Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Major Character Death

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, Kip Grady, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Carter Vaughn, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, The Ottawa Centaur's Plane Crashes, But then Shane wakes up in 2008 so it's FINE, Depression, Temporary Character Death, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Shane Hollander is a Little Shit, Coming Out, Shower Sex, Frotting | Rubbing Penises Together, Anal Sex, Getting Back Together, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Exhibitionism, Kip Grady is Here for the Chaos, Scott Hunter is Tired, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Minor Rose Landry/Svetlana Vetrova, Phone Sex, Blowjobs, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Banter, Just a Lot of Smiling and Kissing, Racist Language, but it's Dallas Kent and he gets his just deserts, POV Shane Hollander, POV Kip Grady, author has not read the books, Predominantly Show-Canon, Not Canon Compliant, Canon-typical time skips, Angst with a Happy Ending, said Angst being the first 500 words of an 18k story, but you know

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-25 Words: 19,021 Chapters: 2/2

Crash and Burn Brighter

Summary

When the Centaur's plane goes down in early 2021, Shane is left a shell of who he once was. When he dies in an accident months later, he is reunited with his Ilya... in 2008.
This fic is a series of moments as they live through to 2021 again, but they make things a little easier on themselves and for the people around them. The first chapter is Shane's POV, taking place in the early years. Second chapter is Kip's POV as the hockey world shifts around the phenomenon that is Hollanov.

Notes

So. Just gonna put it out there, but I don't speak Russian. So take any Russian used here with a grain of salt. If you do speak it and want to tell me I've done something wrong, I am happy to take suggestions. I looked up the word for kitten because I've seen it used in other fics and there's like 12 ways to talk about small cats and none of them can agree on spelling.
To any Canadians who take issue with me making fun of Canada. I am also Canadian. So fuck off, eh? :P
I have played fast and loose with how hockey works. If you do actually know shit about hockey. Uh. I'm sorry. I /do/ know that rookie contracts are normally 1-3 years. I just needed the math to math better with the Olympic year.
Anyway, with that out of the way, have fun! And please come yell at me in the comments!

Chapter 1: Shane

…

 

Shane’s life didn't end when the Centaur’s plane went down. It just became… less. Less noisy. Less messy. Less competitive. Less bright. Less joyful. Less full. Less… anything.

His life didn't end; it just felt like someone turned off the sun, and yet somehow the world kept turning.

The League temporarily suspended the season, which gave Shane some time to grieve, but never enough. He would spend the rest of his life grieving Ilya. But time hadn't stopped, and soon, far too soon, the season started up again.

He didn't think about quitting hockey, not seriously; he wasn't sure he knew how. Part of him felt like if he did stop, he would die just as surely as Ilya had. Everyone seemed to know his heart wasn't in it anymore, though, even if they didn't know why. Only Hayden knew, on the team, and then Rose and his parents. The rest of the team probably think it's because his coming out hasn't gone anywhere approaching well. At this point he couldn't give two shits about being out or not; it's not like it mattered when the love of his life was dead, and he was feeling numb enough that the new homophobic microaggressions were pretty much rolling off his back just like the old racist ones.

He had a bad feeling that if he ever let himself start feeling properly again, those blows would start hitting a lot harder; that being called a cocksucking faggot would just press on the empty space in his heart that Ilya had occupied and lead to him dropping gloves more frequently than Ilya ever had. That space was filled with so much pain, there was no way tapping into it would lead to anything but more pain in the world.

Shane had sold his cottage. There were too many memories there. When his mom tried to tell him he might regret that, that maybe he'd want to return once time had dulled the pain somewhat, he told her flatly that if he didn't sell it he would burn it to the ground. She stopped pushing after that.

He kept the sex condo. The memories there were purely carnal, not soft beams of sunlight and I love you's. It was also a place he could hide when he didn't want to be found; the only other person in his life that had known about it was dead. 

He would probably spend part of the summer there, just for the quiet.

Ilya's Ottawa house had been sold as part of his estate. He hadn't been there long, but there were a few knickknacks and revealing photos that Shane's parents had managed to sneak out before it had been emptied by a moving company. No one had come to collect Shane's key; no one knew he had one. He hated that the house was gone, that the space Ilya had occupied was being taken from the world. He was also grateful that it wasn't his responsibility, that he never had to go back there without him.

Ilya’s will had sent his fortune- excepting a fairly sizable trust fund for his niece- entirely to the Irina Foundation, a final fuck-you to his brother, who hadn't even attended the funeral. They had talked about it when they set up the foundation, Shane's own will was similarly deeded, with a small gift set aside for his parents in case he… in case something happened to him too.

Ilya's will had also deeded his mother's necklace to Shane, but they had never found it after the crash.

That had nearly broken him.

Shane had put his mental health where his mouth was- he did run a charity based on this- and placed himself in the care of a wonderful therapist without either of his parents needing to prompt him to. He had to; he couldn't disappoint Ilya, and he wasn't going to let depression take two of the people who had loved the man most out of the world, even if he wasn't there to see it. Her name was Violet- Doctor Violet Lucero, to be precise, but the flower name was the sign Shane had heeded to choose her above other options available at the time. Flowers had worked out well for him over the years; his lover Lily, his dear friend Rose. They seemed to have worked out well for him here too. He was still breathing, anyway, and that hadn't been a guaranteed thing for a while there, but Shane was working very very hard on at least keeping himself from wanting to die, even if he didn't particularly want to live either.

He focused on hockey. If people thought he had lived and breathed it before, it was nothing compared to now. Before, he had had something- someone- to look forward to between games. Now he might as well be part of the rink with how his heart felt frozen over, an extension of the ice he lived on sitting in his chest like a leaden weight.

He was at a rink now. Game day, one of the western Canadian teams- Calgary? Edmonton? He looked up across the ice and saw red and yellow details on the jerseys, so he figured it was Calgary. Not that it really mattered; he was going to go out there and score as many goals as possible regardless of who they were playing. Probably with as little help as his team could get away with giving him, because they were a bunch of homophobic assholes, but that's what his life had been for a while now.

Hayden jostled into his shoulder.

“Hey, someone should petition to change their name to the Calgary Cinders. They can be Flames again when they actually win a cup.”

Shane smiled humorlessly, knowing Hayden was trying to get him to laugh. Some of the other guys chuckled, though it was more muted than it would have been… before. The fact that Hayden and JJ still treated Shane like a friend didn't sit well with many of them.

“Calgary Ashes,” JJ added, making Hayden laugh. Shane tuned them out.

The game started.

He was sent out onto the ice.

He hustled hard. He lined up plays. He was smashed into the boards. A whistle sounded.

Rinse.

Repeat.

The blare of a scored goal. Backslaps from Hayden and JJ.

Rinse.

Repeat.

Sitting on the bench. A water bottle in his hand. Watching the push and pull flow of players in front of him, noting small injuries; there, a favoured knee he could exploit.

Rinse.

Repeat.

Out on the ice. The glide of his feet beneath him, the puck under his tight control, his form textbook perfect.

Rinse.

Repe-

A body slammed into him. His head cracked against the boards. The world went white.

Silence.

Darkness.

Nothing.

 

…

 

“What the shit?! Did my smoking shock you that much, moya lyubov?”

Shane’s eyes flew open. He would know that beautiful Russian accent and teasing voice anywhere, but especially while dropping endearments. 

“Ilya?”

Before him was the love of his life, in a dark hoodie and jacket, a thin toque covering the curls Shane longed to run his hands through. His beautiful eyes were on Shane's face, drinking him in like a man just out of the desert. He was… sitting? Next to Shane. Holding him against him with one arm, both of them sitting on the cold ground; cold enough that it must be winter. It certainly smelled like winter, from what he could pick up over the cigarette smoke Ilya’s clothes exuded- god, he hadn't smelled like that in years, he had quit after Shane nagged him into it. Glancing around it looked like winter, a mix of gravel, ice, and salt crystals sitting in scattered piles on the parking lot behind them and the overcast sun sitting at an angle to the horizon that meant the winter solstice had either been recent, or would be soon. Tiny signs you didn't know you recognized until you were looking at them and just knew what they meant. They were outside, definitely, next to a tan building, a rink of some sort? It was boring and industrial-looking, which was pretty generic, but going by their lives, that usually only meant one thing. There were also no tall buildings around or sounds of heavy traffic, so he didn't think they were in any of the big cities. The last place he remembered being was Calgary, but the Saddledome and Calgary Tower were pretty easily recognizable landmarks. Also, he and Ilya had never been there together. Also also, Ilya was supposed to be dead.

“Shane?... Hollander?”

He looked worried, that wrinkle appearing between his brows that meant the emotion was genuine and not being played up for a joke or the cameras.

He looked young. Like the year they had met kind of young; there were still hints of baby fat at the edges of his face that had yet to take their leave, and his shoulders weren't quite as muscular as they would be one day. Shane would know; he had studied his body religiously over the years.

Which meant this must be a memory. Given the details, he was pretty sure this was the first time they had met, at the International Prospect Cup game in Saskatchewan- it was definitely flat and boring enough for this to be Saskatchewan.

Then the things Ilya had called him finished processing through his mind and tears welled up in Shane’s eyes. They were nothing like how Ilya had been at this age; back then he had been standoffish and cocky. But calling him moya lyubov? Hell, even just calling him Shane?

“Ilya. Fuck, is that you? Are you here with me?”

“Shane.” The whispered reverence in Ilya's words was all he needed before he was pulling him down into a desperate kiss. If he was looking at him like that, this was definitely Shane’s Ilya, regardless of how young he looked. He pressed all his love into that kiss, determined to make it echo through to wherever Ilya’s soul had gone to rest if this ended up being some concussed hallucination of Shane's rattled mind.

Eventually they broke apart for air, leaning their foreheads together and just breathing in each other's presence.

“Where the fuck are we? What happened?” Shane murmured the questions, hardly expecting his dead boyfriend to have any idea either, but still needing something to grasp onto.

“Why are you asking me that? Was going to ask you. One minute I am falling from sky, pleading to mama and God and whoever the fuck wants to listen to let me see you one more time. Next thing I know I am holding your hand and collapsing on cold Canadian parking lot. With a cigarette! I have not smoked in a year! And look at you, you are tiny baby Hollander! Your face is still soft!”

Shane's mind started racing.

“Ilya. For me that was months ago. You died in that plane crash, and I, fuck, Ilya, I mourned you, I had to watch them bury you-” he was definitely crying, he felt the tears running down his cheeks. “It was so empty without you there, I felt like I had died too.”

“Oh, moya lyubov, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I did not want to leave you behind- do not tell me you followed me.” Ilya was crying too. He had pulled Shane into his lap as they cried together, holding him right against his chest so they could each feel every hitched breath.

Shane shook his head, tucking himself closer.

“No, sweetheart. I couldn't do that to you, even if you were gone. Pretty sure my soul left with you, but I carried the rest of me forward. I was on the ice, took a bad hit in fucking Calgary of all places, next thing I knew I was here.”

“Was bit more than a bad hit, I think, if you are here with dead boyfriend, yes?”

“Fuck. Yeah, I know,” he admitted, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand. Ilya batted his hand away, using his thumb to swipe away Shane’s tears instead; so Shane decided to return the favour, sniffling as he smiled at Ilya feeling so alive against his hand. In a corner of his mind that wasn't boggling at the impossible situation he had found himself in he was instead extremely thankful for the cold weather and lack of any other young athletes who smoked that meant they hadn't been interrupted by anyone else for this little breakdown. He was certain they must look absolutely, pathetically ridiculous the way they were clutching at each other while simultaneously crying and staring at one another, drinking in the view.

