Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

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, Kip Grady & Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady

Additional Tags:

Established Relationship, Married Scott Hunter/Kip Grady, Engaged Ilya Rozanov/Shane Hollander, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, set during tlg, Coming Out, Fluff, ilya invites the grandpas of gay hockey to his wedding, also no outing!!

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-08 Words: 2,690 Chapters: 1/1

i'd share a life and you'd share a life

Summary

“My eye is fine, I don’t know how Matti’s knee is, and yes I asked for extra olive oil for the bread before I left Lulla’s,” Scott lists as he sweeps into the kitchen, holding two large paper bags in his hands. Rozanov follows Scott with his own Lulla’s bag, a half-step behind Scott because he stumbled slipping his sneakers off. “Rozanov, say thank you to Kip. I wouldn’t let you in here otherwise.”

Kip doubts that but he lets Scott believe it for now.

“Thank you Kip,” Rozanov says with a crooked grin.

or, the grady-hunters have dinner with ilya rozanov.

Notes

witness my epic return to writing fic, predictably fueled by gay hockey. i have been a hockey fan for ten years and gay for even longer than that so you can imagine what hr means to me. i have written like 100k split between seven fandoms since my last posting and never posted any of it because i never finish anything. i do however have 4/5 ch of a hollanov longfic done on my laptop right now!! posting conditional on finishing the last fuckin chapter

hr writers discord i love you thank you i would die for you and your support as i fumble my way back into writing thank you to throesofecstasy extra for the lil beta!!!

title from i'll believe in anything. also lulla's is a real restaurant within walking distance of the garden and i want some of that so bad. save me, fancy pasta. fancy pasta save me.

Kip doesn’t go to every home game.

He’d like to be there. Kip liked hockey casually before Scott and he’s gotten a little rabid about it after seven years together. There’s a sensory element that can’t be perfectly emulated on TV or manufactured in private boxes. The real magic is ice-side. There’s something special about being pressed up against the glass, the reverberation of a body against plexi and the shout of a play called across the line.

Kip misses that magic every game he can’t make but he has his own career to worry about. This week he has finals to proctor and final papers to grade. Kip’s curating a show over the break. Now that he has contemporary art submissions from student work, he wants to look through CUNY’s permanent collection to see how he wants to supplement the show.

The work Kip does doesn’t pay well and he won’t get critical acclaim for teaching undergraduates social behavioral courses but Kip really loves it. He’s excited to be the instructor of record for Plagues and Peoples and LGBTQ Legacies Across Time next semester on top of his usual World History. It’s worth it to watch a game from his office at home to ensure he isn’t drowning next week.

Kip is a little disappointed that the schedule worked out so he’s missing a game where Scott is playing Rozanov. Kip’s met him a few times and was pleased to find that while he was a little mouthy, he wasn’t as annoying in boots as he seems to be in skates. Scott bitches but Kip knows Scott likes him. Rozanov was one of the only people from the NHL awards who came to the club with them afterwards. That means something.

The game is tight but it results in an overtime win for Ottawa. They were bad at the beginning of the season but they recovered after a couple of trades. They finally have a competent winger for Ilya Rozanov to center in Troy Barrett and a defenseman that will lay out anyone who goes after the forwards in Florent LaPoint. They ended up trading away a handful of high draft picks and a promising AHL goalie but the gamble seems to be paying off for now. Kip doesn’t know how this is going to work for future seasons of Centaurs hockey but they’ve managed an okay run. Not great or even good but okay. If they're really lucky the Centaurs will keep hold of the wildcard spot their clinging to by their fingernails and throw themselves into a Hail Mary cup run.

Kip sets tilts the screen of his laptop down for a moment to reduce the glare as he watches the teams filter off the ice. Scott’s standing by his bench door, knocking gloves with his Admirals as they filter down into their dressing room. Rozanov is doing the same, an elated smile on his face. After his final teammate starts down the tunnel Rozanov seems to wait for Scott.

When he speaks Rozanov tilts his head so the cameras can’t pick up the movements of his lips. Kip has no idea what he’s just said to Scott. Whatever it was it can’t have been rude, because Scott pats Rozanov’s shoulder heavily. The last time someone patted Kip on the shoulder like that on ice Kip went down faster than a sack of potatoes, the sudden weight on his shoulders causing him to squirm and lose an edge. Rozanov stays on his feet, a grin on his face. Whatever Scott says to him before he walks down the hallway to the Admirals locker room makes Rozanov laugh.  

A text comes less than a minute later. It surprises Kip a little. Scott usually waits until he’s done with his shower to dig in his bag for his phone.

Scott >>> Hey babe, would it be okay with you if we had company for dinner?

Kip purses his lips. Usually if they’re going to have dinner with friends after a game they talk about it and then meet up outside the house. Scott’s social circle orbits around him like he’s the sun so post-game dinners can spiral out of control if they’re not careful. Scott has time for a nap tomorrow but Kip doesn’t. He wants to be in bed by one at the latest.

