Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Shane Hollander/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Original Male Character(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Additional Tags:

Threesome - M/M/M, Threesome, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Enthusiastic Consent, Bottom Ilya Rozanov, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch Ilya Rozanov, Polyamory, Slow Burn, slow burn but also theyre having sex the entire time, Communication, or at least the best communication three himbo jocks with anxiety can manage, Open Relationships, Minor Original Character(s), Double Penetration, mollanov cocktail, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Denial of Feelings, Hurt/Comfort

Language:

English

Series:

Part 3 of the system

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-26 Completed: 2026-09-08 Words: 89,367 Chapters: 20/20

the same team

Summary

“This might have been a bad idea.”
“You think so?”
“Hollander’s pissed.” Marlow said, stating the obvious.
“No he’s not.” Ilya answered easily. “He’s just nervous.”
“About what?”

“About asking if he can watch you fuck me.”

 

-OR-

Ilya and Marlow have been hooking up for years - though it was never personal (until it was too late).

Notes

This is basically one long story that accidentally became three different fics because I don't plan things well. I would recommend reading Part 1 and Part 2 of the series for context if you are interested!

Chapter 1: The Proposition

Ilya: Looking forward to the game tomorrow?

Marlow: Looking forward to kicking your ass.

Ilya: Drinks after :)?

Marlow: You know it.

Marlow scanned up through their text message history. It was pretty sparse, since Ilya got his trade to Ottawa. It was wild how quickly an entire year had passed. 

Even now, Cliff still scanned instinctively for Ilya on the ice, or when they went out - looking for that familiar profile - broad shoulders, a narrow waist and sharp cheekbones. 

It was a relief not having to babysit some guy and make sure he got his dick wet so that they could keep winning games. Now, he could just focus on himself.

That was what he told himself.

For several solid years leading up to Ilya leaving the team, Cliff Marlow had abided by a strange - but strangely reliable - pre-game ritual. 

If Ilya Rozanov got laid the night before a game, Boston would win. 

When the eventuality occurred that Rozanov could not find someone to hook up with, Cliff stepped in to help. 

It had been easy. 

Fun.

Rozanov was incredible enough in bed, even if he was a guy.

Good enough that Marlow didn’t care he wasn’t into dudes himself.

Not having that anymore had been… odd. 

An adjustment. 

Marlow had considered experimenting hooking up with other guys - on and off. Ultimately he filed it away as not being worth the hassle. Marlow was no Scott Hunter. He wasn’t interested in a passing curiosity turning into a label or a defining trait of his career. 

He was perfectly content sticking with women.

On the off-nights where he went home alone when Marlow had only his right hand to keep him company… well. Ilya was still there as well. 

After years of hooking up with the guy, it was hard to keep him out. When he closed his eyes the phantom sensation of Ilya’s mouth on his cock still helped get him there. The soft tenor of his voice when he got needy and too horny to think. Fuck, it was cute. Guys didn’t just make noises like that.

It wasn’t just that Ilya was - hot? Pretty? Cliff didn’t even know.

He just… wanted. 

Marlow had always been a creature of habit. He didn’t think much about it. 

When he got laid, it was with women.

When he was alone and jerking off, it was with Ilya. 

At least until he thought of something better, which just never happened to come up.

-

Allens was a disaster of a rookie. 

He had been giving Boston trouble for weeks now. He was performing well on the second line. He was fast, he handled the puck well. The problem was his hot head. He instigated fights, lost his temper at any perceived slight on the ice and let that take the wheel during the game. 

It was for this reason that during a scuffle during the second half of the game, Marlow found himself hanging back as Allens and an Ottawa defenceman started exchanging blows. As an enforcer, normally it would be Cliff’s job to get in there and start throwing punches. But Boston was well up with a comfortable 5-2 lead and it was as good an opportunity as any for the kid to get some sense knocked into him.

So while the rookie was getting a reality check behind the net, Cliff reached out and wrapped an arm around Rozanov’s middle as he was skating by toward the fray. A few others were doing that on the ice as well, pairing up to keep the scrum from escalating. Technically, this should have had Marlow tying up Boodram. He wasn’t too sure what possessed him to act. 

Maybe he just wanted the guy in his arms again.

Ilya was pulled back up against his chest. He turned and looked up at him, blinking with surprise. Then he smiled, going soft in the corners of his eyes. The white of the ice made Ilya’s irises look pale and sharp and pretty. 

“You’re going to make Boodram feel unwanted, you know.”

“He’s busy teaching Allens some manners.”

The refs had broken up the tussle, the instigators skating off in a huff to the penalty box. Above them, the Jumbotron was now showing the two former teammates tied up in the friendly hug. Arms around one another was normal for a tie-up. Talking and laughing with one another was a fun novelty, and the crowd was loving it. Marlow cuffed Ilya playfully on the helmet as the two broke apart. 

That night, Marlow stood under the hot spray of the shower. He was fixated on the feeling of Ilya in his arms. Imagined pushing him down onto the ice, pinning him there. He came roughly, imagining the taste of salt on the sweat of his skin.

Shit.

-

“The internet is loving you and Marlow.”

Shane said on a video call to Ilya that night. 

“Hm, I think it is more that your algorithm loves me.” Shane beamed, mostly over the way the word algorithm tumbled over Ilya’s tongue. He was in his kitchen, unloading the dishwasher with his shirt off. Grey sweatpants hung low on his hips. Shane sat back on his hotel bed, sucking on the drawstring of his hoodie and wishing he was there. 

“It was good Marlow did not join that fight. Boodram does not need another missing tooth.”

“When did Boodram lose a tooth?” Shane asked, mostly just to keep listening to Ilya’s voice. Jetlag was messing with his head, and he really needed to sleep at a normal hour tonight. Ilya’s voice was soothing. If he closed his eyes, it was almost like he was back in their bed.

“During practice scrimmage.” Ilya said with a wicked smile. “Fell face first, tripped on his own skate.”

Shane sniggered sympathetically.

“What other gossip do you know?”

Ilya paused, turning a cereal bowl over in his hands. Shane smiled sleepily. Ilya was considering something juicy, he could tell. He tried to keep his tone light, but it still came out sounding more like a confession.

“Marlow knows about us.”

Shane bolted upright.

“What?”

“Yes, it is fine. He is good at keeping secrets. Marlow is not interested in gossip.”

“When did you tell him?” Shane said, trying to keep the hurt and anger out of his voice.

“I didn't tell him, he figured it out. Just like Pike. Before All Stars.” Ilya in his phone brandished the cereal bowl with a flourish. 

“We should meet him for dinner.” Ilya said, struck by the thought. “This way it is even.”

Shane continued to fret, and to chew down the frustration that Ilya hadn’t thought to mention this to him before. 

“How did he find out then?” Shane pressed.

“I uh,” Ilya had picked up his phone, his face filling up the screen. He paused thoughtfully. “I don’t know. He didn’t say. We’ll ask him over dinner. Ah! you are in Boston in two weeks and I have time off. We will meet there.” Ilya looked to be multitasking on his phone by the way his eyes were darting about.

“Are you sure that’s alright?” Shane flagged a bit. “I never really met the guy before.”

“Yes, because I was such good friends with Pike when we went to his house for dinner. I am already texting Marlow, sweetheart.”

Ilya glanced down at the phone with all the fondness in the world. 

“He will love you. Marlow is a good friend of mine. He should be your friend too.”

“Okay.” Shane hugged his knees a bit. 

“Good.” 

Ilya beamed, then his expression smoothed over in consideration. 

“Also you should know. I Marlow and I used to hook up.”

“What?” Shane’s jaw dropped. Ilya must have figured that Shane’s night was already shot with the news that someone else knew their secret, what was one more world-altering fun fact?

“He’s not gay.” Ilya shrugged, carefully and forcefully indifferent about it. 

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Is what he always said, I don’t know. We stopped after you and I got serious.”

Shane leaned forward, gripping his phone tight. All thoughts of sleep were thoroughly forgotten.

“I need details. Now.”

-

The Montreal-Boston game was packed. 

Ilya showed up for the game, which got a Jumbotron feature and a roar of support from the audience, as well as a few scattered boos. It was a little over a year since his trade to Ottawa, which had given enough time for most of Boston to settle any feelings of betrayal into a grudging fondness, though clearly not all of them.

As usual when they played, Shane and Marlow scarcely ran into one another. Shane was quick, and was too laser-focused to pay much attention to anything other than the puck and the ice. During games, things tended to narrow into a strategic whirl. 

It wasn’t until they were all clearing off the ice at the end of the game that Shane managed to catch his gaze as he coasted by. 

The barest, subtlest nod of his head.

Shane returned it, too dumbstruck to do much more than mirror the action.

He blew out a long breath as he charged off the ice to the locker room.

This was going to be a long night.

-

Ilya had spent his years in Boston getting a good lay of the land when it came to bars and restaurants. He heaped many reassurances on Shane that they’d be meeting at a discrete location - one mostly full of artist types who didn’t pay much attention to hockey. 

Besides, it was okay now.

With the announcement of the Irina Foundation and their hockey camp, the sizzling friction of their “rivalry” was barely a story worth reporting these days. Shane and Ilya had already tackled a few strategic “sightings” that had eased the public’s mind that they were now friends. 

Friends meeting a friend for a few drinks.

That’s all this was.

No big deal.

Shane watched Ilya get up off the booth, crossing the bar to greet the tall, solid brick of a man who just walked in.

He never met Cliff Marlow formally. Though he knew that he and Ilya had been close when he played for Boston. Close enough to keep in touch whenever they played each other.

He hadn’t realized they were close enough that they had been having sex nearly as long as Ilya had with Shane. 

Shane watched as the two men greeted each other. 

Marlow wrapped an arm around Ilya’s shoulders, dragging him in for a tight hug. When they parted, Marlow’s hand slid back, holding Ilya by the back of the neck. 

He… squeezed - just a little. Gave Ilya a small shake, as if just to show he could move him.  

It was perfectly friendly, effortless. 

Shane swallowed, his fist tightening around the beer at his table. 

“Marlow, this is-”

“Shane Hollander. Yeah, hey. Nice to meet you.”

Shane took Marlow’s hand as the man sat across from them. 

“You want a drink?”

“Yeah. Jameson’s fine.”

Ilya nodded, vanishing before Shane could get a word in edgewise. 

“Uh. Hey.” Marlow said, looking Shane over. 

“Hey.”

A beat.

“Great game.” 

“Could have been better.” Marlow smirked. 

“Is Sebbin okay?”

“He’s been downplaying some shoulder pain. You noticed that?” Marlow smirked, giving Shane an appraising look. Of course Hollander did. He probably picked up on the injury before he even got onto the ice. 

No wonder the guy had managed to secure a 3-1 win against Boston almost single-handedly. Sebbin might as well not have been in the goal at all.

Still, hockey talk was an easy fallback for the both of them, and filled up the empty air as Ilya took his time chatting with the bartender. 

Once they moved away from the still-sore topic of Boston’s loss that evening, Marlow turned out to be a pretty easy guy to talk to for Shane. He said what was on his mind plainly. He didn’t use a lot of innuendo. Didn’t seem like the type to say one thing and think something else. 

It was largely that reason when Marlow noted-

“Rozy said you think pretty loud. Something on your mind?” 

-That Shane felt that he might be safe to hedge his bets and answer.

“When did you figure us out?” Shane asked, taking a sip of his beer he desperately hoped was nonchalant. 

Marlow sat back and crossed his elbows over his chest, giving Shane a long and considering gaze. 

“That night you two ran into each other at the night club in Montreal. Back when you were dating Rose Landry.”

“The night… oh.” Shane’s ears pinked. He looked down at the table. “Yeah.”

Marlow wasn’t used to this perspective of Shane Hollander. In all the years playing against the guy, he didn’t even think he ever really looked him properly head-on. He knew what the guy looked like, of course. But if he conjured an image in his mind’s eye it was always from some promotional image or ad campaign. On the ice, Hollander was always just a furious blur of blue and red. 

If he had to close his eyes and think ‘Hollander’ the image that conjured there was the back of his head, a white ‘24’ on a blue jersey as he tore down the rink. The summoned image came complete with Rozanov there - chasing after him, hot on his heels. 

That’s how it had always been. 

But this was different. Hollander’s eyes were far-away soft. His shoulders were a little slumped, making him look smaller. His thumb was methodically shredding the label on his beer bottle. His hair was soft, styled in a way that gave some lift and shape to his bangs instead of lying plastered flat against his forehead. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and a black t-shirt with a deep v in the neck that made him look less like the demon captain of the Montreal team and more like, well-

“I don’t think anyone else noticed.” Marlow soothed. 

“Yeah?” He looked up at Marlow under his lashes and-

Shit. Shane Hollander was kind of pretty. 

Who would have thought that?

“Yeah, man.” Marlow nodded. “It was just because I was already watching Ilya that I saw anything. Or knew him well enough to piece it together.”

“We almost messed it up. Or, I mean. I did.” Shane said with a car crash of a smile. “That night… sucked. I’m kind of - I mean. I'm glad Ilya had you there.”

“Probably not as great as Rose Landry.” Marlow smiled. Shane laughed, though his shoulders were going up around his ears. 

“Yeah, I mean. I didn’t go back with her that night. I kind of, just sort of sat in my car and felt sorry for myself.”

Marlow shifted with discomfort, glancing over guiltily to Ilya at the bar. If he made the guy’s boyfriend cry within an hour of meeting him, Ilya was probably going to deck him.

“Sounds like you two worked it out in the end.” He pressed gently.

That earned him a watery smile. 

“Yeah. I, uh. I have to thank you, actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“If I wasn’t so high on painkillers after you floored me on the ice, I probably would have been too in my head to ask Ilya out. For real.”

“Ugh, yeah. Sorry about that.” Marlow ran his hand down his face. 

The timing on that had been pretty bad. Marlow probably looked like a deranged, jealous ex trying to take Shane out of the equation. Ilya couldn't say a single word to Marlow for over a week, and that had been a special sort of hell.

“It’s okay.”

“Okay I nearly killed you?”

“I got your center traded to Ottawa, we’re pretty even now.”

“Not even close, man.” Marlow laughed and - good, Hollander was smiling again. 

Ilya arrived with a handful of drinks and looked between the two of them, tail wagging in excitement. He handed Marlow his drink and slid into place between them. 

“At least we weren’t playing you guys in Montreal this time. Those crowds always get you so fired up.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty great.” Shane grinned.

“Montreal’s always been a tough team to beat but the city is nice.”

“Marlow never had to worry about me getting laid in Montreal.” Ilya said, with a playful wink for Shane. 

“Yeah.” Marlow laughed, breaking up an awkward sort of pause. “Jane was always pretty reliable. And I guess Jane is uh, you.” He said, tipping his drink toward Shane. 

Shane smiled and nodded. 

“He was “Lily” in my phone.”

“That’s cute.” Marlow smiled. “So uh. Ilya told you about us, then?”

“Yeah.” Shane said with a small smile. “I mean, I knew that Ilya liked to go out and stuff, y’know. Before. Which is cool, I don’t mind.” He thumbed the label of his drink a bit. 

“Yeah. Don’t have to worry about that now. The way the Centaur’s season is going it’s pretty clear Rozy isn’t getting any during his away games.”

Shane laughed at that as Ilya spluttered with mock indignation.

“You cannot say this to my boyfriend, Marlow! Once I get the cup for Ottawa he will think I am being unfaithful!”

“Gotta start winning games first, man.” Marlow took another drink around his grin. 

Ilya shoved at Marlow playfully, who scruffed his hair in return while taking care not to spill his drink. He shifted, noticing Hollander’s expression had changed. 

The guy was sitting up straight. Watching them with a wide, intent expression.

“Uh, sorry.” Marlow pulled back. It didn’t seem like quite the right thing to say, but Marlow wasn’t sure how else to read Shane at that moment. 

Had he fucked it up? 

Shane’s mouth was opening and closing wordlessly. 

“It’s okay.” Ilya’s shoulder was warm against Marlow’s. Warm wasn’t the right word. It burned. 

“I, uh. I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Shane excused himself quickly. His eyes darted meaningfully from Ilya to Marlow then back again. 

Marlow sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“This might have been a bad idea.”

“You think so?”

“Hollander’s pissed.” Marlow said flatly, stating the obvious.

“No he’s not.” Ilya answered easily. “He’s just nervous.”

“About what?” Marlow quirked his lip.

Ilya smiled with his lazy, catlike grin. He took his time with a long pull of his drink before he spoke.

“About asking if he can watch you fuck me.”

-

Shane steeled himself in the bathroom. His heart was pounding in his ears.

After the Boston-Ottawa game, he couldn’t stop watching it.

The way that Marlow reached out. Grabbed Ilya like it was nothing. He pulled him in against his chest. There was a little moment as well - before Ilya clocked who it was that he grabbed him that he thrashed on reflex. But Marlow had just squeezed at the moment Ilya realized who it was and just went lax.

Shane tucked his feet up in bed, hitting the button to re-play on loop. His mouth dry and his pupils blown wide. 

Shane liked how he and Ilya did things. He didn’t want to change that. He didn’t want to top Ilya. 

But he did like the idea of… he wasn’t sure how to name it.

Ilya thought Shane would be pissed to hear about him and Marlow. How it started out casual, then escalated during Shane’s brief Rose Landry phase. How the guy had fucked Ilya through his tears then rocked him like a baby afterward.

Instead of getting upset or jealous, Shane had pushed Ilya down and rode him until he saw stars.

Shane didn’t love that Ilya had been so upset, of course. 

But with the emotional hurt tucked away safely in the past, the visual of Marlow and Ilya - what that must have been like - had been haunting him. 

Now that he was here though… Shane was in over his head.

Shane wasn’t Ilya. He didn’t do things like this.

What had he been thinking? Marlow was probably going to be so grossed out.

It sounded like he was barely into guys in the first place.

Oh god, what if he told people-

Shane’s phone buzzed.

Ilya: Marly is down :) 

His vision swam, Shane read and re-read the message several times as more texts came in.

Ilya: I paid our tab.

Ilya: Let me know if you change your mind, he will understand.

Shane: Are you sure?

Ilya: Yes :) we will go back to his place and talk about what we are comfortable with first. 

Ilya: Just like we went over before. 

Shane’s nerves steadied a bit. 

Shane: Okay.

-

In short order, they were back in Marlow’s very nice (if sparsely decorated) penthouse apartment. Shane looked around, taking note of how it toed the line between  “tastefully minimalist” and “single straight guy thoroughly uninterested in interior design.”

It came with a nice kitchen, though. Marlow cracked open another round of beers for the three of them while Ilya unpacked some takeaway boxes they had picked up from a diner on the way back. 

“Yes! I missed this place. I am glad they’re still open.” Ilya speared a dumpling with a plastic fork, stuffing it happily into his mouth. 

The food made things easier. Shane doubted that potato and cheese and fried dough fit into his diet, but he was already three beers deep, so his evening was likely already shot. It gave him something to do with his hands, and the heavy comfort food settled the nerves in his stomach.

“Have you done this sort of thing before?” Marlow asked Shane, as if they were discussing a new exercise regimen. 

“No, never.” Shane said with a quivering sort of smile. “Have you?”

“Yeah. Though mostly with women. And usually a little… less formal. But a little formality might be good for tonight.”

Ilya was looking between them happily. 

Ilya had done “this sort of thing” before as well. He had discussed it - haltingly - with Shane. Marlow’s sexual history was nearly as extensive as Ilya’s had been, at least as far as women were concerned. It wasn’t unheard of for him to take two women back to his room. Apparently he had a long-standing arrangement with two women down in Tampa that had gone back for years. 

Ilya already quietly swapped out Shane’s empty beer for a ginger ale as the three spoke. It was probably for the best. Shane still felt relatively clear-headed, though the alcohol helped to ease out much of his tension.

It was a bit funny, the careful consideration that Marlow and Ilya were both paying to Shane, as if he hadn’t been the instigator of this entire thing.

“Why don’t you start by telling us what you’d like to see or do, and we’ll let you know what we’re okay with.”

-

An hour later, Shane pressed his back to his dresser in Marlow’s bedroom, gripping the edge of it tight.

Ilya was pulling out of his jacket, Marlow following in after. Watching him, hungrily. 

The guy looked to Shane, who nodded shakily. Just once, a quiet final permission. 

Marlow wrapped his hand around the back of Ilya’s head and pulled him in for a kiss like a man starved. 

They had never kissed before, not on the mouth. Ilya had been surprised Marlow asked for it during their earlier conversation where they laid out the main tenants of the evening.

Safety words, boundaries.

Everything stopped as soon as anyone became uncomfortable.

Marlow wanted to kiss Ilya. 

They had both agreed to that. Ilya was amenable. Shane was… excited. 

He was right to be. Marlow’s hands were large and strong, cupping the back of Ilya’s head and crowding into his space. Ilya’s spine curved back, forcing him to cling to Marlow’s shirt and groan into the kiss. 

Marlow glanced over at Shane out of the corner of his eye, connecting him to the moment. Shane’s breath caught. Marlow winked.

Marlow broke the kiss apart, grabbing Ilya around the middle. 

Ilya swore loudly in Russian as he was manhandled and thrown onto the bed. Ilya bounced once before Marlow was on him, pinning him down.

Ilya thrashed. He did it playfully, but he did it with his entire body. His muscles flexed and strained, his veins bulged as he pushed against the immoveable force of Cliff Marlow. 

“Giving up, Rozy?” He teased. Ilya grinned back, toothy and sharp. Ilya kicked up with his legs, getting a bit of leverage needed to slip free. The two tussled a bit more. Ilya attempted to get Marlow in a headlock, only for him to be flipped over onto his back - his t-shirt tugged off in the process. 

Shane bit his lip, shifting his legs a bit as his breath quickened. He knew their messing about and posturing was for Shane, even if they looked like they were having plenty of fun.

It didn’t take long for Marlow to get the upper hand again. Ilya was on his knees on the bed, his arms pinned nearly behind his back with Marleu's arm wrapped tight around his middle. The button had undone to show the full stretch of the dark scattering of hair that ran from his navel down to his groin. Marleu's other free hand slid down, grasping Ilya's barely clothed cock under the taut fabric. Ilya groaned, his hips rolling into the contact. 

Ilya looked up at Shane under his lashes, pinning him with a heated gaze. His body flushed dark as Marlow touched him with such unabashed confidence, his hand slowly stroking his cock from shaft to tip. His mouth sucked into the curve of Ilya’s neck, teeth scraped against the skin. 

Marlow whispered something low and rough into Ilya’s ear that made him groan. Shane didn’t quite catch the words, but it sounded affectionate. Soft. 

Ilya buried his face into the sheets, grabbing at the fabric with his teeth as his hips bucked helplessly into Marlow’s fist. 

“Fuck,” Shane breathed, his knees trembled. 

Ilya looked up at Shane, their eyes connecting. Shane could see something there. A quiet look for reassurance. He found it immediately in the open, wrecked expression on Shane’s face.

Shane had rarely seen this side of him before - but only occasionally, and in fleeting moments. When Ilya wanted to be held after sex, or when he tucked his head onto Shane's lap with a silent demand that Shane pet his hair. Those moments always felt so tentative, like when a deer wanders by out of the woods on a quiet evening on the lake. Breathe too hard and it would bound away.

Marlow was able to coax it out almost instantly, with his strong arms and steady hands. Shane wasn’t sure if he should be jealous. It was more of an analytical question than an emotional one, something that had flitted through his thought process throughout the entire leadup to this. 

