Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Ilya Rozanov/Fabian Salah, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Ryan Price/Fabian Salah

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Fabian Salah, Ryan Price (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

hollanov is endgame, Crack, Shane Hollander Is a Menace, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, No Beta We Die Like My Time Management Skills, tags will be updated later probably

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-18 Completed: 2026-10-20 Words: 11,456 Chapters: 5/5

Shane Hollander's super amazing, absolutely flawless, and completely ethical guide to committing boyfriend theft

Summary

Ilya Rozanov is on top of the world. Fast cars, a hot boyfriend, a successful hockey career. Sure, he hasn’t fallen in love with his boyfriend yet, but like everything else falling in love just requires hard work. He’ll get there eventually.

When Shane Hollander crashes back into his life, Ilya starts to question if the top of the world might actually be more of a home shaped place with a fluffy orange cat and an annoying hockey player. But Ilya can’t just ditch his plans to go to Paris with his boyfriend and run off with Shane Hollander instead. Right?

Notes

So I was procrastinating on what I should have been writing when I started scrolling reddit, saw a thread about fics where Ilya has a boyfriend and went, neat. I want to write one of those. And then I wrote this. Oops.

Sorry if this feels a bit repetitive with some of my other fics. I am clearly only in possession of one idea. Maybe I'll grow a whole second braincell someday.

Chapter titles are from My Moon My Man.

If I told you I was going to update on any kind of regular schedule, I would be a liar. As always, I possess nothing but an outline and a dream.

Chapter 1: shed some light on me, please

Ilya’s phone should not be playing a cheery little song right now. He set himself a mental reminder to change it to something less annoying than the default ringtone as he groped for it on the side table. It was still dark, and his head pounded with the beginnings of a hangover. His boyfriend was warm and breathing softly against his side, and Ilya should be curling up against him instead of dealing with whoever the fuck had decided to call his phone at this ungodly hour.

“What?” He snapped when he answered the unknown number.

“Rozanov?” The man on the other end said uncertainly. “This is Shane Hollander.” As if Ilya wouldn’t recognize his voice.

Ilya glanced at the time on his phone screen. “What the fuck do you want at five fucking a.m. Hollander?”

“I thought you’d be up already for your workout.”

“Maybe you drink a glass of milk and go to bed early after your team wins a game at home, but I get drunk and have celebratory sex with my boyfriend.”

“I celebrate sometimes,” Hollander said in a voice that made Ilya picture an angry kitten puffing out its fur as it prepared to fight a cucumber. “Maybe a single win is less exciting after winning three Stanley Cups.”

That smug bastard. “Bye.” Ilya moved the phone away from his face to hit the end call button.

“Wait! I’m sorry I called so early, it’s just when I was thinking of it and I didn’t want to forget later. I needed to ask you something.”

Ilya grumpily brought the phone back to his ear. “Then ask.”

“Will you help with the charity camp I’m running this summer? I know it’s last minute and you probably have plans, but one of our coaches just dropped out and I need to find a replacement.”

“So I’m your second choice.”

“Sort of? My dad had the idea while I was talking to him last night, he thinks it could be good PR for the camp if you join on, it could be an unlikely friendship thing. You know, like those videos of a dog being friends with a duck.”

“I’m the dog,” Ilya said immediately.

“I wasn’t asking you to pick an animal! I just wanted to know if you’re interested.”

Ilya heard what might have been a chair creak in the background and wondered where Hollander was calling him from. The gym? His bedroom? Had Hollander gotten dressed yet, or was he still in what he’d worn to bed? He probably wore something boring, like a matching pajama set.

Ilya’s boyfriend mumbled something against his side. Ilya whispered he’d be a minute then got up and stepped out into the dark hallway. “What would I be doing for the charity camp, exactly? Publicity? Paperwork?”

“You’d just be coaching the kids for two weeks at the beginning of July at the Ottawa camp. I’ve got all the paperwork handled. I guess we’d need a headshot, but you can just send one over.”

Ilya turned the idea over in his head. He only knew about the charity from a press release that had been put out last fall. Hollander was working with a couple players from the PWHL on it with the goal of increasing inclusivity in hockey. They were supporting organizations that pushed for policy changes to protect trans athletes, more ice time for women, better safeguards against hazing in the men’s leagues. Ilya wished them luck with their way too broad mission statement, but he hadn’t intended on getting involved. He’d come out of the closet shortly after Scott Hunter had to support him, and that was the sum total of Ilya’s political activity.

Maybe having a cause would be good for him.

“You want two weeks of my summer,” Ilya said slowly. “I did already have plans.”

Hollander sighed over the phone. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“I’ll think about it. Talk to my boyfriend. I can text you at this number when I decide?”

“Yeah, sure. No, Mildred, don-” The phone call abruptly cut off. That answered one question, at least. Hollander was at his house. Mildred was his cat, a fact Ilya only knew because he’d watched that stupid documentary about their rivalry that had been put out at the beginning of the season.

Ilya had filmed an interview for it last summer, and then a camera crew had come over to his house to wander around taking footage.

“Is my car collection relevant to the rivalry?” Ilya had asked as he’d stood in his garage with the producer and her film crew.

“All the partying and cars stuff is a great contrast to Hollander,” she’d said. “You’ll see when it comes out, all the footage we’ve filmed for the Hollander half of things is so domestic, you’d call it boring. He spends a lot of time with his parents, his cat, his friends. Did you know his friend’s kids call him Uncle Shane? It’s adorable.”

“Hollander has a cat?” Ilya had always wanted a dog, but… “Who watches it when he’s on the road?”

“His parents.”

Of course. Of course perfect Hollander was surrounded by people who loved him and would watch his stupid cat.

“You’ve really got it made here, huh?”

Ilya snapped back to the reality of his car garage when the producer spoke. “Yes. When I was a child I dreamed of having a car collection like this and now… I have everything.” He was at the top of the world. Was the top of the world supposed to feel like this?

The film crew packed up and left, and Ilya was alone in an empty house. He walked through the unused guest rooms, he didn’t know why. Then he called Sveta. “Marry me.”

She laughed so hard that he had to wait until she was done to get another word in.

“What’s so funny? I’d be a good husband.”

“Ilyushka,” she said fondly. “You don’t want to marry me. Why are you proposing? Did you need something?”

“No. No, Sveta, I don’t need anything.” He needed to not be alone. He needed to not feel empty.

He went out clubbing, because he was hoping it would take away the restless energy buzzing inside him. Fabian Salah was playing the club that night, and Ilya had been enthralled immediately by the sex sorcerer with a voice like an angel. Ilya had flirted with Fabian, scored a date, and decided to fall in love. All you need is love, wasn’t that something people were constantly saying? Ilya just had to fall in love with Fabian, and all his problems would be solved.

It hadn’t happened yet, but Ilya was sure he was on the cusp of it. He’d thought maybe he was falling in love when they’d gone up in a hot air balloon together, but it had turned out the swooping in his stomach was a newfound fear of heights and he’d laid down on the floor of the basket until they were back on the ground. He’d been hopeful that nausea might be a sign of love when they’d gone on a boat outing together, but that one had just been seasickness. Still. Fabian was fun and hot, Ilya adored him, and he was going to fall in love with him. He’d made plans to spend his summer with Fabian while he was on tour, and then they were going to Paris after the tour was done.

Spending two weeks in Ottawa with Shane Hollander would disrupt a good chunk of that, which was why he shouldn’t agree.

