Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Supportive Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Ottawa Centaurs Player Shane Hollander, Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Ilya Rozanov - Freeform

Language:

English

Series:

Part 10 of Heated Rivalry Oneshots

Collections:

Relationship Reveal HR, The best pairings to bask in, No thoughts just gay hockey

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-21 Words: 12,294 Chapters: 1/1

Make My Own Name

Summary

Shane Hollander is now an Ottawa Centaur. All he wants is one season to make his own place on the team before coming out to everyone. They have rules, what not to do at work, but Ilya and Shane keep breaking them.

Notes

I've been working on this for weeks, through two writing blocks, antidepressant issues, and my piles of coursework. Therefore, I have not fully edited this. Comment if something is atrocious, but I'll go through to fix spelling eventurally.

I switch between calling Ilya boyfriend and fiance. This is based on me. It was hard for me to change language when I got engaged, so I think it adds some realism.

I hope you enjoy :)

When Shane joins the Centaurs, he lays down some very necessary ground rules with his very pouty secret fiance.

One of the first ones he laid down was:

"No showering together at the rink."

"Hollander, we shower together all time."

"And half the time we end up on our knees. I don't know if I can separate you at home to you at work. No showering together."

It's sensible things like that.

No kissing at the rink.

No pet names.

No first names.

No driving to the rink together.

No Russian conversations.

It's reasonable, Shane argued. People don't know that they're together and he wants to make sure he fits in with the team before exposing themselves.

Shane wants to be Shane Hollander first, not just Rozy's boytoy.

"They will not think this," Ilya tries to soothe after Shane freaks out the day before practices start after the summer. "They are good people. All very gay, even the not gay ones."

"Ilya, I need to have my own identity on the team."

"I know, moy lyubov. Hollander first, my lover second."

Ilya receives a very expected punch to the shoulder for that comment, but it was immediately undermined by the enthusiastic blow job he received two minutes later.

The rules stay in place and team practice start. Everything is good; the team is enthusiastic about having Hollander and they accomadate for him easily. Shane himself finds it hard to adjust not having the C on his chest and stops himself a few times from yelling his own calls.

"You do not have to be silent," Ilya says in the car one day on the way to Yuna and David's. "You have insight? Say it."

"It's not my place, Ilya. I don't have the C and Bood is the assistant. I don't make calls. I don't correct plays."

"You see things different, yes? You want to make us better, yes? We can not be better if you do not use your talent, Shane. Call it out."

"I don't want to step on your toes."

"What? You are uncoordinated now?"

"It means I don't want to step out of line or overshadow your orders."

"Shane, we are teammates. You are second best hockey player. I think I can let you know to back off if I need." Ilya takes his eyes off the road to frown at his fiancé. "Do we not communicate? I will tell you."

"Fuck, you're right. You're right. Am i being weird about this?"

"Not any more weird than I expected." Ilya reaches out and takes Shane's hand to kiss his knuckles. "You are you."

They got into a rhythm after that. Ilya and Bood make good captains and neither seem to mind when Shane speaks up during practice. A few times, Ilya even has Shane take aside a player for a one-on-one while he and Bood deal with their own groups.

It's smooth and Ilya's right, it makes the team better.

In their home opener, they win 3-2 in regulation. Shane feels like he's flying. Here he is, on a team that communicates and works together after ten years dealing with Montreal's bullshit — especially after Shane came out as gay to them.

Ilya and him don't touch during practice, don't talk other than to give instructions and Ilya's incessant chirping towards Shane.

Shane makes sure he's the first guy in the shower after practice. Ilya likes to daddle, talking to players or to their coach, chirping the guys or offering advice. This makes sure that they're never in the showers together without making it obvious.

A few times (read: half the time), Shane stays on the ice to do some extra drills by himself. This was pretty standard in Montreal for a lot of the players, but it seems the exception here. After these instances, Shane gets to the locker room after most of the guys are showered and gone and he doesn't have to worry about the prospect of seeing Ilya in the shower.

No one mentions his sexuality. It's not broad knowledge nor did he ever make a public statement. But the gossip mill in the league is quick and Shane knows they must have heard already, even just speculation. Everyone treats him the same without any hesitation to change in front of him.

Shane still makes sure his gaze is obviously away from everyone else. He doesn't want anyone to complain that they think he's looking.

Of course, no one bothers Troy Barrett about his sexuality. Ilya points that out more than once. "He has a boyfriend," Shane argues.

"That has nothing to do with it."

"Ilya, it's different if people have a gay guy with a boyfriend in the locker room verses a gay guy who's single."

"You are not single." Ilya folds his arms irritably. "We tell them you are not single gay guy and, oh by the way, I am bisexual and fucking your socks off."

"Ilya-"

"Anyways, it is not different if you are single or not!"

"Yes it is! A partnered gay guy is safe. A single gay guy is… Predatory. On the prowl for a man."

Ilya raises an eyebrow. "This is bullshit Montreal said to you?"

Maybe. Definitely. "Doesn't make it not true."

"Shane, it is not true."

"Ilya, drop it. The guys don't seem to mind and I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable."

"No one is uncomfortable but you!"

"Drop it."

Ilya drops it, but not happily. He stomps around the house muttering in low Russian too fast for Shane to keep up with and, when dinner came, making food with more banging than normal.

It comes to a head the next day in practice when Ilya makes everyone line up on the ice.

"Okay, I want to talk to everyone. We are a team, yes? We support each other, yes?" Ilya pauses and looks around at the silent players. "Yes or no?"

"Yes, captain," everyone chants obediently.

"Good. No one is out of place. Hayes, you talk about superguy and protect the goal like crazy. Haas, you draw beautiful and you are great on your feet. Hollander, you are second best hockey player and you are incredibly smart. Bood — where are you, ah! — you are great assistant and great with those assists! Barrett, you caught us by surprise, but you are great man. I will not say more because Harris will not bring dogs to see me if I do."

Everyone chuckles around, a little confused of whats happening but not disliking it.

"We are team," Ilya continues. "We are all together and if anyone, anyone at fucking all, makes another player feel uncomfortable about who they are, I will handle it. I will not deal with that bullshit on this team. That is Toronto shit, Montreal shit, Dallas shit. Not us. We are better than that. I love every fucking one of you and I do not care what anyone else fucking says about that."

Ilya looks right at Shane, who's cheeks are tinted pink. "We are all wanted on this team. We all have each other's backs. That won us the fucking Cup last year! Let's fucking do it again. Horseshoes, everyone, go!"

Everyone yells in agreement and shoots off to start on their drills. Only Boodram stays back and approaches Ilya.

"Hey, man. Did something happen?"

Ilya shakes his head. "Nothing bad. Just thought we might need reminder we are better than asshole teams. Everyone is accepted here."

"Is this about the Hollander rumors?"

Ilya gives his assistant captain a firm look. "We do not gossip about sexuality on this team. That is his business. Leave it alone."

Bood nods and skates backwards towards everyone else doing drills. "Fuckin' right Roz. Let's go."

Shane's first hat trick for the Ottawa Centaurs happens on their first away game during a road trip.

They're in Tampa, tied 4-4; two from Hollander, one from Rozanov, and one beautiful goal from Haas. The entire third quarter has been rough. Checks are coming in harder, words are getting more aggressive, and every player is getting more desperate as the timer ticks down.

Sweat drips down Hollander's face as he stands in the face-off, Rozanov and Bood at his sides. They'd tried to have Rozanov and him on different lines at the start of practice, but there's no way they could sacrifice the innate communication they have together on the ice. It's killer.

Tampa's center spits onto the ice as he glares at Hollander. "You play hard for a fairy," the he says through his mouth guard.

Shane doesn't bother responding, but he makes sure to get the puck to Rozanov like his life depended on it; his dignity definitely did.

Rozanov passes it to Bood who gets checked by a Tampa defenseman. Bood struggles for a second before snapping the puck to Hollander. Shane runs with it, dodging sticks and skates as he flies toward the other team's goal.

