstairs. When he left for the arena, Ilya changed into the Hollander jersey he had bought and went over to David and Yuna’s house to attend the game with them. He wouldn’t get the chance to do it very often, so he was going to take every opportunity to watch Shane play that he was presented.

They sat right up against the glass in an arena that was depressingly lacking in attendance, and Ilya screamed himself hoarse cheering for Shane every time he made an attempt on goal. While the head coach had gone to Detroit with half the squad, their new assistant coach remained here with the others, calling plays and substituting players as he saw fit, clearly working to find the right combinations.

Ilya appreciated that, though the coach was young, he seemed competent and determined. Shane deserved at least one coach that wasn’t a total piece of shit.

For the first time all preseason, the Centaurs actually won. It didn’t look easy, and it was a close call through the whole third period, but they won in regulation time, and Shane celebrated with the rest of his team as if they’d just clinched the playoffs.

“He needed that,” Yuna said, smiling down at the Centaur's dog piled on the ice.

Ilya nodded. “Yes, is good to have even small win. I like new coach.”

“Me too,” Yuna agreed. “It’s going to take some work, and I doubt they’ll be in the running for the playoffs for a few years yet, at least, but I think this is going to be good for him. This team needs him, and I think he needs to be captain again. He definitely deserves it.”

Ilya smiled at her and David. He loved how supportive they were of Shane. It sometimes made his chest hurt, thinking about how different David was from his own father, and how much his mother would have loved Yuna, especially. But it didn’t do to dwell on it.

“You have to go back to Boston in the morning?” David asked.

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed. “Early flight.”

“Well, you boys drive safe on the way home,” Yuna stated. “We need to do dinner next time you’re in town.”

Ilya smiled and agreed, then hugged them both and went to wait for Shane near the team’s exit. It was only for a few days, but he was glad he got to come and visit before the season started in earnest. It was going to be especially hard this year, being so far apart.

Chapter End Notes

I don't know why I doubt myself anymore, finished this up just in time to leave again for work. I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think in the comments <3

Until next time! <3

Chapter 7: Face-Off

Chapter Summary

The season begins with Shane and Ilya facing off as the starting, first line centers for their respective teams for the first time since Shane left the Metros. Coach Wiebe considers what needs to be done to make a team out of the Centaurs and a certain Guardian is over it with his team for their first game against the Admirals.

Chapter Notes

Ilya

For the first game of the season, the Raiders were scheduled to face the Centaurs on Boston ice. It would be the second time Ilya had faced Shane in new colors. First came the change to the Admirals in 2014, and now the Centaurs in 2016, just two years, one major concussion, a love confession, and a proposal later.

Of course, his whole team now knew what Shane meant to him, and of course, that also meant his whole team felt comfortable giving him shit about it.

“Worried your fiancé will make you sleep on the couch when we win tonight?” Connors chirped, slapping Ilya on the ass on his way over to his locker.

“Fuck off, Connors,” Ilya laughed, shrugging his own pads on.

“Please,” Marlow guffawed, “those two will say their vows in a face-off circle. Pretty sure they get off on insulting each other.”

Ilya threw a bar of wax at him and scowled.

With both him and Shane centering the first line of their respective teams for the first time since Shane had left the Metros, they would be facing each other across a face-off circle much more than they had the chance to when he was on the Admirals. Ilya would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it, that he hadn’t missed it when their rivalry was put on ice with the sudden switch to the Admirals' second line.

“Good thing we have a strong defense,” Carmichael chimed in. “He’s going to be too busy mooning into Hollander’s eyes to win a single one of those face-offs! Try to net at least one puck tonight, yeah?”

Ilya growled, brandishing his middle finger at Carmichael before returning his focus to taping his stick for the game. He was on a team of assholes. He should request a transfer. Maybe the Centaurs still had some cap space?

Ilya spent a few minutes during warmup chatting with Shane and Pike, shook their captain’s hand in the name of sportsmanship, and went back to finish his own routine. He tried not to focus on how sexy Shane looked, lit up by the arena lights, face set with anticipation for the first real game of the season. He wasn’t very successful.

When they faced each other for the first puck drop of the game, Ilya could only smile with real joy. “I’ve missed this,” he said, instead of chirping.

Shane smiled back. “Me too,” he agreed, then they both set their expressions in fierce determination and readied themselves. The ref dropped the puck.

Shane won the first face-off. Of course, he did; he’d always had a better record than Ilya for face-off wins. It didn’t help with the teasing Ilya got from his team, though.

For all that Shane, Hayden, and Bood worked incredibly well on a line together, especially considering how early it was in the season, the game was never going to go in the Centaurs’ favor. While Shane managed a couple of goals and Hayden even slipped one in in the third, their defense was a mess and their tendy a sieve. The Raiders finished the night with 8 goals to the Centaurs’ three.

Ilya could see from Shane’s expression that he was disappointed, but they both knew that it would be an uphill battle for him in Ottawa. His team honestly still did better than either of them expected.

Ilya congratulated his team, took a quick shower, and left the arena as soon as he could. Shane would be following him to his house, and he wanted to get dinner going before Shane arrived and distracted him.

He had just put dinner in the oven when he heard the door open and Shane call out in greeting. Ilya set the timer and went to meet him at the door.

“Hey,” Shane sighed, walking over to settle his face in Ilya’s neck and wrap his arms around him. Ilya buried his nose in Shane’s hair and returned the embrace. It had only been a few days since Ilya left him in Ottawa, but Ilya missed him all the same.

“Dinner will be ready in 45 minutes,” Ilya said, pulling Shane after him to the bedroom. “Let us eat something different first?”

Shane laughed, following Ilya through the living room and letting himself be manhandled onto the bed for a quick, pre-dinner fuck. They could take their time after.

Brandon (Wiebe)

Brandon spent the night after their first game in Boston reviewing game footage. It was his first time with an MLH team helping manage players on the bench, and he spent most of his time with the defensemen, trying to coordinate them and provide mid-game feedback. It didn’t seem to help very much.

He tried to talk to the head coach about it after, but the man had mumbled something about hitting the hotel bar and clapped Brandon on the shoulder before splitting ways in the lobby.

A friend of his from his own MLH days was a defensive coach for Buffalo and had been complaining that one of their defensemen just wasn’t clicking with the rest of the team. The guy was more of an enforcer than anything, but he had a good handle on his actual position, and Brandon’s friend thought he could be a lot better if he actually bothered to work with and get to know the other guys on the team.

He was also, apparently, gay. And not much of a partier. Brandon and his friend both acknowledged why he might not be settling in with the more notorious partiers on the Buffalo team.

But that might just make him perfect for the Centaurs. And after studying their own defensemen on and off the ice as much as he could for the past week, he thought he might be having the opposite problem. They seemed bored by the more sedate members of his team, and he had it on good authority that they regularly left team barbeques at Bood’s in search of… more entertaining locales in the city.

He wanted to bring up the idea with Coach that night, but apparently, it would have to wait.

Then there was the problem of their goalie. That was an issue he was having a lot more trouble with. Both goalies on the roster were ultimately just way too inexperienced. Either one might have been fine as a backup goalie, but they needed someone who could guard the net against players like Rozanov and Hunter.

He would have to pay more attention to the backup goalies of other teams. It had happened before where a goalie with the potential to be a great starter had been underutilized or overlooked in favor of a more veteran player. That was the kind of trade this team really needed, one that would be worth quite a number of good draft picks, too.

Figuring there was little else he could do until he could run some of these thoughts by the head coach and GM, Wiebe spent the rest of the evening checking in with Alice and the girls.

Troy

The first game of the season for the Guardians that year was against the Admirals, Troy’s least favorite team to play. Not because of the team itself, but because of the homophobic onslaught of slurs playing them inspired in Troy's own teammates. Slurs that Troy had to pretend didn’t bother him. Slurs they expected him to laugh along with, contribute to even.

Normally, Troy could brush it off, but he and Adrian were fighting again, and everything felt all the more pointed. He couldn’t even text his boyfriend for reassurance when the barbs struck too deep. It left him feeling raw and agitated, sick of the games and the hiding he had to do to protect himself and his career.

On the ice, their behavior was even worse.

“Your whole team must be pathetic, Hunter, taking direction from a cocksucker like you,” Dallas sneered, opposite Hunter in a face-off.

Troy tensed, shoulders hunched around his ears. It was honestly pretty tame compared to some of the shit they said in the room. But here he was saying it to Hunter's face and for whatever reason, the refs seemed to let Dallas get away with the insult.

Just hockey players chirping other hockey players, what could they be expected to do about it, really?

Hunter didn’t so much as flinch, just returned the insult with a blank stare and won the face-off in their D-zone and slipped one through their goalie’s 5-hole for good measure.

Dallas looked like he was about to break his stick.

Their next shift on the ice together, Dallas and Hunter got into a battle for control of the puck at the boards. Troy had just arrived to help his captain break off with the puck when he heard Dallas go after Hunter yet again.

“So, does your boy toy bend over for the whole team to rail or just you? Puck bunny like that probably isn’t satisfied just fucking the captain, eh?”

Troy watched the fury split Hunter’s face. Next thing he knew, the Admiral’s gloves were off, and he was tenderizing Dallas' face. Troy just stood there, stopped almost within arm’s reach of the two, and watched Hunter break Dallas' jaw.

Dallas really needed to learn to watch his fucking mouth anyway. A guy would never expect to get away with chirping another man’s wife like that.

Dallas had to be taken from the game early and sent to the hospital. Hunter was ejected and facing suspension upon review of the fight. As an A familiar with taking charge when his captain got himself sent to the penalty box, Troy led the team for the rest of the game. Despite losing their own captain, the Admirals still won 3-2.

“What the fuck was that?” their coach demanded when the team made it back to the locker room. He wasn’t addressing the team, though; he was addressing Troy.

“Sorry, Coach,” Troy said. “We’ll do better next game.”

“I’m not talking about the fucking game! How the fuck do you just stand there and watch your captain get the shit beat out of him and not do a damn thing to help? What the fuck, Barrett!”

Troy’s shoulders slumped, chin tucked as he took the admonishment. His teammates were all glaring at him, too. Well, all but Hayes, but goalies were weird.

He didn’t go out with the rest of the team that night. He bought a cheap bottle of shitty vodka from the bodega near the hotel and went to his room to drink it alone. He spent the night scrolling through Adrian’s Instagram.

Troy: hey, you busy?

He typed the message with fat thumbs, vision blurry from tears and the vodka. He waited a few minutes, but didn’t get a response.

Troy: I’m sorry

Troy: just tell me what I did and I’ll fix it

Troy: I miss you

He waited in between each message, getting progressively more drunk and crying so hard that snot ran down his face and crusted on his sleeves from wiping at his cheeks and nose so much.

Troy: I love you

He sent the message before he could overthink it, even though it wasn’t really something they said to each other. It’s not like it was a secret. Adrian knew Troy loved him.

Troy just wished he knew what he had done wrong this time. How could he apologize or fix it when he didn’t even know why Adrian was upset in the first place?

He stared at his phone for the next hour, sitting on the floor of his hotel room, second bed empty for the night with Dallas in the hospital. Maybe he should just quit. He would, if he knew how to do anything else. Hockey was all he had ever been good at, though. What would he even do if he left?

What would it even solve?

He would just be even more worthless, probably. Bottle more than half empty, Troy suddenly felt more sick than drunk and crawled to the bathroom to hug the toilet. He spent the night passed out on the cold tile of the bathroom, alone with his thoughts and a bottle of cheap vodka, his least favorite place to be.

Chapter End Notes

Probably not the only chapter I'll be posting today, but definitely a fun one! There's a lot more moving pieces to get everyone in place for this story, and it's been a fun challenge. We'll get all our favorite hockey boys together eventually! Again, thank you to everyone that has taken the time to leave comments and kudos, you guys rock! Let me know what you think!

Until next time! <3

Chapter 8: Enforcement

Chapter Summary

The Centaurs' management gets a shake-up and Wiebe manages to trade for a new player. Overall, things are looking up for the Centaurs.

Chapter Notes

Brandon (Wiebe)

When Brandon got called in for a meeting with the head coach and the rest of upper management, the last thing he expected was to be faced with the owner’s daughter sitting at the head of the conference table, her hair gathered in a neat French twist at the back of her head and manicured nails tapping the table top. She was bout Brandon’s age and wore a serious expression in this room full of older men, as if it were armor, and had obviously called the meeting with a clear agenda.

That agenda, apparently, informed them all that she was taking over the team from her father, who was too ill to continue. What she wanted to know was why, over the last few years of her father’s failing health, revenue for their team had been progressively declining as attendance dropped to new lows.

“We haven’t been a winning team in decades, but we do have dedicated local fans, and our arena used to sell well enough to keep us afloat. We are bleeding in recent years, and I’m not leaving until I have a better understanding of why.”

The head coach sat silently, obviously hungover again, while the GM stuttered through half-hearted explanations that honestly didn’t make any sense. Brandon decided it was worth taking a chance. Worst-case scenario, he’d burn a bridge and have to tell Alice they weren’t moving after all.

He waited for the GM to finish and cleared his throat. The owner’s daughter gave him the dubious distinction of her full attention.

“I know the team is already in the red,” he started. “But we can’t hope to fix that the way we’re going. We don’t have enough coaching staff, for starters. We need at least one more general assistant coach, a dedicated coach for our forwards, and a dedicated coach for defense. Our goalies are inexperienced and would benefit from a full-time coach for them as well. Then there’s the social media aspect. Other teams release multiple pictures and videos every day for their fans to enjoy, but since Theresa’s promotion, we’re lucky if she has time for one decent video a week. We can’t keep operating on a skeleton crew like we are.”

The head coach went beet-red with anger, while the GM just looked embarrassed. The owner’s daughter looked intrigued.

“And what is this I’ve heard about you not attending practices?” she asked the head coach, turning her laser focus to him.

The head coach found a new shade of purple for his ruddy cheeks. He spluttered through an explanation that didn’t really explain anything at all.

“Right,” the woman said. “Well, you’re fired. Congratulations, Coach Wiebe, you’re promoted. I want your recommendations for what trades this team needs to make and what positions we need to fill on my desk by tomorrow.”

She paused, turned her full attention to the GM, and stared him dead in the eye. “If you want to keep your job, you’ll get those trades made and positions filled ASAP, they never should have been left vacant in the first place. And I will be looking for an alternative GM for this team, so consider this your only warning to turn it around and get serious.”

With that threat made, she stood from her chair and dismissed everyone. She had an office to organize and make her own, and a team to turn around before it reached the point that she had to sell it. Brandon didn’t envy her the job.

Ryan

Playing for Buffalo wasn’t the worst experience of Ryan’s career; he just didn’t really like anyone. He knew that it wasn’t the best attitude to have to avoid hanging out with and getting to know his team, but he just didn’t have anything in common with the other guys, and he was getting too tired of pretending.

At least on the Raiders, Rozanov hadn’t been too bad. He and Marlow were just… a lot. Ryan didn’t have the energy or the drive to keep up with him. And he wasn’t married like a lot of the vets on the team, so they were easy enough to hang around with at the airport or hotel lobbies, but he couldn’t really do playdates with kids and bring families over when they held games at home.

So Ryan just… didn’t bother.

He also knew never to expect to stay for more than a season or two. As an enforcer with pretty mediocre defensive talents, he got passed around a lot in trades. Which is why it wasn’t surprising when, just a few weeks into the regular season, he was approached by the coach to tell him of another trade.

Apparently, he was headed to Ottawa this time. Great, if there was a team out there even worse than Buffalo, it was Ottawa. He guessed this was one nice way of putting him out to pasture without sending him down to the farm team.

He had less than two days to pack enough to live on for the next few weeks and move to a new city. Unfortunately, it was a routine he was well familiar with by this point in his career. The flight was honestly the worst part, as it always was, really. Even with his anxiety medication, he just couldn’t kick the fear of flying. He made sure to have his well-loved copy of Anne of Green Gables and set his teeth in determination. He would just have to get through it like he always did.

The hotel arranged for him to stay in when he reached Ottawa was nice enough and close to the rink. He spent the first hour unpacking his bags, then decided to grab some groceries to stock the fridge and buy some takeout to eat before passing out from a frankly exhausting day, both mentally and physically.

He wasn’t even going to try masturbating that night. He didn’t have an hour’s worth of energy for the attempt. He would just have to hope he could get some decent sleep regardless.

He placed an order for Chinese takeout at a restaurant in the same strip center as the grocery store, then went to grab groceries while he waited for the order to finish. He juggled two full shopping bags and a neatly tied plastic bag of Styrofoam containers on the way back to the hotel. He deserved that General Tso’s and wonton soup; it was going to be a long fucking week.

He didn’t expect much from his new team. He rarely did. More than likely, the coach would want him to look out for their star center. Ryan was more than familiar with Hollander through the years, the media-trained, overly polite Canadian who rarely started fights on the ice.

If he weren’t also the first publicly known gay hockey player in the MLH, he probably wouldn’t need an enforcer for protection. But hockey players could be shitty, so maybe they wanted to give the guy some backup on the ice. Ryan had been used for worse reasons. At least he didn’t mind punching people as much when the people in question were homophobic assholes.

He went straight to the head coach’s office on arrival at the rink, bag slung over one shoulder and coffee cup held in his left hand. He was pretty sure the bags under his eyes were developing a life of their own.

“Hey, Coach,” he called out, knocking on the open door to announce his presence.

The head coach looked up from some paperwork on his desk. He was young for a head coach. Really young, actually. And very obviously flustered from the workload piling around him.

“Price!” he exclaimed, smiling as he shifted focus to Ryan. “How was your flight? Everything okay with the hotel room so far?”

Ryan grimaced at the reminder of the flight but tried for a smile. “Fine,” he said.

Coach Wiebe nodded, standing and rounding the desk, then leaning back against it with his arms crossed and one knee cocked, foot planted against the front of the desk.

“Welcome to the Centaurs,” he greeted. “Practice will start in about half an hour, and I’ll have you working with Dykstra and Chouinard. We desperately need some depth in our defense, so you all will be running drills together to see how you fit. We’ve got a new defensive coach starting later this week, but for now, Dykstra’s leading the drills I went over with him. He’s one of our As this year.”

Ryan nodded, trying not to look as bewildered as he felt. Usually, he was just a point-and-shoot player, aiming at whoever the coach wanted punched.

Maybe, if the defense was that sparse for the Centaurs, he would actually get a chance to play outside of his enforcement duties? Even if it was only occasionally, that could be a nice change. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, though.

“Any questions?” Coach Wiebe asked when he was done. Ryan shook his head, and Wiebe smiled.

“All right then!” he said. “Let’s go introduce you to the team.”

Ryan thought that was kind of unnecessary considering he had little to no intention of actually getting to know the guys, but it was pretty standard procedure, so he followed along anyway.

The rest of the Centaurs were milling around the locker room, gearing up for practice, when Ryan and Coach Wiebe walked in. Coach stopped to introduce him to the room, letting everyone know he would be joining the team on defense.

“Hey man, welcome to the Cents!” A boisterous man with warm brown skin and full-sleeve tattoos on both arms walked up to shake Ryan’s hand.

“I’m Bood,” he said. “Captain, at least for now. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything!"

Ryan nodded mildly and let Wiebe show him to his locker. A practice uniform was already set up there for him, and he set his bag down to pull out his pads and get dressed.

Dykstra and Chouinard were both amiable and welcoming when Ryan joined them and the other remaining defensemen for drills. So far, everyone on the team seemed really… nice. It was kind of off-putting.

“Hey!” a cheerful voice called when Ryan left the ice after practice. He was sweaty from running drills and desperately needed a nap, but he turned to see who had called for his attention.

A man about Hollander’s height with a neatly trimmed beard and covered in pride pins smiled up at him. “I’m Harris!” he said. “New social media manager for the team. Would you have time later to do a quick interview to introduce you to our fans?”

Ryan shifted on his skates, feeling awkward. He didn’t usually participate in that kind of thing, but the guy looked so hopeful. Ryan felt like he would have to be a monster to say no, and while this guy wasn’t really his type, he was adorable and obviously as new here as Ryan.

“Uh… sure?” he said after a minute of awkward silence.

“Great!” Harris cheered. “I can come get you in a minute after you’ve had time to shower and change?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Sure.”

Ryan tried not to take too long getting showered and dressed, not wanting to leave Harris waiting, but just when he was ready to head out the door, he was stopped by their captain.

“Hey,” Bood said, smiling fit to split his face. “We’re doing barbecue at my place tonight to welcome you to the team! Can I get your number so I can add you to the group chat? I’ll send you my address too. Official start time is for seven, but a lot of the guys don’t really get there until closer to eight.”

“Oh… uh…” Ryan started, caught off guard. “I don’t know, I’m kind of tired…”

“Don’t worry, we won’t keep you too late!” Bood assured. “Just nice to let the guys get to know you off the ice, too, yeah? I know Dykstra and Chou are excited. They said you did great in drills today.”

Ryan blushed. This team was so weird. Still, it wasn’t that big of an ask, and it wasn’t like Bood was dragging him out to a bar. He could handle a casual evening at the guy's house.

“Okay,” he agreed, handing his phone over.

When he met Harris in the hall, the other man was on his phone scrolling through Instagram. “Oh, hey!” he greeted, looking up. “Ready?”

Ryan nodded and followed Harris down the hall. There was a camera set up in his office facing a small couch with a Centaur's blanket draped over it. Ryan sat at the edge and twiddled his thumbs while he waited for Harris to sit in the armchair across from him.

“Now,” Harris said. “This is a no-pressure interview. If I ask a question you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to. If you later decide you want me to cut something out, just ask and I will, okay?”

Ryan nodded. Harris smiled at him reassuringly. “All right, big guy,” he said. “Let’s get started.”

The first questions were all really tame and easy, things like what his favorite snack was and what kinds of movies he liked to watch. The first hockey-related question came after a few of those.

“Who’s your favorite hockey player?” Harris asked.

Ryan picked at the cuticle of his thumb and thought about it. “Probably Hollander, honestly,” he said. “He hasn’t had an easy career, but all he cares about is playing good hockey, and you never see him start fights with the other players. I didn’t get to talk to him much today, but he seems nice.”

Harris smiled and nodded. “Wow!” he said. “How cool that you get to be on the same team, then! Hollander is my favorite, too.”

The next question was a little more personal.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Harris asked.

Ryan blushed, thankful that his beard probably hid most of it. “No, ah, I don’t really date. Girls,” he clarified, looking anywhere but at the camera.

“You’re gay?” Harris asked, then swore. “Shit, sorry, I can cut that last question if you want. You don’t gotta out yourself online just for an interview, man.”

“No, ah, it’s okay,” Ryan said, even though his heart was kind of racing. “It’s not something that’s really a secret, I just haven’t had a reason to talk about it, I guess.”

Harris took a minute to regain his composure, looking serious and earnest as he continued with the interview. “Well,” he said. “I don’t know if you could tell from all the pins, but you’re in like company here. And then there’s Hollander, of course. The Centaurs are very accepting of their queer staff and players, from what I’ve seen.”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I kind of got that. It’s nice, honestly.”

The rest of the interview continued with more general questions about Ryan and his move to Ottawa, then, when the camera was turned off, Harris turned back with the same concerned expression from earlier.

“I really don’t have to air that if you don’t want me to.”

Ryan shrugged. “It’s okay,” he assured. “As you said, the team is accepting. I don’t mind.”

Harris smiled at him. “That’s really brave,” he said. “Are you going to Bood’s tonight for the barbecue?”

Ryan nodded. “You?” he asked.

Harris nodded and smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “They’ve been really great at including me. Sometimes I get some video too for the social media pages, but mostly we just hang out. Do you need a ride there?”

Ryan considered it, then decided it couldn’t hurt. He agreed to let Harris pick him up, and they set a time to leave.

Ryan left the rink smiling. Maybe this move wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

Chapter End Notes

Aaaaaaaand here we finally get one of my favorite characters! I love Ryan, he deserves all the nice things. Gentle giant doesn't quite realize it yet, but he's in good hands now. I hope you liked this chapter as much as I did! Until next time! <3

Chapter 9: A Touching Tribute

Chapter Summary

Shane and the Centaurs go to New York to play against the Admirals for the start of their next roady. Shane convinces Ryan to come out and meet his friends.

Chapter Notes

Shane

Shane couldn’t have asked for a better coach to step in than the one they found in Brandon Wiebe. In just a few weeks, he had already made an incredible start on cleaning up their defense by trading two of the guys who kept butting heads with Dykstra and Chouinard for Ryan Price. Shane had been wary at first; all he really knew about the guy was that he was an enforcer who was often traded and had a reputation for not getting along with his teammates. A reputation that seemed really unfair, the more Shane learned about him.

He was soft spoken, open about taking medication for his anxiety, and apparently also gay. He was shy, but ready to help anytime it was needed, whether that was carrying a cooler out at Bood’s or helping Harris with equipment during practice.

And he was a wall in their defensive line. While not perfect by any means, he was consistent and difficult to maneuver around when he stood between you and the net.

But he still seemed wary of the team, hesitant to join in on conversations without being pulled in. It reminded Shane a little of how he had been on the Metros, existing on the periphery. He hadn’t realized then how lonely that was.

“Hey, Price!” Shane called out after practice.

Price turned to face him, hair damp and crushed from being trapped under a helmet. “Yeah?”

“We have a game in New York coming up,” Shane started. He shifted his weight on his skates, hand going to the back of his neck as he made eye contact. “Ilya’s free that night and going to fly in for the game, then we're heading out to meet some friends at the Kingfisher. It’s a gay bar but not, like, a club or anything. Would you want to come with us?”

Price’s eyes widened, shoulders hunching a bit. He played with some loose tape on his stick and dropped his gaze to the ice.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Me either!” Shane assured. “And Eric doesn’t drink at all. No one there will pressure you about it.”

“Okay,” Ryan capitulated. “If you want me there, I, uh, I can. Go.”

Shane grinned. “Awesome! I’ll let the guys know you’re coming!”

Figuring that was probably enough pressure for the shy new defenseman, Shane finished the trek to the locker room and set about removing his gear and hitting the showers.

The next day was a rare off day with no practice, so he and Hayden decided to make the drive and take the girls and Arthur to the Brockville Aquatarium, giving Jackie a much needed day off. Shane monopolized Arthur, holding him while the girls played on a giant pirate ship.

“How’s Jackie doing?” Shane asked after a while spent in silence, watching Jade chase Ruby up the ropes.

“She’s great,” Hayden smiled. “It’s wild, because I know pregnancy is really hard on a lot of women, but she says she likes being pregnant. I don’t think she’s even had morning sickness with any of them. It’s when they’re born that the trouble starts,” Hayden chuckled, nodding his head at Arthur sleeping in Shane’s arms.

“Well, at least the next one’s due in early summer. You can help out with the sleepless nights more,” Shane teased. Hayden grimaced.

They stayed for most of the day, letting the twins tucker themselves out, then drove back to Ottawa in time for dinner. Shane ate at Hayden and Jackie’s house, sat around with them after the kids had been put to bed, and left for his own house sometime after 9PM.

He was glad that they spent the day out because it left him exhausted. He had felt on edge all week, excited to see his old team and Ilya. Kyle had messaged him so many times that he had to silence their conversation during practice, and the group chat was buzzing with plans.

Playing the Admirals would be so bittersweet. For the first time since the move, he just really, deeply missed his old team. The Centaurs were great, and missing the Admirals felt like betrayal, but they were the first team to really take the time to play with him, not just next to him. They made hockey fun again in a way that Shane didn’t even realize he needed.

Their flight to New York the next day meant they had to be at the rink bright and early to catch the bus, so Shane texted with Ilya while he went through his routine and called it an early night.

When Shane entered Madison Square Garden as a visitor again, he didn’t expect to be met with applause, but the arena ignited with the announcement of his name as former fans welcomed him back to the arena he used to call home. The jumbotron cameras found Ilya in the crowd, in Shane’s new Centaurs’ jersey with a dopey smile across his face. You could just see Kip and Kyle to either side of him in the frame, and Shane knew that Maria and Elena were also there. He wished he had time to say hi to them all before the game, but it would have to wait.

Video of some of his best plays in Admirals red replaced the shot of Ilya and his friends, highlighting not just one, but the two Stanley Cups he’d won with the team.

Shane took in the tribute from his old team, the support of his fiancé and their friends, and had to wipe his eyes under the visor of his helmet. Scott skated over and rested a comforting hand on his back.

“This is too much,” Shane said, struggling to compose himself.

“It’s really not,” Scott disagreed. “You’ll always be an Admiral as far as this city is concerned.”

Shane laughed. “I don’t think they’ll be so happy when we start beating you.”

Scott laughed too. “Well, good luck with that. I wouldn’t place bets on winning tonight, at least.”

“Hey! You’re supposed to be nice,” Shane groaned at the teasing. Scott just shook his head.

“The Centaurs have a long way to go,” he added, then skated back over to the Admirals.

The game itself went about as well as Shane expected. He scored a goal and landed an assist for Hayden to sneak one in, but the Admirals still won 5-2. The Centaurs' defense at least allowed for fewer shots on goal, but their goalie was still a lost cause. At least 5-2 wasn’t an embarrassing spread like it could have been without Price bolstering their defensive line.

After the game, someone let Ilya back into the locker rooms. He pulled Shane in to a deep kiss in front of his whole team. Shane felt himself flush with embarrassment.

“Ilya!” he exclaimed, pushing his excitable fiancé away by the forehead. “Public!”

“So!” Ilya laughed. “Is not secret. Your team can see you kiss hot lover, no?”

"Gross! We've talked about this. Do not use 'lover' when you talk about me!"

The team in question was cackling and catcalling and obviously didn’t mind. Shane sighed exaggeratedly and mumbled, “Why do I put up with this?”

Ilya kissed him again. “You love me,” he said in explanation.

Ilya rode with the team to the hotel, taking the seat next to Shane and draping himself over Shane’s lap the whole way. He and Bood traded jokes back and forth with Dykstra and Chouinard, while some of the rookies looked intimidated and star-struck by his presence. Ryan just looked amused.

When they arrived, Shane and Ilya went up to their room to change, though Ilya had every intention of staying in Shane’s jersey. Only the tight deadline to meet their friends kept things PG as they changed. Shane made sure to wear a Kyle-approved outfit and smirked when the tight jeans distracted Ilya enough that he almost forgot about their plans entirely.

Managing to extract himself from Ilya's grabby hands, they met Price in the lobby. Ilya walked forward dramatically, arms raised and grinning. “PRICEY!”

Price’s lips turned up in a small smile, and he raised one hand in a little half-wave. “Hey, Roz, good to see you again.”

“Is good you can come!” Ilya continued. “You will like Kingfisher!”

Shane winced. He knew what it was like to worry about going out to a bar with Ilya Rozanov of all people. He rushed to assure Price that the bar was pretty relaxed.

With nine people in their group, there was no way to fit in even the large round booths, so some of Kyle’s coworkers shoved a few tables together near the back, and the group sat down to order drinks.

“You trying to out-gay the Admirals now?” Kyle joked after Shane introduced everyone to Ryan, then Kyle sat down on Eric’s lap instead of his own chair.

“I mean, the Admirals weren’t that gay until I came along anyway,” Shane teased, used to his friend’s antics and comfortable enough in this group to tease back.

Ryan was staring at him as if he’d never seen him before.

Eric guffawed, slapping the table and rattling their drinks. “Wow, Hollander,” he wheezed through chuckles.

“It’s the freckles,” Kip teased. “He brings out the gay in everyone.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk,” he said to his husband, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Price didn’t talk a lot, but Shane watched his shoulders relax as the night went on and he grew more comfortable with the group. His eyes kept tracking up the walls and across the bar, following the pride decorations and signed pictures. There was one from Scott and Kip’s famous proposal after the Stanley Cup, signed in silver Sharpie in pride of place over their usual booth.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said later, when he, Shane, and Ilya were walking back to the hotel.

Shane smiled. “I’m glad you came.”

“How is new team, Pricey?” Ilya asked, keeping Shane close with a hand casually tucked into the back pocket of his too-tight jeans.

“It’s pretty good so far, actually. I’ve been getting more ice time in games, and Dykstra and Chouinard are easy to get along with.”

Ilya nodded. “You were wasted with Buffalo. I am glad team traded for you.”

Price blushed. “I’m just okay. But it’s nice to be able to play some real defense now.”

Shane looked over at that. He was getting the impression a little more every day that Price didn’t like fighting. He wondered how he ended up as an enforcer, if that was the case. Why do something you didn’t like to do when there were other positions on the team?

“And how is Ottawa? Meet any cute boys yet?” Ilya goaded. Shane elbowed him in the side.

“I mean… I haven’t been there very long…”

“SHANE! You have not taken this man to bar? He is so handsome, arms like tree trunks! Get this man laid.”

Shane laughed and struggled against Ilya’s tightened hold. “Have you met me?” he asked. “That’s your job!”

“Get Harris to help! He is cute! Is local! Knows all the good spots to pick up.”

Price’s face was redder than his hair and beard, almost purple from embarrassment. “It’s okay,” he assured. “I don’t really go out and. Uh. Pick up…”

“You are too much like Shane,” Ilya teased. “What kinds of men do you like? Strong? Cute like Harris? Pretty?”

Price stumbled. “Um. Pretty. I guess…”

Ilya motioned with one hand for Price to continue. “I like, uh, small? Uh. Small guys. Pretty clothes and… uh… makeup?”

“I know the type!” Ilya exclaimed, excited. “I can see this, yes. Like that singer, no?” he asked Shane.

Shane chuckled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Probably like that, Ilya.”

Ilya nodded. “Shane and Harris will help,” he decided. “I will join for Christmas holiday, no? Maybe that singer will be at bar again!”

Shane groaned. “You don’t even know if he’s single, Ilya!”

Conversation continued, light, teasing, and easy, all the way back to the hotel. They parted ways with Price in the lobby and returned to their room. Scarcely had the door closed behind them, when Ilya had Shane pressed up against it.

“Ah, hotel room. Just like old times, no?”

“Ilya,” Shane groaned. “I’m tired. It’s late.”

“Your dick is not so tired,” Ilya teased, cupping Shane’s erection through his pants. “Will be quick. Late flight tomorrow, you will let me fuck you slow in morning, yes?”

Shane moaned, rolling his hips forward into Ilya’s hand. “Yes.”

Ilya popped the button of Shane’s jeans and slid the zipper down, pushing the jeans low enough to wrap a hand around Shane’s dick. Shane moaned again, forehead falling to rest on Ilya’s shoulder.

“You are tired,” Ilya cooed. “Let me take care of you, yes?”

“Okay,” Shane sighed. Ilya carried him over to the bed, peeled him out of his clothes, and stripped out of his own in record time. It was late, they’d closed the bar down with their friends, and Shane knew Ilya had to be tired too.

Ilya kissed and licked his way down Shane’s body, paying special attention to his favorite places. He latched on to Shane’s left nipple, pulled it with his teeth, and rolled the right between his thumb and forefinger until both were so sensitive, Shane thought he might cry. He continued from there to the v of Shane’s hips and decorated them in small bruises that Shane hoped his teammates would ignore.

Ilya paid close and careful attention to the head of Shane’s erect and leaking cock, teasing the slit with the tip of his tongue, catching the underside with just a hint of teeth before retreating to blow across the wet surface.

Shane shuddered and cried out, hands fisting the sheets to either side of him. “Ilya,” he begged. “Please.”

Ilya hummed, the vibration thrumming around the head of Shane’s dick as he finally enveloped it fully into his warm mouth. He held the shaft with one hand, pinned Shane’s hips to the mattress with the other, and sucked only at the tip.

He let go of Shane’s cock and let it fall from his mouth, smacking against Shane’s abdomen and twitching, leaking precum that Ilya lapped up with his tongue, then Ilya continued down to his balls. He took his time with each one, kissing and sucking, rolling them between calloused fingers. Only when Shane thought he might come just from having his balls played with did Ilya continue down to his hole. He used both hands to spread Shane’s cheeks and licked a broad stripe across his twitching rim.

Shane keened, back arching off the bed, and reached for Ilya’s head, burying his fingers in Ilya's curls and pulling him closer to where Shane so desperately needed him.

He whined, repeated Ilya’s name over and over like a mantra, and closed his eyes. For once, Ilya didn’t say a word. He used his own spit to slick the way and fucked Shane with his tongue, adding a finger when his rim was loose enough and hunting hungrily for his prostate.

Ilya added a second finger when he found it, driving the two digits against the spot relentlessly, laving Shane’s rim with repeated licks of his tongue and humping the mattress to ease his own building need. Shane came, tightening around his fingers and shooting across his own chest. Ilya chased Shane’s release with his tongue, surging up his writhing body to gather every drop into his mouth and swallow it down.

“Want to fuck your mouth, солнышко” Ilya groaned, pulling Shane’s mouth open with a thumb hooked on his lower lip.

Shane nodded, grasping desperately at Ilya’s ass to encourage him. Ilya balanced himself on the headboard, knees buried in the pillows to either side of Shane’s face, and sat forward, slipping his rigid cock between Shane’s open lips. He rocked forward, and Shane moaned, relaxing his throat for Ilya to fuck into.

“So good,” Ilya praised, dropping one hand from the headboard to stroke through Shane’s hair. He buried his cock deeper, rolled back, and thrust in again. “Fucking, perfect. So beautiful. I love your fucking mouth, Shane. Fuck. Going to come so fast. Make you choke.”

Shane whined, hands tightening on Ilya’s ass to encourage him to fuck his throat deeper, faster. He hoped it would leave finger-shaped bruises to match the hickeys on his own hips. Shane's eyes watered, throat raw from the abuse.

Ilya, already close to the edge from bringing Shane to orgasm just moments before, didn’t take long to follow his promise and come down Shane’s throat, choking him with his release. He slipped out immediately and sat Shane up to help him breathe.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane groaned, voice wrecked.

Ilya chuckled. “Was very hot,” he defended, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Shane’s back. Shane moaned in agreement and pulled Ilya into a deep kiss. “We should shower,” Shane sighed, pulling back. Ilya grinned and carried him to the bathroom to do just that. The shower at the hotel was not made for two hockey players, but they managed and made it back to bed soon enough, asleep and tangled up in each other within minutes of settling into the clean sheets of the room’s second mattress. Ilya sleepily praised himself for the foresight of booking a double.

Chapter End Notes

Well, I'm off today so, knowing me, I'm sure there will be at least one more chapter headed your way before I convince myself to work on necessary house chores lol. This has definitely become my favorite way of procrastinating! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to let me know your thoughts on it in the comments! Until next time! <3

Chapter 10: Coffee and Choreography

Chapter Summary

Harris manages to get a slew of local artists together to collaborate with the Centaurs on a new outreach campaign. Fabian is one of them.

Chapter Notes

Have I mentioned that I looooove Ryan and Fabian? Also, quick disclaimer that Fabian and Ryan are a bit younger in this AU than cannon, closer to Shane and Ilya in age.

Ryan

When Harris first mentioned bringing a few local artists in to collaborate on a promotional campaign aimed at reconnecting the Centaurs with their hometown fans, Ryan was mostly annoyed that he would need to be in the video at all. He wasn’t cute like Hollander or hot and charming like Bood. He looked like the kind of guy who got dropped in the tundra with a hatchet and a box of matches and told to figure his way back to civilization alone.

So, of course, when he said as much to Harris, he got the last reaction he could have expected. Which is how he found himself at a trendy barbershop with a pride flag stretched across one wall while a handsome man with arms to rival the width of Ryan’s own lathered his beard with some product that smelled like hazelnut.

“You have beautiful bone structure,” the man said, further contrasting the leather daddy look that would be more in tune with a biker bar.

“Uh… thank you?” Ryan replied.

Harris laughed at him. “Relax, Ryan,” he teased.

“I don’t think a haircut is all it’s going to take to make me a good candidate for your video, Harris.”

Harris rolled his eyes and made eye contact with the barber in the mirror. “Can you believe this man has no idea how gorgeous he is?”

The barber laughed. “Hun,” he said, talking directly to Ryan while switching eye contact in the mirror to face him instead. “You are a fucking catch. What the hell is Harris talking about?”

When Ryan didn’t answer, not even sure what he would say, Harris answered for him.

"We’ve got some local artists coming in to collaborate on a PR campaign with us. This guy right here said the video should focus on our, and I quote, ‘attractive players’. Like, he isn’t on the list for that.”

“Oh, baby, you can’t talk about yourself like that.” The barber grabbed him by both sides of his beard and shook him a little. “You are stunning, and when you leave here, I will be dammed if even you can’t see that.”

Ryan blushed, looking to Harris for some kind of rescue. None came.

When the barber finished drying his hair and applying product, he spun the chair around so Ryan could see the final results of his work. Shocked, Ryan thought he looked like a completely different person. His long red hair was cut short on the sides, longer on the top and brushed back from his forehead with product that must be managing the frizz and flyaways he was used to, while his bushy beard had been trimmed neatly and highlighted his cheeks and jaw instead of hiding them. The effect was admittedly flattering.

“See?” the barber said. “I told you there was a gorgeous man under all that hair. I expect you back in that chair for a trim every few weeks, baby. There’s no reason for a talented and successful man like you to wander around looking like a wilderness explorer.”

Harris laughed at him, but Ryan just nodded. He would sit in that chair every day if it kept him looking this good. He felt like a new person.

“Thank you,” he said to Harris on their way out.

Harris smiled at him. “Anytime.”

When Ryan left his new apartment for the rink the next morning, he felt ready for whatever crazy direction Harris had in mind for this video. He knew a local street artist had been brought in to create a new mural outside the rink, and he had even stopped to watch them work a few times throughout the week. They had special jerseys made for the video, with limited release versions available for sale after the video was made public. A videographer was even coming in to stage the ice and coordinate with a choreographer. Last he heard, they had even reached out to a local record label to bring an emerging artist in for the music.

The scale of the entire production was incredible, and Ryan was more than a little in awe of Harris for pulling it off in so little time. Even the new owner was there, talking over what the day would look like with Theresa and how they would manage organizing everyone.

When the team was dressed, they waited in the locker room until they were told where to go. Harris walked in with Theresa, the videographer and choreographer, as well as a familiar face Ryan never would have expected to see in an MLH locker room.

“Fabian?” he exclaimed, mouth falling open in shock.

“Ryan?” Fabian asked, just as surprised as he was, apparently.

He looked gorgeous. Dressed in a shimmering, spangled blouse that caught in even the terrible lighting of the locker room and sent dazzling little reflections against the walls and floor, some freckling his teammates' faces. His rich brown eyes were lined with black liner, shimmering eyeshadow was arranged over his lids and fanned out along the sides, with chunky glitter that matched his blouse scattered across his cheeks. He held a violin in one hand and tugged at the hem of his shirt with the other.

“I take it the two of you know each other?” Harris asked, surprise coloring his expression.

“Yeah! Ryan billeted with my family for a while in high school. I didn’t realize he played for the Centaurs now.”

Ryan blushed. “It’s good seeing you again,” he mumbled, tracing some of the swirling color on his temporary jersey.

He noticed Hollander looking at him with a raised eyebrow and blushed an even deeper shade of red.

“We should catch up sometime!” Fabian enthused, turning from smiling at Ryan to grinning at Harris. “Sorry for interrupting, Harris. We should probably get started, huh?”

Harris chuckled and waved away the apology, turning his attention to the rest of the room for instructions. The choreographer jumped in after a while, separated them into groups, and then everyone left the locker room for the ice and went to their respective places.

There were silver, red, and iridescent balloons tied to the Jumbotron. The boards were decorated, and the ice danced with pulsing lasers, color shifting under the changing lights. Fabian stood in the center face-off circle with his violin, playing music in time for the different movements requested by the choreographer and at the very end, when the videographer felt he had enough to work with, the balloons were released to fall to the ice while the team skated around, catching them and tossing them playfully at each other and Fabian stood in the center of it all, still playing and swaying to the music.

The experience Ryan had been dreading for over a week turned out to be… fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he had that much fun on the ice. It helped that Fabian also seemed to be having a blast, smiling and laughing at the center of it all.