“Well, either we're both dead or I'm horribly concussed and this is all my brain trying to sort itself back out,” Shane said, trying for nonchalant but probably missing it by a mile. Ilya huffed, watching him fondly while shaking his head.

“You think boring hockey brain could come up with this? You would imagine simple replay of first meeting, maybe highlight reel of best hockey we played, or it would be us at the cottage, naked, in love… Perhaps you folded in half, coming untouched on my cock. If it was my brain, would definitely be this. This?” he said, gesturing between and around them, “We remember dying, but we are in past? This is too weird. Is… what would Haasy call… is time-travel ass-pull.”

Well, he had Shane there. This was absolutely not a scenario he ever would have come up with on his own. It was more like an X-Squad sequel.

“Well, what do you think we're supposed to do then?” he asked, leaning into Ilya’s hold. “If we're really in the past, then our whole careers are ahead of us. Neither of us are even in the MHL right now.”

“Hollander, moya lyubov. We live, and love, and never get on shitty Ottawa plane.”

Shane huffed a laugh, pulling back to look at Ilya.

“Yes, happily. But what do we do, Ilya? Because I am not spending the next decade pretending to be your worst, most hated rival both on and off the ice, and I am not coming out in Montreal. Never again. We need a plan, Rozanov.”

“Ugh, Hollander, that is so boring. Here, we do phones, plan later, kiss more now, yes?”

Shane was shifted in his lap as Ilya reached into his jeans pocket, bringing out… a flip phone. Jesus, this really was 2008. Ilya was also staring at it, somewhat poleaxed.

“Oh shit, Hollander. I think we are back in Stone Age. Can maybe even find little Scott Hunter.”

Shane laughed, which he knew was Ilya's goal. Once he calmed down he pulled out his own phone- which was at least an iPhone, but it had to be first or second gen- and added Ilya’s number into his contacts.

His fingers hovered over the contact name.

“Ilya, what's the word for sun in Russian?”

“Sontse, why?” Ilya asked, looking up from his own phone and seeing what Shane was doing. “Ah, I see. You want solnyshko. Sunlight, but used often as pet name. Like honey or baby in English. You do not want to use Lily? For old times?”

Shane shook his head, adding Solnyshko for the contact name before sending Ilya a <3 to make sure they had the numbers added correctly and tucking away his phone.

“Lily was obvious, in hindsight, but also a complete lie,” he answered out loud. “It’s pretty clearly a feminine name. I want a new start here. One where we hide less of who we are.”

Ilya grinned.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, Shane, you are terrible influence. We are going to get caught doing this,” he complained, but he still went and edited his contact to say Lyubov instead of Jane, sending a heart back when he saw Shane's message. “Why sun, why you pick sun for me? Is not because you knew the Russian.”

Shane smiled sadly, twining their fingers together.

“Without you there, the world was cold and dark. It felt like the sun was gone. Now that I've got you with me, I feel warm again. You are my light, my solnyshko.”

Ilya pulled him in, peppering his lips, cheeks, and nose in kisses.

“Never again, moya lyubov. Never leaving you alone in this world. Will burrow myself into your heart and live there forever.”

“Pretty sure you did that already,” Shane huffed. “You've been there since I met you here the first time.”

“Fucking hell, Shane.”

Ilya pulled him in for a deeper kiss, and Shane gave in gladly, though he knew they were starting to push their luck on not getting caught. When they broke apart, he could see that Ilya knew it too.

“We have game now, yes? Will have to see how much better than everyone else we are now.”

“Oh god,” Shane moaned. “Neither of us have played with these teams in a decade, this is gonna be a shitshow.”

“Oh, come on Hollander. Practice might make perfect, but we are so close anyway, can get by on pure skill. Just focus on me, I will focus on you, and rest of teams will do their job. Simple.”

He helped Shane to clamber off his lap, then once he was standing Shane reached down and hauled Ilya up to his feet. They stood there staring into each other's eyes, unable to look away, but then a door somewhere along the building slammed shut and they hurriedly stepped apart, putting a friendly distance between them.

They smiled sadly at one another.

“One day, we won't have to step away,” Shane promised.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, Shane Hollander. Let's go prove we're too good not to play hockey.”

“I love you too. Maybe this time I'll get drafted first.”

“Ha! Funny, Hollander. In your dreams, though. Backhand is still too slow to beat me.”

“We'll see about that, asshole,” Shane quipped back, loath to walk away even though he knew he should. They had already been out here too long, they both needed to head inside and get ready for their game, but Shane had just gotten Ilya back.

“Yes. Will see me beating you. Will send many kisses after,” he teased, holding up his tiny silver flip phone, as if reminding Shane that they wouldn't be completely disconnected once he walked away. “Then draft, where I beat you again, then more international shit, where you maybe- maybe- beat me. Then CCM shoot, where you could even blow me in the showers this time, and then years of playing MHL. We have time, moya lyubov. Let's go play hockey, even if it is with bunch of kids that barely know which way to hold stick.”

Shane nodded, caught between holding back tears and wanting to laugh at Ilya's brazen claims, then realized-

“If they're a bunch of kids, that makes us as old as Scott Hunter.”

“Nyet, how dare you-”

“Physically he's only a few years older than us, so mentally we are even older than he is now.”

“Hollander, I am going to beat your ass on that ice, I swear to god.”

“You think you need god's help to beat me?”

“Oh, I am not asking for help. I'm just letting him know. Is polite, yes?”

“I thought being polite was boring.”

“Oh, it is, but you've rubbed off on me enough times, something had to be sticky.”

Shane gave a full belly laugh.

“I don't think that's how the saying goes,” he said, smiling.

“No, I use correctly. Am very sure.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, moya lyubov. Come on, let's go repeat history.”

“Asshole.”

 

…

 

Ilya was right; his team still won. He and Shane both managed to get hat tricks, though, which had not happened last time. But Shane was too used to making calls based on technical imperfections in league-level players, and Ilya was better at handling chaos with both Boston and the Centaur's playstyles in his recent repertoire. IPC play was much more chaotic than Shane liked; people made a lot of bad calls because they just didn't know better. It was harder to predict how they would move.

He spent the next few months guiding (or as Ilya described, terrorizing) his team into shape for their eventual rematch, and texting Ilya. He had forgotten how terrible international communication costs were when his mom came to him with the phone bill after that first month, but when he told her he had made a friend on the Russian team she just seemed happy for him, waving away his promises to pay them back once he was drafted and got a proper paycheque.

The next thing he knew it was the draft, and Ilya still fucking beat him there too. The picture was better this time though; Shane was standing next to Ilya and so couldn't help but smile a real, genuine smile. 

Even if he was going to Montreal again.

Shane also finally met Ilya's father, and learned what it felt like to truly wish that someone was dead.

He made Ilya look small. Not in a size comparison sort of way, but in the way that Ilya actively made himself appear less who he was in the man’s presence.

Shane made his way over to the pair with the excuse of wanting to shake hands with the first draft pick to show he had no hard feelings. Ilya had tried to signal with his eyes to get him to leave, but Shane refused to give up his chance to meet Grigori Rozanov. His mom stood at his side, and she might not understand why now, but he wanted her to see just how terrible Ilya's father was.

While Shane walked up to Ilya, she introduced herself to Grigori.

“Hollander, what are you doing?” Ilya asked as the ‘adults’ talked, a guarded look in his eyes.

“Proving that there's no bad blood between rivals, Rozanov,” he answered easily, smiling his press-smile and holding out a hand for Ilya to shake. His solnyshko took it, but looked no less guarded after the handshake.

“-good of the boy to come admit defeat, even if the defeat itself shows an inherent weakness. Come, Ilya-”

The smile froze on his face, not that Shane had expected anything different from the man.

“Oh, I don't think losing to Ilya here is really a defeat, Mr. Rozanov. It just means there's someone worth playing against in Boston.”

“Yes, well, perhaps my useless son will have a reason to keep up with his practice, then.”

“Oh, you're funny Mr. Rozanov. You see, I play at his level, so I know exactly how hard Ilya works. Of course, you must be busy with your work, so you don't get to see it much. But I promise you, you're standing with two of the hardest working people in the building right now.”

Grigori didn't seem to have anything to say to that, and Shane's mom had a calculating glint to her eyes as she watched Shane, but she kept quiet too. Ilya looked vaguely shellshocked. Deciding he had done enough, Shane clapped a hand on Ilya’s shoulder as he walked past.

“See you at the IPC finals. I'll be winning gold this time.”

Ilya flicked his eyes over to his father before simply nodding once.

Shane hated Grigori for that. Any other day, Ilya would be chirping back and forth with him for the next hour if he had his way. And that alone was enough for Shane to wish that Grigori would go back to being dead sooner than later.

Once they had put some distance between them and the Rozanovs, his mom stopped him and leaned in to talk quietly.

“The Russian friend you made, that you've been talking to- it's Ilya Rozanov, isn't it?”

Shane smiled grimly.

“Yup.”

“You knew exactly how terrible his father was going to be.”

“Yup.”

“You wanted to show him that he deserves better.”

Shane met his mother’s eyes.

“Because he does. He and I… we're going to be the best in the league. I can feel it. But Grigori needs to make sure everyone around him is just as miserable as he is. Ilya deserves so much better than him.”

His mom sighed.

“You can't just say those things, Shane.”

“I didn't say that to his face, mom. I just pushed his buttons a little. I'm never going to see him again, so his opinion of me doesn't matter, and maybe if he’s angry at me, he'll be a little easier on Ilya, at least for today.”

He could feel his mom staring at him, studying him like she'd never seen him before. To be fair to her, he'd had a few years to mature into his own person without her knowing.

“You really care about this boy,” she finally said, and Shane shrugged, playing it cool.

“He's my best friend, mom. My only friend. I want to take care of him.”

“Let's hope he cares about you just as much,” she sighed, and Shane smiled.

“He does.”

 

…

 

They met up in the gym late that night. Neither of them had a room to themselves, unfortunately, so they couldn't get their hands on one another in the way they wanted, but they made do how they could, sucking each other off tucked into a corner you couldn't see from the entrance, a free weight left in front of the door so they'd have some warning if anyone tried to come in.

After the frenzy of sex they settled into one another and traded lazy kisses, staying curled together in that corner until they couldn't hold back their yawns and had to admit defeat to late nights and early morning flights, promising a strong competition at the IPC finals.

 

…

 

One of the first things Ilya got with his signing bonus was a proper touchscreen phone on an international plan. He had been complaining about trying to text with a 12-button keyboard for months now. Shane also got a new phone, one not on his parents' phone plan so they wouldn't know the ridiculous amount of time the two of them were talking late into the night after practice. And having phone sex. So much phone sex.

 

…

 

Shane finally beat him at the next IPC final. They each managed hat tricks, again. Shane then managed a double hat trick. It really wasn't fair to the opposing goalies or defensemen- the two of them had been playing at MLH level for years, now, and were seen as the best players in that category too. The other players hadn't stood a chance here.

Russia had even had a better run this time, beating the Czech Republic where before they had lost. But Shane had had months to prepare his team to face Ilya’s this time, and with some proper coaching it had worked in his favour. He was proud of what he had managed to accomplish with this team, and wished he felt more excited about having to do it again in Montreal- not that he would have the captaincy right away, of course, but he knew it was a possibility down the line, if he wanted to take it.

Unfortunately for them, if he did take it, it wouldn't be for long. His initial contract was for 4 years, and he didn't really plan to renew afterwards. In all honesty, part of him wanted to try to rebuild the Centaurs early, and he knew Ilya would love to join him. The only problem with that plan being that many of the other members of Ilya’s Centaurs wouldn't be on the team for many years, and they were a lot of what had made the team so special. Troy wasn't even signed to Toronto yet, let alone Ottawa, and they were going to have to deal with his behaviour sooner than later here.