Ilya slipped back into bed quietly. Fabian nuzzled up against him. “Who was that?” His boyfriend asked sleepily.

Ilya hesitated. There was no reason for it. It wasn’t like Fabian was going to say, Your arch-rival! Were you thinking about what he was wearing the whole time?

“It was just Shane Hollander,” Ilya said as dismissively as he could manage. “He wants me to help coach at his charity summer camp in July.”

“That’s nice. You love coaching kids.”

“But I was planning on following you around being your muscular roadie.”

“Babe, I can hire a roadie. Where’s the camp?”

“Ottawa, and it’s the whole first two weeks of July.”

“Okay, so we can still go to Paris afterwards, and I’m making a stop in Ottawa anyway so we’ll still see each other. Did you want to go?”

This would have been easier if Fabian had just rejected the idea out of hand. Now Ilya would have to make up his own mind. “Yes,” Ilya finally said. “I want to go.”

By the time July came, Fabian had managed to arrange it so he could travel with Ilya to Ottawa for the start of the camp. Ilya had managed to get a bright yellow Audi Spyder as his rental car, so they arrived at the location they’d been given for the initial meeting in style, Ilya’s bags shoved into the minuscule trunk of the car. Luckily he traveled light, and Fabian’s things had already been sent ahead to the tour bus.

Ilya recognized the place when they pulled up in the driveway. It was Hollander’s home, the one he’d bought when he’d left Montreal to sign with Ottawa two years ago. It had been a weird choice that none of the hockey podcasters had ever found an explanation for. Maybe Ilya should ask him.

“House full of hockey players,” Fabian muttered. “Great.”

“Hollander’s running it,” Ilya said. “He wouldn’t invite the assholes. Except for me.” Besides, if anyone gave his boyfriend trouble for wearing makeup, Ilya would simply punch them in the face.

Fabian shot him an amused smile at that. “Yeah, the charity looks nice. But I’m leaving you here and fleeing to save myself as soon as we’re done with polite introductions.”

“Deal.”

They walked to the front door together, Fabian’s hand lightly on his arm. Ilya wasn’t sure if this was the sort of thing you were supposed to just barge into, so he knocked. Hollander answered the door wearing a Centaur’s jersey and sweats. He looked… The thing about Hollander was…

Ilya carefully looked away. “Nice house,” he said, because it was the sort of thing you were supposed to say. “Hollander, this is my boyfriend, Fabian Salah. Fabian, this is the world’s most boring hockey player, Shane Hollander.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ilya says lovely things about you behind your back,” Fabian said as he held out his hand for Hollander to shake.

“You’re hotter in person,” Hollander said as he took Fabian’s hand, sounding weirdly disappointed. “Sorry, I mean, nice to meet you.”

Fabian was ridiculously hot with his sparkly eyeliner and his androgynous outfit with an overcoat that flared out in a way that nearly looked like a dress. Normally Ilya would puff up with pride at compliments about his boyfriend, but Hollander was standing right there and… Ilya would never compare his boyfriend to someone else, obviously. Fabian was so one of a kind there was no comparing him, anyway. And Hollander and Fabian were so unalike that trying to hold them up against each other would be like debating the beauty of an albatross versus a butterfly. But the thing about Hollander was…

“Hollander, your mom wants to know when catering is getting here.” Ryan Price lumbered down the hallway toward them, his enormous frame and red hair unmistakable.

“Ryan?” Fabian said.

Fabian knew Ryan Price? How? It couldn’t haven been from an interest in hockey.

“Fabian,” Ryan smiled shyly. He looked happier than Ilya had ever seen him before. What was going on?

“You two know each other?” Ilya asked.

Fabian blinked a couple times then looked up at him. “My parents used to board junior hockey players. We were kids last time we met.”

“Okay.” Ilya tried to make sense of this new piece of information about his rock star boyfriend. “Were you going to take off?”

“No, I think I’ll stay for a bit. Catch up with Ryan.”

“I’ll get you drinks,” Hollander said, waving them all into the house. “Are any of you driving?”

“Fabian’s band mates are picking him up,” Ilya said. “But I assume I’ll need to drive to the hotel? I think I still need the booking information.”

“Oh no.” Hollander pressed his hand to his forehead in a move that seemed oddly rehearsed. Hollander was always a bit awkward, though, so maybe it was just that. “I completely forgot to book your hotel. I meant to add you to the room block with the rest of the coaches. This was a completely preventable error, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll just call the hotel-”

“No! No, it was my mistake, you can stay here. I have a guest room you can use. We could carpool to the camp together.”

Ilya hesitated and glanced over at his boyfriend. “Okay. That’s probably fine.” He’d check with Fabian before he left to make sure.

Ryan and Fabian found a couch out of the way to sit on while they chatted. The rest of the group assembled in Hollander’s spacious living room were Hollander’s friends J.J. and Hayden, of course, along with Wyatt Hayes and Carter Vaughn. There were a few other people that Ilya didn’t recognize who he’d need to meet later.

Hollander grabbed a few bottles from the drink cart. “I’ve got vodka if you want it, Rozanov. I tried to find the good stuff. I’ll be cutting mine with soda, I have no idea why you drink it straight.”

“You can’t cut it with soda, you’ll ruin it.”

“Making it drinkable isn’t ruining it, there are recipes-”

“Those recipes are wrong! Do you trust everything written in a recipe?”

“Well if it’s in a book someone must have tested it.”

“So? Mixing vodka with soda is criminal behavior.”

Hollander looked him dead in the eye as he cracked open a soda and poured it into a glass at the same time as the vodka. Ilya choked.

“Did you two used to date?” Fabian asked out of the blue.

Ilya and Hollander both froze.

“You’ve got this…” Fabian waved a hand. “Divorced couple energy.”

Hollander recovered first, pouring Ilya his vodka then returning the bottles to the cart. “We don’t have divorced couple energy. We hooked up once a million years ago.”

“Ten years ago,” Ilya corrected immediately. “I am not a million years old, Hollander. You are confusing me with Scott Hunter. I am the young and beautiful one.”

“Whatever.” Hollander sipped his drink. “It was the summer before our rookie season, and it never happened again. I should go talk to my parents about the catering.”

“I wasn’t trying to cover that up,” Ilya told Fabian. “Hollander isn’t out, and it didn’t feel right to mention it without talking to him.”

“Shit, I should’ve kept that as an inside thought. I’m sorry,” Fabian said.

“You didn’t know,” Ilya said. “If you’re not comfortable with me staying here I can get a hotel.”

Fabian sighed. “No, I trust your judgement. And you could always leave later if you change your mind. I’ve got to head out, the band is waiting for me. I’ll see you in a week, babe.” He pressed a kiss to Ilya’s cheek. “Ryan.” Fabian’s and Ryan’s gazes locked for a moment. Something passed between them Ilya couldn’t decipher, and then Fabian left with one final wave of his sparkling fingernails.

Ilya wasn’t sure anyone should trust his judgement where Hollander was concerned. Ilya searched for him across the room as if he was a magnet drawing in Ilya’s attention. The thing about Hollander was, every time Ilya looked at him his heart lifted and the world grew a little bit lighter. He never felt that way about anyone else except for Shane fucking Hollander.

Chapter 2: take it easy on me

Chapter Notes

Thank you for all your kind comments on the first chapter! I have continued to procrastinate by writing a second chapter. So, you know. Doing great.

Ilya opened his eyes to a pair of bright green ones staring into his. A rumbling weight pressed down on his chest and for a confused moment Ilya thought of mythical creatures that sit on your lungs to steal your breath. Then the mythical creature meowed. Its breath smelled like tuna.