“I don’t know that I have ever seen such a playful and welcoming group of hockey players,” Fabian said at the end, when everyone had gathered in the middle of the rink to debrief. "To be honest, I tend to write you guys off. Thank you for proving me wrong. I was nervous for today, but I’ve felt nothing but welcome since I arrived."

“Aw, come here!” Bood cried, pulling him into an exaggerated and probably sweaty hug. “You have to come see a game soon! We’ll get you into the good seats!”

Fabian laughed. “Yeah, no. That might be a step too far. I’m still not a fan of actually watching hockey. I grew up with that enough, thanks.”

Ryan tried not to feel disappointed.

They still had a photoshoot to do, including shots throughout the rink and outside, with a dedicated series taken in front of the new mural. Fans would be able to get similar pictures taken there before and after games to come, too.

With the end of the day approaching, Ryan expected to see Fabian wave and leave him with the team to change back into their street clothes in the locker room. Instead, Fabian pulled him aside and pulled out his phone.

“I meant what I said,” Fabian started. “About catching up sometime. Do you want to exchange numbers, and we can figure out the details later?”

Ryan beamed. “Sure,” he agreed, exchanging his phone for Fabian’s. “It was really nice getting to see you again today.”

They parted ways with matching smiles as Fabian left and Ryan went to change.

Fabian

Fabian never expected to be asked to collaborate with an MLH hockey team. Nevertheless, when his label reached out to him about it, even he could see that it was an incredible opportunity to reach new audiences and increase his visibility. He was just shocked that there was a hockey team out there willing to collaborate with an artist like him.

It was one thing to welcome a gay superstar player who still exemplified masculinity and gave off perfect boy-next-door vibes. It was another thing entirely to invite a musician to work with them who played with gender norms like playdough, molding whatever he wanted from them, and sang vaguely explicit music about gay sex with a violin and his laptop for company.

It felt like less of a surprise when he started messaging and videoconferencing with their social media manager. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he remembered both the social media manager and Shane Hollander from his first performance at The Lookout. It probably said something about him that one of the most popular and famous hockey players of his generation could come to one of his shows and preorder his album, and Fabian didn’t even notice.

His parents would be so disappointed. But also, you know, fuck them anyway.

It was even more of a surprise to walk into the locker room, full of anxious nerves over having to work with an entire team of hockey players, to find Ryan there looking even more gorgeous than Fabian remembered. He had a full beard and his hair was adorably styled, short on the sides and pushed back from his soft hazel eyes.

Fabian really didn’t need that image compounding his childhood crush, thanks. He also definitely shouldn’t have exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up with the guy later. Why did Fabian torture himself like this?

But Ryan had been just as sweet and shy as he always was, always looking like he was trying to make himself smaller than the 6’7” frame that dominated every room he entered. Fabian kind of wanted to bite him.

Which is why he shouldn’t hang out with him, he had no self-control and didn’t need to be hitting on super gorgeous, very straight jocks just because their giant frames really did it for him.

Because he was a glutton for punishment, Fabian texted him to see if he wanted to get coffee in the morning.

Ryan let him know he had practice but would be done around lunchtime, so he could grab something then.

Which is how Fabian found himself at a little coffee shop near the rink with an iced americano and an undoubtedly stupid smile on his face as he sat across from Ryan at a little café table.

“Have you been with the Centaurs long?” he asked, taking a sip.

“Not really,” Ryan said. “Just joined them in time for our last roady. They’re good guys, though. And it’s nice, being back in Canada.”

“Where were you before?” Fabian asked.

“Buffalo, in New York. It was… ok. I guess.”

Fabian watched Ryan play with the handle of his coffee cup. Steam curled up from the cream-colored contents, a little foam leaf decorating the top of the brew.

“Your music is beautiful,” Ryan said abruptly. “I, ah, looked you up after work. Really neat stuff.”

“Neat, huh?” Fabian laughed. “You haven’t changed much, have you?”

Ryan sighed and slumped in his chair. “I don’t know how to talk to people,” he groaned.

“Well…” Fabian tried. “You could start by looking at me.”

“Too pretty,” Ryan grumbled. Or, Fabian thought that was what he said, but maybe he had misheard? Surely that couldn’t be right.

“Did you just call me pretty?” Fabian giggled, hoping he could play it off as a joke if he was wrong about what Ryan said.

Ryan looked up, purple-red face clashing with the more orange tones of his hair. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Fabian insisted. “It’s not every day men as handsome as you call me pretty. I can take a compliment.”

He watched Ryan blush even deeper, eyes widening with what looked like panic.

“It’s okay, Ryan. I know you’re not trying to hit on me.”

A sound like something a guy might make after being punched in the chest whistled from Ryan’s throat.

“Of course,” he managed after collecting himself enough to breathe. “Guys like me aren’t really your type, probably.”

Now Fabian just felt confused. “Ryan,” he tried. “Are you trying to hit on me?”

Ryan nodded, and Fabian felt something warm and prideful curl up in his chest and make a hoard of his heart. Fabian reached out experimentally with one foot and traced a line from the back of Ryan’s knee to his ankle. “Hey,” he whispered into the quiet calm of the coffee shop.

Ryan looked up.

“Am I missing something here?” Fabian asked, keeping his voice low and soothing, like approaching a stray dog that might decide to bite his outstretched hand.

“Willyougoonadatewithme,” Ryan choked, all in a rush.

“I’m going to need you to slow down and try that again, Ryan. I don’t think I heard you right.”

Ryan took a steadying breath and set his very impressive shoulders with clear determination. “Will you go on a date with me?”

Fabian felt a small smile slip across his face. “I didn’t realize you liked men,” he said. He wanted to shout yes, but he was also just confused. Had he stepped into a parallel universe at the beginning of this week?

“I’ve always liked you,” Ryan murmured, looking down at his coffee.

“Okay, Ryan,” Fabian said, figuring that was answer enough for now. He could get more from him later. “Yeah, I’ll go on a date with you.”

Chapter End Notes

YAAAAAAY!!! They're going on a date! I'm so excited to get to write about these two together now! What did you think of their first meeting in this story? Was it what you expected? Where do we think Ryan will take Fabian now that they're going on a date together? Let me know in the comments!

Side note... I only realized after writing and editing this that this is now the second time I've made one of these characters come out to a childhood friend from high school in the middle of a coffee shop. Does this count as a pattern? lol

Until next time! <3

Chapter 11: Beers with Friends

Chapter Summary

The Centaurs finally win their first game together of the season and hit Monk's to celebrate. Meanwhile, the Guardians are turning on their All-Star winger, though he has an unexpected ally in the locker room.

Chapter Notes

Ryan

Headed into the arena for their game that night, Ryan’s head was still stuck at a tiny table that barely fit him in a café across the street, with Fabian agreeing to go on a date with him. He couldn’t believe he’d asked. What’s more, he couldn’t believe Fabian actually said yes.

“So,” Hollander started, planting himself next to Ryan on the ice to join him in stretching. “Fabian, huh? You guys actually know each other?”

Ryan laughed. There was something about Hollander that made him relax. He guessed like recognized like. They were two awkward peas in a pod who waded through everyday communication like a war zone.

“Yeah,” he agreed. There was probably a stupid smile spread across his face, too.

“You like him, don’t you?” Hollander asked.

Ryan looked over to make awkward eye contact and shook his head in amusement. “Yeah, Hollzy. I think Fabian is the first crush I ever had.”

Hollander nodded. “I get that,” he said. “I so, so get that.”

Ryan laughed next to him, with him, both of them amused by their own inability to communicate like normal people.

“Are you gonna go for it?” he asked.

Ryan nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered, shocked at his own audacity. “Can you believe I asked him on a date today?”

“No shit!” Hollander crowed. “Good for you, man! Did he say yes?”

Ryan smiled and nodded, shifting into a new stretch. He always felt clumsy at them, couldn't bend as well as Hollander and the other forwards. “Yeah,” he said aloud.

“Where are you going to take him?” Hollander asked.

Ryan groaned. “I have no idea. I’m terrible at this kind of thing.”

Hollander chuckled at his expense, and the two of them separated to continue warming up. Where would Ryan take Fabian? It was something he would have to figure out sooner rather than later.

The game against Florida went so well that they actually won for once. The other side was struggling on offense and, between their uncoordinated forward lines and the Centaurs’ improved defense, only managed a few shots on goal per period. Granted, the Centaurs’ goalie was so terrible that even those few shots were enough to land them two goals for the game, but Hollander, Bood, and Pike’s line more than made up for it with Hollander landing a hat trick and Bood and Pike netting a puck each. Even their second-line center managed to net one on an assist from the rookie Holmberg. It was a really good game, their first win of the season, and the team was electrified heading into the locker room.

“LET'S GO!” Bood cheered, bumping chests with Dykstra in the middle of the locker room.

“We should celebrate!” Chouinard cheered.

“YEAH!” Bood agreed, burning with energy from the win. “Let’s go to Monk’s!”

The room chorused in agreement, everyone buzzing as his teammates invited their wives and girlfriends to join them.

“Hey, Harris!” Hollander called when the social media manager entered, grinning, his phone camera rolling as he captured the celebration. “Come to Monk’s with us! We’re going to celebrate!”

Harris agreed and filmed the rest of their locker room shenanigans before ducking out to let the team finish up in the showers and change.

“You could invite Fabian,” Hollander said, walking up in his suit, hair still a little damp from the showers.

“I think it’s a bit early for that,” Ryan chuckled. Hollander winced and nodded.

“Yeah, probably a bit much, huh? Next time, though. We should see if Cassie would be cool with changing our team’s WAGs to SAPs like the Admirals. Spouses and Partners is a lot more welcoming sounding.”

“You are so jumping the gun,” Ryan laughed. “But yeah, maybe next time.”

The bar was fairly relaxed, with pool tables his teammates monopolized and comfortable booths to hang out in. Ryan appreciated the lack of strobe lights and club music. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Fabian: congrats on the win! :)

Ryan chuckled, blushing at the attention.

Ryan: you follow hockey now?

Fabian: you see, I know a guy on the team. Very cute guy, tall but kinda shy, you know? Figured I’d support him

Ryan’s grin pulled at the corners of his face, splitting it in two.

“Someone looks happy!” Harris teased. “Who are you talking to?”

Ryan shrugged.

“A boy?” Harris continued.

Hollander laughed at them both. “I bet it’s Fabian! Ryan asked him on a date!”

Harris’ eyes widened. Ryan shot Hollander a mock glare. Traitor.

“Good for you, Ryan!” Harris cheered. “He’s gorgeous!”

Nodding, blush probably visible even in the darkness of the bar, Ryan agreed. “Yeah. I got coffee with him after practice today.”

Over at the nearest pool table, Bood cheered uproariously while Dykstra groaned and pretended to faint into Chouinard’s arms.

“TAKE THAT!” Bood crowed. “THIS ROUND’S ON YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

Ryan still didn’t know how he went from a team where he barely knew anyone’s name and entered the arena half the time feeling like he was on the brink of a panic attack to… this. But he felt really fucking lucky. It was a good day.

Troy

Troy was having a terrible day. Ever since Dallas had returned from LTIR, the locker room had been unbearable. He tiptoed around the man that he once considered a friend, constantly on guard against anything that might set his hairpin trigger of a temper off.

Hazy was the only guy on the team who still seemed able to spend any time with. The others were all terrified that being seen with Troy would set them on Dallas’ bad side, too.

To make matters worse, he was in a terrible mood all the time, and even Adrian had noticed. He said he wasn’t fun to be around anymore if he was just going to moan and complain about work and had stopped answering Troy’s texts to hang out, even when Troy knew he was in town.

They basically weren’t even seeing each other anymore at this point.

Then, there were games. The whole team treated him like a leper, shutting him out on the ice. He hadn’t made so much as a point since Dallas got back. It all boiled over in the locker room after a game against Buffalo that they should have won, but didn’t because Dallas refused to pass the fucking puck, even when Troy was wide open.

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” Dallas screamed, getting in his face, spit flying, and finger millimeters from Troy’s nose.

“FAT FUCKING LOAD IT IS, DALLAS! I WAS WIDE OPEN! WE COULD HAVE HAD IT!”

“IT’S KENT TO YOU ASSHOLE! ONLY MY FRIENDS GET TO CALL ME DALLAS!”

Troy rolled his eyes, stood firm when Kent shoved him, and sneered. “Who would want to be friends with an ugly fuck like you, anyway, Kent. Fuck you!”

Kent reared back for a right hook, but Hazy got in between them and caught his arm before it could land.

“That’s enough, Kent,” he said.

The team gathered at Kent’s back, everyone puffed up and ready to fight back. Coach walked into the room and caught their attention before it could escalate.

“BACK THE FUCK OFF!” Coach shouted. Kent took a reluctant step back.

“Barrett, Hayes, my office. Now,” Coach demanded. They followed him out of the room.

He lectured them for the next half hour on loyalty and appropriate team conduct before sending them home and telling them not to bother with practice or the game the next day; they were benched.

“It’s so fucking unfair,” Troy complained, kicking the wall on the way out.

“It’s not your fault, Kent is such an asshole. You know that, right?” Hayes asked. Troy slumped against the concrete and groaned.

“Hey,” Hayes continued. “Why don’t you come have a few drinks with Lisa and me? We don’t have work tomorrow, and her shift won't start ‘til late, so if we stay up bitching about how all the Guardians are assholes over a case of beer, we won't exactly suffer for it tomorrow.”

Troy hadn’t ever hung out with Hayes outside of team events. Maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. He’d been the only ally Troy had for over a month, now.

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. They stopped at a Circle K to grab a couple of cases of beer on their way and rolled into the parking garage for Hayes’ building less than an hour after the official end of the game.

“What happened?” Hayes’ wife, Lisa, said the minute they walked through the door, they slipped off their coats and shoes.

Hayes grimaced. “Just the team being assholes,” he said. “Told Troy he could come hang with us and we’d have a full bitch fest about it.”

Troy grinned awkwardly and waved. “High, nice to officially meet you,” he said, walking into the kitchen to help Hayes put the beer in the fridge. He kept the last one and used the bottle opener Lisa handed him to pop the cap, then passed it to Hayes to do the same.

“Pretty sure Hayes saved me from a black eye a little bit ago,” he explained.

“None of that now,” Lisa said. “We’re both Hayes here, you’ll call me Lisa and him Wyatt, you hear?”

Troy nodded and smiled over at Wyatt. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “You should call me Troy then. Never been a fan of going by Barrett anyway.”

Wyatt grinned back and shuffled them all into the living room. Lisa brought a bottle of wine with her and sipped from a full, stemless glass that she cradled in her hands.

“So what happened, anyway?” she asked.

“The team has been really shitty to Troy ever since our first game. Remember, I told you about Kent getting his face pulverized for being a homophobic asshole to Scott Hunter?”

Lisa nodded.

“Well, Troy was right there when it happened and didn’t interfere to help Kent get out of it. He’s blamed Troy ever since.”

Lisa growled through her words. “But that’s stupid!” she said. “Kent started that shit on his own, and he faced the consequences of being a dick. That’s on him.”

“That’s hockey,” Troy winced. “He’s my captain. I should have had his back.”

Hayes shook his head. “No, that was him being an asshole, and it was uncalled for. If he hadn’t been put on LTIR for a broken jaw, he should have been suspended. That wasn’t chirping, it was hate speech.”

“Yeah, well. The rest of the team and Coach don’t seem to agree with you on that.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Lisa groused, raising her glass in a mocking salute and draining half of it. Troy couldn’t help but laugh and return the gesture by chugging his beer.

They spent the rest of the night talking shit about the Guardians and tearing apart the kinds of products for sale on QVC, mocking the commercials with product ideas of their own or joking about who they could gift it to.

Troy ended up sleeping on their couch, too drunk and tired to go home, and went out to a diner with them for breakfast, ordering grease-filled plates of potatoes, eggs, and sausage to help ease their hangovers.

Overall, Troy wasn’t sure why he hadn’t hung out with Wyatt more. He might be the only guy on the whole team who wasn’t a complete dick. It was fucking refreshing.

Coach still hadn’t let them return to the ice when the news came through that they were both being traded for some draft picks and a rookie defenseman. To the same team. In Ottawa.

“Shit,” Wyatt groaned, punching a wall in the empty hall outside Coach’s office. “Lisa’s going to be pissed about having to change hospitals.”

Troy groaned. “Ottawa?” he lamented. “They’re terrible! This is a dick move fucking punishment, not a trade!”

Wyatt grinned at him. “I mean, they’ve got Hollander now. Besides, can’t be any worse than here. At least they might pass you the puck out there.”

Troy rolled his eyes. One decent player didn’t make a team. Besides, Hollander was such a stick in the mud. It would probably be the most boring assignment of his career. He liked Toronto. At least there was shit to do here.

“I should have seen it coming,” Troy complained. “Still fucking sucks, though.”

Wyatt nodded. “At least it’s still pretty early in the season. Let’s make the most of it, yeah?”

Troy laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “I wish I had your optimism, Wyatt. But yeah, no use in complaining now. I guess we should go pack. Flight’s tomorrow.”

Wyatt agreed, and the two of them went to clean out their lockers. It was going to be a long night of getting ready to move to a completely different city. If only the Guardians weren’t such fucking assholes.

Chapter End Notes

Okay, last post for the day! Not sure if I will have time for one tomorrow, but we'll see. My schedule's pretty booked. This could be the last post until next Monday. April is a really busy month for me, so I'll probably have to back down to only posting 3-4 days a week. Things are coming together for this little sequel though! We'll have all our favorite Centaurs on the team soon enough (well... sort of). Hope you enjoyed the updates today! Until next time! <3

Chapter 12: Scrutiny

Chapter Summary

Troy Barrett and Wyatt Hayes join the guardians for their first practice together. It goes about how you would expect.

Chapter Notes

Shane

“BARRETT?” Ilya all but yelled into the phone, and Shane could just imagine him reaching for a pack of cigarettes that he insisted he didn’t have anymore.

“I know!” Shane groaned. “What are they thinking? This team has enough to work on. The one thing we have going for us is chemistry and culture, and they want to throw Barrett into the mix?”

“Why would guardians trade second-favorite asshole anyway?”

Shane took a deep sip of his coffee to actually think about it. Why would they trade him? He and Kent were basically a matched set. Now that Kent was back from LTIR, they should be back out being the usual menaces they always were together.

“Something must have happened,” he sighed.

At least they were getting Wyatt Hayes out of the deal. From what Shane had been able to see of his stats and the little footage that was out there, he looked like too good a goalie to get as little ice time as he did. He said as much to Ilya, and they continued to talk hockey and the Guardian’s new trade until Shane had to leave for practice.

Their first practice with Troy fucking Barrett of all people. Shane wasn’t particularly physical and had never punched anyone on his own team before, not even Comeau. But he might be willing to make an exception.

He was one of the first to arrive at the rink and used the peace and quiet to try to shift into the right headspace for meeting his new teammates. Bood was off in Coach’s office, and Dykstra always arrived exactly on time, so it was pretty quiet even once his other teammates started filing in. It felt like it took a lot longer to get his pads situated than usual, and he kept looking up at the door, waiting for the two ex-Guardians to walk through.

When they finally did, Hayes had a giant smile on his face while Barrett scowled. Shane watched Hayes set a hand on Barrett’s shoulder and shoot him a pleading look.

“Good morning, team!” Coach Wiebe cheered, calling everyone’s attention. “As you know, we’ve got a couple of new teammates joining us today. Please welcome our new goaltender, Wyatt Hayes, and winger, Troy Barrett.”

Somewhat subdued cheers and greetings filled the small space. Bood rolled his eyes. “Come on, guys, wake up and try again. We can do better than that!”

The volume rose as the room shouted back, welcoming the two newbies to the team. Shane studied Barrett’s face the whole time. He didn’t seem to be any happier to be there than they were to have him.

“All right!” Wiebe shouted. “Let’s hit the ice!”

“YES, COACH!” echoed off the lockers, and Shane hurried to lace up his skates.

Practice itself went well enough. Their first line had been solid since preseason, and Wiebe seemed hesitant to mess with that chemistry just yet, so even though Barrett was an All-Star winger, Wiebe kept him on the second line with Dillon and Holmberg to start, playing around with who might fit center best since all three were generally more used to the wings.

It turned out Barrett wasn’t half bad as a center. He thought he remembered Ilya saying the Guardians had switched him to center while Kent was out. Shane guessed even assholes could still be versatile players, and even he could admit Barrett was good. He just didn’t like the guy.

He didn’t say anything rude or disparaging to the team as he practiced, though. He didn’t so much as chirp. He was just… quiet. Wary. Watching them all like he was waiting for the first person to snap.

It was Price of all people that seemed to approach Barrett first, asking him to work on gap control with him during a free work period towards the end of practice.

Shane watched Barrett nod solemnly in response to the request and skate after him.

“He’s really not that bad,” a new voice said, coming up on Shane’s right. Shane looked over his shoulder and found their new goaltender, Hayes, staring across the ice at Price and Barrett.

Shane grunted, more disbelief than affirmation.

“No, really. He acts all tough, but he’s just a softie. Give him a chance, will you? I think he might surprise you. He definitely surprised me.”

Shane shot him a curious look, but Hayes skated off and didn’t bother to elaborate. What was that supposed to mean?

Troy

Troy could feel the watchful eyes of Shane Hollander on him for the entirety of their first practice. It left him feeling even more uncomfortable than he already was. He decided from the start to come in, play hockey, and keep his head down. He didn’t need to make friends, look what that got him with the Guardians, anyway. He just needed to do his job.

But not needing to make friends didn’t mean Troy wanted to come in and make enemies either, and it seemed like Hollander had already deemed him one. All he wanted was to get out of there and go back to his hotel to sleep for a year, but instead Hayes stopped him on their way to the locker room and gestured over to where a guy was waving to get their attention.

Each wave was accompanied by little jumps of energy and a big smile. Any other day, Troy might have admired how cute the guy was, but he was in a sour mood and hardly had the energy to even notice.

“I think we’re being summoned,” Hayes laughed. Troy nodded and went with him to see what the guy wanted.

“Hi!” he greeted cheerfully as they got within hearing range. “I’m Harris, social media manager for the team. Do you have time to do a new player interview with me before you go?”

Troy wanted to say no, so of course Hayes answered yes for both of them before he could even try. Why did he like Wyatt again? The guy was a nerd and never respected Troy’s boundaries. He really needed better friends. Or none at all. Maybe that was the call he should be making.

Which is how he found himself, freshly showered and changed, sitting next to Wyatt on a small couch, a camera on a tripod recording them, while Harris gave some spiel about not having to answer questions that made them uncomfortable and having “veto” power or some shit.

Questions ranged from “what’s your favorite movie?” to “what guilty pleasure foods do you eat on cheat days?” with Wyatt letting his whole, nerdy freak flag fly as he gushed over comics and movie adaptations. At one point, the guy even asked what their favorite apple was. Who does that?

There was a time when Troy’s favorite movie would have been anything with Adrian in it. He even knew a lot of the movies Wyatt was talking about because of it, but Adrian’s last straw had been Troy’s transfer. It shouldn’t matter; they were already long-distance with Adrian living in Vancouver, but when Troy answered their regular video call the night before with eyes red from crying and hair wild from the constant pulling of his fingers, Adrian said maybe they should just break up. That Troy had enough going on without balancing their relationship, too. He should focus on hockey, and Adrian on his career. His new movie was set to start filming in a week Adrian couldn't afford to be distracted.

That it wasn’t like they were in love anyway.

Like their relationship was just a distraction. Like they didn’t even matter. Like they never had in the first place.

He shouldn’t feel so upset. It’s not like he and Adrian were talking to each other that much lately anyway. Besides, Troy had lost his friends, his team, his city, and his spot on the first line. Even his position as a winger was gone. What was losing a boyfriend compared to all that?

Wyatt cleared his throat to get Troy’s attention, and Troy tried to focus back on the interview. His answers were mumbled, inane, and probably not even close to his actual opinion on any of these questions, as he answered with whatever was first to come to mind.

His eyes caught on Harris’ many pride pins and stayed there, staring.

Harris must have asked something about family. He heard Wyatt talking about his sister and tried to pay attention.

“Yeah, my sister and her wife live in Vancouver, and they’ve got a baby on the way-“

“You’re sister’s a lesbian?” Troy asked, confused. At the startled looks from Harris and Wyatt, he realized that was probably the first thing he’d said in a while, and in his typical fashion, the confusion over new information definitely came across as confrontational.

Why did he always have to put his foot in his fucking mouth?

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” he rushed to add. The last thing he wanted was Wyatt thinking he was actually as homophobic as the rest of the Guardians. Is that why he’d stuck up for Troy? Because his sister was queer and the rest of the Guardians literally had it out for Troy just for standing aside and not defending Dallas? Well, not Dallas. Kent now.

Wyatt just laughed and shook his head. “You’re so bad at, like, people, dude.”

Harris’ tense shoulders relaxed at Wyatt’s easy acceptance of the situation.

“What about you?” Wyatt asked. “Harris asked if we’ve got any siblings.”

“Oh! Ah, no. I’m an only child,” Troy said, trying desperately to tune back into the conversation enough not to miss something like that again.

“Wyatt is married and told us about Lisa. What about you, Troy? Do you have a girlfriend back in Toronto?”

Troy paled, gaze falling to his lap. That question fucking hurt.

“No,” he choked, “just went through a breakup, actually, so… you know.. single again and all that.”

Harris’ expression twisted with sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can cut that out of the video, too. That’s personal.”

Wyatt reached out to squeeze his arm comfortingly. “Shit, man. I didn’t even know you were dating someone. Did she not want to move or try long distance or whatever?”

Troy just nodded. He had no interest in even getting close to the truth, and the distance thing was a good cover. He didn’t trust himself to speak because he didn’t know Harris, and Wyatt was still more of an acquaintance than a friend. Besides, he couldn’t just sit here and fucking cry about his boyfriend breaking up with him on the same day he found out he would be traded to fucking Ottawa.

He didn’t care how accepting the Centaurs supposedly were; he was not opening the can of worms that was his sexuality in front of their social media manager of all people. On his first day. In front of fucking nerd Wyatt fucking Hayes.

Instead, as soon as it was socially acceptable, he booked it out of there and back to the hotel room. He could have waited for Wyatt and gone together, but he had done enough forced socializing for one day, and he just wanted to be alone.

His stomach growled when he walked in, and he didn’t have a damn thing to eat in the fridge yet, so back down the elevator Troy went and across the street to the fucking grocery store. He grabbed oatmeal for the morning, supplies for sandwiches, a couple of bagged salads, and some mildly better-than-canned soup from the deli section, then left with his purchases and a plan not to leave the hotel again until practice the next day.

When he woke up in the morning, his first thought was of that stupid interview and how he had been kind of an asshole, not just to Wyatt, who was used to it and seemingly immune, but also to Harris, who was just an innocent bystander to Troy’s shitshow of a life right now.

So after choking down some flavorless oatmeal and realizing there was no coffee in sight, he decided to go to the café nearby and get an extra latte for the social media guy. He probably liked sweet drinks, right?

He seemed like the kind of guy who likes sweet drinks.

Picking randomly from an array of flavors, Troy ordered the drinks to go and left as soon as they were ready. He used the signs in the rink to find Harris’ office and held both coffees in one hand so he could nock.

“Come in!” Harris called.

Troy walked in with the coffee and shuffled his feet awkwardly. Why hadn’t he thought more about what he should say? Now he was just staring in panicked silence with hot drinks in each hand.

He held the one for Harris out in an offering of peace. “I brought you a coffee,” he said. “I’m sorry I was kind of a dick yesterday.”

Harris chuckled warily and took the latte from him. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, both hands wrapped around the warm paper cup.

Troy didn’t know what else to say. Why were words so fucking difficult? “Nice, um, pins.” He settled on. There, that had to show he really wasn’t upset about Wyatt’s sister being a lesbian, right?

Troy looked down at the pins like he’d forgotten he was wearing them and looked back up with a blush. “Oh! Um, thank you?”

Troy nodded. “Bye, Harris. See you around, yeah?”

Harris stared after him like someone witnessing a worm emerging from damp soil under a sudden rain. Like he was weird, and out of place, and maybe a bit fascinating.

“Bye, Troy,” he said. Troy left as quickly as he could without breaking into a run.

Chapter End Notes

Awesome! I did have time for one more post today! I hope you liked it and that Troy isn't too OOC, I find him to be one of the harder characters to write. Until next time! <3

Chapter 13: A Dream

Chapter Summary

Ryan starts to settle in to life in Ottawa and his new team.

Chapter Notes

Ryan

There were days when Ryan felt like maybe he had fallen asleep and slipped into a dream that he should be waking up from any minute now. It was probably something he should discuss with his therapist. About how, for the first time since he was a teenager, hockey felt fun again. How, by some crazy coincidence or sheer happenstance, he’d moved to the same city as his first crush, the boy that forever set the standard of exactly the kind of man Ryan was looking for in a partner. The boy, now a man, grown even more lovely and talented through their years apart, so much so that it set Ryan reeling with how perfect a single person could be.

There was a lot he should probably talk to his therapist about, but he didn’t. Because that might make it go away. It could pop this perfect bubble of delusion that he just wanted to revel in for as long as he could.

“Hey Pricey!” Hayes said, sliding up on the ice mid-practice. He was an instant fit on this strange new team in Ottawa. Funny and nerdy, a missing puzzle piece that slid right into the dynamic of gregarious Bood, jovial Dykstra, and easily matched the warmth of members like Pike and Hollander. This team was soft in so many ways, and silly in others. Their coach was young, open, and accepted each of them where they were at, encouraging their friendly banter and warmth towards one another. He didn’t yell; he wasn’t some blowhard out to rile them up.

He let them have joy in the room, and that translated to the ice. Ryan wondered if their fans could see it, if they would know just how special this team was. How different.

“Hi, Hazy,” Ryan greeted, voice rough and more of a grunt so early in the morning.

Hayes was a good goalie. Great, really. Ryan wasn’t really sure how the Guardians had let him warm the bench for so long when he clearly could do a team justice by guarding the net any day of the week. He was exactly the goalie the Centaurs needed on their side.

Barrett, on the other hand? Ryan wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know what had happened in Toronto that they would have traded one of their best players for so little, but he looked lost. Trading was part of it in the MLH. Ryan had been traded so many times that he learned to just accept it, to never get too attached to any one city or apartment, to keep plans short, one month at a time, one season if he was feeling lucky.

Players like Barrett didn’t usually have to learn that lesson, though. Ryan could see that the kid was lost, floundering, that the trade had ripped the rug right out from under him, and he was still struggling to figure out which way was up. Players like Barrett planned their careers in the MLH like a roadmap, years in advance. This sudden detour was a shock to the system.

So, even though it made him uncomfortable, even though Barrett was exactly the kind of guy that would have worked to make Ryan’s life miserable if their roles were reversed, Ryan did his best to help him feel welcome at practice and on the new team.

Their first game since their trade with Toronto was set for that night. Against the Metros. Ryan hated playing the Metros almost as much as Toronto. They had become increasingly physical since Hollander left them back in 2014, and they had a tendency to spit out personal chirps, attacking opposing players themselves rather than just picking apart their play, as was more common with opponents like Rozanov.

Practice was easy enough. Coach ran almost the whole team through some flow drills while the goalies were pulled by their coach to work on crease movement and rebound control.

When it was over, the team left to get some rest before the game, and Ryan went back to his new apartment. It was still sparsely furnished, with only a couple of stools to sit on and bedroom furniture, so he could have a place to sleep.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Fabian: good luck tonight!

Ryan smiled and sent a thank-you. He looked up at the empty apartment and suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of Fabian seeing it like that. What if he wanted to come over after their date? Probably not for, like, sex stuff or whatever. Ryan knew it was early for that and also that he really wasn’t that much of a catch, so Fabian could be humoring him with the date, but probably wouldn’t be expecting more than that.

Still, what if he wanted to come up for a drink? Or coffee? Ryan didn’t even have anywhere for him to sit.

He spent the next couple of hours ordering Ikea furniture, even splurging for expedited delivery. His sister would be proud. His therapist probably would be too. See? He could put down roots in a new place. Buy some furniture like a normal person.

Fuck, he really hoped this wasn’t some weird dream.

When he arrived at the locker room before the game, he was still full of energy and anxiety about the furniture purchases, and he arrived earlier than he normally would. Of course, he still wasn’t the first one there. Hollander, already dressed for the game with his skates ready to slip on at his side, sat in his locker. He could tell from Hollander’s determined, quiet focus, the way he taped and retaped his stick until it was exactly how he wanted it, that he was anxious. Ryan assumed it was playing the Metros that had him so on edge. Hollander had been the first one to make him feel welcome here. He wanted to be able to do the same in return.

“Hey Hollzy,” he said, walking up to the star center and breaking him from his blank stare at the locker room floor. “You okay?”

Hollander gave a tight smile. “I hate playing the Metros,” he said honestly.

“Yeah,” Ryan grunted. “I was getting that. Want some company?”

Hollander gave a tight smile and a short nod, so Ryan took the bench across from him. He still needed to get dressed, but it was only the two of them so far. Bood walked in just as Ryan sat down and did a double-take at Hollander already in full gear. He turned his attention to Ryan and nodded toward Hollander, a nonverbal check-in that Ryan took to mean he had it handled. Ryan nodded back in a way that he hoped was reassuring.

“Anything I can do to help?” Ryan asked.

“Not really,” Hollander sighed. “I should be used to this by now. They’re not even the same team they were when they traded me. But Comeau… and Drapeau…” he gave another long-winded sigh. “They’re real fucking assholes, and they don’t like letting me forget why I was dropped.”

“You know this team has your back,” Ryan said, tone protective in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time, not since the last time he’d had to stick up for Colleen back when they were kids.

“Yeah,” Hollander grinned a little. “I know. I just hate that you feel like you need to, you know? Like the Admirals felt like they needed to. I wish they would just let it go. Why can’t we just play hockey?”

Ryan grimaced. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I get that.”

He sat with Hollander until Pike arrived, a whirlwind of energy and pictures of his kids causing havoc, the perfect distraction for an anxious Hollander. Ryan went to put his own pads on and get changed.

Even seeing how tense Hollander was, Ryan didn’t anticipate just how terrible playing the Metros would be. They took every excuse in the book to lay into Hollander. By the end of the first period, Ryan knew he already had to be sporting some nasty bruises. Any minute now, he was expecting Wiebe to tap him on the shoulder, send him out there to drop gloves and get the opposing side to back off their star player.

When, halfway through the second period and after another brutal check, there was still no indication from Coach that he wanted Ryan to step in, Ryan found him on the bench.

“Hey, Coach,” he said. Maybe Coach Wiebe had forgotten he was there?

“Hey, Pricey. Everything okay?”

Ryan really didn’t want to spell it out for him. He didn’t like fighting. He was angry at their opponents for their behavior. He liked Hollander a lot and didn’t want him hurt, but he also really didn’t want to drop the gloves when he was finally getting a chance to play the hockey that had him fall in love with the sport to begin with.

“They’re hitting Hollander pretty hard,” he said instead.

Coach Wiebe grimaced. “Yeah,” he agreed, tracking Hollander across the ice. It's time to change the lines again soon.

He still didn’t ask Ryan to do anything about it. With a confused grunt, Ryan nodded and went to sit back down.

“You okay?” Dykstra asked when he got back.

Ryan returned the question with a bewildered twist of the lips. “Yeah. Just thinking about Hollzy. He’s getting destroyed out there.”

Dykstra’s own expression was filled with bitter anger. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“I’m just surprised, I guess,” Ryan continued. “That coach isn’t asking me to do something about it.”

“Hollander can fight his own battles,” Dykstra explained. “If it gets ugly, we’ll be there. But we can’t fight everyone for him. He wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. He likes a clean game.”

Just as he said that, Ryan watched Hollander lose it, shoving at Comeau in the O-zone, Drapeau having mitted the puck, and Comeau checking Hollander roughly anyway. It was a blatant late hit, but the refs hadn’t called it yet.

Comeau shoved him back twice as hard.

Ryan felt his teeth grind together as he rode the edge of the monster’s red haze. His hands gripped the boards so hard his knuckles went white. His eyes were locked across the ice while Bood and Pike skated to their center’s defense. They weren’t nearly close enough when Hollander’s gloves came off.

He punched Comeau in the face, a mean right hook that Ryan never would have expected from him. His form was all Ilya Rozanov in that moment. Ryan guessed he and the rest of the hockey world should probably remember exactly who Hollander spent his summers training with these days.

Comeau punched back, sending Hollander’s helmet flying, and Drapeau ambled over in his bulky goalie gear, helmet and gloves thrown to the ice as he joined the fray. Bood caught him by the shoulder before he could get a swing in, punching him as he turned, no doubt gifting the opposing tendy with a nice black eye to wear later.

It was an ugly fight, the kind of mean and nasty that kept refs from being able to interfere easily for fear of catching a stray fist.

Still, Ryan sat on the bench.

When the fight was over and coincidental penalties assigned, both teams continued play while Bood and Hollander caught their breath in the penalty box. Ryan noted that neither one of them looked particularly apologetic for the display.

“It’s not your responsibility to fight everyone’s battles for them, Pricey,” Dykstra commented, slapping Ryan over the shoulder on their way to the ice. “Not on this team.”

Could he really be sure this wasn’t a dream? When Ryan managed to get a surprise goal on a last-minute deflection from the blue line, it certainly felt like one. The whole team dog piled on him in celebration. The best victory of all was Hayes’ first shutout of the season, in his first-ever game with the Centaurs. They won against the Metros 2-0.

Ryan just really hoped no one ever bothered to wake him up.

Chapter End Notes

Hi guys! I have to rush out the door so this is even less edited than usual.... please feel free to let me know if you spot any typos or confusing errors! I really appreciate when you have done this in the past, I don't have a beta so it helps a lot!

Until next time! <3

Chapter 14: First Date

Chapter Summary

Ryan takes Fabian out on a date in Ottawa.

Chapter Notes

So, I had to drive for like 8 hours this weekend for work (4 each way), so of course this was the perfect opportunity to re-listen to the Tough Guy audio book just in time for Ryan and Fabian's first date in Ottawa. Who says long car rides have to be boring? lol

Fabian

Vanessa: did u get the pkg I sent u?

Fabian glared down at the message from his best friend, then over to the aforementioned package, which was stuffed to the brim with various… toys she wanted reviewed. It was not a small package.

Fabian: u can’t possibly expect me to review all these…

Vanessa: what? what did u expect? u have been gone for MONTHS Fabian, my readers deserve to know if these products are worth getting

Fabian: get Marcus to do it

Vanessa: his reviews are terrible. no details. no explanations. u know this

Fabian: whatever. if i have time to do some ill let u kno

He stored the box in his closet to deal with later and ignored his phone's nonstop vibration to focus on getting ready. For his date. With Ryan fucking Price of all people.

How was this his life now?

He still hadn’t mentioned Ryan to Vanessa, a fact he knew he would be paying for later if this ever actually went anywhere. But… he also didn’t want to get his hopes up or bring anything up with his friends in case this didn’t go past the first date. He didn’t want to have to answer questions about it.

It was bad enough that he actually watched a hockey game in his own apartment for the first time ever, of his own volition, the night before, texting ‘congrats on the goal’ of all things to Ryan partway through and asking if his teammates were okay after the fight that broke out.

It’s just, he kind of knew those guys, had spent a whole day filming with them, and Hollander really didn’t seem like the kind of guy to throw gloves for no reason.

And now he was staring at the closet in his, admittedly much nicer than Toronto, apartment. Torn between what shirt to wear and how much jewelry was acceptable for a first date, debating between a sheer black top that would show off the purple nipple ring he planned to wear, or if he should keep it more modest and go with the floral blouse he got the week before.

Decisions, decisions…

He should probably go with the blouse, and save the sheer shirt for another night at the club. He had a new eyeshadow palette that complemented the colors perfectly and could wear his favorite choker to emphasize the neckline…

Decision made, he set the outfit aside and began on his face. Ryan would pick him up in just over an hour, and he didn’t want to leave him waiting while Fabian finished getting ready.

Ryan arrived exactly on time and knocked three times on Fabian’s front door. Fabian opened it with a smile, noting the way Ryan’s eyes widened and he scanned Fabian from head to toe with appreciation. He had dressed for the occasion as well, in a snug-fitting black button-down that hugged his pecs, the fabric pulled indecently tight over impressive muscle and rolled up to reveal massive forearms that Fabian would like to lick and possibly skip dinner to admire. His charcoal jeans were snug and accentuated his ass and thighs.

It was an incredibly distracting image. Some might even call it unfair, really.

“Hi,” Fabian smiled, leaning against the door frame.

Ryan shifted his weight from one leg to the other and stuffed his hands into too-tight pockets. “Hey,” he said back. “Ready?”

Fabian nodded and stepped into the hall, locking the door behind him. Ryan led him down to his car and drove to the restaurant, an intimate location on Preston Street that Fabian hadn’t heard of before. The atmosphere was casual enough, but the set menu and presentation of each dish indicated this was the kind of place Fabian wouldn’t usually choose for himself.

But it was thoughtful, the food was incredible, and Ryan was so bashful and charming about the whole thing that Fabian tried to put the price out of his mind. It wasn’t like Ryan couldn’t afford it as a professional hockey player with a salary to match.

“So, how are you liking Ottawa?” Ryan asked after a bit of silence.

Fabian’s eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. It seemed Ryan wasn’t going to suddenly be any less awkward.

“Honestly? It’s not nearly as bad as I worried it might be. I actually kind of like it here. I miss my friends in Toronto, though. We were pretty close, so it’s weird to only get to text and video chat with them now and then.”

“Tell me about them?” Ryan asked, and Fabian spent the remainder of the 9-course meal talking about Vanessa, Marcus, and Tarek. Ryan didn’t seem to mind. He was the perfect audience, rapt through every word, asking clarifying questions and making connections among various stories.

Fabian really wanted Ryan to meet his friends. Vanessa would probably terrify him, though. He didn’t seem like he would appreciate being ambushed into talking about sex.

When dinner was over, a multi-hour event that included a paired drink menu, Fabian still wasn’t ready for the night to be over. With every adorable blush and break in eye contact through the evening, Fabian increasingly wanted to move closer, taste the flush on Ryan’s cheeks, see how else he could make that blush appear for him, what other reactions he could tease from the man.

When they left, Fabian took Ryan’s free hand in the car and traced the lines of his palm with delicate fingers.

“Come up for a drink?” he asked when they arrived.

Ryan swallowed, his throat bobbing with the motion, and nodded. “Sure,” he croaked after a minute, blushing again.

Yeah, no. Fabian was absolutely going to bite the blush on his cheeks. If wine was the excuse, so be it. Ryan followed Fabian into the apartment and stood awkwardly by the door when Fabian went to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine from the fridge.

“Now,” Fabian joked. “I’ll have you know this is actually the second cheapest bottle of wine, not the first. So we’re really splurging tonight.”

Ryan laughed, a genuine sound that set his shoulders at ease. “I’m sure it will be great,” he said.

Fabian removed the cork and poured a generous amount into two mismatched cups he’d brought with him from Toronto. They were cheap thrift store purchases he’d made with Vanessa when furnishing his own place for the first time. He gave one glass to Ryan and led him into the living room, a feature his old apartment didn’t have. The beat-up sofa was new to him, purchased from a different thrift store down the street, and smelled faintly of mothballs. It was also a bright fuchsia with purple and teal pillows arrayed at the corners and a sunny yellow blanket thrown over the back. It was his favorite thrift find of the year, so far.

Ryan’s ridiculously large frame took up half the couch. Fabian tucked himself into the free corner and dug his toes under Ryan’s thigh. Ryan smiled at the action and took a sip from his glass.

“Thank you for dinner tonight,” Fabian said after a minute of silence.

Ryan smiled at his glass. He shot a look at Fabian through the corner of his eye, and mumbled, “I had a good time. Thank you for humoring me.”

“Humoring you?” Fabian questioned, too loud in the quiet apartment.

Ryan hummed, then took a sip of his wine. “I know I’m not, like, the most handsome guy around or anything. But I had a great time tonight. Thank you for going out with me.”