Maybe he should sign with New York for a couple seasons once he was out of Montreal. He knew they sure had the capacity for acceptance, and then Ilya wouldn't feel guilty staying in Boston with the team that he loved for a little longer. He shook his head to clear it; that was still years away.

Instead he was here, so close to Ilya and yet unable to do anything about it. The worst part of the IPC was that they watched the players like hawks, resolute that they wouldn't get up to trouble as a bunch of teenagers; it was like being on a school trip, and was a kind of treatment that Shane and Ilya had been well free of for a decade now. Being back under the control of “adults” chafed. Shane knew some (most) of the guys still flaunted the rules, but something going wrong and them getting busted for drinking or partying would be a lot easier for the world to understand and excuse than him being caught in any sort of compromising position with Ilya, so they kept to themselves, texting all the things they wished they could do into the space between.

That the main thing they kept looping back to seemed to be simply holding each other made Shane want to cry and then tear the world apart. They deserved to live in a world where they could hold hands or cuddle when they fucking wanted to.

 

…

 

Months drifted by, somehow simultaneously a blur and an agonizing crawl. Shane gripped onto the idea of the CCM commercial shoot with his mental fingernails; knowing that he would have time with Ilya soon helped make the agony worth it. Shane rented his old rookie apartment once more, but didn't plan on staying there long term. Once he started getting proper sponsor money, he had a particular condo he wanted to buy and renovate.

He trained with Montreal, meeting people he had known his whole adult life for the first time again. He pretty much refused to go out for drinks with the team this time, only making any effort with Hayden and JJ. Hayden had been in the team training camps for a year, only moving up now; a process Shane was happy to skip as a second draft pick. Yeah, maybe it would have shown some humility if he had gone that route, but he was Shane fucking Hollander, and the ease with which he settled into playing center of the Metros second line proved that he was a force to be reckoned with.

JJ had been on the team for a year already, and had elected to show them the ropes. Shane allowed it, for old times’ sake, even if he didn't really need it. Ilya pointed out later that it was less suspicious if he pretended he needed the guide, anyway.

And the first time they tried to talk about girls with him, he told them that he wasn't interested in them. At all. They were a little surprised, but took it in stride. When JJ offered to wingman at gay clubs for him, Shane just laughed and told him thanks, but he had someone, and they were working on getting citizenship in a country that wouldn't kill them for being queer so if he could please leave it, that would be appreciated. Shockingly to Shane, that worked too.

When he ranted to Ilya over the phone that his life could have been so much easier before if he had just trusted people, Ilya pointed out that he was benefiting from some pretty strong hindsight now, and couldn't have known how safe he would be without the knowledge of what he had experienced coming out the first time. Shane cursed him out for being reasonable, but finally calmed down. Ilya then reminded him of the time he had blown him while Hayden was on the phone and had Shane cursing for other, more pleasant reasons.

 

…

 

Finally it was time for the CCM commercial shoot. He arrived early, taking his time in the changing room. Ilya arrived early too, as planned, and they traded gentle kisses where no one could see them.

“Missed you so much,” he murmured against Ilya’s mouth, making the other man smile.

“Me too,” he sighed, kissing Shane again. “Cannot wait for tonight.”

“Same,” Shane agreed, pulling back from the kiss only to lean in and bring their foreheads together. “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

“I know. But makeup artists will know if we do too much here, yes? Is what you said before.”

“I know, I know. And I was right, I just- I just always want you. All the time. It's harder to let go when you're right here.”

Ilya pulled him in for a hug, pressing kisses to the top of his head before releasing him.

“I know what you mean, moya lyubov. Let's get out there, play some fake fucking hockey, and fuck in the showers after, yes? Is good plan.”

Shane let out a shuddering breath.

“Yeah. Fuck, let's do it.”

Ilya's eyes sparked with playful joy, and Shane couldn't help but grin back at him.

 

…

 

Shane was sitting up in the stands, listening to his mom talk about one of his old- new- brand deals as Ilya went through some solo skating drills for the camera. Shane didn't let his eyes leave him.

“Shane, are you even listening to me?”

Shane sighed, not taking his eyes away from the ice.

“Mom, I get that it's important and yes, I will wear my Reebok's or whatever, but can we please do this some other time?”

He and Ilya only had so much time together, after all. Then they would have to go back to their new homes, their new teams, spend hours practising and ridiculous amounts of time on planes where they couldn't even talk while they travelled. Their schedules would be so tightly controlled at first, and they would be watched, as rookies, unable to slip away easily. He needed more time with Ilya, always, and he had it now.

“Shane, you're very important to a lot of people who don't normally see themselves on the ice-”

Shane laughed. He couldn't help himself.

“Yes mom, I'm aware. I'm very aware.”

She didn't even know-

“Shane, you're not taking this seriously-”

Shane realized, then, that… he hadn't been hiding it for years here. Hadn't dragged his parents into an entirely false hatred of the love of his life. Wasn't still denying his sexuality to himself…

Fuck it.

“Mom, I'm gay.” 

He paused, letting her absorb exactly what it was he had said. When he saw that she had, but before she could say anything, he continued. “I know exactly how many people I'm representing when I'm down there. And no, I'm not coming out publicly until I've at least won a cup.”

Hopefully Ilya will have won one by then as well. Shane kept watching him, letting his mom process at her own pace. She stared at him for a couple more moments, then seemed to finally catch herself and pull some words together, reaching forward to grab his hand.

“Honey, I'm so proud of you for telling me,” Shane smiled, wrenching his gaze away from Ilya to fully look at her. She was smiling back at him, looking happy but also confused. “Why tell me now, and not when we're back home with your father? You're not worried about his reaction, are you? Because he will love you no matter what, just like me.”

Shane shook his head, turning his gaze back to the love of his life as he skated down on the ice, making a few shots on the net at the behest of the director.

“Do you see him? Ilya Rozanov, my rival, my best friend… and the love of my life. I'm gonna marry him one day.” Yuna gasped, and Shane let a cocky smile play over his face. “Sure, the Reebok's are important. Visibility is important. Representation is important. But right now watching my future husband have fun down there is more important.”

They sat in silence for a while, him watching Ilya and her processing the future he had laid out. The girlfriend and wife he would never have, the family dinners with a blond Russian boyfriend that they would have instead… the difficulty that this life was going to bring him.

“Does he know about your plan?” she eventually asked, and Shane snorted. What, was she worried this was just a daydream? Didn't think he and Ilya had talked about their feelings? 

Didn't she know he would be a lot more panicked if he wasn't absolutely certain about something?

“You think I haven't talked to him about it? Okay, we haven't talked about marriage yet, not seriously, but if you're asking if he loves me, then yes. Yes he does. He loves me so much, mom, and I love him. But we've gotta get him out of Russia before we can do anything public.”

Yuna looked stricken. “Because of his father?” she asked, and Shane was thrown back to a similar conversation he had with Ilya, back in Tampa. Except now he had Ilya’s lines.

“Because of Russia, mom. Being openly queer is enough to get you sent to jail, there. If not worse.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. But he loves me, and I love him. So we're gonna prove to the whole world that we're too good at hockey for them to ever kick us out. We're going to get Ilya a passport that isn't fucking Russian. And then we're going to become the first out husbands in hockey.”

“All this after only knowing him for a year?”

“Mom, I loved him after five minutes.” It wasn’t even a lie, he had just been too in denial to admit it at the time. 

It looked like she had more to say, but at that moment one of the assistant directors came to tell Shane they were done for the day and he was allowed to go shower. He told his mom to just head back to the hotel, and she shot him a look, but didn't protest.

Shane practically skipped his way to the locker room. Ilya was there when he arrived, pads off, half naked. Shane clicked the lock into place behind him. Their eyes met, and Shane stumbled forward, knees already weak, craving the feeling of Ilya on his tongue.

“Ilya-”

“Shane-”

They met in a clash of lips and tongue, hands scrabbling at one another. Shane immediately went for Ilya's pants, pulling down the elastic Under Armor layer and easily freeing his cock. Ilya’s hands quickly found Shane's hair as he dropped to his knees, lapping at the head of Ilya's cock and tonguing playfully at the slit before sinking down until his nose was pressed into Ilya's stomach.

“Fuck, moya lyubov, just like that, shit-”

Shane lost track of Ilya's rambling as he moved, bobbing his head up and down and drawing more curses out of Ilya's mouth as his delicious musk filled his own. In no time at all he felt Ilya spilling down his throat, and was pulled off his cock and up into a filthy kiss by Ilya’s hand tugging on the back of his shirt.

God, he wanted to let his hair get long and shaggy enough that Ilya could pull him around by it instead.

Ilya quickly helped him shed his clothing, shimmying out of his leggings while Shane folded his things before pulling them into the showers, starting the water and dropping to his own knees, Shane hard and aching before him. God, he loved this man so much. He brought him off with his mouth and then stood, kissing Shane under the spray of the water, running his hands over his body. Shane could taste himself on Ilya's tongue and moaned, running his own hands down Ilya’s back and cupping his ass, pulling him closer by those plush cheeks. Ilya grinned and crowded into him, pushing him back against the shower wall, out of the spray. The cold tiles pressed against Shane's back, a complete opposite to the heat of Ilya pressing into his front, half-hard cock rubbing against his own. Ilya kissed him into delirium there, temperature playing havoc on his senses. Soon they were both hard again, and Shane walked them back into the spray of hot water. He wrapped a hand around the both of them, jacking them off as they kissed. Ilya’s hand soon joined him, and when they came they leaned into each other, wrapping their arms around the other for support.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya murmured into his ear, the water cascading around them.

“I love you too,” Shane replied, smiling into Ilya's shoulder.

Their touches became gentle then, as they washed each other off. Just finding joy in the intimacy of familiarity and care, sharing soap and shampoo, making sure to keep the suds out of one another's eyes as they rinsed, being absolutely terrible at keeping the taste of soap out of their mouths when they couldn't help but kiss whatever skin was in front of them.

Knowing that they had the rest of the day and night to spend together.

“Come on,” Shane said, stepping back and turning off the shower. “Let's use your room this time. You've already seen mine.”

“It is exactly the same, Hollander.”

“Yeah, but yours is closer to ground level. We'll get there sooner. Also faster room service.”

Ilya grinned at him, eyes full of mischief.

“Shane Hollander, I have created a monster. He thinks of nothing but sex and decadence.”

Shane grinned back.

“And hockey. I think about that too.”

“Much too much, moya lyubov. Should think only of me… and my huge cock.”

“Solnyshko, I am always thinking of you. And your huge cock. Now hurry up and get dressed, so that you, me, and your huge cock can go be somewhere a little more private.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya breathed out like it was a prayer.

“I love you too,” Shane said, before slinging a pair of underwear at Ilya's head. “Now put your fucking clothes on!”

 

…

 

Shane heard a lot of things out on the ice. Hockey players loved to talk shit, and he had long since grown used to it.

Well, he thought he had.

Turns out, being secure in his self-identity made it really hard to justify ducking his head down and ignoring the truly terrible shit when it was spewed by the idiots around him. Shane had spent a lot of his first life terrified out of his fucking mind, scared of admitting that he was gay and in love with Ilya, that someone would find out, that people wouldn't like him when they knew the real him.

Now, he had Ilya, he had Hayden and JJ and his parents, and the only thing he was worried about was someone finding out prematurely and ruining their big coming-out plan.

So when Dallas Kent told him to “Go back to where you came from, chink, and let real men play sports” in the middle of a game, Shane dropped his gloves and decked him across the jaw.

When asked about it in the media scrum later, he said the guy had made some racist remarks and told him to go back to where he came from.