He should be jealous, right? 

That was what you did when someone else had something with your partner that you didn’t.

He wasn’t. 

He… wanted to see more. 

Ilya fisted the sheets of the bed, watching Shane with wide dark eyes as Marlow stroked him. His thighs trembled, his breathing harsh and ragged through his nose. 

Shane palmed his own clothed cock roughly, giving Ilya the barest hint of a nod.

The whites of Ilya’s teeth flashed as he shuddered and snarled, coming roughly over Marlow’s fist. 

Marlow's hand ran up Ilya's spine, his other hand steadily jerking him through his climax.

“That’s it, fuck.” Marlow breathed. “You’re still so pretty when you come like that, Rozy.”

The intensity of the orgasm had left a slight tremor in Ilya's shoulders as he held his position kneeling on the bed, Marlow pressing hot kisses down his spine.

Shane didn't quite notice when he decided to move. His hands ran over Ilya's arms. He knelt on the bed, pressed himself forward up against Ilya’s chest.

Ilya moaned softly, moving eagerly against Shane. His hands on his chest, his hips, so eager to touch Shane and draw him in to the moment.

Ilya was tugged out of his pants. 

The visual of it sent a hot lick of fire up Shane's body. The golden cut of Ilya's figure, naked and exposed and pressed between two fully clothed men. Marlow mouthed against Ilya’s neck,his breath warm.

“You wanna suck his cock, Rozy?” He looked up at Shane warmly as he said it, silently asking for permission as well.

Are you good?

Shane nodded quickly again, sliding down against the headboard and shimmying out of his pants while Ilya pined needfully. Marlow kept a grip on the back of Ilya's hair, lowering his head between Shane's legs. He nuzzled, breathing in the scent of Shane before licking with the flat of his tongue up the base of his cock.

It was more of a curiosity than anything else, and a difficult one to hold on to as Ilya sucked messily on his cock. Ilya had to pull off Shane entirely once or twice, gasping and panting as Marlow steadily took him apart with weighty strokes of his tongue. He lacked his usual focus and finesse, though it was worth it to see how Ilya pined and writhed as Marlow ate him out. Each deep groan of pleasure that Marlow pulled out of Ilya sent vibrations up the shaft of Shane’s cock. The final one tapered off into a high, whining moan as Marlow pressed a slick finger inside of him. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re hard again already.” 

Ilya pined softly, his fingers digging into Shane’s thigh.

“This is great. You can’t talk back when your mouth is full of cock, huh?”

“Talk - talk back?” Shane spoke, if only just to steady himself. Ilya was barely sucking at this point, mostly just keeping his cock warm with his mouth as he whimpered and moaned around it. All the same, Shane had to focus to keep from coming too soon and embarrassing himself.

“Oh yeah. You know what a brat he can be.” Marlow said warmly, sliding another finger in. “I never got around to teaching him proper manners.”

Shane laughed breathily while Ilya groaned, the muscles of his back flexing and curving in indignation. Ilya shifted Shane’s leg, moving it so he could hump against it as best as he could with Marlow stretching him open. 

“Alright, baby. You ready?” Marlow pulled Ilya’s head off of Shane’s cock at last. He gasped, looking equal parts murderous and half-mad with wanting. He was fully erect again, hard and flush and aching. 

His cock disappeared under Marlow’s large hand, the other holding onto Ilya’s hips possessively. Cruelly, Marlow didn’t move his hand.

“Marly…” Ilya begged, his head bowed low. He struggled to thrust with his hips, held fast against Marlow’s body.

“You’re too close, baby. You gotta breathe for me.”

Ilya let out a breath that teetered on the edge of a crying snarl. 

Marlow had asked him this ahead of time. If he could use the nickname that Ilya always liked to pretend that he hated so much. He had gotten a stiff shrug of indifference, and Marlow was keen to abuse it.

Marlow looked up to Shane.

“Lean back. Like that, good.” His tone of voice was slightly different for Shane. Gentle, calm. They weren’t quite at the point of teasing or using pet names for one another. That would have been a bit too strange. But Marlow had a straightforward, reassuring way about him that Shane found himself instinctively leaning into. 

“Just like that. Good, Hollander. Hold there.”

Marlow moved Ilya’s body, aligning his cock to slide slick and easy inside of Shane. 

“Hey, hey…” Shane ran his fingers through Ilya’s hair, drinking in the sight of him. He found Ilya’s lips, the two kissing deeply and needfully. Shane could taste the moment when Marlow slid inside of Ilya in the whimper against his lips. 

“You’re okay,” Shane breathed into Ilya’s ear. “You’re doing so good,” 

Ilya’s skin was flushed warm and trembling under his hands. He needed a bit more time than Shane, either less accustomed to this or overwhelmed by Marlow’s size. 

“That’s it, baby.” Marlow husked out. “Fuck, you feel so perfect-”

It was difficult to say what was undoing Ilya more thoroughly, the physical sensation of being inside Shane while Marlow filled him out, or the emotional affection pressed against him from both sides. 

“Fuck,” Ilya whimpered out, the syllable carried a watery quiver to it. “I’m going- I’m going to come-”

“No you’re not.” Marlow soothed. “Deep breaths, baby.”

Shane nipped at his lower lip, the muted pain brought some clarity back to his eyes. 

After a moment to gather composure, Marlow started to move. He braced his hands against Ilya’s hips, keeping a firm, steady control over the motion of him. As he bottomed out, he pressed Ilya forward. Shane breathed out shakily as Ilya’s cock filled him out flush to the hilt. Then, Marlow drew him back again. 

Marlow steadily picked up the pace, fucking Ilya into Shane and - fuck, that was hot. 

Shane drank in the sight of it, Ilya with one arm still pinned behind his back, his body covered by the imposing figure of Marlow and his steadfast control of the moment. 

Ilya looked so good like that. Soft and aching and needful. 

Marlow’s hands eased off of Ilya's waist, letting him fall forward, bracing his hands on either side of Shane’s head. Ilya's hips continued to move, mindlessly fucking into Shane and pressing back against Marlow’s cock. 

More sugary, sweet affirmations and praise was causing Ilya’s head to swim. Marlow’s hands moved up Ilya’s body. The rough, calloused pad of his fingertips brushed against Ilya’s taut, dusky nipple, and that was it. He doubled over, coming with a gasp and a strangled cry. 

Marlow’s arm was around his waist, holding him steady as he emptied himself into Shane. Shane whimpered, coming messily over his fist. Marlow couldn’t see Ilya’s expression from this angle, but - fuck - Shane Hollander was hot when he climaxed. You generally couldn’t say that about - anyone - but somehow this guy managed to pull it off. The soft noises he made, or how he bit at his lip to try and muffle them. His eyes were shiny. Marlow never got the expression of ‘having stars in their eyes’ before, at least not until now. 

Marlow kept himself pressed inside the hot vice of Ilya’s body, but eased him gently out of Shane. 

Marlow’s arms were wrapped tight around Ilya’s middle as he finished with rapid, needy thrusts into Ilya’s body. Ilya took it, completely spent. His eyes glazed and distant, mouth slack. He finally came with a stifled roar, his hips snapping taut, his breathing slowly evening out. 

He collapsed onto the bed, still buried deep inside Ilya. 

“Fuck,” Shane swore softly. He petted the damp curls out of Ilya’s eyes. The man looked far-away and fucked out, weak and blissful. 

“You good?”

“Да,” Ilya breathed out. He turned his head, chasing Shane's stray fingers and nipped at the soft pad of his thumb, sucking on it mindlessly.

“Just ah. Just give me a second…” Marlow groaned into the crook of Ilya’s neck. 

“Yeah, you’re okay. You’re good, Cliff.” Shane soothed. He rubbed the back of Marlow’s head as he sucked and bit just below Ilya’s ear. 

He looked up at Shane with a weak smile.

“Cliff, huh?”

“I mean, yeah.” Shane smiled. If fucking your boyfriend within an inch of their life didn't get you on a first-name basis with someone he wasn't sure what would. “You need water?”

Marlow closed his eyes, perhaps taking mental stock of himself for the first time that evening.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Shane got up, taking his time to clean up in the bathroom. He wanted to give Cliff a little while longer with Ilya. Shane was still… curious to watch. It was a pretty incredible sight. Ilya bracketed between Marleu’s massive thighs, pressed tight against him, not wanting to pull out just yet.

“Here.” 

“Thanks.”

Normally it was Ilya doing this bit. Cleaning up, making sure Shane had water and he'd showered and the sheets were clean. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing him like this, soft and kitten-minded. Shane tipped Ilya's head back and placed a deep kiss on his soft, pliant lips. Ilya made a soft, doting sound and mumbled something tender in Russian.

Before too long, Ilya was snoring softly. Shane thought Marlow must have dozed off as well, until he spoke.

“Thanks. For this.” He said, quietly enough not to wake Ilya. “I didn't think I'd get to do this again.”

Shane propped himself up on his side, shifting a bit so Ilya was more securely tucked up between them. 

“It was my idea.” Shane reminded Marlow warmly. 

“Still can't get my head around that.” Marlow laughed. “You've always seemed so competitive.”

“I don't know. It's not really a competition.”

Marlow’s expression flickered, grim and resigned.

“No, I mean.” Shane fumbled. “Not like that. I mean like. It feels more like… we’re on the same team?”

“Yeah?” Marlow smirked.

“Yeah.”

Marlow knew that wasn't something for a guy like Hollander to say idly. He expected a lot from his team. But it meant something to Marlow as well. He felt his perspective shift slightly. That protective edge that he carried with him onto the ice was expanding outward, enveloping Hollander and extending over him.

Maybe it was that invisible crossing of the line, into the same territory that gave Cliff the wherewithal to speak - on something he knew frankly shouldn't be any of his business.

“I worry about him, sometimes.” Marlow admitted quietly. “Brand new team, new city. It can be a lot.” 

Shane looked up at Marlow. He hadn't considered it. Though in hindsight, it felt like a foolish thing to do. Ilya had Shane and David and Yuna now. Shane had figured that was enough. Ilya seemed fine most days. Sure his team sucked, but it wasn’t like Ilya hadn’t signed up for that. 

Still… he'd given up a life he'd spent five years building in Boston. He'd given up friends like Marlow, who looked out for him.

Well, maybe not exactly like Marlow, but-

“Hey.” A big hand petted Shane's hair affectionately. “You’re thinking loud again. It's okay. You're good.” 

Shane was startled to realize that considering they just had sex, it was the most openly that Marlow had touched him so far that night. His hand was steady, weighty. Like if it slid down behind the back of his neck and squeezed there, Shane might go limp and let him. He could see how he managed to handle Ilya the way that he did.

It was good, grounding. Made it okay to say more readily what was on his mind. 

“I just want him to be happy.” Shans breathed out. He pressed himself a little closer to Ilya. The man murmured in his sleep, his arm slung over Shane's hip.

“He is happy.” Marlow said tiredly. “He's always been happiest when he's with Jane.” 

-

“Is that coffee?”

In the morning, Shane poked his head out of the hallway from the guest room. Marlow had changed the sheets for them ahead of time. Even set out some towels for the bathroom, which was nice.

“Yeah. I ordered food in. Didn’t know when you guys had to head out.”

“I’ve got a flight at three. I think Ilya’s is a little before. He’s still asleep.” Shane sat down at the island kitchen as Marlow poured him a cup. 

“Milk, sugar?”

“Black is fine.”

The two sat in relatively comfortable silence for a moment while Marlow messed about with slicing bagels for the toaster.

“Hey, so uh. Has Ilya ever tried to pick you up? Like off the ground?” Shane asked. Marlow just raised an eyebrow quizzically and they both ended up laughing.

“I don't know man, he might have tried?”

“I got so mad the first time he did it.” Shane thumbed the rim of his coffee mug with a smile. “Knowing Rozy, that's probably exactly why he did it.”

“Yeah, probably.” Shane took an appreciative sip of coffee. “So he's really never like, put it in you?” 

Marlow choked out another incredulous laugh.

“Man, you are not the kind of guy I had you pegged for.” Marlow was grinning though, which Shane mirrored back with a little smile. “Maybe Jane, though. I always figured she had to be pretty special.”

“Oh yeah?” Shane smiled. “Like how?”

“I don't know. I figured she'd have to have been a bit of a freak to keep Rozy coming back.”

Shane looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“So, what happens now?” 

Marlow blinked. Once again he was taken back by how forward and open Hollander could be.

“I don't know, man. You tell me.” He took an acai bowl out of the fridge, handing it over to Hollander along with a spoon.

“Ilya said you liked these. I picked them up earlier.”

“Oh, yeah thanks! Chia seeds?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.” Shane dug in happily. “I mean,” He returned to his original train of thought. “You still want to have sex with Ilya, right?”

Marlow was quickly acclimatizing to Shane's bizarrely frank approach to talking about all of this, now that his guard was down. 

He didn't flinch or gape this time around, but he did draw himself up a bit. Maybe throw up a few walls. They were useful things to have, when there was something you wanted so desperately it could break you within arm’s reach. Being held out by the one person who could offer it and then snatch it away.

“Is this about what I said last night?” Marlow asked evenly. “Being worried about Ilya, and all that?”

“You care about him a lot.” Shane said it plainly, openly. It wasn't a question, it was a remark on something so plain to see

“I wasn't trying to, what's the word - infantilize him. Or whatever. Ilya's an adult.” 

Shane looked Marlow over curiously, the wheels turning in his mind.

“Yeah. But…” Shane scraped the edges of the bowl methodically. “I don't know. There aren't a lot of people that know about me and Ilya. And we've both been having sex with him all this time anyway.” He popped the blueberry into his mouth, chewing over the idea thoughtfully. “I don't think it… takes away from what we have, you know. Same team, right?”

Marlow smirked, sipping his coffee. He had woken up this morning prepared for that conversation last night to be the work of the fanciful post-coital afterglow.

“You giving me permission to fuck your boyfriend?” Marlow said with a stretched smile.

“I guess? I mean, last night was pretty hot. You thought so, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“You’ll still need to talk to him about it. We haven’t really gone over it yet.” Shane mused. “Especially if you want to keep seeing other guys as well.”

“I'm not gay.” Marlow said flatly. He poured another mug of coffee as he heard Ilya moving from the bedroom to the hallway.

Shane blinked up at him plainly. 

“Yeah, you are.”

“Shit, yeah. You're probably right.” 

Marlow sighed. Ilya took the mug of coffee with sleepy, wordless synergy and accepted a kiss from Marlow to his temple with a soft sound of satisfaction.

Chapter 2: The Pisces

Chapter Notes

So I guess there is more of this? The boys won't leave me alone. I stopped breaking these out into standalone fics though, so subsequent updates are going to be via this story. As of right now there is no solid chapter count or plan in mind, so the numbers may change!

The next time Boston played Ottawa, the team arrived the night before. 

Marlow didn’t lie to his teammates when they asked - he was going to spend the night with Ilya. There was no need to. Frankly, nobody cared - apart from sending warm regards in the forms of some scathing chirps to pass on about how they were going to demolish Ottawa in tomorrow's game. Their dynamic had always been worlds different than that of Rozanov and Hollander. Ilya and Cliff were easy friends with a long history of hockey and womanizing under their belts. 

Ilya happily greeted Cliff at his new place, gave him a short tour which got roughly as far as the distance between the door and the sofa before they were eagerly making out with Ilya spread across Cliff’s lap.

Marlow was quietly kicking himself that they had waited so long to do that. Kissing Ilya was incredible. Every part of him was. Maybe Marlow had held off because it gave him plausible deniability that he wasn’t head over heels for every aspect of this man. That maybe there was some part of Ilya that could still fit into Cliff’s (mostly abandoned) notions of neat and easy heterosexuality.

Still, at least Ilya didn’t kiss Marlow like the way he did with Hollander - with Shane. That was… something else.

With the two of them, it was just fun. A way to warm up their bodies because it was Ottawa and fucking freezing outside. 

Marlow slipped his hands up Ilya’s hoodie, greedily running them along the hard planes of his stomach and around the back. Ilya shivered warm under his touch, rolling his hips into the motion. 

All at once, Marlow felt ravenous.

After having Ilya for years.

Then suddenly not having him at all.

How had he survived it?

The threesome with Hollander still felt like a fever dream. In the days leading up to their planned meet, Marlow kept expecting to shake himself out of his haze and find that it was all a strangely elaborate jerk-off fantasy exercise in edging. 

But this Ilya wasn’t going away.

He lifted his arms, letting Marlow strip him down and lay worship to his neck and chest with his mouth. 

Ilya tipped his head back and hissed as a hot, heavy tongue laved across his nipple. 

“Ah, no - not there…” He begged. 

Marlow repeated the motion, gently tugging at the sensitive nub with his teeth.

His hands ran down Ilya’s already trembling thighs, squeezing them and holding them steady to keep Ilya from grinding against his lap. He wanted him to be still for this, wanted him to focus. Not distract himself chasing his own pleasure. Not just yet.

Ilya grasped Marlow by the back of his head, fingers digging in almost hard enough to hurt.

Almost.

He’d have to ask forgiveness from Ilya later.

In the year since he got to have him, Marlow had managed to compile a mental list of all the things that he never got a chance to do with llya before he left Boston.

He wanted to see how close he could get the guy to coming just by playing with his nipples. That was the first item on the list, anyway. 

They didn’t manage to get there in the end, but they were pretty damn close. Ilya was hard and leaking and swearing a litany of Russian obscenities before Marlow took pity and fucked him good and properly.

They cleaned up and played videogames and ate a semi-decent takeaway.

Fell asleep tangled up together in Ilya's bed. 

In the morning they exchanged lazy morning blowjobs - Ilya flatly refused to let Marlow top him and break his back right before the upcoming game.

They had a quick breakfast, then went their separate ways to meet up with their respective teams. 

Ilya tore apart the ice. Boston was a well-rounded, Cup winning team. But they had been hurting without a star center. Allens was left chasing and snapping at Ilya’s heels like an angry puppy while Ilya managed to secure a 1-0 game for their first win of the season.

Marlow tried not to feel responsible for that.

There wasn’t enough time after the game, with the Bears being herded on to a bus headed directly to the airport. But when Ilya got home, he found a bag of the hazelnut coffee that he liked from Dunkin Doughnuts had been stashed in his pantry and smiled.

-

Shane hated fundraising dinners. 

Even if they were for a good cause, it seemed like a waste to him. Surely it would be more efficient for everyone to just make their donations without having to burn so much of it on champagne and filet mignon in a fancy, expensive hall in Vegas.

He didn’t know anyone there, but all the same had to make his rounds and smile and shake hands. And it was fine. He could do Shane Hollander, Captain of the Voyagers, three-time Stanley Cup Winner, hometown hero bit for an evening.

It was a bit easier than the alternative, which was standing off in a corner, trying to figure out where to sit or what to do with his hands and trying not to look at his phone too much. Shane tried to bite down the draining, clawing anxiety that came from finding himself at an event like this adrift between cliques of guests to make bland, benign smalltalk with.

Here, the networking was the point of the event. Standing off on his own, even just to get a mental breather - it felt like he wasn’t doing his best. 

Some of the other hockey players there had come in groups of two or three from their teams, chatting comfortably around tables or standing near the bar. Hayden was supposed to be here with Shane, but Amber had come down with a fever the morning of his flight and Jackie needed all hands on deck at home.

And that was fine, Shane really couldn't blame him for that.

He could handle one shitty fundraiser, he'd certainly been through worse.

“Hollander.”

Shane did a double-take. 

“Cli- Marlow.”

“Hey man.” He held out a glass to Shane. “Ginger ale, right?”

Marlow looked unfairly good in a tux. All sharp angles and clean lines. His usual hockey stubble had been shaven clean. 

After Shane passed the twenty-five mark two years ago, he'd stopped having those fleeting moments of insecurity where he sometimes felt like he was impersonating adulthood. Professional hockey had an early expiration date. Now, he was more likely than not to feel the creep of time on him. He'd started looking more rigorously into health consultants and fitness plans with longevity on his mind.

It was a strange feeling, suddenly standing next to Marlow, tall and cool and composed and fully at-ease with himself. He felt a bit like he did the first time he stood head-to-head with Ilya when they were nineteen and he realized the guy had managed to gain a few centimeters of height on him. A bit like a little kid playing grown up. Compared to how he felt back then, it was something that Shane now felt more novel than irritating.

“Yeah, thanks.” Shane accepted the glass, looking dubiously at the maraschino cherry that had been nestled among the ice.

The stem had been artfully tied and twisted into the shape of a heart.

“Yeah, that was the bartender.” Marlow said apologetically, holding a slip of paper between his fingers. “It came with her number.”

The two glanced down the bar where a pretty girl with a septum piercing was watching them with open, sultry interest.

“Are you uh- going to call her?”

“Nah, I learned my lesson the hard way about bartenders.” Marlow said with a grim smile. 

“Yeah, you don't seem like the type to get involved with complicated hookups.” Shane said dryly.

Marlow caught Shane's gaze, barking out a laugh with delighted surprise.

Marlow was still easy to talk to.

They hung out at the bar through the next two drinks.

He didn’t pester Shane with small talk, or give him any funny looks when Shane started talking too long about hockey stats or a breakdown of Toronto’s latest power play. 

A few other hockey players joined them to join in the conversation - guys Shane knew by name and face but had never found himself connecting with much off of the ice.

Marlow’s presence made Shane approachable. He introduced Shane to a few starstruck up-and-coming players who might not have otherwise had the nerve.

One in particular, Marlow seemed to reach out into the crowd and produce out of thin air. 

“Allens, this is Shane Hollander.” Marlow said, steering him deliberately toward Shane. 

“Jamie Allens.” He offered his hand, which Shane took and shook. 

“Shane Hollander, nice to meet you.”

Allens off the ice looked different than Shane had imagined. His face still had a little softness to it, that didn’t quite match the abrasive persona he put on during the games. Though it was impossible not to recognize him by the sharp green eyes that set him apart on the Boston lineup.

Shane scarcely got a chance to congratulate Allens on a strong start to his rookie season when he mumbled something about another drink and stalked off.

“Did I piss him off?” Shane wondered out loud to Marlow.

“Nah. When he heard you'd be at this thing he basically shoved his way to the front of the line to come. I'm pretty sure he's got posters of you on the walls of childhood bedroom.” Marlow teased. “Thanks for doing that. He would have been sulking for ages if he didn't get to meet you.”

“Glad to help.” Shane smirked, a bit baffled.

It wasn’t a terrible evening.

"Where are you staying?"

"Just the Hilton. No place special."

"I'm at the Pisces Hotel, it’s on the way. I can walk with you, if you want."

"Is that the one with the aquarium?" Shane asked, suddenly interested.

"Yeah. It's on the ground floor. I didn't get a chance to check it out. The suites have big saltwater tanks in them though. They're pretty cool."

"Really? What kind of fish?"

"I don't know, man. They're fish." Marlow smiled, strangely delighted to see Shane animated about it.

Shane Hollander was a fish guy. Who would have thought that?

The night air was warmer than it usually got in Vegas in the evening. The heat from the day was still radiating off of the street.

Shane had his jacket folded neatly over his arms, while Marlow carried his own slung over his shoulder. His bowtie undone, several buttons of his white shirt now loosened.

“You could come up to the room and see, if you want. You can tell me what kind of fish they are.”