“Where is this coming from?” Fabian asked, baffled. “Ryan, you glorious hunk of a man, do you not see how hot you are? I asked you up to my apartment because I want you to fuck me on any available surface here you so choose, including but not limited to my new favorite couch.”

Ryan surpassed flushed and went straight to purple, his eyes wide in the low light spilling through the window and the Tiffany-style lamp in the corner. He sputtered. “I- ah. I don’t… I’m not good at, like, sex stuff. Are-“

Fabian cut him off. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. How could you not be good at sex?”

Ryan just looked back at him, startled and clearly grasping for any kind of control of his own thoughts and mouth again.

“Do you always make sure to have your partners' consent?” Fabian asked.

“Of course!”

“Do you use protection?” he continued. Ryan nodded, still looking incredibly embarrassed and confused.

“You care about your partner’s pleasure? Their comfort?”

Ryan nodded again. Fabian worried he might cry. That wasn’t what he was aiming for here.

“Then I don’t possibly see how you could be bad at sex, Ryan,” he reassured.

“I don’t- that is… it takes me a long time to come. Sometimes I don’t. It’s the anxiety medication I’m on, but also just… me. And I have, like, body issues, I guess…”

Fabian let him finish, waited to see if there was anything else he needed to convey. When it was clear Ryan was done, Fabian responded.

“None of that makes you bad at sex, Ryan. Is it still… pleasurable for you? Even if you don’t come?”

Ryan nodded eagerly. “Of course! Yeah, I mean sex can feel great, I just-“

Fabian cut him off again. “I really fucking want you, Ryan Price.”

At that, Ryan looked down at his lap, his shoulders hunched and hair sliding forward to hide his blush and the way he chewed at his bottom lip.

“Could we maybe start with kissing?” Fabian asked. Ryan looked just as startled by that request as he was by Fabian telling him he wanted to be fucked on every available surface of his new apartment.

“You would want that?”

“I have wanted to kiss you since we were teenagers. So yeah, I really want that.”

Ryan gave a bashful smile. “I thought you might do it, that day on the ferry.”

Fabian let loose a breathy laugh, full of wistful nerves from remembering the same night. “I wanted to,” he said. “I thought I was imagining things then, that there was no way you could be looking at me with the interest I wanted to see in your eyes.”

Ryan didn’t respond with words. He shifted on the couch to face Fabian, reached out to cup his face, and planted a kiss on his waiting lips. Fabian sank into the kiss, opening eagerly to suck Ryan’s tongue into his mouth and deepen it. Ryan pulled back, so close he had to scan from one eye to the other to take in Fabian’s full expression, to double check that this was really what Fabian wanted.

Fabian lunged forward and answered the question in his eyes with another kiss, deep and hungry, filthy where the first had been sweet and desperate where Ryan's had been searching with hopeful curiosity.

He crossed the distance between them and climbed into Ryan’s lap, moaning into the kiss and burying his fingers in Ryan’s thick hair.

Ryan’s hands slipped under Fabian’s shirt, then he froze. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“So okay,” Fabian assured. “Fuck, Ryan. Touch me anywhere you want. Touch me everywhere.”

Ryan’s hands tightened around his waist, so massive against Fabian’s narrow frame that his fingers could dip between Fabian’s back muscles while his thumbs almost reached his belly button.

“I need instruction,” he said. Fabian paused, put some distance between them to meet Ryan’s gaze, and make sure he was mentally in this discussion.

“Like, domination?” he asked.

“No,” Ryan denied. “Like, reassurance. That you like what I’m doing. That it’s okay. I get nervous, and my brain won’t stop questioning everything otherwise.”

“Okay,” Fabian agreed. “Yeah, okay, baby. I can do that,” he assured, then kissed and sucked the skin under Ryan’s ear. Ryan’s left hand slid up to Fabian’s nipple, brushing against the cool metal of the ring there. He startled and pulled away, but Fabian grabbed his hand through the fabric of his shirt and pulled it back.

“That feels so good,” Fabian encouraged. “Fuck, I love having my nipples played with. Please don’t stop.”

Ryan moaned and ran his thumb across the piercing more firmly, this time with purpose and intention. Fabian reached down to pull the floral blouse up and over his head, baring his torso for Ryan to explore. He rolled his hips against the growing bulge in Ryan’s jeans and moaned, crashing their lips together again. He bit and tugged at Ryan’s bottom lip, then nibbled across the cheeks that had been driving him crazy all night.

“You feel so good,” he panted. “Fuck. See, I have the opposite problem.”

Ryan made a questioning sound; it vibrated from deep in his throat.

“I come way too fucking fast,” Fabian explained. “But I can usually come more than once, so it's not, like, the end of sexy times. But fuck, Ryan. I’m so close. You haven’t even touched me, and I’m so close.”

Ryan moaned. One of his giant hands slipped lower, gripped Fabian by the hips, and encouraged him to grind against him harder.

“Stop,” Fabian whined, pulling back. Ryan’s hands instantly retreated, hovering in the air at Fabian’s sides. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I was going to come in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

Ryan sagged against the couch, reassured that he hadn’t done something wrong. “You can,” he said after a minute. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Fabian chuckled. “That’s not how I want to come tonight, Ryan Price. Fuck, can I blow you?”

Ryan blushed, his eyes went to the ceiling as he broke from Fabian’s gaze. “You definitely don’t want to do that,” he said.

Fabian groaned dramatically. “I love sucking dick, actually. Why wouldn’t I want to do that?”

Ryan stared at the corner of the ceiling. Fabian hoped there weren’t any cobwebs over there. “My dick is just… really ugly.”

Fabian snorted. “I seriously doubt that,” he denied. “Please?” he asked again.

Ryan sighed, but nodded. Fabian stood up. “Would it be better if we went to the bedroom?” he asked. “You could get comfortable, lie back against the pillows. I want to take my time with you tonight.”

Ryan looked uncertain, but he nodded and stood to follow Fabian. For all that it wasn’t a studio like his last apartment, this one was still pretty small as far as floor plans went, and they crossed to the bedroom door in just a few strides. Fabian held it open for Ryan to follow him in.

“Do you mind if I take the rest of my clothes off?” Fabian asked. Ryan shook his head in a solid no, even if it wasn’t exactly verbal. “Would you take yours off for me?” Fabian continued. “I want to see you.”

Ryan stared down at his feet, but after a minute he nodded and turned his back. His hands moved to unbutton his shirt, then one went over his head to pull off the tight undershirt, while the other went to his belt. In minutes, his clothes were piled on the floor. Back still to Fabian, he climbed onto the bed and turned around when he reached the pillows. His eyes were closed, one hand hovering near his groin like he intended to cover it.

“Ryan,” Fabian murmured reverently. “You are so unbelievably sexy. Please god let me touch you.”

Ryan chuckled and looked at him skeptically, like maybe Fabian was crazy.

“There is nothing ugly about your dick. Or any part of you, for that matter,” Fabian reassured.

In fact, the only word Fabian could think of to describe Ryan’s dick was ‘glorious’. It was massive, thick, and uncut, flushed even more than the apple of Ryan’s cheeks, even at his most embarrassed. Fabian needed it in his mouth, like, yesterday.

His own clothes abandoned in a pile on the floor, Fabian followed Ryan onto the bed and settled between his massive thighs. “I love your thighs,” he said.

Ryan laughed. “I guess you can thank hockey for that.”

“Fuck,” Fabian groaned. “I never thought I would thank hockey for anything. But yeah, I can thank hockey for these magnificent fucking thighs. I could live here, sandwiched between them.”

Ryan blushed, again at a loss for words. Fabian used one hand to support Ryan's massive dick and brought it closer to his lips, dipping his tongue in to tease at his slit.

“Oh, fuck,” Ryan groaned, falling back against the pillows and fisting the sheets.

Fabian grinned. Maybe he could get Ryan to come tonight after all. He really wanted to see the giant of a man fall apart in his hands, under his mouth. Taste his release on his tongue and wear it across his face.

He used one hand to work the shaft and slipped Ryan’s thick cock head into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around it and pressing against the underside with his tongue. He swallowed. How much of this could he take? Could he take Ryan all the way down, bury him in his throat? Probably not tonight, but he desperately wanted to try enough, practice this enough, that one day he would be able to.

Ryan grunted and moaned against the pillows, head thrown back with pleasure. His hips stuttered, almost choking Fabian, but his angle leaning over Ryan on the bed let him retreat fast enough to avoid it. He used his free hand to fondle Ryan’s massive balls, then slipped from his dick to suck on each of them. They were tight and heavy on his tongue. Ryan was so turned on, panting and shaking with it, trembling under Fabian’s touch. It was exhilarating to have the power to reduce a man as enormous as Ryan to such a state. Fabian thought it might become a problem; it was the kind of feeling all too easy to find oneself addicted to.

He climbed up Ryan’s body to his mouth and licked inside, rolling his own smaller cock against the spit-slick expanse of Ryan’s massive one. He wanted that cock inside him. He’d taken toys that big, but not in a long time.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “Ryan, I’m so close. Can I come on you, Ryan? Please, I-“

Ryan barely had a chance to nod before Fabian was coming all over him, ropes of cum shooting up his chest and stomach, catching in the thick blanket of hair of his massive pecs. Fabian whined, hips stuttering against Ryan’s dick.

Fabian bent down to suck the cum from Ryan’s chest. It never took long for him to bounce back from an orgasm like that, but this time Fabian thought he might still be hard. His erection wasn’t even going down.

“Please,” he begged. “Will you fuck me? You feel so good, Ryan. Want you in me. Want to watch you come while I ride your dick.”

Ryan nodded again, a rapid and almost convulsive shake of his head as he groaned into Fabian’s neck. Fabian reached for the lube and condoms he kept in the drawer of his nightstand. He dumped them on the bed next to Ryan and straddled him, lifting one giant hand to his mouth and sucking on the first two digits. He bobbed on them as he had on Ryan’s cock earlier, getting them all wet before guiding that same hand to his hole.

“Get me ready for you?” Fabian asked. Ryan gave a single nod and traced his spit-slick fingers over Fabian’s rim.

“Just like that,” Fabian praised. He pushed the lube into Ryan’s free hand and then braced himself with one hand on Ryan’s firm chest to lean down and kiss him. Ryan moaned into the kiss, slipping a lubed finger all the way in to the last knuckle, hooking it and searching for Fabian’s prostate.

Fabian moaned obscenely when he found it, muttering encouragements and begging for more. Ryan gave a kiss to his parted lips, then traced a path down his neck before latching onto his nipple over the piercing. He sucked the piercing into his mouth, and Fabian keened.

“Oh fuck,” Fabian whined. Ryan added another finger, traded his mouth for the thumb of his free hand, and twisted the piercing between his fingers. His lips traveled to Fabian’s other nipple, sucking it into his mouth and laving his tongue against the sensitive bud.

“More,” Fabian begged. He wanted to beg for Ryan’s cock, but there was no way two fingers would be enough. He needed a third first, preferably as soon as possible, so he could get Ryan’s dick in him before he came again.

He didn’t quite manage it. With Ryan’s mouth abusing one nipple and his free hand the other, three fingers still fucking his ass and massaging his prostate, Fabian came for the second time that night, almost as explosively as the first. His cum shot across Ryan’s chest, a few drops going so far as to catch in his beard.

“Don’t pull out,” Fabian pleaded when he felt Ryan’s fingers start to withdraw. He panted against the top of Ryan’s head, strands of his thick hair brushing his lips and nose. “Give me a minute,” he said. “Want to ride you.”

“Fabian,” Ryan protested gently. “You have to be sensitive.”

“No,” Fabian denied. “I like it. I’ll be okay. Just… give me a minute.”

Ryan sighed and fell back against the pillows, lips searching out Fabian’s in the dark. “Okay,” he agreed. He left his fingers inside and kissed Fabian deep and slow, tongue gliding past his lips and searching the deep crevices of his mouth. Fabian sighed and kissed him back.

As his energy returned, so too did Fabian’s arousal. Though his dick remained soft, it twitched valiantly with interest as he rocked back onto Ryan’s fingers in a silent request to continue. Ryan obliged and stretched his fingers wide, testing how loose Fabian was.

“I think I’m ready,” Fabian said. He held up a condom packet. “Mind if I get you dressed?”

Ryan chuckled. “Go right ahead.”

Fabian bit Ryan’s bottom lip, then licked it in apology before sitting back. He tore the packet between his teeth and pulled the condom out, held Ryan’s dick steady with one hand while the other slid the condom over the flushed head and down his shaft. Fabian positioned it at his hole.

“Ready?” he asked.

Ryan nodded, and Fabian lowered himself onto Ryan’s thick cock. It felt amazing. He never considered himself to be much of a size queen, but Ryan’s massive dick did something for him. He felt stretched wide, full enough to burst. He braced both hands on Ryan’s broad chest and caught his breath once Ryan was fully inside, then gave an experimental rock to test that he’d adjusted to it enough.

“You feel so good,” Fabian muttered, using one hand to stroke through the thick, curly hair on Ryan’s chest. “Fuck, your dick is amazing, Ryan. It fills me up so good.”

Ryan groaned, hands on Fabian’s waist tightening. Fabian rocked back again, and Ryan took that as permission to meet him with a rolling thrust. Fabian used his hands to push back against him, riding the desperate movements as they increased in speed and strength. Ryan’s hands on his waist were firm but gentle, holding him steady against the brutal pounding of his cock in Fabian’s ass.

“Can I have you on your back?” he asked. “I’m close. I think I can come like this.”

Fabian nodded. “Yes! Fuck, yes, me too. I’m going to come again.”

Fabian’s dick, erect again for the third time that night, slapped against his stomach as Ryan rolled them over, still buried in Fabian’s hole. His massive form blanketed Fabian, cutting him off from the outside world as he encased him with an arm braced to either side of Fabian’s head. He wrapped his legs around Ryan’s waist and used his feet on Ryan’s ass to urge him deeper, pull them closer. His dick was pressed between them, leaking against Ryan’s abdomen with every thrust. Fabian reached down with one hand and jerked himself in time with Ryan’s thrusts.

“Close,” Ryan grunted, losing his rhythm. Fabian whined and nodded against his shoulder, stripping his dick faster. Fabian cried out as he came, a pathetic spit of cum spilling over his hand, hardly more than the precum that had come before.

Ryan cursed, and his hips stuttered, following right behind. He fucked Fabian through the orgasm, only slipping out of his abused hole when he was fully done. Fabian sighed and kissed him, a slow and languid press of lips against lips.

“That was amazing,” he said once they both had a chance to catch their breath. “Please tell me we can do that again. I can’t remember the last time I came that much. Holy shit.”

Ryan chuckled. “I can’t remember the last time I came,” he joked.

Fabian poked him on one dimpled cheek. “Will you stay?” he asked.

Ryan bit his lower lip and nodded. “If you want,” he agreed.

Fabian beamed. “I definitely want,” he assured, then pulled Ryan off the bed to follow him to the shower. If he didn’t clean up now, he wouldn’t want to and would fall asleep. Best to get it over with.

Of course, the added benefit of a scalp massage when Ryan helped him lather his shampoo didn’t hurt as an incentive, either. They would have to share showers more often.

Chapter End Notes

Hope you liked the chapter! We'll be shifting away from this pairing some moving further into the story to give some more screen time to Troy/Harris and of course Ilya/Shane. I really enjoyed getting to play around with how these two might get together with slightly less trauma and under different circumstances! Don't worry, we will come back to their POV at least a couple more times before this is all said and done, but not for a little while. Until next time! <3

Chapter 15: Distance

Chapter Summary

The season continues, Shane and Ilya are feeling the distance this year more than ever before.

Chapter Notes

Ilya

Ilya let his suitcase hit the floor and rolled the tension from the flight to New York out of his shoulders. The last time he was here, the Centaurs played the Admirals, and he got to spend the whole night wrapped around Shane. This time, his hotel room was as empty as his house back in Boston. Shane wouldn’t be joining him; he was in a different time zone on a roady with his own team.

New York didn’t feel right anymore without him. This was as much his city as Ottawa, as far as Ilya was concerned. He sprawled on the bed with his shoes still on, left them hanging over the end to not track dirt on the comforter, and pulled his phone out to re-read the message Kyle sent earlier. He needed to send a response before Kyle started to worry.

Kyle: excited 4 game tn!

Ilya stared at the message, cursor blinking in the response window. Kyle would be there supporting Eric, of course, and Kip would be there for his dinosaur husband. They all had plans to hang out at the Kingfisher after the game.

Ilya: Admirals ready to lose?

Kyle: as if! Admirals are on FIRE this year!

Ilya laughed and shook his head. The admirals were doing pretty well, but the season was early, and Ilya could see the gaps in their bench that Shane left behind. They still had a strong chance at the playoffs, but he didn’t see them making the cup again that year. Besides, a third-year Stanley Win would be kind of crazy. It wasn’t something that had been done in this century. Granted, Scott Hunter was probably old enough to remember the last New York streak of cups.

Ilya: like candle maybe

Ilya: small one… what do you call? tea candle?

Kyle: tealight?

Ilya: YES! tealight

Ilya: very small fire

Ilya chuckled, imagining the twist to Kyle’s face as he read the insult to his boyfriend’s team. Kyle didn’t even like hockey, really, not like Kip. It was adorable how into it he got just to keep pace with the other SAPs and his boyfriend. Like a cute, angry kitten unsure of why it’s even mad.

Normally, this easy banter with his favorite of the New York bunch would have made Ilya giddy. But he just felt really tired. Texting Kyle that he planned to take a nap, Ilya kicked his shoes off and crawled under the comforter, still in his clothes from the plane. Practice that morning had been brutal, and they didn’t have to leave for the game for hours. He might as well get some sleep.

Beating Scott Hunter on his home ice was one of Ilya’s favorite pastimes long before Shane ever joined the team. He let the buzz of victory fill him the whole way to the Kingfisher and smiled at the screen of his phone when it vibrated in his hand.

Shane: Good game! I have to go soon, they’re calling for warmups. Be nice to Scott!

Ilya traced the name on his home screen, a gentle smile still pulling the corners of his lips. Not so long ago, that name would have started with a ‘J’.

Ilya: try not to lose so bad, love you <3

He took a minute to adjust his hair before snapping a selfie in the back of the car, tongue sticking out childishly, and hit send.

Shane took a selfie while flipping him the bird. Ilya saved it to the folder where he kept all their pictures. Well, the appropriate one that wasn’t locked and password-protected, at least.

The Kingfisher was as packed as it always was on a Saturday night, but their group had their usual table reserved, and Kyle, Kip, Scott, and Eric were already there with drinks in hand.

“Look who decided to finally show up!” Eric cried, sliding the drink they ordered for him over. The vodka here wasn’t great, but it would do. Ilya had been trying to convince Kyle to get the owner to upgrade for years, but Kyle said the man was ‘resistant to change’… whatever that meant.

“So sorry, busy celebrating win with team, yes? I know this is rare for Admirals so I understand if you don’t remember how it works.”

Scott groaned and let his face fall on his arms over the table. “Why are you always like this? I will never understand what Shane sees in you!”

Kip laughed and soothed his husband’s back with a teasing smile and little taunting murmurs of “there, there” through his laughter.

“We’ve got the Cents game up at the bar!” Kyle enthused. “They seem like they’re doing a lot better these days.”

Ilya nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, have decent coach now. Has made good trades for team. New goalie is very good.”

Ilya watched as the Los Angeles players were introduced to the crowd, skating through the tunnel to cheers and flashing lights. He hated playing West Coast games. With the time change, he inevitably felt exhausted the whole game.

“How is Barrett fitting in?” Scott asked. That had been a surprise for Ilya. He never thought Barrett, of all people, would end up traded from the Guardians.

Ilya grimaced and took a sip of his drink. “Shane says he is quiet. I guess even assholes know when to tone down for new team, no?”

Eric nodded, watching the game as well. “Yeah, give him time. Maybe he will come around.”

Ilya snorted. “Will not hold breath,” he said.

They spent most of their time together talking about Eric and Kyle’s trip over the summer, Eric’s burgeoning photography, and Kip and Kyle’s grad school classes. Scott chimed in with news on the different charities he was working with that year, and Ilya poked fun at him for being so boring and nice.

“You should have been Canadian, Hunter,” he teased while Scott apologized over getting Kip’s drink order wrong while Kip was in the bathroom. Obviously, he should have known Kip wanted something different and not a repeat of his first order.

By the time the third period of Shane’s game rolled around, the Centaurs were tied 1-1 and might have an honest chance of pulling a win, and their group was well and truly drunk. Well, with the exception of Eric, of course. And Ilya obviously, Russians hold their liquor too well to ever really get drunk, after all.

“Do you think he’s happy?” Kip asked, full maudlin, where he slumped against Scott’s side.

“Hollander?” Eric asked.

Kip nodded morosely and bit his bottom lip.

“He is adjusting,” Ilya said. “Maybe not happy yet. He likes to win and team is… not very good. But they are kind. Is good for him.”

“We were kind and good for him!” Kip whined, flopping dramatically away from Scott to fall over Kyle on his other side.

Eric chuckled and shook his head. “You have to let it go, Kip. Let the baby bird fly the nest, yeah?”

Ilya snorted, imagining Shane hearing Eric call him a baby bird. He would do that adorable thing with his face where he got all pouty and offended. It was a cute look. Ilya liked to lick the wrinkles near his eyes when he made it.

“Yes, maybe Admirals would have won tonight if Shane still centered second line,” Ilya nodded.

Scott shoved him. “Not cool, Rozanov.”

Eric shook his head and choked back laughter, hiding the struggle with a fake sip from his drink. It would be a lot more convincing if he pretended to swallow.

Kyle, apparently over serving as furniture for a drunk Kip, climbed into his boyfriend’s lap and planted sloppy kisses where his skin met the collar of his shirt, one hand slipping up the front of the loose fabric.

Ilya laughed at Eric’s embarrassed look around the table, the tendy's hands raised to each side in a plea of innocence. They all were more than familiar with how handsy Kyle got after a few rounds and only laughed at Eric’s expense.

The whole table cheered when Shane slipped a puck into the net minutes before the end of the third. Ilya watched his fiancé’s little understated celly with a fond smile. His Shane was very cute, all humble and Canadian.

When the buzzer went, and the Centaurs dogpiled Shane in celebration of the win, Ilya sent him a text to congratulate him. They had won a few games since the trades for Price and Hayes, though Ilya’s personal favorite was still the win against the Metros. He had made sure to let Shane know exactly how sexy that right hook was when they Facetimed later that night.

He knew it would be too late for a similar celebration for this win. Shane would go to sleep as soon as the bus returned to their hotel. He had an afternoon game the next day in San Jose. He and the team would need their rest.

So when the celebrations over Shane’s win settled down, Ilya said his goodbyes and called for a car to take him back to his own hotel. He dozed with his head against the glass on the ride back, struggled through a rudimentary shower, and brushed his teeth before falling into bed and pulling the covers over his face. Exhausted, he was asleep in minutes.

Shane

Shane made it back to Ottawa still buzzing from the three-game winning streak his team had accomplished on the road. It was their last road trip before Christmas, with just a couple of weeks left before Ilya would arrive to spend the holiday with him at the cottage.

Maybe they would get caught in a blizzard and snowed in, and Ilya would have to stay even longer. Crazier things had happened, right?

Just months into the season, and Shane missed him, reaching for him like a phantom limb as he moved through the house they’d only just started to make their home. Sometimes he would walk past the couch and see the shadow of Ilya there, only to turn and see the shadow gone the minute he gave his full attention to the room.

They had managed distance for years; why was it suddenly so much harder now that it wasn’t a secret? Now that everyone knew and they could talk about each other and be seen together in public. Shane wanted Ilya with him everywhere, all the time. He felt greedy with it.

Of course, the house was empty when he arrived. Ilya wasn’t even in Boston, on a roady of his own for a few more days. He had a game in Texas that would be starting in just a few hours. Shane wondered if Marlow was sick of hearing Ilya complain about the team yet, or the weather, or how boring the clubs were.

Maybe he should send Marly a fruit basket. The poor man put up with a lot. The card could say something like “I’m sorry my fiancé is such an annoying asshole, thanks for putting up with him!”

Should Shane get a cat? Ilya liked animals, right? Maybe the house wouldn’t feel so empty if there were another breathing thing there all the time. And cats were easy; his parents would be happy to stop by a couple of times a day to check on it while Shane was out on road trips.

Shane pulled his phone out.

Shane: do you like cats?

He smiled when the little dots appeared right away, signaling that Ilya had read his message and was responding.

Ilya: dogs are better

Shane: is that a no?

Ilya: you think I am monster? cat is animal, all animals are cute Hollander

Shane rolled his eyes. Leave it to Ilya to turn any conversation into an opportunity to chirp him.

Ilya: why? you want cat?

Shane: I don’t know. The house is just… quiet. Without you.

Shane bit his lip. That was probably too much. He knew Ilya missed him, too. It wasn’t fair to make Ilya feel guilty over not being there when Shane knew he would hop on the first plane to Ottawa, given half the chance.

It took a while for the response to come. Instead of a text, his screen lit up with a FaceTime request.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your game?” Shane asked as soon as the call connected. Only after did he notice the hum of a busy locker room around Ilya, the pads he was wearing, and the familiar backdrop of the room around him.

“I miss you too, любовь,” Ilya said instead of answering the question.

Shane wiped at his traitorous eyes, swiping the moisture away before it could betray him. “It’s stupid,” he chastised himself. “I’ll see you in two weeks. I’m sorry to worry you before a game. I’m being ridiculous.”

“Is not ridiculous, Shane,” Ilya denied. “I miss you too. Does not matter if is for one day or many months. Any time apart is too long.”

Shane gave up the battle with his tears, letting them fall fat and ugly down his cheeks. Ilya cooed reassurances from over a thousand miles away.

“You should get cat,” Ilya said when Shane had a little more control over himself. “It will be boring, just like you. We can get dog some other time, yes?”

Shane laughed, the sound wet with mucus from his crying jag, and rolled his eyes at Ilya.

“You have to finish getting ready, Ilya. Your team is waiting on you.”

Ilya groaned and slumped against his locker. “See? Boring. Love you. Watch us win, okay?”

Shane laughed and shook his head at Ilya’s antics. “Yes, of course,” he agreed, already turning the TV on. “I will watch and tell you everything you did wrong that led to your loss in Texas, of all places. I’ll record it so we can go over it in more detail when you get home for Christmas.

Ilya scowled and grumbled half-heartedly at the dig, then ended the call to finish getting ready. Shane took the time before the game started to make something quick for dinner. He missed the ease of the frozen meals Ilya had left for him. Instead, he had to cook for himself.

Chapter End Notes

Well, you know... sometimes we get the angst part of the "fluff and angst". Poor babies are going through it! Anyways, hope you enjoyed getting some Shane/Ilya POV. I love all the side characters and relationships, but I have to admit I've been missing these two! Until next time! <3

Chapter 16: Settling In

Chapter Summary

Troy hasn't bothered settling in to Ottawa yet, Harris takes him on a tour of the city after practice.

Chapter Notes

Troy

Troy didn’t know what to make of the Centaurs. The whole team was bizarre. With Ryan Price happily dating his indie artist boyfriend and Hollander making moon eyes over fucking Ilya Rozanov anytime the man was so much as mentioned in his proximity, it was starting to feel weirder to be in the closet than out of it.

Hollander being gay was a fact that had stood at the periphery of Troy’s career since his second year with the Guardians. He remembered vividly when Hollander was outed, the way the locker room filled with gleeful, derogatory banter for weeks after as the team speculated on if he took it up the ass, whose cocks he had sucked, if he was endearing himself to the new team in New York by getting on his knees for them.

The media was a shitstorm of rumor and speculation, deriding him for being a poor role model and questioning his right to be a figurehead and play for the MLH with such a scandal hanging over his head. Like there weren’t players out there with scandals over much worse things.

From the minute he started to understand his own sexuality and lack of interest in women, Troy knew he wouldn’t be able to live openly with his chosen career and had doubled down on the macho act learned at his father’s knee to blend in with Kent and the rest of his team. Hollander’s experience being outed just proved it. Troy wasn’t nearly the level of a star player that Hollander was, either. If it ever came out that he was gay, that would be the end of his career.

Then Hunter came out right before the playoffs and proposed to his boyfriend at center fucking ice after winning the Stanley Cup. At least there was time for his teammates to get over that bomb drop before he had to share a locker room with them again at the start of the next season. He was happy for Hollander that New York had been so accepting. He wondered if the whole team was, or if it was just Hunter. Either way, they had to be handling it a lot better than Troy knew the Guardians ever would.

And while Troy wasn’t embarrassed by being gay, he never wanted to be anywhere but that Toronto locker room, wearing the blue uniform of his team. He loved being a Guardian more than he hated his team’s attitude towards him and men like him. He would just have to make sure they never found out.

But now Troy wasn’t even a Guardian anymore. They had dropped him, just like that. Just for refusing to stick up for Kent when he was being even more of an asshole than usual. He kept that team running while Kent was out on injury recovery, and they repaid him by tossing him aside the minute their star player returned to the ice. All that effort, all that hiding. In the end, it was for absolutely fucking nothing.

And here the Centaurs were, being everything the Guardians weren’t. Bood’s wife had apparently renamed the WAGs and invited Rozanov and Fabian Salah to the group chat. They planned fucking events together for birthdays and shit. Troy went to the team barbeques at Bood’s house because he had to at least try to get along with the new team, and couldn’t believe how chill everyone was at the last one when Fabian sat in Price’s lap the whole time, makeup dancing in the light of the fire, rings sparkling on the hand that gripped Price’s thigh possessively.

And then there was Harris. Their social media manager, who walked fiercely into the locker room, chest adorned with pride pins, and not a single player so much as flinched, hiding themselves with added towels or glares for privacy. Truly, no one gave a shit.

Troy tried really hard not to visibly give a shit either, but it was fucking distracting to try to will himself not to get a hard on when the only barrier separating himself from the eyes of his team was a flimsy fucking towel.

“Do you have a minute?” Harris asked, coming to a stop right in front of Troy’s locker, his belt buckle inches from Troy’s face and dick print visible in too-tight jeans. Troy forced his eyes closed and pulled up the most unsexy thoughts he could think of.

He counted back from ten, angled his face up to meet Harris’ eyes instead of his crotch, and opened them.

“Sure,” he grunted.

Harris smiled. “Great! I’m doing a series showcasing different team members’ hobbies, like Bood’s barbeques and Hayes' comics collection. What do you do for fun other than hockey?”

Troy scowled. “I-uh. Don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have, like, hobbies or whatever,” he explained.

“What do you do when you leave the rink then?” Harris asked.

Telling him he went straight back to the hotel and tried to disappear into ESPN was probably not what Harris had in mind. Too bad for him that Troy really didn’t do anything for fun. He used to hang out with Kent and the team. Sometimes he had video sex with his hot movie star boyfriend. Obviously, that wasn’t happening anymore.

Seeing Harris looking increasingly distressed over Troy’s lack of a life outside the rink, he blurted. “I used to play tennis?”

Harris rolled his eyes. “That’s just more sports! What about video games?”

Troy shrugged. “Yeah, sometimes I guess.”

Harris smiled. “Favorite Mario Kart character to play?”

Troy rolled his eyes to the ceiling. At least it let him look away from Harris’ distracting face. “Mario?”

“Is that a question?” Harris laughed.

“No,” Troy denied. “I like to play as Mario, usually.”

Seemingly amused by the lack of personality in Troy’s response, Harris gave up the line of questioning. “Well, maybe we can get Bood to bring out Mario Kart next time we’re at his place with the team.”

Troy nodded.

“Are you busy?” Harris asked. Troy shook his head.

“Not really,” he muttered.

“Want to get some coffee, and I can show you around? You haven’t really explored Ottawa much since the move, have you?”

Troy sighed heavily and nodded. He really didn’t fucking care about what Ottawa had to offer. It was tiny compared to Toronto, with little nightlife to speak of and a quiet energy that he guessed some would describe as peaceful. It wasn't exactly a poppin' place.

“Yeah, okay,” he said instead of the rejection he should have given. What else did he have to do, anyway? They didn’t have a game that night, and practice was over. Harris beamed at the concession.

“Meet me at my office when you’re ready?” he asked. Troy nodded in confirmation, and Harris left him be for the time being. He turned to grab his clothes from the locker, only to catch Price staring at him with a puzzled expression. Harris decided to ignore him and turned his back, focusing on getting dressed and out of there as quickly as he could.

Harris

Harris wasn’t sure what compelled him to offer to show Troy around Ottawa, but he just seemed so isolated. He wasn’t blending right into the team like Hayes or showing signs of gradual trust and comfort like Price. There was something wary and sad about Troy. He remembered Troy saying his girlfriend had left him when he was traded and wondered if that was the cause of his sadness and lack of interest in getting to know the new team.

It had to be hard, suddenly moving from everything you knew like that on the whim of a team you’d given everything to.

Granted, Harris knew it probably had to do with the crush he had on Troy Barrett acting up again. He was at least self-aware enough to acknowledge that his ridiculous feelings were at play. It wasn’t like he was going to act on them or anything. Troy was straight, having a visibly rough time settling into a new city, and heartbroken besides.

But he was also gorgeous, even more unfairly beautiful than Hollander, and Harris was a simple man with an active libido and functioning eyes. Straight or not, he could acknowledge a beautiful man when he saw one.

Not to mention the whole tortured poet thing he had going on. Just… very pretty, all around. Ten out of ten, Harris loved his job.

He used the time it took Troy to get dressed to collect himself in his office and remind his over-interested dick that this was not a date and he was just showing a new member of the team around the city Harris had grown up in. By the time Troy knocked on the door, now fully dressed with his incredible guns hidden away under a loose gray sweater, black coat thrown casually over one arm, Harris had been mostly successful in talking himself down.

He walked with Troy to the coffee shop across the street and squealed in delight when he saw the sign advertising that their eggnog latte was back.

“What?” Troy asked, bewildered at Harris’ reaction.

“I love their eggnog lattes,” Harris explained, pointing to the sign. “Have you had an eggnog latte before?”

Troy shook his head. “No,” he added. “Not really into sugary drinks.”

Harris chuckled. “Okay, yeah. I can see that, I guess. Well, I for one am getting an eggnog latte. What do you want? My treat this time.”

Troy smiled at him. “Just a black coffee is fine.”

Once they had their drinks, Harris led Troy back out and set off down the street, pointing out different landmarks near the rink as they went. It was incredibly cold, and both were bundled up in oversized coats: Harris with a colorful scarf and matching fingerless gloves his sister had made for him, and Troy in all gray and black, except for the solid blue scarf wrapped around his neck that matched his eyes.

He was incredibly well dressed for a straight hockey player, Harris thought. Definitely better dressed than Hollander had a tendency to be. That was a low bar, though.

“Have you found an apartment yet?” Harris asked during a lull between landmarks.

Troy shrugged, kicking a rock down the sidewalk in front of them. “Haven’t really looked, yet.”

“If you want any recommendations, I’m happy to help with that too! Wyatt was telling me the place he’s moving to is nice, fully furnished with laundry service and everything. Has he mentioned it to you?”

Troy shook his head in answer, hands stuffed in his coat pockets and still staring down at the sidewalk.

“I can ask him to give you the information on it. Maybe you two could carpool, even!”

Troy didn’t indicate much of a response, but Harris kept talking. So Troy wasn’t much of a talker? Harris was a pro at carrying on any conversation, always had been.

He kept the conversation light, pointing out different parks and buildings and answering the occasional question when Troy mustered the energy to speak. For all that it was cold, the weather was beautiful, and the time out of his office felt freeing. Harris really needed to get out more; he was becoming chained to his work computer.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” Troy asked out of the blue, halfway across a bridge over the Rideau. There weren’t any skaters on it yet, but Harris knew there soon would be. Maybe he could convince the team to go and create some content with him.

“What?” Harris asked, startled out of his planning. He considered it, then continued. “No, haven’t even been on any dates lately. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job! But the hours are a bit crazy.”

Troy nodded his head, looking out over the river. “The team seems really… cool with it. Like, the whole gay thing.”

Harris chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “They would kind of have to be, what with Hollander as the star center and everything.”

Troy tilted his head into the wind and closed his eyes. His cheeks were red from the bite of it against his skin. “It’s strange,” he said. “Most teams would have a big problem with an out player like that. Montreal did, back when Hollander first came out.” He looked down at his hands, covered in soft-looking leather gloves. “The Guardians would, even today.”

“Yeah, well,” Harris said. “Change has to start somewhere.”

Troy met his gaze with a bitter smile. “Yeah, guess so,” he agreed.

Harris didn’t quite know where to go next in this conversation. “Does it bother you?” he asked.

Troy shook his head quickly. “No, I’m not, like, a homophobe or whatever.”

Harris gave an encouraging smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I kind of got that.”

The rest of their walk passed in mostly comfortable silence, and when Harris waved goodbye at Troy’s hotel, he took a minute to appreciate the delicate smile on Troy’s face. He hoped that Troy would soon start to feel a little more welcome. He wasn’t sure what happened with the Guardians, but he got the feeling this trade was a them problem, not a Troy Barrett one.

Chapter End Notes

Confession: I still have no idea how long this sequel is going to be. I am absolutely a discovery writer and I usually have a few major plot points I'm working toward but the road map to get there and tie them all together is often as much of a mystery to me as it is to you all. That said, I think this is going to end up being longer than ITAV, there are just a lot more developing characters and relationships involved. Anyways, I hope you're all enjoying the ride! Until next time! <3

Chapter 17: Holiday Cheer

Chapter Summary

Ilya returns to Ottawa to spend his break with Shane. Shane gets a chance to show him off to the team the next day at Bood's Christmas party.

Chapter Notes

Shane

When Shane made it back to the house from the last home game before Christmas, Ilya was already there, waiting in the living room. Surprised to see him, Shane kicked his shoes off, didn’t even bother with putting them away or trading them for his house slippers, and ran on socked feet across the entrance way and straight into Ilya’s open arms.

“Hello, любовь,” Ilya greeted, arms wrapped tight around Shane’s shoulders and nose buried in Shane’s hair.

“I thought you weren’t coming until the morning. Didn’t you have a game this afternoon?” Shane asked, stepping back just enough to scan Ilya’s face with mild concern. Had he missed something? Was Ilya hurt? Had something happened?

Ilya smiled and stroked a hand down Shane’s face from his cheeks to his bottom lip. “I could not sleep without you one more night,” he explained. “Changed flight. Could not wait any longer.”

Shane felt the warmth of his own tears as he cupped Ilya’s face with both hands and brought their lips together in a tender kiss. “I love you so much,” he murmured into the kiss. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Oh?” Ilya hummed. “How can you show me this, I wonder?”

Shane laughed, face still pressed close to Ilya’s, not wanting an inch between them if he could help it. “I can think of a few ways.”

Ilya groaned and slid Shane’s jacket off his shoulders, throwing it in the direction of the couch before moving onto the buttons of his shirt. He bit and licked at every bit of exposed skin as he worked through the buttons, pulled it free from the waistband of Shane's pants, and knelt down to finish what he started. Shane tangled his fingers in Ilya’s hair, head thrown back and eyes closed. He moaned when Ilya reached his sensitive abdomen and licked at the skin there, dipping his tongue into Shane’s belly button, then traveling lower.

“Fuck, Ilya,” he whined, hips chasing Ilya’s retreating mouth when he sat back to undo Shane’s belt and fly. Ilya smirked up at him.

“Something you want, Hollander?”

Shane chuckled. “You know damn well what I want, Ilya. Suck me, please. God, I missed your mouth.”

Ilya’s smirk grew a predatory edge. “And here I thought you missed charming, sweet fiancé. You only miss my mouth, Shane?”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Shane groaned.

Ilya’s smirk evened out into a fond smile. “Yes, любовь, I know.”

He followed the reassurance with a firm bite to the jut of Shane’s hip and slipped Shane’s pants down to pool at his feet, encouraging him to lift each foot and sliding the pants and underwear off to the side. Shane’s erection stood flushed and leaking before him, and Ilya leaned forward to take him eagerly into his mouth.

“Ilya,” Shane cried, fingers tightening in Ilya’s hair. Ilya moaned around his cock, sucking him deeper, then bobbing back to do it again. “Ilya, please. Don’t stop.”

Ilya moaned again and gripped Shane’s ass with both hands, hard enough that Shane knew there would be bruises in the shape of his fingers there for days. Feeling like his legs might give out, Shane braced himself on Ilya’s shoulders, abandoning his curls as the feeling of Ilya’s wet mouth on his dick overwhelmed everything else.

“Shit, I’m close,” he warned. Ilya didn’t let up. In moments, Shane was shooting down his throat, every drop swallowed expertly before it could escape. Ilya licked any remaining mess clean from Shane’s softening cock before standing again to pull him into another deep kiss.

“I think my mouth missed your cock, too,” he joked, grinning. Shane laughed and shook his head. “Up for round two?”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed. “Just give me a minute.”

Ilya nodded and, still fully dressed, gathered Shane’s discarded clothes on his way to the stairs. Shane followed him up to the bedroom. They had a lot of catching up to do.

Ilya

As soon as Shane’s dirty suit was put away with the rest of his dry cleaning, Ilya stripped out of his own clothes and tossed them in the hamper. “I smell like plane,” he said, catching Shane leaning in the bedroom doorway and staring at him. “I will shower. Get your hole ready for me, yes? Will be good boy and not touch greedy cock while I am gone?”

Shane bit his lip and nodded, cheeks flushed with a beautiful blush that made his freckles stand out all the more. Ilya watched him push off the door frame and cross over to the nightstand where they kept the lube, then he turned his back on the sight of his naked fiancé to enter the bathroom. If he stared any longer, he wasn’t going to have patience for a shower.

Speeding through with a quick scrub of his body, Ilya finished rinsing the shampoo from his hair and didn’t so much as bother with conditioner before calling it a good enough attempt and stepping out to dry off. He was still toweling his hair mostly dry when he walked back into the bedroom to find Shane, ass in the air and three fingers working his hole open with the lube coating them and his asshole shining in the low light of the bedroom lamps.

“Did you touch your cock?” Ilya asked, unable to see it from this angle, but knowing Shane would be hard again and weeping against the sheets from the gentle tremor of his thighs.

“No,” Shane moaned, rocking back on his fingers. Ilya crossed the room and climbed onto the bed behind him.

“Good boy,” he praised. “Take your fingers back. Hole is mine now.”

Shane whimpered and slipped his fingers from his hole obediently. Ilya bent over Shane’s back to grab both hands in one of his own, lifting them to the top of the headboard. Shane shuffled forward to keep his balance.

“Leave them,” Ilya demanded when he took his hand away. Shane nodded wildly. Seeking to soothe some of that nervous energy, Ilya ran his hands up and down Shane’s exposed sides. Shane pushed back into his touch, pressing his back against Ilya’s chest and releasing a low, extended moan. Ilya reached around to run a thumb over one of Shane’s nipples, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, then giving it a firm pinch. He held the pressure there, watched Shane squirm with pleasure and the smallest whimpers of pain.

“So good for me,” Ilya praised. He released the peaked bud and ran his hand down Shane’s chest to trail his fingertips teasingly over Shane’s cock, slipping through an impressive amount of precum leaking from the tip on his way down the shaft to Shane’s tight balls.

“Ready to come again so soon?” he mocked. “Eager, no?”

Shane keened, thrusting forward in a search for pressure that Ilya refused to give. He bit the lobe of Shane’s ear and pulled it with his teeth. “Not yet,” Ilya admonished, licking into the shell. “You will be patient. Only good boys get to come.”

Shane keened, falling forward to rest his forehead on his hands. He bit the skin there, face red and tears streaming from between closed lids. Ilya braced a hand next to Shane’s on the headboard, gripped the back of his neck firmly with the other, and leaned forward to press fully against Shane’s back and lick the tears from his cheek.

“Shh, мое солнышко, easy. I have you, yes?”