“I mean, I can see why he'd rather be playing Ottawa, we did just beat Toronto six-nothing, but I’m pretty sure even the Centaurs could take him. They're good guys, I grew up there; I’d be honoured to help them kick his ass.”

Ilya sent him multiple texts as he was driving home. He didn't bother reading them until he was in bed and naked because he had a feeling that every single one was going to be a sext.

He was mostly right. The first one was a teasing omg, bbys first real hockey fight. The rest were sexts.

It wasn't until the next day that he got around to telling Ilya what Kent had said to set him off. Two weeks later when Toronto faced Boston, Ilya sent Dallas Kent to the hospital and Shane felt a curl of satisfaction bloom in his chest. When it was announced that he was retiring from Hockey because of a complicated joint injury, Shane immediately called in sick to practice and booked a flight to Boston without warning Ilya. He knew his boyfriend’s schedule by heart, and prepped himself in Ilya's bed wearing nothing but a Rozanov jersey, just in time for Ilya to get home from practice and fuck him stupid.

When they fell panting against the sheets, Ilya turned to him with a feral grin.

“I take it you heard the news about Kent.”

Shane was too hazy to do anything but nod and provide a little “uh huh,” of acknowledgement.

“You are not usually so bloodthirsty, moya lyubov. First you fight the man, now you come fuck me when I end his career.”

“Kent was a rapist piece of shit. He fucking deserves it,” Shane hissed out, turning to glare at Ilya.

“Am not arguing! I did that on purpose, believe me. Have been using your figure skating drills, very good for precision.”

Shane sighed, the wind going out of his sails.

“Good. We've both got cups to win.”

He rolled over, cuddling up against Ilya. In a minute he would beg him to carry them over to the shower to wash the sweat and cum off of their bodies, but for now he was happy to bask in the afterglow.

“Hey Ilya?” he asked, a sleepy thought drifting into his mind.

“Yes?”

“Will you teach me how to fight properly? I don't see myself doing it as much as you do, but I think I might need it a bit more than last time.”

Ilya pressed a kiss to his head.

“Of course, little kotenok. Must know how to use your claws properly.”

“I'm not a kitten,” Shane grumbled, making Ilya chuckle.

“Hmm… is cute like kitten. Hisses like kitten. Has claws like kitten…”

Ilya suddenly flipped Shane in the bed, pressing his fingers into Shane's hole and licking a stripe up his neck.

“Fuuuck, Ilya…” he whimpered, and he could hear the grin on his boyfriend's lips when Ilya spoke next.

“Mewls like little kitten,” he teased, finding Shane's prostate and drawing even more desperate sounds out of him. “I think is kitten, lyubov. No beating allegations.”

“If you're gonna fuck me, then stop teasing and fuck me already,” Shane bit out around his moans.

“Whatever my kotenok wants, lyubov.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“If that's what you want-” he started to pull his hand away, and Shane quickly reached behind himself to grab his wrist, glaring over his shoulder at the man.

“No, I want to come on your fingers and then suck you off,” he ordered, making Ilya laugh and immediately return to rubbing said fingers over his prostate.

“I fucking love you, Hollander,” he groaned out.

Shane grinned.

 

…

Chapter 2: Kip

…

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were hockey legends. Even Kip, with his limited knowledge of the sport, knew that. 

In his second year of MHL hockey, Rozanov had managed to carry his team to their first cup win in years. The next year, Hollander managed the same thing. The year after that, Hollander won the Canadian team Olympic Gold, and Rozanov- after an Olympic defeat that no one could actually blame him for- brought Boston to the playoffs, battling a hard 7 game run against Hollander himself. 

Kip had just watched him finally secure his team the win with a beautiful overtime goal that would be talked about for years.

Well, it would be talked about for years if everyone could get over what had happened next, because that part kinda overshadowed everything that had happened before, and was the reason that Kip was staring at the TV with his mouth open in shock.

After he had made his victory lap with the cup, Rozanov looked over to the tunnel where the other team had left the ice, and nodded his head. And as other player's family members flooded onto the ice from the stands, so did Shane Hollander, who skated over to Rozanov, helmet and gloves gone and eyes bright and happy, and then he and Ilya Rozanov kissed on centre ice.

That kiss wasn't a brief peck of shy happiness, either. That kiss was deep, familiar, and romantic as hell. And then Rozanov pushed Hollander backwards until he was pressed against the boards, and that kiss turned downright filthy.

The hockey world was going to lose its collective shit.

“Well, that's not something you see every day,” one announcer was saying, and Kip snorted. From the looks of things, Hollander and Rozanov saw it pretty damn often.

But then, interrupting Kip’s thoughts, his phone rang.

Display name: Scott.

Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander being out meant that Scott wasn't alone anymore. Didn’t have to be scared of being left out to dry if he was outed, of having his worth and ability as a player questioned just because he wasn’t attracted to women. Well, the world still would, but there were now two other people to stand with him when they tried.

Kip answered the phone.

“Hey.”

“Holy shit,” Scott breathed out, then repeated. “Holy shit! Are you watching the game?”

“Yeah, with my dad.”

“You saw?”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“Holy shit.”

“You've said,” he laughed, wandering over nearer to the window so his dad wouldn't be able to overhear Scott's part of the conversation, at least.

“I just can't believe they did that. Do you think… is it real? Are they real? It's not a publicity stunt, is it? This is actually happening?”

Kip sighed. He knew Scott was freaking out, but that was going a little far.

“Do you really think anyone in hockey would do that to their reputations unless they completely, genuinely meant it? I mean, look at them,” Kip said, wandering back a little so he could see the TV. They were now looking at each other and smiling, and an older couple had come over to them, also smiling, and then hugging both Ilya and Shane.

“Oh, shit, that's Hollander’s parents,” Scott remarked, and Kip nodded, having expected as much from their looks.

“You aren't greeted like a son by your boyfriend's parents for a publicity stunt, Scott. This is real.”

“Holy shit, Kip.” Having heard it a few times by now, Kip didn't really have anything to add to that. He stared at Rozanov and Hollander’s happy faces playing across the television, lost in each other's eyes.

“Why do you think they did it now?” Kip asked, suddenly curious. “As real as it is, they definitely planned it. Probably regardless of which of them won, seeing as Hollander's parents are there. So why now?”

Scott hummed in thought.

“Hollander's contract is up this year. Everyone was expecting him to re-sign with Montreal, but after this… that team is notoriously homophobic, and it comes right from the top. I think Hollander did this to get out.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, If he hasn't re-signed, then other teams can make him offers, and normally Montreal would just out-bid those offers to keep a star player, but if they don't fight to keep him- because they're bigoted assholes and he knows it as well as I do- then he can leave. Go play somewhere else. Go make a good team great, instead of a terrible team good.” 

“Or just be somewhere he feels safe in his own locker room,” Kip added softly.

“Yeah, or that.”

“What's Boston like?” Kip asked, and Scott snorted.

“Rozanov will be fine. Hell, a move like this, I wouldn't be surprised if Hollander ended up there too. There’s probably going to be pressure to have them on the same team- as if the women’s teams don’t have wives playing against each other all the time. But Boston are pretty inclusive, overall, though their play style is a bit more rough and tumble than Montreal. Though I guess as much as Hollander has that good-boy image…”

“It seems like he might be into the bad boy type?” Kip offered, giggling a little as replays of the kiss ran on the TV in the background. Scott gave a huge sigh over the call.

“More than I ever wanted to know about those two, but yes.”

There was a pause as Scott sighed again. Kip watched Hollander's back hit the boards in replay, and the slow-mo let him see how the action had barely jostled their lip-lock, and he was pretty sure Hollander was moaning into the kiss from the way his jaw had flexed. Yeah, those two had definitely done this before, and knew how to move while being a little rough.

“How long do you think they've been together?” Kip asked, curious. “You've seen them both at All Stars, right? And at the Olympics.”

“Hell, Kip, they've always been weird about each other, with the whole on-ice rivalry, off-ice friendship thing they’ve got going on. I only really saw Hollander at the-” There was a gasp on the other end of the line as Scott realized something. “Holy hell, I think they know. About me.”

“What? How?”

“It was something Vaughnny said at the Olympics. We ran into Hollander before we went to watch his buddy figure skate. Vaughn said something about all figure skaters probably being gay, and Hollander called him out on it- rightfully, but god, I can't believe he was brave enough to say it, knowing the secret he was hiding; let alone in Russia. But then he said something about gay people looking just like everyone else, and how for all Vaughnny knew, he might be the only straight guy in the room and he would never know. Then Hollander smiled at me! It could have just been him being the Canadian golden boy or whatever, but I knew I recognized that smile! That was a Rozanov smile! That was the Rozanov I just chirped you smile.”

Kip couldn't help but laugh.

“Oh, man, the balls on that kid. You'd better post something supportive online, because that is hilarious.”

“Oh god, I'll have to- if they know, and I don't post something, then they're going to call me a coward 12 ways from Sunday next time we're at a faceoff.”

“That's the spirit. They threatened you into supporting them, no other reason-” Kip couldn't hide the disappointment in his tone, even though he knew Scott was joking… probably.

“No, that's not what I meant,” Scott hurriedly corrected. “I would do it anyway, I swear, it's just… did it have to be Rozanov? He's such a little shit on the ice.”

“Is he ever actually mean to you, or just a bit of a snarky menace?” Kip asked, genuinely curious. It wasn't something he had ever followed when he started obsessing over Scott.

“Oh, he can be mean, but no, never to me. He just calls me old. He hit Dallas Kent so hard one game that he broke his knee in two places and fractured his shoulder. Kent will never play again, but… well, the ice is a better place without the bastard, honestly. Kent was a racist, sexist, homophobic asshole, and he let everyone know it.”

“So Rozanov is a sassy badass who takes out the trash. Sounds fun to me,” Kip teased. “What's his number again, 81? Maybe I should get something to support him.”

“Don’t you dare wear his jersey-”

“Not something you get to ask, since you aren't officially seeing me.”

Kip heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line, and feared he might have pushed it too hard.

“I'm sorry-”

“No. No, I deserved that. Kip, that's why I called. What they did… I want to be brave like that. I want to come out to my team, and maybe the whole fucking world. Being without you has been awful. I want you back here in my house, and in my bed, yes, but… I want the rest of it too. I want to meet your dad, and your friends, and bring you along to team barbecues and award ceremonies. I want to introduce you as my boyfriend, if you'll still have me. I know this is a lot to put on you, especially over the phone, but-”

Kip had reached fucking nirvana.

“Yes. To all of it. I want that, all of that, with you,” he gasped out, heart thudding in his ribs. His dad looked up at Kip, obviously getting the idea that this was an important phone call. 

“Oh thank god. Uh, no pressure, but some of the boys suggested going out to a gay bar to celebrate Hollander and Rozanov. I… might have suggested the Kingfisher. We're gonna meet there in half an hour.”

Kip felt a soft smile taking over his face. This wasn't just pretty words, something that could be swept away in a day. This was action. And Kip was more than ready to kiss his boyfriend again.

“I'll be there.”

“See you soon.” Kip could hear the smile in Scott's voice too. “You can tell your dad. All of it. Where you're going and… hopefully where you'll be, tonight?”

Kip grinned. Scott sounded so adorably hopeful; there was no way he was saying no. He also had a feeling that the request for one night would turn into a request for many more. Hopefully all of them, if Kip was being honest with himself and what he wanted.

“I'll pack a bag.”

“Good… good.” Scott sounded a little hoarse.

“Go get ready, Scott. I'll see you soon.”

“See you soon. I love you.”

Kip's heart melted.

“I love you too.”

They hung up, and Kip stared at his phone, smiling bemusedly, before looking up and seeing his dad watching him with a knowing look.