"Szadi sleva!" Rozanov yells and Hollander's mind instantly translates: back left.

He swerves around a Tampa defenseman and in the same movement backhand passes the puck to Rozanov. Rozanov shoots off, but that doesn't mean Hollander has a break. While Tampa is preoccupied by Rozanov's possession, Hollander maneuvers his way towards the net. When he's satisfied about his position, he double taps his blade to the ice. Three seconds later, he slams the puck into the net off Rozanov's assist.

"Fuck yeah! That is how you fucking do it!" Rozanov screams as he skates into Hollander's side.

"Hell of a pass, Roz."

"Beautiful fucking shot!"

Hollander grins unrestrained at Rozanov as they make their way over to the bench after their time on the ice.

"That was Shane Hollander's first hat trick not for the Montreal Metros," one of the commentators can be heard throughout the arena. "It's a good change of pace for the center to see the on ice chemistry with his former rival Ilya Rozanov. The two skate around each other and seem to read each other's minds during play."

"You are exactly right," the other commentator agrees, "and, correct me if I'm wrong, but did we hear the cameras pick up some Russian being yelled between the two before that last goal? Let's look at the replay."

All the screens show the last play, the angle of the video being from the camera just off ice. The players can be seen weaving across the ice and the faint words of Russian can be heard from Rozanov just before Hollander responds with a flawless pass behind him that should have been impossible.

"I believe you're right! If those two have learned a secret way to communicate, this might just be the thing that brings Ottawa to another cup just after their unexpected win last season."

Back in the locker room after the win, it seems like everyone wants to pat Hollander's shoulders and clap his back. Shane, who usually doesn't like unnecessary physical touch, is too proud of himself to be bothered by it. He laughs around with everyone and doesn't make his usual beeline to the showers.

"When did you learn fucking Russian?" Dykstra asks when he has his turn to congratulate his teammate.

"What?" Shane asks stunned. "I-I haven't?"

Boodram bumps his arm against Shane's. "Hollz, we saw the footage! Roz yells something in Russian and you happen to pass the puck behind you without looking. Fucking beautiful it was!"

Shane meets Ilya's eyes and he knows his own face is paled. No speaking Russian to each other. That is one of their rules for the rink. They've been so careful about it and they fucking ruin in during a game. Neither even noticed the language switch.

"We spend so much time with foundation," Ilya dismisses. "I am very impressionist. I rub off on him."

"Christ, you're so full of yourself, captain," Hayes chirps him from across the room. Everyone easily laughs and moves to their cubbies.

"Okay, okay. Everyone into showers! I do not want to smell you motherfuckers anymore," Roz yells out, getting a few friendly yells in return.

Once most of the guys are out of the room, Ilya leans next to Shane. "I am sorry," he whispers.

"It's not your fault," Shane says stiffly. "Instincts in a game. It happens."

"Instincts," Ilya repeats slowly. "I was, uh, preoccupied."

"By what?"

"What is Morris say to you in face-off?"

"Who is Morris?" Shane asks innocently.

"Fuck, Hollander, you know who I mean. Tampa's center. He say something to you."

Shane shakes his head and grabs his shower caddy. "Drop it, Rozanov."

"Hollander." Ilya stands firm as he stares at his boyfriend. "Was something bad?"

Shane turns to glare down Ilya, but it's obvious the Russian isn't backing down. Shane sighs and mutters under his breath, "On nazval menya feyey, Ilyusha."

The reaction is immediate. One second, Shane is looking at his concerned and reasonable boyfriend — fiancé, technically, he has to remind himself — and the next minute, Ilya's helmet is thrown into his cubby with a loud clang and his game stick is snapped in half.

"Roz? What's wrong?" Boodram asks, his head poking around the corner of the showers.

"YA yego, blyad', ub'yu, Hollander."

Ilya's attracted the attention of the team and many of them step out of the showers in various stages of washing, some with their towels wrapped around them, some with water dripping dramatically off their bodies, Haas has bubbles in his hair as he gapes at Rozanov's broken stick.

"Fuck off, Rozanov." Shane sounds calmer than he feels. Good. The team doesn't need to know how fast his heart is beating. "It's not the fucking first time. I can fucking handle it."

"You should not have to, Hollander! Why did you not tell me on ice?"

"What, you want me to run to my fucking captain every time someone throws a slur around on the ice?" His skin is getting heated and he knows he's making a scene. He knows. "Fuck off. It's hockey talk."

"Is not. They target you for no fucking reason!"

"What happened Hollz?" Wyatt Hayes walks up to the two of them with a towel tied tightly around his waist. "During the game?"

Shane sighs and grabs his towel out of his bag. "Morris called me a fairy during my last face-off."

Dykstra comes up to the scene and holds his hand out to Shane. "Hollander-"

"They say shit because they think they can hurt me. They can't; their words have no fucking weight. Roz, if you go out there and talk shit, they will think there is something to chirp about."

"Hollan-"

"You say anything, it undermines my hat trick tonight. I did that, despite what they think and despite what they think gay people are capable of. I fucking did that, and I'm not going to let them remember me any other way. So, let it fucking go Roz."

Shane and Ilya stares at each other, both players stubborn to the fucking bone. But Shane isn't going to let up. He didn't spend ten years building his career and a full year dealing with locker room homophobia to allow someone else to fight his fucking battles for him. Especially not his secret boyfriend — fiancé.

Ilya scoffs and snatches his shower items before shoving through the wall of Centaurs.

Shane huffs and grabs his bag. He can't go to the showers now, not with Ilya in there, so he tries to make himself busy with everyone staring at him.

"Hey, Hollz? We know you don't need us to fight for you, but we're here for you," Wyatt says.

"Whatever you need, man," Barrett speaks up. As the only openly queer player on the team, he knows how it feels more than the others.

"I-I'm… I'm not…" Shane groans in frustration. He doesn't want to keep fucking lying to his teammates, but his hands are shaking and his breath doesn't want to come out smooth. He can't come out like this. He needs to do it on his own time. Not because Ilya is over-fucking-reacting to a chirp.

"Look, no one is asking and no one cares, okay?" Barrett gestures around to the team where a lot of heads are nodding. "But don't let them get away with shit because they expect you to keep silent."

"I just want my hockey to speak for myself," Shane whispers.

"You've already done that Hollz," Bood says with a friendly fist to his shoulder. "Go shower up. We'll take you out drinking to celebrate that hat trick you got tonight."

Shane wants to protest, wants to say that the last thing he wants to do is to go to a bar or club and force a smile all night, wants to say that where he really wants to be is under their captain's weight in his hotel room because even when they fight Ilya's arms is always where he wants to be.

But he can't say that, so he nods and heads towards the showers because by some mercy Ilya just walked back into the locker room after the quickest shower Shane's ever seen him take.

So Shane goes out but he doesn't drink. Neither does Ilya because while the team doesn't know about his antidepressants, they think he's on a performance diet. The team — those old enough to drink in America at least — bar hop around Tampa while some of the younger, unattached guys drift off with girls they pick up along the way. It's midnight before Shane can find an opportunity to make his excuses and go back to the hotel.

Ilya shows up in their room not long after Shane's changed out of his Game Day Suit. Shane has a mug of herbal tea and his reading glasses on. While he could claim that he was reading — his book is out, though the page hasn't been flipped in ten minutes — he really just knows how much the sight of Shane in his readers does to Ilya.

It takes five seconds for Shane's book to thud to the floor and his lips to be smashed against Ilya's.

Shane groans as he feels Ilya's body press against his. He manages to mutter around Ilya's lips, "Your lip is busted."

"I do not care," came Ilya's breathless response.

Cold hands find themselves under Shane's shirt, pressing into the hard plane of his abs and finding the softer areas around his belly button. Ilya's hands wonder as their kiss lengthens, until Shane pushes against hit chest.

"Stop, stop. Ilya, we're in a hotel."