Marlow offered casually. He could see Shane's thought process playing out. It had gone over his head at first. Maybe Shane had been stuck on the logistics of a hotel managing that many saltwater aquariums on a day-to-day basis. The meaning of the offer caught up to him on delay, blindsiding him.

“Oh. Um.”

Shane’s eyes went wide, the muscles in his throat flexed and worked.

Marlow had a stretched, lazy sort of smile as he slowed beside Shane who had stopped walking.

“We can just go look at the fish. Or you can tell me to fuck off and go to your room. It's alright.” Marlow soothed, as if coaxing a feral kitten.

Shane's eyes darted around, though he knew he didn't have to worry. Nobody on the strip this time of night seemed terribly interested in them.

"Is it... Okay. If I don't want to?" Shane asked cautiously. 

Marlow smiled. 

"Yeah man, of course." He laughed. "I'd be way more pissed if you agreed to fuck because you felt it'd be rude not to, or whatever."

Something in Shane's chest loosened.

“I’m just… I’m not sure if I’d want to do stuff. Without Ilya.” Shane admitted lamely, hugging his jacket tight to his chest.

“That makes sense. He’s pretty hot.” Marlow said evenly, as if they were discussing a game plan Shane might have been considering for the ice. “Does it bother you that he and I have sex when you’re not around?”

They had discussed it all already, but Marlow figured it couldn’t hurt to check in case Shane had since changed his mind.

Shane took a little while to answer, and he was glad that the guy was taking the time to examine how he felt, rather than giving an answer he thought Marlow wanted to hear.

“No. It doesn’t bother me.” He answered honestly. “I think. If he ever chose you over me, I would be sad. But. I don’t think he would.” Shane looked up at Marlow sheepishly. “Is that a shitty thing for me to say?”

“No.” Marlow answered automatically. “But, I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

They arrived at the artful, curved structure of the Pisces hotel before Shane could properly digest the meaning of his words.

Marlow's suite was pretty impressive. There was a large, sprawling king bed. The bedroom was separated from a sitting area by a large saltwater tank that served as a dividing wall.

“They're yellow tangs.” Shane announced. He placed a finger near the glass, delighted as the fish swam over and crowded around in interest. “And there - Cliff, these are clownfish. How did you not know what those are?”

“Which one?”

“The orange and white ones. Didn't you ever see Finding Nemo?”

“Oh. Yeah, when I was babysitting my niece. I didn't realize those were like. Real fish.” Shane gave him a horrible, closed-up look like he had a frog in his mouth.

Ilya: How was the fundraiser?

Ilya: Did you run into Marlow there?

Shane: Yeah. We had a nice time 🙂

Ilya: Oh?

Shane sent Ilya an image. Marlow was passed out on the bed. He had changed out of his dress attire and into soft sleeping clothes, his hair still a bit damp from a quick shower. One arm was tucked behind his head, his head turned slightly into the crook of it. His shirt was rucked up a bit, exposing a good bit of his stomach. The angle was low and close, taken by someone who was clearly snuggled up close against his side.

Three dots appeared on Shane's phone.

They disappeared.

Re-apprared.

Disappeared.

This went on for the better part of ten minutes before Shane let him off the hook.

Shane: I put on Finding Nemo and he fell asleep almost immediately.

Ilya: ah.

Ilya: so you did not

Shane: No, we're just hanging out.

Shane smirked. He could see the look on Ilya's face so clearly. Closed up, pinched with jealousy, trying viciously to stuff it down.

Ilya, who probably had a body count in the low triple digits, losing his nerve that Shane and Marlow might be having fun without him. But Shane understood. They spoke a lot after that night the three of them spent together. Shane better understood Ilya's relationship with physical intimacy. It was different from his own. Ilya had talked about love like the way that the ancient Greeks defined it.

For Ilya, sex was like philia - belonging. Filling an aching missing void of family. Wrapping your fingers and arms around someone and resonating with them.

I'm here. I'm here and you're enough.

For Shane it was… more. Different. Eros. Maybe not at the start, but he wanted it to be now. Or hell, maybe it was from the very beginning and Shane had just been deluding himself into thinking that this decade-long tryst with Ilya had ever been casual.

So where did Marlow fit into that?

Could he fit into that?

Shane reached out, running his hand over the soft, dark hair that smattered across his lower chest, just above the navel. Beneath his hand, the firm muscles flexed.

“Mhn,” Marlow shifted in his sleep. His hand moved, petting Shane's hair clumsily. “Tickles.” He grumbled, before sinking back down to sleep.

The touch was fond, easy.

Outside Ilya, casual touch was not something that Shane was accustomed to. The other members on Montreal didn't joke or roughhouse with Shane like they did with one another. They stayed at a careful, respectful distance. His parents were always loving and supportive. They adored Shane, gave him everything. But it had still surprised him to see Jackie and Hayden with their children - so open with hugs and physical affection. Little rituals around goodnight kisses and being tucked into bed.

Shane placed his cheek against Marlow's chest, feeling the beat of his heart and the warmth of his body.

Maybe he and Marlow would never be the type to have sex without Ilya there but…

Shane's heart clenched around the idea of it. Strangely cautious and tentative. Glowing warm deep in his gut.

Maybe, they could be friends.

-

Both men were up early in the morning, though their flights were not until late in the day.

“Do you want to see the aquarium? The room comes with free tickets. Might as well.”

Shane was brushing his teeth with the complimentary set provided from the hotel. It gave him a  few moments to process his feelings on the matter.

“Do you think that’d be weird? If someone saw us.”

It was a bit funny. Ilya had made the effort to go all the way up to Ottawa and here Shane was still hounded by the Boston-Montreal hockey rivalry getting in the way of his personal life.

“It’ll be cool. We’ll bring Allens.” Marlow picked up his phone, already texting him. “Someone might ask about two guys out together but three is a good buffer.” Marlow said, picking up his phone to text the rookie. “Not like anything weird could be going on with three guys, right?” He grinned at Shane, who huffed out a laugh.

The aquarium was nice, and a good way to fill those few awkward hours before they had to get their respective flights home.

Shane always liked the calm quiet that came with an aquarium. The dim lights and quiet, muted atmosphere. The Pisces hotel didn't have anything terribly huge or flashy, but Shane privately appreciated that. Sand sharks, eels, a tank full of softly luminous jellyfish. Animals that were easy to keep and comfortable in smaller habitats.

Marlow seemed content to follow after Shane. Even if fish were never going to be something that Marlow was particularly interested in, he seemed to enjoy Shane's appreciation in the exhibits. They both seemed to be mutually at ease in a shared quiet. 

A few paces behind them a surely and very hungover Allens was trailing along with a large coffee and a hoodie pulled up over his hair. Unlike the two of them, Allens seemed just short of openly miserable, but stuck it out dutifully.

The only exhibit that he seemed to enjoy was the penguin viewing area - where he hung back to the point that Marlow and Shane nearly moved on ahead and lost him. Marlow bought him a stuffed rockhopper penguin in the gift shop to apologize (to the rookie's immense mortification).

-

They went their separate ways in the airport in the afternoon, though not before exchanging numbers.

A week or so later, “Marla” sent Shane a photo of Ilya's latest photoshoot with Cartier - a sharp black and white spread advertising ridiculously overpriced sunglasses. The photographer clearly knew what they were doing, choosing the right angle and lighting to make Ilya's cheekbones look sharp and severe, his profile all clean angles and his hair wet-combed back with a single artful curl slicked across his forehead.

Shane grinned. He had seen the spread as well. It was well deserving of the fire emojis that Marlow had sent them with.

Shane sent back a photo of Ilya from a month or so after the shoot. Ilya was wearing the same pair of expensive sunglasses. In the photoshoot, he was wearing an expensive tailored shirt, a few buttons on a crisp white shirt tastefully undone. 

In Shane's photo, Ilya was wearing a worn tank top and a short pair of adidas shorts. He was scrubbing down one of his very expensive cars. His body stretched over the hood, muscles flexed abd taut to reach out to the farthest corner. The photographer was clearly a touch more interested in the short shorts rather than the sunglasses.

Marla: You are a saint 

Marlow followed it up with another image. Ilya was not wearing his Cartier sunglasses in this one, but a novelty pair of pink novelty shudder shades and a fluorescent feather boa. Ilya was clearly very drunk, sprawled out in the backseat of a taxi. There was pink glitter in his hair. On closer inspection, the shudder shades were decorated with bright pink dicks flanking the sides.

Shane: What??

Marla: Crashed a bachelorette party in Raleigh

Shane: I'm framing this

Marla: Nice, Lily hates it.

Shane sat, grinning at his phone and realized with a pang what it was that he liked about Marlow. His parents and Hayden knew about them, sure. But his parents were, well. His parents. And Hayden still broached the topic of Ilya like he might still be hoping that one day Shane would wake up, come to his senses, and dump Ilya for someone more Pike-approved.

It was nice having someone in Shane's life who, well, liked Ilya. 

And also got that his boyfriend was hot as hell. It drove Shane a little crazy sometimes not to have someone who he could really talk to about that. Maybe Rose? But. He wasn't sure. It still felt a little weird info dumping on all his favorite places to lick on Ilya's body.

After the next Montreal-Boston game, Marlow stayed over at Shane's place and dutifully let Shane go through his phone for any other photos that had been taken of Ilya during their various misadventures over the years.

“I don't have any photos of Ilya.” Shane realized somberly, leaning his back up against Marlow's shoulder.

“So start taking them.” Marlow replied simply, his arms splayed out over the back of the couch.

Shane scrolled through some photos that Marlow had snapped of himself and Ilya running on the beach.

“I guess I always worried about them getting… leaked. Or something.” Shane mumbled.

“Oh.” Marlow laughed. “Those kinds of photos.”

Shane laughed, shoving away from Marlow. 

“No. Not those kinds of photos!”

“Dude you have a tripod camera in your bedroom.”

Shane went beet red.

“Yeah, well… we do a lot of video calls.” Shane said sheepishly.

“Oh yeah?” Marlow grinned. “You haven’t saved any of them, have you?” His tone was light, and teasing. But Shane went red almost immediately in a way that was telling.

“Have you?” Marlow’s grin widened.

“Not on my laptop!” Shane scrambled. “Or my phone, or anything. But-” His lip twitched. “I might have gotten a separate laptop. One that I don’t connect to the internet. I keep it in a safe in my bedroom.”

“Are you just telling me to make me jealous?”

Shane: Hey.

Shane: Can I show Marla the videos I took of our webcam sessions.

Lily: you what

Lily: …i cannot be mad at you for this. i am very hot.

Lily: yes, it is ok. 

Lily: but i want collateral.

Shane: Marla wants to know if you’re asking us to send a photo of us making out. I didn’t think that’s what you want, but he told me to ask that.

Shane: She*

Lily: no. i want something else.

Shane read Ilya’s terms aloud.

He and Marlow exchanged stricken glances.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” Marlow said, looking a bit squeamish.

“We can just say no.” Shane said quietly. His phone pinged. Shane read the message, his face fell. 

“He just called us cowards.”

“Do you even have those in your house?”

“I do, yeah. I have them.” Shane said with quiet horror. “But I never…”

Shane’s phone pinged again.

“What does it say?” Marlow asked.

“It’s uh. It’s a gif of the Centaur’s beaver mascot. It’s twerking.”

“Alright,” Marlow hung his head. “Let’s get this over with.”

Across the country in Toronto - Ilya Rozanov was grinning ear to ear into his phone in the away team's dressing room. The game (which had been a disaster) just finished. 

Ilya: I love you! Enjoy the porn, have fun jacking off to me 😘

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Hayes asked, gravitating toward Rozanov’s smile. It was a rare sight for their Captain after yet another loss. 

“Me? I am very proud of Boodram’s gorgeous check of Dallas Kent in the final play!”

“Fuck yeah!” Boodram threw up his fists. 

“I am buying first round of drinks tonight!” Ilya announced, throwing an arm over Boodram’s shoulder. The team whooped and cheered, their agonizing defeat already forgotten. 

Ilya continued to steal glances at the photo throughout the night, grinning ear-to-ear.

In it, Shane and Cliff stood dutifully for their selfie. Shane in a Boston jersey, Cliff in a Centaur’s one, both emblazoned with the Rozanov ‘81.’ 

Both of them were flipping him off.

Chapter 3: The Rockin Rudolph Apple Martini

Chapter Notes

Marlow loved having Ilya back in his apartment.

There was something primal about it. 

Having the guy in his space, in his bed. 

The space was his. When Ilya was there, it was like Ilya was his as well. 

He was always a bit rougher, took a bit longer when Ilya was in Boston. He often tried to get him after a game, rather than before. This way he could take his time. He could spend hours taking Ilya to the brink, over and over until he was oversensitized and mindless and begging.

By the end of their latest tryst, Ilya was weak and exhausted. He had let Marlow have him though. 

At this point, Marlow was well familiar with Ilya's tells to know when he was genuinely approaching going too far. He knew it even back when they were stupid barely-twenty-somethings who didn’t know what safewords were, but Marlow knew well enough when Ilya dug in with his nails and spoke with the right kind of anger in his voice when he had to stop.

This night was the opposite. Ilya wanted to be wrung out, taken past the point where pleasure turned over into a pristine, clarifying sort of pain. He knew it was safe. That Marlow would speak softly to him after, help him shower off and wrap him up in his arms in bed and hold him until he was sleeping. 

It meant everything to Marlow that Ilya let him do this. 

Though it was a bittersweet sort of adoration.

Because Ilya only really wanted to be taken so roughly when something was bothering him. 

The two basked a bit in the afterglow. Marlow had his head propped up on one hand. The other was gently scratching the back of Ilya’s scalp, a gentle consistent contact that he knew Ilya liked. Ilya’s eyes were nearly closed, far away and foggy with bone-deep satisfaction. 

But he wasn’t asleep.

Which meant something was on his mind.

Something intense enough to keep him up, even when he was so exhausted that his eyelids were drooping heavily.

Marlow knew better than to ask.

Ilya wasn’t Shane Hollander. Marlow and Shane had managed to ease into that code word - “thinking loud” - on the very first night. A shorthand for “just tell me what’s bothering you and I’ll give you an honest answer.” Marlow wished sometimes Ilya worked the same way, but he didn’t. He spoke clearly and surely when someone spoke to him, of course. But asking him to speak about himself would have him panicking and biting and running out the door. 

His hand slipped from Ilya’s hair to stroke his cheek, tracing his lower lip. 

“You know,” Marlow settled on, after a long moment. “Whatever happens, and whatever it looks like. I’m there for you, you know that?”

Ilya closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. He shifted forward, nuzzling in against Marlow’s skin. Breathing him in. Ilya’s teeth sank into the meat of his shoulder, perhaps just out of the desire to leave a mark and prove he was there. Something a bit like;

Mine.

Ilya kissed the bite mark thoughtfully, before finally speaking.

“After this, I will not see you or Shane for a week.” He groused out. “And before this it was two weeks more since he was home. We will have Christmas together, but-” Ilya trailed off, sounding drained just by admitting it out loud.

Marlow smiled sadly. He was just glad that Ilya said what was bothering him.

Good boy. 

He shifted Ilya a little closer in his arms, placing a kiss on his temple. 

“You’re lonely, huh?”

“What? No.”

“You spent ten years having someone in bed with you every night. I practically made a career out of making sure of that.” Marlow shifted a bit, bearing a bit more of his weight down over Ilya. He could feel the guy’s heartbeat had begun to pick up. The grounding pressure and weight helped to stave off the fight-or-flight urge.

“I don’t want anyone else now.” Ilya huffed, sounding a bit petulant. “Just Shane. And you.”

“I know, man.”

Marlow ran his hands down Ilya’s arms and across his chest. Not trying to initiate anything. Just reassuring him with the contact of Marlow’s skin against his. 

There was nothing else he could do, really.

Just be there for him. As much as he could.

-

It stuck with him. Longer than it should have.

Marlow wasn’t the type to dwell. He compartmentalized. Packed things up neat and tight and left them there until eventually they just went away on their own. 

It was a system that worked pretty well for him so far in his life. 

The exception of course, was those in his life that Marlow cared about. His parents, his siblings. Ilya. Shane now, maybe. 

Ilya was a lot like him. So aware of other people, a bit dumb when it came to himself. 

During their rookie season, Marlow and Ilya had first bonded over shared anecdotes about how long they had gone playing injured. Marlow had once hacked it on a sprained ankle for two weeks when he was thirteen. When Ilya was twelve, he had once ignored a broken little finger until it was purple and swollen three times its normal size. The two of them had laughed about it while the rest of their teammates looked on, mildly horrified.

They both came from the kind of families where you got praised for swallowing down pain. Talking about it was a last resort. 

When it was killing you.

Okay. Maybe not that bad. But still. 

Marlow was up long after Ilya had fallen asleep, tucked against his side. The pale glow of city lights cast soft across his profile. His arm was wrapped around Ilya, a thumb stroking over his shoulder, the other behind his head as it itched in his mind.

Eventually, he reached over to his phone off the nightstand.

Marlow: Hey. It’s Cliff Marlow. 

Marlow: I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I wanted to run something by you.

-

The Centaur’s last game before Christmas was three days after Boston at Madison Square Garden in New York. Boston’s final game was the night before.

Marlow had the plane tickets booked before Ilya had left his apartment earlier that week, but he thought it might be fun to surprise Ilya by meeting him there.

Shane thought it was a great idea, though Marlow was surprised to learn the guy couldn’t help him get the contact details from anyone on the Centaurs team.

In the end, he had reached out privately to the Centaur’s Facebook account - and was immediately received by a man named Harris who seemed very (very) thrilled at the idea and had given him the details on where to find the team after the game. 

-

“Six coronas, two Heineken, and a-” Ilya sighed. “That signature Christmas cocktail. The red one.”

“A what?” The bartender shouted at him over the music.

Ilya sighed, looking murderous.

“One rocking Rudolph apple martini!” He yelled back over the music.

“And a Jameson.” Marlow cut in, sliding up alongside Ilya. 

There was a beat where Ilya ran his eyes up Marlow, prickling and guarded. That beat of cold assessment he’d give anyone in a club that deigned to enter his personal space without invitation. It melted immediately as he clocked him under the strobing green, red and gold Christmas lights of the club. 

“Marly!”

“Hey!” The warm, heavy weight of Ilya hit Marlow like a brick as he threw himself into the man’s space. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Just meeting up with a friend.” Marlow grinned. 

“Oh yes?” Ilya grinned wolfishly. “Who is that? Should I be jealous?”

“Maybe.” Marlow said haughtily. 

Ilya seemed to sense it before he felt it. A pair of arms wrapping around his middle from behind. A familiar scent of perfume ran a shiver up his spine even before she spoke. 

“Hello, Ilyusha.” Svetlana purred into his ear.

Ilya’s eyes were round and wide. Marlow smirked, taking in the moment of Ilya left momentarily dumbstruck in awe at seeing her there

“Sveta.”

“Your friend Marlow was nice enough to send me plane tickets. First class, as an early Christmas present for you.” She tipped Ilya’s chin to the side, placing a kiss on his cheek. “My Christmas present to you will be to not scold you for having texted me in the last three months.” 

Ilya’s mouth twisted up into something between a grimace and a beaming grin as he drank in the sight of her.

“Now, introduce me to your terrible hockey team. The night is very young and I have plans to make Bianca jealous.”

Marlow paid the bartender for Ilya’s order and helped haul the drinks over to the Centaur’s table.

He wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen if the captain of the Boston hockey team was photographed at a nightclub in New York hanging out with the Ottawa Centaurs. But he figured it would be… fine?

Nobody really cared about Ottawa.

And his friendship with Ilya Rozanov and how it persisted even after his trade was something that fans seemed to find deeply endearing rather than traitorous. 

The Centaurs seemed like a fun, well-bonded group of guys. Considering they had just lost a game, most of them still seemed up to going out together and party - something that Boston never did. Then again, Boston didn’t lose nearly as often.

Svetlana had arrived with a clique of devastatingly beautiful girl friends who joined them - much to the delight of a good sect of the Centaurs. She claimed they were business associates of hers in New York, which made Marlow extremely curious about what exactly she did for a living. Before long, a number of them were out tearing up the dance floor. 

Marlow took the opportunity to introduce himself and small talk some of the other members of Ilya’s team. He got on quickly with Wyatt Hayes, who he had respected for his goaltending abilities for a while now and appreciated getting a chance to meet in person. 

“It’s been ages since Cap came out with us.” 

Wyatt Hayes said fondly. 

He and Marlow hung back at their table and watched the dance floor where Ilya was pressed up close against Svetlana, the two looking sinfully perfect under the strobing gold lights.

“Rozanov? Really?” Marlow raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, it is a Christmas miracle.” Ilya burst back over to the table, happy and glistening with sweat and a smear of someone else’s body glitter. In the dim, flashing lights of the club Marlow caught a flicker. It was one of those little things that he had attuned himself to over the years. Like how he could see Ilya having a silent breakdown in a crowded room as TATU blasted overhead. 

Ilya tossed back a tequila shot, and dutifully chugged down the glass of water that Marlow handed over to him. 

Marlow might have supposed it was because he was with a new team. But that was a difficult notion to hold on to. Ilya Rozanov never had any problem making friends. Especially after nearly a year living in Ottawa. 

Though he. Well. He was good at that on a surface level. He didn’t really let people in.

Marlow could hardly judge. He was the same way.

They just never… talked about those kinds of things. 

Marlow tossed back a shot, watching Ilya with a heavy gaze. 

He sucked in the taste of the cheap tequila through his teeth, burning the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. If he focused on the burn, then he could grit his teeth and choke the feeling down. The clawing, angry frustration that simmered hot and useless in his gut.

I’m supposed to protect you.

Marlow shook his head, and ducked out back to the smoking area for some air. It was decked out in soft, gold string lights as well. There were a good few people there, huddled under the heat lamps and out of the snow. A Christmas tree that had been flung up in the corner offered a quiet nook between the other smokers and the wall that gave Cliff a quiet moment to breathe.

It was creeping up on him, this thing.

Some feral animal he fed once or twice out of passing curiosity. Now it was scratching at the doors, and the hinges were starting to give.

Ilya wasn’t his to protect.

Not like that, anyway. 

Not the way he used to be.

Marlow lit a cigarette. The nicotine was a balm on his nerves.

And even if he was.

What the hell could Marlow do about it?

He sighed out a long breath of poison air as someone moved into the confined space. Marlow didn't need to look to know him.

Ilya slid up warm against Marlow’s side, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth in a fluid motion.

“Give.” 

“Light your own.” Marlow groused.

“No, I do not smoke, I have quit smoking.” His lips around the marks Marlow had made with his teeth out of nerves. The deep orange glow reflected in his pupils in the deep winter night. 

And - fuck. Rozanov looked so good. His hair slicked back, his shirt stretched tight across his chest. He'd thrown on his leather jacket a bit too quickly, causing it to hang off of one shoulder. The arc of his neck was graceful. Even now, Marlow could see a subtle red mark that his own teeth had left there not fifty hours before.

“I should not have gone so long without reaching out to Sveta.” Ilya sighed, taking another drag of Marlow’s cigarette. 

“I’ve been keeping you busy in Boston.” Marlow gave him an out. It wasn’t the real reason, and they both knew it. But it was a convenient way to avoid the topic, if Ilya wanted.

Ilya glanced up and smiled, even if it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Yes.” He said shortly. “You nearly kill me last time. I would have to crawl from your place to hers.”