“So kid, you finally ready to tell me what's been going on in your life?”

Kip smiled. Yeah, he was more than ready for that.

“I've got a date with Scott Hunter. The hockey player.”

His dad smiled back at him.

“That sounded like a little more than a date.”

Kip blushed.

“Okay, there's maybe also an invitation to come stay at his place. And probably move in with him. And share the rest of my life with him, but that was mostly subtext.”

“Sounds pretty serious, kid. Is he ready for something serious, this time?”

This time. Of course his dad had put it together.

“The only part of serious he wasn't ready for was being outed,” Kip explained. “But now it's a lot less scary, since he won't be the first, and it sounds like his teammates were really supportive of Hollander and Rozanov. I'm meeting a bunch of them at the Kingfisher.”

“Huh. And maybe if he shows that it's not just Hollander and Rozanov, the league will have a harder time sweeping them under the rug. He's not a cup winner, but silver at the Olympics isn't half bad, and he's a solid captain and a regular at All Stars,” his dad observed.

“Oh wow. I hadn't even thought about that,” Kip said, turning it over in his mind. He might have gotten there eventually, but it would have taken longer; he didn't know as much about hockey as his dad.

“Your boy probably has, otherwise the smart move would have been to see how the chips fall before doing anything. He's a good kid. Everyone gets scared sometimes, but he's making a brave choice now.”

His dad stood, pulling Kip in for a hug.

“You picked a good one, Kip. Love you, kid.”

“I love you too dad.”

“If he hurts you again, though, I am going to switch to cheering for Boston. I'll even buy you a Rozanov jersey.”

“I'm telling him you said that!” Kip laughed.

“You'd better! Now go, I'm sure you need a cute little outfit to meet your boyfriend's team in a gay bar.”

Oh, Kip absolutely did. He ran upstairs, already planning.

 

…

 

When Kip walked through the doors of the Kingfisher, the Admirals were already present. When Scott immediately stood from his table to meet Kip halfway, his teammates all noticed and looked their way.

Kip and Scott stood facing one another, an electric charge filling the space between them.

“Last chance to back out,” Kip said quietly, carefully watching Scott's face. He looked scared, but determined.

“Not on your life. You sure you're ready for the publicity?”

Kip gulped.

“I think I can handle it. It's worth it, anyway. Worth having you.”

“Thank god.”

It was the last thing Scott said, instead sweeping Kip up into a kiss, lifting him in a way that led to Kip automatically hooking his legs around his waist. The other Admirals broke out into catcalls and hollers, and the sound was overwhelmingly positive, everyone seemingly just happy that their captain was happy.

Once they broke the kiss and Scott settled Kip back onto the ground, the cheers died down. A joyful buzz had settled in amongst the people present, though, and Kip felt no fear walking up to them hand in hand with Scott. Before they sat, Scott cleared his throat.

“So, for those of you wondering, yes, I am gay. And this is Kip… my boyfriend.”

Then he nodded awkwardly as the team broke out in another round of applause and cheering, pulling himself and Kip down into the space left for them on the bench seat. At that point Kyle drifted by.

“Your usual?”

“Yes, please, thank you Kyle.”

“Anyone else?”

A round of drinks were ordered, and Kip talked Kyle into tucking his bag behind the bar for him.

Carter Vaughn leaned over to the two of them, handing Scott… Scott's phone. Kip recognized the case. Open on the screen was a photo of their kiss.

“This what you wanted, boss?”

Scott stared at the picture, eyes full of enamoured hope. And possibly tears.

“Yeah, yeah Vaughnny it's exactly what I wanted. Thanks.” He sounded a little choked up, and he hurriedly turned to Kip. “I want to post this. On socials. If you don't want to, then I can use something else, but-”

“Oh, I want. You are not getting away from me now, Scott Hunter.”

Scott huffed a laugh.

“Well alright then.”

“Also, my dad says that if you ever hurt me, he's buying me a Rozanov jersey and cheering for Boston.”

The team laughed around them.

“Now that is a real threat,” Vaughn chuckled while Scott groaned as if pained at even the idea. But soon he was staring down at his phone, crafting a statement to post along with the photo. Kip entertained the members of the team around him while Scott wrote, telling the story of how they had met. Exclamations of “So you're why he got out of that slump!” and “Well that explains the socks. And the smoothies.” followed, along with several claps on the back.

And then Scott handed him his phone. A draft of an Instagram post was loaded up, ready to publish. First was the picture of them kissing, smiles evident on their faces. Then, the caption:

 

Tonight, a couple of kids were a lot braver than I have ever been, and it made me want to be brave too. So here I am, putting my best truth forward. I'm gay, and I have a boyfriend that I love very much. I'm pretty sure that Rozanov and Hollander have unequivocally proved that you don't need to be straight to play good hockey, so I'll leave it at that, and simply wish them well. Good luck, both of you. You're about to see a whole lotta ugly coming at you from a never ending parade of stupid, but know that you're not alone. I thought I was, but now we've got each other, and my team are sitting with me as I write this. I hope Boston are just as good to you, Rozanov, and good luck with Montreal, Rook. Thanks for being brave.

Kip… I love you. Thanks for waiting for me until I was ready to come out. You've always made my world a brighter place, but you and your friends were right. You deserve sunshine.

 

Kip smiled, tagged his own account in the picture, and handed back the phone.

“It's perfect,” he declared. “I personally love how you throw that shade on Montreal without actually calling them homophobic shitbags. It's just implied.”

Scott smiled, and hit post.

“The joy of PR speak, Kip. Speaking of which, we're going to have to give you a crash course on media training, and soon.”

Kip snorted.

“I mean, I know the internet rules. Slurs aren't funny ever, never post anything you don't want to see used against you in a court of law, and never reply to an argument more than once; the trolls don't care about facts, and need less sleep than you. I figure basically the same thing applies for reporters.”

The whole table laughed.

“That’s pretty much it, Kip,” Vaughn admitted, and Scott agreed with him.

“There’s a few more details about cameras and hockey stuff specifically, but yeah. You'll be fine.”

“For social media, the block button is your friend,” Vaughn added. “And if anyone starts getting weird- like stalker kind of weird- pass that on to Scott. We've got safety teams for that shit.”

“Get his number to the WAGs,” one of the others added. “They always help each other deal with the PR stuff.”

“Gonna need a new acronym now. Husbands and boyfriends.”

“HABs?”

“I guess. Do the women's teams use that?”

“They hardly need to, they keep marrying each other.”

“I guess we're finally catching up, then.”

“It's probably nice, being with someone who gets it.”

Kip let the chatter wash over him, leaning up against Scott and basking in the fact that he could do so in public. Idly he checked his phone. Then his eyes widened as he took in all the notifications. Right. The post.

He opened Instagram.

His new follow count and mentions were ticking up in real time. He ignored that for now, instead tapping over to Scott’s post. 

There were tens of thousands of reactions already.

And the top comments were from Rozanov and Hollander.

 

rozanov_81

So brave, when we do it first anyway. 🙄 Just kidding! Proud of u. Bring your Kip to awards, yes? Would like to hear his take on paleontology. 🦖

 

realshanehollander

Sorry about Ilya, asshole is his only setting in public. Happy to have you in our corner, Scott, and we really would love to meet Kip! Hope you two have as much fun being out as we plan to!

 

rozanov_81

You like when I'm asshole 😈 Hunter, bring us smoothie boy! Perhaps can fix kale and spinach sludge of evil Hollander drinks every morning.

 

Kip laughed out loud, drawing Scott's attention to what he was looking at.

“I think Shane Hollander, Canada's golden boy, just wished us some good sex,” he explained, holding up his phone so Scott could see. “Also, Rozanov is funny.”

“Okay first- how the hell does Rozanov know about the smoothies?”

“I linked my account on the post, there's at least one picture of me at work on there,” Kip said, waving away the concern.

“Okay, fine. But secondly, Hollander making sex jokes? He blushes any time anyone talks about sex. He's always been terrible at chirping about it.”

Kip raised his brows, giving Scott a moment to think about that. When he didn't say anything, Kip decided to guide him towards the obvious answer.

“Shane Hollander just moaned like a whore when Ilya Rozanov pressed him up against the boards in one of the filthiest kisses I've ever been graced to witness. If they weren't in twelve layers of hockey gear, they would have been grinding on each other in front of every camera there. He isn't shy about sex, he's gay. Talk about sucking cock in a way that isn't just throwing around slurs and I guarantee you that man will come back with chirps.”

Scott stared into the middle distance, a look of dawning horror on his face.

“What is it?” Kip asked, bumping his shoulder with his own.

“Kip, if you're right, I'm going to have to put up with two of them. The world isn't ready for two Rozanovs.”

“Maybe they'll hyphenate?” offered one of the other members of the team. “Lord knows the jerseys will get confusing, otherwise.”

“Who says they won't just keep their own names? My wife did.”

“Are they getting married?” asked Kip, and everyone else turned to look at him and Scott.

“Did you not see the post-game interview?” Someone asked, and they both shook their heads no.

“We were a little busy having big romantic moments and deciding to come out in solidarity,” Kip offered as explanation.

“Fair enough. Still, you should see it.”

“Here,” Vaughn offered up his own phone, the video already loaded. The thumbnail was already promising; Hollander was standing tucked against Rozanov's side, both of them freshly showered and in actual proper fashion, nothing like the normal boring game day suits. Hollander was in a white blazer and loose black slacks, tailored perfectly to show off his shoulders, hips, and ass. Rozanov was in a patterned silk shirt and tight black jeans, dripping with Eurotrash glitz. They were absolutely serving. If they hadn't already come out, Kip would have clocked them on that alone.

He hit play.

“-care to disclose the nature of your relationship with one another?” The video began already partway into the interview.

“You want to know relationship? We are lovers-”

“Ilya!”

“-and fianceés. Shane proposed to me this summer, was heartbreakingly beautiful.” Hollander brought up his left hand, letting the light catch on the ring that sat on his finger, and Rozanov tugged out a necklace bearing a Russian Orthodox cross (Kip recognized it from his art history studies) and a ring that matched the one Hollander wore.

“When's the wedding?” One reporter asked, and Rozanov smiled charmingly their way.

“Have been too busy winning at hockey this year to plan wedding. Will be soon, though. Need one of the guests to stop crying at blue moon before we can invite them. But have good feeling about this! Will be resolved soon.”

Scott hit pause on the video, which Kip could understand. He had never told anyone about Scott's Blue Moon Over Brooklyn. The only other person who knew about them was Maria, and she knew they were keeping it quiet; plus, it wasn't like she had Ilya Rozanov on speed dial.

“Okay, how the fuck did he know about that?” Scott asked, his baffled voice matching Kip's inner world. “That was absolutely a dig at me, and I never fucking talked about that with anyone. How the hell did he know? Have you talked to him, has he been by the shop?”

“No, never,” Kip replied, just as confused. “Maybe he's got a legion of gay spies, looking out for other queer hockey players in the world. I can ask him when I meet him.”

“You are not meeting him.”

“If you're right, and you're the one he was just talking about, then you are absolutely taking me to their wedding as your plus one. So if we're going to meet anyway, then I might as well get to meet him sooner. Like maybe the MLH awards?”

Kip put his big brown eyes to use, looking pleadingly up at Scott, who looked down at the table with a sigh. Carter Vaughn leaned in on Scott's other side, adding his own opinion to the mix.

“Come on, Hunter. Rozanov might be a menace on the ice, but he's not a bad guy. So what if he found out about you and your boy; it's not like he ever outed you guys. Instead he's planning on inviting you to his wedding!”

“It's Rozanov, Vaughnny! He's always a menace! He's definitely up to something.”