Shane nodded, some of the tension leaving his frame as he slumped back into Ilya’s firm hold. Ilya released his hold on the back of Shane’s neck to trace down his spine to his stretched rim, pushing inside with two fingers to test that Shane was still relaxed and ready for him. He sat back and removed the fingers, pulling Shane back by his hips until his arms were stretched to their limits, balance precarious between his locked arms and Ilya’s hands. It was a position that would take effort to hold if he wanted to be good and keep his hands where Ilya left them.

Shane whined at the change and then again when Ilya encouraged him to spread his knees further apart.

“Beautiful,” Ilya praised, rubbing his thumb over the slick rim of Shane’s twitching hole. “Don’t move.”

Ilya leaned forward onto his elbows and spread Shane’s cheeks with his hands, and dipped forward to lick a flat stripe up from his perineum to his rim, then covered the ring of muscle with his open mouth and fucked his tongue inside while Shane screamed and shuddered, struggling not to lose his balance or his grip on the headboard. Ilya took his time, waited until only whimpers and little choked sobs still escaped from between Shane’s lips, then took the abandoned lube bottle from the sheets and spread a generous amount over his cock. He walked forward on his knees, one hand gripping his cock to guide it to Shane’s hole, and slowly eased inside, inch by inch.

Shane couldn’t thrust back and keep his hands on the headboard; he could only hold himself where he was, arms trembling, face red and tear-stained, while Ilya took him apart. Only once he was fully inside did Ilya lean forward to plant a kiss on the back of Shane’s neck.

“Good boy,” Ilya praised. He was so hard, knew that he couldn’t last, but he wanted to keep Shane like this forever. He rolled his hips forward, burying his dick inside as deep as it would go with agonizing slowness, never pulling out so much as rocking against him in one continuous motion. Unable to hold back anymore, Ilya reached over Shane to pull first one hand, then the other, down from the headboard, kissing his palms each time and planting them on the bed so Shane could brace himself.

Then Ilya let himself go. Hand’s gripping Shane’s hips to pull him back against Ilya's thrusts, he fucked Shane hard and fast, balls slapping against him with every snap of Ilya's hips. English abandoned him, and all he had left to give were muttered Russian curses and praises. Shane came within minutes of Ilya letting go, clenching around him and cum shooting across the sheets as he collapsed face-first into the mattress.

Ilya kept going, seeking his own release as his balls tightened and his hips stuttered. He cried out as he came, groaning Shane’s name over and over until the last of his cum was buried inside and leaking around his spent cock. Ilya slipped his fingers inside to plug in the rest when he pulled out, bent down to lick around the digits for every drop that escaped. Shane shuddered with each swipe of ilya's tongue, panting against the sheets, completely spent.

By the time Ilya had gathered enough energy to carry Shane to the bath, he was asleep. He barely stirred at the touch of warm water or when Ilya dragged a washcloth over his body to wipe away the sweat and cum that coated his skin.

Ilya followed him into sleep soon after, spooned together in the clean sheets of the guest room bed, too tired to change their own bedsheets and knowing Shane wouldn’t appreciate waking up in the dirty ones. It was the best sleep Ilya had had in over a month.

Shane

The next morning, Shane woke to find himself wrapped in Ilya’s arms in the guest bedroom and had no memory of getting there, but couldn’t bring himself to mind in the face of a warm, sleepy Ilya splayed out over the sheets. Probably sensing his gaze, Ilya blinked awake moments later, and they smiled at each other.

“Good morning,” Shane murmured into the shared quiet.

Ilya closed his eyes in bliss, smile deepening. “Good morning, sweetheart.” His eyes opened again, and he reached out to stroke the side of Shane’s face. “Coffee?” he offered.

“Ugh, yes, please,” Shane groaned, pulling himself up and running his fingers through his hair. It was tangled from having gone to bed with it wet, and snagged on Shane’s fingers when he tried to comb them through.

Ilya bent over to kiss the space just under Shane’s clavicle, then slipped from the sheets and walked back to their bedroom. Shane followed him, and they crossed over to the ensuite to brush their teeth. Shane caught Ilya’s eye in the mirror, still scrubbing away his morning breath, and gave a foamy grin around the handle of his toothbrush.

He didn’t realize how much he missed even the little things, like having Ilya there in the mornings when he brushed his teeth.

“So,” Shane said, hands cupped around the fresh cup of coffee Ilya placed in them. “Bood is having a Christmas party for the team tonight.”

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed. “Have talked about this with Cassie in SAP's chat. We will go, yes?”

Shane grinned and nodded. “Yeah, of course. Only if you feel up to it, though. You just got here, I would understand if you're tired.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Of course, I will come spend time with your team. Is my duty as WAG,” Ilya waggled his eyebrows, and Shane snorted at him.

“It’s SAPs now,” Shane contested.

Ilya dramatically draped a hand over his chest. “I am WAG at heart,” he insisted, then crossed the kitchen to pour his own cup.

Coffee was followed by breakfast, which was followed by another round of sex on the couch and a brief swim in the pool, and before Shane knew it, it was time to get ready for Bood’s party. For the first time since he and Ilya went to The Lookout, Shane put a little more effort into his appearance. The last thing he wanted was Ilya reporting back to Kyle that Shane wasn’t dressing himself properly anymore.

“Hmm, very nice,” Ilya hummed appreciatively, admiring the big-collared, black leather jacket and tight-fitting black shirt underneath. Shane had decided to keep it simple by pairing the look with black jeans that hugged his ass, and Ilya’s gaze suggested he hoped Shane might agree to skip the party after all. Even Shane’s hair was styled, longer now than he’d let it grow in years, with gel giving texture to the parted strands.

Of course, Ilya always dressed well, looking like he was going to a club in Amsterdam and not Shane’s teammates’ house. Maybe they could leave early. They didn’t have to stay the whole night, right?

Shane drove them to Bood’s and ignored Ilya’s complaints about his boring car and slow driving. Despite Ilya’s concerns, they made it on time and walked hand in hand through the house to the backyard, where a few other members of the team were already gathered around the fire. Christmas decorations and a huge tree adorned the back patio, with heaters evenly spaced to warm the area and a table of holiday-themed drinks and snacks tucked against one wall. They walked over to the tree first, setting the white elephant gifts Shane prepared earlier that week down with the rest along the base of the tree.

“Hollzy!” Bood cheered, coming over to wrap Shane in a hug the minute he stood back up. “Hey, Roz,” Bood greeted after letting go of a breathless Shane. “Good to see you, man. Make yourself at home.”

Ilya smiled at him and shook his hand, then followed Shane over to the punch and the two of them filled plastic cups before joining the others at the fire.

Price was already there, Fabian perched on his lap. The singer had a headband with felt antlers covered in colorful Christmas lights and a frankly hideous, oversized Christmas sweater to match. He hopped up when Shane and Ilya walked over.

“Ilya!” Fabian cheered. “Hi! So nice to meet you in person!” he skirted the fire and stopped in front of them, standing on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Ilya’s cheek in greeting, then turned to do the same with Shane.

“Your Ilya is such a sweetheart!” he cooed, a giant smile splitting his face.

Ilya sputtered, and every hockey player around the fire burst into laughter.

“Oh, really?” Dykstra guffawed. “That’s a new one! Did you hear that Choui? Apparently, Roz is a sweetheart!”

Chouinard, joining them just then from the house, laughed and shot an incredulous look from Dykstra to Bood. “Yeah, okay. And hell is cold enough for a hockey game now.”

Ilya grinned sheepishly down at Shane. “What? I am very sweet. All SAPs say so. Must be true.”

Shane rolled his eyes and laughed, then planted a quick kiss on Ilya’s pouting lips. “Whatever you say, dear,” he agreed patronizingly.

The rest of the team trickled in around them, and Bood brought out his famous chicken to go with the array of sides and treats on the table. Shane took a leaf out of Fabian’s book and let Ilya pull him onto his lap to free up more space by the fire. Despite this being his first official time meeting the team, Ilya slid right into their dynamic like he had been there all along. Shane, content to let himself be lulled by the smooth rumble of Ilya’s voice, was happy to let him lead the conversation and spent the time with his head resting back against Ilya’s shoulder, tilted to watch his team and their partners laugh around the fire.

The night was young, but already Shane could tell it would be one of his favorites. Ilya was just so happy there with him, existing in this space and with these people, that Shane was slowly growing to know and love almost as much as his Admirals.

Chapter End Notes

Got home from work early today and decided to crank out another chapter. Of course, Shane and Ilya were never going to keep their hands off each other for more than five seconds once they were reunited lol. Hope you liked the chapter! Next one will feature some more Troy and Harris as the Christmas special continues...

Until next time! <3

P.S. I'm really not great at tagging, what with being new to the writing side of things on AO3 and all. Should I be tagging this more? I don't want like... a novel/wall of tags but does anyone who has been reading along with this think there are some important ones I'm leaving out? Always happy for feedback and advice!

Chapter 18: Trouble With Fitting In

Chapter Summary

It's the day before the Christmas party at Bood's, and Harris has noticed that Troy hasn't been fitting in well with the team. In fact, it seems like a lot of the team is avoiding him. He decides to step in and see what he can do to help.

Chapter Notes

Harris

Since their walk through Ottawa a couple of weeks prior, Troy Barrett had become somewhat of an installment in Harris’ workday. He often showed up well before practice with an eggnog latte in one hand, black coffee in the other, and camped out in Harris’ office until he had to leave to hit the ice. Presumably, this was in an effort to develop a social media presence that had previously been lacking. Harris appreciated the dedication to making his own job easier. If only he could get a few other team members, like Ryan and Shane, to do the same.

But Harris knew better than to think Troy had suddenly developed an interest in social media.

Instead, Harris worried that Troy really wasn’t fitting in with the rest of the team. Harris went to most practices for content, and unless grouped with other players by Coach Wiebe, he noticed that Troy seemed to keep to himself. Occasionally, Wyatt or even Ryan would pull him into practicing something with them, but it never seemed to last.

What’s worse, Shane seemed wary of him. He avoided the ice around Troy in a way that made it very clear that he wasn’t ready to trust the new winger. And where Shane went, so did Hayden. As their linemate, Bood often followed along, and from there, the rest of the team seemed to be giving Troy space, too.

There had to be something about Troy that Harris was missing, because he just couldn’t see what Shane and the others must be seeing in him. He was grumpy, sure, but he seemed nice enough.

And the few times he had been brave enough to ask, Troy brushed him off with shrugged shoulders and a subject change. So there was no help coming from that end.

Deciding his best bet for answers was probably the teammate Troy had been traded with, one of the few players that actually bothered to interact with him at all, Troy went in search of Wyatt Hayes after their last practice before break. They would all be back for a game later that day, but that wouldn’t be the right time for this kind of conversation, so it was now or never.

“Hey Wyatt,” he called when the goaltender left the locker room.

“What’s up, Harris? You need anything?”

“Yes, actually. Do you have a few minutes?” Harris asked. Wyatt grinned and gave an easy nod, falling into step with him on the way back to Harris’ office.

Harris waved Wyatt towards the couch and made a show of leaving his phone and camera on the desk. He wanted to make it clear that this had nothing to do with the team’s content creation.

“Thank you for taking some time to talk with me,” he started, picking at a loose thread at the end of his jean jacket. “I guess it’s just that, with being the social media guy, I tend to watch how you all are interacting in practice and the locker room and, well, there’s no easy way to say it, but I’m worried about Troy.”

Wyatt frowned, brows furrowed, and tilted his head. “How so?” he asked. At least he hadn’t brushed Harris off.

Harris didn’t want to give away that Troy was spending so much time in his office. One, that wasn’t a problem, and two, Troy might not want the team to know that he was hiding away in there. But he could mention his observations on the ice, right? Everybody was there for that.

“You and Ryan seem like the only guys on the team he really interacts with outside of mandatory match-ups for drills. It seems like the rest of the team is maybe… avoiding him?”

Wyatt bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You’re not wrong. I mean, he’s not really trying to talk with them either, but… it probably is a problem.”

Harris’ shoulders slumped. There had to be something they could do, right? Chemistry was important for the team, but also Troy didn’t deserve to feel like the odd man out. That had to be isolating.

“Why?” Harris asked eventually. It was the main thing he didn’t get. Why the cold shoulder? They hadn’t been like that with Ryan or Wyatt.

Wyatt sighed. “Troy has a reputation, you could say. He and Kent have made a lot of enemies in the league.”

“I mean, plenty of players can be assholes on the ice. Isn’t that Shane’s fiancé’s whole thing?”

“Rozanov?” Wyatt laughed. “Yeah, it is. He’s good at getting a rise out of people. But it’s not as personal with Roz. He attacks players more on their game. Sometimes, he’ll go after their age or something like that like what he does with Hunter, but his chirps are mostly just over the top and ridiculous when they’re personal. Like making fun of a caricature.”

Harris nodded, taking in that bit of information while also showing he was still listening.

“Kent, and by extension Barrett, were mean. They made that shit personal, talking about people’s wives, how they dressed, whatever could get a rise out of the other guy. Barrett mostly just went along with it, I think. But it was some toxic, hurtful shit.”

Hayes paused, looking like he might be weighing the decision of whether to continue or not. “That’s basically why we were traded,” he said eventually. “Kent was being his typical self. He started with some of the usual homophobic shit to Hunter back in our first game of the year, then he apparently said something really nasty about Hunter’s husband. Hunter lost it on him, broke his jaw before the refs could get them separated.”

Harris felt sick, his stomach churning. He knew the Centaurs weren’t like other teams. That there were teams out there that would never accept a guy like Harris into their locker room, nonetheless, invite him to their parties. Hockey had always been Harris’ favorite sport, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think it didn’t have a lot of problems still.

“And Troy?” he asked.

Wyatt smiled. “Troy just stood there. He was like, a foot away when Hunter dropped his gloves. He probably could have gotten Kent out of there. But he watched Hunter hit him instead. My best guess? Even he knew Kent deserved what he got. Pissed Kent off, though, and the coach. The whole team kind of turned on him for it.”

“What? It’s not like he held Kent down so Hunter could punch him! They would trade him over something like that?”

Wyatt nodded. “Kent was out for a while on LTIR, but his first day back, they almost got into it in the locker room. It was practically the whole team against Troy, and he’s a great player, but he’s not exactly a bulky defenseman like Price, you know? I stepped in to try and help him, and they turned on me, too. We found out we were being traded pretty much the next day.”

Harris wasn’t sure where to go from there, what to ask, or what to do. From the sounds of it, Troy had made a name for himself early in his career as a friend of Kent. And while he obviously wasn’t okay with some of Kent's more outrageous behavior, he hadn’t exactly stepped in to stop him either. He’d just let the guy face his own consequences.

Did that even count as any kind of redemption?

But Harris liked Troy. He didn’t understand how the same guy who brought him his favorite coffee every morning for two weeks in a row could be the kind of guy to stand passively by while people like Kent hurt people like Harris and Shane. Harris didn’t know Scott Hunter, but he knew the guy was one of Shane’s best friends.

“This isn’t going to be a simple fix, is it?” he asked.

Wyatt sighed. “No, man. There’s a lot of history there. I think Troy is trying, though, in his own way. And this team is pretty forgiving. Just give it some time.”

Harris nodded and accepted a side hug from Wyatt as he stood to leave. “See you at the game tonight!” he called, already halfway out the door. Harris waved and repeated the same.

Troy had gone to a couple of Bood’s barbeques when he first arrived, but Harris hadn’t seen him at the last one. He worried Troy might be giving up. Maybe Harris could convince him to go to the Christmas party, though. Once there, Harris at least could try to pull him into some team conversations. Baby steps.

Troy

The morning after their last game before Christmas break, Troy found himself in line for coffee even though there was no practice or true reason for him to go to the rink at all. It was just a habit at this point. Besides, he knew Harris would be going over footage from the game and making his usual posts. He would probably even be spending extra time lining up content to last them through the break, since he wouldn’t be getting any new team videos.

Troy had never realized how involved a social media manager’s job was. Harris spent more time working than even Coach Wiebe, some days.

Troy just hoped he didn’t burn himself out. He was one of the few guys around that Troy actually felt comfortable talking to. He didn’t have any history with Harris, no old hurts to get over or off-color comments to regret.

So even though it was the first official day of his break, Troy went to the rink at the same time he always did and knocked on Harris’ open office door to signal that he had company.

“Eggnog latte?” he offered, sliding the drink onto the desk.

Harris smiled up at him, his hazel eyes catching the morning light coming through the window. “Thanks,” he muttered, still clicking away at his computer. He must have been almost finished with whatever he was doing, because before Troy could leave, Harris had turned his swivel chair to face him.

“I didn’t expect to see you this morning,” he said.

Troy tilted his face forward to hide the blush he knew was spreading across his cheeks under the fall of his hair.

“The hotel is right across the street,” Troy explained. “I thought you might want some coffee. You’ve probably got a long day today, yeah?”

Harris chuckled. “Not really, I actually got a lot done in advance, so I wouldn’t have to worry about missing Bood’s party tonight. Are you going?”

Troy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but looked up to meet Harris’ eyes. At least he was pretty sure the blush had faded. “Probably not,” he admitted.

Troy knew it wouldn’t be easy to adjust to another team. He knew that there were plenty of guys in the league who had more than enough reasons to hate him. But he still tried at first, at least a little. He let Wyatt cajole him into coming along to a few barbecues and lingered near the fire. But nobody had wanted anything to do with him. Especially not Hollander.

“I was hoping you would go,” Harris said, seeming to catch the melancholic turn of Troy’s thoughts.

Troy grunted and shrugged. “I’m not exactly the life of the party. Wouldn’t want to bring the mood down.”

“The team hasn’t been very welcoming,” Harris said. It sounded like an apology. Troy kind of wanted to back out the door rather than have this conversation with him.

“I’m not a nice guy,” Troy explained. It wasn’t the team’s fault. Troy was pretty sure they might be some of the nicest guys in the whole league.

“You have been with me,” Harris protested. “I think you’re selling yourself short.”

Troy just shrugged again. It was different with Harris. They didn’t have the history he had on the ice with so many of the others.

“Tell you what,” Harris continued. “You still don’t have a car here, right? Why don’t you come to the party with me, and then you’ll have at least one guaranteed conversation partner, yeah? Can’t be too awkward if you’re not going alone.”

Troy wanted to say no. He also realized he was apparently incapable of saying anything that would disappoint Harris. This crush on him was getting out of hand. It wasn’t like he could follow through with it. Harris was probably the kindest guy Troy had ever met. He deserved to be with someone a lot better than Troy fucking Barrett of all people.

“Okay,” Troy said, instead of protesting and staying in as he should have.

Harris beamed. “Great! I’m hoping to finish up and be out of here by six. I can swing by and pick you up then?”

Troy nodded and backed out of the office, leaving Harris to his work for the day. It seemed he had a party to prepare for after all. Should he bring something? Like, some kind of dish? There was a white elephant or something planned, wasn’t there? It looked like he was going to be spending the rest of his day shopping. With a groan, Troy turned to walk away from the hotel and toward the strip center nearby. What did you even bring to a white elephant? This was not the kind of party he was used to. For one, wild moment Troy had the thought that he might have been more comfortable pretending to be interested in Kent's hired strippers. Then he shook the thought from his head and walked down the street. He could do this.

Chapter End Notes

There's going to be a few chapters taking place around the same time for the next few updates, from different character's POVs as they navigate the holiday. I hope you enjoy part one of the Troy/Harris update! Part two coming soon (maybe even today if I can get my yardwork done in time haha....)

Until next time! <3

Chapter 19: Christmas Blowout

Chapter Summary

Harris and Troy make it to Bood's Christmas party... eventually. Troy starts to feel a bit more accepted by the team.

Chapter Notes

Troy

Harris texted Troy to let him know he was at the hotel a few minutes before six. Christmas-themed gift bag in hand, Troy left the hotel room and made his way down to the lobby. Outside, Harris leaned against a beat-up old truck, hands stuffed in his pockets and breath misting in the cold.

As he approached, Harris untucked his hands to wave a greeting and open the passenger side door, ushering Troy inside. When he climbed in, the cab was warm, and the bench seat in the back was laden with two large cases of glass bottles filled with amber liquid that Troy assumed was some type of alcohol.

“Hey,” Harris greeted once they were settled. “You can just put that in the back if you don’t want it taking up leg room,” he continued, gesturing at the gift Troy carried.

“Thanks,” Troy grunted, turning to stow it in the back next to another gift bag around the same size. The whole cab smelled faintly of apples. “What’s this?”

Harris turned to see what Troy was pointing at. “Oh! That’s cider. My sisters make it with apples from the family orchard. I always bring some with me to Bood’s to contribute.”

Troy nodded his understanding and forced his attention out the window before he could be caught staring at the way Harris’ smile crinkled at the corners of his eyes and pulled at his neatly trimmed beard. Harris didn’t need another reason to think Troy was weird.

“How was your day off?” Harris asked, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Okay,” Troy replied. “Just ran errands. Needed a gift for the white elephant. That kind of thing.”

“Any plans for Christmas?” Harris asked.

Troy shook his head. His parents were arguing again, and he thought his mom might be staying with a friend in Seattle for the holiday. His dad was miserable to be around on a good day. Besides, the break was a short one. No use in going back to Vancouver and adding travel stress on top of everything else.

“Do you have family nearby?” Harris asked. Troy hated this line of questioning, but Harris was so cheerful and well-meaning about it all. It’s not like Troy could expect Harris to just know that he would rather be literally anywhere than with his family for the holidays.

“No, they’re all in Vancouver. We’re not really big on celebrating holidays anyway.”

Harris frowned, eyeing Troy out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the road and drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Well,” he said. “I know you haven’t met my family or anything, but you’re more than welcome to come out to the farm for Christmas if you want some company. The more the merrier and all that!”

Troy felt a gentle smile tug at his lips in response to the offer. Harris was just so… nice. His whole family was probably like that. Welcoming and warm, not a mean word to say about anybody. What would a house like that even be like? Like something out of a Hallmark movie, probably.

“It’s okay,” Troy said eventually. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. I might FaceTime my mom or something. She mentioned spending time with a friend in Seattle.”

If Harris thought it odd that Troy’s mom would be with a friend over the holiday, he was at least kind enough not to say anything about it. He just nodded and let Troy know that the offer still stood if he changed his mind.

Of course, that was when the front right tire hit a pothole, and the hole truck lurched with a bang. Harris guided the car to the shoulder, hit the brakes, turned on his hazards, and rushed to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“SHIT!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, think the tire just blew. Give me a minute.”

Harris slipped out the driver’s side door and crossed the front of the truck over to the passenger side to examine the tire there. Troy hopped out too, pulling his coat tight against the cold. They were on a small side road, so at least they didn’t have to worry about traffic.

The tire was definitely blown.

“Do you have a spare?” he asked.

Harris nodded and gestured to the bed with a thumb over his shoulder. “Yeah, and a jack. We can get this changed out and back on the road soon enough. It’s okay if you want to wait in the truck; it’s cold out here.”

Troy waved him off. “Let me help,” he demanded, then went to get the spare. It was a full-sized tire, not just a little donut, so it should work to get them back on the road as normal without needing to find a shop open this late.

He brought the tire back, and Harris already had the jack in place, cranking it to lift the truck and give them enough room to work. When he was finished, Harris pulled his phone out to use the flashlight and find the bolts. The truck was old enough that there wasn’t a lock, so Troy asked him to hold the light steady and set about freeing the bad tire, slipping it off and away, then hefting on the new one.

The whole thing probably took less than fifteen minutes. When they climbed back into the warm cab, Harris let out a breathless laugh.

“Just my luck!” he said, grinning over at Troy. “Thanks for the help, though. I don’t think we’ll be that late getting to Bood’s.”

Troy gave a small smile back and nodded. Of course, he wasn’t going to leave Harris out in the cold to change a tire all by himself. He guessed the gratitude was nice, though.

With a quick look over his shoulder to make sure they were still in the clear, Harris guided the truck back onto the road, and they continued in companionable silence to Bood’s house.

While Harris was right that they weren’t very late getting there, the line of cars around Bood’s driveway was a clear enough indicator that most of the team had already arrived. Harris parked a ways down the street, and they walked up to Bood’s house, each carrying a case of cider and a bagged gift.

“Harris!” Bood exclaimed when they entered the back patio. “And Barrett! Glad you could make it!”

He crossed the patio to take the case of cider from Harris, and Troy followed him over to the outdoor bar with the second one, putting it down next to the first.

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” Harris apologized. “Blew a tire.”

Bood grimaced and waved off Harris’ apology. “No need to apologize, man, that sucks. Did you get it changed out alright?”

Harris nodded in response and met Troy’s gaze over Bood’s shoulder. “Yeah, Troy was a big help. We had it changed out in no time.”

With the cider put away, their next stop was to put their presents with the others at the base of the tree and then join the party around the fire. Troy froze a bit in surprise when he spotted Rozanov with Hollander in his lap, laughing at something Fabian was saying across the circle. Roz caught him staring and gave a predatory grin.

“BARRETT!” he shouted. “How is life as Centaur? Much better team than those assholes you used to play for! Who knows? With Hazy here, you might even have a shot at playoffs.”

Troy was surprised at the tame, somewhat welcoming question. He’d expected Rozanov to be a lot more… aggressive, maybe? Confrontational? Hollander was ignoring Troy as usual, focusing on his fiancé with an amused expression.

“It’s okay,” Troy said, not sure what else to say. Not like he could really say he was pretty sure the team would rather just keep Wyatt and let Troy rot.

“What happened with Kent, anyway? Thought you two were buddies,” Rozanov continued, oblivious to the glare Pike was giving him from across the fire and the way Hollander’s amused expression had turned guarded.

Troy shrugged. “He didn’t like that I didn’t have his back against Hunter, I guess.”

Troy didn’t know the guy well, but he could swear Rozanov’s expression had to be the same one he wore when he was studying the ice for a viable lane.

“Hunter is not so easy to piss off. He must have said something nasty,” Rozanov pried.

Troy let out a beleaguered sigh. “Yeah, Kent definitely deserved that one.”

That seemed to satisfy Rozanov well enough. His smile turned genuine, and he made room to pull up an empty chair to his and Hollander’s right. “Come sit,” he invited. “Fabian is telling us about the new album. He has a tour coming up in the summer.”

Troy sat, seeing Harris do the same a few guys down. Fabian took Rozanov’s cue and started back by explaining how the tour worked and which cities across Canada he would be playing in. Ryan stared up at him with a soppy expression on his face, one hand steadying his boyfriend on his lap so he wasn’t in danger of sliding off as he gesticulated wildly in emphasis to what he was saying.

It was like watching a kitten lie down between the paws of a wolf. The two were so different that having them pressed so close together was startling. Troy wondered how they had even met. Fabian didn’t seem like the kind of guy to hang out in hockey circles. He was pretty sure their relationship was new, but they fit together like they’d been with each other for years.

Troy hoped the jealousy he felt didn’t show too obviously on his face. The last thing he needed was for someone to see and take it the wrong way, like maybe he had a problem with them or something. Sometimes Troy wished he could get it over with and just shout to the others that he was gay too; he was just angry at everything because he had a shit attitude, he wasn’t a homophobe or whatever.

Eventually, the conversation turned to hockey and the first road trip back after the holiday. Even Harris participated in the discussion, planning to join the team on this one and get some content from their away games.

When the topic died down, the group grew restless and eventually made their way over to the tree to start the white elephant. They drew numbers to see who would go first, and Rozanov cheered when he got number one, rubbing it in the face of everyone around him that he would get the last steal.

Troy was right, it was very different from a Guardians party. There was still plenty of alcohol, and Troy watched his teammates slowly dissolve into giggles and sillier antics as the night wore on and more and more of Harris’ cider disappeared from the crates. Harris took the opportunity to switch seats and sit next to Troy, and the two joked back and forth about the silly gifts everyone brought.

Troy somehow ended up with a garden gnome that he had nowhere to put, while Harris got a singing plastic plant that danced and used solar energy to power itself. He laughed and said it could go in his office, at least.

Hollander got a bobblehead of himself that Ilya stole for the last steal of the game. Troy didn’t know if he had ever seen Hollander look so… normal before. Like a regular guy instead of a hockey robot. He seemed to get more touchy the more he drank and ended up with Rozanov’s head in his lap at one point, petting his hair while he talked to the Pikes and Wyatt. Lisa was finally moving to Ottawa and was set to arrive the next day, a fact that had Wyatt bouncing around like he’d finished off a whole bucket of Christmas candy by himself.

In the end, Hollander and Rozanov were the first to leave. Troy was pretty sure everyone at the party knew exactly why they were ready to leave, too. Why Troy thought they would be more subtle, he couldn’t say. But maybe it was that he never expected Hollander to be so blatant with the bedroom eyes. It was honestly a look Troy could happily forget.

When Harris asked if Troy was ready to leave not long after, Troy found his shoulders sagging with relief. In spite of his rather pessimistic expectations, he’d had fun. He actually spent some real time talking with and getting to know the team, thanks in part to Rozanov’s blatant disregard of social shame or expectations. But his social battery was drained and he was tired. It was better to leave now before he had a chance to put his foot in his mouth.

The drive back to Troy’s hotel was uneventful. It was pretty late, though, and Troy knew Harris had a long drive to get back to the farm. They were both sober enough at this point that he wasn’t too worried about that side of things, especially since Harris had kept his drinking to a minimum compared to some of the rest of their team, but he shouldn’t be driving tired either.

“The hotel has a pull-out bed in the sofa,” Troy said, turning to face Harris while he undid the seatbelt. “It’s pretty late, you want to just crash here?”

He watched Harris’ face as he mulled over the offer, and could see him reach a decision in the tired slump of his shoulders.

“Yeah, actually,” Harris said, putting the truck back in drive to find a parking spot. “If you don’t mind, that’s probably not a bad idea.”

Chapter End Notes

A cliffhanger?!?! I know, I'm sorry? Not really though lol. Next part will be out soon enough, but I need to head out for work in a minute so it won't be right away. Until next time! <3

Chapter 20: A Christmas Sleepover

Chapter Summary

Harris stays over at Troy's house after the party. They watch Christmas movies, drink beer, and make some questionable decisions.

Chapter Notes

Troy

Asking Harris to stay over was probably the worst idea Troy had had since moving to Ottawa. He couldn’t even blame it on thinking with his dick, though his dick was always interested when it came to the social media manager. No, he just couldn’t stand the thought of Harris driving home this late, tired from a long day of work and then a late Christmas party. What if he got another flat? Or fell asleep and ran off the road?

Troy would worry too much to sleep anyway, too embarrassed to text and check that Harris made it home okay. Might as well not sleep and have him here, where Troy knew he wasn’t dying in a ditch.

Troy led the way through the lobby and up the elevator, nodding along as Harris recounted a story Dykstra told at the party and speculated over what having Lisa around would be like. One great thing about Harris was that he could always be counted on to carry a conversation and never seemed offended by Troy's monosyllabic responses and head nods.

“Oh! This is nice,” Harris said, walking into the living space after Troy. “Kind of like an apartment.”

“Yeah,” Troy agreed. “Just smaller. If you’re hungry, there's some fruit and stuff in the fridge. Only one bathroom, but I’ve got some extra toothbrushes, and I can get you something to sleep in,” Troy offered.

Harris smiled at him and leaned against the counter to wait. Troy took a minute to shed some layers, then gathered some clean sweats and a t-shirt for Harris to sleep in. Slipping into the bathroom, he pulled a toothbrush from the pack he bought not too long ago and set it on top, then walked back to the living area to hand it all over.

“You can use the bathroom first if you want. I’ll just pull out the sleeper sofa and get it set up.”

“Thanks!” Harris grinned, taking the stack and disappearing into the bedroom. Troy found some spare pillows, a set of sheets, and some blankets in the linen closet and went to set up the bed for Harris to sleep in. He was still laying the blankets out when Harris walked back into the room.

“If you get cold, we can probably get another comforter or something from the front desk,” Troy muttered, standing back up to his full height and stepping away from the sofa bed.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Harris assured.

“Cool,” Troy said. “I’m going to take a shower, but I’ll be back if you think of anything else you need.”

He passed Harris on the way to the bedroom, trying not to focus too hard on the sight of him in Troy’s clothes, and grabbed some flannel pajama bottoms on his way to the bathroom, skipping a shirt since he tended to sleep hot and rarely needed one. He kept the shower quick, not wanting to leave Harris waiting too long, and brushed his teeth before heading back out.

Harris sat on the sofa bed in the living room, back propped against the sofa back, and feet out in front of him with his ankles crossed while he flipped through channels on the TV. He looked up when Troy coughed to announce his entrance, and Harris' eyes caught on Troy’s bare chest, still damp from the shower.

Troy cleared his throat again, and Harris looked up, face red with embarrassment as he tried to play it off with a question. “Did you get that bruise at the game last night?”

Troy looked down, not sure what he was talking about. Sure enough, there was a decent-sized bruise over his ribs. “Yeah, probably,” Troy muttered, crossing over to sit next to Harris and face the TV.

“Our options are pretty much Christmas specials and TSC at this point. Any preferences?”

Troy chuckled. “You know I can’t pass up The Year Without Santa Claus. That’s a classic.”

Harris cackled and switched back a few stations. “Excellent choice,” he declared, then stood up and wandered to the kitchen. “Want anything to drink?” he asked. Troy heard the fridge door open.

“Yeah, I’ll take a beer. You’re welcome to grab one too, if you want.”

Troy listened to the sound of drawers opening and closing, then heard the hissing pop of a couple of bottles being opened before Harris reappeared with a beer in each hand. He hopped back onto the mattress, springs screeching beneath him, and handed one of the beers over to Troy.

“This is fun!” Harris cheered. “Like a Christmas sleepover!”

Troy snorted and rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure you’re an adult and can have sleepovers whenever you want, Harris.”

Harris smirked. “Yeah, well. Budge up. We’ve got Christmas movies to binge.”

Troy made it about as far as “Blue Christmas” before the buzz filling the little gap of space between him and Harris became all Troy could focus on. He kept circling back to Harris staring at his bare chest when he walked back into the room. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught Harris staring, either. He’d seen him rush to look away more than a few times in the locker room. Troy knew that Harris found him attractive.

That wasn’t the problem.

No, the problem was that Troy wasn’t out, even to his stupidly accepting team, was fresh off a breakup, and overall just not a very good person. Harris could do so much better than Troy.

But Troy also wasn’t a good person, and Harris was shooting another not-so-inconspicuous glance at him while feigning interest in the movie, and Troy’s self-control was about at its end.

Troy shifted his weight, letting the leg nearest Harris sprawl out until it pressed up against the other man’s thigh, and watched for his reaction.

Harris stiffened, breath catching, then seemed to make a conscious decision to relax back against the sofa. Troy turned and reached across Harris for the remote, hovering just inches from his chest, and rolled back to his own spot to mute the television.

“What are you doing?” Harris asked.

“Something stupid,” Troy answered, then met Harris’ gaze head-on and leaned back into Harris' space. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Instead of a verbal response, Harris gripped the back of Troy’s head and pulled him in to lock their lips together. Harris moaned into the kiss, opening for Troy’s searching tongue and sucking him in. Troy shifted to swing his leg over Harris’ lap and straddled him, grinding down and rocking forward as he used one hand to grip Harris’ hair and pull his head back, slipping his tongue as far into Harris’ open mouth as he could before pulling back just to do it all over again.

Troy’s free hand wandered, slipping up the t-shirt Troy had given Harris to wear for the night and up to his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch under his splayed fingertips. Harris reached down to the hem of the shirt and pulled it up, breaking the kiss to rid himself of the fabric and toss it aside. He slid his own hands down Troy’s back to where Troy's ass met his thighs and pulled him down to grind harder against Harris’ lap.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking hard right now,” Troy panted, pulling back just far enough to gasp lungfuls of air and speak the words directly into Harris’ flushed lips.

“So hard,” Harris agreed, blinking slowly up at Troy like he hadn’t quite caught up with what was going on.

Troy held eye contact as he trailed his left hand down from Harris’ bare back to the bulge in Harris' sweats. He pushed his palm against it, and Harris whined, bucking up into the contact. Troy did it again, watching for the same pleasured reaction, then traced the skin just above the waistband with the tips of his fingers in silent question.

“Please,” Harris groaned, biting his lip. “You can touch me. If you want.”

Troy moaned and leaned forward to suck Harris’ bottom lip into his own mouth, freeing it from his biting teeth. He slipped his hand under the waistband and took Harris's cock in a loose fist.

It was too dry, and Troy’s own cock was desperate for attention, but the lube was in Troy’s bedroom, and he didn’t plan to leave touching distance from Harris anytime soon. Instead, Troy let go of Harris’ hair to spit in his palm, used his other hand to pull both their pants low enough to expose their dicks, and reached down to fist them both in his spit-slick grip.

“Shit,” Harris cursed. He had his head thrown over the back of the sofa, chest heaving and flushed with arousal. Troy abandoned his grip on their pants to brace a hand against the sofa back and lean down to kiss Harris again. He couldn’t get enough of his mouth, the scratch of his beard, or the little pants of breath that gusted from his lips.

“So close,” Harris warned. Troy nodded against him, drinking the words from his lips and delving back inside to taste the beer on his tongue. Was it his imagination, or did Harris also taste faintly of apples? Troy had to be going crazy.

“It’s okay,” Troy murmured when he paused for a breath. “Me too.”

Harris' breath hitched, hands still locked on Troy’s thighs, and he came. His cum shot up in ribbons over his chest and stomach. Troy pulled his hand off their cocks to gather the cum up with his fingers and brought it back to his own erection, slicking his flushed and leaking cock with Harris’ cum and speeding up the pace of his own rapid pulls until Troy was coming too, shooting his load in matching streaks over Harris’ chest with a gut-deep groan of release.

“Fuck,” he panted, resting his head on Harris’ shoulder. Harris ran a hand up and down Troy’s back, the other wrapped low around his waist.

“You okay?” Harris asked. Troy nodded, nose pressed close to Harris’ neck. As he came back down from the high of orgasm, Troy groaned at his own lack of self-control.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually, climbing off him to give Harris some space. They were both a mess.

“What?” Harris muttered, still sounding pretty gone.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Troy explained.

That brought Harris back to attention. He sat, abruptly upright, with one hand going to push his hair back from his face. “Shit, Troy. I- sexuality is complicated, okay? It’s okay to, like, experiment or feel confused or-“

Troy cut him off. “I’m not confused, Harris. I’m gay. I know I'm gay. I’m not sorry that I kissed you because you’re a guy. I’m sorry I kissed you because this is a bad idea.”

“What?” Harris asked again, looking even more confused.

“I just got out of a relationship, like… a month ago. And I’m not out to the team, or anyone really. I don’t think I want to be. So yeah, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have done that.”

On one hand, Harris looked less confused. On the other hand, he grew increasingly upset as Troy continued his explanation for why this was a terrible idea.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Harris whispered, looking down at the drying cum on his chest and reaching for his discarded shirt to wipe it off.

“I know,” Troy sighed.

“We wouldn’t have to tell anyone,” Harris continued. “If we did this again, that is. It’s not like anyone else would have to know.”

Troy closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. “I’m not going to do that to you, Harris.”

“Oh?” Harris asked, volume rising with anger. “And that’s your choice, then? You get to make my decisions for me?”

“That’s not fair,” Troy objected, but was cut off before he could hope to continue.

“Not fair? YOU kissed ME, Troy. You started this. And now what? You’re scared?”

Troy didn’t think he had ever seen Harris angry. It was terrifying and twisted. It made Troy want to kiss him again until he was a breathless puddle against the mattress. It made him want to push Harris’ buttons even more, see just how angry he could make him.

“I don’t know what you want me to say…” Troy sighed instead of doing any of those things. He didn’t have the energy or desire to match the anger in Harris’ voice. He just felt… tired. And a bit sad. He liked being friends with Harris, and now he had ruined that, like everything else. It was the only thing he was really good at, ruining friendships, pushing people away.

“Don’t do this,” Harris protested, voice a whisper again. “I can wait for you to be ready. We can make this work.”

Troy shook his head and backed off the mattress. “I’m sorry,” he muttered one last time, then turned his back on Harris and made for the bedroom door. He knew when he closed it behind him that Harris wouldn’t be there in the morning. He wanted nothing more than to turn back around and beg him to stay, but Troy wasn’t the kind of guy who got to keep the Harrises of the world. It was better to break it off between them now, before actual feelings had a chance to grow and make it all worse.

Chapter End Notes

Well... now I've made myself sad. These two... seriously. I mean, mostly Troy. It's definitely Troy's fault. Poor Harris just has whiplash. Here's to hoping Troy can figure his shit out soon before he ruins things with the new team. He's not making the best decisions right now.

Until next time! <3

Chapter 21: Christmas with the Hollanders

Chapter Summary

Ilya and Shane spend Christmas with Shane's parents for the third year in a row. Shane gets an unexpected Christmas present.

Chapter Notes

Ilya

Christmas with the Hollanders had become one of Ilya’s favorite times of year. He would take a concussion for it again, hands down. Not that he needed to. He could post as many pictures as he wanted of him and Yuna making cookies, Shane with icing on his nose, and David singing carols in the living room. No one would question why he was there anymore. He could take a picture kissing Shane under the mistletoe, and no one would so much as bat an eye.

Of course, he would spend time with his fiancée’s family on Christmas. Of course, he would kiss his soon-to-be husband with multicolored lights dancing over their faces, and Yuna would hide a smile with her hand in the background.

These moments were his to share whenever he wanted.

And better yet were the moments he wouldn’t share, the ones just for them. Shane’s tired smile in the morning when Ilya pressed a cup of coffee into his hands on the couch and a kiss to his cheek. David showing off album after album of baby pictures. Yuna laying a hand on each side of Ilya’s face, resting their foreheads together and thanking him for loving her son, for making him the happiest she’d seen him in years.

If Ilya’s plane went down on the way home, he would die a happy man, having had this, having experienced the love and happiness that permeated the walls of every room the Hollanders spent any time at all in.

“Hey,” Shane greeted, sliding onto the couch next to Ilya and laying his head over Ilya’s shoulder. “Are you getting tired?”

“I am okay,” Ilya murmured, resting his head on top of Shane’s and pulling the blanket over them both. “Just happy.”

Shane sighed, and Ilya just knew there would be a small, happy smile curling his lips. Could picture it there clearly without needing to look. It was Shane’s happy sigh, full of contentment.

“I love you,” Shane murmured.

“Я тоже тебя люблю, газонокосилка.”

“Lawn mower?” Shane asked, aghast. He sat up to look at Ilya, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

Ilya chuckled. “Your Russian is getting good. You try to hide this from me?”

Shane shoved at his shoulder. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he grumbled.

Ilya kissed him softly on the lips. “Is surprise when you respond to my Russian commands in bed, yes. I did not know you were learning.”

Shane blushed and grabbed a pillow to hit Ilya with. “Don’t talk about sex in my parents' house!”

Ilya laughed and grabbed the pillow, prying it from Shane’s fingers and dropping it behind the couch when it was free. “Your parents know we are lovers for many years, Shane. Is not secret.”

“I told you to stop using that word!” Shane groaned. Then, deprived of his choice of weapon, Shane leaned down to Ilya’s shoulder and bit him right on the deltoid, hard enough to bruise.

“Ow! You are wild animal now? Maybe this is real Canadian wolf bird? Why you sound like them so well, no? Do they bite like this too?”

Shane burst into giggles while Ilya tickled his sides, and Yuna walked into the room, leaned against the door frame, and smiled at them.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “The two of you should get going soon, but I think Ilya had one more present for you, Shane.”

Ilya let up on the tickling, steadying Shane in his lap while he caught his breath.

“What?” Shane asked, face a mess of confusion and still flushed from laughter.

“Is true!” Ilya cried, easing Shane into the couch so he could stand up and head for the stairs. “Stay here, моя микроволновка.”

He heard Shane mutter “microwave?” under his breath and chuckled, taking the steps two at a time. After his phone call with Shane, he had enlisted Yuna and David to help with this last Christmas present, a little gray, orange and white kitten from a rescue nearby. She had been living in one of the guest rooms upstairs for a few days, and Ilya took the time to slip a little bow onto her tiny purple collar before cradling her in his arms to bring her back downstairs.