Ilya doesn't stop but simply moves his mouth to Shane's neck. "Yes, very observant," he mutters between kisses. "I am celebrating your hat trick."

"Ilya! Our teammates are next door," Shane hisses. Oh fuck, Ilya bites down on his collarbone, right where that fucker knows Shane likes. He whimpers and can't help his hips thrust a centimeter forward.

Ilya pulls back with a smirk. "Then you better learn to be quiet, malysh."

Ilya's mouth is back on his neck, then their clothes are on the floor. Cold hands are now warm as they grasp at skin, pulling and taking what they want.

"Fuck," Ilya groans as Shane, now hovering over Ilya on his knees, takes the tip of his dick into his hungry mouth. "Fuck, you're mouth is perfect."

Shane lets his eyes roll back into his head as he gives in to his desire. He'll never be as good as Ilya at blow jobs, but that doesn't seem to matter. He's starving for Ilya's cock nonetheless.

It's a record low time before Ilya pushes Shane away and grasping the base of his dick. Shane sits back with a satisfied grin. It feels good to see his hot boy- fiancé struggle not to come barely a minute in.

"Quick shot tonight?" Shane teases. That's usually Ilya's line to him, so it feels nice to be able to turn it around on him.

"You are too good, too much." Ilya lets his eyes roam down Shane's athletic body. "Lay down on stomach. Now."

The next morning, Shane and Ilya sit on opposite sides of the hotel breakfast hall. Ilya has a plate piled high with bacon, pancakes, and sausage. He's thinking about going up for one of those hotel waffles after he's done when Dykstra sits next to him.

"Roz, that looks like a clogged artery waiting to happen."

"Ah, good thing I am still young, yes?"

"I don't know how you eat like that," the defenseman says with a shake of his head. "Aren't you on that performance diet? No alcohol, better food?"

"Ya, but so much energy spent last night." Ilya smirks at his teammate. "Several rounds, you see. I need calories for fuel."

Dykstra shakes his head with a troubled expression on his face. "Dude, congrats on getting some, but maybe be a bit nicer to Hollander, okay?"

"What you mean?" Ilya points his fork laden with syrupy pancake at himself. "I am nice guy."

"I mean it's his first road trip with us and you're kicking him out of the hotel room to have sex. We want him to like it here, so whatever rivalry pissing contest this is," Dykstra's finger circles around the Ilya's body, "cut it out."

Ilya smirks and takes a bite. If only he knew what Shane actually thought about his sexual exploits. He says with his mouth full, "I do not think Hollander minds. He is good sport. Polite Canadian."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the breakfast area, Shane has a bowl of oatmeal, plain with only banana slices for flavor. Not Shane's favorite breakfast, but he doesn't bring his smoothie stuff with him everywhere he goes. He's not that neurotic.

"Hey, Hollander?" Hayes sits next to him at the table, groggy from the early wake up call.

"Morning, Wyatt," Shane says easily. He's a morning person, so he's already been up for awhile. He even had a little workout session with Ilya, if morning blow jobs count as a workout.

"Look, Hollz, I was in the room next to you and Rozanov last night."

Shane freezes as all the blood seems to leave his body. The Fuck? "Oh, uh, okay?"

"I just wanted to say, if Roz makes you uncomfortable, let me know. I'll deal with it."

Is Wyatt worried about, what? Ilya forcing himself on me? "What do you mean, Wy?"

"Look, it's not my business who Roz sleeps with, but kicking you out of your own hotel room on your first trip is shitty. If it happens again, come to my room and I'll let ya crash. Where did you go last night?"

Right. He thinks Rozanov is sleeping with random girls."Oh, uh… Just the hotel bar. It wasn't too long." They only went two rounds last night. Right? Only an hour or so? God, he hopes so. To think that Wyatt Hayes heard them last night…. Fuck.

"Champion. I wouldn't touch a room after Roz is done with it." Hayes digs into his eggs and Shane holds back a wince. It's probably powder, processed eggs. "Remember, you've got someone in your corner. I know approaching your captain who used to be your huge rival can be weird. I'll deal with him if he crosses a line."

Shane takes a deep breath and tries to act normal. Hayes thinks Ilya is sleeping around and being an asshole roommate. He doesn't know that Shane himself was in that room, right between Ilya's arms. "Thanks, Wyatt. I appreciate the concern, but Rozanov is fine. I'm not some rookie. I know what hockey guys are like."

"If you're sure, Hollz." Wyatt looks like he wants to say something else, but Bood sits down across from them interrupting him.

Shane turns back to his food with his head spinning. Damn, okay. Shane can handle this. He can. They just have to be less obvious.

New rule: No sex while on roadies.

Shane's sure he'll be able to follow that.

"No, no. Hollander, these seats are only for best hockey players. You must sit back there," Ilya says on the plane later that day.

"Hollander! Skates go on ice! Do you not learn this yet? How did you win rookie of year?" Ilya shouts during practice before their next game when Shane had fallen on his ass.

"Okay team, we will have good game today, yes? If Hollander can get hat trick, then maybe goalie can too," Ilya says during his pre-game speech in Washington.

"Man, he doesn't know when to lay off does he?" Barrett mutters to Shane after Ilya's done talking. "Do I need to say something, Hollz?"

"No, its just Rozanov being Rozanov." Shane tugs on his helmet and elbows his teammate. Ilya was supposed to be keeping it casual, but he tries not to show his annoyance."I can handle him."

The game is dirty and rough from the start. Washington doesn't want to lose to Ottawa and they're prepared to get bloody for it. By first intermission, Rozanov sports a busted lip that Shane wants to take an icepack to. At second intermission, Hollander stretches his shoulder from an illegal check that caused Ottawa to get a power point goal during the penalty. Third intermission starts with Rozanov getting a misconduct.

"No, ref! He-"

"Go to the bench, Rozanov!" the ref yells. "I won't ask you again! Go to your bench!"

Rozanov skates off as he mutters in Russian about how the ref's grandmother should go to the bench. He slams into his spot and throws his stick behind him. Hollander watches him from the ice. It was a nasty collision, totally Rozanov's fault, but that doesn't mean he want Roz to be hurt.

Hollander finally turns away when Rozanov gives a barely-there nod.

"Rozanov out of play for ten minutes, Hollander on the center," a sportscaster says over the loud speaker. "You know, we haven't seen much play from Hollander without his right wing. Looks like they're bringing in Nick Chouinard to replace Rozanov and they're off! Washington in possession."

"Washington wants this tonight," says the second announcer, "and they are not holding back. Gordon has the puck- oh! Shane Hollander steals the puck off Gordon's blade! Look at him go to the center line! Pass to Dykstra, over the second blue, back to Hollander."

"There is just no one in the league that can fly across the ice like Hollander. He almost doesn't look like a hockey player. He skates like a figure skater! It's graceful and effective."

"It really is something else. Pass to Chouinard, pass to Dillon, back to Holllander and he shoot-"

"Ah, that looks bad."

"I can't tell if Hollander got a shot in or not before he was slammed down."

"I know the refs are reviewing the tapes to see if there's a goal on play or a penalty. Let's look at the replay."

The screens around the arena switch to show a slow-motion of the previous play. Dillon passes the puck to Hollander who slide the puck to his other side to set the shot and rears his blade back and- Savolainen from Washington slams into Hollander from behind, sending him sprawling on the ice underneath the Finnish player's body. In the mayhem, the black puck slides uninterrupted across the red line and into the net.

The replay plays again, zoomed in on the puck this time. Hollander's blade touches the puck at the same time he gets hit, the puck spinning into the net off of his shot.

"We can see it right there, folks! It is Hollander's goal! Hollander does not look like he's getting up. Hopefully, it's nothing serious-"

On the ice, Hollander's world is ringing. He remembers going for a shot, then all he could see was white. Ice? He hopes it's just the ice and not him loosing consciousness. Can he feel his toes? Is he moving his fingers?