“Maybe what he's up to is starting a friendship with the only other gay couple in the league?” Kip offered, and Scott lost some of his bluster.

“Okay, fine. I'll take you to the awards so you can meet Rozanov. But only because Hollander is the other half of that arrangement, and I actually like that guy.”

Kip smiled in victory, pressing play.

“What's it like so far, being the only out gay men in the league?”

Rozanov smirked.

“Has been barely five minutes. So far, mostly positive. Do not expect that to last. Also, am not gay, am bisexual. I can like both. Unfortunately for lovely ladies, I met Shane Hollander. Sorry, no one in world is better than moya lyubov. Zero contest,” Rozanov said with a cocky smile, as if daring anyone to try and argue with him. It was ridiculously adorable. Hollander smiled fondly at him before leaning towards the microphone.

“I am gay, just for the record. I feel the same about Ilya, though. No one else could ever understand me the way he does.”

A few of the reporters cooed over that, and Kip was tempted to do the same. They were absolutely besotted with one another, it was very sweet. Then another question came from the crowd, which immediately had the two bristling.

“Did you ever throw a match for one another?”

“No!”

“Nyet! Would never!”

They both protested loudly, looking completely insulted by the question and insinuation.

“You think Hollander needs any help winning? Are you stupid? Is brain missing? Actual question.”

“Look, would you ever let your family member win a game of monopoly? It's like that for us. We're very competitive people.”

“Whoever wins gets, ah, deciding vote in bedroom activities. Is very good incentive,” Rozanov added with a leer. Hollander swatted at his shoulder.

“Ilya! Don't tell them that.”

Kip let out a giggle. Oh, they were fun. He already adored them. Scott let out a heavy sigh.

“I take it back. I don't like Hollander anymore. He's just as bad.” Kip knew he was lying. Scott might not know how to handle the kind of queer teasing vibe these two were exuding, but he didn't hate them.

“Would not mind if we ended up on same team, though,” Rozanov was saying. “Hey Boston Management? Think on that, perhaps. Could be fun!” he continued, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at the camera.

“Is this confirmation that you're not re-signing with Montreal, Shane?” Another reporter asked.

“No comment,” Hollander replied, digging an elbow into Rozanov's ribs. Clearly, they hadn't discussed bringing that up beforehand. The media loved the smell of a scandal, though, and as Scott had mentioned earlier, it was pretty common knowledge that Montreal wasn't always the most welcoming of environments for minorities- the team, or the province it was in. So he understood why the media wouldn't drop it either.

“What was the atmosphere in the locker room like after tonight?” A reporter asked, looking pointedly at Hollander. Rozanov answered anyway.

“Fucking ecstatic. We won cup, yes? Everyone is feeling excited and happy. And happy for me- I can finally explain who has been making me smile at phone all these years.”

That caught the reporters interest, derailing the Montreal questions.

“It's been a years-long relationship?”

“Da, yes, I said, no? From the first time I met Shane in this life, we have been together and- have seen no one else.”

“Exclusive,” Hollander offered, smiling fondly at Rozanov.

“Yes, da, exclusive. There is no one else for me, and he feels the same. Why would we do anything but date one another? Even when we must be apart for work, he is just a call away. And we get to see each other at many games- teammates should be very glad we have nice homes in both our cities. Very well stocked with lube and no thin hotel walls-”

“Ilya!” Hollander smacked Rozanov on the shoulder again, causing the man to roll his eyes but at least stop talking. Then a look of absolute mischief came over his face and Kip leaned in, waiting to see what he would say next.

“Apologies to Scott Hunter for the All Star game when we were in room next to him. There is no way he did not hear something that night.”

“Ilya,” Hollander was now clearly hiding a laugh while pretending to try and stop Rozanov.

“Dude,” Kip laughed. They were hilarious. He turned to Scott. “Did they actually-?”

“Okay, fine, I am not actually sorry. The old dinosaur could learn something, should pay attention next time,” Rozanov continued as Hollander fruitlessly tried to stop him.

“Oh god,” Scott groaned, his forehead hitting the table with a thunk. “I had to wear earplugs. It was awful. That was Hollander?”

“Next time! Ilya, they're not going to room us next to anyone else ever again at this rate.”

“Please, we are too good at hockey for them to exclude, and they are too cheap to rent us whole floor. Someone will have to be next to us, might as well be Hunter. He at least likes you.”

“Not after this interview he won't!”

“At least he's self-aware,” Scott muttered into the table.

“Please, you are too nice not to like, moya lyubov.”

“And you're an asshole, moyo solnyshko.”

“Ah, but I am still yours,” Rozanov said, happily kissing Hollander on the cheek. Then Hollander broke into rapidfire Russian.

“Vozmozhno. No posle vsego etogo ty segodnya vecherom tochno ko mne ne prikosnesh'sya.”

The video uploader had helpfully captioned that:

Maybe. But there's no way you're touching me tonight after all that.

Rozanov also responded in Russian, saying “My oba znayem, chto ty veshayesh' mne lapshu na ushi.”

Which was captioned as:

We both know you are hanging noodles on my ears.

Which Kip assumed was either a mistranslation or an idiom that didn't translate well. 

“How long have you been speaking Russian?” a reporter asked, and Hollander’s expression immediately went from exasperated to fond as he smiled at Rozanov.

“Ilya's been teaching me for a few years now. I'm nowhere near fluent, but I’m close to conversational.”

“You are perfect! Let no one say otherwise!”

“Fuck off, that’s not actually helpful feedback.”

“Okay, that's enough questions-” a voice cut in from off camera. The video ended there, so Kip scrolled down to the comments, and saw a top comment explaining that the confusing translation was an idiom about telling a lie, similar to pulling someone’s leg in English; Rozanov was basically telling Hollander that he was absolutely going to be able talk him into having sex later. Kip laughed and liked the explanation, then handed the phone back to Vaughn.

“So, they are absolutely perfect for each other,” Kip stated, getting another pained groan from Scott.

“They knew I could hear them,” he moaned, sitting back up. “And they still went on like that!”

“Don't be a prude, it's just sex,” Kip huffed. “I've probably seen worse in the middle of the dance floor while clubbing.”

“No, no way. This was… something else. I don't want to talk about it.”

“Oh come on, what's the real problem?”

“It's Hollander and Rozanov!” Scott protested.

“Wouldn't have expected you to be homophobic-” Vaughn teased, and Scott dropped his head into his hands.

“It's not about that! It's about who they are as people.”

“Aw, sad your little rookie was being deflowered in the room next to you, cap?”

Scott looked up, glaring.

“That was not deflowering sex. That was practiced, athletic, sex-marathon kinda sex,” he growled, making Kip raise his eyebrows.

“So you were paying attention!” one of the guys called out, laughing as Scott dropped his head down into his hands again.

“Hey cap, how much of that practiced, athletic, sex-marathon kinda sex have you been having, to know it when you hear it?” someone else hollered. Behind his hands, Kip saw Scott blush beet red. When the guys turned to Kip, he smirked and crossed his arms.

“No comment,” he stated gleefully, letting them draw their own conclusions from his relaxed, confident posture.

“So you are media trained!” Vaughn joked.

“No, I'm just learning from Hollander,” Kip chirped back. “He seems to know what he's doing.”

Scott stared into the middle distance.

“I'm going to become a serial killer,” he declared, making Kip laugh.

“If you get Hollander and Rozanov at the same time, wouldn't that make you a spree killer?”

Scott dropped his head back onto the table with another groan as Kip laughed at his misery. Hanging out with the team was fun!

 

…

 

Scott did, in fact, bring him to the awards ceremony. The minute they hit the event floor, Kip started looking for Hollander and Rozanov. He found them, but it took him a moment to realize, because Rozanov was on one side of the room with a beautiful woman in a slinky black dress on his arm, and Hollander was standing near the bar with-

“Is that Rose fucking Landry?” Carter asked, standing next to them. “He's in a committed gay relationship and still manages to pull Rose Landry?”

“Maybe they're friends?” Kip suggested. “They're both famous.”

“Hockey famous is not the same as movie star famous,” Carter said, shaking his head.

Kip could concede that point, but fame of any shape meant you knew how to handle being around other people who had it, and also didn’t have to worry about them not knowing what to do when the attention already on you landed on them. Kip had gone through a bit of a learning curve with the amount of attention he had recently received as Scott’s boyfriend, PR training crash course or not, and could understand wanting to find friends that could share your spotlight gracefully. Scott had felt pretty bad when Kip had needed to quit his job at Straw+Berry after a single shift. To him, Hollander making friends with a movie star just made sense.

Scott herded them further into the room, chatting with a few people Kip didn't know as they went. Carter drifted off, chatting with some of his friends from other teams. Kip spent his time watching as the two halves of the internet-dubbed Hollanov couple drifted through the crowd, heading towards each other in an inevitable collision course. When they met, Kip could help but notice the way the two women with them greeted each other. The teasing curl of lips when they talked, lingering hands during an examination of their outfits. And just… a vibe. One he was very familiar with in his friend group. Yeah, Kip was pretty sure they were about as straight as Hollander and Rozanov were.

He nudged Scott, indicating the cluster to him. His boyfriend gave a heavy sigh, but guided them through the crowd at Kip's beseeching stare. He knew damn well that if he didn't, then Kip would just go over by himself.

Having finished their own greetings, Hollander and Rozanov grinned widely at their approach.

“Kip Grady! Man I wanted to see!” Rozanov greeted happily, pulling Kip in to kiss him loudly on either cheek.

“Hi Scott, good to see you, and it's nice to meet you, Kip,” Hollander added, much more formally. “And since I know Ilya is terrible and won't introduce her properly, this is Svetlana Vetrova, his close childhood friend. This is of course Rose Landry, one of my best friends and closest confidants.”

Ha! Kip loved being right.

Svetlana stepped forward first, gracefully shaking both their hands.

“Lovely to meet you both, is so good that Ilya will have hockey gay to talk with that isn't sucking his cock. Will do wonders for his personality!”

“Sveta!” Rozanov whined, pouting at the woman. “Why must you say such things to my friends?”

“Because they need to know how to deal with you, and I will not always be around to help. Shane learned the easy way. They do not get this.”

“Oh, fuck off. I did not learn the easy way. Getting past his emotional walls was a fucking struggle.”

“Oh please, like you were any better. Took years of sucking my cock to admit you were gay!”

“Yeah, well-”

Rose Landry shoved Hollander, cutting off whatever he was about to say, and stepped forward with her hand held out.

“Hi. Nice to meet you. Call me Rose. And don't mind them; they're always like this. It's how they flirt.”

“Ah yes, and you can call me Svetlana! I look forward to becoming great friends!”

“Um. Thank you,” Kip stammered, feeling a little crushed by the sheer weight of personality everyone present was exuding.

“Yeah, nice to meet you both,” Scott added.

“So… are we just collecting all the queer people over here?” Kip asked, and Rose and Svetlana shared a look.

“I mean…”

“We haven't…”

They stopped, and blushed. Kip incredulously raised both eyebrows at them.

“Girl.”

“Okay, but don't tell anyone!” Rose admitted. “We're not out yet.”

“I won't say a word. But Hollanov hardly make for an effective beard.” 

“We’re friends! It's good enough cover!”

“That's another thing; how are you friends with Hollander?” Scott asked. “No offence, but you're not exactly… compatible. Or running in the same circles. So how did that even happen?”

Rose shrugged and smiled.

“He messaged me on instagram. Thought it was a fan account at first, but when I checked, it was the actual real deal. He was earnest. Polite. Just wanted to compliment my acting, and then, well- I grew up watching hockey, and none of my actor friends care about it. It was nice to talk about it with someone who really knew the sport. Then I mentioned I was learning some Russian for a role and he said he needed someone to practice with too. Next thing you know, we're best friends.”