He took them a lot more carefully going down, little meows betraying exactly what his arms hid. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked up, and Shane was crying.

“A kitten?” he asked.

Ilya beamed. “Yes, our first daughter, no? What will you name her, I wonder?”

He crossed the living room to meet Ilya at the bottom of the stairs and reached out to stroke his fingers down the back of the small kitten. She caught it with one paw, then bit and nibbled at it.

“She is very fierce,” Ilya praised, laughing at the little wince of pain on Shane’s face.

“You would find one that bites,” Shane groaned. “She’s adorable. Have you been hiding her here this whole time?”

Yuna laughed and stepped in to waggle her fingers teasingly over the kitten, letting them be swatted but not caught, before dancing them away and back again.

“She’s been here a few days,” Yuna said. “Ilya arranged everything with the rescue; we just had to go and pick her up. You should have supplies and things for her at the cottage and at your house, but we have some here and at ours, too, in case we ever need to watch her for a longer period. She’ll probably be more comfortable staying in a familiar place when you’re gone, and we can come check on her throughout the day, but you never know what might come up, so I figured we may as well have a few things for her too.”

“Do you have a carrier for her?” Shane asked, looking to Ilya. Ilya nodded and went to the hall closet to unbury it. It was small, made of thick plastic, and airline-approved, so if Shane ever needed to travel with her for any reason, he could. It was also purple.

“Is purple her color?” Shane laughed.

Ilya nodded very seriously. “Yes. She is a purple. Do not ask how this makes sense. Just accept, yes?”

Shaking his head at Ilya’s antics, Shane helped load the small kitten into the purple carrier. There were blankets inside for her to curl up in, and it dwarfed her for now, but she would grow into it soon enough.

The drive back to their own cottage didn’t take long, and once they were inside, Ilya showed Shane where he had hidden the supplies for the kitten. They took some time setting up everything in their bedroom, wanting to give her a smaller space to feel comfortable in before risking letting her lose in the house and potentially getting lost. She was only about ten weeks old.

“Thank you,” Shane said, once everything was sorted. Well, everything but the large three-tiered cat tree that they were waiting for the next day to assemble. “I can’t believe you actually got me a cat.”

Ilya smiled at Shane and pulled him into a gentle kiss. “You said house was lonely. Now maybe you won’t be so alone when I am gone, yes?”

The kitten, no doubt exhausted from the busy evening, had curled up in a little heated cat bed and fallen asleep. Shane pulled Ilya with him over to their bed and stripped, leaving his clothes in the hamper. Ilya did the same, meeting him under the covers already naked, pulling Shane into his arms for a deeper kiss.

“I love you so much,” Shane sighed, spreading his legs to allow Ilya closer and kissing a gentle path from his forehead to his lips.

Ilya groaned, slipping his tongue into Shane’s mouth and rolling his hips forward, sliding his cock against Shane’s as it filled with interest. Neither of them had the energy for anything elaborate that night. Ilya thought he could come just from this, just from Shane warm and open beneath him and his pleased little moans when Ilya rocked them together.

Shane, always so wet for him, was already leaking enough precum that Ilya almost didn’t need the lube he pulled from the nightstand. He poured some out anyway, using it to slick their dicks and wrapped a hand around them both, cradling Shane’s dick against himself as he thrust forward into his own grip.

Shane moaned and shifted beneath him, demanding kisses with a greedy, open mouth that Ilya gladly delivered, slipping his tongue inside to taste the remnants of gingerbread and hot chocolate on Shane’s tongue.

“So beautiful,” Ilya praised, keeping his movements slow, using the space between them as Shane caught his breath to study his fiancé’s blissful expression.

“Ilya,” Shane whined, writhing as he grew more desperate.

Ilya hummed and leaned back down to nibble at Shane’s kiss-swollen lips. He sped his movements just a hair, just enough to tease Shane with what he needed.

“Ilya, please,” Shane begged, whimpering into the kiss, hands clawing at Ilya’s back. “Please.”

Taking pity on them both, Ilya complied and tightened his grip, speeding his thrusts against Shane’s desperate cock and panting into his open mouth. He was close too. So close.

Shane came first, cum shooting over his chest and Ilya’s hand. Ilya followed soon after, with Shane’s cock still spitting the last of his own orgasm as Ilya’s release joined Shane’s over his hand and Shane’s chest.

They took a few minutes to catch their breath and then stood from the bed to shower and brush their teeth. While Shane finished his nightly skin care regimen, Ilya changed the sheets and checked on the kitten. She was still asleep in her hut-like heated bed, the cord still plugged into the wall and light on to indicate it was working. Satisfied she was warm and comfortable, Ilya returned to their own bed to wait for Shane to join him. It had truly been the perfect day.

Shane

Shane awoke to sunlight streaming through the window and Ilya playing with his hair, a gentle, sleepy smile on his face. He kissed Shane on the cheek and murmured a good morning when he noticed that Shane was awake. Shane returned the kiss to Ilya’s chest, right over his heart, and snuggled in for a brief cuddle before braving the cold to brush his teeth and greet the day.

By the time Shane made it back from the bathroom, the little kitten Ilya had surprised him with was out of her bed and playing with a feathered toy on the floor.

“Good morning,” he murmured into the quiet space, sitting cross-legged next to her. He could hear Ilya down in the kitchen starting on coffee and breakfast. “What should I name you, huh?”

She was so little. He thought it might be cute to honor that in her name somehow, and already had a few ideas, but wasn’t quite ready to commit yet. Figuring she had to be hungry, he carefully measured out the appropriate amount of kitten food for her age and size and helped her find the bowl. Once she was settled, he closed the bedroom door behind himself so she couldn’t get out and went to find Ilya.

They had breakfast together, and when they were finished, Ilya went upstairs to get the kitten and brought her down to cuddle with them on the couch while Shane clicked through channels until he found a mindless cooking show he knew Ilya liked to watch and settled on it. Most of Shane’s attention was taken up by encouraging the kitten to chase his fingers, anyway.

“Have you thought of a name?” Ilya asked, watching the host stir onions in a steaming pan.

Shane hummed, petting gently over the back of the small, sleeping kitten that had curled up on his chest. She moved up and down with Shane’s breath, so tiny he hardly felt her on his ribcage.

“I’m thinking Azuki,” Shane said after a while, whispering the name into the tranquility of their living room.

“This is Japanese?” Ilya asked.

Shane nodded. “If you write it in Japanese, the first character means small, or little, while the second can mean a bean or a vessel for making offerings.”

“Little bean?” Ilya clarified.

Shane smiled as he nodded again, still gently petting her back with the tips of his fingers.

“Is cute,” Ilya declared. “I like it.”

“Azuki,” Shane said again, more certain this time. Ilya repeated him, trying the syllables out on his tongue.

They put Azuki back in their room while they spent some time in the gym for a light workout, then had lunch and watched a movie with her back on the couch. This time, she was awake the whole time, running across their chests and legs, climbing up the back of the couch, and leaping back off of it. She was full of energy.

“You know,” Shane said, watching her play. “I think I remember reading somewhere that kittens are actually not meant to be alone. That they should be adopted in pairs or something.”

Ilya laughed, looking down at Shane with a face full of surprise. “You want another one?” he asked.

“I mean, I don’t want her to develop poorly or something. And she’ll be alone a lot when I go on roadies,” Shane chewed his lip, watching Azuki play. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t caved to his own whim and gotten a kitten already. Going from no pets at all to two cats was probably too much, right?

“I will talk to rescue,” Ilya said after a minute of thought, also watching the kitten play with a newly worried expression on his face. “Let you know what they say.”

Shane got on his knees to lean over Ilya and kiss him in gratitude. Maybe he could find some books on kittens and cats that would help. His mom might have some suggestions if he asked.

“I love you,” Shane said again, for probably the hundredth time that day. He could never say it enough. If only Ilya didn’t have to go back to Boston in just a few short days.

Chapter End Notes

Okay, the fluff in this one helped me recover from the angst of the last one. I hope you all enjoyed Christmas with the Hollanders and kitten cuteness as much as I did! Also, please note that there are many different variations of "Azuki" as a name in Japanese, depending on which characters are used to write it. I just thought Shane would find this version cute for such a small bundle of fluff. Until next time! <3

Chapter 22: In a Fog

Chapter Summary

Ilya returns home to Boston as the season continues and Shane leaves with his team on another roady.

Chapter Notes

Chapter-specific content warnings for depression and talk of suicide. Sorry guys, Ilya is really going through it in this one.

Ilya

Walking back into his empty house in Boston, Ilya felt completely drained. Boarding the plane to leave Ottawa was a fight; not turning right back around and running to a desk to buy a return ticket was an even harder one. By the time he made it through his own front door, the fight had left Ilya, and all that was left was exhausted resignation.

It was late, as late as he could feasibly push it with practice the next morning. He only had a few hours left for sleep before his alarm would be going off, so Ilya muddled through a quick shower, gave a cursory brush to his teeth, and didn’t even bother with pajamas before falling into bed.

The next day, practice was a fog. Ilya knew he was missing simple passes. Coach kept having to repeat his commands multiple times before Ilya even nodded. Marly kept looking over at him from his own group for the day with open concern. Ilya waved him off. He just needed time to adjust. Luckily, they had a couple of days for Ilya to shake it off before they had a game to deal with.

The next morning, Ilya couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, though. He wanted to. He didn’t want to miss practice. He was their captain. If he expected to keep the C, he had to be an example. He couldn’t just miss mandatory practices. He rarely even missed the optional ones.

He could feel his phone buzzing near the pillow, in easy reach if he could just bring himself to lift his hand for it. He stared at it instead, open hand a foot away, and watched the screen light up over and over.

His team was probably worried. Marly was probably worried. It wasn’t like him to miss practice and not even call to let the coach know he was sick.

Hearing the door slam open downstairs shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“ROZ?!” Marly yelled, shoes slapping the floor as he ran through the house.

He should have taken them off at the door. Shane wouldn’t like Marlow tracking dirt through the house.

“ROZ?!” he called again.

Ilya’s bedroom door flew open and banged against the wall. Marlow was panting in the doorway, face full of relief when his eyes locked on Ilya lying in bed, blinking slowly back at him.

“Hey,” Marlow said, posture slumping and voice going quiet and soft. “You okay, Rozy? What’s going on?”

Ilya only blinked, watching the scene as if he were far away, unable to make his mouth move and answer even a simple question.

Marlow crossed the room and knelt down in front of him, one hand going to Ilya's forehead to check for a temperature.

“Talk to me, Ilya,” Marly pleaded. He looked really worried. Ilya wished he could reassure him. Instead, he lost the fight with his eyelids, and they slipped closed. He fell back asleep. Maybe, when he woke up again, he would have the energy to answer.

Shane

Shane sat apart from his team as they waited to board their flight, phone tucked close to his ear while Hayden shot increasingly worried looks at him, Shane’s chair next to him abandoned in pursuit of privacy and processing space.

“I don’t think he’s sick,” Marlow said from the other end of the line.

“He’s asleep again?” Shane asked, pacing in a small circle. Their flight wasn’t scheduled to board for another 30 minutes. He was tempted to leave the small, private airport and get a car to the main one, where he could catch the next flight to Boston.

“I think…” Marlow trailed off, letting out a heavy gust of air that Shane could hear tangling in the receiver of Marlow's phone. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but he seemed really off at practice yesterday, too. And I know his mom… died when Ilya was a kid. Do you think it could be depression?”

Shane felt the tears he’d been trying to hold back escape, turned his back to his team and his face to the wall and buried his head in one raised arm to hide, the other still holding the phone to his ear. “Maybe?” he said, the word coming through as more of a question.

“How was he over Christmas?” Marlow asked.

Shane took in a few choked breaths and tried to get more control over himself. Crying at an airport in Ottawa wasn’t going to help anything. “He was fine,” Shane said. “Happy. We had a great Christmas and celebrated with my family.”

“And at the airport?” Marlow asked.

“Of course he was sad!” Shane shouted, then tensed. There was no way his team hadn’t heard that. He lowered his voice. “We both were. Saying goodbye fucking sucks, Marly. You know that.”

“Well, maybe he’s not handling the transition back so well,” Marlow said. “I’m not blaming you, Shane. This isn’t anybody’s fault.”

With Marlow’s words, Shane was stuck back at that airport, crying in Ilya’s arms as they prepared to say goodbye. He hadn’t wanted to let him leave. They wouldn’t be able to see each other again until the All-Star game at the end of January. That was four weeks before he could hold Ilya in his arms again.

The end of the season couldn’t come fast enough. Shane was almost glad his team barely stood a snowball’s chance of making it into the playoffs.

“What do we do?” he asked, noticing his team was starting to gather their bags to board the plane. He saw Hayes gesticulating wildly as he talked to Price, no doubt distracting the man from his flight anxiety.

“He needs professional help with this,” Marlow said. “I don’t think this is a hug-it-out kind of sadness, Shane. I’ve seen him low before, but he’s never missed a practice like this. I’ll be honest with you, man, I’m really fucking worried.”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed. “Fuck, you’re right. I should be there, shouldn’t I? I’m still in Ottawa, there’s got to be a flight to Boston today…”

“You have a game tonight,” Marlow protested. “Let me handle it, okay? I’ll keep you updated on how he’s doing, and when he’s feeling a little better, I’ll talk to him about seeing a doctor.”

“I don’t know that I can play like this,” Shane admitted. Hayden was on his way over with both of their bags slung over his shoulder. “I’m a fucking wreck, Marly.”

“There’s nothing you can do, I don’t think,” Marlow protested. “You might as well play. We’ll get this figured out. He has me, yeah? You know I’ll take good care of him.”

Shane wiped the tears from his face and nodded, then gave a verbal confirmation when he remembered Marlow wouldn’t be able to see him.

“We have to go,” Hayden said apologetically, his face twisted in concern.

“The flight’s boarding,” Shane explained to Marlow.

“Yeah, you better go,” Marlow said. “I’ll text you and keep you updated, okay? If I think you need to get here, I won’t hesitate to tell you.”

Shane sighed and agreed, then hung up and followed Hayden to the plane. They only had to make it as far as Chicago, but it was going to be a long fucking flight.

Cliff (Marlow)

When Ilya walked into the living room a little after 6PM, Cliff tried not to let his immediate relief show on his face. He had been asleep for most of the day, and Cliff was still texting back and forth with Shane to keep him updated, even though there hadn’t been any changes.

“Marly?” Ilya asked, eyes squinted as he spotted him on the couch. “What are you doing here?”

“You missed practice,” Cliff explained. Ilya’s face fell, and he nodded, ambling over to the couch and falling into it with a gusty sigh.

“I don’t feel so good,” he admitted after a while. “Heavy. Like, I will go back to sleep very soon. Here on couch, maybe.”

Cliff turned to face his friend. Ilya looked hollowed out, with deep bags under his eyes despite the hours of sleep he’d had. Even keeping his eyes open looked like a struggle.

“Have you talked to anyone about this?” Cliff asked. While this might be the first time Ilya had felt quite this bad, he knew Ilya had been low before, had seen him skate through practices as if in a fog. Even more so since the start of this season, though yesterday’s was probably the worst.

Ilya didn’t ask what he meant; he just sighed again, like he had given up. “No,” he said.

“You need to see a therapist, Ilya. Probably a psychiatrist,” Cliff insisted. His friend needed help, and it wasn’t the kind the team doctor was qualified to provide.

“I know,” Ilya muttered. “I think, maybe, that I am like my mother.”

Cliff closed his eyes. A part of him imagined what it would have been like that morning, to burst into the house and find Ilya alone, lifeless, clutching an empty bottle of pills in one hand. He never wanted to find his friend like that, or even imagine a world in which it could happen.

“I need you to get help,” Cliff choked, eyes wet with tears. He always knew he would lose his best friend to Canada one of these days, but he would be damned if he lost him to depression because he didn’t speak up.

“Does Shane know?” Ilya asked, not making any promises. Cliff would push him again on it later, if needed. He really hoped he didn’t need to.

“Yeah,” Cliff agreed. “I called him to ask if he’d heard from you when you didn’t answer your phone the first few times.”

“He has game tonight!” Ilya protested. “Will worry and play like shit. Backhand will be even worse.”

Cliff laughed, the sound escaping through a throat tight with suppressed tears. “Maybe you should call him, then. Let him know you’re okay.”

Ilya nodded, then groaned. “Left phone in bedroom,” he explained, turning puppy dog eyes to Cliff rather than asking him to go get it verbally.

“Yeah, bud. I’ll get your phone,” Cliff chuckled, going to retrieve it and then retreating to the kitchen to give Ilya some privacy. He looked through the fridge and pantry. Finding enough ingredients for a simple spaghetti, he set some water to boil on the stove and pulled out the pasta, ground meat and sauce. Ilya hadn’t eaten all day, either. Maybe he could convince him to after he finished his phone call with Hollander.

They ate their spaghetti on the couch, TV on to broadcast the game, and Cliff tried not to stare too much as Ilya pushed food around his plate. He ate maybe half, then set the rest on the coffee table and bitched about poor calls from the ref as they watched the Centaurs play.

Marlow borrowed some of Ilya’s clothes and stayed in the guest room that night, then they went to practice together in the morning. Ilya still wasn’t himself, his reactions delayed, and his usual running commentary gone quiet on the ice and in the locker room. He agreed to talk to the team doctor about what had happened, though, and that he would find a therapist, preferably one who could speak Russian. At least it was a start.

Shane

The game passed without Shane paying much attention. He skated with his line, took feedback from the coaches, and did what he could to stay present. Talking to Ilya had helped. He hated the tiredness he could hear in Ilya’s voice, the resignation over what had happened. Shane needed to be there, needed to hold him and tell him that everything would be okay without hundreds of miles separating them.

At least his team and Coach Wiebe had given him the space he needed to talk, hadn’t rushed him to wrap it up even as the time for warming up approached, and had let him get into his pads and skates in his own time. He was the last one on the ice, for once.

Hayden stuck to his side the whole time, constantly laying his hand on Shane’s back or shoulder in a silent show of support, glaring at their teammates when they got too close.

Shane really loved him. Hayden was a better friend than Shane probably deserved. He greedily absorbed the affection and support regardless.

They didn’t win the game, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. It felt like the whole team played like shit. Shane was distracted, Hayden worried about his friend, and Bood floundered to pick up the slack. Something had been going on with Barrett that left him distracted through their first practice back and seemed to be affecting his game, too.

Shane wasn’t so confident that their next game in Vancouver was going to go any better. So much for the little winning streak they had going coming into Christmas break. He hoped their fans hadn’t gotten too used to having something to celebrate.

“Hey,” Harris said when Shane entered the locker room after the game. “I don’t know what’s happening today, but obviously you’re upset. If you ever need to talk, my door is always open, okay? I’m in room 311, I don’t care if it’s 3AM, I’ll answer, yeah?”

Shane gave him a watery smile and nodded. Harris was such a perfect and unexpected addition to their team. He’d never been this close to another social media manager before. They really didn’t deserve him.

“I’ll be okay,” Shane assured. “Today was a lot, but it’s already getting a bit better. Just give me some time.”

Harris nodded and didn’t ask for clarification. Shane appreciated that too. The unconditional support without needing to pry, or feeling entitled to more than Shane felt ready to give.

“Thanks,” Shane said, really meaning it, then went to his locker to strip for a much-needed shower. Today had been terrible, and he hadn’t felt this worried for Ilya since following him to a hospital three years ago, but Ilya was going to be okay. They both were. It was just going to take some time.

Chapter End Notes

And right back into the angst we go. Hang in there, guys, you know I can't leave these babies down for long. That said, Ilya is definitely struggling right now. Good thing he has great friends, an understanding coach and a loving fiance to help him through it. This will probably be my last chapter for the day, but you know me. I might squeeze in another one when I get back from work and surprise myself! Until next time! <3

Chapter 23: Vancouver

Chapter Summary

The Centaurs head to Vancouver for the next stop in their road trip. Troy isn't looking forward to being in the same city as his family, or his ex-boyfriend for that matter. As far as he's concerned, this whole trip can go to hell.

Chapter Notes

Troy

Waiting at the airport for their flight from Chicago to Vancouver, the whole team was restless. Losing the last game wasn’t a surprise. Hollander had been on the phone all day, apparently because of something with Rozanov. Pike couldn’t seem to think past Hollander. Price seemed more anxious than usual. Wyatt was with him again, trying to distract him.

Needing something to do that wasn’t staring blankly at the distance between himself and Harris, Troy figured he might as well try to help. Price had been one of the few guys on the team not just to accept his transfer, but to actually try to include him.

Troy guessed he knew quite a bit about what it felt like to be transferred. He seemed like the kind of guy who handled empathy a lot better than people like Troy. Wild, considering his calling card on the ice had been given to him for beating the shit out of people.

Knowing Price now, Troy couldn’t Imagine him beating the shit out of anyone. It was just so… un-Pricelike. He’d seen the guy carrying his boyfriend’s drinks around at parties like an obedient puppy. He even spoke kindly to his equipment, saying encouraging words to his twig, of all things, as he wrapped it with tape. No wonder Hayes liked him. Troy had heard Wyatt talk to his goal posts. The two were giant weirdos.

Troy kind of loved them for it. He wished he could give as little of a shit about what people thought as those two. His dad probably would have broken his own twig in half if he ever caught Troy talking to it, just to teach him a lesson about how men act or something.

Why did the next game have to be in fucking Vancouver?

Before Troy could make it over to Wyatt and Price, one of their rookies intercepted him. Holmberg, or something?

“You’re from Vancouver, right, Barrett?” he asked, grinning over a deck of cards while he and another of the rookies played slapjack.

Troy nodded and sat next to them, watching the game. Holmberg needed to work on his reflexes.

“That’s cool,” the kid said. “You going to visit with family while you’re there?”

Troy snorted and shook his head. “Probably not,” he said. “Mom’s closer to Ottawa than Vancouver right now, and my Dad’s probably busy with work. We’re not even going to be there for a full 48 hours.”

Holmberg slumped. “Sorry, Barrett. Maybe next time, yeah?”

Troy tried for an acknowledging smile. The kid was just trying to make small talk. No need to bring him down with Troy’s family issues.

The round ended, and Holmberg took the cards to shuffle, looking up eagerly to catch Troy’s gaze. “You want to play?” he asked.

Which is how Troy found himself shouting over a game of slapjack at an airport in Chicago, arguing over who had hit the card first, with the fourth line and a couple of rookie defensemen laughing in a circle around him and Holmberg’s increasingly outrageous chirping over each other’s slapping skills.

Price and Wyatt wandered over to mediate, Wyatt’s conspiratorial smile promising only chaos while Price looked genuinely distracted for the first time since they’d reached the airport. Troy smiled at him before continuing his argument for why he had obviously won.

When they still hadn’t reached a consensus before boarding the plane, a rematch was declared before their next flight, and Troy followed Price and Wyatt to board the plane, sitting next to them toward the front.

“How’s Fabian doing?” Troy asked once they were seated.

Price’s responding smile was soft and sweet. He pulled out his phone and showed off pictures of Fabian in Montreal for his first stop on his tour. Was that why Price seemed more anxious than usual? Maybe worried about Fabian?

“He had his first gig of the new album tour last night,” Price explained. “He said it went really well, that the bar asked him to come back and play sometime over the summer. The crowd was packed.”

Troy smiled. “Not surprising,” he said. “Fabian’s music is amazing, and really unique.”

Ryan nodded and flipped through a few more pictures, explaining the different people Fabian met and how they fit into the photo narrative. He seemed startled when the announcement came that they were preparing for takeoff, his phone frozen in his hands.

Troy had no idea how to comfort anyone, but he figured anything had to be better than nothing.

“Hey,” he said, trying for a soothing tone. “Let’s get seatbelts settled and then maybe you can show me that video of the new song he’s working on? I heard some of it while you were showing it to Wyatt, and it sounded really good.”

Price shot him a look like he knew exactly what Troy was doing, but nodded and tucked his phone between his thighs to put his seatbelt on. He took out a beat-up book and held it in his lap, then grabbed for the phone again and handed an earphone over for Troy to share while they listened.

“Is this about his move to Ottawa?” Troy asked after a few lines.

“Basically, yeah,” Ryan agreed, blushing for some reason.

“I didn’t realize he moved there so recently. Kind of a nice coincidence for you both,” Troy continued.

Ryan’s smile was tight with nerves, his breathing shallow, but he nodded and seemed genuine enough in his happiness over the topic, just distracted by his own fear.

“Back when I moved to Toronto, I was so ready to get out of Vancouver that I really looked forward to it, you know?” Troy said when the video ended. Price nodded, acknowledging that he was listening while white-knuckling the armrests.

“It wasn’t like that with Ottawa,” Troy admitted, staring out the window. “I liked Toronto. Sure, the team was full of assholes, but I knew how to manage that kind of asshole, you know? I could blend in well enough and as long as I walked the walk, people were happy enough to leave me alone.”

It was the kind of admission Troy never would have shared before, but something about Price being outright fucking terrified of flying, not hiding it and forcing himself onto planes for the team anyway, had Troy feeling like maybe it was okay to have some admissions of his own.

Price wasn’t going to judge him. Maybe no one on this team was going to. Not the way the Guardians would have, at least. Or his asshole father.

“This team is weird,” Troy added, heard Price snort next to him, and turned his head to catch the man staring at him with kind acceptance. “I wanted to hate it here, I think. I hated moving here. But everyone is so fucking nice.”

“Yeah,” Price agreed. The plane had leveled out, and it looked like he was breathing a little easier. His grip on the armrests was less pronounced.

“Better?” Troy asked.

Ryan nodded. He looked exhausted, now that the initial anxiety had passed.

“Trading mid-season sucks,” Ryan sighed, pulling the table in front of him down and arranging his book on it with careful deliberation. “Been there.”

“Yeah,” Troy agreed, turning his phone between his hands. “It’s like… learning a whole new language. Trying to figure out how this locker room works, where to put yourself on the ice.”

Ryan grimaced in sympathy, nodding his agreement.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Troy managed another question. “How do you get yourself to accept it? Like, this place is where you live now? I keep avoiding even looking for an apartment because, in a way, it just feels like a long road trip, you know? Or like staying and playing with different guys for the All-Stars.”

Ryan shrugged. “You don’t, really. You just do it anyway. Because you can’t keep living with one foot out the door. Get an apartment. Buy ridiculous amounts of Ikea furniture. Trust me, I’ve tried living the other way. It doesn’t help. Even if you do get traded again, you deserve to have a home while you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Troy sighed. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted anymore. A few weeks ago, he might have said he would welcome a trade, especially to a better team. Being traded to Ottawa was absolutely intended as a punishment from the Guardian’s management, he was sure. But also, he was starting to like it here.

In some ways, he was starting to like it a bit too much.

And the team had a lot of potential. They may have started the season rough, but Wiebe had made some smart trades with the resources he had available, and this team could be winning. You know, if they could get their shit together.

Not that Troy had any room to talk.

He hadn’t been able to so much as look Harris in the eye for the whole trip so far. He kind of hated that Harris was even there. With games scheduled against Vancouver and Toronto before they made it back to Ottawa, this whole trip was honestly a nightmare. He didn’t need Harris there to witness it.

The rest of the flight was uneventful enough, with Troy and Price chatting to pass the time and help keep the edge off Price’s anxiety. Troy now knew more about the plot and nuances of Anne of Green Gables than he probably ever needed, but it was also really sweet how Price could talk about the book for over an hour and still have more left to say.

“Thanks for being cool with, like, the flying thing,” Price said when they exited the plane. “Maybe call me Ryan, yeah?”

Troy smiled at him. “Only if you’ll call me Troy,” he said, then gave an overdramatic shudder. “Barrett’s my father.”

Ryan chuckled and agreed, shouldering his bag as they turned for the bus. They would have a night to sleep off the flight and then an early practice the next day. With any luck, Troy might even get time after practice for a nap.

Harris

Being on the road with the team for the first time should have made Harris feel ecstatic. A younger him, stuck in the hospital, visited by his favorite hometown players and collecting their memorabilia, would have exploded with excitement.

And Harris was excited, and it was absolutely one of the coolest experiences of his life, and he would rather be anywhere else than in the same room as Troy Barrett for the majority of the day, only getting a break at night in the privacy of his own hotel room.

He wished he could go back to before he knew Troy was gay, back when he was just a confused, newly traded, and awkward Centaur that brought coffee to Harris’ office every day and moped about like a little emo shadow on his sofa.

Shit, he really should have known better from the whole bringing him coffee every day thing, shouldn’t he?

In hindsight, it was obvious that Harris’ interest had always been returned. With the new context, he could look back on their previous interactions and see the admiring glances for what they were, the little gestures of coffee like a penguin bringing a potential mate a shiny rock for inspection.

Troy obviously liked him. He also, obviously, had decided to be a dick about it instead of just letting it happen. The only thing worse than having a crush on a straight man? Having feelings for a closeted one. Fuck.

And it’s not really that Troy was wrong, either. Harris would hate hiding a relationship with him. He wasn’t the kind of guy who did casual hookups or friends-with-benefits. If they started sleeping together regularly, Harris would want to bring him to the farm, introduce him to his parents and sisters, and hold his hand at Bood’s parties.

But was that so bad? Troy wouldn’t even be the only out gay player on the team. Shoot, any more at this point, and they might start to have the majority. What was there to be afraid of, exactly? If anything, wouldn’t it help the team be a little more accepting if they had more proof that Troy wasn’t just another homophobic, hypermasculine womanizer? Maybe Hollander would show a little more sympathy and treat him a little less like a leper.

But he couldn’t just make somebody come out. That was something they had to decide to do on their own time. And while Troy seemed pretty accepting of Harris, Ryan, and Shane being who they were openly, that didn’t mean he wasn’t wrestling with his own internalized homophobia.

So yeah, Harris wasn’t exactly mad at Troy. But he wasn’t happy with him either. And he was still really fucking hurt over the whole thing, which was allowed. He was allowed to be upset.

He hated seeing him so distracted on the ice, though, and stuck in his own head. He’d felt relieved when he saw Troy playing with Holmberg at the airport and interacting with Ryan on the plane. Relieved and indescribably jealous for not being the one to help crack open the hard shell Troy retreated into.

But Harris needed time, if he was ever going to try to be friends with Troy again. Time for the hurt to fade, at least a little.

When they arrived at the hotel in Vancouver, some of the younger guys made plans to go out, but Harris declined the invitation. He just wanted a shower, food, and a bed. Preferably in that order.

Feeling dried out and disgusting from the flight, Harris took his time in the shower. If he weren’t so hungry, he would have taken even longer and drawn up a bath. As it was, he ordered Chinese takeout from the restaurant next to the hotel and dried his hair before heading back down to grab it.

When he reached the lobby, though, he stopped before he could leave. There was a man at the front desk yelling at the host and demanding to be let through.

“MY SON is on that team! Of course, he wants to see me. Just tell me his fucking room number, and I’ll go. It’s not that fucking hard!”

Seeing the panicked look on the host’s face, Harris walked over to the man. He was older and balding, with a beer belly that strained the fabric of his jersey with one of the Vancouver players’ names emblazoned across the back.

“Only team here is the Centaurs, I’m afraid,” Harris explained, wondering if this guy was a half-crazed Vancouver fan who thought the team might be staying in a hotel for some reason.

“Obviously, I’m not an idiot,” the guy said, turning his anger on Harris. He took in the pride pins on Harris’ jacket and scowled. “Surprised you even know who the Centaurs are, fuckin homo.”

Harris paled. Great. This was definitely not a conversation that was going in anyone’s favor. Feeling his own stubborn pride lock his spine straight, Harris rolled his shoulders back and glared at the guy.

“Considering I work for the team, I should think I would know who they are. Now, I think you should leave-“

“I demand to see my son!” the guy cut him off, face purple. “Disrespectful brat didn’t even make it back for Christmas, and now he can’t answer his damn phone? No wonder the Guardians shipped him off to the worst fucking team in the league. Maybe the brat will learn some fucking humility.”

“Excuse me?” Harris exclaimed, turning to the host and signaling for them to call security.

“Dad?” another voice interrupted. Harris spun to face him, keeping half an eye on the deranged ass at the front desk, and saw Troy looking pale, feet frozen at the base of the stairs.

“About fucking time!” the man shouted. “At least you’re fucking dressed. We have dinner with my friends in less than an hour, and the restaurant is halfway across town, Troy. Let’s go before we’re any more late.”

Seeing that whatever was happening and whoever this man was to Troy, the last thing Troy probably wanted was to follow him to a secondary location, Harris decided to step in. Again. He deserved a fucking award for this, okay? He hated confrontation.

“Actually,” Harris said. “The team has practice in the morning, so we have an early curfew. He’ll have to miss that dinner with your friends.”

Troy sent him a look filled with awe and gratitude. Harris would have worried it was too obvious, but the man who claimed to be his father apparently had the social intelligence of a rock because he didn’t seem to notice.

He just glared at Harris instead.

“I think you can make a fucking exception,” he dismissed. “I’m family. Let’s go, kid.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Troy said, not sounding sorry at all. “Can’t. Team rules and all that. Could get in a lot of trouble for breaking curfew.”

“So you’re just going to listen to this pansy-faced cocksucker? That's how I raised you to be? What a fucking joke, Troy. What’s he going to do, throw a tube of lipstick at you?”

Harris could feel how red and enflamed his face was. Not from embarrassment, but from anger. He could kill him. This was the man Troy had to grow up with? No wonder he wasn’t out to his family. Here Troy was, simply declining an invitation to dinner, and his father looked like he might introduce his fist to his son’s face.

Harris really hoped that the two had never met before. In light of this conversation, it wasn’t something he would put money on.

“Whatever,” the asshole said eventually, seeing that Troy wasn’t planning to cave. “At least I don’t have to worry about Vancouver losing tomorrow. Fuckin gay ass team. Even your management's fuckin queer.”

He stormed out of the lobby. The host just looked at them apologetically, no security in sight. Harris walked over to Troy, hands held placatingly at either side.

“Hey,” he soothed. “You okay?”

Troy bit his lip and shook his head, eyes glassy. “I’m so fucking sorry,” Troy said, looking Harris directly in the eye for the first time since before Christmas. “My dad is-“

Harris cut him off. “You don’t have to apologize for him,” he said. “You really don’t. Your dad is an asshole, but that’s not your fault, okay? You don’t get to choose who raises you.”

Troy laughed wetly, shaking his head. “You must think I’m a fucking joke,” he said, shoulders sagging and staring at the floor again.

“I definitely don’t,” Harris assured. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. We can order room service and avoid the lobby for the rest of the night in case he gets any ideas and tries to come back.”

Troy sighed and nodded, waiting as Harris asked the host to bar Troy’s father from entry and to alert team management immediately if he returned. He would have to explain to Wiebe at least some of what happened later, but he knew Wiebe would be on his side.

He led Troy to the elevator, eyeing his trembling hands and hunched shoulders, and didn’t say anything the whole way up. He knew, without asking, that this was not a conversation Troy wanted to have in the open.

Troy didn’t bother to protest when Harris led him to his own room. He just followed, eyes still locked on the ground in front of him. Harris’ fingers itched to reach out, but he managed to wait.

Chapter End Notes

With Ilya not there to save the day, looks like Harris was the unfortunate one faced with that job. I hate writing assholes, honestly. Troy's dad sucks. Anyways, I hope there were at least some parts of this chapter that gave you some joy. We'll get back to our regularly scheduled fluff here as soon as I can reasonably swing it. Just have to stew in the angst for a little bit longer. Until next time! <3

Chapter 24: The Fall

Chapter Summary

Troy and Harris have a long overdue conversation. There are tears, and apple-themed pajamas.

Chapter Notes

Harris

Though he had the room to himself, Harris' room in Vancouver was a double, so two beds took up most of the space. Harris sat cross-legged on the far bed and watched Troy sprawl back on the other, limbs akimbo and eyes glued to the ceiling while he chewed his bottom lip.

Harris reached for one of the pillows, pulled it into his lap, and twisted one of the corners back and forth with his fingers while he decided what to say next.

“So, not out to your family,” he eventually settled on. Troy had told him as much on that disastrous night after Bood’s party. The weight of it felt… different, now.

Troy threw an arm over his eyes and sighed. “Yeah. He would never talk to me again. If he knew.”

“It’s probably a terrible thing to say,” Harris warned. “But do you ever think that might be better?”

“What? Just cutting him out? Accepting that I would never talk to him again?” Troy asked. He didn’t sound angry, just tired and maybe a little bewildered.

“Yes,” Harris agreed.

“Not really, it’s complicated, I guess. He’s terrible. I know he’s terrible. But he’s also my dad, you know? Nothing I do is ever good enough for him, but I still want him to be proud of me.”

It was Harris’ turn to chew his bottom lip, studying the pillow in his lap as deeply as Troy had studied the ceiling. He heard Troy shift his weight on the other bed, but didn’t look up to see what he was doing.

“I really am sorry my dad was such a dick to you,” Troy said eventually, breaking the silence. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that from anyone, especially here with the team.”

Harris nodded and accepted the apology, even though it was beyond Troy’s control that his father was like that, and accepting it just made Harris feel even more sick to his stomach because who was there to say that to Troy? To apologize on his father’s behalf every time the shrapnel of his words struck Troy mid-detonation against whatever target Barrett Sr. had found on any given day.

“Is that why you stayed in Ottawa for Christmas?” Harris asked eventually, when he felt like he could breathe again.

“Yeah,” Troy murmured. “I mean, one of the reasons anyway. I only found out recently, but he and my mom are getting divorced. So mom hasn’t been around much. Not to mention Vancouver is…”

Harris looked up when Troy trailed off. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, and his chin resting on them. His eyes were glassy from unshed tears, and his bottom lip was swollen from having been chewed on so much. He did it again as he considered what to say next.

“I had a boyfriend before the trade. We were already long-distance. He lives here so… yeah. Not exactly my favorite place to be right now.”

“Pretty sure the shitty dad was enough reason to hate the place,” Harris said.

Troy chuckled darkly. “Yeah, you would think.”

“Can I hug you?” Harris asked, not knowing what else to say but needing to provide some kind of comfort to the man falling apart across the chasm separating one bed from the other. Troy tilted his head on his knees, wiped a tear from his cheek with one sleeve, and nodded.

Harris stood from the bed slowly, crossed the distance between them in careful strides, and wrapped his arms around Troy. His knees pressed into Harris’ stomach, his hands reaching out to fist his shirt, and his face buried in Harris’ chest, back trembling under Harris’ hands with quiet sobs.

Harris’ own tears betrayed him, sliding down his cheeks and landing in the dark strands of Troy’s hair as he leaned forward to bury a kiss in the smooth tresses atop Troy’s head.

“I don’t want to be like this,” Troy whispered, voice hoarse from crying and careful in the silence of the room around them.

Harris felt his shoulders tense, and his heart fucking break as cold cracked over him, sliding from the back of his neck and down his spine, sinking like a rock in the pit of his stomach. “Like what?” Harris asked. “Gay?”

Troy shook his head. “Not that,” he said. “I don’t want to be scared. I just want to be open, you know? Like you and Ryan. Fuck, even Hollander is out there making out with Ilya fucking Rozanov at Bood’s like it’s nothing. But I’m so used to hiding, Harris. I don’t know that I can stop anymore.”

Holding Troy like this wasn’t enough anymore. Harris felt the desperate need to surround him completely, hide him away from the world that had taught him he had to shield himself like this. Troy hadn’t even experienced safety in his own home. He didn’t have a single place where he felt like he could be himself. For all that Harris knew and had firsthand experience of the cruelty that could be found for anyone different in the world at large, his family had always been there for him. They loved and supported him. Their farm was always a space where he could be himself.

So Harris climbed onto the bed with Troy, pulling and arranging him until Troy’s face was hidden in the crook of Harris’ neck, one hand buried in Troy’s hair while the other wrapped around his back, and even his legs were used to pull and hold Troy as close as possible in a surrounding embrace.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he soothed, running his hand up and down Troy’s back.

“It’s not, though,” Troy protested. “Obviously, the Cents wouldn’t give a fuck. I’m just a coward.”

Harris shook his head in a denial that he hoped Troy could feel. “No,” he denied. “You grew up with that asshole and made it to the other side. You survived a team with Dallas Kent of all people. Just because you’re in a safe place now doesn’t mean that you were before. Hiding to survive doesn’t make you a coward.”

Troy didn’t answer, his tears soaking Harris' neck as he shook his head in denial of Harris’ words.

“Hollander didn’t come out by choice,” Harris said after a while. “He was outed. And he wasn’t safe. His team dropped him, remember? Their All-Star rookie. Your team dropped you just for not sticking up for Kent. They wouldn’t have been any better. And there would never have been a guarantee that the next team you went to wouldn’t have been just as bad, or even worse.”

“But the Centaurs aren’t worse,” Troy muttered. “Everyone here is so fucking nice.”

Harris chuckled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But it takes time for your body to catch up with your brain. Just because you know it’s safe, doesn’t mean you feel it yet, right? You’re still stuck in survival mode. That doesn’t make you a coward.”

He felt Troy relax into his embrace, liquefying in his hold until he was a puddle in his arms, the only tension held in his neck for the duration of a nod and then released with the rest. “You’re right,” he sighed.

Harris pulled his arm from Troy’s back to wipe the tears from his face, stroking along the flushed skin of his cheeks, then placed a gentle kiss just under his eye in comfort.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Troy murmured, Harris’ lips still resting against his cheek.

“Of course,” Harris agreed. “I have some pajamas you can borrow.”

Troy kissed Harris’ neck and murmured his thanks into Harris’ skin. Harris held him a little longer, then put some space between them so he could slide off the bed and go get the promised pajamas. They had little red and green apples on them, the flannel material worn soft from countless trips through the laundry. He handed them over and told Troy that he could use the bathroom first.

Troy

Taking the offered pajamas, Troy thanked Harris again and went to wash his face and change in the bathroom. He used the packet of hotel-provided toiletries to brush his teeth and took a minute to revel in the soft comfort of Harris’ ridiculous apple pajamas. Did the man own anything that wasn’t apple-themed?

He probably had apple-flavored toothpaste. Maybe that was why he tasted like apples?

Troy finished up and left the bathroom. Harris had taken the time to change into a different set of pajamas, his with giant red apples and worms sticking out of them. He had a toiletry bag in one hand, which he used to wash his face and brush his teeth. Troy walked back to the bed he’d been on earlier as he listened to the water run in the bathroom through the open door.

He pulled the comforter back and slid in, feeling drained. He couldn’t believe his father had just shown up at the hotel like that. Harassed Harris as he did. Ruined Troy’s already shitty night like he was prone to do. All Troy had wanted was to grab a cheap bottle of liquor from the corner store and drown his sorrows over Adrian alone in his room. Instead, he’d bawled his fucking eyes out in Harris’ room, wrapped in his arms and feeling fucking pathetic.

Would the shit storm of his life ever calm down? At least Harris hadn’t made fun of him for it. Or worse, he could have been so offended by what his dad said that he never wanted to talk to Troy again. His dad had a tendency to ruin everything like that. For a man who owned a crane company specializing in construction, he sure had a habit of taking a fucking wrecking ball to everyone around him.

When Harris emerged from the bathroom, Troy expected him to go back to the bed he had sat on earlier. Instead, Harris crossed to the bed Troy was in and slipped under the covers, pulling Troy back into his arms.

Troy knew he shouldn’t, but he relaxed into the comfort, soaking in all that Harris offered. As it had every few minutes since landing in Vancouver, Troy’s mind turned back to Adrian. His ex never would have held Troy like this. Never would have listened as patiently as Harris had while Troy laid his heart bare, all his insecurities and fears dredged up and spilled into the space between them. He probably would have tried to distract Troy, plied him with kisses, or even taken his cock into his mouth to pull him from his thoughts about his family and his fears of coming out.

Harris had just… listened. He’d held him and let him cry and cried right along with him, holding Troy tight to shield him from the world. Even now, he was holding Troy with comfort in mind, wrapping him up from behind and holding him close. His warm breath fanned across Troy’s neck, and one leg tucked up between Troy’s for as much contact as physically possible.