“You’re such a baby, Roz.” Marlow stole his cigarette back from Ilya, who watched him hungrily as he placed his mouth over the same spot. Ilya leaned over Marlow’s chest. It was too close for two guys who just happened to be hanging out. 

But Ilya was cold, Marlow’s body was warm and nobody was watching.

“I should have texted her.” Ilya murmured. The alcohol thickened his accent.

“So text her more.” Marlow answered easily. “Or better yet,” He put out the cigarette under his heel. “Let’s go back in and dance with her instead of moping around.”

“Yes.” Ilya brightened. 

Marlow moved away from the wall, but Ilya pushed him back. 

“Cliff.”

Marlow blinked, surprised at his name on Ilya’s lips. It was shaped awkwardly around his accent. His hands naturally found their way around Ilya’s back.

“Thank you.” He murmured, his lips brushed against Marlow’s. “For being here.”

Marlow sighed against him, their foreheads just touching. He ached for that last tentative bit of distance that stood between them in public.  

He ached for a lot of things that he couldn’t say or do or have, in that moment.

They went back inside.

They did a few more rounds of drinks, until everything was fuzzy and soft and beautiful. 

Svetlana made a gorgeous buffer on the dance floor between Marlow and Ilya. Nobody in the world would notice if Ilya's hands on her hips had Marlow's twining through them as they moved in time to the music.

Ilya caught Marlow's eyes over her shoulder, heated and heavy and wanting. At one point their foreheads brushed together, the hot air of their breath mingling.

“Soon.” He groaned out. 

They both wanted to enjoy the evening. Drinking, dancing, soaking in the energy of the evening and the warm crush of humanity around them was as much Cliff-and-Ilya as was any other aspect of what their relationship had always been.

In the very early hours, they stumbled out of the club and into the crisp, sharp cold of the Manhattan December air. 

A few flakes of snow were falling. Inconsequential and evaporating on contact with the warm asphalt and concrete.

Ilya was clinging happily to Svetlana, while Marlow carried the infamous Bianca on his back. He had taken off his coat, tying it around the woman’s waist to cover her short skirt and was dutifully holding her purse and extremely impractical stilettos in one hand. 

“You could have just let me borrow your spare flats.” Biana pined to Svetlana.

“You could have returned my texts.” Svetlana said loftily, hugging Ilya closer to her side in a way that made the woman fluster and pine, kicking her sore feet petulantly.

-

The suite Marlow had booked out was large, with an adjoined sitting area. Once they got up to it, the boys were promptly sequestered to the living area while Svetlana claimed the bedroom for herself and Bianca.

He had to commend the hotel for their room design, as the sliding doors that separated the living and sleeping area were quite good at muffling the illicit giggles and soft, dubious sounds that immediately cropped up there after the two girls fell together onto the bed.

“She could have at least invited us to join.” Marlow laughed, spreading himself across the sofa. He had even booked Svetlana a room in that same hotel. Though at that moment, the process of getting up off the couch and wandering across a few floors to find it seemed simply impossible. 

He held out his hand as Ilya reached out. Ilya’s fingertips grazed over Marlow’s palm as he walked forward, settling himself over Marlow’s lap.

The two engaged in a deep, indulgent and needy kiss. The type they had been waiting to do all night.

Fuck, this had been a good idea.

Ilya purred, nuzzling the bridge of his nose against Marlow’s. 

“I wish Shane was here.” Ilya said muzzily, sliding his hands around Marlow’s shoulders and under the neck of his shirt to press against his bare skin. “I want all three of us again.”

“You wanna call him?” Marlow pulled Ilya’s phone out of the back pocket of his pants. It was a snug fit. How the guy hadn’t spent half the night making butt-dials was a mystery.

“Yes!” Ilya lit up and scrambled for his phone, fumbling through the lock screen. 

“Just leave a voice note, man. You’re wasted.”

“No, I want to talk to my boyfriend.” Ilya said petulantly.

“He’s asleep, you’re going to wake him up.”

“What? No, what time is it?”

“It’s like 4am.”

“Ugh, fine. Voicemail.” Ilya groused, his arms still slung loose around Marlow’s shoulders as he hit the button.

“Shane!”

“Shane-” Marlow cut in, holding the phone out and away from Ilya. “If you’re listening to this on speaker phone now is the time to turn this off-”

“Shane! I looove you!” Ilya managed to snatch the phone back, his voice a loud, needful pine. “We are going to spend Christmas together and I cannot wait! I wish you were here! I want to suck your dick. I love how wet you get when I touch you - I want to fuck you until you cry, Marly is very mean, he will not let me fuck him-”

Marlow tipped his head back and bit into the meat of his palm. Ilya was painfully hard on his lap, straddling the thickest part of Marlow’s thigh in such a way he could feel the solid, hot outline of Ilya’s dick pressed against it.

What was more, the guy started to subtly grind onto his lap as he spoke, overcome and wrapped up in his own words and it had Marlow in danger of moaning out loud. Being used as a rubbing post while Ilya sent slutty voice messages to his boyfriend had no right being as hot as it was.

“Moya lyubov', ya khochu, chtoby ty zaberemenela. Bud' moyey prekrasnoy zhenoy-” Ilya carried on in earnest in Russian as he humped against Marlow’s clothed cock. 

Marlow managed to get the phone out of Ilya’s hand, punching the ‘end call’ button and tossed the phone aside. 

“C’mon baby, let me take care of you.” Marlow purred. He peeled Ilya’s tight pants off and down, freeing his girthy cock out from its confines. 

“Ugh, I hate this pet name!” Ilya snarled, grasping Marlow from behind his head.

“No you don’t.”

“I do so!”

“What about Ilyusha?” Marlow said warmly, looking up at Ilya from under his lashes.

Ilya drew in a breath through his teeth, his shoulders shuddered. A dribble of pre-cum oozed out from his slit as Marlow’s calloused thumb brushed over it. 

“Seems like you like that one, baby.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck my throat.” Marlow retorted, having shifted Ilya up enough that he could wrap his mouth around Ilya’s eager cock. 

Ilya eagerly obliged, rough and angry and wanting.

Svetlana woke that morning to the sight of Ilya and Marlow crammed onto the couch, Marlow having fallen asleep still inside him.

Marlow privately thought it served her right for taking the bed from them. 

The four changed and checked out.

Svetlana secured them a table for brunch at La Grande Boucherie - a place she insisted was typically quite overrated, but was a lovely place to enjoy some nice Christmas decorations without standing out freezing in the cold.  

The four of them together made a much lovelier picture than they did the night before, shambling back to the hotel. Somehow, the group managed to get photographed in both instances - which were published and posted online while they were still enjoying a final round of holiday-themed bellinis.

It was a nice bit of PR for the Marlow-Rozanov friendship - being photographed in a public place with two very attractive women.

It was certainly nicer than if someone had gotten a photo of Ilya and Marlow pressed up against eachother behind the Christmas tree of the night club’s smoking section.

But that sort of thing didn’t tend to concern or trouble Marlow for very long, especially now that it was tucked away safely in the past.

Twelve hours after parting ways at Penn Station, Marlow found himself explaining to his mother that his raspy throat was likely due to an oncoming cold.

No, nothing contagious, not to worry.

He brought big armfuls of presents, and spent Christmas as he usually did with his parents, brother, sister and her small army of children at their farmhouse.

Sometime in between helping his nieces and nephews wrap the last of their presents and helping get the last of the lights on the house up, Marlow’s phone buzzed.

A few photos had been sent to the group chat that he shared with Shane and Ilya.

The two of them were wearing matching sweaters on a couch, Ilya partway through eating a christmas cookie.

Another photo featured the two of them, but also David and Yuna Hollander. The four of them were arranged on and around a living room sofa.

Ilya looked good. Happy. There was a lightness in his shoulders, and a soft crinkle in the corner of his eyes. Marlow breathed out the last of the tension that had been hounding him since he had Ilya over in Boston.

It looked nice, the sort of photo that everyone was taking around this time and posting to various social platforms. Though Marlow was struck by the realization that he was probably one of the few people who would be able to see it.

Marlow sent back a photo of himself, straining his arm to take a proper selfie that would get his entire family at the table crammed into the shot. He sent it on to them with warm regards and well wishes for the holidays.

Marlow: See you at the All-Star Game.

Chapter End Notes

Shane is going to get some serious loving next chapter, I promise!!
Thank you so much for your comments, they are very literally powering this story.

Chapter 4: The All-Star Game - Part 1

Chapter Notes

Thank you to everyone who has been engaging with / enjoying this story so far!

The All-Star Game was up before long, in the thick of January. 

This time, Marlow was on the roster. Normally, the event was something that he dodged when he could. Like a lot of players, Marlow much preferred having a week off to spend someplace sunny and warm. 

But Marlow’s old agent had retired the year before last and headed for Spain. He was now working with a younger, fiercely determined woman named Ursula who had managed to get him a fresh new spread of brand deals and recommended him to a social media manager who had helped jump-start his presence and popularity in the hockey world. 

It turned out to be a pretty smart move in the long run. Marlow was coming up on his second year as captain of the Bears. It hadn’t been the easiest two seasons. He was fortunate that everyone - staff and fans included - knew that Rozanov leaving was going to mean a rough transition period. 

A stronger social media presence for Marlow, a solid performance as a defensive enforcer, plus a Dunkin Doughnuts commercial that had gone viral for his spectacularly bad acting - meant Marlow was contending for the first time in his career the ramifications of being popular.

That meant the All-Star game. It also meant a rare instance where Cliff Marlow would be in the same city as both Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander. 

And it had him… a little anxious.

Which was a novel feeling, for Marlow.

It first flickered across his periphery when he realized that his last text to Shane (“See you at the All-Star game”) went unanswered for a day or so.

Normally Shane replied pretty promptly

He and Shane spoke regularly now, usually when one of them was feeling lonely or horny or particularly verbose about Ilya’s happy trail. 

But then again, he also knew that Ilya and Shane were both fiercely protective of what little time they got to spend together. 

Up until now, those instances had simply never overlapped with Marlow. 

They might just want to spend time with each other. Alone.

The thought came up unbidden into Marlow’s awareness on a cold Tuesday morning.

He was halfway through his daily run around the park when he found himself stopping, overlooking the large manmade pond with his hands on his hips. His breath puffed out white as the winter chill caught up with him.

Had it been presumptuous of him to assume that Shane and Ilya would want to see him?

Sure, Ilya had more or less dry-humped himself to completion over the idea in New York. But he’d also been drunk.

And that wasn’t up to him what Shane Hollander might want - or not want - to do.

If Shane did want that kind of space from Marlow - for him and Ilya. The best thing to do would be for him to step back, of course - right?

The two of them were dating.

He was-

Marlow grimaced, rubbing his chest with the flat of his palm.

Standing in the cold like this wasn’t good for his lungs. Or maybe he was getting old. The sudden deep ache in his chest had come up out of nowhere.

He continued his jog, breathing in the sharp cold air through his nose and out through his mouth. He focused on the pounding of his feet until the raw pain in his chest lessened in sharpness, but continued to sit there heavy and persistent even as he ran - keeping pace three steps ahead from a train of thought that he hoped would just get tired of nipping at his heels.

By the time Marlow circled back to his apartment, he was considering calling a doctor.

Or Google cardiac arrest symptoms. Heartburn?

One of those two things. 

But he stopped to see that Shane had - in fact - messaged him back.

It came with a link, and a few attached documents of information. 

Jane: What do you think?

Marlow scrolled through the listing, his eyebrows going high.

Marlow: Looks good 👍 

Marlow: I’ll see you there.

Jane: Great!

Marlow headed up into his apartment and made his post-run smoothie. He scrolled a bit on his phone as he did so, getting distracted by a video compilation of highlights of hot takes for the second half of the season - any thoughts of a medical emergency already flown out of his mind.

Players would start arriving on Friday for the All-Star Game. 

Marlow arrived in Miami early on Wednesday. 

He followed Shane’s instructions, driving down to the harbor and onto the sleek white ferry. A polite but unflappable man in a crisp white uniform asked him for identification and checked him over on a short visitor’s list before giving him clearance to bring his car on board.

Shane had briefed him ahead of time on the security checkpoints he’d experience coming down. He didn’t quite believe it until he saw the process himself. 

The ferry ride was short. Just fifteen minutes across the harbor to the small island off the coast of Miami. There was another security check at the port, before Cliff was given clearance to make his way down a short drive to the small beach bungalow at the end of a short road. It sat just beyond a series of tall but quiet condos, half-obscured and tucked away behind a natural fencework of laurel trees. 

Shane was there to greet him at the door, looking eager and handsome and maybe just a little bit awkward.

“You’re not typically able to rent homes here.” Shane explained sheepishly, trying not to sound too smug as he showed Marlow around. “But Agnes - she’s worked in real estate for a long time. We’ve done a bunch of work together.” Marlow knew enough about Shane Hollander’s real estate exploits to know that probably meant “I’ve paid for her kid’s cars.” 

“-Anyway she sold this house to a couple back in the eighties, before they got really strict with visitation rules. So they’re kind of grandfathered in to allow short-term guests even if they’re not there. Which is a little over the top, but all the beaches in Miami are public by law. Which is good! For everyone, but if you did want some privacy on the beach in Florida, this is pretty much the only way to do it.”

Marlow was happy to let Shane ramble on as he led Marlow through the bungalow. It wasn’t enormous, but the furnishings and appliances and flooring all had the scream of money about them. White and cream tones were offset with birch wood paneling and soft recessed lighting. Large windows looked over the deep blue-greens of the reef.

It gave Marlow some time to process what it all might mean. 

It wasn’t the type of thing that you had to organize if you were just looking to steal some quiet time with your boyfriend during an NHL event. That could have been done with just a little coordination and discretion with hotel rooms.

This was-

“I know it's probably like, a lot.” Shane squirmed in Marlow’s quiet. “But I know the three of us don’t all get to be together often, so-”

“Hey, it’s amazing.” Marlow cupped the back of Shane’s head, placing a kiss on his forehead. “You are amazing.”

Shane pressed a bit closer to Marlow. 

“I missed you.” Shane murmured. “Is that weird to say that?”

“It’s not weird. I missed you too.”

His eyes were focused somewhere around the corner of Marlow’s mouth. He cupped Shane’s chin, tilting it a bit so he could meet his eyes. 

There you are. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Shane’s eyes were pretty and wide.

“I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

“Yes, okay…” Shane breathed.

Marlow had waited too long to kiss Ilya. He didn’t want to do the same with Shane. The moment was quiet and soft and perfect for it, and Shane’s mouth was beautiful.

It was soft, and relatively chaste - but there was something too perfect about the pressure of his mouth and the way he caught and leaned into Marlow's rhythm. He wasn’t shy, or inexperienced. The kiss was… careful. Promising.

A few hours later, the front door to the bungalow burst open.

Ilya Rozanov strode through, looking perfectly at home in white chinos and a pale pink linen shirt. 

“Where are my WAGs?” He announced loudly, whipping off his Cartier sunglasses.

Shane frowned, Marlow laughed.

It would have been easier to shake it off if Ilya hadn’t caught them at that moment in the kitchen - Shane had been walking Marlow through the process of making ceviche in a scene that was unfortunately downright domestic.

One of them might have been wearing an apron.

Marlow wiped down his knife and rinsed off the cutting board, taking his time and appreciating the view of Ilya and Shane wrapped up in one another.

Really, they had only seen each other maybe a few days ago - if Marlow was recalling the overall NHL schedule correctly. They still kissed as if they were starved for it. 

Ilya clearly loved being able to be rougher with Shane than he could with Marlow. Moving Shane as he wanted, crowing up into his space and making him whimper and pine by means of a handful of touches into the secret places of Shane’s body he had long since mapped out. This was Ilya’s natural state of being, he knew. Being in charge, being the one to guide and to lead. Marlow knew what he and Ilya did together was more akin to shoving a square shape into a round hole.

Though Ilya didn’t seem to mind, if the way he kissed Marlow next was any indication.

They all did a relatively good job of being normal, contained adults for an hour or two.

Shane gave another a quick tour of the place. Marlow politely zoned out as Shane took Ilya through the spiel of Agnes the very helpful real estate agent. 

They ate lunch in the cool, airy kitchen and Marlow and Shane discussed the particulars of a macrobiotic diet - how traveling so much would impact what Shane could and could not eat in any given region and how avocados factored into that.

Eventually, Ilya had enough and herded the three of them into the bedroom, stripping off clothes as he went. 

The first time that the three of them were together, Marlow kept a cautious and polite distance from Shane Hollander.

He respected that he had been allowed into that space to - indulge a fantasy. He didn’t really know Shane Hollander at the time. He didn't know he liked fish, or was a bit of a thigh-and-ass man. That he couldn’t remember a teammate's birthday to save his life, but would turn the world upside-down to get a short-stay rental home on an island of billionaires just so they could fuck in the sunshine and walk on the beach.

Now, Marlow wanted to kiss Shane Hollander like it was something he wanted to enjoy - not like it was something he had to prove.

Shane leaned up and blossomed into him. Marlow had been right in his hunch - the guy was an amazing kisser. Even if his movements were a bit tentative and shy - the pressure of his mouth, the way he moved his lips, it was perfect.

Ilya was pressed against Shane's back, arms wrapped around his middle. He mouthed at a point just below his ear and watched the scene unfold with a curious hunger.

“Cliff, can I suck your dick, please…” Shane sounded partway gone though they had barely even started. “I've been wanting to for ages, please…”

The back of Marlow’s legs hit the bed. He fell back, his hand bracing Shane's shoulder as he slid forward across Marlow’s thighs.

“Are you serious?” Marlow laughed. “We've hung out like four times since then.”

He could have been getting his dick sucked that entire time? 

“Yes, but Shane wanted an audience.” Ilya said smugly, though there was something quite deep and warm in his gaze.

Shane ran his hands up Marlow’s legs, his mouth was warm and hot against the thickest part of Marlow’s thigh in a way that was quickly driving him crazy.

Any latent frustration evaporated as a moment later when Shane's warm mouth enveloped his cock.

“Oh my god.” Marlow’s head hit the pillows of the bed as Shane swallowed him down to the hilt without preamble. 

Marlow wasn’t a small guy. He wasn’t completely terrifying in size and girth - like many puck bunny Twitter accounts seemed very certain of - but big enough he always was careful when he was taking care of Ilya. 

He was big enough that when he got head during his trysts out, he never expected any of the girls he brought back to push themselves too far. Shane - he took him in like he was nothing and that had no right being as hot as it was.

Ilya hovered behind Shane, his hands ran appreciatively down his boyfriend’s back. His gaze caught Marlow’s, looking feral and feline at the sight of Marlow being systematically taken apart.

“I would have thought you two might have gotten started without me.” Ilya helped Shane out of his pants, who wriggled and kicked without taking his mouth off of Marlow the entire time. 

“Not the same without you, Rozy.” Marlow husked out roughly. It was a terrible attempt to keep his voice even. Shane had gone from simple suction to working his head and his shoulders in deep, downward strokes in a way that was driving him insane. 

“Shit, Hollander - Shane, you gotta slow down-”

“Yes, Marly hates to come first.” 

Ilya had produced a lube packet and was taking his time slicking up his own cock with one hand, the other braced against Shane’s hip.

“He is very proud of his ability to hang on like that. Aren’t you, Marly?”

“Fuck - you,” Marlow panted. His hands were fisted in Shane’s hair. He didn’t want to tug on it or be too rough with the guy just yet, but he needed him to slow down and Shane Hollander was strong and determined. Already Marlow’s thighs were starting to tremble, the muscles in his abdomen quaked and flexed as Shane worked into him. 

“After Shane makes you come maybe I can watch him fuck you.”

The effect was instantaneous. Shane mercifully pulled off Marlow's cock looking scandalized, while Cliff propped himself up on his elbows.

“I don't think-” Shane gasped out.

“We are not-” Marlow was planning to bite it out, though it softened the way it always did when he realized he might be addressing Shane.

The sudden burst of awkwardness had Ilya laughing - bright and beautiful and full-bodied.

“You're an asshole, Rozy.” There was no heat in his voice at all.

It was too rare of a sight to watch Ilya laugh like that.

In the end, Ilya fucked Shane while he sucked Marlow to completion. During the thick of it, Marlow and Ilya got to make out over him, which had been incredible.

Ilya got the intense satisfaction of feeling Marlow's lips quiver against his own and he bowed his head forward, Shane swallowing him down like he needed it to live.

“Fuck, Shane-”

“Mn, yes you want to?” Ilya panted against Marlow’s mouth. His hand braced the back of Marlow’s neck as his hips jerked weakly. Shane pulled off of him with an obscene wet sound, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the crook of his thigh.

They quickly re-arranged themselves so Shane was braced up in Marlow’s arms as Ilya continued to move in him. Shane’s skin was hot to the touch, his mouth shiny and wet. 

“Can I?” Marlow kissed Shane needfully. “Do you want me to fuck you, Shane?”

“Ngh, ah- yes!” Shane leaned into the touch, desperate for it. Ilya picked up his pace to a brisk pack, their hips slapping together wetly as Shane babbled.

“I want you to fuck me, Cliff, please! Ah- Ilya!”

Shane came roughly and messily as he splashed hot and wet across Marlow’s chest.

“Shit, sorry-”

“It's okay.” Marlow carded his hand through Shane's hair. “It's okay, good boy-”

Shane whimpered warmly at the praise as Ilya finished rough inside of him.

Marlow grabbed a handful of tissues off of the nightstand, scrubbing his chest rapidly clean as Ilya pulled out of Shane and helped position him properly over Marlow’s hips.

“Are you sure?” He leaned back against the pillows, looking up at Shane with adoration. 

“Yes! Yes, I want to-” Shane begged, leaning low over him. 

He sank onto Marlow’s cock, slick and frictionless. Their bodies slid together, Shane’s arms around Marlow’s shoulders, his hands pressed flat against the solid planes of his back. 

“Ohmygod, Shane - fuck-”

And then, he started to move.

With Ilya, fucking him had always been a challenge - and one that Marlow loved. 

He got off on breaking Ilya down to the point that he was soft and vulnerable and willing to take what he had to give. Pinning him down under his body, or bouncing him on his cock until he came undone.

Shane rose up into him - eager and wanting. His body moved without conscious thought, flexing around him and squeezing him beautifully, arching back and into his thrusts. 

Marlow felt a slight shiver in Shane’s thigh. 

He rolled the two of them over, spreading Shane out on his back. His body was gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat, arms thrown up lazily over his head.

Shane’s eyes had gone shiny and starlike again, and it drove Marlow crazy.

Shane was so pretty. How did everyone else not lose their minds around him?

Marlow hitched Shane’s leg over his head, moving into him slow and deep and easy. He initially had notions of not wanting to hurt the guy after seeing Ilya jackhammer into him, but it only seemed to rile him up.

“Harder, please-!”

Marlow redoubled his efforts, ignoring the burn in his thighs as he thrust into Shane - with a slightly competitive edge. Ilya had draped himself over Shane, kissing him and stroking him. His cock was messy and wet, his navel slick with precum that had been slowly accumulating there as Marlow brought him to the brink for a second time.

“Come on, Shane. Show Marlow how much you love taking his cock.” Ilya purred. That was all it took - Shane’s back arched, his adams apple bobbed gracefully in his throat as he struggled around the drawn-out sound of his second climax of the day.

Marlow finally collapsed, wrung out and exhausted. 

“Fucking hell.” 