"Mildred, I presume," Ilya grumbled.

She meowed again, her fuzzy orange face seeming displeased with him.

Ilya tried to squint past her towards the window. The soft light of dawn was beginning to seep through the blinds. A horrible grinding sound was coming from what must be the direction of the kitchen. Ilya took in the unfamiliar space of Shane Hollander's guest room. It was all done in shades of beige, with the only furniture for humans being the bed, dresser, and nightstand, a matching set. The entire opposite wall was taken up by a cat tree. Ilya hadn't noticed it last night because once the introductions to the other coaches were done with and Hollander had completed his fucking slideshow of boring camp info, the only thing Ilya had wanted to do was crash.

Clearly Mildred was of the opinion that this was her room, not Ilya's.

Ilya tried to carefully push himself up. Mildred gave his nose a sharp bite then darted away to her cat tree. She clambered up it to one of the high shelves then meowed at him again. Ilya had no idea why Hollander liked this loud chaos gremlin of a cat.

When Ilya opened the door to the room, Mildred darted past his feet and Ilya followed the fuzzy orange blur of her sprinting body straight to the kitchen.

Hollander was standing beside the kitchen island blending himself a protein shake. His hair was wet from a recent shower and the t-shirt he was wearing clung to his damp body. When Hollander looked up and noticed Ilya standing there, he gestured to the cabinets. "I got you a box of that sugary cereal garbage you like for breakfast."

When had Hollander had time for a grocery run? Ilya moved past him to grab the cereal and a bowl. Mildred darted up cat shelves along the wall and meowed. Now that he was paying attention, Ilya could see there were cat shelves all over the walls of the open floor plan house, all of them with such a classy wood vibe that they blended into the decor.

"All that for one cat?" Ilya asked, gesturing at the shelves.

"I hired a catification expert to design it.” Hollander frowned when he saw Ilya's grin. "Shut up."

"Hmm." Ilya looked at Mildred, making biscuits on her shelf. "Lucky cat."

Hollander shrugged. "I guess."

Ilya finished making himself cereal and sat down across the island from Hollander to eat it.

"Gym is in the basement if you want to use it tomorrow. Obviously we have to get moving this morning, there's a lot of setup to do.”

While Hollander talked and took sips of his disgusting protein shake, Ilya stared at Hollander’s mouth. Respectfully, of course, because Ilya had a boyfriend. He didn’t need to be thinking about that time Hollander’s mouth had been wrapped around his cock. He definitely didn’t need to be thinking about that at the crack of fucking dawn.

Mildred jumped down from her shelf and pranced across the kitchen island toward Ilya.

“Mildred, no!” Hollander set down his shake and opened a drawer, pulling out a bag of cat treats. Mildred flopped down on the island beside Ilya and blinked at him. “She’s not allowed on the counters. Mildred, off.”

“She’s a cat,” Ilya said. “Are you trying to educate her in languages?”

“Cats can be trained.” Hollander placed a treat on one of her cat shelves. Mildred stretched out a paw and knocked over the protein shake. Hollander managed to snatch up the glass before it rolled over the side of the counter, but not before the gross green health drink had splattered onto the floor. Maybe Mildred wasn’t so bad after all.

“You can train a dog, you know,” Ilya said cheerily.

“I didn’t want a dog, I wanted Mildred. I helped the shelter with some promotion for their adoption event and I got attached.”

“You got attached to this cat?”

Mildred meowed and head butted Ilya’s hand.

“My cereal,” he said, moving the bowl further away from her.

“She’s secretly a sweetheart.” Hollander grabbed a towel and bent over to mop up the spill. His apparently barely existent athletic shorts pulled tight across his ass. Ilya nearly dropped his cereal bowl and added to the spillage problem as he contemplated the sight with such complete respect that the blood was leaving his brain.

“Clothes,” Ilya practically shouted. “You should get clothes on. I should get clothes on. Why are you wasting time? We have things to set up at camp, yes?” Ilya didn’t wait for a response, he just ditched his cereal bowl in the sink and fled.

Ilya took a deep breath when he got back to the guest room and pulled out his phone. He needed to be focusing on his boyfriend, who he was going to fall in love with any day now. Good morning, beautiful he texted Fabian. There, that was better. Ilya set down his phone and got ready for the day.

Despite the worries that Hollander rambled to Ilya about as they drove over, the camp started off without a hitch. Kids showed up, bounced about excitedly, and were herded onto the ice to learn hockey drills. Hollander gave such painfully bad explanations of the drills that Ilya was forced to intervene for everyone’s sanity. Ilya had a great time. Fabian was right, he loved events like this.

As the day wound down and the coaches helped clear the kids and supplies off the ice, Ilya unsuccessfully attempted to argue he should be allowed to drive the Zamboni.

“We’re not insured for that,” Hollander said, cruelly shutting him down.

“Vaughney, what do you think?” Ilya asked, dragging Carter Vaughn into the argument.

“I agree with Hollander.”

Ilya groaned. “All of you are boring. Speaking of, no Scott Hunter?”

“He’s the one who dropped out I brought you on to replace,” Hollander said.

Vaughn frowned, his face growing confused. “I wouldn’t characterize it as drop-”

“I’ve just remembered you have more paperwork to sign,” Hollander said loudly, grabbing Ilya’s arm and dragging him away towards the office. Ilya grumbled good-naturedly about the annoyance of signing paperwork and tried not to think too hard about having Hollander’s hand on his bicep.

Ilya settled into a chair while Hollander shuffled through the neat stacks of paper on his desk looking for the forms Ilya needed to fill out. Hollander paused when his phone dinged. His mouth quirked up at whatever he saw there and he shot off a quick reply before setting his phone back down.

“Hayden?” Ilya asked, trying not to sound too irritated. It wasn’t like Ilya cared if Hollander paid attention to someone else.

“Rose,” Hollander said.

“You still text your ex-girlfriend?” Ilya remembered when that ridiculous relationship had been everywhere. He hadn’t even been able to turn on ESPN without someone gushing about how movie star Rose Landry was going to be at the game to support her boyfriend. Ilya had broken a TV remote or two.

“We’re friends. She’s great, you’d like her.”

“Hmm.”

There was a knock at the door and J.J. leaned into the room. “Shane, can I borrow you for a sec? Sorry Roz, I’ll bring him right back.”

“Yeah, sure.” Hollander stepped out of the door, leaving Ilya alone in the room. Hollander’s phone, abandoned on the desk, dinged.

It wasn’t snooping if he was just making sure it wasn’t an emergency. The screen was still unlocked and opened to a text message chain with Rose Landry. Okay, I have another idea, CALL ME. Was that an emergency? Probably not. The text messages above it were still visible, so it also wasn’t snooping to read them.

Rose: This set is so booorrrinnngg. How is it going??? Please, please, please, send me details

Shane: No.

Ilya scrolled up further, officially breaking the snooping barrier. Ilya stopped scrolling in shock when he saw Hollander had sent Rose an honest-to-god mirror selfie. The time stamp said it was from the morning and Ilya recognized the outfit as the one Hollander had been wearing in the kitchen.

Rose: Sluttier!!! Are you even trying?

Shane: It is not possible to get sluttier than this

Rose: You have no imagination

There were footsteps in the hallway and Ilya jumped away from the phone and pretended he’d innocently been looking at a hockey poster on the wall.