"Hollander?" Dykstra? "Do you need a trainer?"

Trainer? No, no because Ilya will worry if he's hurt enough to need a trainer.

"No," he groans out. He blinks his eyes groggily as he pushes himself up on one hand. "I'm fine, Dykstra."

"Hollz, man stay there. They're sending the trainers."

"No, no. Just-" Hollander tries to push to his feet, but everything is spinning too fast. "Help me to the bench? They can look me over there."

Hollander feels an arm wrap under his armpit and around his back. He sets his skates on the ice and leans heavily on his teammate as they slowly get to the bench.

Distantly, he hears the ref call out the play: "Hollander goal is good, Washington's Savolainen has a game misconduct and is ejected from the game for the illegal hit on Hollander from behind. Ottawa's Haas has a five minute penalty for fighting."

"Haasy?" Maybe Hollander did get knocked out and this is all a dream. Luca Haas doesn't start fights, especially not enough to get a major penalty.

"Yeah, he punched Savolainen after that dirty motherfucker slammed you."

Fuck. Fuck, he doesn't remember that. Did he actually pass out for a few seconds? He tries to find the penalty box so he can nod to Rozanov that he's fine, but he's not sure if he manages it well.

Hollander makes it off the ice and the trainers crowd around him. He answers all their questions. Yes, he knows his name. Yes, he knows they're in Washington. Yes, he knows the date. After a minute, his vision is fine and he's only sporting a slight headache.

"Can I get back there?" Hollander asks the trainer. Rozanov's and Haas's penalties are over and with only two minutes left on the board, they are tied for the game 2-2.

The trainer checks his eyes one more time. "You don't have a concussion. If you feel well enough, go ahead. There's only two minutes left."

Hollander thanks them and walks over to the guest bench. "Wiebe! I'm cleared!"

"Hollander! You good for next shift?"

"Wait." Rozanov turns from his spot on the bench and stares at Hollander. "You are good, Shane?"

Shane stiffens and raises an eyebrow. "I'm not soft like you, Roz. I can take a hit and make it back out there."

"Oh?" Rozanov smirks and smacks his stick against Hollander's. "Canadian has chirps now. Come on the shift and lets finish the game, yes?"

Once it hits under a minute, Roz and Hollander jump onto the ice together mid-play. They nod at each other and make their formation.

"Dill, to me," Hollander calls and receives the easy pass in neutral ice against the boards. Roz and him cycle it to each other close to the wall until there's an opening and Hollander shoots off.

He feigns his intent for a goal, instead passing it to Rozanov at the last second for him to make a snap shot into the net.

"What a beautiful goal from Rozanov, assisted by Hollander!" The announcer shouts into his mic, "Look at that, the swiftness and aggression! Those two together are hard to beat."

"Especially after that hit we saw Hollander take just a few minutes ago! Frankly, I'm surprised they let him back on the ice, but you know Coach Wiebe is thankful he did. No overtime, Ottawa wins in regulation 3-2."

"It is only Coach Wiebe's third year as head coach and…"

The Centaurs pile into the visiting locker room, loud whoops and hard high-fives filling the echoy space. It's not a playoff game, but a win is still a win. Shane likes how much this team appreciates every good day on the ice.

"Hollander!" Hayes claps his back a bit too hard. "That hit looked fucking brutal out there."

Hollander rolls his eyes. "I'm not a fucking doll, Hay. I can take a dirty hit." Which reminds him of one of their youngest players. "Hey, Haas? Your hand okay?"

Luca Haas looks up from his cubby as if caught doing something wrong. "Uh…" He flexes his hand a few times. "It hurt more than I thought it would? Worth it though."

"Good man," Rozanov says with a gentle rub to Haas' head. "We will teach you to fight before next game."

"Roz, Haas doesn't need to fight," Shane argues. He's made his career on not fighting and he stands by it.

Unfortunately, his captain did the exact opposite. "Yes. We defend teammates here."

Rozanov makes his way to his own cubby, situated beside Hollander's. Rozanov Ilya — because that's definitely a fiance look the man is giving Shane, not a look of a casually concerned captain — gazes at Shane for a moment too long.

Ilya is a bit quieter than normal after a win, Shane realizes.He's also noticed Ilya's been playing more aggressive than he usually would so early in the season.

"How is your head, malysh?" Ilya's tone is soft, sweet; the voice Shane hears beside bonfires and early morning lake trips, over cups of hot tea and meaningless conversation.

No nicknames at work. Another rule. Shane hates that that is what his mind focuses on.

"My head is fine, Rozanov," Shane says, purposely using Ilya's last name.

"But you are in pain."

Damn him and the way he can read Shane's body. "Just a little headache. I think I can manage."

"Shane-"

"Leave it, Rozanov." He grabs his shower caddy and his towel. "Team medic cleared me. I'll take acetaminophen tonight."

Before Ilya can protest even more, Bood wraps an arm around his shoulders. "Me and you for media! They wanted Hollzy, but Wiebe said after that hit he'll let you off," he adds to Shane.

"At least that hit was good for something, thank fuck." Shane laughs as he walks away. "Hurry up, captains. I want to sleep before dawn."

They try to keep quiet this time. Or, Shane tries to keep quiet. But Ilya does that move with his tongue that he knows Shane can't resist and all restraint goes out of the window. He groans and grasps the pillow under him in his fists.

"Fuck, Ilya," he moans as Ilya's tongue flattens against Shane's asshole. "Not in the fucking hotel."

"No?" Ilya's smirk can be heard in his tone. "I scored winning goal. I get my prize."

Shane gasps loudly as Ilya goes to town. Eating out is not something Shane enjoys giving, but Ilya does. Maybe it's the sounds it brings out of Shane. It's probably that.

"I- ah, fuck. I said no sex on r-roadie-" Shane mews softly as Ilya, the motherfucker, sticks his tongue in his ass. "Fuck, Ilya."

Shane pants as Ilya's fingers deftly take him apart, his fingers slick with spit and lube from the tube now thrown somewhere on the bed.

"Ilya, just fuck me dammit," Shane hisses for what feels like the tenth fucking time. "I'll lock myself in the bathroom and jerk myself off."

"No you will not." Ilya sucks a hickie on Shane's upper ribs, right where he could most likely hide it in the locker room by his arm. "You like my fucking cock too much."

"I would like it if you cock would fuck me."

"So slutty," Ilya murmurs against sweaty skin.

There's a special symphony playing in their room as the headboard repeatedly bangs against the wall. The music is completed by the whiny moans escaping from behind Shane's hand as he tries to stop himself from being loud enough to be heard by Bood next door.

"Ilya- I'm goin-" Shane suddenly cries out as his torso gets painted with ribbons of white.

"How is your head?" Ilya asks when he pulls away for breath.

Water drizzles over both of them, the hotel shower pressure absolutely dismal and the hotel soap doomed to make Shane's skin itchy tomorrow.

"If you ask about my head one more time, I won't fucking suck you off."

Ilya smirks at his fiance and slides to his own knees. "Is fine. I am hungry enough for both of us."

Ilya sits on the bus that will take the team to the airport in his usual seat beside Boodram. Bood takes one look at his captain and shakes his head.

"For fucks sake, Roz. Is that a hickie on your neck?"

Ilya smirks. He knows he means the single one that can be seen above his collar. He can't see the other ones under his shirt. "I have been told gentlemen never tell, Bood."

"Roz, really? Poor Hollander is never going to sleep in his hotel room is he?"

Ilya shrug and uses his trademarked smirk to hide his secret pleasure. "Hollander can watch if he wants. I have no problem."

"Fucks sake, Rozzy," Bood mutters again and slams his earbuds in.

Ilya takes out his own headphones, planning on sleeping for the flight, but he can't help a backwards glance at his boyfriend.

No one notices how swollen the Golden Canadian Hockey Player's lips are and no one will see the secret marks he left on Shane's body.