Ilya and Shane were making out somewhere by his side, soft and intimate. He couldn’t be bothered to do much more than blindly grope out, bracing his hand on someone’s leg. A warm thumb brushed over the back of his hand. 

There was some movement and rustling. The sounds of a shower turning on and off. 

“Hey. You still with us?”

Ilya tapped him on the shoulder with the bottom of a glass of cold water.

“Yeah.” Marlow managed, forcing himself up onto his elbows. “No, I don’t need help, just - thanks.” He drained the glass as Ilya moved back onto the bed at his side. His body was warm and damp from the shower. 

“I’m sweaty.” He warned.

“I know.” Ilya answered, arranging themselves so Marlow’s head was resting against his thigh. 

Shane had gone off to shower next. It’d be Marlow’s turn after, but he needed some time to collect himself.

“Better than that time in Denver?” Ilya asked.

Marlow smirked. 

“I wonder how Alice is getting on now.”

“Was that her name?”

“I don’t know.” 

Marlow rolled onto his back, looking up sleepily at Ilya.

“Yes. Much better than Denver.”

That night, the two of them had been halfway between drunk and the sick part of hungover in the early hours of the morning. High on the final win that would get them into the playoffs that year. 

Ilya and Marlow had only just started fooling around for a few  months at that point, and ended up falling into bed with a hot brunette. They had fucked her at the same time, stole a deep kiss when she was - preoccupied. It’d been hot, but Marlow had also been on the bad side of several shots of tequila and had finished that particular evening with his head in a toilet. 

Oh, that was right.

They'd kissed once before.

Marlow rubbed his forehead, surprised by the memory of it. It hadn't been anything personal, or special. Something about the “Eiffel Tower” needing to have a kiss involved or it wasn't legit.

It was a weird thing to consider and remember.

There hadn’t been any of this closeness, back then.

Once they had finished messing around, the two had gone straight back to being friends - closer to co-workers than anything that might have resembled something intimate.

Was that the right word?

Devotion.

Maybe.

Marlow reached up, stroking the line of Ilya’s throat with his thumb. Ilya’s hand took his, and brought Marlow’s knuckles to touch his lips. 

Marlow’s chest expanded, his world washed over in the soft pastel tones of a well-earned afterglow.

“Shane likes you.” Ilya said warmly.

“Yeah?” Marlow looked up at him with a tentative, hazy smile. “Is that okay?”

Are we good?

“Hm,” Ilya said thoughtfully. He was still holding Marlow’s hand, his thumb brushing over the knuckles. He spoke very carefully and thoughtfully. “If it was anyone else, no. I think. It would make me very sad. But you are Cliff. So it is okay.”

He wasn’t too sure what Ilya meant by that.

You are Cliff.

It could mean, ‘I know you’re not any kind of threat to what I have with Shane.’ or ‘If I told you to jump off a bridge without checking how high.’ 

Just around the time he decided he didn’t want to ask, Shane came out of the bathroom and Marlow exchanged places with him to rinse off.

He didn’t like to shower alone after sex, but he did appreciate that by the time he stepped out the sheets had been changed with new ones. 

That was nice. Marlow was still a bit of a frat boy at heart and typically couldn’t be bothered right after sex. 

The three fell asleep in a comfortable, hazy pile. Shane was tucked up between Marlow and Ilya, whose arms were tangled up around his body. 

Marlow fell asleep with his fingers interlaced with Ilya's, Shane snoring softly and peaceably between them.

Marlow woke up a few hours later. The light had gone hazy-pink with sunset. And there was a hot mouth on his cock.

“Shane,” Marlow groused. His eyes weren’t open, but he could recognize him by the way his hair felt between his fingers. “You’re going to kill me.”

Shane made a warm, appreciative sound that sent a heavy thrum up his shaft. 

“I’m serious, there’s not going to be anything left of me by All-Stars if you keep - fuck-”

Shane Hollander dutifully wrung another rough orgasm out of Marlow in record time. It was good, verging on the edge of painful. There was only so many times a guy could come in one day.

“Where is Ilya?” He slurred, as Shane crawled up his body to tuck himself into his arms. 

“He’s making food.”

“Ilya doesn’t cook.” Marlow rolled over so his body was spread out over Shane. He made a soft, pleased sound and settled immediately under the heavy weight of his body. The two hadn't had sex during their various meet ups before, but Marlow knew that Shane Hollander liked a good cuddle if you managed to catch him in the right mood.

“We’ve been cooking a lot together since he moved.”

“Mn, you're making a real housewife out of him.”

Marlow pressed a series of sleepy kisses to Shane’s throat and over his jaw. Ilya and Marlow often had stubble that they needed to keep in line from day to day. Shane’s skin was soft, and smooth. His lips were soft too. 

They made out lazily for a while. Shane’s foot dragged over Marlow’s a bit as he did, which was weird and adorable. 

Ilya had actually made a very respectable stir fry, which Marlow was openly impressed by - enough that Marlow finally considered that he ought to get better at cooking himself. 

They discussed the All-Star game, what events they were planning on competing in and what the roster for the upcoming game might look like. 

“Are you going to play right wing again this year again, Roz?”

Ilya shrugged thoughtfully around a bite of chicken.

“I guess so. Last year was fun, yes?” Ilya looked to Shane.

“Fun, yeah.” Shane smiled, a tight competitive gleam in his eye that had made Marlow laugh for years now when it came to the All-Star Game. 

Shane and Marlow cleaned up after, since Ilya had done the cooking. They piled onto the sofa in the living room. Marlow and Ilya indulged in a few beers and watched one of the Fast and the Furious films while Shane mostly scrolled around on his phone.

-

In the morning, Marlow woke up early. He set himself up in the dining room to answer a few emails from his agent and from the coach and GM of Boston over a few logistical tasks for the rest of the season.

Shane woke up before Ilya, already changed and ready for a run. Marlow opted to join him. Fisher Island had a private gym for residents, which meant another layer of security to get in. But it also meant the place was mercifully empty with nobody around to take too much notice of two men running side-by-side on treadmills as the morning settled in. Marlow ignored the class options on the fancy Peloton in favor of a basic run on his usual speed.

He did notice that Shane took his workout routine very seriously. Marlow glanced over at him at one point while he was methodically working his way through a set of reps with a kettlebell - his eyes intense and focused, his breathing systematic and even. 

The thought came up unbidden and reflexive.

Oh shit, that’s Shane Hollander.

Shane Hollander the prince of hockey. The terrifying center Captain of the Montreal team, who was well on his way to leading the team to a historic dynasty run. 

He was a different beast from the Shane that liked fish and got off on Ilya being a little mean to him during sex. Shane who nearly got sick in the bathroom from nerves in a dive bar in Boston over asking if he could watch Marlow make out with Ilya. Cliff couldn’t imagine having the balls to approach a guy like that - even if he was someone who dated guys. 

It must be lonely for him. Marlow wondered, before turning his attention back to his run.

Afterward, the two took some complimentary fruit smoothies from the gym’s reception and took their time walking back to the house. It was still early, and quiet. 

There were probably plenty of more pleasant topics to talk about, but Marlow found himself asking instead;

“Is Ilya seeing a therapist?”

There was a brief pause that had Marlow’s throat a bit tight.

“No.” Shane said, with a stretched smile. “But… you noticed it too, huh?” He gave a quick look around for anyone who might be watching. Shane tentatively walked a step closer to Marlow so their shoulders were nearly touching.

“He seems. I don’t know. It’s great being so close to him now. Compared to when he was in Boston. We see each other way more. But-” Shane lowered his eyes thoughtfully. “He has bad days.”

“Yeah.” Marlow agreed roughly.

“So what do we do?”

“I don’t know man, you tell me. You see him more than I do these days.”

Shane took a sip from his smoothie thoughtfully. 

“I saw a counselor when I was a kid.”

“Yeah?” 

Shane nodded stiffly. 

“Yeah. I don’t know if it’s the same thing. I was really little. My teacher was worried about me not socializing well. So I went to go see someone once a week in the school.

I mostly just liked having a quiet space to play with some toys by myself. But. I remember her saying that an important part about the time I spent there was that it was important that I wanted to talk to her. I don’t think we couldn’t like. Make him. Or anything. Not if he doesn’t want to.”

“Does he not want to?” Marlow asked.

“I don’t know.” Shane answered honestly. “We haven’t talked about it before.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. The morning was still early, but already the air was muggy and hot.

“We should though, shouldn’t we? I should say something.” Shane said, as much to himself as he was speaking to Marlow.

“You don’t have to this weekend.”

“No.” Shane agreed, a bit too quickly. “But, after though. I will.”

They rounded a corner on the footpath, passing through well-manicured shrubs of flowering hibiscus. It gave them some extra privacy from the nearby buildings and windows.

Their wrists brushed together. Marlow’s hand found Shane’s, giving his thumb a brief, tight squeeze.

Chapter 5: The All-Star Game - Part 2

Chapter Notes

The two returned from the gym, finding Ilya finally up and grousey from having woken up alone.

Fortunately, there was room for all three of them in the walk-in shower of the master bedroom’s ensuite. Not a ton of space, of course. But enough for Ilya to be pressed snug between the two other men. Ilya and Shane kissing lazily, stroking their soapy wet cocks together while Marlow slowly thrust between Ilya’s slick thighs.

Ilya shivered and whimpered as Marlow’s thick finger rubbed between the cleft of his ass.

“No, can't you fuck Shane…?” Ilya whined, hugging Shane a bit closer to him. “He has such a good ass…”

“Don't sell yourself short.” Marlow said warmly. He and Shane exchanged a sly look. Ilya was already leaning forward, putting his weight more on Shane so he could tilt his hips back and give Marlow a better angle to massage his prostate in just the right way that made his knees weak.

“You have an amazing ass. You're depriving the world, Rozy.”

“He only does this with you.” Shane was practically holding Ilya up now, watching them with that heavy, heated look.

“Oh yeah? You never let Svetlana peg you?” Marlow’s tone was light and joking, but he backpedaled immediately seeing the look on Shane’s face.

“Oof, okay. We don’t bring girls into dirty talk, noted.” Marlow apologized. He gave Shane a quick kiss, which was returned soft and warm, a clear telegraph that it was alright.

“You want to watch Rozy get fucked?” He asked Shane, who had pressed two more kisses to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah… in the bed.”

The three toweled off, and in short order Marlow had Ilya on his elbows and knees - fucking him with a hard deep grind just the way he knew Ilya liked it best.

“That’s it, baby. You think you can come for me untouched?”

“No!” Ilya spat out, his forehead nearly touching the bed. “You - you’re not-!”

“You’re not gonna cum, huh? You just want to stay like this until the All-Star game?”  Ilya whimpered, his cheeks and shoulders so beautifully flushed from even the gentlest teasing. Beads of precome dribbled down his thigh as he bit his lip and fought back a whimper.

“You're going to get our team in trouble for high sticking.” Shane teased, stroking his own cock a bit as he watched Ilya come undone.

“Bozhe moi,” Ilya moaned in fluid Russian. “No, please. Let me touch, I want to cum…”

“You will…” Marlow promised, keeping his pace steady and even.

Shane cuddled close to Ilya, kissing him tenderly and greedily swallowing his soft sounds of pleasure. Ilya's face was flushed a deep red, his entire body quaking. The feeling had clearly built up, ready to spill over.

Shane then got a wicked look in his eye. He glanced up at Marlow, then leaned over to whisper something into Ilya's ear.

The man gasped and shuddered, swearing hotly in liquid Russian as his hips jerked and hot ropes or cum streaked over his stomach and down his thighs, thoroughly ruining the clean sheets.

Marlow cleaned Ilya’s legs while Shane kissed his sweat-damp forehead.

“What did you say to him?” Marlow asked, amused. 

Ilya groaned, burying his face between Shane’s pecs to hide how red his face had gotten. 

“That you would get me pregnant.”

Marlow snorted, running a soft washcloth up his legs. 

“That did it for you?”

“No!” Ilya protested hotly, hugging Shane tightly. 

“Well, if we don’t manage it this weekend it won’t be for lack of trying.”

“You eat your words.” Ilya said lethally. 

“You go eat some breakfast. We need to run the laundry again.”

-

Marlow made himself useful helping Shane strip the bed and re-make it. He had a particular order that he liked to do things (alternating corners and pillows) and Marlow did his best to follow along and learn. 

During the process, they found some yoga mats tucked away in the laundry closet - to Shane’s delight. He set them up on the sand and Shane guided Ilya and Marlow through his typical routine - which they struggled fantastically with.

Marlow took care to stretch before and after his workout sessions. He had always figured that would be enough. But he could see how this sort of thing likely came in handy for Shane. He wasn’t just fast, he was agile and quick with his hands on the ice. 

“You two really should work on your flexibility.”

“Hm, yes.” Ilya had given up on trying the next convoluted pose in favor of reclining back on his flower-pattered yoga mat, his legs casually spread. “You have a spreadsheet of different sex positions for the three of us that we need to be able to twist into a pretzel for?”

Shane shifted smoothly into an elegant standing split, looking calm and matter-of-factual when he replied.

“I do, actually.”

Ilya’s pupils went wide and round as he sprang to his feet, redoubling his efforts to follow Shane’s lead.

-

“When is the next time we'll all be in the same city?” Shane wondered out loud.

They had just finished another round of (rather acrobatic) sex that had Marlow doing a cool down hamstring stretch after to keep himself from cramping up tomorrow.

“Ugh, I do not want to think about this.” Ilya groaned at the ceiling. “Too long, probably.” He rolled out of bed and stalked into the bathroom.

Outside the large windows of the bedroom, an afternoon thunderstorm was sweeping its way over the landscape. It broke mercifully through the heavy, stagnant Floridian heat. The rain thrummed heavily against the walls and roof of the dwelling, casting a peaceful buzz of white noise over the dwelling that made Marlow feel pleasant and sleepy. 

He would have quite preferred a nap over talking about this sort of thing.

“Boston’s playing Montreal next.  Three weeks from now. Are there charity events coming up?” He asked, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Probably.” Shane spread himself over Marlow's chest comfortably. “We'll also have the summer.” He added.

“Summer?” 

That was too long away to consider thinking about. But it did have him curious. The summer meant plenty of time off for the three of them. But it also meant-

“Yeah, during the hockey camp.” Shane looked up at him. “Didn't Ilya invite you to help coach that?”

“I did.” Ilya leaned across the doorway in the bathroom, where he was brushing his teeth. “He has not agreed yet.” 

“I'm not… great with kids.” Marlow said measuredly. 

“There were like fifty kids in that Christmas photo you sent us.” Shane protested.

“Those are my kids.”

“Yours?”  Shane gaped.

“Like, family. My sister’s kids. Sheesh, you think I have kids? I can't keep a houseplant alive.” Marlow laughed, scruffing Shane’s hair fondly.

“I like kids that are related to me. I also like enjoying my time off. Summer of 2020, you should be traveling and seeing the world, not hanging out at home. Why don’t you two just ditch camp and go with me to Ibiza?”

He ran his hands up Shane’s sides, helping to shift him more comfortably onto Marlow’s lap. 

“Nobody there watches hockey. Even if they did, nobody'd give a damn anyway. Blue waves, white sand. We could get a boat, even. If you want privacy. Just me and you and Ilya in tiny swimsuits. Optional swimsuits.”

Marlow rolled his hips up against Shane, who moaned softly in turn. Marlow could feel his cock chub up with interest despite their recent tryst.

“It’s for a good cause.” Shane protested petulantly. Ilya chuffed out a soft laugh.

Marlow groaned, tipping his head back.

“But it’s in Canada.” He groaned.

“Canada is nice in the summer.” Shane pressed. “You’ve only ever been there during the hockey season.”

“Canada also has us.” Ilya winked at Marlow, who groaned again because he knew that was the winning hand to play.

 Because of course Marlow was going to go if Ilya wanted him there.

“If you wanted to.” Shane supplied. 

“Do you want me too?” Marlow asked back, trying not to sound a bit smug. Shane was still riled up and horny, grinding against Marlow’s thigh like an excited puppy.

“Yes.” Shane said breathlessly, as Marlow kissed his jaw and cheek and a special spot just beneath his ear. 

“Hm, I don’t know. I might need some convincing.” Marlow rolled the two of them over so he was spread out over Shane. He was still loose and open, and Marlow slid inside of him easily. Shane whimpered into his pillow while Ilya leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom to watch with open appreciation.

-

Marlow didn't realize how much easy chemistry could build up over two days until they stepped back onto the mainland.

They took separate routes to the stadium. When Marlow walked into the dressing room and saw Shane there, he felt the distance a phantom limb. Wanting to reach out and grab Shane by the back of the neck and pull him in and kiss his hair. 

Not anything heated, not in like - a sexy way. But in a way that had crept up on him and gotten easy in no time at all. Casual, familiar. The way he’d reach out and greet any one of his teammates.

But Cliff Marlow didn't know Shane Hollander like that.

“Marlow.”

“Hollander.”

Polite. Distant.

No wonder Ilya was miserable at Christmastime.

The guy had fallen asleep in his arms last night, and now he couldn’t even touch him.

This sucked.

“Hey Marly! Look who I found!”

Marlow turned as Connors burst into the dressing room with Ilya under one arm in a loose headlock.

He breathed out a low breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

In short order Marlow and Ilya had their arms around each other, shoving and wrestling in their graceless sort of way.

Ilya still smelled like Marlow’s aftershave that he had stolen that morning.

Cliff fucking loved that.

Connors grabbed a selfie of the three of them for Instagram. Just past the periphery of the phone, Marlow caught Shane looking. Just for a moment, a flicker of sad brown eyes.

He was within arms reach, but at that moment felt far away.

-

It was Marlow's first All-Star game with Ilya and Shane both present. He had seen a few clips on the internet before, but didn’t actively seek it out or anything. It was pretty funny, seeing Ilya and Shane going so hard on all of the drills as if their careers depended on it. Or, well. Shane was going hard. Ilya was clearly riling him up just by keeping pace.

How nobody else could see the two of them for what they were was beyond Marlow’s comprehension now. They way they leaned in toward one another when they spoke, or how they exchanged and held glances like they were struggling against gravity to stay apart from one another.

They're going to get found out. 

Marlow realized grimly. He didn't voice it out loud, but tucked it away for the time being.

Marlow participated in the puck handling competition. 

He came in third, which suited him just fine.

After the games, there were a few interviews and photoshoots. Marlow dutifully obliged by his agent’s firm mandate that he sign some autographs and take photos with the litany of local fans and those that had traveled down to see and support them. 

It still surprised him - after most of his career spent happily languishing in Rozanov’s shadow - that Marlow was becoming popular as the captain of the Boston team. Ursula was currently pursuing a deal with Under Armor, which would have seemed perfectly fanciful a few years ago. He still would have preferred to be following Ilya as a captain than buying a second vacation home, but he would have to take what he could get.

Marlow lost track of Shane sometime during the media circuit. He suspected the guy had made his exit as quietly and efficiently as he could - though it was possible he had been snagged for some other photoshoot or meet-up.

Connors had been disappointed when Ilya and Marlow both happened to have conflicting reasons that they couldn’t go out with him that evening. They made it up for him with extensive promises that the next night would be an epic return to form. 

Tomorrow would be the last day of the All-Star Game event. Shane had stretched his schedule to his limit to allow himself these extra days during the break. Unfortunately it meant that he’d be leaving directly from the arena to the airport for a late-night flight back home. 

Ilya and Marlow had flights early as well - though theirs were well on the other side of midnight - meaning that they could go out and party then head straight to the airport instead of bothering with a hotel at all.

It was the sort of thing that was a lot easier to do on the younger side of your twenties - but if there were any two who could pull it off, it would be Cliff Marlow and Ilya Rozanov.

This unfortunately made it this the last night that Ilya, Marlow and Shane would share together on their island bungalow.

Marlow wasn’t sure what to expect when they got back, but found Shane in surprisingly even spirits. A bit tired, but he had made them a substantial batch of curry rice with chicken - something that Ilya had clearly had before and was excited to have again. It was warm and comforting and pleasantly filling to have after such a long day.

The three of them were too tired to do much more than collapse onto the couch in the big living room. They put some movie on, that none of them were particularly interested in paying attention to - in favor of just existing in the peace of one another’s space.

-

It was another beautiful morning. 

The sun was rising up over the ocean, washing the horizon in a brilliant rose-gold that stretched on far overhead before giving itself over to clear blue. 

Marlow wandered into the kitchen, frowning at the sight of Shane Hollander’s luggage already arranged in a neat configuration by the door. 

The man himself was outside, sitting on the back patio with his feet in the sand.

“Coffee?”

Marlow sat down next to him, offering him a cup.

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Gulls cried out sharply overhead, winging their way in and out of the surf.

The two sat in comfortable silence for a bit. 

Marlow’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Shane smirked at the heavy, chagrined sigh that Marlow blew out at the sight of the sender.

“My mom.” He explained. 

“Oh.” Shane clearly didn’t mean to look. It was a reflexive thing, a quick glance. But he saw that Marlow saw it, and figured that called for some kind of remark.

“She’s pretty.” Shane noted, happening to see the photo on Marlow’s phone.

The girl in the photo clearly wasn’t Marlow’s mom. She looked about their age, with a cute, heart-shaped face and soft blonde hair pushed back by a pink hairband. 

“Hm, yeah.” Marlow shrugged, leaning back on his elbow. “My mom’s friend from aqua yoga has a niece. She’s hounding me to take her out when I’m back in Boston.”

“Out?” Shane’s brow furrowed. “You mean-”

Marlow glanced up, doing a double take when he saw the look on Shane’s face. 

“I knew we weren’t like. Exclusive, but.”

Marlow watched him, considering. 

“Sorry.” He put his phone away. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m being dumb. Last day here, and all. I think I’m just missing this already. It’s been nice.”

Shane hugged his knees a bit. 

Marlow realized he was bracing himself. Not just because he'd potentially upset Shane, but because of what he might ask him next.

“I'm sorry I took Ilya from you.”

Marlow’s eyes rose up, surprised.

“You didn't do anything, Shane.” Marlow sipped his coffee. “Ilya made his own choice. Besides, I never thought of it like that. You shouldn’t either.”

The two fell into a strange sort of silence as Marlow drank his coffee. 

The vibe was decidedly less comfortable than it had been a moment ago. Really, both men knew that they were overdue to address it, and had been mutually complicit in waiting until the last possible moment.

“What do you want this to be, Shane?” Marlow asked, speaking aloud the topic the both had been dutifully avoiding.

Shane startled, looking as if Marlow had just pulled out a gun on him. 

“I- I don't know!” Shane said, angling himself away from Marlow, unable to meet his eyes. “I don't know.” He breathed out, taking a moment to compose himself and choose his next words carefully. 

“I like you, but. We don’t have the same history with each other that Ilya has with us. So. ‘Boyfriends’ doesn’t really feel right. Not yet, anyway.” He said it like an apology. Like he was getting ready for fallout, or rejection. The same way he had in Vegas when he stated a boundary.

Marlow brushed their shoulders together, fondly. “I like you too. And I get what you mean.”

“You do?” His words quavered a bit. “Because I don’t really get where this is going at all.”

Marlow finished off his coffee with a sympathetic chuckle. 

“I’m serious!” Shane laughed, though there was a tremble of hysteria in his voice. “I’ve been having recurring nightmares for weeks now where I’m giving a press release, and reporters are asking me to comment on being the first openly asian hockey player in a polyamorous throuple with two other NHL players? And one of them is Ilya Rozanov - and one of them is still playing for Boston!” Shane doubled over, wrung out as if finally releasing the words had left him physically drained.