“We should get going,” Hollander said as he walked into the room and pocketed the phone he apparently sexted his not-so-ex-girlfriend on.

“Weren’t there forms I needed to fill out?”

“Uh. Right. Okay. You can do that tomorrow. Let’s grab dinner, my treat.”

Ilya hadn’t been looking forward to filling out forms, so he decided to shrug it off. “If you’re paying I want steak.”

“Are you kidding me? You want to run up my tab? You’re a millionaire.”

“And I’ve generously donated my time to your cause, now buy me steak.”

When they got back to the house, Ilya said he needed to call Fabian and retreated to the guest room. He video called his boyfriend and managed to catch him before he had to go on stage. “How’s the tour going?”

“Barely even started, it’s only been a day.”

“I miss you.”

“Miss you, too.” Fabian smiled at him through the screen, and Ilya wanted very badly for that smile to be capable of making him feel settled. Why was falling in love so difficult? “Everything going well with the camp?”

“The kids are great, but the morning start is early.”

“Is Ryan managing okay? I know how shy he can be, and it’s a lot of new people at once there, right?”

Ilya blinked. He didn’t know why he’d been assuming Fabian would ask him about Hollander. Ilya had nearly forgotten the quiet, enormous hockey player Ryan Price. He hadn’t said a word to him all day. Had Ryan spoken to anyone? “He’s doing good,” Ilya said vaguely and promised himself he would check on Fabian’s friend tomorrow.

“That’s my set, babe, gotta run!” Fabian blew him a kiss and hung up.

There was no reason Ilya needed to google anything about Hollander at all. He resisted the urge for a whole three seconds before he pulled up his web browser and searched the shelter Hollander had gotten Mildred from. He found their Instagram easily enough, and from there it took a few minutes of going back through their timeline to find the promotional video. It was with a group of hockey players from around the area, not just Hollander, but it was obvious who their biggest star was.

The promotion itself was bland, just some information about the shelter, statistics about pet adoption, and hockey players holding adoptable animals, but whoever had edited it had been savvy enough to include a blooper reel afterwards which was far superior to any of the content. Mildred showed up in a lot of it, knocking over a mic, taking a swipe at Hayden Pike when he tried to pet her belly. Ilya was liking Mildred better by the minute. There was a bit where Mildred snuck up on Hollander and started batting at his hair.

“It’s just Mildred again,” the cameraman said from offscreen when Hollander tried to turn to look for the cat. “She’s obsessed with you.”

Ilya clicked out of the video and opened the next picture in the timeline, a shot of Hollander cuddling Mildred while smiling softly at the camera. Mildred Hollander is going home! the caption read. The comments were predictable.

Send help, my uterus just exploded.

Big muscled hockey man, small fluffy orange cat. I love them.

MILDRED INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT PLEASE???

Ilya tossed his phone aside and went to find Hollander. He followed the sound of Hollander’s voice to his bedroom, the phone conversation drifting through the slightly open door.

“No, Rose, I- You’re the one who said,” Hollander’s voice went high pitched and bubbly in a terrible imitation of Rose Landry, “it doesn’t seem serious to me, he’ll break up with his boyfriend in an hour.”

Ilya knocked as he nudged open the door. Hollander was sprawled out on his bed, Mildred curled up purring at his side. If Ilya had possessed a uterus, he could see how it might have exploded. Hollander dropped his phone when he saw Ilya, guilt washing over his face, probably because he’d just gotten caught bitchily gossiping about Rose’s friends, or maybe her coworkers.

“Trouble in Hollywood?” Ilya asked.

Hollander flushed, the color bringing out his freckles. “No. Yes. Wait.” He picked the phone back up. “Roz wants something, talk later, bye.”

Ilya sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “You and Rose getting back together?”

“What? Of course not. Rozanov, I’m gay.” Hollander scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Does Rose know that?”

“That I’m gay? Yeah, she’s the one who told me.”

Laughter bubbled up despite himself. “Your girlfriend told you that you’re gay?”

“Oh, fuck off. Like you’re Mr. Self Aware.”

“I’m aware I’m bisexual, yes. How does your girlfriend end up telling you you’re gay, Hollander, did you eat her pussy so badly that she was like, honey, I think-”

Hollander lobbed a pillow at him and Ilya pinned Hollander’s wrists to keep him from throwing another. They were both laughing, the noise and their antics enough to upset Mildred into letting out an annoyed meow and flouncing out of the room.

Ilya looked down into Hollander’s dark eyes, felt the warmth of Hollander’s skin against his hands, and oh shit, this was dangerous. Ilya pulled back abruptly. “Early morning. Need sleep. Goodnight.”

He made it back to his room and went straight for the shower. As Ilya jerked himself off he tried with everything he had to think about his boyfriend, but his thoughts kept turning inexorably towards the taste of Hollander’s cock in his mouth. He pictured vividly what might have happened if he’d stayed on top of Hollander in his bed. He could have pushed Hollander’s pants down with one hand, brought his mouth to the head of his cock, heard the desperate noises Hollander would make when he couldn’t help himself anymore.

Ilya’s orgasm hit him hard, and the shame followed immediately after. The water pouring down on him wasn’t enough to make him feel clean. He needed to fix this before he made a mistake he couldn’t take back and ruined his shot at falling in love with Fabian for someone who couldn’t even be bothered to show up to a hookup.

The solution literally struck him on the ice rink the next day when Ryan Price crashed into him. “Sorry,” Price said sheepishly.

“Hazard of the sport,” Ilya said as Price gave him a hand up. Ilya did his best to valiantly shake off the hit from the massive enforcer. “Fabian says hi.”

Price looked pleased. “Tell him I also say hi.”

“He’ll be back in town in a couple days, you can tell him yourself then.”

“Good.” Price nodded and turned to skate off.

“Wait,” Ilya said as a thought occurred to him. “You’re gay.”

“…yes?”

“How would you feel about being setup on a double date?”

Chapter 3: the song's out of key again

Chapter Summary

Does this count as a love square?

Ilya decided to breach the topic of the double date to Hollander after the camp was over for the day and they were both back at the house. He found Hollander rolling out his yoga mat in the living room, which seemed like an odd location for it.

“Don’t you have that home gym in the basement?” Ilya asked.

“Yeah, but you haven’t gone down there once. Uh, the afternoon light is better up here, or something.” Hollander tried to stretch out on the mat, but Mildred trotted up and climbed onto his back. “Mildred!” Apparently encouraged by this, she settled her front paws and chin on his head. Hollander collapsed to the floor in resignation. He whispered something to her that sounded like, “You’re ruining my thirst trap.”

Ilya wondered if Hollander had been trying to take pictures for Instagram, but he’d never seen Hollander post a single thirst trap online. Maybe he was branching out.

“Are you free Thursday?” Ilya asked.

Hollander’s face immediately brightened and he sat up, Mildred clambering unhappily off his head to sit in his lap. “Sure. My schedule’s wide open.” He winked, bafflingly. Ilya was normally perceptive enough that he’d occasionally been accused of having mind reading powers, but he was beginning to feel like he was missing something here. He set the thought aside to be examined later, or never, because he was trying not to think too much about Hollander.

“How would you feel about going on a date?”

Hollander’s eyes widened and his lips tilted up into a smile. “Amazing. Perfect. Umm, sorry, I haven’t gone on a date in so long I’m saying this wrong.” He laughed awkwardly at himself.

Relieved to have gotten that over with, Ilya nodded. “It’s a double date, which makes it easier, yes? And Ryan’s a good man. You’ll have fun together.”