The plane touches down in New York in the early afternoon, which means several hours of free time in the big apple. Hayes and Haas want to try catching a Broadway show, Chouinard and Dillon are going to this interactive art exhibit, and some of the newbies are using their first New York visit to sight see the main attractions.

Dykstra tries to convince Ilya to tag along with him and Bood on what would probably end up as a PR disaster, but Shane steps in rather quickly.

"Ilya, we have that charity meeting soon. We should probably get going."

Ilya frowns but nods quickly. "We will go then. Next time, Dy. We are in New York again in February."

Shane and Ilya split from everyone else and Shane sets them in a random direction. There's not really anywhere to go that Shane has in mind. Maybe they could go to a cafe?

"Did I forget meeting?" Ilya's looking at his phone as they walk. "Is not on our shared calendar."

"No, I just wanted to steal you away for a few hours. We should try that Italian place we saw last time but never had time for."

"Shane, it's not even three in the afternoon. You want whole meal now?"

Well, no. Ilya doesn't need to know that though.

"You didn't eat breakfast and you didn't eat at the airport." Shane levels a stare at Ilya. "We could just go to the hotel room and, you know, decompress if you'd rather."

Shane can see so much of him, Ilya finds it scary sometimes. How does a person get over being witnessed like this? "I…"

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay, that's all. You seem a little… off."

"No, you are right." Ilya rubs the back of his neck. "I, uh, haven't taken my meds for a few days."

"Ilya?!"

"I know, I know. But I go to fill my script, yes? Is not ready. I go again day before we leave for roadie? Is not ready still."

Shane thinks back to the last few days. Skipped meals, sleeping on the plane when Ilya usually watches movies, fighting on the ice. "That's why you were playing rougher last night."

"Maybe little." Ilya sighs. "I hate it. Feeling like… like fuzzy head and can't think. I want to stay in bed because why would I move, yes? But I am not home, I am with team, and my boyfriend is so needy I must blow him in the morning."

"You're fucking impossible."

"No, my fucking is very possible. Maybe tonight if you behave."

"Fuck off, Ilya."

"Hunter! I did not know they let dinosaurs play hockey!"

The Centaurs and the Admirals are both on the ice for pre-game warmup, doing stretches and skill drills. Rozanov stands between the red and blue line on their side, yelling to the captain of the Admirals.

"Fuck off, Rozanov," Hunter says in return.

"How did you escape nursing home?"

Hollander skates up behind Rozanov and pulls him back by his jersey. "That's enough Roz." Hollander nods at Hunter. "Good to see you man."

"Hey, Hollz. Your new captain there has an attitude."

"We would keep him in the locker room if he didn't score goals sometimes," Shane jokes with a smile.

Hunter laughs. "Yeah? Well, he won't be making any tonight."

"We will see about that," Roz speaks up and nods at Hollander before skating off.

Rozanov did make a goal in game, a beautiful snapshot through the goalie's legs off of Hollander's assist. It was the only goal the Centaurs would score.

They end up losing to the Admirals 1-3, but the hit isn't too hard; they're coming to the end of a long roadie and this is their first loss of the season. It's a fantastic start for the season and every single person knows that this is just the beginning of Hollander and Rozanov.

It also helps that Scott is a good guy, though Ilya refuses to admit such a thing. Scott Hunter coming out is what moved their own relationship along; now, he's engaged to a man and owns a gay bar in New York City.

The very same gay bar Shane and Ilya find themselves in after the game, ginger ale and coke sweating on the table across from Carter Vaughn, Scott Hunter, and Kip Grady.

Shane finds himself like he does in most social situations: awkward. It doesn't help that he's in the presence of the only hockey player to be openly gay. Shane feels like his own pores are seeping with some kind of neon sign screaming "this guy is very fucking gay." It's probably written all over his face and his clothes and his hair and-

"It's nice of you to let us beat you tonight," Vaughn says.

"Ah, New Yorkers have learned to chirp," Ilya says with a cross-table fist bump on Vaughn's shoulder. "We will get you next time, do not worry."

"Sure, Rozanov," Hunter scoffs and takes a long drink of his beer.

Kip ignores the hockey drama and looks straight at Shane. "It's nice to meet you, Shane. Or do you prefer last names?"

Shane tries for a smile, but even he can tell it's weak. "Shane is fine. It's nice to meet you, too. I, uh…" I saw you on TV making out with your boyfriend and it changed my entire life. "It's nice to meet you," he finishes lamely and takes a long drink of his ginger ale.

Ilya elbows Shane's arm. "Come on, Hollander. Kip does not bite. We are friends."

"We've met once, Roz," Kip says with an eye roll.

"Yes? We are Instagram friends! I liked your last picture of art gallery in SOHO."

Scott chokes on his beer. "Wait, you really follow each other on Instagram? I thought Rozanov was just fucking with me on the ice."

"I would not fuck on ice," Ilya says seriously. Shane ducks his head down. "Would be very cold and hard. Bad for even young bones like mine."

"Rozanov," Shane mutters.

Vaughn leans forward. He seems inclined to ignore the Hunter-Rozanov argument as he says to Shane, "How are you liking Ottawa? You surprised everyone when you requested a trade."

Shane sets his glass down in the established water-ring on the table. "Ottawa is home. It's nice to play in the stadium I grew up going to. I get to see my parents more. I thought I would retire in Montreal, but I think I like this plan better."

"That makes sense. It's just that first Rozanov took a pay cut to trade to Ottawa, then you do a couple years later. Is there something in the water in Ottawa the rest of us should know?"

It's very gay water. "Just happened that way. The Irina Foundation helped our friendship, you know?" The regular lie is bitter on his tongue tonight.

"How is the charity going? Hockey is for everyone, right?"

"Very good." Shane smiles and points between Vaughn and Hunter. "If either of you want to volunteer to coach for a week or two, let us know. We can work something out for the summer."

"Sounds great!" Vaughn sounds genuine. He reaches over and smacks Hunter's arm. "Stop glaring at Rozzy. We all know he's an asshole just to get under your skin."

"I get under everyone's skin. Hunter is not special." Ilya waves his hand but there's a smile on his face.

"Roz, I've seen you make a list of the chirps you want to say before a Admirals' game."

Ilya turns to Shane dramatically. "You tell my secrets? Guys, Hollander is very boring and has only white shirts."

"That's not a secret," Shane exasperates.

Ilya frowns and turns to the rest of the guys at the table. "This is very serious. Hollander is too boring for secrets."

"Fuck you." Shane makes his point with a light smack to the back of Ilya's head. The other guys at the table are too busy laughing to see the wink Ilya gives to Shane.

Hunter shakes his head. "It's nice to know I'm on your mind, Rozanov."

Kip watches the Centaurs with a soft smile. "I've heard about your chirps, Roz. Ruthless, but never homophobic — from anyone on your team. It's good for Scott to have powerful allies in the league."

Shane snorts before he can stop himself and, oh my god, the look on everyone's faces as they turn to look at him are defensive. Everyone, except Ilya who's eyes are twinkling with delight.

"I- I mean… I'm not-"

"I am bisexual," Ilya says smoothly. "Cannot be ally when I am included."

"Oh, well," Vaughn starts taken aback. Obviously, he was prepping for a fight, not The Asshole of the NHL coming out.

"Good for you," Kip says slowly. "I think the NHL needs to be more queer."

"Yes, I am best player and best bisexual. Shane knows I am bisexual since rookie year."

"What?" Vaughn has his mouth hanging open. "You've known all along?"

"Technically, the summer before our rookie years, but yes I knew." Shane looks at his handsome boyfriend and decides right then: he doesn't want to hide. Not in front of these guys. "Because I am gay?"

Everyone stares at him. Shane honestly believes that they can hear his heart pounding. Or maybe they're all talking and his heartbeat is too loud in his ears. His chest tightens and-

It's Ilya who breaks the silence. "Is a question? Shane, I thought you knew you were gay. Not as long as I knew you were gay, of course."