“That's the most adorable friendship story I've ever heard,” Kip cooed, pressing his hands to his cheeks. “How did you and Svetlana end up meeting?”

“Wedding planning for these idiots,” Svetlana answered, flapping a hand towards Rozanov and Hollander. “They did not think they needed chairs. Chairs! At a wedding! We have taken over. With help from Yuna, also, but she is too tragically straight to plan this wedding properly in full. Sees Shane as innocent little dove. Ha! Imagine. So yes, we plan, we meet, we get dinner, dinner leads to more. Has been… nice. Very nice.”

Okay, that was adorable too. And yeah, Kip had known Hollander wasn't innocent after seeing one kiss on the ice, let alone their interview afterwards. Yuna Hollander must be living in heavy denial.

Speaking of Hollander, Kip turned to look at him and Rozanov.

“Is your getting together just as adorable, or is it more your style?”

Shane snickered.

“He jerked off at me in the showers,” he answered with a smirk, gesturing at Rozanov.

“After I caught you looking, Hollander. You always leave off that part!”

“You had spent the entire day flirting with me!”

“Which you had completely missed. You only know this because I told you!”

“You called me pretty!”

“And you thought was chirp about makeup for camera! Was being for real!”

“Genuine!”

“Da, is what I said!”

“Okay, so we're going to go with no, not adorable, on that one,” Scott interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“But yes, is very them,” Svetlana added.

“How did you two meet?” Rose asked, only to be interrupted by Rozanov.

“Wait, I know this one! Smoothie shop! Kip worked there. Hunter is health freak out running. Match made in heaven.”

“How do you know that?” Scott asked, just as baffled as he was back at the Kingfisher.

“Oh, that's easy. Time travel. You told us in future. Was you two coming out first last time, we completely stole your thunder. But really, hiding for like four more years? Sounds boring. Not doing that again.”

“Okay, don't tell us then,” Scott groaned. “Hollander, you got a better explanation?”

Hollander grinned.

“Nope, sticking with time travel. I've gotta support my fianceé, you know?”

“I'm going to continue to believe you've got a legion of spies, hunting down every gay hockey player to support in their times of need,” Kip joked, and Rozanov laughed happily.

“As good an explanation as any,” he agreed. “My next gay spy target is in Greek story. Illiad. Will make sense later. After he has been Ilya-d.”

“Why are you like this?” Hollander asked with a snort.

“You like me like this! Am gay Yoda!”

“You're not gay.”

“But am Yoda for gays! And bis! I am down with the Bees and Gees!”

“Never say that again.”

“You don't know any Ells?” Kip asked, cocking his head towards Svetlana and Rose.

Rozanov sighed, looping his arms around both women's necks.

“Sadly no, we are all Bees here. Such lack of diversity,” this was said in such a teasing but dejected manner, Kip could hardly believe that Rozanov wasn't an actor himself.

“Impressive that you clocked them though, no one else has managed.”

“How did you do that?” Rose asked, but she didn't actually seem worried about it, so he decided to be flippant with the answer. 

“I used my eyes, of which I have two.” Kip teased.

“And functioning gaydar, it seems! I thought one of you must have; you found each other somehow,” Rozanov butted in.

“Listen, Rozanov-” Scott started, but he was quickly interrupted.

“Ilya, to my friends. Are we not friends, Scott Hunter?”

And Kip noticed, as he asked, that Ilya Rozanov, menace on and off the ice, looked… shyly hopeful, under all his bluster. He also realized that the man was young; younger than Kip even. He had done the math before, but it hadn't really struck him until now. Yeah, he was rude and cocky, but he was also funny, and really, just a young man trying to make some friends that might actually understand him.

Scott seemed to see it too, because he actually paused before answering, rather than going off the cuff.

“Yeah, Rozanov- Ilya. We can be friends,” he said, holding out a hand for Ilya to shake. Ilya smiled, wide and boyish, taking Scott's hand happily.

“Kip too! Yes?” he asked, looking Kip’s way. Kip nodded his assent; he genuinely liked the guy, and he had already switched to using his first name in his head anyway.

“And please call me Shane, both of you,” Hollander- Shane added, then looked pointedly at Scott. “I'm hardly a rookie anymore.”

“You don't like Rook, Rook?”

“No, Mr. Hunter, sir, not particularly.” Kip snorted at his playful tone. Being out was a good look on Shane; Kip had gone back and watched some old interviews of the both of them, and Shane was always so rigid in front of a camera- except in the post-kiss interview. The way he was relaxed then and now was like seeing an entirely different person from Captain Hollander of the Montreal Metros.

Ilya, somehow, was entirely unchanged. He had always been like this.

Scott huffed a laugh.

“Alright, Shane, I see how it is.”

“See moya lyubov? I told you old man would be easy to talk around,” Ilya preened, looping his arms around Shane's waist and visibly resting his entire body against him, though Shane didn't even buckle at the sudden weight.

“Oh come on, I am not that old-” Scott immediately protested.

“Ok, then tiny baby child-”

“Ilya, I'm four years older than you.”

“I call you child or I call you dinosaur. Pick one.” Kip snorted. That was a false dichotomy if he had ever heard one. No way was Scott going to-

“...I choose dinosaur. Dinosaurs are cool.” Well, at least his boyfriend was pretty.

“The Dinosaur has spoken. So it shall be. No take backs!” Ilya cackled with glee, and Shane shook his head as he smiled softly.

“Jesus, you're the child out of the two of us,” Scott complained.

“A child would not be having as much sex as I am having.”

“You know what? I'm not gonna touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

“Smart choice.” Shane chimed in. Kip just smiled to himself. Scott might joke about hating Rozanov’s chirps, but the way he and Ilya bickered was like they were old friends already.

Rose clapped her hands together, drawing everyone's attention.

“Well, this has been lovely. Kip, you should come sit with us when the boys go play host.” Right, because all three of them were presenting awards tonight. “For now, I want to go get a drink and see what kind of pickup lines hockey players use.”

“Oh, some of them can be creative; all that practice with chirps. Gets worse with age, though. Too many head injuries,” Svetlana quipped, looping her arm through Rose’s. “Have fun, boys! The idiots are about to descend!”

Her prediction proved accurate, as the four of them were soon inundated with a flood of management and players who were “just so curious” about how “people like them” found “something like hockey”. Or, as Kip was translating in his head “How the fuck did any gay people get in here? They're supposed to be too fruity for sports” (he's paraphrasing). Not to be unfair to the whole establishment, some people came by to genuinely wish them well, and several of them started to stick around and ward off the more idiotic flavour. One of those guys was Carter. Shane immediately perked up at seeing him.

“Hey Vaughnny! Have you learned anything about gay guys looking like everyone else?” he chirped, grinning a little maniacally.

“If you only count 20-somethings that can't grow a proper playoff beard, then sure!” Carter chirped back. Shane mimed being shot in the heart.

“Rude!”

“Dinosaur could grow beard if he tried, he is just too fabulous for stupid tradition,” Ilya butted in, gaining himself a friendly slap on the back from Scott.

“You said it, brother. Handsomely stubbled is all I need to be.”

“Hear hear!” Kip added with a laugh. “Not that the hot lumberjack look is bad, per se-”

“Shut it, you,” Scott laughed, wresting Kip into a headlock.

As Kip tapped out and came up laughing, he looked around at all the friendly faces surrounding them and quickly memorized the feeling. Because this was what pure joy felt like.

 

…

 

When the wedding invite arrived, it was labelled for Kip and a plus one.

Scott immediately called Ilya to yell at him, because of course they knew the source of that particular joke. Kip personally thought it was hilarious. After a solid five minutes of laughter from the man, he finally admitted that a second invite was on its way, labelled properly for the two of them. Then he asked Scott and Kip to be his groomsmen, joining Marleau in the ranks and with Svetlana as best woman. They said yes.

When the second “properly labelled” invite arrived, it was for Kip Grady and The Dinosaur.

That time it was Kip that spent five minutes laughing. Really, Scott had set himself up for that one.

 

…

 

The wedding was beautiful. Shane's summer cottage was decked out in lights and flowers, and a live band made the ceremony something absolutely special. There were also chairs, as promised. Shane's groomspeople were both Hayden and Jackie Pike, JJ Boiziau, and Rose Landry as best woman. The eldest Pike children were flower girls, scattering flower petals over the ground before the Hollander parents walked both grooms down the aisle.

Both Shane and Ilya had a line in their vows that “In every time, in every life, I will find you.” which was a theme that seemed to resonate with the both of them, as it came up in different forms through the rest of their speeches.

It was very sweet, even if they absolutely weren't. About four dances into the night, things started getting raunchy on the dance floor. Kip was not at all surprised; honestly, he was frankly shocked that they had made it past the cake cutting with everyone's clothes still on. Soon, the newlyweds were down to just their trousers and undershirts, shirts and jackets discarded on a nearby chair, and were pulling out some dance moves that looked like they should've been coming from figure skaters rather than hockey players. Kip said as much to Scott, and Yuna Hollander must have overheard because she leaned over and told them that Shane had trained as both a hockey player and a figure skater before quitting to pursue hockey when the time came to go pro in one or the other.

Kip immediately banned Scott from ever telling Carter. Yuna looked back at the dancing couple, blanched, and declared she was tired and heading home for the night before breaking away to go collect her husband. Kip looked, saw Shane on his knees climbing his way up Ilya as the band played a decent cover of “Lay All Your Love On Me”, and decided to drag Scott onto the dance floor, because that looked fun.

 

…

 

Kip and Scott enjoyed the Hollanov wedding so much, they basically stole the blueprint for their own the next summer. The night went by in a twinkling blur, but it was a very happy blur.

What he remembered completely was Greece, and the sunny days they passed in their rental villa.

 

…

 

When Troy Barrett came out, he cited Ilya as his “gay Yoda”, to which Ilya responded;

 

rozanov_81

Gay or gay not. Tho there is also bi. Proud of u 🏳️‍🌈

 

That shook loose Kip’s memory of meeting Ilya, where he had said something about being a gay Yoda and getting someone Ilya-d… the Illiad. Which was set in Troy. 

He immediately messaged Ilya- under his comment on Troy’s post because Kip was also a supporter of chaos.

 

kippersbits

okay, do you actually have a gay spy army?

 

rozanov_81

is for me to know, and you to never find out because you refuse to believe real explanation 

 

kippersbits

no but seriously 

 

rozanov_81

👿

 

barrettwithme

tf are you guys talking about?

 

realshanehollander

Don't worry about it. Congrats on coming out! 🏳️‍🌈

 

…

 

They were at another awards ceremony. By now they were old hat for Kip, just another opportunity to wear the nice things Scott liked to buy him and to visit with the friends they only saw a few times a year. This one was memorable because Shane and Ilya had invited them to their room as soon as they arrived, and the look on Shane's face had stopped either of them from making lewd jokes about it.

Then they delivered their news. 

“Why the fuck would you both leave Boston? And go to the Centaurs of all places?” Scott ranted, pacing back and forth through the living space as Kip watched from his perch on a chair, while Ilya and Shane were curled together on the loveseat. “Ilya, you've been there for eight years, Shane for four. This move makes no sense from a hockey standpoint, so what gives? What did they do to you?”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Shane wants to explain first. Then I will go.”

“There’s a lot of things lining up all at once,” Shane started. “The Centaurs do make some sense. We do want to be closer to my parents, and we want to be able to visit the cottage more easily; now that so much of our summers are spent running the hockey camps, we don't have nearly as much time out there. And Ottawa will be a fun challenge! We won the cup two years out of the four I've been with Boston, and were in playoff contention the other two. Fuck you very much, by the way,” he added, pointing at Scott.