Troy felt like he could cry again, even though he had already wrung himself dry. He thought he had been in love with Adrian. How was it that, in the span of just a few weeks, Harris had Troy questioning if he ever knew what love felt like at all?

Because he had never felt like this with Adrian. And it terrified him, how easily he could lose this. How that would feel, when the heartbreak from losing Adrian had felt like enough to kill him, and this was already so much worse, so much stronger than anything he’d ever felt before.

But it wasn’t like he could take it back, either. The feeling was already there. What was the point in holding back from this when it would hurt just as much, leaving him now? But also, how much worse could it get later if this continued? What new depths of emotion could he reach, only to have it hurt that much worse later when Harris inevitably realized that he could do so much better than Troy?

How soon was too soon to say I love you? Why had Troy always fallen so hard and fast for those around him? He and Adrian had fallen into bed and into a relationship the first night they met. Shouldn’t he be learning from his mistakes?

“Goodnight,” Harris murmured, lips tickling the back of Troy’s neck.

“Goodnight,” Troy sighed. There was no point worrying about it now. Whatever had happened between them tonight, it was obviously too late to spare Troy’s heart. He might as well let himself enjoy the fall.

Chapter End Notes

Soooo.... I have like 10 minutes before I need to leave for work but I want to get thi posted, so I'll be re-reading it when I get back in a few hours and taking care of any mistakes that I missed in the rush to get out the door. Please feel free to let me know if you see any obvious typos or mistakes! I hope you all had a great weekend and enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Until next time! <3

Chapter 25: Off the Bench

Chapter Summary

The team arrives in Toronto for their game against the Guardians. The game goes surprisingly well, until it doesn't.

Chapter Notes

Ryan

Ryan entered the airport in Toronto with a sigh of relief. This was their last stop on the road trip, and with a day off back in Ottawa when they got back, Ryan had already received permission from Wiebe to make his way back on his own. He and Fabian would be spending an extra day in the city, then taking the train back together after Fabian’s gig. They already had plans to meet up in the Village, though Fabian wouldn’t be arriving until the next morning.

As he waited to board the bus, Ryan took a moment to study his teammates. The game in Vancouver had gone at least a little better than Chicago, and he had high hopes that they could turn it around tonight for this one. Whatever had been going on with Shane and Ilya, he seemed to be doing a bit better.

Of course, then there was Troy. Talking to him on the flight to Vancouver had been surprisingly easy. It was obvious the guy was still struggling to settle into a new team, but he didn’t seem to be nearly as bad as his reputation made him out to be. And there was whatever was going on between him and Harris.

Ryan had noticed early on that Troy was spending a lot of time in Harris’ office. They even rode to Bood’s Christmas party together, and wherever Harris went, Troy’s gaze was sure to follow. He didn’t know if Troy realized he was hung up on the other man, but it was obvious Harris, at least, was clueless.

Well, at the Christmas party, that was true. At the start of their road trip? The two wouldn’t stand within five feet of each other. They kept stealing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking, pretending to be occupied with something else when the other turned to look back. Obviously, something had happened after the party.

And just as obviously, something had happened again. The day of their game in Vancouver, the two were attached at the hip the whole way to the stadium for practice and back to the hotel after. They sat next to each other on the bus, whispering back and forth with Troy pointing things out through the window and Harris’ barking laughter interrupting now and then, their knees knocking and heads tilted together the whole time.

The same was true for the plane ride, with the pair sitting a row ahead of Ryan and Wyatt, sharing headphones and watching a movie on Troy’s iPad.

Ryan wasn’t sure if the rest of the team had noticed, though Wyatt did seem equally suspicious and kept sharing conspiratorial looks with Ryan throughout the flight. Ryan would never say anything. It wasn’t his business. But it was interesting, and a nice distraction from the flight anxiety he always battled with in the air.

They arrived late enough in the morning that there wouldn’t be enough time for practice before the game, so the bus took them straight to the hotel to get settled in and rest, with plans to meet back in the lobby in a few hours to leave.

Ryan took out his phone to let Fabian know that he and the team had made it to the hotel. Fabian sent back a series of hearts right away, then asked if Ryan was alone.

Ryan typed a quick ‘yes’ with a question mark at the end and watched the little dots dance as Fabian typed a reply.

But what came through next wasn’t text. It was a picture of anal beads and a blue vibrator laid out on Fabian’s comforter.

Fabian: Vanessa sent some new toys for us to try

Ryan groaned, fell dramatically onto the bed in his hotel room (thankfully a single), and palmed his dick.

Fabian: I was thinking we could try these on you tomorrow night…

Fuck, yes. They hadn’t done that before. Though Fabian had played with Ryan’s hole the last time they had sex. The night before Ryan had to leave, Fabian spent hours keeping him distracted from his flight anxiety. It was new for Ryan, whose partners had always had certain expectations of him. And while he certainly didn’t mind topping, there was something exciting about letting Fabian do whatever he wanted with Ryan’s body.

Ryan: Yes, please

Fabian: Are you touching yourself? Going to take such good care of you, baby…

Ryan: I want you to touch me.

Ryan’s phone vibrated with a FaceTime request from Fabian. He accepted the request and settled back against the pillows. Fabian was already naked on his own bed, the colorful comforter familiar against his golden skin. He had the phone angled so Ryan could see the hand Fabian had wrapped around his weeping dick.

“Hey, baby,” Fabian sighed, stroking himself slowly. “I miss you.”

Ryan set the phone aside, using a pillow to prop it up so Fabian could watch while he pulled his shirt off and slipped free of his pants and underwear.

“Miss you too,” Ryan groaned, wrapping one hand around his own cock. It was already filling with interest at the sight of Fabian so close to the edge, weeping over his fist and licking his lips while he watched Ryan undress for him.

While Ryan still struggled with insecurity over his own body, and probably always would, something about the unmistakable hunger that took over Fabian’s expression every time he saw Ryan naked made him feel sexy in a way he never had before.

“Is that for me?” Fabian asked, watching Ryan bring himself to hardness, cock growing an angry red as he stroked it. “Fuck, I want you in my mouth. Want to take you down my throat so far that I can’t breathe,” Fabian moaned, his own strokes increasing in speed. Ryan could tell that he was already close.

“Yeah?” Ryan asked. Fabian was so much better than him at dirty talk and phone sex, but he was getting enough practice these days to try and return the favor as much as possible. “You’re so beautiful like that, so close to coming for me. Are you close, Fabian?”

Fabian whined and nodded, hips bucking up into his fist and hand furiously pumping his dick until his cum exploded from the tip and shot all over his chest and up to his chin.

Ryan moaned, watching Fabian’s first orgasm of the call as he gently stroked his own dick the way he knew Fabian liked him to, soft and slow and teasing.

“Just like that, baby,” Fabian encouraged. “Do you have lube? Will you play with your hole for me?”

Ryan nodded, turned to the floor to slide his lube from his bag, and returned to his position against the pillows with the cap already open. He carefully arranged a few pillows to prop the phone up where Fabian could see him lying out across the bed, and grabbed one leg under the knee to expose his hole. Fabian spilled praises as he watched Ryan reach down to tease at his rim with a lube-slick finger, pushing inside to the first knuckle and retreating, easing into the stretch.

He’d done this a few times over the course of this trip. He wanted Fabian to fuck him when they were together again. Wanted to be able to take his cock and watch Fabian fall apart as he sought his own release, as he used him.

“That’s it, baby,” Fabian encouraged. Even from further away, Ryan could see that Fabian was hard again and stroking himself. Ryan pushed his finger all the way in, pumped it in and out a few times, and carefully added another.

“Fuck, Ryan,” Fabian whined. “That’s so hot, baby. You like having your hole played with? Are you going to let me fuck you, baby?”

Ryan nodded rapidly, too turned on for words anymore, with one hand wrapped around his dick and the other spreading his hole. He couldn’t quite get his own prostate, not like Fabian had been able to, only managing glancing passes that teased at what he really wanted.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you, baby? Going to make yourself come for me?”

Ryan might. It was still rare, even on video with Fabian like this, for Ryan to manage it on his own. But he felt pent up with anticipation for seeing Fabian again in less than 24 hours, so horny and close to the edge, he thought he just might make it.

“Fuck, you’re so hot. I’m going to come again just from watching,” Fabian moaned. “I love seeing you like this. Falling apart for me. Listening so well and taking yourself apart on your fingers. I’m going to make you feel so good tomorrow, baby.”

Ryan whined and added a third finger, pumping his fist rapidly. He was so close. He could feel his balls tightening, legs shaking as he rode the edge of his own release. He couldn’t focus enough to look at the phone anymore, just listening with his eyes clenched shut as the wet sounds of Fabian fucking his own fist and moaning tumbled from his phone speakers.

Ryan choked on a moan as he came, his hole spasming around his fingers and cum coating his hand and chest. He heard Fabian follow him, forced his eyes open to watch Fabian come again, moaning Ryan’s name and writhing against his bed.

“Fuck, I love you,” Fabian sighed, sinking into the mattress, phone cradled close to his face and expression lax with sleepiness.

“I love you too,” Ryan replied. It still felt so novel to say, probably always would. So precious and wonderful to be able to tell this beautiful man that he loved him.

“You should probably take a nap before the game, huh?”

Ryan nodded. Especially after that orgasm. A nap was a great idea.

“Want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?”

Ryan nodded again, and Fabian did, both of them silent and listening to each other breathe as Ryan drifted off to sleep. He barely had the presence of mind to wipe the cum off himself with his discarded shirt before falling into a deep slumber.

Troy

Entering the visiting team’s locker rooms back in Toronto after a month playing for the Centaurs was a surreal experience for Troy. While he had felt like he gained his footing back some after his breakdown in Harris’ room back in Vancouver, Troy felt that sideways tilt to reality slide right back as he pulled on his pads to face his old team.

“You okay?” Wyatt asked, already dressed in his giant goalie pads with his helmet tucked under one arm.

“This is weird,” Troy replied, scanning the room while the rest of the team joked around and got ready, ribbing each other and acting like they would for any other away game. Hollander caught Troy's eye and gave a sympathetic grimace, probably the nicest expression he’d given Troy since the transfer. Guess even Hollander felt bad for him.

“If they start anything, you know we’ll have your back,” Wyatt said. “I will throw gloves myself if I have to.”

Troy rolled his eyes. “I can fight my own battles, Hayes. Calm down. It’s just Dallas.”

Ryan’s giant hand clapped over Troy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Just Kent or not, we’ve got your back,” he said, nodding at Wyatt on his way out of the locker room.

The start of the game went smoothly enough. Hollander faced Kent in the opening face-off and won control of the puck, then both sides volleyed possession back and forth for most of the first period. While each team had a decent number of shots on goal, nothing had gone through yet.

In a rare stroke of puck luck, Troy actually netted the first goal of the game. He lifted his twig overhead for a celly, only to get dogpiled by Dillon and Holmberg. It was their line’s first goal of the road trip and on their rookie’s assist too. The mood of the whole bench had elevated when they returned.

Right before the end of the first, Hollander followed up with another goal, bringing the score to 2-0 in the Centaurs’ favor. The whole team was buzzing on their way back to the locker room.

“2-0!” Bood cheered, doing his rounds to feed into their enthusiasm with shouts and fist bumps, back slaps, and compliments. “Let’s go!”

Hollander met Troy’s eye and gave a little smile, smug with the satisfaction of netting some pucks and entering the second with a good lead. Troy smiled and nodded back. Maybe Hollander was coming around.

Coach Wiebe gave a speech about not getting cocky, congratulated them on their backchecking, and sent them back on their way.

So, of course, the second period was when everything went to shit. Kent started the period with an aggressive check that sent Troy into the boards, then used his possession of the puck to score the first goal for the Guardians of the night. Troy was still clutching his ribs when he made it back to the bench, but he waved off Coach’s concerns and adamantly refused a medic. He would be fine.

The game got increasingly physical from there, with Kent and his cronies toeing the line until Aucoin finally got called out for a high stick that drew blood on Dykstra and got himself sent to the penalty box.

Wiebe pulled Bood for the power play and sent Troy in with Hollander and Pike. It was a line they’d only ever attempted in practice, but Troy knew they could be good together. When Hollander forgot not to trust him, at least.

Hollander nodded at him with determination, and Troy thought they just might be able to pull this off. With the Guardians down to just four players, Troy was determined to get their lead back and knew Hollander would be too.

Troy was right in front of the Centaur’s bench, racing across the ice with the puck when Kent caught up to him.

“How’s it feel being on a team full of fudgepackers?” Kent taunted.

Troy ignored him and looked for an open lane to get the puck out of there. Hollander wasn’t too far off, skating fast enough ahead of the Guardian racing to cover him that he would be free to receive the pass. Without hesitating, Troy sent it his way.

Of course, Kent took the opportunity to shove him into the boards anyway.

Troy lost it. First his dad, now this, and of course the refs let it slide even though that was obviously a late hit. Fuck Kent.

“What the fuck is your problem anyway?” Troy demanded, rounding on the man who used to be his friend. “So, Hollander is gay? Does it threaten your masculinity that he’s one of the best players in the fucking league? guess what? So is Hunter, and Rozanov! Plenty of players are gay, Kent! Price is too, you going to try your luck with him? I'd fucking pay to see that! I’m gay, you want to fuck with me now, too? Just fucking let it go!”

The words were out of his mouth, right there in front of his team’s bench, before Troy even realized he was saying them. It fell out in a stream of word vomit, filter forgotten in the haze of Troy's anger. The next thing he knew, Kent was throwing his gloves to the ice and ripping Troy’s helmet from his head. The first punch landed across his cheek before Troy even had enough time to process, the second landing on his already bruised ribs. Troy wheezed and bent to protect them from another hit. Shit, why couldn't he ever learn to keep his damn mouth shut?

Ryan

Ryan wasn’t even on the ice when Kent went after Troy. He was still on the bench, right there with everyone else in easy earshot of everything Kent said and everything Troy had to say right back. While the others were still processing, Ryan was already on his feet. By the time the first punch was thrown, he was seeing red.

For the first time in Ryan Price’s MLH career, he leaped the boards and took on a fight of his own choosing. And when Kent reeled back for a third hit on Troy’s already crumpled form, Ryan caught his hand, swung him around, and used the momentum to pull Kent into his fist.

For all that Kent had a good few inches and probably 30 pounds on Troy, he was nothing compared to Ryan. The first hit was enough to wind him. The second sent him to the ice, out cold. Paramedics had to take him out on a spinal board.

“Jesus, Pricey,” Wyatt said, skating over to take Ryan by the shoulders. “Easy there, big guy. You okay?”

Ryan watched another pair of medics walk up to Troy and help him off the ice, one holding him up with Troy's arm slung over his shoulder while Troy held his ribs with the other and shuffled off with a wince.

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Fine. Bastard got Troy good, though.”

Wyatt grimaced. “Yesh,” he agreed. “Kid’s not looking so great. Let’s get you off the ice, yeah?”

Ryan groaned. He wouldn’t be back on the ice anytime soon. Not after leaving the bench like that. Coach was probably going to be pissed, too. He nodded, shrugged off Wyatt’s silent offer to help, and made his way off the ice and toward the locker room.

Coach Wiebe followed him in, mouth twisted in a frown. Before Ryan could apologize, Coach held out his hand to stop him.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “Kent looked like he was going to kill him, and Barrett was in no shape to defend himself. But you know that move probably just got both of us suspended."

Ryan nodded in acknowledgment.

“All right,” Weibe sighed. “You can head back to the hotel early if you want. I'd better get back to the bench. But Price?”

Ryan looked up from the spot he’d been staring at on the floor.

“I know you hate fighting like that. Thank you for sticking up for Troy when he needed it. He might not be in any position to thank you himself yet, but I know Troy appreciates it too.”

Ryan nodded an acknowledgment, then turned to his locker to change. He might as well head back early, as Coach had said. He’d have time to catch up with the team later, and letting the monster loose had exhausted him. He just wanted a shower and some sleep.

Chapter End Notes

This was one of those moments I've had in mind since the start of this fic. I know that Ryan hates fighting, and hates that his career has been made into one fight after another when all he wanted was to play hockey. I think there's something cathartic here, in getting to choose his own battles and stick up for a friend. I hope it didn't feel too out of character! Anyways, the cat's out of the bag for Troy, at least as far as the team is concerned. Wonder how that will play out with his developing relationship with Harris, and what is Shane thinking about all of this?

Until next time! <3

Chapter 26: Revelations

Chapter Summary

Troy is taken to the hospital after his fight with Dallas Kent. Harris goes with him, of course. The team finishes the game and Shane has a few revelations of his own.

Chapter Notes

Harris

Watching from the sidelines as Troy was led off the ice by paramedics was a whiplash moment for Harris. Just that morning, they had been talking and laughing over Troy’s iPad on the plane, and here he was clutching his ribs and leaning on a medic for support while obviously struggling to breathe.

So Harris followed them.

He caught up with Troy just as one medic lifted his jersey to inspect the bruise spreading across his ribs, watched Troy hiss and reel back at the slightest pressure on the injury.

“We’re going to need X-rays for this one,” the second medic said, wincing in sympathy.

The first nodded. “Yep, up you get. Come on, Barrett, you know we don’t do those in-house.”

Troy spotted him then, looking up over the medic’s shoulder. “Harris!” he exclaimed, though the sound was a bit more strained than anyone there would have liked.

“Troy,” Harris choked, walking up quickly, hands outstretched, only to freeze before they could reach Troy’s face. He pulled them back to his sides, shaking with the need to touch and confirm for himself that Troy was okay.

“It’s okay,” Troy looked from Harris to the medics and back, then reached for Harris’ hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “It’s okay, Harris. Kent and the whole team know at this point, I think the medics can handle it.”

Ultimately, that quiet permission is what broke Harris. He crumpled, framing Troy’s face with both hands and leaning in, crushing their foreheads together. They shared the same air while Harris collected himself enough to get his thoughts in some kind of order.

“They’re taking you to the hospital?” he asked.

Troy grimaced, nodding. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Got slammed into the boards earlier in the game, then Kent punched me in basically the same spot. They’ve got to make sure nothing’s broken, I guess.”

“Okay,” Harris sighed. “Let’s go, then.”

Thankfully, neither of the medics protested when Harris followed them to the ambulance. Troy protested enough for all of them, insisting that it was overkill and he could just take a car. He lost, and Harris sat with him, holding his hand on the way to the hospital.

As soon as the ambulance arrived, they were taken to a private room to wait. The medics hadn’t given Troy a chance to remove his pads from the game, so Harris helped him with the shoulder pads, trying to avoid movements that might aggravate his ribs even more.

“This is all really unnecessary,” Troy grumbled.

Harris scoffed. “And if those ribs are broken and you puncture a lung trying to do everything yourself?”

Troy’s reply was an exaggerated groan. “I’m not going to puncture a lung taking a shower and changing into real clothes. All this rushing around is ridiculous.”

Harris cupped Troy's face again, then leaned down to kiss him on the nose. “You’ll be out of here soon enough. Ribs are delicate. Let us fuss.”

Harris stepped back and ran his fingers through Troy’s hair. Just then, one of the new assistant coaches came in and hovered near the door.

“Hey Barrett,” he greeted with a tight smile.

“Coach,” Troy acknowledged, nodding his way. Harris stepped back to give him some space, but Troy grabbed his hand and pulled him right back. The assistant coach didn’t so much as blink.

“They’re taking you back for X-rays soon,” he said. “Sorry, Harris, but we’ll have to stay here while they do. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Harris nodded and ran his thumb over the back of Troy’s hand. Things had been… weird since the other night. Better, definitely, but also full of tentative touch and uncertainty. They hadn’t really talked about any of this, about what Troy wanted or if they were anything more to each other. Harris liked to think they were, that they were headed in that direction at least, but they hadn’t even kissed.

It was a strange limbo, this dance around what they both knew that they wanted. But with everything going on, it hadn’t felt like the right time to ask for more.

Troy used the hand holding Harris’ to pull him closer again.

“Hey,” he whispered, looking up at Harris through the dark hair of his bangs. His bright blue eyes were clear and determined.

“Hey,” Harris whispered back.

“I’m okay, yeah?” Troy assured, pulling Harris into a careful hug, careful not to aggravate his ribs.

“Yeah,” Harris agreed, running his fingers back through Troy’s hair while the other man rested his head on Harris’ chest.

Soon after, the nurses took him back for imaging. Harris sat back to wait, trying to ignore the hum of hospital equipment around him. It never brought with it the best of memories.

Troy

When the doctor confirmed that Troy’s 7th and 8th ribs were fractured, Troy tried not to let his reaction show too much. Harris was already worried enough; Troy didn’t need to add to that with his own dramatics over not being able to play for at least 6 weeks. Between his injury and Price’s inevitable suspension, the team would be down 2 players over the next ten games at least, 2 players they really couldn’t afford to lose.

At least Ryan had beaten Wyatt to the literal punch. They still had their goalie and Hollander. The season wasn’t completely lost.

While they weren’t going to hold him overnight, there was still a lot of paperwork and testing they needed to do before Troy would be allowed to leave the hospital. He sat back against the raised bed and patted the space next to him for Harris to sit while they waited.

He couldn’t believe he’d fucking outed himself in front of the whole team just because Dallas of all people got under his skin. Typical, really. Troy desperately needed to work on his filter. And his temper.

He felt the bed dip and looked up to see Harris, shoulders tight and eyes a bit distant, staring off at one of the machines in the corner.

“Harris?” Troy prompted, covering Harris’ hand with his own and lacing their fingers together.

“Hmm?”

“You okay?” Troy asked.

He watched Harris slump, combing a hand through his blond hair in agitation. “Sorry,” Harris sighed. “Not a big fan of hospitals.”

Troy made a questioning sound but waited for Harris to continue.

“I was in them a lot, as a kid. Bad heart. Doc’s been working on getting me scheduled to go back, actually. They want to do another surgery, install a mechanical valve that should help with some of the problems I still get.”

Harris’ hand left his hair and pressed over his heart. “The scars are old. The other surgeries were years ago, back when I was really little. Main reason I never played hockey myself, growing up.”

Troy twisted to pull Harris closer, then grunted in pain when the movement sent agony through his fractured ribs. He fell back against the raised bed and pulled the back of Harris’ shirt to bring him closer instead. Picking up on what Troy wanted, Harris kicked his shoes off and swung his feet up onto the mattress, squeezing into the space next to Troy and kissing the top of his head.

“I’m okay,” Harris assured. “Really. I see my cardiologist regularly for routine check-ups. And I’ll be even stronger after the surgery this summer.”

Harris made it sound like heart surgery, and his condition, was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. He’d seen the faded webs of scar tissue over Harris’ chest, but never imagined it could have been from something so serious. He felt like an idiot.

And here he was, whining over some fractured ribs because he wouldn’t be able to play for a couple of months. Harris had the option to play sports like hockey taken from him before he was even born.

“You’re incredible,” Troy murmured, leaning over to kiss Harris on the temple. “You’ll let me know? If something comes up with your heart?”

“Yeah,” Harris sighed. “I’ll let you know. Let’s deal with your ribs first, yeah?”

“You know,” Troy said with a teasing tone. “A kiss might make it better.”

Harris snorted and bellowed with laughter, the loud sound echoing in Troy’s ears and bouncing off the walls. “You’re ridiculous!” he proclaimed, but closed the distance between them anyway as soon as he calmed down.

Troy caught his lips in a kiss and slid his tongue over them, asking for permission to deepen it. He felt suddenly grateful that the assistant coach had left to wait in the hall.

Harris moaned and parted his lips. Troy felt lightheaded and couldn’t even blame it on pain medicine since they hadn’t brought any yet. This was all Harris.

“So,” he said after a few minutes of light kissing. “Looks like I’m going to have a lot of unexpected time off for the next few weeks. Go out with me?”

Harris chuckled, scanning Troy’s face with his beautiful green eyes. “Like, on a date?” he asked.

Troy kissed him again, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “Yeah, like on a date.”

“Okay,” Harris agreed, then tucked Troy’s head into the crook of his neck and leaned back into the mattress. They were a tight fit, but Troy didn’t mind. At least if he had to be stuck here, he had the best company he could ask for.

Ryan

The minute Ryan made it back to the hotel, he called Fabian. The line barely had a chance to ring before Fabian answered.

“Are you okay?” he asked before Ryan had a chance to greet him.

“You’re watching the game?” Ryan asked, amused. Fabian still didn’t watch many games, so it always amused Ryan when he caught his boyfriend out. While he definitely would never be a fan of the sport, he was still enough of a sap to watch anytime he was free, and Ryan was playing, especially if it was an away game and they hadn’t seen each other in a while.

“Obviously. What the fuck was that? What happened?”

Ryan sighed and looked down at his bruised knuckles. The skin was split over the second knuckle, though the bleeding had stopped. It was a sight he was used to seeing after almost every game. Not so much since moving to the Centaurs. He kept waiting for the regret to set in, for his brain to start replaying the moment the red took over and the monster came out, but he didn’t regret it.

Kent deserved what the monster gave him.

Ryan only felt tiredness, a background note of satisfaction, and the slight sting around the split skin on his fist.

“He went after Troy,” Ryan explained.

“Yeah, I got that. Why? Weren’t they friends?”

Ryan groaned and kicked his shoes off, falling back onto the mattress still in his suit. He reached up to loosen the tie, at least.

“Kent chirped at him, made fun of Troy for playing on a team with so many out gay players. Didn’t really like what Troy had to say back.”

“Troy told him to fuck right off, didn’t he? Good for him.”

Ryan stared at the ceiling, contemplated not saying anything, and ultimately decided that Troy wouldn’t mind too much if Ryan told Fabian. Ryan trusted that Fabian would keep it between them.

“Actually, he told Kent that if he had a problem with gay players, then he had a problem with Troy himself,” Ryan mumbled.

“Wait, seriously?” Fabian shouted. “Holy shit! That’s why Kent went after him like that?”

“And why I hopped the boards,” Ryan agreed. “It was bad, Fabian. They took Troy out in an ambulance right before I left.”

“I knew I should have booked an earlier train,” Fabian groaned. Ryan could hear him puttering around in the kitchen, probably cleaning up after dinner. “All I had here were stupid meetings anyway.”

Ryan smiled. He wished Fabian were there too, but he would see him soon enough. “You have the first train out tomorrow morning,” Ryan soothed. “I should get some sleep anyway. So should you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Fabian agreed. “I’m glad you’re okay. I love you.”

“I love you too. Goodnight,” Ryan replied.

When he put his phone on the charger to go to sleep that night, there was a picture waiting of Fabian curled up in bed, hair a mess, with his lips pursed in a kissy face. Ryan saved it to his phone and sent back a string of hearts. He couldn’t wait for Fabian to join him and show him around the village tomorrow. With thoughts of a happy Fabian in mind, Ryan drifted off to sleep.

Shane

When their game against the Guardians ended 3-1 in Ottawa’s favor, Shane and the rest of the team held a short celebration before returning to the locker room full of mixed emotions. It had been a roller coaster of a game. Their only saving grace after losing both Ryan and Barrett was that the Guardians were a mess after their captain got carted off in an ambulance of his own. Shane figured it served him right and was just happy not to have to report a loss to Barrett and Ryan the next time they saw them.

He hoped Barrett was okay. They had taken him away in an ambulance, too, worried his ribs might have been fractured.

Shane still found it hard to believe what the others on the team were saying. Apparently, Barrett had outed himself to Kent mid-rant. He found it hard to believe, that Barrett was gay.

The image just wasn’t lining up with the Troy Barrett Shane thought he knew. How could the man notorious for being one half of the league’s most notorious misogynistic, homophobic duo be gay? How could he have been Kent's friend for years, and what? Looked the other way? What changed?

Shane hadn’t cared what happened between Barrett and Kent when he first got traded, figuring the two had been fighting about something and Barrett must have used the opportunity of Scott’s anger to let his teammate have it.

How was he supposed to know that the guy who had regularly participated in flinging slurs across the ice with his buddy Dallas had apparently had enough?

But Barrett had surprised him. He’d kept his head down, at first. Then, even after having plenty of time to adjust and return to his usual asshole behavior, he’d befriended Ryan of all people. And Harris. Talk about a friendship Shane never saw coming. They’d even shown up to Bood’s Christmas party together.

Even with Ilya telling Shane to give his new teammate a chance, it had been hard to let go of so much distrust. Shane liked to think he had been a little better at it over these past few games, but he knew he still had a long way to go.

And now this. Troy was in the hospital after getting the shit beaten out of him. For telling his old friend off and coming out in the most confrontational way possible, in front of the whole fucking team. Ilya would probably throw the guy a party. What was Shane supposed to do with that?

“You okay?” Hayes asked, walking over to Shane’s locker. Shane had been staring at the sweaty shoulder pads in his hands for a few minutes.

Shane nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Fine.”

Hayes clapped him over the shoulder and smiled. “Troy’s tough. He’ll be fine. Besides, did you hear Harris went with him?”

Shane whipped his head around to face Hayes, frowning in confusion. “What?”

“Yeah! Sure he’s already kissing it better. Troy’ll be back on the ice in no time, fuckin deva. He’s so dramatic, it’s terrible.”

Shane had no idea how to respond to that. Barrett and… Harris? Really?

Ilya was going to have a field day over the phone later. He loved this kind of thing. The drama of a team romance and all that. He could already picture Ilya sending them a congratulatory fruit basket or something equally ridiculous.

The bus back to the hotel was full of whispered conversation. Shane put his headphones in so he wouldn’t have to hear it and rested his forehead against the glass. He needed some fucking sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Everyone is starting to get on the same page, but of course, now they'll be down two key players for a few games. Ryan has no regrets. Hopefully Shane and the others can keep up the momentum and keep the team going while Ryan serves his punishment for leaving the bench to fight Kent and Troy recovers from a couple of fractured ribs. At least he and Harris will have plenty of time to... bond lol. (Don't get too many ideas, his ribs are broken after all). Anyways! Until next time! <3

Chapter 27: All-Star Weekend

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya get to play on the same team for the 2017 All-Star weekend. They both wish for more time together, but enjoy the moment for what it is.

Chapter Notes

Ilya

The weeks leading up to the All-Star weekend in Florida dragged for Ilya, though he had at least been better than when he first got back and couldn’t even get out of bed for practice. He knew his game was off, his plays slow and disconnected. He was working with a therapist and a psychiatrist, adjusting meds to see what worked, and would be happy to never hear the words “atypical depression” again.

He knew that this wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t make the reality any easier when he felt like a constant disappointment to his team. They were still winning games, doing well enough to remain strong playoff contenders, but Ilya knew they could be doing better. That he could be doing better.

When he walked into the hotel, the first thing he did was send Shane his room number, and the second was to walk downstairs and find the lobby bar. He wasn’t supposed to drink much while adjusting to the new meds and figuring his dosage out, but a single drink wouldn’t hurt. Then he could see the minute Shane arrived, too.

He’d barely had a chance to sip at the vodka in his glass before Shane walked in. Glass abandoned, Ilya crossed the room in ground-eating strides and pulled Shane into a breath-stealing hug.

Shane hugged him back, kissed him on the cheek, and sighed. “Hi,” he greeted, smiling at Ilya when he pulled back to study him.

“Yes, hello,” Ilya said back, taking Shane’s hand. “Your phone does not work now? You can not text that you are on the way?”

Shane laughed at Ilya’s griping and followed him to the elevator. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I think it’s still on airplane mode.”

Ilya punched in his floor number and pulled Shane in after him. As soon as the doors were closed, he had Shane pressed up against the back of the elevator, hands buried in his hair and tongue down his throat. The elevator doors opened.

“Oh! Uh- sorry,” a familiar voice muttered. Ilya broke from the kiss to turn and find Hunter standing on the other side of the elevator doors, frozen with a blush taking over his face.

“Don’t act like such a virgin, Hunter,” Ilya chirped. “What? Have you never seen two men kiss in an elevator before? Now fuck off and get your own.”

Ilya punched the button to close the doors and reveled in Shane’s groaning laughter until the doors opened again and he could pull him out and over to Ilya’s room. Shane might as well not even bother to check in. It wasn’t like he was going to use his room, anyway.

“You are ready for me, yes?” Ilya said the minute the door was open. “Strip and get on the bed, Hollander. Chop chop.”

Shane laughed and did as Ilya asked, folding his clothes and leaving them on the armchair before climbing onto the bed, cock leaking against his abdomen and eyes heavy-lidded with lust. Ilya made short work of his own clothes and joined him with a bottle of lube, fingers already glistening with it as he wasted no time in spreading Shane’s legs and tracing slick fingers around his hole. He eased one in and licked the precum from Shane’s stomach.

“Jesus, Ilya,” Shane moaned. “Miss me much?”

“Stupid question, Hollander,” Ilya replied. “I am going to fuck you so hard you can’t skate straight tomorrow. Good fucking luck winning fastest skater when I’m done.”

Shane laughed, pulling behind one knee to spread his legs wider and give Ilya more room to work. Ilya rewarded the good behavior by sucking one of Shane's balls into his mouth with a satisfied moan.

Shane whined and buried the fingers of his free hand in Ilya’s hair. “Not going to last,” he warned.

Ilya slipped his mouth off Shane’s balls and chuckled, the vibration singing across Shane’s perineum as Ilya licked a path down to his rim. He spread his fingers and slipped his tongue inside before pulling back just enough to answer.

“You never do,” he teased. It wasn’t completely true. Shane lasted just fine over the summers, when they had sex every day, often multiple times a day. But Ilya knew Shane hardly even touched himself without Ilya being on the other line, or video calling. And it had been almost a week since their last chance at phone sex.

“I love when you save yourself for me,” Ilya praised. “It's okay, Shane. You can come. Will make you come again, yes? Want to watch you fall apart on my cock. Will you cry for me, любовь? You cry so pretty.”

Ilya had three fingers buried in Shane’s ass, teasing against his prostate while Ilya punctuated his words with wet kisses and licks across his rim, perineum, balls, and shaft until finally he made his way to the leaking head of Shane’s cock and sucked it into his mouth, cheeks hollowing around it.

Shane shouted, fingers clenching and pulling at Ilya’s hair as he came down his throat. Ilya moaned and swallowed as much as he could, licking the rest off when Shane was done and crawling over him to kiss Shane’s gaping mouth. He loved Shane like this, mindless and pliable after an orgasm. Ilya licked into his mouth and dragged his own aching cock over the spit-slick mess of Shane’s limp dick and abdomen, causing Shane to flinch and whine from oversensitivity.

Ilya reached for a pillow and tucked it under Shane’s hips, lubed up his cock, and lined himself up with Shane’s twitching rim.

“Okay?” he checked, waiting for Shane’s loose nod before pushing in. He buried himself in the warm heat and rolled his hips, rocking against Shane as he trailed kisses along his freckles and down his jaw.

Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck and pulled himself up into another deep kiss. Ilya, with no patience left to his name after weeks without his fiancé in his arms, pounded into him.

Shane whimpered, breaths hitching with each thrust. His cock was already filling again, leaking between them. Ilya reached down to take him in hand, knowing he wouldn’t last, needing Shane to come again with Ilya inside him.

“So pretty,” Ilya cooed, drinking in the broken sounds spilling from Shane’s lips. Slipping his tongue inside Shane’s parted mouth to taste the vibrations on his tongue.

Shane cried just as Ilya had asked, overwhelmed and set free from his iron-clad control in a way he only ever was around Ilya. Ilya licked the salt from his face, bit the freckles on his cheeks, and increased the pace of his hand on Shane’s cock. He was so close. They both were.

“Please,” Shane begged. “Ilya.”

Ilya groaned, hips stuttering, losing his grip on the fast rhythm. Shane whimpered again, and his cock twitched in Ilya’s fist, spitting cum across his hand and Shane’s chest. Ilya followed shortly after, fucking his cum deep inside, only pulling out when every last bit had been completely milked from him and he lay there, panting against Shane’s open lips.

“I love you,” Ilya sighed into the space between them. He felt Shane’s smile against the skin of his cheek as Shane sighed in return.

“I love you too,” he whispered breathlessly.

Within minutes of showering, the two were asleep. They could go say hello to Scott Hunter and the others after a nap.

Of course, they didn’t just say hello to Hunter over a quick drink in the lobby and then lock themselves in the hotel again for the rest of the night. No, because Hunter had to bring Kip with him, so instead Shane insisted they all go to dinner together. Ilya felt very betrayed.

“So,” Hunter said, sitting back while the waiter put his plate in front of him. “Am I getting this right? Barrett and your team’s social media manager are dating? And the social media manager is a guy?”

Kip threw a French fry at his husband, then stuck his tongue out at him when Hunter gave him a betrayed look. “What?” Hunter cried. “Can you blame me for being surprised? I knocked the guy's best bud out in the first game of the season for saying some terrible shit about you. Excuse me for not thinking he could be gay.”

“Or bi!” Ilya chimed in.

“No,” Shane disagreed. “He’s definitely gay. Sorry, Ilya.”

“So, he’s like, out-out?” Kip asked, chewing over the next fry instead of throwing it at Hunter. Ilya thought it was a shame. The grease was an improvement. Hunter’s skin had been looking a little dry.

“Basically,” Shane said. “To the team at least, and I’m sure Kent’s run his mouth to a lot of people at this point. I think Harris is working with Troy on some kind of social media announcement or something before the Pride game.”

“It’s good that they have each other at least,” Kip replied. “Hell of a way to come out, though. You said his ribs were broken?”

Shane nodded and took another bite of salad. He was the only one at the table with green on his plate. “He’s still out for a few more weeks on LTIR. Price is back from his suspension, at least. It’s been rough without them.

Ilya knew their new coach had even been suspended for a few games. It was a mess. Not that the Centaurs had much of a chance at the playoffs that year, anyway. The team was coming together, sure, but they needed more time than a single season could provide. Maybe next year.

It’s okay. That just meant Shane would have to come cheer him on in the playoffs instead.

Ilya thought it was funny that another of Shane’s teammates was gay. That made the Centaurs the gayest team in the league, beating out Scott Hunter and the Admirals, even with Bennett counted. Ilya would argue that being bi had already disqualified them from the running, but Scott insisted it counted. Now it didn’t matter.

Scott would just have to admit defeat. He might as well do the same for the whole season. No way his old man knees were carrying him through another playoff series anyway.

Shane

For the first time in All-Stars history, Shane and Ilya were put on a team together for a 3-on-3. Their chemistry on the ice was electric, passes sliding perfectly between them. Shane thought for sure that, if the rest of the world hadn’t known about them already, their time spent playing for the same team that weekend would have been enough to tip anyone watching off.

When Shane netted a goal off Ilya’s assist, his fiancé kissed him right on the mouth, picked up by the jumbotron cameras for the whole world to see. Shane just smiled and pulled him into a happy embrace.

He loved playing against Ilya, would probably never get enough of facing him as an equal and rival on the ice, but there was something about playing with Ilya on his left that made Shane speechless.

“I love you,” he said, returning to the bench and the rest of their team. Ilya grinned.

“I love you too, моя кружка.”

Shane laughed and shoved him. “Fuck you!” he chuckled.

“Save it for later, will you?” Vaughn guffawed, shaking his head at their antics.

Scott looked at them with clear amusement and shook his head. It had felt good to play on a team with him again. Though it had made it extra weird when Shane was named captain. He hadn’t even been captain of a team for more than those few short weeks back in 2014, not like Scott or Ilya. But the C felt good on his chest.

Everything about their weekend together, from sharing the ice with Ilya to seeing him play with the kids in the pool, had felt like a fever dream. It was insane how desperately he could want to be around someone all the time.

Summers really weren’t enough. The season apart was way too long. And knowing Ilya, especially, had been struggling. Getting to see him here, lit up with joy and happiness, splashing Shane with water and kissing him on the ice, felt unspeakably precious. A memory Shane wanted to bottle up and keep in his pocket until the end of the season, when he and Ilya could retreat to the cottage at last.

Even if that time alone would be cut short by a wedding he was trying not to stress out about. There was a reason he left the planning to his mom and a very well-paid wedding planner.

The honeymoon after would be well worth it.

With the weekend wrapping up, Shane and Ilya packed their bags and headed for the airport. They would be flying out to Boston together to spend the last couple of days off at Ilya’s house before Shane had to go back to Ottawa. He hoped that this time, when they parted, Ilya wouldn’t have as hard a time getting back into the routine of the season. He knew that Marlow was planning to be on standby just in case.

Chapter End Notes

2017 season is gearing up! With All-Star weekend passed and Troy officially dating Harris, the Centaurs are winning at being the gayest team in the league even if they're not quite ready to be the playoff contenders we all know they're capable of being. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I might get another one done after work today. We'll see... lol

Until next time! <3

Chapter 28: Injury Recovery

Chapter Summary

Troy's time on LTIR is finally coming to an end, but another player's might just be beginning. Thankfully, Coach Wiebe takes care of his team.

Chapter Notes

Troy

Troy lounged on the sofa in Harris’ office, half asleep as he listened to Harris rant about the social media manager for Dallas and some Twitter war they were in over something. He’d come to the rink to see the team doctor, and it was looking like he would get to join practice again soon. His ribs were healing well, and they wanted him back on the ice almost as much as Troy wanted to be there.

“Are you even listening to me?” Harris asked.

Troy smirked. “Not really,” he teased, then twisted and stood up. It felt so good to be able to do that without pain. Harris had a cute little pout on his face that Troy knew just the trick to get rid of. Holding the arms of the swivel chair Harris sat in, Troy pulled him in and leaned down to kiss him.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” Harris protested, panting as Troy let him catch his breath. “Anyone could walk in.”

Troy sucked Harris’ bottom lip into his mouth and bit down, soothing it with his tongue when Harris made a startled squawk.

“And?” Troy asked, leaning back to admire his work. Harris’ lips, especially the bottom, were swollen and puffy. It was a good look on him.

“And we’re at work!” Harris insisted. “Now go away if you’re only going to be distracting. Some of us actually have work to do.”

“Ouch,” Troy groaned, hand over his heart in mock offense. “You would kick a man while he’s down like that?”

“If you don’t get out of this office and let me finish my actual work for the day, I’m going to be too tired and aggravated for much of anything later. How’s that sound?”

Troy lifted both hands in surrender and walked backward out the door, whistling while he went and turning heel just on the other side of the threshold. There would be others to annoy around here, certainly. Ones that wouldn’t threaten Troy with an early bedtime instead of the sexy fun times he was looking forward to now that his doctors had released him from his restrictions.

“Barrett!” Bood exclaimed, walking down the hall. “You coming to the game tonight?”

“Yeah, figured I might as well,” Troy smiled. He had tried to make most of their home games while he’d been stuck on LTIR. It felt weird cheering them on from the sidelines, but it was better than sitting alone on the couch when Harris was usually there anyway, filming content.

“Heard you’ll be back at practice starting tomorrow!” Bood boomed and smiled, throwing an arm around Troy’s shoulders.

“Yeah, might even be cleared to play for the next roady. I think Harris is planning to come along again, too.”

Bood smiled and nodded. “Nice. Always good to have him along, you know?”

Troy flashed a smirk. “Oh, definitely, though for different reasons, I’m sure.”

Bood froze, startled, then absolutely cackled with glee. “Holy shit, Barrett! Good on you, man. Come a long fucking way, haven’t you?”

Troy rolled his eyes. Sure, he knew what Bood meant, but it wasn’t that much of a stretch that Troy would feel comfortable enough joking about his relationship with Harris to Bood and the other guys. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been right there in the locker room when they joked around with Hollander about Rozanov.

It was a weird team, sure. But Troy could adapt. He’d been out to the team for over a month at this point. Did they think he was going to slink around and act all shy about it now? Cat was already well out of the bag, after all.

Bood was the first to arrive before the game, but the others all filed in soon enough after. Troy greeted a few as they trickled in, taking a minute to talk to Wyatt and Ryan before leaving them all to get ready. With any luck, he would get his chance to join them soon enough.