Hollander’s entire body froze so completely that Ilya wondered if there had been a glitch in reality. Mildred stretched out a paw and bopped Hollander’s chin. His brain seemed to reboot slowly. “You want me to go on a date with Ryan?”

“Yes? As I said, it’s a double date so I’ll be there with Fabian, too. Do you not like Ryan?”

“No, I- Ryan is great. I mean, I don’t know him that well. I just thought-” Hollander looked down at Mildred and scratched her ears. His shoulders slumped and his expression looked like he’d just been drafted second in the MLH. “You and Fabian make a good couple.”

“We do,” Ilya said, defensive and confused.

“Okay. A double date. Cool. I can… give Ryan a chance.”

“I’m a great matchmaker,” Ilya said. “I helped setup Eric Bennett with his boyfriend.” Admittedly, Ilya normally setup people because he got a good vibe about their relationship. There were no vibes here, just Ilya flinging the nearest gay man he had at hand in Hollander’s direction.

“You’re the reason for Bennett’s midlife crisis of a relationship? I bet Hayden twenty dollars they’d break up by September. Uh. Sorry.”

Ilya started laughing helplessly. Fuck, he loved what a petty asshole Hollander could be when there wasn’t a camera in his face. No, not loved. Liked strongly.

On Thursday it was decided that Ilya and Hollander might as well drive to the restaurant together and meet Fabian and Ryan there since they were coming from the same place. Ilya was looking forward to seeing his boyfriend again, and he held that thought firmly in his mind as he got ready for the date. He even put on some eye liner Fabian had taught him how to use. He looked good, he decided as he checked himself in the mirror. Sexy but still casual in his silk shirt he left open at the top. He grabbed his wallet and phone and headed to the front door.

Hollander blinked when he saw him. Then blinked again and cleared his throat. “New look?”

“Are you the fashion police now?”

“No, no, it looks good on you. Fabian’s lucky. We should- wait, I could use a disguise.” Hollander rattled around in the drawer of the entryway table and pulled out a pair of glasses. “I mean, they’ll also help me read the menu.”

“You wear glasses?”

“I only need them for reading. It’s not like I need to read anything while I’m playing hockey, right?”

Hollander put the glasses on and Ilya’s brain short circuited. He was sure he hadn’t previously had a thing for glasses, but something about the combination of glasses and freckles and big brown eyes did him in. Hollander was a work of fucking art.

“Rozanov?”

Fuck, how long had he been staring? “Your disguise is terrible, but no one is going to recognize you at a gay pizza bar. Let’s go.”

Fabian wasn’t usually the arrive early type, but he’d been hoping Ryan would get to the bar early as well and he’d been right. He still couldn’t believe the coincidence of running into Ryan again after so many years. It was the kind of thing he might have called fate if he’d been sappy about it. They got a corner booth with enough space for their respective partners to sit beside them when they arrived.

“I bought tickets to your show tomorrow night,” Ryan said so quietly Fabian had to lean across the table towards him to hear. “I watched your songs on Youtube. You’re really amazing.”

Fabian beamed with delight. People complimented him all the time, of course, but it meant more coming from Ryan. “I tried to look up one of your hockey games last night, but-”

“I’m thinking about quitting,” Ryan said all at once. He exhaled and nodded. “I haven’t told anyone that yet. It’s just- I can’t remember the last time hockey made me happy. Sometimes I hear the things my teammates say and I think, I’m breaking my body for this?”

Fabian laid a hand on his arm. “You deserve to be happy.”

The bell on the door of the bar jingled and Fabian looked up. His boyfriend was walking through the door looking hot the way he usually did, Shane Hollander beside him. They looked like a couple standing beside each other like that. Fabian wondered if he ever looked that right when he was standing next to Ilya.

Fabian had assumed he would never date a hockey player after the hatred his childhood had given him of the sport, but Ilya, well, he’d complimented Fabian’s hair and asked how contouring worked. He was a charismatic asshole, sure, but he wasn’t hung up on proving his masculinity to anyone. They’d traveled together and partied, and Ilya had been bad at sex at first but he’d learned that just jackhammering away wasn’t going to get anyone off.

The problem was, instead of the flame between them growing, it was undeniably sputtering. Fabian could feel it like a good show winding down, the audience beginning to pack up and think of the traffic on their way out. He knew Ilya thought a romantic trip to France would ignite something between them again. Fabian was less sure, but willing to try for at least a little while longer.

Ilya took the seat beside him and they shared a quick kiss before Ilya flung an arm across Fabian’s shoulders and sprawled back in his chair. Ryan awkwardly picked at his menu as Shane sat down as far from him as the bench on their side would allow, which wasn’t that far considering they were both broad shouldered hockey players.

There was a beat of awkward silence all around.

“So how did you two meet?” Shane asked them.

“At a club I was playing,” Fabian said. “I’ve got a concert tomorrow night, you should come.” Fabian regretted the invitation as soon as he’d said it. Ryan was already going to be there, he didn’t want Shane there, too.

“So Rozanov is a groupie?” Shane said, thankfully ignoring the concert invitation for the moment.

“Yes,” Ilya said, deadpan. “I can’t resist a talented man.”

“And you’ve been together since autumn, right? That’s a long time.”

“Not that long.” Fabian fiddled with his necklace uncomfortably. “Less than a year, I think.”

“We’re still honeymooners,” Ilya said, squeezing Fabian’s shoulder.

Shane cringed a little and didn’t ask a follow up question. Ryan stared down at the table as if he was contemplating hiding under it. Fabian was relieved when their waiter finally appeared to take their order. The waiter’s eyes widened when he took in their table. Fabian didn’t miss the way Shane braced as if he was expecting disaster.

“Are you Fabian Salah?” the waiter asked.

Fabian flashed him a smile. “The one and only.” Making small talk with the waiter at least distracted from the uncomfortable tension of the table. By the time the waiter took their orders and left everyone seemed to have relaxed by at least a couple degrees.

“You must run into fans everywhere,” Ryan said.

“Not everywhere. But gay bars? Yes.” Fabian twirled his necklace between his fingers and wondered if Ryan noticed his periwinkle blue nail polish.

“I told you no one would recognize you here,” Ilya said to Shane. “My boyfriend is more famous than you.”

“Fuck off.” Shane shoved a straw in his drink with significantly more force than necessary. “Hockey fans can be gay pizza lovers, too.”

“I forgot you’re not out yet,” Fabian said. “We can cover for you if you do get recognized. Just say you’re being a good ally to your friends.”

“I’m not that worried about it,” Shane said. “I mean, I moved to Ottawa so I could come out. It’s just a question of timelines at this point. Keeping the sponsors updated and making sure the statement doesn’t go out on a slow news day where the headline becomes that Asian hockey player is also gay!”

“That’s why you moved to Ottawa?” Ilya asked. “I thought you were fleeing Hayden Pike’s growing horde of children.”

“What? No.” Shane tore at a napkin in his hand. “Montreal was… not interested in being supportive. Coach Wiebe promised he’d back me, and Ottawa is home, you know? It felt like the simplest choice.”

“Of course the coach said he’d back you. The second best player in the league comes to you and asks if you’re okay with him being super gay while winning you a cup, you don’t say, ‘no, I hate winning, go away.’”

“I’m regular gay, and I’m the best player in the league, asshole.” Shane gazed at Ilya with a look in his eyes that Fabian clocked immediately as yearning.