“Uh oh. What is going on out here?” Ilya had naturally picked the very worst time to step out and join them. He dropped himself down on the opposite side of Shane, his shoulder pressed close to his other side.

“Shane’s worried about having two boyfriends.” Marlow said wryly. 

“You want to date Boston team captain?” Ilya said, scandalized. “What will Montreal think?”

Shane groaned, his head still clamped between his knees.

He wrapped an arm around Shane, rubbing his back warmly.

“Come on moya lyubov, breathe with me. It will be okay.”

As Ilya’s hand moved up Shane’s back he breathed in. His hand moved down, and Shane breathed out. 

It was an easy, practiced thing between the two of them that Marlow watched thoughtfully.

“I get where you’re coming from. When you put all of it together into a single line like that, it’s a lot.” 

Marlow leaned back on his elbows, closing his eyes.

“The longest I ever dated someone was about two years. It ended right when my NHL career took off, and I never managed anything like that again. Relationship-wise.”

Never really wanted to. Marlow thought grimly.  

But that was a bruise for another day.

“With my track record, making this something official is almost a guaranteed way to make sure it implodes before the end of the year.”

“I liked, ah - kakoye imya, Ashley? She was nice.” Ilya shifted himself around behind Shane to lean against Marlow’s shoulder comfortably.

“Yeah, but she got pissed when I didn’t want to spend Christmas with her family.”

“Your family Christmas is very special though.” Ilya nuzzled against Marlow’s shoulder. “Marly let me tag along a few years, back in Boston.” He explained to Shane.

“I didn’t know that.” 

“Hm, yes. Was nice.”

“You stopped coming though.” Marlow added. “I just figured you had a crappy time.”

“No.” Ilya breathed out. “Was not you. Was me. You see how miserable I get around holidays. Boston was still so new. I did-” The words caught up in Ilya’s throat a bit, though he struggled around them. “Did not want you to think I was a miserable person.”

Marlow wrapped a heavy arm around Ilya’s shoulders, while Shane leaned back against Ilya’s chest, bracketed between his legs. 

Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane, burying his face in his hair. 

The surf continued to roll over itself onto the soft, white shore. 

“In my experience, labels just make things more complicated.” Marlow said at last. Because somebody needed to say something. “You’re stressed about being boyfriends, we won't be boyfriends. We can just be… special friends.”

“Does not seem fair to you.” Ilya murmured. 

“Dating anyone who lives in another country doesn't feel too fair to me either.” Marlow said idly. “And I'm not moving to Ottawa.” He meant it to be a playful chirp to Ilya, though as he met the man's gaze a heady rush of warm, gooey wanting rushed through him at the idea of playing on the ice with Ilya Rozanov again.

He brushed it off.

“I'm going to stay with Boston to the end of my career. Which won't be too long from now. Two years. Three, maybe.”

“That's all?” It seemed to startle Shane enough to bring his head out from between his knees, eyes wide.

“Yeah man. I’ve been doing this longer than you two. I'd like to enjoy the rest of my life with a few real teeth left in my head.” Marlow grinned.

“So… we just keep doing this until then?” Shane frowned.

“As long as we want to, yeah? Take another look at things when I’m not tied to Boston. See if we all still want the same things.”

“Okay.” 

“Or you could retire now.” Ilya offered casually. He phrased it like an idea. Maybe Ilya knew that if he asked directly, Marlow wouldn’t have any choice but to comply on his hands and knees.

“You weren't joking about wanting me to be your WAG, huh?” Marlow smiled. “Nah, man. I need to finish this thing with Boston. Get them in a good place with someone solid to hand the reins over to.”

“Yes, you made it very easy for me when I left.” Ilya said warmly.

“Fuck off, being captain is annoying as hell.” Marlow chuffed.

“You don't want to be captain?” Shane sounded surprised.

“It was easier when I just had back up Ilya.” Marlow sighed out. “Now I have to be responsible for the team getting along and little shits like Allens staying out of trouble in addition to just doing my job.” He said, as if these two didn’t know. 

“Anyway. Two years. Boston needs me for that, and… I think we need that time too. To figure out one another. I can't drop everything and my job and my family for this. Not yet, not when this can all-”

-go wrong.

He didn’t say it out loud. The day hadn’t even started yet, and already he felt drained. Still, it was a good sort of fatigue. Like the rough relief after getting to the other side of a playoff game. 

“Okay.” Ilya said warmly. “Is like you say. Whatever you want it to be, we are there for each other, yes?”

Marlow nodded gruffly. 

“More coffee?”

“Yeah.”

-

The final day of the All-Star Games passed without too much incident. Shane and Ilya skated circles around everyone unfortunate enough to get in their way.

Marlow couldn’t deny his vicious thrill in being able to play with Ilya again. That, and the fierce joy of being able to protect Shane rather than being pitted against him. Marlow had always liked that part about hockey. Not scoring goals or fancy plays, but being able to be the body that broke through the offense. To bear his teeth and feel the adrenaline course hot through his body as he saw offencemen charging down the ice. 

No. Not here. This space is mine.

He wasn’t going to do anything dangerous here, of course. Hitting someone hard enough to injure when it wasn’t even a real game would have been a shitty thing to do. But it was difficult to deny the deep satisfaction in being able to run a clean check intercepting an offensive play on the right wing that was angling to hit Shane into the boards - clearing his way to a clean shot.

After the game, Ilya had managed to find an empty equipment room with a conveniently locking door for the three of them to say a quick goodbye. 

“Three weeks, okay?”

“Yeah.” 

Marlow and Shane shared a deep, efficient kiss before he passed him off to Ilya. 

“I’ll see you at home, yes?”

“Yeah. Mom and Dad want to have dinner-”

“Yes, our turn to bring dessert though.”

They exchanged the words between fervent kisses. Marlow kept an ear to the door, if only because it made his chest twinge a bit to listen.

It was so… domestic.

Two years.

Marlow had time to figure out what he wanted.

-

The anxiety eased once Marlow and Ilya linked up with Connors and a few other familiar faces from the All-Star Games.

This he knew. 

Connors was ecstatic to have them out as well. 

The night air was hot and heavy with the scent of ozone and ocean salt. 

They found a place that had a large outdoor beer garden that stretched out onto the beach - though it was impossible to make out in the black evening.

Speakers pulsed a heavy, hypnotic beat over the venue. 

They were ushered to a roped-off VIP area that straddled between the club and the beach. Pretty men and women in crisp black uniforms brought them champagne in buckets of ice.

Ilya was sprawled out on the sofa - looking perfectly in his element and genuinely happy to be catching up with Connors. 

Marlow was glad to hear from Ilya that he had made plans with Svetlana for them to get brunch next time that he was in Boston, and that they were once again texting regularly. Marlow was pleased that he was doing the same here, and kept their glasses topped up as they caught up on life and re-hashed some of the highlights of the hockey game. 

Marlow was never known to be the talkative one out of the three of them, which gave him some time to sit back and appreciate the evening.

Try to not stare too openly at Ilya.

The black and gold leopard-print shirt he wore stretched beautifully across his chest. His dark leather pants were just a hair too tight. Marlow wanted to pull Ilya onto his lap so he could feel himself just how snug they were over the hard muscles of his thighs.

If Ilya was a girl, he’d be able to do that.

Nobody would have even blinked then.

If Ilya was a girl…

“Marly, you okay?” Ilya asked.

The man’s head had just made solid connection with the table, one large arm wrapped around his head.

“Yeah.” He husked out. “Yeah just. Give me a minute.”

A girl with a very fake tan and a low-cut dress slid up to entice him for a dance, which Marlow took up desperately. He let her lead her to the dance floor. He desperately needed something soft to put his hands on for a while or else he might not make it through the evening. 

The party swelled across the evening. A number of NHL players had apparently agreed to meet here, letting Marlow and Ilya blend into the crowd a bit more than they might normally. Everything was a gorgeous blur of light and music and booze.

Eventually, he and Ilya peeled away for a smoke break.

Instead of joining the few familiar faces in the club’s designated smoking area however, they trailed off on the opposite directions out of the warm glow of the lights - down the slope of the beach.

The two ducked around a seawall, out of the eyeline of the club and the street. Here, it was dark enough that even if anyone else was walking along the sand, they would scarcely be able to make out who was who unless they were a foot away from their face.

There was no single individual who instigated it - both men were a little drunk and riled up. They pulled each other in, their mouths hot against one another. Marlow was fed up with spending the entire day not kissing Ilya. His hands ran down the curve of Ilya’s back, pulling him in so that his knee was rucked up between Ilya’s legs to give him something hard and solid to rub up against. 

“Tonight, you let me fuck you. Marlow, please-”

“Oh yeah?”

“I will make you feel so good. You want me to beg? I will beg for you-”

I will do whatever you want, just don’t stop kissing me…

Was more or less what Marlow was going to say next - if the moment was not sliced through by the sharp, glaring light of someone’s cell phone light turning on directly in their faces. 

“What?”

The two pulled off of each other, gaping at Connors who had perhaps ducked out after them.

“What - uh. I thought we were going to get pizza. What am I looking at?” Connors gestured to the two of them, looking stunned. 

Marlow glanced between them, chancing his arm with a long shot.

“I …uh, really missed Rozy.”

Chapter End Notes

That conversation between the three of them on the beach took about 6 drafts to navigate.

Chapter 6: The Rookie

Chapter Notes

This chapter is dedicated to everyone who commented on the "Cliff-hanger" pun of chapter 5 <3

“What?” Connors was still gaping.

“We make out sometimes, Connors. Is not a big deal.” Ilya said flatly. 

Marlow and Ilya seemed to mutually realize that they were still tangled up together and pushed apart, righting their hair and smoothing out their clothing. Connors looked between them, his expression slowly souring. 

“If it was no big deal why didn’t you ever tell me?” Connors demanded.

“None of your business?” Marlow answered easily. 

“We literally have a group chat just to share photos of the underwear of girls we hook up with.” Connors answered hotly. “Wait - 2016? Is that how long this has been going on for?”

“Because that is when I stop posting underwear pics to our panty group chat?” Ilya put his hands on his hips. 

“Because you obviously started dating someone and didn’t want to tell us about it.” Connors threw his hands up. The dots were slowly connecting in his head in all the wrong ways. 

“Wait - is this why you left Boston?” He finally burst out, pointing to Ilya. “Did you two like, break up or something?”

“No.”

“No, is not that.” 

They both answered at once.

“We aren’t dating, Connors. We just hook up.” Marlow said gruffly. “And listen, can we not talk about this out in the open?”

The beach under the boardwalk was fairly secluded, but clearly not a secure spot for this sort of thing. 

“Okay, but shit man, can we please talk about it?”

“Ilya, when is your flight?”

“I’ve got time.” He shrugged. 

The three men left the club and found a karaoke bar nearby with private rooms - which was as good as they were likely to get in the liminal time between now and the airport. 

Marlow brought in another round of drinks and closed the heavy soundproof door. Ilya was tucked up in the corner, browsing through the songbook selection - probably checking for their selection of Eurotrash songs.

There was a long silence between the men as Connors took a long drink of his beer. Then, he sighed.

“I just wish you told me, man.”  

“It has to stay a secret.” Marlow pressed. “Nobody knows.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Connors hung his head. Marlow clapped his hand heavily on Connors’ shoulder.

“Ah! They have ABBA!” Ilya announced, grinning brightly.

Any lingering awkwardness was summarily flushed out of the room by a very loud, drunk and unapologetically Russian version of Waterloo. 

By the end of it both men were grinning, and Connors was looking through the song book as well.

“So, do still do like girls, or what?” He asked, glancing up tentatively at them. 

“Yes, I like both.” Ilya threw himself back onto the couch, grabbing a beer from the ice bucket and downing half of it in one go. 

“I like girls and Ilya.” Marlow shrugged. “And Shane Hollander.”

Ilya’s expression didn’t change, though his eye shot over to him with a stern warning look. Connors missed it, selecting Mr. Brightside which Marlow knew he liked to pick first before anyone else could get a chance to. 

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” Connors said, fiddling with the microphone. “If you had to pick a dude, am I right? You heard the rumors he’s into guys, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Might have heard, yes.”

“You and Hollander are friends now too, right?” Connors asked Ilya, who was watching him unblinkingly. “Do you ever like - talk about that?”

Marlow discreetly hit the “play” button on the remote sitting on the couch, starting up the song. Connors grabbed the microphone and jumped to his feet to not miss the opening lines. 

A few rounds later, Ilya was deep into a heartfelt rendition of Like a Prayer. Marlow knocked his knee against Connors. 

“So. We’re good, yeah?”

“Yeah man, of course.” Connors clinked his beer against Marlow’s. “I mean, I get it.” He said, watching Ilya dump half a bottle of water over his own head during the drumbeat solo.

“I missed Rozy too.”

-

By some miracle, the three men managed to roll into the airport in the early hours of the morning and drag themselves onto their respective flights. Connors was snoring in his business class chair before the flight attendants had even finished their safety demonstration, and Marlow was out cold not too long after.

Once they landed, Marlow did his best to get as much recovery time in as possible before their practice the next afternoon.

Through brute force of will, he carried himself through their drills as best as any of the other guys. He still took it on himself to languish in the gym’s ice bath a bit longer than necessary.

It was good for sore muscles, but Marlow also found it was the best way to recover from the awful combination that was a lingering hangover and jetlag.

The physio room where the large ice bath tub was located also tended to be very conveniently empty this early after break, which made it a good spot to privately ring Ilya.

“How are you feeling?”

“Managed to make it through practice without throwing up.” Ilya said dryly. “You?”

“Oh yeah, no sweat.” Marlow said gravely. “Anyway. Connors was chill.” He hovered over the next point of consideration.

“Of course he is chill. We helped him move all his sister’s crap into his girlfriend’s apartment two  summers ago.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Did you tell Shane?”

“I did.” Ilya said evenly. “I do not lie to him.”

“Yeah man, wouldn’t ask you to.” Marlow murred, resting his head on his arm. “How did he take it?”

“Mm. Fine. As fine as can be expected. I think he is very grateful it was not himself that was caught, and he feels badly about this.”

“I should give him a call.”

“If you are worried he’ll be angry with you, don’t be.” Ilya said, possibly reading Marlow’s mind. “He gets upset much more easily with me than with you.” 

“Really?”

“Yes!” Ilya laughed. “You have seen us on the ice. Our entire relationship is built on a foundation of pissing each other off. With you, Shane is very cute.”

Marlow thought that was a bit rich, considering how soft and sweet Ilya got whenever the two of them were together, but decided to take his word for it.

“I had a nice time with you and Shane this weekend, Ilya.” Marlow said quietly into the phone.

“Better than Cabo?” Ilya said smugly.

“Yeah.” 

The word did come out sounding right. It was a little too full, too heavy. Marlow probably should have chirped back, said something smug about women and body shots, but it just didn’t manifest. 

There was a pause before Ilya answered.

“I had a nice time too, Cliff.”

-

The second half of Marlow’s season was off to a very boring start. 

Shortly after training the Bears were right back into the thick of it, with a run of away games across some of the southern states. It did help them keep out of the winter cold a while longer, which was nice. 

He knew on a certain level that they were doing well. The Bears still won far more games than they lost. Ilya left the team in a strong place. They were still more rounded than a team like the Voyagers, who would likely just implode like a dying star if anything happened to Shane Hollander. 

Still, it was difficult for Marlow not to see a weakness in their second line, or a broken power play and feel that keenly as a personal failing as the team Captain.

“I don’t know if I’m the best person to give advice.” Shane admitted one night on a late phone call. Or rather, it was late for Cliff. On the other side of the line, he could hear Shane’s blender running as he got his breakfast smoothie ready for the day. 

“Ilya and I have such different captaining styles. They both work for us in different ways. Your best bet is probably to do your own thing. Something that works for you.”

“You’re right.” Marlow hummed. “That was some pretty useless advice.”

Shane snorted with surprised laughter, clearly trying and failing to muffle it. Marlow smiled.

He liked making Shane laugh. 

Fuck, he missed them.

“I guess… I've been thinking a bit more about what you said.” Shane said, suddenly sounding a bit more somber. “About how you didn’t want to be Captain, initially.”

“Do you not want to be Captain of Montreal?” 

“No! I do. But, I guess - maybe not? I never really thought about it. Being Captain was always just something that I figured I was supposed to do. Part of the plan, you know?”

Marlow nodded, then realized Shane couldn’t see the gesture and he had to actually say something.

“So, what do you want to do?”

Shane made a soft, exasperated sound.

“Oh, nothing. I don’t know. Just, thinking out loud I guess. Oh, okay how about this-” Shane’s tone pivoted to something  more relaxed. “Russo is a good right wing, but he has trouble keeping up with Allens. You should move him back to the second line until he can improve on his speed.”

That actually was a good bit of Captainly advice. It took Marlow a moment to realize that Shane had jumped back from the earlier beat in the conversation. 

“That’s not a bad idea. Wouldn’t be great for team morale though.”

“Oh.” Shane said belatedly. It had clearly not occurred to him.

“No, it’s alright. You’re not wrong. Russo is slow and it’d keep Allens from getting into so many fights if we can keep him moving.”

Shane made a soft, pleased sound on the other side of the phone that Marlow realized was smug. Marlow grinned, leaning back against the pillows.

“You probably get told all the time, but you’ve got a great eye for this. Boston’s not even your team.”

“Yeah, but. You know. It’s important to keep an eye on our rivals.”

Marlow grinned at that but bit back a laugh. Shane said rivals as if he was talking about some other foreign entity - something outside the warm sphere that was Shane-and-Marlow.

“I’ve seen how you keep an eye on me.” Marlow said duskily. 

It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say. 

You want a closer look at me then? Was more along the lines of what he wanted to go for. Because Marlow was sitting shirtless on his hotel room bed with his sweatpants rucked low and his hand down his pants, palming himself idly in a way that he knew looked good. 

But he also knew about Shane’s boundary of wanting to stay platonic when Ilya wasn’t there to join in with them. So he let Shane laugh it off and shift the topic.

“How uh, how did your date go?”

“With Becky? It was fine. We went out twice. No sparks. The moms are appeased.”

That got a pleased chuff out of Shane, which relieved Marlow.

He still wasn’t totally sure how Shane felt about it, but he was glad that he and Ilya were okay with him… not closing himself off just yet. 

The thought of the two of them in Ottawa together, having dinner with Shane’s parents and spending free days together while Marlow was alone in his apartment in Boston pining for them… didn’t feel right. 

He’d much prefer to be there, with them.

He still needed to have a conversation with his Coach about finishing up his career season after next.

Or maybe just next season. 

It was getting worryingly frequent when he was on dates or out after games - dancing or touching beautiful women that he found himself aching for them. Not that he wished they were men but that they were Ilya or Shane specifically.

They would be playing one another later that week in Boston. 

Maddeningly, the Voyagers travel coordinator had booked a late night flight back after the game. They wouldn’t have time to meet up in a way that wouldn’t end up looking rushed and suspicious. 

Both men clearly felt badly about this, as they had been calling to talk with each other more frequently as the game day approached.  

And that was nice as well. 

Marlow liked listening to Shane talk.

Shane said goodnight, and nearly before the line went dead Marlow was jerking himself off to the memory of how soft Shane’s hair felt between his fingertips.

-

“No burning effigy this year. We’re losing our touch.” Saint-Simon said somberly, checking his phone in the dressing room. 

“We’ll just have to give them something to cry about tonight!” Connors crowed, to a round of cheers from others on the team. 

Marlow smirked, taping up his ankle. It had been a bit stiff the last game or two.

Shane was right, he probably did need to work on his flexibility.

“If Allens can manage to win a face-off against Hollander that might do it.”

“Maybe you can throw him off his game by blowing the guy a kiss, Russo.”

Marlow stopped, his ears perking up.

“Fuck off, man. Like Hollander would look twice at my ugly mug. Not everyone’s got the same bad taste as your mom.” Russo laughed, tugging on his jersey.

“Is that true?” One of the rookies spoke up. “I mean, I heard it but didn’t know. That Hollander-”

“Hey!” Marlow didn’t often raise his voice. When he did, the entire room snapped to attention. “This shit isn’t for the dressing room. Everyone on the ice in five!” 

The conversation dispersed at once. The rookie who had spoken up practically fled with his tail between his legs. The room was a flurry of serious, focused movement. With one exception.

Allens was standing perfectly still, glaring across the room at Marlow. 

He did a double-take when he saw it. 

The man was taut and bristled, his green eyes wide and his pupil’s small. 

Marlow unfortunately knew that look.

That I’m-pissed-and-about-to-do-something-dumb-about-it look.

It meant trouble.

“Got something to say, Allens?” Marlow challenged. He didn’t raise his voice, but he did lean into the guy’s space. His stance was tall and shoulders wide. 

Allens’ nostrils flared as he breathed out sharply. He turned away, grabbing his hockey stick and followed the rest of the team out onto the ice.

-

The game was brutal as usual. The crowd was foaming at the mouth, calling for blood from the first puck drop. 

Montreal’s offense was always hell.

Rather, Shane Hollander was hell.

He knew that being intimate with the guy wasn’t going to afford him any slack on the ice. Not only did Marlow not expect that in the slightest, but he knew if Hollander wasn’t going to go easy on Rozanov he sure as hell wasn’t going to go easy on himself.

Marlow could throw his weight around well, but he had to catch the damn guy first, which was downright impossible. It was half the reason that when he did finally make contact with the guy - back when Roz was still on the team - he ended up laying him out flat and sending him straight to the hospital.

The two teams battled their way through to a grueling 3-3 game. Tension in the arena was thick and downright caustic. 

Hollander stole the puck in the last gasp of a Boston powerplay, and managed to get a tear away down the rink toward the net. 

Marlow watched in slow motion as Shane pulled short at the last minute, pulling off a complex pass to Comeau. 

Fortunately, Comeau fumbled it and Marlow managed to get him in a battle around the back of the net for the puck. However, by the time that happened the whistle was blowing and stopping the play. 

Marlow shoved off of Comeau, looking around to the ref. 

Whatever happened, the crowd was absolutely livid. It had morphed into a writing mass of seething rage. 

Shane Hollander was on one knee. His mouthguard was out, he spat out a large mouthful of blood onto the ice. 

The jumbotron was showing a play-by-play of what had happened.

Immediately after passing, Allens had slammed into the guy from behind, driving him up against the boards. 

The officials were currently trying to suss out exactly the extent of the damage. 

Allens had hit Hollander from behind, that was bad enough itself.

But he had also hit him after the guy had passed and was no longer in possession. 

It was a dirty hit. 

The refs were currently working out how dirty.

Which meant in the meantime, their Center was going to get destroyed.

Marlow threw his gloves down and drove across the ice and into the thick of it - though up until getting there he honestly wasn’t sure who he was going to end up punching - Montreal or Allens himself.

He managed to wedge himself into the middle of things. With one hand, he grabbed Allens’ jersey and yanked him back behind his body - which did result in the guy getting slammed against the wall as well but did position him more firmly behind Marlow and Russo.

Marlow got a hard punch in the side from Boiziau for his efforts.

I miss Ryan Price. 

The ref was blowing his whistle and trying to wedge into the thick of the sprawl. 

Marlow turned, hoping to find a gap to shove Allens out of the scrum when he found himself face-to-face with Shane Hollander. 