Ryan

Bending to grab his shoulder pads, Ryan flinched and felt his breath catch. His back had been bothering him on and off since hitting the weights that morning. Each time the pain flared, it was sudden and sharp enough to take his breath away, muscles spasming. While back pain wasn’t new to Ryan exactly, it hadn’t ever been this bad before. Ryan gave the spasms time to ease and dissipate, then slowly straightened and pulled his pads on with extra care. While the spasming eased, the pain still radiated down from his back to his right leg and foot.

He just hoped the NSAIDs he’d taken earlier would help him get through the game that night. Maybe he could talk to the physician next and ask for something stronger. It wasn’t going to be easy to play tonight for sure.

“Doing okay, Pricey?” Wyatt asked, standing near his own locker and pulling his pads on.

“Yeah,” Ryan grunted. Trust the tendy to be too observant for their own good. He hoped Wyatt would just let it go. He would get this figured out. There was no use stressing out the team when Troy was only just coming back from an injury.

Wyatt frowned like he didn’t quite believe him, but he also didn’t press. Soon enough, Ryan was out on the ice with the rest of the team anyway, carefully warming up to hopefully minimize any more aggravation to his back.

Their game against Dallas was a tough one, full of backchecks that kept the Centaur forwards exhausted and rough battles for the puck in the D-Zone. Wyatt hadn’t let anything through yet, but by the end of the second period, Ryan could see he was tiring. Ryan wasn’t faring much better. He’d downed a couple more pills during intermission, but the over-the-counter stuff just wasn’t touching it.

He was definitely going to have to ask the physio for something stronger.

“Price!” Coach Wiebe called, waving him over to the bench and ushering his replacement onto the ice.

“Coach,” Ryan acknowledged, heading for the bench.

“Wait a minute, Price,” Wiebe stopped him with a hand on his chest. “What’s going on? You look like you’re hurting.”

Ryan grimaced. Great, now Wiebe had noticed. He was really hoping to get this handled before their head coach got involved. Surely their physician could help him figure something out tomorrow.

“I’m fine,” Ryan said. “Back’s just bothering me a bit, that’s all.”

Wiebe’s expression twisted with what Ryan was pretty sure was concern. “Go see Doc. I’m pulling you until we get this figured out, got me?”

Ryan took a step back. That seemed really unnecessary. With over ten seasons in the MLH as an enforcer and a defenseman, some back pain was only to be expected. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

But Ryan wasn’t much of one for confrontation on a good day. Definitely not with his coach, and doubly so when he was already feeling like shit. So instead of pointing out how unnecessary it was, Ryan just nodded and went to see the physician. Not like there was going to be much they could do for him, anyway.

Ryan expected to be given a prescription for some stronger pain killers, told to ice and rest his back for a few days, and be sent on his way. What he got instead was a very concerned look from the team physician, who ran through a list of questions, then ordered x-rays and scans. Ryan wasn’t to hit the ice again until they had a better idea of what was going on with his back, apparently.

Flustered and unsure what to do with himself, Ryan texted Fabian that he was headed home and left the rink.

Fabian called before he even made it to the car.

“What happened?” he asked, sounding flustered. Ryan heard something fall and hit the floor with a loud clang and wondered if Fabian was doing the dishes again.

“Nothing,” Ryan assured. “Back was just hurting. Coach and Doc are being overdramatic, really. It’s not like I’m that young of a player anymore. Back pain is like, expected.”

“Shut up. You’re not even thirty. They pulled you from the game?”

“Yeah,” Ryan sighed. “Headed home to follow doc’s orders and ice it. I’m supposed to get it x-rayed and some scans done tomorrow.”

He heard Fabian hum with what Ryan was pretty sure was satisfaction. “Good,” Fabian said. “You have some frozen peas or something to ice it with?”

“Yeah, I got it. Not my first rodeo with hockey injuries.”

“So you agree it’s an injury now? Thought it was just that you’re a decrepit old man,” Fabian teased.

Ryan laughed, the shaking sending him into another spasm. He groaned, stopping to catch his breath.

“You sound terrible,” Fabian declared. “I’m coming over. Hungry?”

“I could eat,” Ryan sighed, resigned. Fabian had a tendency to feed whatever problems he couldn’t fix. It was a habit he’d inherited from Mrs. Salah, as Ryan knew well from the time he spent billeted with them.

“Be there soon, take it easy getting home, okay?”

Ryan promised he would and eased into the driver's seat of his car. Apparently, everyone was going to insist on babying him for the day.

The next morning, Ryan dutifully went to his appointments, sat for multiple X-ray angles, then waited for the CT, and lastly, the MRI. After a full day of imaging, Ryan’s back felt no better, and he was tired of waiting rooms and sterile offices. What’s worse, they refused to give him any answers until his physician and a specialist had a chance to analyze the imaging and get back to him, so he left without any more information than he went in with.

It wasn’t until the next day that the team physician asked him to come in and sat Ryan down in his office.

“The good news,” Doc said. “Is that we caught this pretty early, and with enough rest, dedicated treatment, and the right physical therapy, you should be in good shape to get back to the ice in a month or two.”

“A month,” Ryan said flatly, looking at the physician like he’d grown a second head.

“Or two,” the physician emphasized. "On the MRI, we found bulging discs at L3/L4 and L4/L5. There will be no impact drills or exercises requiring any rotation or heavy lifting until we get this turned around. I want you to rest for a couple of days, then we’ll start PT and manual therapy. We’ll talk about getting you back on the ice when you’ve got your full range of motion back without pain, a conversation I’ll be having regularly with your physical therapist. Any questions?”

So many, Ryan thought. He shook his head instead.

“Good,” the physician concluded. “Go home and get some rest. You can alternate an ice pack with a heating pad every 3 to 5 minutes, a couple of times a day. But limit it to 30-minute stretches and keep taking your NSAIDs. Call me if it gets any worse or you have any questions, yeah?”

Ryan nodded, then stood to leave. Looked like there was no need to stress about the next string of plane rides; he wasn’t going to be joining the team on their next road trip, after all. He wished he had been there to apologize at the end of the game the other night. Now he wouldn’t even see them until they got back.

Fabian

At this point, Fabian was at Ryan’s apartment in Ottawa more often than his own. At least that was true anytime the team was present for home stands, which was often enough that it felt like it counted.

He never thought he could or would be this invested in a hockey player, let alone a whole team of them. But that was the thing, Fabian actually loved the Centaurs. They were the biggest group of goofy weirdos he had ever met. Every single one of them had been nothing but kind and endearing from the start, and even their coach was a loveable softie who brought his daughters to games and his dog to practice every now and then.

When they made trips to the children’s hospital, it didn’t feel like a PR stunt. Their partners had readily welcomed Fabian, Ilya, and now Harris into their group chat and rolled them right into the inside jokes.

Hating them would be like hating a group of particularly slobbery and enthusiastic golden retrievers. Sure, hanging out with them could be a lot, and they were all such... guys about everything, really, but never in a mean or exclusionary way. Not once had they ever made Fabian feel unwelcome or like any less of a man because of how he presented himself. It was like stepping into a strange parallel universe.

But Fabian still worried. He knew that Ryan’s MLH career hadn’t all been easy or what he hoped for. He’d listened as Ryan whispered about the early years in the dark before bed, where his career hinged on his ability to fight other guys for his team. How that expectation had become all he was to the teams that traded for him, and the growing anxiety he felt before each game, wondering what he would lose to the red haze that he called The Monster next.

He knew that each trade, each new city, made Ryan feel like he’d left another part of himself behind. That it had fed into his brain worm, insisting that he wasn’t really wanted or appreciated anywhere, that they were always looking for another way to be rid of him. Eventually, Ryan stopped even trying to fit in or get along with his teammates.

He worried about what would happen to Ryan if he were ever traded again. And with this injury, he knew that Ryan worried he had lost value to the team. That management would send him off to the next one again.

“I could still play,” Ryan insisted to Fabian, lying out on the couch with a heating pad and practically immobile from pain.

“I’m no good to them stuck on a couch!” he protested when Fabian reminded him that the coach and his doctor wanted him to rest, to get better first, and not just bury this under stronger pain meds.

And again, Fabian was grateful that Ryan was on this team. What if the coach hadn’t spotted his tells and pulled him from the ice, or insisted he see the team physician for it? What if he had seen the team physician and just been prescribed injections and stronger drugs and sent right back out? What if they just used him until he couldn’t skate anymore and pushed him down the line to the next team?

Because Fabian was pretty sure Ryan would let them do it. He would let them use him until there was nothing left.

So it wasn’t pleasant to be around Ryan when he was being told no, told to rest, and made to stay behind. But Fabian was so thankful they made him do it anyway. He brought a glass of water and another round of chunky blue pills from the kitchen and passed them over to Ryan on the couch. Just little over-the-counter things. Because Ryan was right, a bulging disc wasn’t that serious. But it could become a lot more serious if left to get progressively worse under the repeated strain of his job as a defenseman.

There were a lot of things Fabian wanted to say that he held behind his teeth. Do you want to need back surgery before 30? was one of them. Do you want to get addicted to opiates from pain management instead of addressing the actual problem? was another. But Fabian held back because Ryan didn’t need him pointing out the obvious. Besides, his team was fighting back against Ryan’s self-destructive tendencies enough. Fabian could use a filter and play the supportive boyfriend.

For now, at least. If Ryan kept being such a grouch, he was eventually going to take some time to vent with Vanessa about this over a glass of wine. That was allowed, though. And he would come back. Intellectually, Fabian knew that none of this was easy for Ryan either.

So once the glass was returned to the kitchen and Ryan had alternated from the heating pad to an ice pack, Fabian walked back into the living room and sat on the couch, easing Ryan's head onto Fabian’s lap to play with his hair. They had at least a few more Disney movies to get through that Ryan was unacceptably unaware of, anyway. First on the list? Moana.

Chapter End Notes

Back injuries and disc problems are no fun. From how things went in Tough Guy, some kind of herniated disc was always my assumption. These guys lift a lot and play a very physical sport, so I can definitely see disc problems being a very real risk. It's also one of those injuries that can recur and get progressively worse over time if not treated properly or when ignored (as the Guardians did in canon). The thought process here being that this is an early catch, and the Centaurs are going to take this seriously from the jump to hopefully strengthen the spine and avoid future recurrences. Still stinks for Ryan, who feels like he's letting his team down and worries about becoming a burden and therefore on the chopping block for future trades. I'm mostly off work today, so going to take this as an opportunity to get some more writing done! Until next time! <3

Chapter 29: Boston vs Ottawa

Chapter Summary

After over a month spent apart, Ilya and Shane finally have a full day together after the Raiders play against the Centaurs. Ilya leaves after to play against Montreal.

Chapter Notes

Shane

Without having any time to see Ilya in person since the All-Star weekend back at the end of January, Shane and Ilya both had been counting down the days to the Ottawa/Boston game in March, after which Ilya would have a full day off in Ottawa before needing to travel to Montreal with his team for their next game.

The Raiders were having an incredible season so far, all but guaranteed a playoff spot at this point as long as they maintained their form, while the Metros were struggling to stay in the running for a wildcard spot. The Centaurs, of course, were hoping that the next season would start stronger and have fewer injuries. The 2017 playoffs were just not in the cards.

But surprisingly, Shane found that he didn’t mind that much. He knew this team had the potential; they just needed the time to get there. And he loved being part of that rebirth in his hometown.

With the Raiders’ flight landing so late, there wasn’t any time to see each other before the game, so the first time Shane had a chance to lay eyes on his fiancé was through the visor of his helmet.

“How is Price?” Ilya asked during warmups, foregoing his usual taunts. Shane knew that Ilya liked Ryan a lot from the few times they had met, like at the Christmas party. Shane was pretty sure Ilya saw an echo of his own struggles in Ryan’s anxiety, and admired the defenseman's openness about it.

“He’s doing a lot better, actually. Been coming to practice for some of the low-impact drills lately.”

Ilya smiled. “Good!” he declared. “Your defense is swiss cheese with him gone.”

“HEY!” Dykstra shouted from nearby. “FUCK YOU, ROZANOV!”

“Yes, we all know you are jealous of Hollander, cowboy. Tell me how pretty I am, and I will think about it.”

“Oh my god, stop!” Shane groaned. “Gross, Ilya.”

Ilya just laughed at the agony on Shane’s face and skated over to his own team to finish warming up.

While losing to the Raiders was pretty expected, it still rubbed Shane’s competitive edge like the rough side of Velcro scraping against his skin. Even that was easy enough to brush off, though, when Ilya was able to skip the bus and ride straight back home with Shane for the night. They were going to have a whole day together before Ilya had to leave again, and neither of them had any intentions of wasting it.

The sex that night was rough and rushed, full of leftover adrenaline from the game and pent-up energy from the months spent apart. The shower after was halfhearted at best, and they were asleep within an hour of walking through the front door.

Waking up to Ilya’s sleeping face less than a foot from his own was a sight Shane knew he would never really get used to. The easy smile and golden glow of the morning sun on his sharp jaw and cheekbones would forever take Shane’s breath right out of his lungs.

“доброе утро,” Ilya murmured, catching Shane staring.

Shane smiled dopily in return. “доброе утро, любовь моя.”

Ilya’s grin turned hungry and electric. “Very good,” he praised. “Go brush teeth. I want to kiss you.”

Shane laughed, slipping from bed with Ilya fast behind him. They brushed their teeth together at the same sink, and Shane had hardly had time to spit the last of the toothpaste from his mouth before Ilya’s lips sealed over his own, tongue invading the deep recesses of Shane’s mouth, and hands lifting him onto the counter.

Shane pulled Ilya closer between his legs and framed Ilya's face with his hands to return the kiss. “I love you,” he whispered, pulling back to stare Ilya in the eyes while he said it.

Ilya grinned. “I love you too, солнышко.”

He then grabbed Shane by the thighs and lifted, carrying him back to the bedroom and all but throwing him back into bed. “Allow me to show you how much, yes?”

Shane moaned, already pulling his shirt off. Ilya had slept without one, only needing to slip the loose flannel pajamas from his hips to be fully bare, his cock rigid and flushed with interest as he followed Shane onto the mattress.

At least he had been courteous enough to throw them into the nearby hamper instead of leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. Shane’s pajama pants and shirt followed soon after, tossed expertly by impatient hands as Ilya followed the action with a hand on each of Shane’s knees, spreading his legs apart.

He sucked one long finger into his mouth, wetting the digit before running it over Shane’s twitching rim. He was still pretty loose from the night before.

“Should I fuck you with only my spit to wet you for me?” Ilya teased, making a show of kneeling down between Shane’s spread legs and licking his rim around the slow thrusting of his index finger. “Maybe I will fuck you with my mouth until you come from only that, yes?”

“Ilya,” Shane whined, head thrown back against the pillows, hands fisting the sheets at his sides to keep some semblance of control.

Ilya slipped a second finger into Shane and licked up his perineum to his balls, sucking at them and teasing them with his teeth.

“I could keep you like this all day,” Ilya continued. “Aching for me. Desperate. So loose and ready I can fuck you whenever I want.”

Shane whined again, his hips bucking forward, cock desperate for attention.

“In the kitchen over breakfast,” Ilya murmured. “In the living room. Over side of pool.”

Shane had heard this line of thinking before. Maybe this time, he would even let Ilya get away with it. He'd really fucking missed him.

“Please,” Shane begged. “Please, Ilya, just fuck me. Need you, please.”

Ilya hummed, lips pressed to the shaft of Shane’s neglected cock. “Soon,” he promised.

In contrast to his taunting, Ilya reached for the lube to slick his cock up before sliding himself inside Shane. He lifted Shane’s ankles up over his shoulders and rocked into him. Unlike the urgency of the night before, Ilya kept his pace almost torturously slow, the position allowing him deep inside with every thrust.

“You feel so good for me like this,” Ilya praised, watching Shane’s face flush as sweat collected on his brow, the skin wrinkling there as Shane groaned with pleasure. “Your ass is so perfect. So greedy for me, no?”

Shane moaned and reached for his dick, but Ilya caught his hand and held it up over Shane’s head.

“You touch your cock when I tell you to, yes? But I do not think you need it. I think you come for me just like this.”

Shane trembled, whimpering and completely at Ilya’s mercy in this position. Even the use of his hands had been taken away by Ilya’s grip on them, holding them over his head. He leaned down to brush their noses together and licked across Shane’s parted lips, delving inside to taste the lingering toothpaste on his tongue.

Shane lost it, writhing against Ilya as he came, cum shooting up over his chest to his chin. Ilya sucked it off his jaw and thrust faster, finding his own release in Shane’s clenching hole.

He let go of Shane’s hands and helped slide his legs down before easing out of him, holding Shane’s trembling legs apart to clean his own cum from Shane’s twitching rim with greedy swipes of his tongue. Shane keened, back arching, hips retreating. Ilya held him still with his hands hooked at the junction of Shane’s thighs and hips.

They spent the rest of the day together just like Ilya said they would, with Ilya taking Shane in every room they spent more than five minutes in together. When Shane grew too sensitive to fuck, Ilya took his thighs and his throat instead. He was insatiable. Shane didn't ever want him to stop.

Leaving the next morning was torture. It was early, still dark when Shane drove to the hotel the rest of the Raiders were staying at to catch the team’s bus to Montreal.

Marly and a few of the others catcalled when Ilya stepped out of the passenger side of Shane’s car, already lined up to get on the bus and happy to take any opportunity to give their captain shit. Ilya flipped them off and circled around to get his bag from the back. Shane was already there, pulling the bag out. He handed it to Ilya and hummed into the kiss Ilya planted on his lips.

“Love you,” Shane sighed, gently stroking a hand down Ilya’s jaw. Ilya leaned into the touch, then planted one last kiss on Shane’s lips before stepping back.

“I love you too, солнышко. See you in Boston next month, yes?”

Shane smiled and nodded, waved to Ilya and his team, then got back into his car and drove home. He had zero intention of making his own team’s optional practice that day. He thought he might sleep for the rest of it instead.

Ilya

The bus to Montreal was quiet, with most of the team sleeping the whole way. Ilya took advantage of the opportunity for a nap, too, since sleeping hadn't been a priority for the last 24 hours. Playing Montreal used to be a highlight of every season for Ilya, but since Shane was traded back in 2014, it had felt more like a chore. And an opportunity to punch Comeau, of course.

Montreal hadn’t been having a good season, and their game against the Raiders was as pathetic as Ilya expected. His phone had been going off almost since the puck drop, but Ilya ignored it until the game was over. Finally taking the time to see who had been calling, he saw that it was the lawyer he’d hired to manage the trust he set up for his father’s care and his niece’s education.

“Yes?” Ilya asked, answering immediately when his phone lit up with another incoming call.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rozanov,” the woman on the other line said in response. “It’s about your father. He’s dead.”

Ilya closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the locker. His team was still celebrating the win around him, but it sounded muffled and far away. He focused instead on the faint clacking and rustling sounds he could hear through the phone.

“I will not be able to go to Moscow,” he said.

“No,” his lawyer agreed. Her tone was professional. No empty platitudes, no nonsense. Ilya liked her a lot. Maybe he should see if he could give her a raise.

“I can have arrangements made and take care of the finance side of things. Your brother has been demanding that I share your new number with him, but, of course, I have refused. If you want, I can give you his number?”

Ilya chuckled darkly. “No,” he said. “I have nothing to say to Alexei.”

His lawyer made a small sound of affirmation. “I figured as much.”

They stayed on the line together, going over a few more details, and when she hung up, Ilya pressed the corner of his phone to his forehead and sat on the bench. One of the hardest things about his father’s illness was that he would forget that he hated Ilya, that he’d disowned him and told him never to speak to him again after Ilya went public with his relationship with Shane. He would call Ilya, asking him to bring home bread or to see if he had seen his mother lately.

It had been Ilya's therapist who recommended Ilya change his number, back in January. He could have blocked his father’s calls like he had Alexei’s, but that felt wrong, somehow. It made Ilya feel like a bad son, instead of a son with a bad father.

He wondered how many times his father had called since then. How many opportunities had he missed to hear his voice one more time? Why did he even care when the man so clearly hated him?

“Rozy?” Marlow asked, placing a comforting hand over Ilya’s shoulder.

Ilya shook his head. He couldn’t cry here, not in front of his team.

“You need to get out?” Marlow asked.

Ilya nodded. Sometimes, he thought he really didn’t deserve Marlow. His friend always knew how to read him, how to be exactly what Ilya needed.

Marlow lit a cigarette from his own pack, cheeks puffing briefly until the end caught, and handed it over, knowing Ilya didn’t carry them anymore. “What happened?” he asked then, lighting his own with a long drag.

Ilya took an equally long pull and watched the red glow at the end contrast with the night’s darkness.

“My father is dead,” he said.

Marlow rested his cigarette to one side and leaned back against the stadium wall. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Ilya agreed. “Lawyer is making arrangements for funeral.”

Ilya didn’t have to explain that he couldn’t go. Marlow at least already knew that.

“You should still take some time off,” Marlow said when they were both all but finished with their cigarettes. “Bereavement, or whatever. Maybe spend some time with Shane. Your dad was an asshole, but you’re still going to grieve him. The team will be okay finishing the roady without you, yeah?”

Ilya shrugged. He wanted to. He really, desperately wanted to. But could he do that? Just leave his team to finish their road trip without him?

He would have, if he’d had to go back to Moscow.

But where did that leave him now?

“I will talk to Coach,” Ilya decided, stubbing out his cigarette against the sidewalk. “Maybe,” he said then, the only answer he felt he could give. Maybe. If the coach was okay with it, then maybe Ilya would take the break and catch a ride back to Ottawa for a few days. Put himself back together in a house that was full of both of them and not only Ilya.

“Okay, man,” Marlow sighed. “I love you, you know that, right? This team will be fine. We’ve got your back.”

Ilya gave a small, tired smile and nodded. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve them.

Chapter End Notes

2017 was such a hard year for Ilya. At least in this AU he is surrounded by love and support, but his father's death is still a pretty terrible blow. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I'm hoping to get at least one more done today. This fic is really wrapping up as we get close to the end. Thank you for sticking with me! Planning to take a break before writing the next one to respond to some of your awesome comments <3

Until next time! <3

Chapter 30: Grieving

Chapter Summary

Shane picks Ilya up in Montreal and brings him home to rest and process the news of his father's death.

Chapter Notes

Shane

Having caved to Ilya’s ridiculous libido the day before, Shane stayed true to his earlier decision and skipped the optional practice that day. No one on the team so much as bothered to text him and question him about it, either.

Instead, he went to his parents’ house to pick up Azuki and Anko. They had offered to watch the rambunctious duo for Shane while Ilya stayed over, and knowing that Ilya was going to be very… well, Ilya- Shane took them up on the offer. At five months old, the kittens were most definitely in their t-rex phase of life and got into pretty much everything all the time, running through the house chasing each other and knocking art off of the walls.

Shane didn’t realize how much work having a cat would be. At least they had each other to burn off their energy. Shane had still been on his first roady post-Christmas when his mom picked up Anko from the shelter. She was only a couple of weeks younger than Azuki, a brown tabby with white socks, a white nose and a big patch of white on her chest too.

Of course, his mom would name her after sweet red bean paste to match the theme of Azuki’s name, and the two were attached at the hip from the moment Anko arrived. While Azuki was the spunkiest of the two kittens, with a tendency to jump out at passerby from under furniture and nibble on fingers, Anko was incredibly sweet and often curled up on Shane’s lap when he was home, purring loud enough to overpower the TV.

While Shane insisted Anko was his mom’s cat, they all knew the truth, and Anko spent more time with Shane than even Azuki did.

Shane spent the day resting, watching the kittens play, and prepping meals for the week. He didn’t have to get on a plane again until the end of next week and planned to enjoy the time spent at home.

He had just finished watching Ilya’s game against the Metros and getting the kittens fed for the night when his phone rang.

“Hey,” Shane sighed, happy to hear from Ilya even if he had just seen him that morning. Ilya was going to be disappointed if he was hoping for phone sex, though. Shane was ready to sleep.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Ilya said, his voice sounding thick from the other end of the line.

Shane froze, one hand going to the back of the couch as he stopped in the living room. “What’s wrong?”

“Is my father,” Ilya continued after a pause. Shane could hear the uneven nature of his breathing, the little hitches that suggested Ilya might be crying or trying not to. “He is dead.”

“Ilya-“ Shane gasped, not sure what to say. He heard Ilya’s breath hitch again, followed by a wet inhale, and knew that Ilya was most definitely crying on the other end of the phone.

“Coach has given me some time off. Is okay? To come back to Ottawa for few days?”

“Of course!” Shane insisted right away. He went to the hall and pulled down his keys and coat. “You’re in Montreal still? I can come get you.”

“Please,” Ilya sighed. “Am at hotel, still. Will send you address.”

“Okay,” Shane assured. “I’m leaving now, okay? I’ll be there in just a couple of hours. Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

“No,” Ilya denied. “You should worry about drive. I have Marly. Will be okay.”

Shane chewed his lip, then muttered with reluctant acceptance and let Ilya hang up. He texted his mom to let her know what had happened and that he was headed to Montreal. Practice tomorrow morning was not optional, but he knew Wiebe would understand and that his mom could handle it. He would still be there for the game tomorrow night, at least.

He would probably need to sleep in, though, if he planned to be at all rested for it, and he didn’t want Ilya to be alone first thing tomorrow anyway. One more missed practice wouldn’t hurt in the long run.

As soon as Ilya sent the hotel address, Shane plugged it into his phone and hit the road. The drive was familiar enough, and it wasn’t long before Shane was texting Ilya to let him know he had arrived. A few minutes later, Ilya and Marlow exited the hotel lobby with Ilya’s hands stuffed in his coat pockets and Marlow carrying his suitcase.

Shane pulled Ilya into a tight hug, trapping his arms at his sides. Ilya pulled his hands free with a little effort and managed to wrap them low around Shane’s waist, his face buried in Shane’s collar.

Marlow met Shane’s gaze with a sad smile of acknowledgment and a nod. He walked to the car, loaded Ilya’s bag, and then waved silently on his way back in. Shane lifted a hand from Ilya’s back to wave in return and steered Ilya over to the passenger side door, helping him into the seat and buckling the seatbelt. He cupped Ilya’s still-wet cheeks with both hands and kissed him softly.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he asked, wiping the tear tracks from Ilya’s face with the pads of his thumbs. Ilya nodded and leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closed as an exhausted sigh left his lips. Shane kissed his cheek and stepped back to close the door.

Ilya slept for most of the drive back to Ottawa, only waking when Shane gently roused him with a hand on his shoulder back home. He left Ilya’s bag in the car and helped him inside, the kittens greeting them at the door.

Ilya knelt down to coo at them, Anko arching her back into his hand as he stroked her soft fur.

“I still can’t believe you left them with Mama Hollander the whole time I was here,” Ilya chastised, reaching out with his free hand to drum his fingers across the floor and play with Azuki.

“You barely noticed,” Shane rebuffed, slipping his shoes off and walking past Ilya to the stairs. “Come on, we should get some sleep.”

Ilya sighed dramatically, but wrapped up his time with the kittens and followed Shane upstairs, Azuki and Anko following after them both with tails perked up in the air and little pounces at each other along the way.

They did end up sleeping in together the next morning, though Shane woke up at his usual time to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, he climbed right back into bed, pulled Ilya back into his arms, and fell asleep to the sound of his gentle breathing. It was after noon when he woke up again to the feeling of Ilya playing with his hair.

Ilya kissed the crown of his head, smiled, and slipped off the bed. “Kittens are very hungry, Hollander. Say we are bad parents for sleeping in and forgetting their breakfast.”

Shane smiled and shook his head. “We better fix that soon, then,” he agreed, following Ilya to the bathroom and brushing his teeth again after hours more sleep. They followed the demanding meows of Anko and Azuki and filled their bowls, then went downstairs to the kitchen to make something for themselves.

Shane could cook eggs, at least. Even Ilya would let him do that.

Ilya

“How are you feeling?” Shane asked, after Ilya had a plate of eggs and toast and a steaming cup of coffee. Ilya twisted the coffee cup on the counter with a nudge to the handle and grimaced.

“Okay,” he said after some thought, looking up to meet Shane’s concerned gaze. “Happy, I think. Not to go to Moscow. Maybe this makes me a bad son.”

Shane abandoned his own breakfast to lean against the counter and lay a hand over Ilya’s shoulder, thumb rubbing a soothing trail up and down the skin of his neck.

“That doesn’t sound like you being fair to yourself,” Shane contested. He pulled one of the barstools closer and sat down.

Ilya sighed gustily. “Yes, I know. Does not change how I feel.”

“Have you reached out to your therapist yet? Maybe you can set up a video call with her for later today.”

Ilya gave a small, appreciative smile and nodded. “Is a good idea,” he agreed.

Shane let it go, and Ilya started on his eggs. He could take Shane’s advice after they finished eating. He didn’t know how to feel about everything other than guilty that he wasn’t actually feeling much at all. He’d had a stronger reaction leaving for Montreal yesterday and saying goodbye to Shane than his father’s death inspired. That was bad, right? That had to be a bad thing.

And he did feel sad that his father was gone, but in a lot of ways, his father had been gone for years. In many ways, his father had never even been there to begin with. He had never really known Ilya, and then when Shane, such a huge part of Ilya’s life, became known to his father, he didn’t even want to know Ilya anymore.

His mama would have wanted him at the funeral, though. Would have wanted him there to support his brother. She loved them both so much. His father, too, even though the man never deserved her.

Ilya reached for the cross he wore with one hand, pulling it from his shirt.

“Mama would be sad that I am not there,” he said, turning to Shane.

Shane put his coffee cup down and laid a hand on Ilya’s arm. “She loved you,” he said. “She would want you to be safe and happy over anything else, Ilya.”

Ilya felt a tear slip down his cheek. He’d thought he was through with those. It turned out his mother’s death could still get to him even after all these years.

“I have been thinking,” Ilya said, looking down at the necklace between his fingers. “I want to do something, to honor her. Like charity or something.”

“I’ve thought about that too,” Shane agreed. “Something to help kids like you and Ryan, hockey kids and the like. What if we did a summer camp? Something inclusive to raise awareness about mental illness and donate the proceeds to organizations that support people who are struggling, especially kids in sports, where mental illness can be seen as made up or some kind of fundamental weakness.”

Ilya smiled, really crying again, his cheeks flooding with it. He nodded. “She would like that,” he agreed. “I like that too. Like Mama Hollander says. Is important for kids to see themselves in us, no?”

Shane grinned right back, reaching out to wipe the tears from Ilya’s face. “Sure,” he agreed. “We have players of color, gay and bi players, and players who struggle with depression and anxiety, too. Why shouldn’t they get to see that? See that there don’t have to be limits for them just because others try to set them.”

Ilya gave a wide, genuine smile and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Probably too late for this summer, no? Maybe by the next.”

Shane grinned right back and let Ilya know he would talk it over with his mom and Farah. Between the two of them, they would know what needed to be done to get the ball rolling. In the meantime, Shane and Ilya would reach out to other players who might be interested in being involved.

Eventually, Shane had to leave for his game, and Ilya would have to stay behind. While the league knew he was out and why, the optics of him attending another team’s game when he should be at his own were not great. Instead, he stayed home with the kittens and lured them around the floor with feathered toys.

By the time Shane made it back, Ilya had fallen asleep on the couch with both kittens perched on his chest, curled up together and purring as they fell asleep. It was the fake shutter sound of Shane’s phone that woke Ilya, careful not to move and dislodge the sleeping kittens.

Shane crossed over to the couch and kissed Ilya sweetly on the lips.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered.

Ilya chuckled. “They are not sleeping babies, Hollander,” he teased. “You do not need to whisper.”

“You say that as the one privileged enough to never have been woken by them at 3AM,” Shane replied, nipping Ilya’s bottom lip before pulling back. “Have you showered yet?”

“No,” Ilya sighed, carefully transferring the kittens to the couch cushions one at a time.

“Want some company?” Shane smirked, still riding the high of his team’s win.

“Always,” Ilya replied, the word a mumbled moan that slipped from his lips as he pulled Shane into his arms and leaned in for a deep kiss.

Chapter End Notes

The Hollanders basically share custody of Azuki and Anko at this point, but they're definitely still Shane's cats (no matter what he says to the contrary!). We know whose cottage they will be at over the summer lol. Ilya gets to process his grief with fluffy kittens and his lovely fiance, no questionably sanitary Russian tunnels in this AU! Hope you liked the chapter, only 4 more and an epilogue to go!

Until next time! <3

Chapter 31: Pride Night

Chapter Summary

The Centaurs kick off Pride Night with an important post from one of their players and the support of the SAPs

Chapter Notes

The end of this chapter gets a bit BDSM-ey. Nothing crazy but figured I would warn folks, especially since the duo involved aren't the best at having actual conversations about that kind of thing before just doing whatever they want lol. Please note that this is not a suggestion to get into this kind of play with your IRL partners without clear communications around limits and boundaries.

Troy

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Harris asked, sitting on the couch in his office with an arm around Troy’s shoulders, the other holding a chai latte. Troy held his phone with both hands, tilted so they could both see the screen with the post Harris had helped him prepare.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Troy said, jaw set. The picture was of him and Harris at the rink in front of the mural from Harris’ first big outreach initiative with the team. Troy wore the Centaurs’ Pride jersey, and Harris wore a matching one, his back to the camera so that “Barrett” could be seen spelled out across the back, with the number 17 in rainbow fabric directly underneath. Troy had the hand furthest from the camera resting on Troy’s face with a giant, genuine smile brightening his expression as he looked into Harris' eyes. Harris smiled back at him, hand closest to the camera resting on Troy’s waist.

“I am incredibly thankful to play for such an accepting and incredible team as the centaurs,” the post read. “I don’t know that I would have felt so ready and confident to share this side of myself with the world without them. I proudly skate with my team for tonight’s Pride Night with my boyfriend, Harris Drover, cheering us on from the bench. Go Cents!”

“Is it too short?” Troy asked, chewing his bottom lip.

Harris groaned. “We’ve been over this,” he sighed. “It’s fine. You don’t have to post it, though. You can do this another time if you’re not ready.”

Troy posted it before Harris could fully finish the sentence. Then it was done. Out there. No going back.

Harris took the phone from his hands, made a point of turning it off, and straddled Troy’s lap to kiss him senseless and take his mind off of it. It was definitely working.

“Didn’t you say we couldn’t do this here because anyone could walk in?” Troy teased.

“Extenuating circumstances,” Harris defended himself. He did ease up, though, keeping it PG just in case.

Good thing too, because minutes later the door slammed open and Bood crashed into the office. “Barrett!” he shouted. “Cool post, dude! Nice!”

Troy rolled his eyes. “You stalk my social media or something? It hasn’t even been five minutes, Bood. What the fuck.”

Bood shrugged and gave a devilish grin. “Pretty sure you broke the internet,” he laughed.

“There are already two out gay players on our team alone!” Troy denied. “No way it’s that big of a deal.”

Bood laughed and shook his head in adamant denial. “Nah, man, you should see it. ‘Two Hottest Hockey Hunks GAY!’ Ha!”

He used his hands to put quotes around it and everything.

“There’s no way that’s an actual article title. And it’s too soon for an article anyway, asshole.”

“Hmm, he does have a point, though,” Harris agreed. “You and Hollander are definitely the most gorgeous guys in hockey. Even Rozanov is more… rugged than truly pretty. I can see it.”

Troy groaned and let his head fall back against the back of the sofa. “I take it back,” he said. “On second thought? Delete it. It can’t have been seen by too many people yet anyway.”

Bood had his phone out and in his hand. “Nah, already got a ton of likes and reposts. You’re stuck with it, bud. Cute picture, though.”

Harris laughed his outrageous bark of a laugh at Troy’s pain. Even his boyfriend showed no sympathy. This was betrayal.

“Et tu, brute?”

Harris choked on his laughter and slapped Troy on the leg. “Quick Bood! Get the kitchen knives!”

Bood doubled over in laughter before collapsing into Harris’ rolling chair.

“Heard you're planning to sit with the SAPs tonight,” he said once he’d caught his breath.

“Cassie really can’t keep anything to herself, can she?” Harris laughed, hopeful that Cassie was at least able to keep some of the planning in their group chat a secret.

“Nope!” Bood confirmed. “Well, fellas, I got shit to do! See you at the game!”

Troy and Harris said their goodbyes, and Troy helped Harris gather some of his things to take back with them to Troy’s apartment. They had a few hours before they needed to be at the arena for the game, and Troy could think of a few pride-appropriate ways to celebrate hard launching their relationship back home, where random captains couldn’t barge in at any moment.

Shane

Shane hated the pride tape. Not because it was colorful or ostentatious or whatever. No, he hated it because it was shitty, wore out too quickly, and didn’t adhere exactly the way he wanted it to.

He used it anyway because fuck it, it was one night. If he had to retape his damn stick at every intermission, then apparently that’s just what he had to do.

The whole team wore their specially made jerseys while they warmed up. When it was time to re-enter the arena in their official gear for the game, only Shane, Ryan, and Troy still had rainbow sticks on their tape. Their names were called first as they skated through the tunnel to cheers from the rainbow-drenched stadium. Shane looked up at the jumbotron, seeing it switch from a shot of them entering the ice to the stands where Harris, Fabian, and Ilya were standing with their backs to the camera, grinning over their shoulders in pride jerseys for their respective partners.

Shane teared up and gasped. Ilya hadn’t said a word about coming to the game tonight. Shane thought he was still in Boston! He had his own game the next day and an early morning practice to make.

“Look who showed up!” Troy laughed, waving up to the crowd and smirking at Shane. “Your lover boy never could resist a dramatic entrance.”

Shane shoved him and skated past, laughing and waving with him and the rest of the team up at their fans. He would just have to worry about what Ilya was thinking later, apparently.

The game itself was fairly standard, with Colorado not putting up much of a fight and the Centaurs actually getting a pretty easy win at home. It helped that none of their players were on LTIR for the first time since January, and everyone was finally starting to skate with the cohesion and chemistry of a real team. If only they had been able to play like this all year, they might have actually had a shot at the playoffs.

Still riding high from their win, Shane met Ilya right outside the locker room and pulled him into a kiss that was probably a bit inconsiderate to his teammates, considering the firm grip Ilya had on Shane’s ass, but he couldn’t be bothered enough to care.

He and his parents were supposed to go out to dinner, but he didn’t plan on going anywhere but straight home with Ilya instead. Besides, they probably knew the whole time anyway. Someone had gotten Ilya that jersey.

“You guys coming to celebrate at Monks?” Bood asked, piling into the hall with Dykstra and Choui.

“Yeah! You gotta, man!” Dykstra echoed.

Shane was already opening his mouth to politely refuse when Ilya cut him off.

“Of course!” he cheered.

Shane glared at him.

Ilya smirked and mouthed something that looked like “be patient,” but honestly could have been any number of things.

“We should celebrate with the team,” he murmured into Shane’s ear when Bood turned to invite everyone else along. “Is bonding.”

Shane rolled his eyes and groaned. “I want to bond with the mattress while you fuck me into the sheets,” he replied, whispering the words into Ilya’s ear. Ilya shuddered at the breath dancing across the sensitive skin there.

“Is this dirty talk?” Ilya asked, louder. “Who are you and what have you done with my fiancé?”

“Oooo, is Shane being filthy?” Troy taunted, walking over with his arm over Harris’ neck and a huge smile on his face.

Shane rolled his eyes.

“See Harris?” Troy continued. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Harris elbowed Troy in the ribs and shot Shane an expression full of apology for his boyfriend’s behavior. Shane really wasn’t sure what Harris saw in Troy anyway.

The whole team arrived at Monks still in their suits after leaving the rink, splitting up to play pool and take over the open tables reserved for them at the bar. Shane and Ilya shared a big table with Bood, Wyatt, Troy, Ryan, and all of their partners. Fabian sat on Ryan’s lap, ostensibly to leave more room for the others but in reality to make out with him within minutes of everyone getting settled. Ilya laughed at Shane’s affronted expression and distracted him by sucking a mark into his neck.

“Don’t be a prude,” Ilya chastised. “We are celebrating, no?”

Shane cupped a hand over his neck and rolled his eyes. “You’re such an asshole,” he complained while Bood laughed at him.

They stayed just long enough to have a drink with the team, and then Shane excused them. Unlike some of his teammates, his partner had an early flight the next day, and he would much rather be home with Ilya’s cock in his mouth than here downing flat beer with people he could see every day.

Ilya

“You are very impatient,” Ilya teased when Shane pulled him into the house and barely stopped long enough for them both to kick off their shoes and greet the excited kittens.

“I didn’t even know you were coming!” Shane exclaimed, pushing at Ilya’s chest before pulling him in by the fabric of his jersey to kiss him breathless. “What the fuck, Ilya?”

He went further into the house and found Azuki and Anko's bowls, filling them for the poor starving creatures who wove between their legs and yowled to be fed.

“SAPs helped make plan,” Ilya replied, watching the kittens run for their bowls with amusement. He let Shane finish putting their food away and stepped into his space again, sealing his mouth over Shane's and pulling Shane’s tie loose. Ilya stuffed it into his back pocket for later. He started on the buttons of Shane’s dress shirt, groaning in dismay when his view of Shane’s chest was blocked by the undershirt he wore beneath it.

“Too many layers, Hollander,” he complained.

“Maybe I would have worn fewer layers if I’d known you were coming,” Shane snarked.

Ilya groaned and pulled both layers of shirt out of Shane’s waistband, stripping him bare and leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor of the living room. Shane's belt and pants were next, pushed down with his briefs until Ilya finally had access to Shane’s cock. He went to his knees and sucked it into his mouth, one hand reaching back to finger his hole.

“Jesus, Ilya. Slow down,” Shane panted. Ilya ignored him, rubbing circles around his rim and bobbing on his cock eagerly. Shane whined, gripped Ilya by the hair, and pulled him off.

“Hey,” he soothed. “We’ve got all night, okay? Let’s slow down a little.”

Ilya sighed but stood and kissed a path back up Shane’s chest. “Bedroom?” he suggested.

Shane smiled, picked his clothes up off the floor, and made for the stairs. Ilya followed behind him. As soon as they were in the room and Shane’s suit was in with the rest of his dry cleaning, Ilya pulled him back into his arms and then turned Shane until his back was flush with Ilya’s chest.

He kissed the back of Shane’s neck and pulled the silk tie he’d stashed away back out of his pocket. Careful not to make it too tight, Ilya tied Shane’s wrists behind his back. Shane’s breath caught in a gasp.

“Okay?” Ilya checked.

Shane nodded.

“Out loud, Hollander. Okay?”

“Yes,” Shane sighed. “Very okay. Fuck, Ilya.”

Ilya moaned and leaned down to bite over the mark he’d left earlier. Shane squirmed, whining as he pushed his back into Ilya’s chest, hands caught between them.

Ilya stepped back. “Turn around,” he demanded. When Shane did, Ilya undid his own jeans and shoved them just low enough to pull his cock and balls out. “Kneel,” he added, stroking himself as he watched Shane fall to his knees, hands still tied behind his back and pupils blown.

Ilya tilted his head, studying Shane on the floor, and dropped his cock to slip his belt off. He walked around Shane and knelt down, closing Shane’s hands around the heavy metal buckle.

“You drop this, and I will stop, yes?”

“Yes,” Shane agreed. Verbally.

“Good boy,” Ilya praised.

He walked back around, hand wrapped around his cock again and faced Shane, holding himself a few inches away, far enough that Shane wouldn’t be able to reach without leaning too far forward and risking his balance. Ilya reached out and used his left hand to hold Shane’s mouth open. He stepped closer, holding Shane still with one hand and guiding his own cock with the other. He rested the head on Shane’s tongue.

Shane moaned, rolling his tongue over it and licking the precum that beaded at Ilya’s slit. Ilya let go of his shaft to grab a fistful of Shane’s hair and hold him steady while he slid deeper. With his cock just out of reach of Shane’s throat, Ilya stopped and let go of his jaw, sliding that hand down to the fine hairs at the base of Shane’s neck.

“Suck,” he demanded, urging Shane forward with the tight grip on his hair. Shane hollowed his cheek and moaned as he obeyed the command.