Fabian was used to other people wanting his boyfriend. It was the price he paid for having the hottest man in most rooms on his arm. He trusted Ilya, he wouldn’t be dating him if he didn’t. That wasn’t what sent Fabian’s hackles up when he saw that look. It was that Shane was sitting right next to Ryan, the man he was supposed to be on a date with. Ryan was the sweetest man in the world and he deserved better than to have his date yearning at someone else. Fuck, Shane hadn’t said two words to Ryan since this date had started.

“Do you have any plans for your summer after the camp?” Fabian asked Ryan pointedly. Shane seemed to take the hint and finally half turned towards his date.

“Not really,” Ryan said and then stopped talking.

“We’re going to Paris,” Fabian said. He almost asked Ryan if he wanted to go to Paris, but obviously he couldn’t invite a third wheel on the romantic trip he was taking with his boyfriend.

“Oh,” Shane said, yearning despondently at Ilya again.

Fuck this entire double date.

Ilya couldn’t sleep. He turned restlessly in bed beside Fabian. They’d shut Mildred out of the room when they’d gone to sleep, and Ilya felt like he’d committed room theft against the cat, even though she was probably contently asleep next to Hollander right now. Ilya wished they were in a hotel. Having Fabian sleep over in Hollander’s house felt awkward in a way he couldn’t put his finger on.

Ilya gave up on getting any rest in the next hour and crept out of bed. He’d get a glass of water in the kitchen, he decided. Maybe the emotion he was experiencing was dehydration.

He froze when he reached the kitchen and found he wasn’t the only one up. Hollander was sitting at the kitchen island with a single lamp on, the light casting odd shadows over his face and the foil bag at his elbow. Mildred was curled up asleep on the counter top. Apparently all the rules were being broken tonight.

Ilya crossed his arms and leaned against the fridge. “Is Shane Hollander eating a snickers bar?”

Hollander started guiltily and shoved the candy bag away as if he could pretend it wasn’t his. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Maybe insomnia is catching.” Ilya held out a hand and Hollander fished a snickers bar out of the bag and handed it to him. Ilya let his fingers linger for just a moment when they brushed against Hollander’s. Dangerous, he reminded himself. His boyfriend was sleeping right upstairs.

Ilya took a bite of chocolate and sat down across from Hollander. Maybe it was the dim lighting or the late hour, but Ilya’s inhibitions finally lowered enough to speak out loud the question he’d been wanting to ask for nearly ten years. “Why didn’t it happen a second time?”

Hollander didn’t ask for clarification. The question had been hanging between them for too long to need it. “I was going to meet you. I wanted to. But then I got in the elevator and Scott Hunter got in after me, and I couldn’t get off on the same floor as him and just walk to the room beside his while he was right there. Though I guess he did make out with his boyfriend on the ice, so maybe he wouldn’t have told anyone, but I didn’t know that then.” Hollander took a deep breath. “I tried to circle back and take the stairs, but fucking Marly was making out with the concierge in the stairwell and at that point I just panicked. Ran back to my room and hid. I don’t know. I didn’t have your number to call…”

“I shouldn’t have held it against you,” Ilya said, contemplating whether he could punch Scott Hunter for accidentally cockblocking him the next time they played against each other.

Hollander shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t have given up that easily. I was a coward and I made a mistake. I was so convinced I couldn’t afford to take any risks I didn’t understand that some risks are worth taking until it was too late.” He made a face. “Anyway. I’m glad you found Fabian. He’s braver than I could ever be, I think.”

Ilya wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He could feel the shape of his own cowardice in the front he put up, in his inability to ask that question before now because he’d been too afraid of getting an answer that would hurt. He watched Hollander tuck the candy bag back away in a drawer and Ilya admitted to himself that he was still afraid.

Hollander was nothing like Fabian, because Hollander could break his heart.

Ilya got what sleep he could after that and got up late enough the next morning that he had to drive himself to the rink because Hollander had already left. He did his best with coaching, but he knew he wasn’t really there mentally. In his mind he was still sitting in a dark kitchen, questioning whether he had the courage to reach for the top of the world.

Near the end of the day Ilya looked around and realized Hollander had disappeared. He was probably in the office. Shit, Ilya had never gotten around to filling out those forms he’d mentioned. Weird that Hollander hadn’t reminded him. Ilya headed to the office with the thought that he’d get the forms signed and ask Hollander if he was going to Fabian’s concert tonight, maybe.

Ilya pushed open the office door then realized he’d made a mistake. An entire series of mistakes, actually, that had somehow led him to this moment of standing in some fucking office doorway in fucking Ottawa and watching Shane Hollander kiss Ryan Price.

Chapter 4: leave on a high note

Chapter Notes

You know, I'm posting this on a Saturday, so technically if you think about it I have still maintained a Saturday update schedule.

Shane Hollander’s life was in a rebuilding phase. It had started when he’d finally worked up the nerve to come out to his parents and he’d realized he didn’t want the exhaustion of maintaining a double life anymore. The stress was beginning to impact his game. He’d put together an entire plan with his mom on how he was gradually going to come out, then he’d tripped over the first hurdle when the Montreal coach had rejected his attempt to come out as if he had any say in the matter. So Shane had moved to Ottawa and tried to grow his life into a new shape, but there was a piece missing right at the heart of it.

He’d tried to ignore the feeling at first and plan around it, but it had overwhelmed him out of the blue one day when his mom had been on the phone with some sponsor that had decided to drop him before he “caused a controversy that didn’t fit with their brand image.” He’d walked out of the house and sat down on the back deck, watching squirrels rustle through the trees. His mom had quietly taken a seat beside him a while later.

“We knew a few would go that way,” she said. “You’ll get better sponsors.”

“I know.”

She nodded as if all emotional turmoil was settled now and stood up. “I’m going back in. Do you want anything?”

He knew she meant a drink or some time alone to brood, but what he said without thinking was, “Ilya Rozanov.”

His mom looked at him. Her hair was pulled back with a no-nonsense clip, and she was wearing an old Ottawa sweater that Shane knew was one of his dad’s. “Then go get him.”

It wasn’t going well. Getting Rozanov to his house had gone smoothly enough, but all of Shane’s seduction attempts had bounced off Rozanov without finding the net once, and Shane was finally ready to concede the game lost. Rozanov had made his choice, and it hadn’t been to ditch his lovable rockstar boyfriend in favor of a confused hockey player who’d lost track of the puck then taken too long to catch up.

There were other fish in the sea he could try being gay with, or something. What he needed to be doing was giving a nice fish like Ryan Price a chance, even if Price’s hockey stats left a lot to be desired. Shane had really only invited Price to be a coach because when Shane had been scrolling through pictures of Rozanov and his boyfriend on Instagram, Price had leaned over his shoulder and mentioned he knew Fabian with a wistful look in his eye. Shane felt a little guilty for it now that the plan had failed. He hadn’t meant to compound his misery by making Price feel shitty, too.

Price didn’t require luring into his office with the false pretense of paperwork like Rozanov had, Shane had just asked him to talk and then led him to the room.

“I think we should try dating,” Shane said, sitting on the edge of his desk. “I know the long distance might become impractical, but we could at least give it a go over the summer.” And hookup, hopefully. What Price lacked in hockey prowess he more than made up for in size. Shane badly wanted to get his brains fucked out and Price looked like he could manage it.

Price shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “You’re not really my type.”

Shane looked at Price blankly. No one had ever said that to him before, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to it. “What’s your type?”