Kip >>> how many people?

Scott >>> It’s just Rozanov

Kip >>> are you kidnapping him???

Scott >>> Ah ha ha you’re so funny. No.

Scott >>> I think he wants to talk but he’s being weird about it

Kip >>> weird like he might want to talk about his many pilgrimages to kingfisher?

Scott >>> Maybe. He asked if I was ready to pass on my knowledge to someone younger and more beautiful than me

Kip >>> and you?

Scott >>> Told him I’d tell Shane Hollander whatever he wanted to know

Ah. That’s why Rozanov cracked up. Shane Hollander’s name always seems to get some kind of reaction out of Rozanov, just like Ilya Rozanov’s name gets the same reaction out of Hollander. Scott attributed the reaction to their longstanding rivalry. Kip had other theories but he wasn’t going to give Scott any ideas. Kip didn’t want to make things weird for Rozanov, Hollander, or Scott.

Kip >>> if it’s just rozanov he can come to supper

Kip >>> i submitted the lulla’s order by the way you just have to pick it up. i did not order enough to share so make rozanov bring his own food

Scott >>> I love you <3 So much <3

Kip >>> almost as much as you love chicken piccata, i know

 

Kip will accept Linguine Vongole and fresh focaccia hand delivered to his door any day of the week. He would prefer it if his husband delivered it to him without medical glue holding his eyebrow together but Kip will take what he can get.

“My eye is fine, I don’t know how Matti’s knee is, and yes I asked for extra olive oil for the bread before I left Lulla’s,” Scott lists as he sweeps into the kitchen, holding two large paper bags in his hands. Rozanov follows Scott with his own Lulla’s bag, a half-step behind Scott because he stumbled slipping his sneakers off. “Rozanov, say thank you to Kip. I wouldn’t let you in here otherwise.”

Kip doubts that but he lets Scott believe it for now.

“Thank you Kip,” Rozanov says with a crooked grin.

The way he moves in Kip’s kitchen is different than the way he moves at the Kingfisher. Ilya seems shyer here. He's still tall but Kip forgets sometimes how much the pads bulk players out. He looks almost boyish, with a purple bruise splashed across his chin and an uncertain look in his eyes.

Scott presses a kiss to Kip's cheek as he reaches for silverware. The contact is casual, the kind of easy intimacy Scott and Kip abstained from for years. They don't have to do that anymore. Scott can kiss Kip's cheek on the way to the spoons if he wants to, witnesses be damned.

If he didn't know better, Kip would describe the look on Rozanov's face as he saw the interaction as one of wonder. It's familiar.

Kip spends a lot of time at the Kingfisher. It isn't a famous bar but it's highly rated on Google and it's within walking distance of the Garden. They're frequently patronized by out-of-towners dipping their toes into queer spaces. Kip sees the look on Rozanov's face on every small town kid who sneaks through the front door like they're scared Kip's gonna throw them out for not being the right kind of gay. They see a viably trans person existing or a same gender couple showing unrestrained affection and Kip can suddenly tell that they're not only hungry for queer comradery, they're starving.

Sometimes Kip still sees that hunger on Scott's face and it breaks his heart every time. Maybe it was naive of Kip but even with his suspicions he never expected to see a look that vacant on Rozanov's face. He didn't think that Rozanov could ever feel so alone. He's perpetually surrounded by his fellow players and relationship prospects. He's always been more outgoing than Scott. Even if he was in the closet Kip hadn't thought Rozanov was lonely like this.

Rozanov turns away from Kip and Scott, blinking deliberately. He opens the drawer Scott just closed and removes a fork so he can start eating. Rozanov sits heavily at the bar top, the first of them to take a seat, and pops open his meal. He twirls a huge tangle of pasta around his fork and shovels it into his mouth, having to cover his mouth so Kip doesn't see him chew.

"You are getting sauce everywhere," Scott says dryly. He cuts his chicken into bite sized pieces on a cutting board pops a piece into his mouth with his fingers. At least Scott chews with his mouth closed. Kip sits beside Rozanov at the bar top, pulling Scott's chair out beside him so Scott realizes he isn't allowed to hover at the cutting board all night. He and Rozanov can pretend they don't get along while they're both sitting. If Scott's bad knee swells because he's too stubborn to play nice for one meal Kip will not be happy.

"I am hungry," Rozanov says. The delivery is a little garbled but still decipherable. "You would be hungry too if you played full game. How many minutes did you have? Eight? Ten?"

Scott had fifteen minutes of ice time tonight in comparison to Rozanov's twenty-two. Rozanov's also eight years younger than Scott. This isn't Scott's last season but Kip thinks they're going to be having some conversations during the summer. If Kip was a betting man he'd say next season will be Scott's last.

"Big talk for a minus-two night, Rook," Scott says dryly.

"I do not mind being minus-two if team gets both points," Rozanov says. "You have not forgotten that hockey is team sport, have you Hunter? It is important you know you cannot get to playoffs on plus-one alone."