"Shut up, you asshole," Shane mutters, but Ilya's words have done the trick.

The ice has broken and there's smiles on everyone's faces.

"That's great, Hollander. Not many people know, right?"

"I, uh, told Montreal last season. They were… Less than supportive."

"Fucking dicks is what Shane will not say," Ilya corrects. "All fucking bigots. Except Hayden Pike, I guess."

"I'm sorry, Hollander." Hunter frowns, a small line creasing between his eyebrows. "That must have sucked. I know that was a worry of mine when I came out."

"Well… it wasn't too bad."

Ilya wants to interject there. Not too bad like Shane is grateful for not being beat to a pulp at practice. Just because his old team didn't string him and gut him doesn't mean they weren't bad.

Before Ilya can say any of this, Kip speaks with a raised eyebrow, "Oh my god, are you two together?"

"What? Hollander and Rozanov?" Vaughn laughs.

"They hate each other, Kip," Scott explains to his boyfriend.

"Who told you that, Hunter?" Ilya asks.

"Well, the media and the NHL-"

"Both are liars, yes? Media likes story, but not gay story. They like great rivalry. They like the, uh…" Ilya looks over at Shane expectantly.

"Publicity," Shane supplies.

"Da. They're not fond of relationship drama interrupting the game."

"Especially when their top rivals have been together for eleven years." Shane smiles at Ilya. Here goes nothing. "Imagine what everyone would say. Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, settling down and getting married."

"Controversy," Ilya says with love sick eyes as he stares at his fiance.

"Holy-"

"-shit."

"Wait, so you're not just casually together?" Kip asks, much less blindsided than the hockey players at the table. "You're getting married?"

Shane and Ilya share another glance before looking to the three shocked faces in front of them.

"We have been engaged for year and a half."

"Year and five months," Shane corrects.

"Yes, Shane, which is basically year and half. Shut up."

"Asshole."

"You like it."

"Fuck knows why."

Scott Hunter shakes his head. "Fucking God, it makes so much sense."

Ilya hums and takes a sip from his forgotten coke. "Shane thought Hunter knew of us in 2017."

"I thought he knew about us since rookie year, actually." Shane elbows Ilya's ribs. "You're not exactly subtle."

"Wait," Kip puts his hands out. "Scott, you knew?"

"What?" Hunter frowns. "I had no fucking idea. Why did you think I did?"

"I fucked Shane in hotel room next to yours our rookie year."

"Fucking Christ, Ilya," Shane hisses and his face is burnt red. Hunter, Kip, and Vaughn have their mouths hanging open at the table. "Say it a little more colorfully, won't you? Fuck."

"Okay. I made Shane moan my name several times as I-"

"Prekrati," Shane snaps and Ilya obeys with a smug smirk. "It wasn't just that. During, uh, our fight, Hunter."

Hunter's face was also tinted pink. "Yeah, you seemed genuinely upset."

"I thought you were trying to out me. 'You're starting to sound like him.' I knew who you meant, and because I already worried that you heard us in that hotel, I thought…" Shane gestures between him and Ilya. "I thought you were making a point about us."

"The point was that you both chirp me back to back about how I was off my game." Hunter chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. "Hollz, I would never fuck with someone's sexuality like that."

Shane dips his head and grumbles, "I know that now."

The table drifts into a comfortable silence as everyone drinks their glasses. Every once in a while, Vaughn will mutter under his breath, still shocked from the news.

When the three New Yorkers order another round of drinks, Hunter breaks the silence again. "How are the Centaurs about this? I know about Barrett dating your social media guy, right?"

"Ah," Ilya waves his hand. "We have not told them yet. Is still secret."

"Holy shit," Vaughn gasps. "You're keeping this from your whole team?"

"I want to get my own spot on the team," Shane says defensively. "I needed my own identity after Montreal."

"Dude, you're Shane Fucking Hollander!" Vaughn gestures at Shane. "You're the best player in the fucking league. You don't have to make your own spot. You could go to any team and they'd probably kiss your fucking skates."

Ilya points at Vaughn and looks over at Shane. "See, this is what I say. You are making me agree with Admirals player."

Shane stares into his ginger ale. These last few months have been great. He enjoys living with Ilya, loves being on the same team as him. But to tell everyone on the team means changing the dynamic of how things are. This could change how the guys think of them both. It will change the chirps that Shane has finally gotten used to. It will change Shane and Ilya's routines because they'll be able to drive together into town and work and not sneak around.

Is the fear of change worth it? It might be terrifying, but maybe it's for the best?

Maybe this change wouldn't be horrible.

"I'll think about it," he whispers.

A few long days later, the Centaur's first road trip comes to a close. The team had one day off — which Shane and Ilya spent fourteen hours of that day passed out before very slow blowjobs and family dinner with the Hollanders — before practice resumes.

After their first practice, Shane stays on the ice alone. His skating was sloppier today, his body aching a little too much. Maybe shower sex this morning after the long rimming session last night wasn't a smart idea, but it felt so nice to be back at home where Shane didn't have to keep his voice down in fear of a teammate hearing through the walls.

Shane's finishing up his third solo drill run when Coach Wiebe knocks on the safety glass. "Hollander, my office."

Shane frowns as he skates off the ice. He's never been called into Wiebe's office before. Actually, he hasn't seen the inside of it since his first week on the team when he was going over paperwork.

Neither of them talk until the office door is closed. Shane starts, his pulse elevated, "Sorry, coach. I know that last drill was slower than normal-"

"Hollander, this isn't about your performance. You're sharper than anyone else on the ice. You've been doing good work with us." Wiebe shifts in his chair and Shane notices that his coach is… nervous. He's never seen a coach look anxious before. "Some of the guys have brought it to my attention that Rozanov might be making you uncomfortable."

"Wh- excuse me?" Is he hearing this correctly?

Wiebe takes a slow breath. "It's been mentioned to me that Rozanov has kicked you out of your shared rooms repeatedly while on the road. He chirps at you more than anyone else. And someone mentioned that you don't go into the team showers while he's in there."

"I- excuse me?" Shane thinks his brain might be broken. Someone has noticed his shower habits?

"Listen, I know Rozanov is your captain here so there's a power imbalance, but I want you to know I don't put up with bullshit attitudes and if I need to address-"

"Coach, I think there's been a misunderstanding. Rozanov has been fine."

"Hollander." Wiebe obviously didn't believe him.

"And if he wasn't, I have no problem telling him off. I don't roll over for anyone, especially Rozanov." Wiebe doesn't look convinced. Shane sighs and decides he needs to give more context. "Coach, we work together at the foundation. He comes over to my parents house for dinner once a week. Hell, he might text my mom more than I do. I can tell Rozanov to fuck off if I need to."

"Well, I guess that's good." Wiebe pauses and frowns slightly. "Why does he text your mom so much?"

"Because she's the chair of the foundation we run," Shane answers truthfully. It is true, but not the main reason they text. "Also, she's taken him under her wing. Roz doesn't have any family in Canada, you know."

Wiebe nods. Shane's sure coach knows that Ilya's parents are both dead, but if he doesn't, Shane's not going to be the one to tell Ilya's story. "Well, let me know if you need anything. We want you to be happy here."

We don't want you to request a trade away from us is what Shane hears. Thankfully, he doesn't fake the smile that warms his face. "I'm happy with our team here, Coach."

Christmas creeps up like it always does and suddenly its on Ilya's doorstep. The Centaurs have five days off this year, longer than he's ever had in the NHL.

Christmas Eve, Yuna and David came over to their house. Russian soup, hockey reruns, and a puzzle on the coffee table. Yuna and Ilya get into the wine, Anya knocks over Shane's ginger ale, and David watches over everyone with a satisfied smile.

The next day starts slow, complete with lazy hands in bed feeling their way over sweaty bodies, knees on the shower floor, and dazed smiles. By ten, Ilya and Shane squeeze onto the same loveseat, their laps laden with presents they insist Yuna and David didn't have to buy.