“Less…” Price waved a hand to indicated Shane. “And more like… Fabian.”

“Okay, well Fabian’s taken and I’m not.”

Price’s shoulders slumped even further than usual. “I don’t get what he’s doing with Rozanov.”

“Rozanov is the hottest man I’ve ever seen, who wouldn’t— Never mind. They’re not breaking up, I tried. I mean, there’s no point in waiting around for something that’s clearly not going to happen. Why shouldn’t we give this a shot? Get over someone by getting under someone else, right?”

Price actually seemed to be considering it. “You’re trying to get over Rozanov?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Price gave him a dubious frown.

Shane shot a quick look at the closed door, just to double check. “Okay, I did kind of say that. Fine. I thought I could win him back and I couldn’t. Happy?”

“Not really.” Price shuffled closer to him and leaned an elbow on the desk. “We could try going to Fabian’s concert together.”

Shane hesitated. He didn’t want to spend another night being jealous of Rozanov’s boyfriend. “What if instead of going out anywhere we just hookup tonight?”

Price made a face. This wasn’t going well. “I promised Fabian I’d go to his concert.”

“Okay, so we hookup now.”

“In the middle of the day? In your office?”

“The door locks. Or we could go back to my house,” he added when Price rubbed his forehead.

“Sex is… difficult for me.”

“Well I’m great at it, so we’ll even out.”

Price had a look in his eyes like he was staring into the abyss and contemplating hurling himself in. This was not how Shane’s hookups usually went.

“Okay.” Shane held up his hands. “Got it. No sex. We’ll… take it slow.”

Price blew out a breath in relief. “We could try kissing. I’d be good with that.”

“Sure, fine. I mean, great. I like kissing, I guess.” Though if he thought about it, he’d only ever really enjoyed kissing with… Shane leaned forward and kissed Price to scrub the thought out of his head.

It didn’t work. The kiss had all the zing of unseasoned cauliflower. Fuck, were they just the two least compatible people on the planet? How was that possible? Shane tried to find a way to make it better because he was a good kisser, goddammit. When he heard a noise from the doorway he broke the kiss off, happier it was over than he wanted to admit. And thank god, it was only Rozanov who had caught them, not someone who would freak out about Shane being gay.

Actually, Rozanov looked like he was about to be sick, hopefully the flu wasn’t going around. An outbreak of sick children was the last thing they needed.

“Is something wrong?” Shane asked him.

Rozanov made a sound in the back of his throat. “Yes. Everything is fucking wrong.” The door slammed closed as he left.

“I think I should check on him. In case it’s relevant to the camp.”

Price waved him off and Shane rushed after Rozanov. He chased him down the long, empty hallway of the arena, Rozanov not even looking back at him over his shoulder.

“Wait!”

“Go back to Price.” Rozanov stopped then spun on his heel to face Shane. “No, on second thought. Why the fuck would you kiss Ryan Price?”

“Because I want to get laid? You set us up!”

“For one stupid date, not a workplace makeout session. Did filing quarterly taxes get you too hot and bothered?”

“What the fuck is your problem? I’m only trying-”

“You!” Rozanov shouted, the sound made louder by the bare walls around them. “You’re my fucking problem, Hollander. I’m trying to fall in love with boyfriend, but all I can think about is you.”

“You’re not in love with Fabian?” Shane asked softly. “But I thought…” He swallowed. He’d royally fucked this up. Rozanov was miserable now, and that was the opposite of what he’d wanted. They were all fucking miserable because of the mess Shane had made. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I brought you here and tried to get you to dump your boyfriend because I wanted you for myself. It was selfish and wrong and I’m, I’m just sorry. You don’t have to stay to help wrap up the camp. I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

Rozanov took two steps toward him then stopped and held up a finger. “Hold that thought.” He turned away and headed for the exit. “And don’t fuck Price!” he tossed out over his shoulder before the door slammed shut behind him.

Ilya was glad he’d already planned to meet Fabian at the rink so they could head to the concert together, it meant he didn’t have long to wait before Fabian showed up at the side door, looking spectacular as always.

“I know this is bad timing,” Ilya said. “But I saw Hollander kissing Price and it made me realize something.”

“He what? That asshole is just messing with Ryan’s head, he doesn’t even like him!”

“Fabian. We’re not in love.” Ilya had been running from those words for months now. He felt his muscles relax as the tension he’d been carrying finally left his body. He’d wanted to fall in love so badly that he’d been running in entirely the wrong direction.

Fabian blew out a breath. He didn’t look shocked or upset, which was a good sign, hopefully. “No, we’re not. But if you think Shane and Ryan are a stunning example of true love-”

“No, no, no, absolutely not. Not what I meant.”

“Then what about them kissing tipped you off? Did you catch feelings for Ryan?”

“Price? No.”

Fabian’s lip quirked up. “You’re hung up on your ex.”

“I… might be, yes.”

“To be clear, as the one getting dumped I’ll be taking the trip to France.”

Ilya nodded rapidly. He knew it was shitty to dump Fabian right before his concert, but maybe it would give Fabian the chance to sing a mean song about him to help get over it.

Fabian rolled his eyes and gave Ilya a shove. “Go get him, tiger.”

“I wore that tiger shirt one time.” Ilya grinned at him and felt the ache of how he was going to miss this messy, talented man he’d been getting to know for the past year. “Can we stay friends?”

“Only if you never make me talk about hockey again.”

“Well you can’t be Hollander’s friend, then, but I think I can manage.”

Ilya found the love of his life back in his office, sitting at his desk with his head buried in his arms. “Shane.”

Shane looked up and blinked at him with exhausted eyes. “Thought you left.”

“Not yet. Have something I still need to do.”

Ilya crossed the space that separated them. Before Shane could finish drawing in a breath to ask another question, Ilya kissed him. Shane whimpered against his mouth. The sound wiped out any sense Ilya had left. He tried to straddle Shane’s lap, but the stupid office chair didn’t have room for it, so he grabbed Shane by the hips instead and wrenched him up onto the desk. It probably would have been a difficult move if Shane hadn’t been leaning into it enthusiastically and wrapping his arms around him. Fuck Ryan Price and whatever the hell other random hookups Shane had wasted his time on, Shane belonged to him.

Ilya didn’t pay any mind to whatever he was shoving off the desk onto the ground as he climbed up after Shane, chasing his perfect mouth. Ilya shoved Shane back then rested his weight on his elbows, caging Shane in before he kissed him again. When the kiss broke, they were both gasping for air.

“Want you so bad,” Shane babbled.

“I know, sweetheart.” He could feel the hard length of Shane’s erection pressing against him through their clothes. Ilya was not in the mood for dragging things out, so he got Shane’s jeans out of the way as quickly as possible before swallowing his cock without further preamble. His efforts were rewarded with a moan and Shane’s fingers tangling in his hair to encourage him. It didn’t take long before Shane came in his mouth, and then immediately shoved Ilya over to return the favor before Ilya could even ask. This man was going to kill him. If Ilya wanted to put on a display of stamina, he wasn’t going to manage it today. Shane had gotten more skilled at blowjobs over the years since they’d last hooked up, and no, Ilya was not going to think about that right now. Shane took Ilya’s cock into his throat, and Ilya came so hard that when his elbow struck a desk lamp and it shattered on the floor he thought for a moment that the noise was his nervous system exploding into fireworks.

Shane collapsed on top of him while he caught his breath. When Ilya’s brain came back online, he contemplated the wreckage of paperwork and glass on the floor and wondered if there was any chance Shane simply wouldn’t notice.