Helmet off, blood on his face. His eyes black and gorgeous and his expression twisted into one of feral, indignant rage. 

Oh my god.

Marlow wasn’t quite sure what he was experiencing at that moment. He had already been dragged through his gay awakening kicking and screaming by Ilya Rozanov after all. But if he hadn’t - Marlow’s pretty sure that he would have fallen hard at the sight of Shane Hollander grabbing Jamie Allens and socking him in the jaw.

The game ended with a shootout, which was frustrating and unsatisfying for everyone because Allens had been pulled and Hollander needed to get a stitch put into his mouth.

They ultimately lost to Montreal, which Marlow frankly thought that they deserved.

After the game, Allens spent a good bit of time getting chewed out by their coach in his office. 

Marlow lingered behind, after the rest of the team had left. 

Marlow propped against the wall, watching his phone until Shane finally texted him back.

Jane: I'm alright. I just dropped my mouthguard on the hit and bit the inside of my cheek.

Marlow: I'm sorry. It was a dirty hit.

Marlow: I'm going to tear Allens a new one for you.

Jane: Don't do that because it's me, okay?

Jane: On the ice I’m the same as everyone else.

Marlow: Yeah of course, promise.

Jane: They're discharging me from the hospital now, I'll call you later.

Marlow got the text just as the shouting in the coach’s office died down. He emerged a moment later, looking red-faced and sullen.

Coach and Marlow exchanged a brief nod as he walked by and out to the parking lot.

Allen's was lingering in the doorframe. His arms crossed tightly over his chest and his jaw set tight.

“You next in line or what?” Allens said thickly, when Marlow didn't say anything. “Though at this point I don't think there's much left to say, Coach already threw the book at me.” Allens said with a wave of his hand. He headed over to his locker, stripping out of his jersey.

“Coach didn't hear what went on in the dressing room before the game.” Marlow said sternly, pacing in a wide arc around Allens. He noticed a flicker as the rookie's jaw locked tighter.

“What about it?” Allen's shrugged out of his shoulder pads next, throwing them down with more force than necessary.

Marlow’s lip curled. He charged over, striking the locker next to Allens so hard that he jumped.

“I'm talking about you hearing that a player might be gay and then that same game you bash him on the ice!” Marlow snarled.

Allens turned to face him, breathing hard.

“So I hit him! It's fucking hockey” He bit out.

“Oh is it?” Marlow laughed meanly. “You could have fooled me the way you've been playing! I could have sworn it was a playground dirt clot war the way you've been carrying on!”

Allens seethed. He was more riled up than usual. Normally, his anger was focused outward. On the game. On the equipment. Sure he lashed out at the odd player now and again, but it wasn't personal. It wasn't light how Allens turned it on him now. Burning, loathing.

“Last year, when you had me fucking - chaperone your date or whatever with Hollander. Is that what it was?”

It hit Marlow out of left field and briefly sent him reeling.

“What are you talking about? The aquarium in Vegas?” 

The pieces were moving slowly in his mind. He had a rough idea of how he had expected this confrontation to go and Allens wasn't following the script.

“Could have just gone on your own. Would have been a lot more romantic.” Allens said through his teeth, ripping his way out of his leg bracers.

Marlow threw his hands up. “Is that it then? You really want to go there? Head to TMZ and spread some rumors about the captains of Montreal and Boston? Yeah, that’s gonna look great for your career.” Marlow laughed meanly. “When Crowell is done with you, you won’t even be able to get a job driving a zamboni.”

He wasn’t even mad at Allens for it. He was pissed that the guy was being so dumb. 

He was smart and talented. He’d be up there with some of the best players on the ice right now if he didn’t insist on sabotaging himself at every turn.

“I'm not going to fucking TMZ.” Allens ground out. “I'm just… was a shitty thing to do.”

“I didn't drag you to the aquarium, asshole.” Marlow bit back.

What was he missing here? Allens hadn't cared at the time. Or he thought Allens didn't. 

He even kept the damn penguin toy Marlow bought for him in his locker.

“Whatever your problem is,” Marlow said lowly and roughly. “You’re bringing it on to the ice. That shit’s not acceptable.”

“What are you going to do?” Allens challenged him with a feral grin. “Nobody else on the team can do what I can, and you know it!”

“If you think you’re too hot to get benched, you’ve got a serious surprise in store for you.” Marlow said darkly.

Allens pulled himself up to full height, even if it was still a head shorter than Marlow.  

“I am so.” 

Marlow laughed, taking a step forward. There was a flicker of uncertainty in Allens then. He took half a step back, it was all the room he had before his back was against the lockers. 

“You’re not going to bench me.” Allens looked up at Marlow. There was a slight wobble to his voice, just at the end.

“No.” Marlow agreed, squaring up on Allens. “But I am going to teach you some fucking manners.”

“Oh yeah?” Allens shoulders heaved as he breathed. “What are you going to do, old man?”

He flinched as Marlow seized a fistful of his jersey, pulling him forward so the two were crowded up in one another’s space.

Allens’ pupils went wide and dark, practically obscuring the vibrant green of his eyes. His breath shuddered, knees buckling under Marlow’s grip.

The missing puzzle piece slotted neatly into place.

Oh.

-

Shane felt a bit bad. He hadn’t gotten a moment to himself between the hospital and the airport to call Marlow like he promised.

It wasn’t until he collapsed in his apartment in Montreal that he had a chance to give him a ring. 

It was late.

Maybe he was asleep?

The line rang out one, two, three times…

Just before Shane was sure it was going to go to voicemail, it picked up. 

“Hey, Hollander. How are you feeling?”

“Hey Cliff.” Shane said warmly. “Back in Montreal now. I'm good. Just gotta watch what I eat for the next week or two until the stitch dissolves.”

“That's good. I'm glad to hear it.” Cliff sounded relieved.

“Yeah, I'm just going to take it easy at the next practice, but it shouldn't get in the way of our next game against Buffalo.”

“Listen, I'm sorry about Allens.” Marlow said somberly. “He's been a little shit all year.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen his highlight reel.”

Shane laughed, sinking back against the couch cushions.

There was a raw, rough edge to Marlow’s voice. Had he just finished up at the gym maybe? Shane casually slipped his hand under the elastic band of his shorts, palming himself a bit at the visual. Marlow in the locker room, toweling himself off after a hard run. Sweat dampening a grey shirt to dark charcoal under his neck and arms…

Fuck. He really needed to talk about Ilya about wanting to be intimate with Marlow when it was just the two of them.

He was sure it would be fine. Shane had only come up with it as a boundary himself.

If they had been able to meet this time around, he was pretty sure he would have caved…

“Coach is putting his foot down. He's starting on the second line for the next few games.”

“Shit, really? That's harsh.”

“He's had it coming.”

There was an odd noise on the other side of the line.

“Sorry. My cat was trapped in the laundry closet.”

“You have a cat?” Shane said, delighted.

“Yeah, she's a handful.”

Across the continent in Boston, Marlow fingers twisted roughly around russet-amber hair. He continued the slow, relentless grind of his hips into Allens, keeping him pinned down with one hand while the other held his phone up to his ear. A balled up pair of socks had been stuffed into the rookie’s mouth to muffle him as Marlow kept up the steady pace. 

“I wanted to give you a heads up.” Marlow said, keeping his voice even and steady. “He’s going to reach out privately over the next day or two to apologize for what he did on the ice. Something co-written by our PR team.”

Allens glared back at Marlow, who twisted his fingers up a bit more tightly in his hair in response. Allens’ eyes rolled back with a hiss of pain and something that definitely was not pain even if there were tears sticking to his lashes. 

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Shane said, surprised. “Wait, was it like - I know it’s been getting around since I came out to the guys on Montreal-”

“No, it’s not that.” Marlow soothed. “My mind went there at first too. But I had a talk with the guy. He’s not a homophobe, just an asshole. But the more it gets out, the more people might talk. We’re trying to get ahead of that. Make sure everyone knows where we stand as a team on that sort of thing.”

Marlow’s hand eased off of Allens’ hair, moving heavy and soothing over the back of his neck and his tense shoulder blades. 

“Oh, okay.” Shane sounded mollified. “That, uh. That means a lot Cliff, thanks.”

“Listen, I have to go. I need to, uh. Feed my cat. Take care of your injuries, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks for calling.”

Marlow hung up and threw the phone aside. He gripped Allens by the hips, fucking into him hard and fast. Allens arched, managing to spit out the sock ball and fuck this guy was loud. He caterhauled through his climax, coming hot and fast over his fist and chest and legs. 

“Oh, fuck, ohmygod-”

Marlow turned Allens’ body to keep him from collapsing onto his own mess and eased of him.

“You always cum like that or are you trying to flatter me?” Marlow rolled the condom off of his spent cock and flung it with some tissue into the nearby bin. He maneuvered Allens’ head onto his lap, because the guy seemed emotionally raw and in need of some physical touch.

“Are you kidding me? You just fucked me on a call with Shane Hollander.” Allens’ face was bright red. He squirmed off of Marlow’s lap in favor of burying his face in a pillow.

“Hey uh,” He peeked up over it. “Were you serious about that?”

“Getting a cat? Ugh. Yeah, not one of my finer moments.” Marlow sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“About apologizing to Hollander.”

“Yes, I was serious about that.” Marlow said sternly, yanking on Allens’ ear. “You threw the guy a dirty check the same day that it came out in the dressing room he was gay. I’m not tolerating that shit on my team. You’re apologizing.”

Allens propped himself up on his elbows, glowering. 

“You gonna apologize for cheating on him?”

“I didn’t cheat on him, asshole. I’m - we’re not-” 

Not dating is what Marlow should have said. Allens didn’t really have any right to know about his personal business. 

But Marlow didn’t like lying. And it wasn’t - not true?

He wasn’t sure.

So he decided to go with what he did know.

“We’re not exclusive.” Marlow sighed, running his hands through his hair. Allens had gone a bit quiet then, picking over the drool-covered socks that had been stuffed into his mouth. 

“So… how long have you known you were gay?” Allens asked, after a long moment. 

It was an odd moment - Allens actually asking him something genuine. Everything about the guy always seemed so guarded up under a million walls of sarcasm and derision. Now, his edges had softened a bit.

“That’s a complicated question.” Marlow sighed. “And I’m not. I mostly like girls.”

“Mostly?” Allens asked cautiously.

“Yeah, man. I’m… picky.”

And fuck if that didn’t land with Allens in the worst possible way. 

“Just me and Shane freaking Hollander, huh?” He beamed, looking so impossibly smug Marlow wanted to punt him off of the bed and onto the floor.

“This is none of your business.” Marlow grabbed a nearby towel and used it to smack the thickest part of Allens’ bare rear so sharply it made him howl with pain, and was sure to leave a brilliant red mark on his left cheek.

“No more dirty checking.” Marlow ordered sternly. “And no more stupid fights on the ice.”

“Okay.” Allens whimpered into the pillow.

Well. He sighed, heading into the bathroom. Shane did say to find a style of Captaining that worked for me.

Chapter End Notes

if I knew they were going to do this at the start I would have given Allens a better name whoops!

Chapter 7: The Roommate

None of his teammates were surprised this time when Marlow took off as soon as the plane landed in Ottawa.

“Tell Rozy we said hi!” Saint-Simon sang after him as he took a separate car from their bus. Marlow just grinned and flipped him off. Connors flashed him a discreet thumbs up as he went. 

In a little over an hour, Marlow was through the threshold of Ilya’s door - and he finally had him there. The feeling of Ilya’s body in his arms, pressed up against the wall. The scent of him, the taste of him. The way he struggled a bit when Marlow held him. Not enough to truly protest, but the way he always did to know and reassure himself that Marlow wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t push him away.

“Saint-Simon says hi.” Marlow gasped against Ilya’s lips once they came up for air. 

Ilya snorted, his head bowed forward. He bit at Marlow’s throat.

“Take off your clothes.”

In short order Marlow was on Ilya’s couch, legs splayed. His arms around Ilya’s tight waist, nuzzling into his shoulder and sighing out with something like a breath of relief as the man lowered himself down until he was fully seated on his lap. His body was blissfully warm and tight around Marlow’s cock. 

Ilya began to shift his hips, but Marlow squeezed him a bit tighter against his body, stilling him for a moment.

“Long day?” Ilya relaxed against him, his arms loose over Marlow’s shoulders and let himself be held for a bit. 

Marlow just grunted softly, just breathing in the scent of his skin. His hands were pressed against Ilya’s back, the pads of his fingers memorized the firm curve of his spine.

“Missed you.” He eventually rusked out. 

“I missed you too.” 

They fucked, long and hard and decadently. 

A while later after showering and changing, the two were lounging together in the corner of the living room. Ilya sat wrapped up in Marlow’s  large sherpa blanket (he had been wondering where that went) blowing cigarette smoke out of the cracked open window above the sofa.

“So. What’s up?” Ilya asked. “Things not going well with the hot yoga instructor?”

“What? Did you and Shane not talk about that?”

“We did. But I figured I would check anyway.” Ilya shrugged. 

“No, I uh… started hooking up with one of the Bears.” Ilya got a wolfish gleam in his eye.

“Uh oh. Connors?”

“What? No dude.” Marlow laughed, his head tipped back.

“Ah. Allens?”

“The fuck? How did you know?”

“I guess. He has crush on you.”

“He does not.”

“Whenever he does something good on the ice he looks to see if you notice. Then he gets huffy and sad when you don’t. Like this,” Ilya pulled a face in a shockingly good imitation of Allens’ I’m-pissed-and-about-to-do-something-dumb-about-it look. 

“The fuck, man.” Marlow shook his head, dumbfounded. “How the hell do you catch all that?”

Ilya shrugged.

“I am ah. What is the word. I notice these things.” He shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette. 

“I just thought he wanted you to be his papa. Getting fucked probably will help also.”

“Is there anyone else with a crush on me that I should know about?” Marlow asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ilya just replied with a fantastically flat look that suggested Marlow likely was, in fact, missing something very obvious.

“Anyway,” Ilya said instead of answering. “Will be good for you to fuck someone who actually wants to bottom for you.” 

“Fuck off man, you love this.” Marlow said, grabbing his crotch lewdly. 

Ilya put out his cigarette butt on the windowsill and flicked it out into the night. He shifted around, flopping with practiced ease against Marlow’s chest as he fished out the remote.

“You want to watch Grey’s Anatomy?”

“You know me so well.” Ilya smirked, getting comfortable and content there.

Marlow carded his hand through Ilya’s soft hair, feeling deeply satiated. He had no interest in this show, but Ilya loved it and over time it was fostering into a sort of Pavlovian fondness in himself.

He let himself zone out a bit, petting Ilya’s hair.

“I have started seeing a counsellor.” Ilya said quietly.

“That’s cool.” Marlow answered with careful ease.

“Shane and I… we had a talk. It was difficult. But good, I think.” Ilya's voice was soft, a little raw. Unable to help himself, Marlow wrapped his arms a bit more snuggly around Ilya, giving a firm squeeze.

“She is nice. We speak in Russian.”

“Shit, should I be learning Russian?”

Ilya snorted. 

“No, Marly. You are fine.”

“Teach me how to say something.” Marlow said warmly. “I already know blyad. Something else. Not a curse word.”

Ilya sighed, his eyelids heavy. He leaned into Marlow’s touch.

“Ty moy krepost.”

The words tumbled over Ilya’s tongue artfully in a way that Marlow knew he’d only be able to replicate in a way that was fumbling and clumsy.

“What does that mean?” Marlow asked.

Ilya rested his cheek against Marlow’s chest and didn’t answer. 

-

Annoyingly, Allens started playing better.

Marlow was determined to convince himself that this was due to the counselling sessions, and not due to the fact that they were now fucking semi-regularly. Though not without some firm guidelines.

They were not dating.

Protection was non-optional.

They would only hook up as long as Allens was seeing a therapist that specialized in anger management. 

No questions about Shane Hollander.

Now, Allens was getting into fewer fights, which meant the guy spent less time in the penalty box, which meant more successful plays.

After Ilya pointed it out, Marlow started to spot it. If Allens made a goal or a strong assist, his eyes more often than not would find Marlow's on the rink. Not anything overt or even intentional. The guy might not have even realized he was doing it. But Marlow took care to nod, or give him a thumbs up when their eyes happened to meet.

Whenever he did, Allens would skate a little faster, play a little sharper. 

It was the sort of thing that a younger Marlow might have latched onto and turned into some kind of game ritual. But he knew how that played out, and knew that would only lead to trouble.

The last time that he made the decision to start conflating hockey performance with casual teammate sex he wound up in love with the guy-

-Marlow’s train of thought arrested to a sudden halt on the ice. He lost track of the puck and the game, his mind reduced to a fog horn of white noise- 

-He was in love with Ilya?

-This was how Marlow ended up getting absolutely obliterated by the opposing team’s right wing. It wasn’t a check - the guy simply hadn’t anticipated Marlow stopping dead and as a result the two ended up in a crash that laid him out flat on the ice. 

Marlow spent the night in observation at the hospital with his fourth ever concussion and a stern warning from the doctor that the next one he got was going to mean the end of his career.

Marlow took that as a sign and vowed not to revisit that thought anytime soon.

-

“Our cats are just through here.”

The adoption center had a few walls with cubbies that kept cats in groups of two or three. There was a larger open area where they had a bit more space to play, though the volume of residents there meant they could only use the free space in shifts. 

Overall, the place was a little crowded. But at least it was clean. The smell of cats wasn’t quite as strong as Marlow had expected it to be.

“Unfortunately we’re a few months out from kitten season. They’re all cats now.” The assistant there showing Marlow around looked him over with a clinical eye. 

“You know, if you’re away at work a lot. You really might be better suited to adopt one of the older cats. They’re a lot less high maintenance than a kitten.

“Hm,” Marlow looked around guilty. “I already said I’d gotten a kitten…”

“Who cares?” Allens spoke up from down the hall. He was poking a finger through the bars, trying to entice the cat on the other side to play with him. “People call grown up cats ‘kittens’ all the time.”

Marlow had tried to kick Allens out that morning (as well as the night before), but he had somehow managed to stick around and tag along. Marlow supposed that was fine, it was technically his fault Marlow was in this situation. He was just glad that the guy’s sex noises didn’t happen to sound like a tortoise, because apparently those things could live for like, a century.

“What are you going to do with a cat when we’re away all the time anyway?” Allens asked from where he was crouched on the floor. The assistant’s scrutiny of Marlow was mounting by the minute. 

“My neighbor downstairs is going to look after them.” Marlow explained quickly. He sighed, turning to the assistant. “She’s pretty old. Her kids live in Chicago. Cat sitting would give me an excuse to give her twenty bucks a day and to check in on her.”

“Oh.” Her frosty demeanor thawed very quickly. “You know.” She leaned forward a bit. “A lot of our cats are here because their previous owners were elderly and passed away. It happens more often than you’d think.” 

Marlow smiled thinly, feeling properly worn down. 

“Do you have any… smaller senior cats?”

“Yes! Let me introduce you to Penny-”

Penny was a twelve-year-old tabby cat  - white with red stripes so light they were practically peach-colored. One probably could mistake her for a kitten at a glance. She wore her age only in her face, which had something distinctly tired about it. 

She handled without a fuss, even tolerating Allens tweaking her paws as he held her while Marlow filled out all of the required paperwork.

“Do you have a carrier for her?”

“Yeah, we hit up the pet store before coming here.”

“What food did you buy?”

“Uh. I don’t know. Cat food?”

They left the adoption center plus one cat, a small bag full of toys, and an additional list of recommended wet and dry cat food, as well as some supplements to help with Penny’s joint care. Allens was calling her Miss Penny, which Marlow was absolutely not doing.

Ilya had laughed when Marlow told him he was going through with it.

“Marlow, Shane knows you are fucking other people. You do not have to get a cat.”

“Nah I don’t care about him knowing about Allens. I just feel bad lying about the cat. I don’t know why I said that.” Marlow said, with such proper sincerity that Ilya just ended up laughing over it.

“You should feel bad you denied him a chance to participate in hot phone sex.”

“Fuck off man, I’d been waiting all night for him to call.”

“One of these days we will call you while having sex and you will have to guess when.”

“No way Shane would do that.”

There was a thick, voluminous silence on the other end of the line that sent an electric jolt up Marlow’s spine.

“Have you?”

“Send me photos of the cat thank you!”

“I thought you were a dog guy?”

“I can like both!”

-

After arriving back at Marlow’s apartment, Penny the Cat promptly hid herself in Marlow’s closet and stayed there for several hours. The half a dozen subreddits dedicated to cats that he joined all said that this was normal. 

She came out while Marlow was eating dinner, watching him sternly with her tail wrapped snug around small white paws. He watched her back, a bit unsure. 

Penny kept closing her eyes. 

Maybe she was tired?

There was a cat bed in the kitchen. Marlow made a point of showing it to her several times, though she only ever gave it a polite sniff. Hopefully she found it instead of sleeping in the closet, it had to be more comfortable there.

That night, Marlow woke up from a deep sleep to find her sitting on his chest, purring surprisingly loudly. The vibrations thrummed deep into his chest.

“Alright. Suit yourself.” Marlow grumbled, petting her back along the spine. 

Her fur was soft.

-

“Yes! She is beautiful!” Ilya’s face filled the screen as he seized the phone off of Shane. “Hello Penny! I am your dyádya Ilya!”

Marlow smirked. He held the phone out so that the two could see her on his lap. 

“You aren’t worried about cat hair?” Shane frowned.

“I’ve got one of those roomba things.” Marlow shrugged. 

Marlow had not considered the cat hair.

“Does Penny like dogs?” Ilya asked.

“Uh, I think so, yeah. The lady at the adoption center said she used to live with one.”

“Good! Shane and I are going to get a dog. It is important that our children all get along.”

“We’re getting a dog?” Shane laughed. “Since when?”

“Do you not want a dog?”

“A dog might be nice… but we travel a lot.” Shane said thoughtfully. 

“Okay. We will get our three dogs when Cliff retires.”

Shane and Marlow were both caught between laughing and wondering just how serious Ilya was being. 

Marlow did like dogs.

“Oh, Cliff. How is your head?” Shane leaned into the camera view.

Marlow had gotten his phone delivered to him in the hospital where there were half a dozen text messages from Lily and Jane, as well as his family and a few other friends who had been watching the game.

He’d assured all of them that he was fine, though it was sweet of Shane to still be concerned.

“Yeah, me and Penny are both on our ninth life.” Marlow said irreverently. She finally squirmed out from under his arm and hopped over his shoulder to the other side of the couch.

“That sucks man, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I had some observations, stayed off screens for a while. All the usual stuff.”

“Are you sure you’re okay for the playoffs?”

“Doctors cleared me, yeah.” Marlow shrugged. “Though you might have to tell the kids at your camp to go easy on me.”

The result was immediate. Shane shoved his way further into the camera view. 

“You’re coming then?”

“Yeah, man. You invited me, remember?”

“That’s great!”

Marlow grinned, despite himself. Shane was cute when he got like this. It was hard to recognize at first, but got easier the more time Marlow spent around him and talking to him. How he’d lean forward, like the excitement was cracking the foundations of his person in a way he couldn’t contain. It lit him up around the eyes, and in the shiver of frantic energy that would thrum along his edges.

How was it possible that this was the same guy as the stone cold badass who gave him a semi by sucker punching Allens on the ice?