Lunch followed by lazy activities of movies and board games fill their day until dinner. After dessert, which Ilya convinced Shane to have two bites of, they drive back to their own house to exchange their own presents.

This has been their tradition for two years now and its something Ilya treasures. He knows Shane treasures it too, but Ilya insists he wins this competition. He never thought he'd have a family like this since his mother died, so warm and welcoming and unconditional.

There's only so many days that Ilya can convince Shane not to go to the gym, and that number is two. Boxing Day starts with wondering hands which leave the bed too soon. Cadio — for both of them — and yoga — for Shane, but Ilya enjoys watching — fill their morning. It's not until their stomachs growl that they wipe up the spilt lube on the gym floor and head to the kitchen to evaluate the fridge.

"Salad with tofu?"

"No, no rabbit food. Is holiday today, do not make me suffer."

"Well, that's what we have. Or leftovers from dinner last night."

"You brought Yuna's leftovers? And you are suggesting salad? Give me."

Soft laughter lingers as Shane shoos Ilya out of the kitchen to "spruce up" the leftovers. Ilya blows him a kiss as he busies himself with cleaning up from last night; stray wrapping paper, the condom wrapper, a singular sock left behind from their retreat into the bedroom.

They have a team barbecue later tonight, but with several hours to get up to the activities Ilya has planned for him and his fiancé. He lights a couple candles, fluffs the pillows the way Shane likes them, and turns the TV on to set the mood.

Ilya's distracted enough trying to find a good music station on the television that he doesn't hear the front door open. Or the heavy steps approaching.

"Hey, Rozy!"

Ilya jumps, rather dramatically, and spews a string of curses in Russian. He looks towards the entry way to see two teammates with their arms full.

"Hayes? Bood?" Ilya splays his hands out. "You forget how to knock?"

"We came by to see you, asshole. It's Boxing Day and we know you don't have family here," Bood says and holds up the pack of beer he's carrying.

"Yeah, it's been awhile since we played games." Hayes holds up two playstation game cases. "I brought some new ones I got yesterday."

Ilya frowns slightly. It's true that before Shane moved in this season, some of the guys would pop in for games and drinks. Hell, once he even had Dykstra sleep in his spare bedroom after a fight with his wife. The guys used to come and go through his front door, but that stopped in June.

Ilya looks around at the candles and the perfectly ordered couch then back to his teammates. "Guys, this is maybe not best time. We have barbecue later, yes?"

Bood smirks and shakes his head. "Man, how did you pull the day after Christmas? What did you tell her? 'After Christmas with your family, come to my mansion and I'll give you a real gift'?"

Hayes laughs and pulls Bood's arm back. "Let's leave Cap alone. I think our faces are the last things he wants to see right now."

"Yes, yes," Ilya says distracted. Why must everyone assume female? And why does it bother him so much? "I have beautiful person to show a nine inch gift to. Now, if you-"

"Ilya?" Shane calls from the kitchen. Ilya silently prays to his mother's God that Shane stays in the kitchen, but God must fucking hate sexy bisexual men because Shane appears in the entryway. "Did you say something?"

"Hollander?" Bood stares at Shane. "What are you doing here when Roz has a girl over?"

Shane frowns. "Girl?" He looks around the room, but realizes his mistake too late. "Oh, um, yeah I was just-"

Hayes hesitates before interrupting, "It's not a girl, is it?"

Ilya swallows past a lump in his throat. Trust the goalie to be too observant. "No. Not girl."

Bood blinks a few times. "So, why is Hollander here when there's candles and romantic music on?"

Ilya doesn't bother to look at the intruders. His eyes stays on his fiancé who's fingers are trying to unravel the end of his Christmas sweater.

Technically, it's Ilya's Christmas sweater. They'd traded after sex in the gym thirty minutes ago.

"Shane," Ilya says softly as he approaches. He's worried about Shane's breathing. "They are good teammates."

They'd talked about this after New York. Shane knows, just as Ilya does, that them being together wouldn't be an issue for the team. They both know the Centaurs would rally behind them and support whatever relationship type they had.

"They are good teammates," Ilya said over breakfast one morning.

Shane sighed. "I know. They're great people and I see how they handled Troy and Harris. It's just…"

"You are not ready."

"No," Shane argued. "I'm- I'm ready and I'm not. I want to be out with you, but what if things change too much?"

"So we change with it." Ilya reached out and rubbed a thumb across Shane's cheek. "The change is temporary. We will get new normal, new routine."

"New routine," Shane said slowly. He chewed on the idea (and his shitty bland oatmeal) for a minute. "What about right before All-Stars? We tell them, then we leave for the week. Our routine will be disrupted already and we can build the new one when we get back."

"Before All-Stars, moya lyubov." Ilya leaned forward to kiss his fiancé's lips. "I can wait for that."

Ilya watches Shane as he nods shakily. "I know just… Will we ever actually be able to follow a coming out plan? Seriously, my parents walked in, Ryan walked in, I told Hunter and them at the bar because they thought I was homophobic."

"Is funny, you being homophobic when you very much like my di-"

"Ilya," Shane chastises. "We had a plan."

"So we move plan up," Ilya whispers and offers his hand. "Maybe we start new routine after Christmas holiday, yes? Smaller break than All-Stars, but still break."

The two of them stare at each other for a few seconds before Hayes awkwardly coughs into his fist.

"Uh, you know we can still see both of you? And hear you?"

"Jesus Fucking Christ." Shane slams his head into Ilya's shoulder. "Hi, Hayes," he calls out miserably.

"Hi, Hayes," Ilya echoes. "Shut the fuck up for a second." He turns to Shane and strokes the back of his head. "Is okay?"

To Ilya's surprise, Shane doesn't hesitate. He just pulls himself up straight and nods. "I'm ready."

Boodram and Hayes are good teammates. They did not spew obscenities or faint from gay shock (though Ilya might have liked to see that). Ilya and Shane — calm and not-so-calm, respectively — explained to them that they're engaged, but that was all.

"You can ask questions at barbecue tonight," Shane had said as Bood opened his mouth. "We'll tell the whole team tonight. Just… keep quiet for a few hours?"

"Hollz, are you sure?" Wyatt asked with furrowed brows. "You don't have to come out just because we know."

Ilya squeezed Shane's hand. "Is okay. We planned to come out at end of January anyway. This is just sooner."

Bood and Hayes both nodded. "As long as you're sure."

"Yeah, guys." Bood awkwardly raised two thumbs up. Shane, strangely, wanted to laugh at the awkward gesture. "We want you to be comfortable."

Shane looked at his fiance and smiled. Fuck, if that didn't warm Ilya up like the sun in August. "We're comfortable, Bood. Right, Ilyusha?"

As soon as the two intruders left, Ilya pulled his phone out and texted the extended group chat.

Centaurs + Harris

Ilya: Guys warning for tonight

Ilya: Partner reveal tonight at Dy's

Haas: ?????

Chouinard: WHAT

Troy: finally

Wy: Troy, you know too?

Haas: TOO??

Chouinard: Wtf guys

Dykstra: Why does my house always end up with the drama

Troy: you cheated at mario cart and you fucking know it dy

Holmberg: Wait what?!

Holmberg: Casual partner or partner partner?

Ilya: Fiance

Young: WHAT THE FUCK

Haas: … my fuck

Bood: You made the baby curse!

Haas: Stop fucking calling me a baby!

Holmberg: Fucking shit man

Dykstra: Caitlin wants to know now

Ilya: No. You will meet in few hours.

Ilya: Be prepared. Fiance says one question each.

Now, Shane and Ilya stand inside Dykstra's house, staring through the large windows to observe their teammates already hanging out outside. It may be late December, but Dykstra has enough heaters, torches, and hot cocoa to make you believe it might only be late October instead.

Shane takes a deep breath. "You ready?"