“Fuck,” Shane muttered.

“I’ll help clean it up,” Ilya said immediately.

Shane peeled a sweat stained paper off his back. “And reprint it.”

Ilya nodded and nuzzled his face against Shane’s shoulder. “I broke up with Fabian,” he said when it occurred to him that he’d forgotten to say anything before the irresponsible desk sex.

“I assumed.” Shane uselessly attempted to straighten a pen cup whose contents were probably also on the floor. “We should get this dealt with so we can head back to the house.”

“Then we’ll talk.” Ilya nodded definitively and began pulling his clothes back on.

Shane’s gaze followed his movements. “Right. Talking. That, too.”

Chapter End Notes

I don’t know why I went so Bridgerton on that confession scene, but it felt right.

The final chapter will wrap up Fabian/Ryan and give Hollanov a more definitive ending. I will post it sometime between now and the heat death of the universe.

Chapter 5: there's nowhere to go but on

Chapter Notes

I can't thank you all enough for all your kind comments. <3 I hope you had as much fun reading my ridiculous nonsense as I did writing it.

Fabian had never tried to perform while he was this angry before. He knew he was putting too much energy into the set, his frustration bleeding out of the edges of his music. He needed to get a hold of himself and tamp it down because he was a professional, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that fucker Shane Hollander leading Ryan on just to break his heart. To do a thing like that to a man as good as Ryan was twice the insult.

There wasn’t a single doubt in Fabian’s mind that Shane had ditched Ryan immediately to get back together with Ilya. That Ilya was the one Shane had actually wanted had been written all over his face.

Ryan might have really liked Shane if he’d kissed him. He was probably devastated right now.

Fabian wished he could see past the stage lights glaring in his eyes to the audience to check if Ryan had still decided to attend, or if he’d decided to stay in and nurse his heartbreak. Maybe Fabian could try to offer him a prepaid trip to France to cheer him up. He deserved it since he’d gotten the worst end of this clusterfuck.

When the show ended and Fabian blinked stars out of his eyes, he looked up to see Ryan in the audience, moving steadily forward towards him. Fabian’s breath caught in his throat. Ryan really was a stunning man.

Ryan leaned against the stage and smiled at him. “Hey. Great show. Is your boyfriend not here?”

Oh god, that was why Ryan didn’t look upset. He didn’t know. Fabian gestured him toward a two top table by the bar and then sat down beside him and took a deep breath.

“Ilya and I broke up. Ilya’s decided to get back together with Shane.” Fabian placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder to comfort him.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“Me? Yeah, that relationship was on its last legs anyway.”

“Good for Hollander, than. He seemed really miserable without Roz.”

Fabian blinked. “You’re not… upset he led you on?”

“No, we weren’t really into each other. I’m just glad everyone is happy.”

“Oh. Okay.” Fabian’s fury dissipated a bit.

“So you’re single,” Ryan said. “And I assume you don’t have that rule about not dating hockey players anymore?”

Fabian smiled. “I mean, I’m still picky. But I think there’s one specific hockey player I’d be willing to date.”

Ryan scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Dinner? Tonight? I know it’s late, but-”

“I’d love dinner.”

Fabian took Ryan’s hand in his, and the warmth of home permeated him.

Ilya woke up groggily to the taste of fur in his mouth. Mildred bopped his face with her paw again and meowed.

“Shh, don’t wake Shane,” Ilya whispered nonsensically to the cat in Russian. He could feel Shane’s weight behind him in bed, a warm reassurance that he hadn’t imagined the last few hours. Had it been a few hours? He knew they’d reached the house before dinner because they’d stopped fucking for long enough to order takeout and then hadn’t remembered to stop again to eat it. It wasn’t only their own dinner they’d forgotten, apparently.

The clock on the nightstand informed him it was midnight. Ilya didn’t know what time it had been when he’d fallen asleep.

He rolled out of bed as stealthily as he could and pulled on a pair of sweats before heading to the kitchen to find Mildred’s food. A thorough search of the cabinets turned up a bag of kibble and a cat bowl. Ilya grabbed the carton of Nando’s from the fridge and sat down on the floor beside Mildred as they both chowed down on their delayed dinners.

Ilya could bring Shane breakfast in bed, maybe. He tried to think through what he knew how to cook. Pancakes, but Shane might not want that much sugar. He’d check Shane’s fridge, see if there were enough ingredients to whip up an omelet.

They hadn’t talked yet. Ilya wasn’t sure if they were actively avoiding it or just distracted. Mildred meowed when she finished her bowl of kibbles and then climbed into his lap. She prodded him with her claws to make sure he was a sufficiently comfortable cat bed before curling up with her head on his knee.

“Ilya? Why are you sitting on the floor?” Shane hadn’t turned on the light, and the darkness felt cozy as Shane settled into the space beside him.

“Mildred isn’t allowed on the counter. We were compromising.”

Mildred purred loudly as Ilya scratched her chin. Shane snorted and rested his head on Ilya’s shoulder. It was everything.

“Did you want some?” Ilya asked, handing over the takeout container. Shane stuffed a forkful in his mouth and they passed the container back and forth between them until it was empty.

“I want you to know I’m serious about this,” Shane said hesitantly into the ensuing silence. “It’ll be tough, only seeing each other a couple times of year, but we’ll have summers. I want to make this work.”

“I want more than summers.”

Mildred grabbed Ilya’s hand in her paws and smooshed her face against it.

“She thinks she owns you now,” Shane told him.

Ilya’s delight spilled out into a smile. “I’ll be a free agent after next season. What if… I didn’t sign with Boston?”

“We couldn’t both be on the Ottawa roster unless we took pay cuts.”

Ilya shrugged a shoulder. “Do you think your mom could help me get ad deals?”

Shane sputtered out a laugh. “You want my mom to manage you?”

“Yes,” Ilya said sincerely. “I’d love that.”

@MLHNewsFeed: Ilya Rozanov signs with Ottawa to play on same team as his boyfriend Shane Hollander

@RaidersOnIce: What the fuck? Last time I checked Roz was dating a musician

@PuckingGreat: Hollander really stole that man from his boyfriend and the entire city of Boston

@ChipsandSticks: Do you know what this means??? HUSBAND LINE

*liked by @IlyaRozanov81*

@CityofBostonOfficial: Shane Hollander, can you fight?

@ConspiringAgainstMe: Evidence that this is all a play by Hollander to destroy his biggest competitor, a thread: (1/500)

@Justa(hockey)SkaterBoy: This is the most fun I’ve ever had with a hockey scandal. More players should seduce their rivals, actually

@HocketteforLife: Watch the PWHL

@Justa(hockey)SkaterBoy Fair point

Ryan Price felt pretty good about his life as he walked into the Game Changers hockey camp the next summer. He’d finally officially retired from hockey and was now spending his time supporting his ever more famous boyfriend (soon to be fiancé) instead. Plus he’d found that getting away from hockey had made his heart grow fonder, and all that. He was ready to spend a week immersing himself in helping the next generation of players find a better way to play the game. He just needed to drop off a couple of papers with Shane and then he’d go help get the equipment set up.

He could hear Shane and Ilya’s voices coming from the office. Sounded like they were bickering about something, but Ryan could just slip in real quick, ditch the papers on the desk, and leave.

Ryan opened the door and swore. Shane was the first one to notice him and break away from the way-too-enthusiastic-for-eight-in-the-morning make-out session. “Not again.”

Chapter End Notes

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