“So good for me,” Ilya moaned. He let Shane have his way for a while, spit gathering around his lips and slicking up Ilya’s shaft, clinging to his pubic hair and dripping down to his balls. Then Ilya tightened his grip on Shane’s hair and took over, fucking his mouth and down his throat roughly, barely giving him a chance to breathe.

Shane whined, Ilya’s belt buckle still held firmly between his bound hands.

Only when Ilya could feel himself right on the edge of orgasm, did he pull back. Dragging Shane off his cock by the hair.

“Enough,” Ilya declared and pulled his belt from Shane’s hands. “On the bed, ass in the air, Hollander.”

Shane swayed a bit on his knees, panting for breath. He wobbled when he stood, and Ilya shifted forward, ready to catch him if necessary, but Shane managed to right himself and turn for the bed. It was an obvious struggle to climb on with his arms still tied behind his back, but Shane managed without Ilya needing to help him and walked on his knees until he reached the pillows, slowly leaning forward and turning his face to the side so he could still breathe. His whole body was shaking.

Ilya left the jersey on but removed his pants and underwear, tossing them in the hamper. As soon as he was on the bed with Shane, he rubbed circles between Shane’s bunched shoulder blades, then grabbed his bound hands and bent down to lay a bite on a pert ass cheek. Shane jumped at the action, then stilled with a long sigh.

“Okay?” Ilya checked.

Shane nodded, then remembered Ilya’s earlier request and followed it with a hoarse “yes.”

“Okay,” Ilya murmured and sat back. He retrieved their lube from the nightstand and laid it next to Shane on the bed before using both hands to spread Shane’s ass cheeks and lick across his hole. Shane whined, shifting forward before pushing himself back against Ilya’s tongue.

Ilya sat on his knees and poured a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, starting with two that he slid all the way in, letting Shane feel the sudden stretch before pulling them out to do it all over again.

As soon as Shane’s hole was prepped enough that Ilya felt confident he wouldn’t hurt him, he lubed up his own cock and buried himself in Shane’s tight ass. Shane cried out at the intrusion, hands pulling against their bindings, and Ilya soothed him by running a hand down his trembling thigh. When Shane had settled, Ilya reached for his bound hands again and held them, used them for leverage to pull Shane back onto his cock as he rocked into him.

Shane’s open mouth leaked drool onto the pillows beneath him, his eyes glazed as little whimpers escaped past his lips, and he squirmed against the sheets. Ilya wrapped his free arm around him to fist Shan’s cock and found it leaking and wet with precum, a large damp patch growing beneath him on the sheets.

“So wet for me,” Ilya praised. “So greedy. Fuck, Shane. So fucking pretty,” Ilya praised. He pounded into Shane, thrusting hard and fast. Neither of them would last much longer, not with how turned on they both were. Ilya felt like he’d been on the edge and ready to go all fucking night.

His praises devolved into Russian, and Ilya wondered how much of what he said Shane still understood. He wasn’t even sure Shane understood English anymore; he was so gone. The slight fluttering of his eyelids was the only indication he was still awake and hadn’t passed out.

Shane’s eyes shot open, and he keened deep in his throat when he came, urging Ilya on to his own release as he followed right after. He slipped out and untied Shane’s wrists, turning him over to cup his face with both hands and press little kisses across his lax lips and freckled cheeks. Shane sighed, tilting his head into Ilya’s touch and smiling a soft smile that lifted just the corners of his lips, like he was too tired to pull them any wider.

“I love you,” Shane murmured.

Ilya kissed his forehead. “I love you too, мое солнышко.”

When they both had enough time to catch their breath, Ilya helped Shane over to the shower and cleaned both of them up for bed. Not having the energy to change the sheets, they slept in the guest room again. He knew Shane wouldn’t mind. There were only a few hours left before Ilya had to leave, anyway. Might as well try to get some actual sleep.

Chapter End Notes

From the research I was able to find, Pride jerseys weren't huge across the league in 2017, but a couple of teams had them, and this is around when Pride nights started getting popular with the Hockey is for Everyone initiative. Pride tape was a lot more common that season, though. I figured that with the Cents having 3 out gay players, it would make sense for them to be one of the few teams with actual jerseys. Honestly, the effect on the timeline of the whole league with such influential and out gay players might have sped things up a bit in this AU anyway.

Until next time! <3

Chapter 32: That's Hockey

Chapter Summary

In which Shane plays against Ilya in Boston, and some events happen in every timeline.

Chapter Notes

Chapter-specific warning for canon-typical hockey violence

Ilya

Ilya was excited to play against the Centaurs in Boston. Not just because his fiancé would be staying with him after and didn’t have to fly out until later the next day, but also because the Centaurs were actually shaping up to be a pretty strong team. There had been quite a few late-season upsets, with the Centaurs winning against opponents ranked significantly higher since they got back to their full roster.

While Ilya would never let his fiancé win a game, for the first time since Shane left the Admirals, Ilya wondered whether the Raiders might just lose. The possibility, the thrill of genuine competition, had Ilya buzzing the whole way to the stadium.

His team fed on his energy too. Ilya knew that he hadn’t been the best captain that year. He knew that between his separation from Shane, depressive episodes, and the death of his father, he hadn’t been nearly as present or inspiring as seasons past, but they still met his excitement with a competitive fire of their own. This team was strong. Even without him at his best, they were vying for the top of the division with the Admirals.

“You ready to play some good fuckin’ hockey?” Marlow crowed, grabbing Ilya by both shoulders and shaking him.

Ilya grinned and bashed their foreheads together. It stung a bit without the helmets protecting them. Neither cared very much.

“LET'S GO!” Ilya cheered. He jumped onto the bench and addressed the whole room.

“Now I know, Centaurs have been shit team in past,” Ilya started. The room echoed with chittering laughter and shuffling sticks. “But let us not underestimate, yes? They beat the Admirals only last week. We cannot get cocky.”

His guys nodded around him, some frowning like they hadn’t considered it. Ilya smirked. “Is not so surprising, no? They have Hollander now. But never forget this one thing. YOU have ME!”

The room erupted.

“And I will NEVER let Shane and his stupid little Canadian face win a game of hockey on Boston ice! Are you with me?”

They cheered again and rattled their sticks against the lockers. Ilya was beaming when he jumped back down and pulled his jersey on.

“One of these days, I’m going to record one of your speeches and send it to Shane so I can watch him kick your ass,” Marlow guffawed. “Good to see you all fired up, captain.”

Their game was full of laughter and teasing, with Ilya taking every opportunity to chirp Pike and cackling with glee anytime he slipped the puck away from Shane. Which was often. They played a physical game against the boards and roughhoused each other like old times.

And the Centaurs kept up. Their game was strong. Headed into the third, both teams were tied with two goals each, and Shane was a sweaty, beaming mess of exhaustion every time Ilya locked eyes with him. He missed getting to push Shane to his limits like this. They both did.

Shane was in possession of the puck, flying down the ice with Ilya right behind him. He looked back over his shoulder, expression alight with joy as he caught Ilya’s determined gaze racing after him. Just then, Marlow skated right into him, dropping him to the ice.

Ilya froze, ears ringing. He heard Pike go after Marly, saw the refs skate in to clear the ice around Shane and make room for the medics. Ilya collapsed to the ice next to him.

“Shane?” he murmured, reaching out for his fiancé, only to have his hand forced away by a medic before he could touch him. Shane hadn’t responded.

“SHANE!” Ilya shouted again, louder. Someone had him by the back of his jersey, was pulling him up and away so that the paramedics could have the space they needed to work. Ilya kept screaming. Why wasn’t Shane waking up? Why couldn’t Ilya see him? Go to him? He needed to be there!

Only once Shane had been transferred to a spinal board did whoever had a hold of him let go, and Ilya was able to skate over to Shane again. His eyes opened as Ilya’s hand closed around Shane’s fingers.

“Ilya?’ he mumbled.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Ilya murmured, skating alongside the medics to the gate.

“I’m fine,” Shane muttered, barely comprehensible through his obvious struggle to stay conscious.

Ilya couldn’t keep up once they were off the ice, his skates slowing him down. He unlaced them as fast as he could and took off racing after them. They were most of the way through the building by the time he caught up, but Ilya was able to make it in time and climbed into the ambulance, socks wet from melted ice and filthy from running through the stadium and across the asphalt with no shoes.

Ilya held Shane’s hand again as the doors were closed and the medics took over, stabilizing Shane for transport, moving around Ilya with practiced ease.

“I’m fine,” Shane mumbled again.

“Shh,” Ilya soothed. “Yes, you will be okay, Shane. We will get you to hospital, okay?”

Shane hummed in acquiescence, and Ilya did his best to focus on Shane’s steady breathing and not the sirens humming around them.

He lost Shane again in the hospital when they took him back through the ER, and he was forced to wait on the uncomfortable plastic chairs for news. He worried, but Shane had to be okay. He was awake and talking, trying to reassure Ilya that he was fine.

Ilya didn’t even have his phone to call the Hollanders. He didn’t have shoes. He was still in all of his gear, sweat sticking his pads and hair to his skin. He looked at the desk and walked up to the nurses there.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rozanov,” one said without giving him a chance to speak. “We can’t let you back yet. Once we get news that he’s stable and know which room he’s in, I can let you back in. Okay?”

Ilya nodded. “Is not that,” he said. He stood there, struggling for a minute to gather the words he needed to say in English. His grasp on the language had improved in bounds since dating Shane and bonding with David over the New Yorker, but Ilya was so stressed he was pretty sure that even his Russian would be shit. “Is his parents. Has anyone called Yuna and David Hollander?”

The nurse’s face softened with sympathy. “I can check,” she said.

“They are emergency contact,” Ilya assured. “I would call them, but I do not have phone here.”

The nurse nodded again and asked him to have a seat while she checked whether they had been notified. It wasn’t like they could be there right away, not with Shane in Boston and his parents still in Ottawa, but Ilya knew they would be on the first flight out as soon as they had been updated on what happened.

Not too long after that, a doctor entered the waiting room and walked straight over to Ilya. Ilya stood, the cold floor seeping through his damp socks.

“We got him stable,” the doctor started. “That hit knocked him pretty good. Broken collarbone and a concussion. He’ll be okay, but his season’s done. You’re the fiancé?”

Ilya nodded, words failing him.

“All right. I’ll have one of the nurses show you back to his room. No bright lights, no screens, try not to talk too loud, yeah?”

Ilya nodded again. Concussions, at least, he was pretty familiar with.

The room where they kept Shane was kept dark, and when Ilya walked in, Shane was asleep. The nurse had explained that this was normal and that they had just given him some strong pain meds. His shoulder would need surgery, but they were going to wait until they had enough time to monitor the concussion before operating.

Ilya dragged a chair over and sat in it, resting his head on the bed next to Shane’s hand.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but Ilya woke up at the sound of the hospital room door opening. Marlow stood there, still in his suit with a bag in one hand and an apologetic grimace stretched across his face.

“Shit, man,” Marlow whispered, closing the door behind him. Ilya thought he might be developing a black eye. Pike must have really rung him one, then. “I’m so sorry.”

“Was clean hit,” Ilya waved him off. “Was my fault probably, for being so distracting.”

Marlow laughed and shook his head. “Never change, Roz,” he said, handing the bag over. “Your phone is in there, and I stopped by your house for some clothes, toiletries, and a charger. Figured you would be here a while.”

Ilya smiled appreciatively back. “Thank you, Marly.”

“How is he?” Marlow asked, taking the second chair and lacing his fingers together in his lap, one foot lightly tapping the linoleum.

“He will be okay. Concussion. Broken collar bone. Will have to take rest of season off, but will be okay for next year.”

“I really didn’t mean to hit him that hard. I thought he’d at least see me coming. I’m sorry, Roz.”

Ilya shook his head. Marlow didn’t need to apologize. His hit was clean. Textbook, even. Shane hadn’t been paying attention. It wasn’t Marlow’s fault.

“Guess I know how Hunter feels now,” Marly joked.

Ilya snorted. “Yes, probably. Though I think Shane had it worse. At least I could ride with him in ambulance.”

Marlow grimaced. “Yeah, fair point. Coach isn’t mad, by the way. He gets it. Said to send you his well wishes and all that.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. Even if Coach was mad, what did Ilya care? Did this not count as a family emergency?

“How did game go?” he asked.

“We won. Got a goal in right at the end of regulation. Everyone was kind of scattered after Hollander got taken off the ice.”

Ilya nodded. He didn’t really care, but it was good to know. At least his team didn’t have another game for a couple of days. By the time he had to leave for their roady, Yuna and David would be there for Shane. He might even be discharged before then, depending on how quickly they could get him back for surgery.

Marlow didn’t stay long, and as soon as he had left, Ilya used the shower in Shane’s room to wash up and change, thankful for the clean clothes and the slides Marlow packed to slip over his socked feet so he didn’t have to go without shoes any longer than necessary.

His phone was dead, so he plugged it in to charge while he brushed his teeth and picked it back up after. There were a few text messages and missed calls, most from Yuna. Ilya unlocked his phone and called her back.

“Ilya!” Yuna panted, sounding harried. “I’m glad you called. We just landed in Boston. How’s Shane doing?”

“He is okay,” Ilya assured. “Sleeping. They are watching him for concussion for now, but he will need surgery for broken collarbone.”

“They haven’t done it yet?” she asked.

“No,” Ilya replied. “Want to wait, just in case.”

He heard Yuna sigh over the line and David asking for directions to the Txai stand.

“Okay,” she said after a minute. “I should let you go so I can help David with the cab. We’ll be there soon, okay? We love you.”

“Love you, too,” Ilya murmured, sliding his phone into his pocket after she hung up and returning to the chair at Shane’s side.

“Heeeey,” Shane murmured, awake again. He pulled at Ilya’s hand and grinned dopily. “Ilya,” he sighed, smiling.

“Hello, Shane,” Ilya murmured, smiling back at him. Shane was obviously feeling the effects of whatever drugs they had given him.

“You’re so pretty,” Shane said, holding Ilya’s hand in both of his and running his fingers over the back of it.

“Really?” Ilya teased.

Shane nodded, then winced with pain.

“Hey,” Ilya admonished. “You hit head. Maybe don’t move it so much, yes?”

“Okay,” Shane agreed. “Ilya?”

“Yes?”

“We’re getting married this summer.”

“I know,” Ilya laughed, smiling.

“And Jackie’s having Amber soon,” Shane continued. Ilya was pretty sure that his tentative grasp on English when stressed was not the reason he was struggling to follow this conversation.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Do you want kids?” Shane asked, meeting his eyes. His pupils were blown and his forehead a bit sweaty. Maybe they should cut back on the drugs a bit? This seemed excessive.

“I think so,” Ilya replied. No reason to avoid the conversation. But honestly, Shane probably wouldn’t even remember it.

“I want kids,” Shane said. “Three, I think. Three is a good number.”

Ilya chuckled. Leave it to Shane to save important conversations for when he was high out of his mind.

“We can have as many kids as you want,” Ilya promised. After watching Shane hit the ice like that, worried he might not get back up, Ilya was pretty sure he would promise his love anything he wanted.

“And we can get you a dog,” Shane added, expression going from wistful to determined. “Harris loves dogs. He can give you one.”

“I’m not taking one of Harris’ dogs,” Ilya laughed.

Shane waved him off. “He can get another one,” Shane insisted.

Ilya kind of wished he were recording this now to show to Harris later. No one would ever believe him otherwise. Mr. Perfectly Polite Shane Hollander would never threaten to kidnap someone’s dog.

“We can worry about dogs later, okay?”

Just then, the door opened, and Yuna and David burst in. Ilya stood and stepped back so they could crowd the bed, nervously hovering and checking over their son. Yuna was still at it when David stepped over to Ilya and pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” David said, crying. “I’m glad you were there.”

Ilya choked up too, allowing himself to cry for the first time that night. “I’m sorry,” he muttered through tears.

“It’s not your fault, son,” David assured. He ran one hand up and down Ilya’s back in comfort. “That’s hockey, right? He was bound to get his bell rung eventually.”

Ilya shook his head against David’s shoulder and felt the fabric of his shirt soak under Ilya’s tears. David just held him harder and rocked side to side, muttering soothing platitudes all the while. Both of Ilya’s parents were gone now, but he felt so fortunate to have found the Hollanders. He loved them with everything he had, and they returned that love right back. For the first time since Shane hit the ice, Ilya felt like everything really was going to be okay.

Chapter End Notes

I hope I didn't blind side people with this one too much. I feel like I've given hints? Some foreshadowing? I apologize in advance to anyone who thought Ilya's concussion in ITAV would spare Shane one in FTT. Poor Shane, his distraction on the ice gets to him in every universe. Also, poor Marlow for having to feel all of that guilt over a clean hit. Someone should really remind Shane to pay better attention to his surroundings. Meanwhile, Ilya's still having a terrible season and watching his fiancé hit the ice so soon after the news of his father's death. Welcome back to the roller coaster, I guess? We've got a few more twists and turns before the end, but we're winding down now. Until next time! <3

Chapter 33: Traded

Chapter Summary

The season comes to an end when the Raiders lose to the Admirals in the playoffs, but sometimes one end leads to unexpected beginnings.

Chapter Notes

Ilya

Ilya and the Raiders entered their playoff series with the Admirals at the end of April. While Shane’s season was over, he also wasn’t able to come, as he stayed home, still healing from his recent concussion and broken collarbone. Yuna sent him texts on Shane’s behalf, strictly enforcing the no screens rule. Shane wasn’t even allowed to watch the game from the couch; instead, Yuna let him listen to the audio only and texted Ilya a picture of him sprawled on her couch, his phone on the side table, eyes closed.

She followed the image with “good luck!” and a clover emoji. Ilya smiled at it before tucking his phone away in his locker to lace up his skates.

The first game of the series went to the Admirals. Ilya made sure to send enough chirps Hunter’s way to keep his head from getting too inflated, and the raiders won the second round. It was over by game five, though, and the Admirals would be progressing down the bracket while the Raiders went home; the season ended just like that. If the Admirals won the damn cup for the third year in a row, Hunter was never going to let Ilya live it down.

At least it meant he would soon get to go home to Shane.

He was back at the rink, packing up his locker for the season, when Coach walked in and pulled Ilya aside.

“Come talk to me?” he requested, leading the way to his office. Ilya nodded and followed.

Coach waited until the door was closed to address him again.

“You’ll be a free agent at the end of next season,” Coach started.

Ilya nodded. He’d been thinking about that a lot lately.

“And I think we both know that the Raiders are probably not your first choice these days.”

Ilya scowled. Coach LeClaire wasn’t wrong. It was something he’d been talking about with Farah a lot, though he didn’t want to get Shane’s hopes up. At the end of the day, having two players of Shane and Ilya’s caliber on one team was a difficult ask on any team's cap limit. The only way they could make it happen would be if Ilya took a contract well below the range he should be looking at for signing again at the end of the next season.

But Ilya had enough money. And so did Shane. And Ilya had been captain for years; he didn’t need to captain a team to grow or be happy.

“This is true,” he admitted.

“So I have been talking with the Centaur’s management. They have some great draft picks for next year that they would be willing to part with. Maybe it’s not the best decision for the team, maybe we could keep you one more year, but answer me honestly, Ilya.”

Ilya looked up at the use of his first name and met Coach LeClaire’s eyes.

“Are you happy?”

Ilya shook his head.

“See? I got that from you this season. You haven’t been playing your best, or captaining this team as you have in the past. I don’t blame you, Roz, but that’s not good for this team either. I need every player here to want to be here. I need a team that’s hungry for the cup. You understand?”

Ilya nodded. He did. It wasn’t personal, and LeClaire wasn’t wrong.

“So we’re working something out, Wiebe and me. Don’t be too surprised when that goes through, yeah?”

Ilya gave a small, bittersweet smile and nodded.

“Alright, Rozy, get on out. Don’t be a stranger, you hear? And congrats on the wedding.”

Ilya smiled and thanked his coach, then left the office feeling the lightest he had felt all season. Maybe next season wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Shane

“What do you mean we got Ilya on trade from Boston?” Shane asked, listening to his mom read the announcement off her phone. He still wasn’t able to look at them for very long without getting a headache.

“I mean what I said,” Yuna replied with a raised brow. “Weren’t you listening?”

“But that’s ridiculous! Why would Boston agree to that?” Shane denied. As much as he wanted it to be true, it didn’t make any sense.

“Well,” Yuna continued. “Who can say, really. I always did like that LeClaire guy, though. You know, he used to play for Montreal? Can’t believe they let him go to Boston, of all places. He would have made a much better coach than Theriault.”

“We’re really going to get to be on the same team?” Shane asked, voice high and breathless with hope.

Yuna smiled at him warmly and walked over to cup Shane’s face in one hand. She kissed his cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. You really will.”

Shane wondered if Ilya knew, if he’d been given any warning. His flight was set to land soon, and David was already on his way to the airport to pick Ilya up and bring him home.

Shane’s phone buzzed; no doubt the team group chats were exploding over the news. It had to be real if the team was going crazy over it.

The door opened, David and Ilya’s voices spilling into the front entryway. Ilya’s laughter echoed off the walls.

“Ilya!” Shane cried, beaming as he went to greet Ilya at the door. “Did you know?”

Ilya smirked and nodded. “LeClaire warned me,” he admitted.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Shane shouted in indignation.

“Did not want to, how you say? Jinx, no?”

David nodded, and Ilya smiled happily. “Did not want to jinx,” Ilya confirmed.

Shane wrapped the arm not bound by a sling around Ilya’s neck and pulled him in for a light kiss. He wished they were alone at their own house, and not at his parents'.

“Well, I think this calls for a celebration!” Yuna declared, walking into the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge. David pulled down flutes, and Yuna popped the cork, giving it a minute before pouring the sparkling liquid into the glasses and handing them around.

They had dinner with his parents too, and were halfway through the meal when Hayden called.

“Am I really going to have to share a line with fucking Rozanov?” he demanded when Shane answered.

Shane laughed and locked eyes with Ilya. “Looks like it,” he confirmed.

The sound of a sharp wail came over the phone from Hayden’s side, followed by Hayden’s frantic shushing.

“Sorry,” he said. “Jackie’s asleep, and I’m trying to wrangle Amber so she can stay asleep. It’s been a rough couple of nights.”

“Is pike?” Ilya asked.

Shane nodded.

“Tell him congratulations on another cute baby! Good that they all take after Jackie, yes?”

“I’m not telling him that, Ilya!”

Hayden laughed. “He’s making fun of me already, isn’t he?”

Shane groaned. “Does he ever not?”

“Oh no,” Hayden said then, as he’d just realized something.

“What?” Shane asked.

“Now we have to deal with him AND Troy. We’re so fucked. Why would Wiebe do this to us?”

Shane pictured the combined menaces Ilya and Troy could be on and off the ice. It was bad enough dealing with them separately.

“Do you think the Metros would take us back?” he joked.

Ilya looked disgusted. “Gross, Hollander. Now go wash mouth with soap.”

Shane laughed and stuck his tongue out at Ilya. His dad shook his head at Shane from across the table.

“Sorry, Hayd, but we’re finishing up dinner. Can I call you back later?”

Hayden agreed, and Shane returned his attention to the table. He apologized for the interruption, and they all continued eating. Of course, dinner was followed by Scrabble, which was followed by drinks on the couch, and before Shane knew it, he and Ilya were headed home, Ilya driving and complaining about Shane’s boring car again.

Azuki and Anko had grown even more, almost full-grown and lacking in coordination as they adjusted to their lanky bodies. Ilya cooed at them immediately and went to fill their food bowls.

“So,” Shane said, once they were on the couch, curled together and satisfied after a round of orgasms. “Same team, huh?”

He could hear the grin in Ilya’s voice, even if he couldn’t see it. “Same team,” Ilya agreed.

“I guess we could use a second-line center,” Shane mused, half-teasing. “Troy is more of a winger, anyway.”

Ilya snorted. “Not a chance, Hollander.”

“Oh?” Shane asked. “You think you can steal my spot? I’ll have you know the C is already taken for next season. You’ll have to try and steal it from me later.”

“No, not your spot,” Ilya denied, chuckling. “I think I will try left wing. All-Stars was good, no?”

Shane grinned, remembering their game together back in January. “All-Stars was great,” he agreed.

Ilya hummed, stroking a hand through Shane’s hair and kissing his cheek. Then he sighed.

“New city,” he bemoaned. “Guess I will have to go house shopping.”

Shane pushed him with his good arm. “Fuck off!” he declared.

Ilya laughed. “I don’t know,” he said. “This one is so small, and close to Pike. I don’t think I’ll like it.”

Shane grabbed a pillow to smother him with, laughing when Ilya pretended to struggle, careful not to upset Shane’s balance or hurt his injured shoulder.

They spent a little longer on the couch like that, discussing wedding plans and possible get-togethers over the summer with the team. Ilya handled Shane’s phone for him, reading through group chat messages and typing out his dictated replies.

Shane was at least ninety percent sure Ilya actually typed what Shane asked, but you could never know for certain with him.

Harris texted him independently, also asking how Ilya was doing and brainstorming different videos they could do over the summer to introduce Ilya to their fans and showcase the team in the off-season. Most of the Centaurs actually lived in Ottawa year-round, so it wouldn’t be too hard to accomplish.

When the messages had died down, Ilya helped Shane out of his clothes and into the shower. Shane was hard again, the blowjob from before seemingly hours away, and Ilya took his time with Shane in the shower.

Shane moaned when Ilya lathered shampoo into his scalp, letting his head fall back against Ilya’s broad chest. Ilya groaned and rolled his cock against Shane’s ass, abandoning his hair to spread soap across his chest and shoulders. He continued rocking his own cock gently against Shane’s ass as he played with Shane’s nipples and spread the soap lower over the planes of Shane’s abs to his leaking cock and heavy balls.

Shane turned in his arms, wrapped his good arm loosely around Ilya’s shoulders, and kissed him. Ilya added his own cock to his grip, fucking them both with his fist and panting against Shane’s open mouth, pressing him carefully back into the shower wall.

“Ilya,” Shane moaned.

Ilya bit his lower lip and pulled back, only to dive in and fuck Shane’s mouth hungrily with his tongue. He picked up the pace, stroking them faster.

“Shane,” he sighed. So close to the edge.

Ilya came first, cum exploding over his fist and across Shane’s chest, only to be washed away in the spray from the shower. Ilya kept his pace up, hardly stuttering as he bit and licked at Shane’s mouth, pumping his cock in Ilya’s hand.

“Ilya,” Shane whined as he came, his own cum washing away in the shower as well. Ilya carefully maneuvered them to wash the rest of the soap and cum off, then shut off the shower and went to get a towel. He dried Shane off first, then himself, and lifted Shane to carry him into the bedroom.

Neither of them bothered to get dressed, crawling into the sheets and blankets with their hair still wet, asleep within minutes.

Shane woke to Ilya already two fingers deep in his ass, leg propped forward to expose his hole and cock drooling against the sheets.

“Ilya,” he moaned, rolling his hips forward against the mattress for friction. Ilya let him get away with it.

“Hmm,” he moaned sleepily. “Good morning.”

Shane felt Ilya's fingers retreat, heard the slick sound as Ilya lubed his cock, and groaned when the head pushed past his rim.

“We can have this every day now,” Ilya moaned, slowly fucking his cock deeper, using a hand on Shane’s hips to roll him back onto Ilya’s thrusts. “You can wake up on my cock every morning.”

Shane keened and nodded. “Please,” he begged. “Fuck, so good, Ilya. Please.”

Ilya picked up the pace, fucking into Shane with loud, wet slaps that filled the early morning stillness and drowned out the birdsong coming through the windows. Ilya sucked Shane’s earlobe into his mouth and bit down, groaning as his hips stuttered and he came, driving his cum deep into Shane’s ass.

Ilya slipped out and carefully turned Shane onto his back, slowly so as not to hurt his shoulder. He slipped down Shane’s body and wasted no time enveloping Shane’s cock with his warm mouth, fingers slipping into Shane’s hole to find his prostate, the lube and his own come allowing him to shove three fingers inside with ease.

Shane came moments later, good hand fisting the sheets and pulling at them as Ilya swallowed around him, popping off with a satisfied hum when he was done.

And for the first time since they started dating, Shane let himself enjoy the knowledge that this didn’t have to end at the end of summer. That he and Ilya would have moments like this every day, even long after the season had started. It was a heady thought.

Chapter End Notes

Alright guys, I have to go to work and just finished this so you know the drill. Editing is pretty minimal. Hope you enjoy the chapter! Last one for today, I promise lol. Only one more chapter and an epilogue to go! But don't worry, I may have already started working on a new AU... I have zero self control...

Until next time! <3

Chapter 34: I Do

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya have their wedding surrounded by their family and friends. They couldn't be happier.

Chapter Notes

The venue here is a real venue, though I have never been there and only have the website to base my details off of. If you want to see it, it's called Comfort Island Weddings. I felt like it kept the spirit of the cottage on the water, without necessarily having the wedding take place at the cottage itself. And yes, there are chairs lol

Shane

Shane knew that a guest list of 100 people was still considered small and intimate, but it was also about 90 people more than he actually felt comfortable with having at the cottage he and Ilya retreated to over the summers. And while they would have been perfectly content with a guest list of 10 people, their friends would not.

So Shane had caved early to his mother’s suggestion to find a venue they both liked instead. He also agreed to a wedding coordinator because handling the details was not something he wanted to be worried about during hockey season.

It was important to both of them that the wedding be on or near the water, and not too far from their home in Ottawa. That is what brought them to Comfort Island: a venue completely surrounded by water, featuring a grand Victorian home with a wrap-around porch, a distinctive tall square tower offering a lookout, and a spacious lawn. The venue was on a small, boat-accessible island and handled practically every wedding detail.

The ceremony started with Ruby and Jade walking down the aisle in matching dresses of layered tulle, chiffon, and floral appliqué. They held little white baskets filled with multicolored rose petals, which they scattered down the aisle with big smiles and skipping steps. Ilya’s new dog, a rescue he named Anya that had been dumped near the Drover farm, trotted down the aisle after them with their rings tied to a pink bow around her neck. She went straight to Harris and sat still while he clipped a leash onto her collar. As their officiant, Harris stood in the center of the altar and smiled as first Hayden and Cliff, then Shane and Ilya walked down the aisle in pairs and took their respective positions for the ceremony. Of course, Ilya bent down to scratch Anya’s ears and call her a good girl first, much to the amusement of the gathered crowd.

They decided to write their own vows, so when the time came, Harris stepped back and gestured for Shane to go first.

“Ilya,” Shane started, then cleared his throat and tried to speak up. He talked in front of cameras all the time; it shouldn’t be this nerve-racking to address the love of his life in front of their friends and family. “Our relationship didn’t start out easily for either of us. When we met, I didn’t know what I wanted, you know, aside from playing hockey at least. I didn’t know who I was off the ice. I let myself fill the mold that others made for me. First Asian-Canadian hockey player to step into the spotlight of the MLH, polite and respectful center representing Canada at home and internationally, a role model for aspiring young hockey players, and representative for international brands. And then there was you.

"You encouraged me to be myself, you showed me that it was okay to want things just for me, just because they make me happy. You showed me that love didn’t have to follow the rules or check off boxes. Even before I knew what we were to each other, you showed me what it was like to let myself just be free.

"So I vow to you today that I will keep trying to see past what others see in me, that I will let myself love you openly and take every day as it comes. I vow to support you, to care for you, and to love you with everything I have. I vow to build a life with you where you never have to wonder at the depth of my love.”

By the end, Ilya and Shane were crying. He’d planned to say more, had it all written down and memorized for months, but it all really came down to that promise to be there, to always love Ilya and make sure he never had to question Shane's love for him.

Ilya needed a minute to collect himself, smiling through happy tears before starting his own vows.

“Shane,” he began. “Я тебя люблю. Our first meeting, you chastise me for smoking in no-smoking area. From this day, I love to make little scowl on your face. Is very cute with your freckles when you are angry. I love to challenge you on the ice, to see you annoyed, frustrated, and embarrassed. All these feelings, I loved to inspire in you as my rival, as beautiful Canadian boy that I very much wanted to kiss.

"But now is different. Or maybe not so different. Maybe is just more. I still love to annoy you, is true. But also, I love to see you smile so soft when I make you coffee in mornings. I love the blush that is just as cute with your freckles when I compliment you as when you are angry. I love playing alongside you, working together for same team, same goals.

"I promise that even when I tease you, I will hold you gently. I promise to keep your heart safe and appreciate this gift every day. I promise to support you on and off the ice. Who knows, maybe I can even help with terrible backhand now, no?”

The crowd laughed while Shane scowled. Leave it to Ilya to insult him even in their wedding vows of all places. Ilya reached out and used his thumb to push the corner of Shane’s mouth up from the frown that pulled at his lips.

“I promise to make new family here, with you and Hollanders,” Ilya continued more seriously. “To build life together and be boring Canadian man with my boring Canadian husband. I promise to cook every day, because you are not allowed in kitchen.”

Someone in the crowd cheered. Shane was pretty sure it was Bood. If there weren’t 100 other people and his parents there, Shane would have flipped him off.

“Most important?” Ilya finished. “I promise to love you, only you Shane Hollander, for rest of my life.”

Despite the light-hearted joking, Shane still wasn’t able to keep from crying all through Ilya’s vows, too. His cheeks were wet when Ilya cupped his face to bring them together in their first kiss as husbands, and their guests cheered.

The photographers took them both away for pictures while everything was changed over for the reception, and Shane knew most of them were probably useless because he and Ilya couldn’t keep their mouths off of each other for more than a few minutes at a time while the photographers directed them into various positions and poses.

Or his hand off Shane’s ass, for that matter.

Dinner flew by in a rush of conversations and happy congratulations. Their New York friends sat at a long table together with their partners. The Centaurs were there with their respective SAPs, and a good chunk of the Raiders were there at a table with Marlow running the show. It was loud, at least one plate and several glasses shattered, and the entire porch was a mess by the time they made it to the tent for dancing and drinks.

While the song for their first dance was slow and romantic, Ilya made it silly with dips and spins that didn’t even go with the rhythm and left Shane red-faced and tripping over his dress shoes. They danced the next song with Yuna and David, switching partway through to finish with Yuna in Ilya’s arms and Shane in his father’s.

When the dance floor officially opened, Kyle led the first wave of guests onto the floor, pulling reluctant members of the crowd out with him and swaying his hips while Eric watched on in clear amusement.

Kip ordered a round of shots, and Ilya enthusiastically made Shane participate. Scott gave Shane a commiserating look of apology and shook his head as if to say, “What can you do?”

Hayden stole Shane from Ilya in the middle of another slow song and twirled him away, smiling at Ilya’s grumpy scowl.

“I’m so happy for you, man,” Hayden grinned. His parents had left with the girls and Arthur earlier, so that Hayden and Jackie could have the whole evening with Shane and Ilya.

Shane beamed, glowing under the string lights set up around the tent.

“We worried, you know. Jackie and I. We just wanted you to be happy. I’m so glad that you and Ilya have this, even if he is the most annoying man you could have chosen.”

Shane snorted. “Thanks, Hayd.”

“Mind if I cut in?” Jackie asked, stealing Shane from her husband. Shane smiled at her and let her lead, amused that no one seemed to trust him to do it.

When the music changed again to something more worthy of a club than a wedding, Jackie took Shane’s hand and led him out of the tent to a small bench near the water. Shane sat next to her, the two of them enjoying the quiet for a minute before Jackie started to speak.

“You know, Hayden and I have decided that four is enough,” she started, chuckling and kicking her feet out in front of her on the grass surrounding their little bench.

“Yeah,” Shane chuckled, remembering Hayden’s horror stories of his vasectomy. He’d passed out during the procedure. Something Jackie still gave him shit for, apparently. Hayden had never been a fan of blood.

“We’ve talked about it. We know you and Ilya want kids, and well… I actually kind of like being pregnant. Like, I know it’s not like that for every woman out there, but I’ve been really lucky with easy pregnancies. I wouldn’t mind one or two more for a friend.”

If Shane had thought he cried himself out during the ceremony, he was very wrong. He sat there with Jackie, offering to be a surrogate for him and Ilya, and bawled.

Jackie turned to pull Shane into her arms, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back. He didn’t even understand why he was crying so hard; he just felt incredibly loved, seen, and grateful. He and Ilya did want kids. Shane loved the time he was given to care for and be with the Pike children. He figured he and Ilya would talk about it again eventually, maybe when they were closer to retirement.

He never expected to have something so monumental and precious just offered to them like this, right there for him to take. To have.

“Really?” he asked, breath hitching as he struggled to get his breathing back under control.

“Really,” Jackie confirmed. “Not right now, obviously. But when you and Ilya are ready, I’ll be here. Okay?”

Shane sat back and wiped his tears off on his sleeves, grinning sheepishly at Jackie.

“Sorry for messing up your dress,” he apologized.

Jackie laughed. “Please, I have four kids under five. My whole wardrobe is used to being victimized by tears and snot.”

“And you’re so sure about having more?” Shane teased.

Jackie grinned. “The pregnancy is the easy part,” she declared. “It’s the midnight blowouts you have to worry about! I think I’ll get a certain amount of vindictive pleasure hearing you and Ilya’s war stories when the time comes.”

Once Shane had collected himself enough, the two went back to the tent and joined the party again. Ilya looked worried when he noticed Shane had been crying, but Shane was quick to assure him that they were happy tears and that he was okay. He wanted to wait to tell Ilya about Jackie’s offer later, when they had the time and privacy to really talk about what it would mean for them to take her up on it.

Eventually, the dance floor emptied as guests grew tired and started to trickle out, taken back to their cars by the small boat operated by the venue. It had been a beautiful day full of celebration with their friends and teammates, but Shane and Ilya were ready for it to be over so they could continue celebrating the best day in their lives so far, somewhere with a little more privacy and a lot less noise.

“I love you,” Shane murmured, kissing Ilya under the light of the moon as the boat took them away from the venue. They had it to themselves for the send-off; it would be returned to any remaining guests after dropping them off.

“I love you too, мое солнышко. Always.”

Chapter End Notes

That's it folks! Only an epilogue to go. Thank you so much for coming along on this rollercoaster journey with me. It's been a fun month of writing and imagining this AU, but I'm ready to move onto the next one now. For those of you interested, the summary for the new AU is this:

When Ilya's father finds out that he has been sleeping with Sasha, his coach's son, he kicks Ilya out of the house and tells him never to return. Injured and alone with nowhere to go, Ilya reaches out to his childhood friend Svetlana and her father, Sergei. As a retired MLH star and permanent resident of the US, Sergei Vetrov is able to help Ilya seek asylum while he waits for the draft. However, the story behind Ilya's abrupt departure from Russia is leaked just weeks before the MLH draft is scheduled to be held, and the repercussions will change the direction of Ilya's future in the MLH forever...

Like ITAV, this will be another AU of a what-if scenario, though this one is admittedly a bit darker than Shane's early outing and move to New York. I'm not sure how long it will be yet, but (knowing me) it probably won't be very short... So yeah! If that sounds like something you would be interested in, I hope you'll come read it next.

To everyone who has left comments and kudos along the way, and to everyone who has publicly bookmarked or quietly subscribed in the background, thank you so much for reading and interacting with this fic. I've never written anything this long before, or posted anything like this for others to see, and you've made it such an amazing experience for me. <3

Chapter 35: Sunny Day

Chapter Summary

Ilya and Shane celebrate Amber's 10th birthday with the Pike's at their house in Ottawa.

Chapter Notes

This epilogue is short and sweet, just a moment in time, ten years down the line, to check in with our boys and their family. A happily-ever-after, if you will. <3

Shane

The party for Amber’s tenth birthday was held at Hayden and Jackie's house. Most of the Centaurs were there, still tired after another playoff run but happy to spend time celebrating. While the Stanley Cup had gone to a Western Conference team that season, the Centaurs' home stadium had three banners celebrating their past cup wins. It was rare these days for the Centaurs not to make the playoffs; the last time was when Wyatt Haze suffered an injury early in the 2022 season, keeping him out for most of the season.

The yard was full of their team’s brood, Cassie and Bood’s son Milo chasing Ilya and Shane’s eldest.

Simon was a year older than Milo, with dark hair and Ilya’s eyes. He was never in trouble, with perfect grades and polite manners that could fool anyone into thinking he could do no wrong. But unlike Shane, Simon most definitely did do wrong. He was just an expert at hiding it. Ilya was simultaneously proud and terrified of what he would get up to when he was a little older.

Their daughter, on the other hand, was loud and unapologetically herself. She was clumsy, had never met another kid she couldn’t accidentally insult within the first few minutes of speaking to them, and might have a future as one of the best defensemen the PWHL had ever seen.

She was also only five, so there was plenty of time for her to grow into her flailing limbs and larger-than-life personality.

“I still can’t believe you’re retiring,” Dykstra groaned, one arm slung over Ryan’s shoulder with a beer held in the other. His camo hat was crooked after letting the kids climb him like a jungle gym.

Ryan smiled, watching the kids play. He and Fabian didn’t have any of their own, but Ryan was one of the most frequent and requested babysitters on the team.

“Coaching will be fun, though,” Ryan said, taking a sip of his own drink. “Won’t have to fly as much either.”

When Ryan announced his retirement, Wiebe was quick to offer him a job working for the team as a coach for their defensemen. Ryan, who was tired of flying everywhere and wanted more time with his husband, still hadn’t wanted to leave hockey behind forever and had happily agreed to the position.

“Just not going to be the same, man,” Dykstra sighed.

Troy and Harris joined them next, their youngest daughter, just a few months old, was cradled in the crook of Harris’ arm, fast asleep despite the noise around them and the sun in her eyes. Troy’s hands were occupied with their next youngest, Liv, who was two and suffering from a stomach ache after binging on too much candy.

“I think we’re going to head out,” Troy said. “You sure you’re okay watching Matt for the evening?”

Shane and Ilya laughed and assured Troy that it was fine. Matt and Milo were both looking forward to staying over with Simon. The three would probably be up all night playing video games while Shane and Ilya pretended not to notice.

While they all teased Ryan for retiring early, it wouldn’t be long before Shane and Ilya followed. Already, Wiebe was working to train up the rookies that would be their replacements. At least Shane was looking forward to being able to focus more on the Irina Foundation and the camps they were planning to expand into a year-round enterprise.

There was legacy there, not just in their careers but in the opportunities they could provide for the future of hockey and for the children who deserved support and a world that would accept them for exactly who they are.

He adored that their daughter would grow up in a world where women’s teams sold out the big stadiums their male counterparts played on. That their son would never know a world without queer representation on the ice. Once, Shane had resented the role of role model that had been forced upon him first as the first Asian-Canadian MLH star and later as the first out player in the league.

As a father, he started to see things from a different perspective. He understood a little better why his mother was so proud to have him stand on the ice with everyone else, second pick of his year in the draft.

Legacy did matter. Representation was important. Children deserved to see themselves in all spaces and to know that the only limits on their dreams were the ones they chose to put on themselves.

Maybe it wasn’t always easy, but Shane could do that for the next generation of players. He wanted to do that, for his children, if no one else.

“What are you thinking about?” Ilya asked, whispering the words into the shell of Shane’s ear, arms wrapped around him from behind as he kissed Shane lovingly on the neck.

“How lucky we are,” Shane replied just as softly, looking out over their team and the kids playing on the lawn.

“Hmm,” Ilya agreed. “Too bad we have sleepover to chaperone. I could think of more ways to get lucky.”

Shane groaned. “What the fuck, Ilya. Why are you always like this?”

Ilya laughed, the vibration of it echoing in Shane’s chest.

“Is not my fault you are so pretty.”

Shane rolled his eyes. Much had changed over the last ten years. Their family had grown, some of their team had moved on, and others had stayed and grown with them. But leave it to Ilya and his never-ending libido to make sure some things forever stayed the same.

“I love you,” Shane laughed, pushing Ilya off before he ended up with a boner in a yard full of children and dragging him over to the table laden with food.

Ilya laughed too, assured Shane that he loved him back, and loaded up his own plate. It was a beautiful sunny day in Ottawa, surrounded by friends and family. Just one of many. With many more ahead to look forward to.