“Hey, Svetlana said it was my year, and your mom agreed.”

“And they were right, and you deserved it, but that last minute steal was rude.”

“Heaven forbid someone is rude in a game of hockey.”

“Yes, that never happens,” Ilya chimed in, making Shane huff out a laugh.

“Okay, fair enough. But yeah, Boston's a great team, and without us they'll still be a good one. It'll take work to build the Centaurs into a playoff contender, and I think that's a challenge we're ready to face.” He finished with a smile, but it was his fake media-smile, not a real one. Kip narrowed his eyes at him, sensing that something was off.

“Okay Mr. Media Training. That was the most personality-lacking answer I've heard you give since you were ambushed by that reporter outside the grocery store last month. What's the actual reason?”

Shane sighed heavily, leaning into his husband. Ilya took over explaining.

“Oh good, my turn. Boston wants to make cap space, start training up next generation. Were not going to renew contract with Shane. Figured they only need me. No such thing as paired hockey players, is legal for them to do. But is bad idea. Told them if he goes, I go. They called- what is English, lyubov?”

“They called his bluff, but he wasn't bluffing,” Shane said. He sounded tired- looked tired, too.

“Yes, this. If they try to out-bid Centaurs, increase my contact, they make cap space issue worse. So they lose both of us. But Centaurs can afford both of us, and it is Shane's hometown. Will be fun!”

“Yeah, fun. We just have to make sure their plane doesn't crash in three years, and we'll be golden!” Shane’s voice was weirdly snarky, in that way people get when they're retreading old arguments.

“What?” Kip asked, utterly confused. A plane crash? In three years?

“The time travel, you remember? I explained this to you years ago,” Ilya said, smiling sadly.

“Ah yes. The time travel,” Scott said, sharing a look with Kip. Whenever Shane or Ilya knew something they weren't supposed to, they offhandedly blamed it on their supposed time travel. It was such a weird bit to keep doing when they knew that no one believed them that Kip was halfway to accepting it had actually happened, because it was the explanation for their behaviour that made the most sense.

“Centaurs plane crashed in 2021. I died. Was very sad. Shane lived little longer, got therapy because of dead boyfriend, then he died in terrible hockey accident. We both woke up in 2008 when we shook hands first time.”

Shane stared at a wall, not meeting either of their eyes as he started talking.

“That was a pretty big shock, I'll tell you that much. I thought I was just super concussed and hallucinating my dead boyfriend, but then it just kept being 2008. And then it was 2009. And time just kept moving forward and he's still here but it's 2018 again and we're going to the Centaurs, and then soon it'll be 2021 again and-” So this was what one of Shane's panic attacks looked like. Kip had been warned that they could happen, but had never had the… pleasure… of seeing one in person. Shane was just usually so confident and happy. Ilya immediately curled closer to his husband, wrapping one hand around the base of Shane’s neck. 

“We are going to stop the crash, moya lyubov. Will be fine. And if it happens anyway, then you will be with me and we can die together. Very romantic. Either way it works out!”

Shane let out a strained laugh.

“I hate that I find that comforting,” he groaned, tucking himself into Ilya's neck.

Kip was watching this play out in front of him, mind racing. Because either two of the best hockey players in the world had a shared delusion strong enough to send one of them into panic attacks… or they really had travelled in time. Which was insane to believe. And yet…

He looked at Scott, searching his eyes to see if he had come to the same conclusion. From his shocked expression, Kip was going to go with yes.

“Jesus.” Scott breathed out. “It's real?”

“Enh, no real proof of Jesus. Could be anything sending us back, really. Maybe aliens! Who knows? I just like that they're friendly.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, Scott. Yes, the time travel is real,” Ilya responded, completely deadpan.

“Well shit.”

There was a brief pause as Ilya comforted Shane and Kip and Scott contemplated the reality of time travel.

“Okay, what are you going to do about the crashing plane?” Kip finally asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. “You said you had a plan, what is it?”

“Will call in bomb threat from burner phone on day of crash. Maybe even frame my shitass brother, could be funny! But will tell them is in engine, will have to check it out.”

Kip huffed a laugh.

“Wow, as shitty as that plan is, it might actually work.”

“If it does not I am not above causing problems on purpose.”

“Pretty sure that is the first thing anyone learns about you, Ilya.”

The man grinned, seemingly proud of the fact.

“Okay- and I can't believe this is something we have to plan for, just for the record- but you said that Shane died in a hockey accident, not a plane crash. You got that covered too?” Scott asked, crossing his arms.

“Shane will be fine; is not Metro anymore. Easy. Will have defensive line of actual teammates and not homophobic assholes that don’t do job,” Ilya snapped, making Kip raise his eyebrows. His own team had gotten him killed last time?

“Ilya’s also alive. I wasn't exactly skating at my best, clinical depression and all. My soul had basically already left with him,” Shane added.

Jesus fucking Christ, these two.

“So you are saved twice! Is good, yes?” Ilya exclaimed, running a hand through Shane's hair and making the man smile up at him.

“Yes, it's good,” he agreed, and reeled Ilya in for a kiss.

“Jesus,” Scott groaned.

Kip reached over and took his hand.

“Let them have this, it's sweet.”

“It won't be for long,” Scott muttered, but Kip just shook his head and Scott sighed in defeat. After a moment, Ilya and Shane pulled apart. 

Shane looked sheepishly over and Scott and Kip. 

“Sorry for freaking out there; it happens, sometimes.”

“Dude, you fucking died in another life. I'm surprised you're as even keeled as you are, honestly.”

Shane laughed at Kip’s droll humour.

“Oh, I used to be worse. I’ve had more panic attacks over being outed than about dying. Brains are stupid as hell.”

“No, that actually makes sense,” Scott said considerately. “Being outed means dealing with the aftermath. Dying just means you're dead.”

“I think we have proved that is not always true,” Ilya pointed out with a smirk.

“Well, there you go! If the plane still crashes, maybe you'll just loop again.”

Shane groaned.

“Again? But we finally got everything perfect this time. Or mostly perfect, at least.”

“But imagine; would never have to retire. Endless hockey for rest of time!” Ilya said with a grin, which Shane mirrored.

“The smallest change in play completely shifts every match, we never play the same game twice,” Shane enthused, eyes bright with joy. Kip looked between the two hockey nuts, and then over at Scott, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“If you were really in a time loop… wouldn’t you want to try doing something else?” he asked hesitantly.

“Why?” Shane asked bluntly. Ilya looked just as confused.

“I mean, maybe once or twice?” Scott offered. “But like he said, every game would play out differently, there’s so many randomizing factors on the ice.”

Kip rolled his eyes at them all. Obsessed, the lot of them.

“Okay, new topic. What was the first loop like? Aside from you both dying, I mean,” Kip asked, curious. Shane laughed.

“Oh, man. It wasn't terrible, but it could've been better. Let's see…” he leaned back, placing his legs in Ilya’s lap. “Right about now I would be at my parent's house sleeping off a concussion, planning on how to tell Ilya that I loved him when he came to visit my cottage for the first time this summer. You and Scott had just come out, and I got to watch the Montreal team’s homophobic comments constantly popping up in the groupchat any time you were mentioned. Oh, and half the world thought I was dating Rose Landry, because I did, in the fall, making a last-ditch effort at not being gay. It failed horribly, and I really hurt Ilya.”

“To be fair, I was always hot and cold with you, ignored you for year around Olympics, and kept sleeping with girls and rubbing that in your face.” Ilya looked apologetic as he said it, and Shane shook his head, pulling his hand into his lap.

“You didn't mean to; you thought I was too,” he said kindly, but Ilya looked away.

“I knew you were not, just refused to believe it. Made me feel like less shitty person.”

Wow, talk about drama. But this at least sounded like a rehashing of an old argument, not a fresh one coming to light.

“You went through all that, and still ended up together?” Scott asked incredulously. Shane and Ilya both turned to stare at him like he was stupid.

“Scott, we're so in love that when we died apart, the universe reorganized itself so we could be together. The problems just made our relationship stronger once we were finally on the same page,” Shane explained slowly, as if he really was worried that Scott was stupid.

“And made the sex incredible. Moya lyubov is very hot when angry,” Ilya added, breaking the moment.

“Well, you crazy kids can keep your hot, angry sex. I like actually having fun in the bedroom,” Scott said with a snort. Kip smiled at him fondly.

Ilya blew a raspberry at them.

“Do not knock until you try. Is very fun, especially when Hollander goes feral and gets blood in teeth.”

“Shut up,” Shane grumbled, blushing. “You ask me to.”

“Oh, absolutely. And you do not fail to deliver.” 

He was openly leering at Shane now, and Kip could see that he was very close to not holding back, despite there being company.

Kip was, in fact, completely sure that they both had a bit of an exhibition kink, amongst the many others he had seen evidence of over the years. Blood in his teeth? Yeah, that’s another one for the list. Unfortunately for them, Kip was not into being a witness to the show, and neither was Scott so far as he could tell.

“Well, good talk. Have fun rebuilding the Centaurs! Let us know if you need anything!” He quickly got out of the chair and grabbed Scott's arm, dragging him towards the door. When Scott didn't move fast enough for his liking, he also called a “Have fun with the sex! Don't forget the award show tonight!” over his shoulder, and Scott caught on and got with the program.

Ilya laughed at him. Shane was suspiciously silent, and Kip did not turn back to see why.

“Bye, Kip! Bye, Scott! See you tonight!”

Absolute menaces, the both of them. Kip let the door slam on their way out.

 

…

 

“You know, they're hardly kids. Technically they've lived an additional decade and a bit, doing this twice,” Kip mused one night.

Scott laughed at him.

“It's not the years, it's the attitude. They're still kids. Anyway, from how repressed it sounds like they were the first time, I don't think that round really counts, anyway.”

Kip laughed, conceding the point.

 

…

 

In their first year with the Centaurs, Shane and Ilya took their team to the playoffs, unfortunately losing out to San Jose in the early rounds- leading to much cursing from Ilya, and complaints about having to wait another year for the right goalie.

When they then knocked out the Admirals from contention, Scott joined him.

“San Jose? They don't even understand what ice is down there!” He heard Scott ranting into the phone, and smiled. They had come a long way from his husband complaining about Rozanov being a menace.

Like, he was. But he was their menace.

 

…

 

In October 2020, Luca Haas joined the Centaurs. Kip took one look at the way Ilya and Shane both fluttered around him on the bench like overbearing parents and fired off a text to the groupchat he had with Ilya, Shane, and Scott.

 

Kip

Is Luca Haas your next gay hockey child?

 

Scott

Another one already?

 

It was a few hours before he got a response, since they were in fact off doing their jobs and playing hockey.

 

Ilya

Maybe. 🤫

 

Shane

He isn't out, so we don't know for sure. Either way, he's a good kid.

 

Kip

I kinda love that the vibe you're giving is “It's okay, honey, we'll love you even if you are straight.”

 

Ilya

🤣

Is true tho.

 

…

 

In January 2021, a bomb threat was called in on the Centaur’s plane. It came from Russia, the person claiming it was because Ilya was Russian and yet allowed to continue to promote a gay lifestyle.

Kip knew that Svetlana had talked one of her friends back there who knew a thing or two about making untraceable calls into doing it for them, no questions asked.

The inspection team didn't find an explosive, but did find a critical failure in an engine line that would've led to the plane crashing if it hadn't been found.

Ilya was quoted by the media as saying “I am not gay, am bisexual! They cannot even hate me properly!”

Kip and Scott quietly agreed that the next time someone told them they had time travelled, they were just going to believe it.

 

…