"If you invited yourself over to dinner with my husband after sixty-five minutes of hockey for nothing I am going to be so irritated," Scott warns.

"No, there is something," Rozanov promises, shoveling another bite into his mouth. "I just-- give me second."

They give Rozanov a second. Scott takes the opportunity to get himself a glass of water and crack a fresh bottle of Perrier for Kip. Scott sets one of the cans of Cherry Coke they keep in the fridge for Megan in front of Rozanov without saying anything. Kip finds the gesture very sweet. Scott and Rozanov won't ever be able to acknowledge they like each others company without constant bitching but Kip is glad they give a fuck about each other.

Rozanov takes a sip of his coke. He traces a couple of mindless shapes through the condensation before he says anything.

"In the next six months several players in our division are going to come out," Rozanov explains. "We are all staying active. You have been out and active for almost four years. Tell me how it is going."

"Holy shit," Scott says. Kip agrees. While Price and Bennett are out they retired in the same season they disclosed their sexualities. Scott's been the only player out long term. "How many is several?"

"At least three but perhaps four. One is still deciding," Rozanov reveals. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an envelope, which he hands to Kip. "This is for you. You can decide if you want to bring your dinosaur as plus one."

 

Kip takes the envelope. It's made of a thick, velvet black stock and is sealed with a glossy black wax seal. Kip opens the envelope on the side instead of using the flap so he doesn't disrupt the seal. There's a strange bird pressed into the wax and he doesn't want to break it.

There are three pieces of paper inside the envelope. An invitation, and RSVP card, and a photograph. Kip runs a finger over the impressions made by hand-set type on the invitation, gold ink gleaming against the cream paper.

"With great joy," Kip reads, suddenly a little choked up. "Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander invite you to celebrate their marriage on July 10th, 2021 at their home in Ontario. Short ceremony to be followed by dinner, dancing, and cocktails."

"You're kidding," Scott says in disbelief, reaching for the invitation. Kip hands it over. He's way more interested in the included photograph than the invite itself anyways.

The photograph is double sided. The first side is of a much younger Hollander and Rozanov than Kip ever met. It looks like an out take from a promotional shoot. Most photo shoots promoting hockey look very serious, like everyone involved is pretending they're not talking about a game. This photo isn't like that. Both boys are laughing, nose-to-nose. Hollander's face is flushed prettily, highlighting the spray of freckles across his scrunched up nose. Rozanov looks starstruck, eyes crinkled and half-closed but still locked onto Hollander.

Kip flips the picture over. The Hollander and Rozanov on the other side are much more familiar. While the first picture is posed, this one is candid. They're standing in a kitchen in swim trunks, damp like they've just come in from the lake. From the halved citrus and bottles of spirits on the counter it looks like Hollander was prepping cocktails before Rozanov interrupted him. Rozanov's chin is tucked over Hollander's shoulder, one hand splayed possessively over Hollander's abs. Hollander's leaning back into Rozanov's hold, looking exasperated but very pleased and so, so in love.

"Oh wow, Rozanov," Kip says quietly.

"I will not tell you anything about the other men until they are out," Rozanov says quietly. "But Shane and I, we are grateful. I think we would have made it even if we had to be first but it was easier, seeing someone else be first. You made things easier. You do not have to come but--"

"We'll be there," Scott interrupts. "Fuck man, of course we'll be there. Holy shit."

"Okay," Rozanov says, pink in the face. He takes another large bite of pasta, like the noodles will protect him from the emotional vulnerability of the moment. "My mother-in-law said we should get RSVPs from people for catering. Yuna laughed until she cried when we said we were just going to wait and see who showed up."

"Yeah, you can't do that." Kip agrees. "We thought that we'd only have like fifty or sixty people come. We ended up with almost three-hundred people at dinner."

"We are not inviting three hundred people," Rozanov says vehemently. "Shane would explode."

Kip snags a pen from his desk where he'd been scribbling down notes on drafts for his capstone students. The provided RSVP card is addressed to Kip Grady-Hunter. Kip writes Scott's name under his and confirms that they have no allergies. He passes it back to Rozanov, who puts it in his pocket.

"Is Hollander going to stay in Montreal?" Scott asks. "His contract is up at the end of the season. I heard there was hesitance but I thought it was a money thing."

Rozanov mimes turning a key in front of his lips. Scott swears loudly.

The thought of a Montreal Voyageurs without Shane Hollander is mind blowing. Montreal fans absolutely adore Hollander. How could they not? Montreal hadn't won a cup since the 90s prior to drafting Hollander and now they've had four wins in the past twelve years. The way Montreal loves Hollander borders on religious. Nobody will have seen it coming.

"He wanted to stay," Rozanov says seriously, a tight look in his eyes. "It was not about the money. He would have signed for nothing. Don't mention it when you see him next."

"I won't," Scott promises. "Fuck. Shane Hollander a Centaur. I thought they'd hang his sweater up in Bell."

"Enjoy this last chance for a cup, Hunter," Rozanov warns. "You will not get another."