Ilya nods with a sincere smile. "Da. I think I have been for awhile."

As they both step into the backyard, various Centaurs turn to look at them.

"Cap!" Dykstra immediately comes over. He clicks the tongs — a irresistible urge for anyone holding one — at Ilya. "Thank you for using my home as the setting to hard launch your relationship. Now, where is she?"

Ilya raises an eyebrow. "Wow, Dykstra. You use your one question on that?"

Dykstra rolls his eyes. "That's not my fucking question-"

"I heard question. Shane, did you hear question?" Ilya looks over at his fiancé with a smug grin. This was Shane's rule, so he'll allow Shane to make the decisions.

Shane copies the same expression. This is going to be fun. "I heard a question. Sorry, Dy. Better luck next time."

Haas walks up then, an extra beer in his hands which he offers to both Shane and Ilya. They both decline.

"Hassy? You want to ask your question now?" Ilya asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Haas frowns and looks around. "I, uh, I'll wait."

"Yeah, wait kid," Dykstra says. "Rozzy isn't playing fair today. He didn't even answer my question!"

Shane looks pointedly at Ilya. Dy has a point. Ilya sighs. "You ask where she is, Dykstra? Boring question. My answer is also question: when the fuck did I say it was girl, yes?"

Dykstra blinks slow, his mind trying to make sense of the words through the Russian accent.

Haas gets there first. His lips form a small o and his eyes flicker over to Shane. Ilya and him are standing closer than they've ever been in front of the team, their shoulders brushing against each other with each breath.

"Oh," Haas says softly. "Hi."

Shane smiles at the young kid, cause Shane thinks that's how he'll always see the young player even after ten years. "Hey." He looks at Ilya. "I want a drink."

Ilya nods and steps away towards the drink coolers. Shane claps a brain-error-message Dykstra on the back and leaves him to figure it out.

"Hey guys," Shane greets as he approaches a large group sitting around the beginning of a bonfire. Harris and Troy are there with Wyatt, LaPoint, Dillon, Bood, and most of the rookies.

"Hollander! You want to place a bet on Roz's fiancé?"

Shane shrugs his shoulders. He didn't think it would be this fun, but he stands to be corrected. "What kind of bet?"

"I say she's famous," says Dillon.

"They're athletic," Troy adds, lifting his beer up. "Gotta be to keep up with Roz."

"I say they've been together for two years." That bet comes from one of the rookies.

"Nah, it has to be longer!" LaPoint obviously is not on his first beer of the night. "I think he moved to Ottawa for her. So, like, at least five years."

Shane nods along at each suggestion. "Well, Troy's is correct. LaPoint and Dillon are half right."

Harris gapes at Shane. "You know? Did you find out today?"

Before Shane can respond, Ilya pops up beside him with a Cola in one hand and a Canada Dry offered up to Shane in the other. "Here you are, moy lyubov. Caitlin has some tofu salad for you with vinegrette. I made sure it is diet approved."

"Spasibo," Shane says in slightly accented Russian. "Caitlin always has something for me. You didn't have to check."

"Da, I wanted to. Big night, Американский заяц, want you to to have lots of energy."

Shane frowns and mouths the Russian word slowly. "Did you just call me a fucking jackrabbit? Ilya!"

"What? Is true!"

"Fuck you."

Wyatt Hayes shakes his head from his seat. "God, we were all so oblivious."

"They really act like kindergarten kids on the playground, don't they?" Bood chimes in with a smirk.

"Worse than my own kids," Wyatt agrees.

"What the fuck is happening right now?" Dillon looks wildly between Shane, Ilya, Wyatt, and Bood. "I'm so confused."

Ilya claps his hands, catching the attention of the random duos chatting outside of the large group. "Hello, everyone! Happy Boxing Day. I hope everyone had good Christmas. I would like for you to meet my fiancé, Shane Hollander." Ilya gestures to his teammate-and-fiancé and wraps an arm around his waist. "I will now answer one question each, except for Dykstra. He wasted precious question."

In a very cartoonish way that Shane hadn't previously thought possible, everyone blinked in sync as they processed the news.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, rivals for years, teammates for a fraction of that time. Rozanov, playboy and womanizer. Hollander, the poor guy who has been repeatedly "kicked" out of his shared hotel room all season.

"What the fuck?"

Ilya points at Young, but looks at Shane. "Are we counting that as question?"

Shane pretends to contemplate for a moment. "I guess I'll let it slide. Dykstra still counts because he asked where your fucking girl is."

"Ah, is jealous my fiancé," Ilya coos and winks at his teammates. "Does not like to hear me with girl."

"I'll make you walk home."

"Boo! Harris would drive me."

Shane ignores Ilya and turns back to their team. "Okay, I know it's a lot, but I'm serious: one question each. I want to enjoy the day, not just be bombarded by questions. Wyatt?"

Wyatt doesn't have to think about his question. "How long have you been together?"

"Years," Ilya supplies.

"We started dating two and a half years ago," Shane explains. "Before that it was… casual."

Bood speaks up, "What do you mean casual?"

"We meet up when Boston plays Montreal to fuck." Ilya shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe three times a year? Award ceremonies too. No playoff sex, Shane is too boring."

"Ilya," Shane hisses.

"What? They ask! I tell truth!"

"How long was it casual for?" Harris asks.

"Ah, Harris! I thought you would have better question!" Ilya cries out dramatically. "Where is Chiron? He would have better question."

Shane elbows his fiancé and looks Harris in the eyes. "The whole time."

"The whole…?"

"Since before the draft," Shane explains. "Before our careers ever really started."

A historic game of Twenty Questions ensues, except it's more like Forty-Eight Questions Because Now Even The WAGS Want A Question. Shane and Ilya try to keep answers honest but brief. Honestly, it reminded Ilya of that therapy technique where questions come at you fast and you have to answer with the first thing that came to mind.

"How did it start? Like… Did one of you ask the other out or…"

"No. I jerk off to him in locker room shower."

"Wait, is that why Hollander won't shower in the locker room if you're there?"

"Gah, one of his stupid rules." Ilya waves a dismissive hand. "Hollander is no fun."

"They're not fucking stupid. And you agreed to them before I even signed."

Ilya counts on his fingers: "No nicknames, no Russian talk, no showering together. He tried to say no sex in hotel, but I am too sexy."

Shane's face is tomato red. He couldn't argue against Ilya being sexy however.

"Wait, the hotels!" Bood shouts and points an accusing finger at Shane. "Fuck, that was you! Both of you!"

"Yes, Shane is not quiet. Sorry you had to witness mating call."

Shane folds his arms and glares at Ilya. "Fuck off! You're officially on the couch tonight."

"Ah, moy pomidor! Is sexy noise!"

They answer all the questions, most of them focusing on the timing of everything, their parents' reactions, the plan moving forward, and if Wiebe knows about the relationship.

No one asks about them forfeiting a game. No one insinuates that Shane's trip during his last game with Montreal was intentional.

The night moves on, Shane and Ilya's engagement quickly becoming old news as everyone digs into ribs and burgers and — in Shane's case — salad. It's a nice night, despite the cold

"Nyet, get your own rib."

Shane huffs as he pinches food off Ilya's plate. "I just want a taste, I don't want a whole thing."

"So get a single rib, Hollander. Is not hard."

Shane takes a bite off one end and makes a face. "Eh, I don't like the bone there. It's weird." He sets the rib back onto Ilya's plate.

Ilya, for his part, doesn't look away from Shane. His face might be stuck in disbelief. "Is a rib, Hollander. What did you think it would have in middle, carrot?"

"You two…" Haas sits next to them. He's been quiet, but maybe he's just been observing. "You're really good together."

"Obviously. Hockey A-team right here," Ilya says in faux haughtiness.

"I'm serious, Roz. It just…" Haas looks like he regretted saying anything.

Shane took pity on him. "Thank you, Luca." He ruffled the young guy's hair. "I also think we're good together."