“Yeah, I’ve started looking at places to stay in the area. There’s a lot of nice houses nearby on AirBnB.”

Shane stalled, his hands tight on his knees. 

“Oh, yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah.”

Marlow’s stomach dropped immediately. He had mentioned it to be polite, of course. He didn’t want to presume that he’d be staying with Shane and Ilya. He didn’t even know what their housing situation was. But it had a strange, immediate effect on Shane. His smile was stretched and quivering at the edges. 

Marlow was about to speak up and clarify, but Shane cut across him first.

“Okay. Well. That’s great news! I’m really glad you’ll be there.” Shane floundered. “Okay, it was nice talking to you Cliff, bye!”

The call snapped closed.

He blinked. 

What was that?

Shit. He messed up. 

Marlow wasn’t sure how but he clearly had. He must have come across like he was trying to blow them off or something.

Marlow was agonizing over whether to call back or text when his phone buzzed.

Ilya: give shane a moment. he needs to process that you are spending the summer with us

Ilya: sometimes when plans suddenly change he has trouble

Ilya: he is very happy you want to do to hockey camp

Ilya: you will stay with us. he will ask you shortly

Marlow re-read Ilya’s texts a few times, though the tightness in his chest persisted.

He could see how it took Ilya and Shane so long to work things out and get together. If Marlow didn’t have Ilya there as a Shane-interpreter, he… 

He didn’t know.

Marlow wasn’t good at chasing after the things that he wanted.

If he was, it might have been him and Ilya on one side of the phone, and Shane on the other - far away and wondering what the two of them were talking about.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later Marlow’s phone rang.

“Hey Shane.” 

“Hey! So. I actually have a Cottage. It’s not really close to the camp, but it’s really private. You could - you should stay there. With us.” He said it all in a rush. “Ilya and I have been spending the summers there since we got together. It's by a lake, which I know isn't really like Ibiza at all but we could still go swimming, if you wanted-”

Marlow smiled as he listened to Shane carry on. 

-

Time marched forward.

The winter snow turned into brown winter slush on the coarse Boston streets before giving way to spring. The trees sighed with new foliage and the air warmed.

Marlow’s apartment gained a very expensive cat tower in the window, which Miss Penny ignored in favor of an old bath towel that she was immediately and inexplicitly possessive of.

It now went with her when she went down to the floor below to stay with his neighbor Mrs. Bradshaw when Marlow left for his away games.

When he returned, he'd pick her up and sit with the woman for a while and take her through the same five steps to open up her email address so she could send memes to her grandson. Eventually, he’d make his way back up to his apartment with Miss Penny in his arms. And it was nice, having someone there with him in the space that was normally so big and empty to come home to. 

Allens’ time on the second line did show that he and Russo played better apart - they were both strong players but their skills clashed in a way that collectively held them back. When it was time for Allens to move back up to the first line, Russo moved back. It was a smoother transition now that Allens’ behavior was showing a marked improvement, which meant the team overall was more inclined to work with him rather than around him.

Sometimes, though not always.

Sometimes, Allens was still very difficult to work with.

“We’re not rooming together during away games.” Marlow said sternly. 

“Why not?” Allens demanded. 

Marlow picked up his pace in the run, though he knew damn well that Allens could likely run circles around him if he wanted to. The day was sunny and bright, though still a bit cold. Marlow was in an Under Armour compression shirt (as was mandated following his recent brand deal) though Allens was perfectly at ease in a loose tank and basketball shorts. 

“Why would I start rooming with a rookie?”

“Cause we’re friends now!” Allens protested hotly. That was getting harder to rebuke - especially now that they were doing things like hanging out on off days.

“And who cares why. We’d be able to fuck during away games.”

“You could say that a little louder, I think those old ladies across the pond might not have heard you.”

“Fuck off, nobody’s listening.” 

Marlow took a tight corner that would take them around the lake. It should have required Allens to fall back to keep from breaking his shin on a park bench, but instead he sped up and cleared it with the effortless ease of a track star runner and kept pace right alongside Marlow. 

“Look, I’m retiring soon. I don’t care if I’m outed.” Marlow explained. “You’re just getting started. You’re going to have years of crap to deal with if you come out now.”

Allens glowered, looking sulky and petulant.

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

Marlow raised his eyebrows, surprised again.

He slowed to a halt. A few ducks took off from the path with indignant squawks and winged their way into the water. 

“You’re right. I don’t.” Marlow acquiesced, hands on his hips. He was doing his best to hide that he was mildly winded. Allens was bouncing on his toes, still brimming with energy. “But you need to be smart about this. I don’t think the NHL even has a policy about relationships between team players - don’t get excited.” Marlow said sternly.

Allens hadn’t said anything, but his shoulders went rigid and a flicker of intensity had flared up in his eyes at the word relationship. 

“What I mean is, that’s going to be dicey. Out or not, if people find out what we’re doing, Coach will probably end up trading you. Not all teams are as chill as Boston.”

Allens sighed angrily, but it did look like he was finally thinking over Marlow’s warning properly. 

“You’re gonna come out?” He glanced over at Marlow, circling back.

“Yeah.” Marlow shrugged, looking out over the lake. “I, uh.” 

He actually hadn’t thought about it. As usual, the idea seemed to pop fully formed into his mind, leaving it up to Marlow to play catch up to it.

“I mean. I don’t know. My family would be fine with it. I could quit the NHL tomorrow if I wanted. Not everyone’s in that position though.” 

If Allens suspected who Marlow was talking about, he didn’t say anything - which Marlow was quietly appreciative of.

“The more people who take that heat, the easier it’ll be for everyone else. So yeah, I’ll come out. Sometime after playoffs.” He tapped on his fitness watch, checking his heart rate. “And I’ll take some hits for it. But I’ll give some hits as well. Make it so when it’s your turn, it’s a little easier.”

It was Allens standing there, watching him with big green eyes, his mouth a bit shiny from hard breathing, his hair askew under a backwards baseball cap. But it was hard to look at him at that moment and not picture Shane. 

To picture Ilya. 

And, yeah. That felt good. The more Marlow spoke, the more right it felt.

He took hits for others. 

That’s what he did.

-

Before Marlow knew it, playoffs had arrived.

It was a tense and stressful time all around.

His group chat with Shane and Ilya grew a bit quiet. He didn’t mind, he knew they were all under the same sort of pressure.

Marlow went from dead sleep to full alertness when he saw the name.

“Shane.” He sat up, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,”

“Is Ilya alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Shane said haltingly. There was something noticeably subdued in his voice.

“You don’t sound alright.”

“I’m sorry for calling so late.”

“You can call me any time.” Marlow said roughly, his head bowed. His stomach was churning. He needed Shane to tell him what was wrong. 

“Ilya had a bad day.” Shane said quietly. “I know it’s normal. It isn’t his fault. His mom had days like that too. And he’s taking stuff for it now. Medication, and it helps. But.”

“Is Ilya okay?”

“He’s asleep now. I was too, for a bit.” His voice sounded thick. Marlow closed his eyes, waiting and listening, not hurrying him to talk. “I worry about him so much sometimes.” Shane said in a strained whisper.

“You love him.” Marlow stated, resting his head on his arm.

“I do. I just. Worry that it’s not enough.” Shane said, so quietly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung all this on you,”

“Don’t apologize.” Marlow said at once. “I… I’m not good at this. I don’t know if I can help. But. It means a lot that you called me. To talk about this.”

Shane breathed out shallowly. 

“Did he ever - did you ever notice this side of him? Did he ever let you see it?”

“Yeah.” Marlow murmured, eyes closed. “Once or twice.”

“What did you do?”

“Hm. Is there a Russian diner nearby that delivers?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

Marlow heard the sound of a sliding door opening and closing. With his eyes shut, he imagined Shane moving into the backyard of Ilya’s house, sitting in the cool dark air with his back against the glass door. 

“Ukrainian is good too. He likes dumplings. You should eat some with him.”

Shane made a soft, reluctant sort of sound.

“Up to you.” Marlow added, though he privately thought it would do Shane some good to have some carbs in his diet. “But he’ll be more likely to eat if he has company. Also try to get him to go for a run, some kind of exercise.”

“And that works?”

“I like to think it helps.”

Miss Penny trilled softly nearby in a way that sounded distinctly like a question. She padded over to the bed and jumped up, curling herself into Marlow’s lap. 

“By the way,” Marlow added. “How much water did you drink tonight?”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Have a glass before bed. You have a game tomorrow, it’ll be bad to wake up with a headache.”

“Speaking from experience?” Shane asked. There was a tentative smile in his voice now.

“A bit.”

They both breathed.

“Thanks Cliff.”

“It's really nothing.” Marlow ground out, his head bowed low until his nose was brushing against Penny’s ears. He tried not to let the frustration show in his voice. He wanted to be there. He wanted Ilya and Shane in his arms. He wanted to fight off the monsters.

He wanted…

“Yeah, but. It means a lot to me. To have someone to talk to. To have… this.” Shane said quietly.

“I’m here whenever you need me.” Marlow was too tired to school the deep wanting out of his voice as they both leaned against the walls that divided them.

Chapter 8: The Playoffs

Chapter Notes

Friends I don't know what to tell you those pics of Franco Lo Presti got dropped on threads and I saw them and blacked out and when I woke up I realized this chapter was mostly porn. Enjoy!

After a grueling round of playoffs, Boston got beat out in the final bracket, leaving the Voyagers a clear path to take the cup.

Marlow tried not to feel too miserable about it. He knew the team had played their best. The final game against the Admirals had been some of the best hockey they'd played all season. Boston didn’t typically go out after losing a game, but they did have a time-honored tradition of meeting up for better or worse at the end of the season.

Marlow stuck around for a few drinks, though most of the team peeled off early to lick their wounds and get a jump start on their summer. 

He noticed Allens disappeared almost immediately. 

Sure enough, once he got back to his apartment building he found the guy arguing with the doorman who controlled the lift.

“Stop trying to break into my apartment.” Marlow told him sternly, corralling him into the elevator before anyone could notice.

“I wouldn’t have to if you gave me a key.”

I’m probably going to have to give him a key. Marlow realized dourly as he shut the kid up with a rough, angry kiss and a hand around his throat. It was safer than risking him getting noticed hanging around.

Marlow herded Penny out of the bedroom and into the hall while Marlow’s other stray cat tore himself free of his clothes. 

-

“I'm going to see my sister in Salt Lake City for the summer.” Allens told Marlow as he stepped out of the bathroom, tousling his hair dry with a towel. 

Marlow was still relaxing on the bed, resisting the urge to reach for a cigarette. 

“That's cool man.” He picked his head up. “Oh shit, are you Mormon?” 

“Not everyone from Salt Lake City is Mormon!” Allens rankled back at him. He sighed, pulling on dark boxer-briefs. 

“What are you doing with your time off?” Allens asked casually, as if he was not currently in the process of stealing one of Marlow’s hoodies. 

Marlow had to give him some credit - Allens was carefully keeping the ice out of his voice, which meant he probably already had an idea. 

Maybe the petty larceny was helping to keep him grounded.

“Going to be volunteering at a hockey camp.”

“You gonna tell Shane Hollander I said hi?” Allens said with his teeth.

“I'll bring you back an autographed poster.”

“You're such a traitor to Boston.” Allens seethed, hands on his hips.

“And you agreed to a rule about no Hollander talk.” Marlow reminded him sternly, sitting up on the bed. “You wanna do this, you gotta be okay with sharing, man.” Marlow said, hands behind his head. “That's how it works.”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Allens ran his hands through his hair, taking a few measured breaths. “I can't control what others do. But I can control how I react.” He said with careful, practiced intonations that Marlow guessed that had to have come from his counselling sessions. 

Marlow rolled off of the bed, moving over to Allens. He braced the back of Allen’s head, pulling him in to place a kiss against his hair. 

“Good boy.”

He felt a full-body shudder run through Allens’ body. His pupils blown big and wide. 

After Jamie left was… weird.

Normally after the season wrapped up, Marlow would be hurrying to get done all of his miscellaneous work in preparation for his annual college buddies trip to some exotic location.

It was odd seeing their group chat buzzing away with flights and plans with Marlow sitting out of it. Though to be fair, their numbers were dwindling over the years. More of the guys these days we're settling down with wives and kids and couldn't just blow off two weeks to party on the beach in Ibiza.

He muted the group chat and tried to keep himself occupied.

He did his usual training, worked on his brand deals. 

He forced himself to answer a few boring, complicated emails from his financial advisor in regard to some funds that had been set up in his name by his parents. 

He sent a sizable donation to Miss Penny's adoption shelter and organized a set of quad bikes to be delivered to his sister’s house for his twin nephew’s upcoming birthday. She was going to absolutely hate it, but Marlow knew that Jason and Percy had been asking Santa for them for years and growing increasingly despondent that they hadn’t been deemed good enough to receive them.

Marlow was listlessly watching ESPN when his phone buzzed.

Lily: hey 

Lily: come get me at the airport.

Marlow read his texts twice, deeply confused.

Marlow: is that text for me?

Ilya replied with a selfie of himself in a baseball cap and dark sunglasses, posing with a peace sign and his signature three-quarter profile in front of a sign for BOS.

Do I have a type?

Marlow wondered during the mad tear up to Boston Airport.

The Centaurs had been knocked out much earlier, and with Shane on the road for playoffs, Ilya had booked a flight down to Boston so they could cheer Shane on together.

“Also I thought you could use some cheering up.” Ilya said brightly from the passenger seat of the car. 

“You missed out on the cup too.” Marlow pointed out with a grin.

“Yes, but the closer you get the more that it hurts.” Ilya smirked back. 

Marlow focused on the road, and tried not to think too much about his last phone call with Shane. 

Or Ilya in his house alone while Shane was on the road. 

His hand found Ilya’s knee, giving in a squeeze as they drove on.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

-

There was a dangerous sort of happiness that came with those days of Ilya back in Boston - utterly comfortable and at ease in Marlow’s space. 

They worked out together in the mornings. 

Went to see a Red Sox game with Connors and Saint-Simon.

They visited some old friends and went out to eat at all the places Ilya missed most.

Photos both from their own Instagram accounts as well as some candid shots taken by fans they ran into made their way around the internet that had #Brozalow trending for fans who liked to follow how the two friends stayed close after Ilya’s transfer.

Marlow had to learn the hard way that this was apparently a very distinct and very separate tag from #Rozalow which was utilized by a sect of the internet that had a much more frighteningly accurate notions of their relationship.

“Should we be worried about this?” Marlow asked Ilya as he scrolled through his phone. 

The two were relaxing on Marlow’s large sofa, Penny tucked up between them. 

“Nobody takes that seriously.” Ilya said irreverently. “All hockey players get shipped with each other."

“Seriously? They do this with you and Shane?”

“Yes - it is called Hollanov.”

Marlow scrolled, eyebrows shooting up. There were a decent number of edits and photo compilations of the two of them working together for the Irina Foundation. There was also… ugh, Shane flat out on the ice after Marlow decked him three years ago.

Marlow was never going to live that down.

He could never bring himself to go back and watch it - how Ilya had stayed with Shane the entire time. 

Marlow had been too busy getting his ankles bitten by Hayden Pike to see it himself.

There was also a slew of very suggestive (and generous) drawings that gave him a start.

“Shane doesn't mind this?”

Ilya shrugged.

“Talking about it online just makes them do it more. Nobody pays much attention to it.”

“What is the name for me and Shane?”

“I don't think you two have one.”

“What?” Marlow frowned, feeling strangely put out.

-

They went out for a few drinks with those on the Bears who hadn’t gone home yet for the summer. 

They bickered over laundry and where the cups and plates were meant to be put away out of the dishwasher.

They fell asleep on top of one another, and in the morning Cliff woke up with Ilya warm and comfortable in his bed, smelling like Marlow’s detergent with the morning sun in his hair and Miss Penny curled up in a little half-moon under his arm.

There was something else there too. The sneaky, dangerous thing that Marlow had tried to shove under a mental rock in his mind that was distinctly concussion-shaped. 

It slipped out on those sunny, pastel-soft mornings when he woke up before Ilya just to watch him sleeping, and whispered in his ear with a voice full of despair.

I’m in love with him. 

-

One night after a few drinks out at a local bar, they stumbled back into the apartment. Kissing, groping at one another.

Shane had just won another match for Montreal in the playoffs, and it had them buzzing on a contact high.

Marlow fell back onto the bed, Ilya spreading himself over him and peppered hot kisses down the scruff of his throat. Ilya’s hands slid greedily dow Marlow’s waist, thumbs tracking and tracing the sharp cut of his hips. 

Ilya was positioned between his legs with a wicked gleam in his eyes. It took Marlow a long, muddy moment to clock what he had in mind.

“Ilya…” 

“Cliff.” He said back, plaintively.

Marlow considered him for a long moment.

“Ugh, fine.” He slung an arm over his head.

He was too drunk, too horny. Too stupidly in love with the man pressing hot kisses down his thighs to deny him a single goddamn thing.

“Relax.” Ilya said, positioning himself between Marlow’s legs. “I know what I’m doing.”

Down the hall from the apartment, Miss Penny was peaceably grooming her ears in front of the large windows looking out over the Boston city skyline. Her work was disrupted as a roar split through the quiet evening - sending her yowling and scampering under the sofa. 

“Oh, FUCK!”

“Yes, that is your prostate.” Ilya said, with a wolfish gleam in his eyes. “Keep breathing for me. Nice and deep.”  He instructed, slipping in another finger inside. 

“Ohmygod - fuck, Ilya-!”

Ilya’s fingers found Cliff’s palm. Their fingers slid together and tangled up in one another as Ilya eased himself in.

Ilya hovered over him, his eyes bright and blue and- 

“Fuck, Ilya - you can’t look at me like that when we’re doing this-” Marlow gasped out. He threw an arm over his eyes, schooling his breathing carefully. 

“What, why?” Ilya laughed. He shifted his hips carefully, his body slipping further inside. “Since when is Cliff Marlow shy?”

It was too much. Ilya was thick and hard and hot inside him. His back arched and his body clenched around him.

“I just - I need you to go harder, please-” Marlow gasped.

He needed Ilya to just take what he wanted. To hurt him. To take him out of this place that felt too real and vulnerable and close. 

Ilya’s hand gripped Marlow’s wrist tight, pinning him to the bed.

“No.” Ilya’s breath plumed hot and went across Marlow’s chest. “Tonight, you are mine.”

-

The night before the cup final, Marlow and Ilya dropped Penny down to stay with Mrs. Bradshaw and flew up to Ottawa.

“Are you sure this is alright?”

Marlow stepped out of Ilya’s too-flashy car, looking over the big, quiet compound. 

Cottage his ass, this place was enormous.

“Yes!” Ilya said brightly, handing Marlow his bag. “Was Shane’s idea, remember?”

He had said as much in their group chat, though Marlow figured it couldn’t hurt to check and be sure.

Ilya brought in their luggage, while Marlow heaved in six massive bags of groceries. It turned out a macrobiotic diet meant having a metric ton of fresh ingredients on hand. 

Marlow heaved the bags up onto the counter. The place was spotless and empty, save for a paper a docket that had been left there.

“Ah. That is from… company.” Ilya snapped his fingers, trying and failing to find the words. “They come over a few days before we arrive. They check for damage, smoke alarms, turn on the refrigerator. That sort of thing.”

“Oh, yeah they dewinterize the place.” 

Ilya shot Marlow a flat, somber look reserved specifically for his disdain of the English language.

“Hm, they don’t have the hot tub outside listed on here.” Marlow noted, reading over the itemized list. 

“Seperate business does this, I think.” Ilya said, putting stacks of chicken breast into the fridge. 

“I can do it.” Marlow offered.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I worked at a pool supply company when I was a teenager.”

“You were a poolboy?” Ilya leaned across the counter with a rakish grin.

“I mean, it was one of the businesses my parents bought in a debt portfolio during the recession. They said I needed to work to build character so-”

Ilya made a sharp raspberry with his tongue with all the fervor of his communist ancestors. 

“No. That is much less sexy. Poolboy is better.”

They put their groceries and luggage away and Ilya found a key to the back shed from some undisclosed location. Marlow was pleased to find a proper stock of the right chemicals and equipment and set about draining and sanitizing the hot tub, cleaning out the filters and half a dozen other tasks needed for the three of them to thoroughly debauch it later.

It was work that was soothing and repetitive to him. Not that Marlow ever had a passion for pool maintenance, but he always liked physical work that you could see the result of at the end of the day. 

He also liked that Ilya came out to recline on one of the adirondack chairs with sunglasses, an open shirt and a mojito in one hand. It was still a bit cold out, but Ilya seemed to be too committed too the bit to care. He made sly and suggestive remarks here and there with nonsense instructions to his “pool boy” that were mostly comprised of innuendo. Marlow was happy to play along, bending and flexing and playing it up - the bit inevitably culminating with Ilya getting his cock sucked on the adirondack chair with his fist in Marlow’s hair, fucking into his mouth.

They went for a walk around the large lake that flanked the property.

Ilya set up the speaker in the kitchen, blasting europop while they marinated tempeh and prepped vegetables for some of the recipes they had looked up that fit with Shane’s diet for when he arrived.

Alongside this, the two prepared a massive and thoroughly unhealthy tray of enchiladas to watch the NHL final.

It was just the two of them, but that also meant that they could cheer Shane on to their heart’s content. It did feel a bit sacrilegious to Marlow to cheer on Montreal, but he figured he would be okay as long as he didn’t root for just any play or goal scored by the Voyagers - just anything strong play pulled off by Shane specifically. 

Watching him hold up the cup was an incredible feeling - mingled as it was with a soft simmer of jealousy that it wasn’t Boston out there on the ice.

-

Marlow woke up in the grey early morning to the sound of gravel crunching under tires out in the driveway. The two had fallen asleep in the living room, Ilya tucked up under his arm and snoozing away unbothered. 

He extricated himself slowly, moving to the door.

Shane pulled up, looking bleary and sleepy-eyed. A lopsided smile stretched over his face as Marlow came out to greet him.

“Hey!” 

Shane all but collapsed into his arms, making a soft pleased sound as Marlow caught him and effortlessly supported his weight. Shane was solid muscle, but so was Marlow, and he had a good six inches on him to boot. 

“Hey…” Shane said blearily, sounding warm and elated. “We won.”

“You did so good.” Marlow hugged him tight, and Shane squeezed him back. His chest felt warm and expansive, like his heart was pressed up against his ribs. 

Shane. Shane was here.

Fucking finally.

He buried his nose in Shane’s hair, breathing him in. 

“We watched the game. You were so amazing.” 

“Fuck, I’m so tired… Didn’t sleep all night.”

“The bed’s made for you.”

“Ngh, shower first…”

Marlow laughed because, yes of course. The smell of other people's cigarettes, beer and other scents that carried in the wake of a night well-celebrated clung to his person.

He half-walked, half-carried Shane into the bathroom and out of the clothes he had been wearing the night before. Shane kept his forehead plastered to Marlow’s shoulder, leaning on him as much as possible as he guided the two of them under the hot spray of the water.

“You didn't drive back like this, did you?” Marlow admonished gently. He had his hands in Shane’s hair, massaging his scalp in a way that had Shane struggling to keep on his feet. His eyes were rolled back in his head, his jaw slack.

“I was fine.” Shane murmured, as Marlow directed the water to rinse his hair. “Just wanted to be here with you.”

“You could have gotten into an accident.” Marlow chided, moving on to soap up Shane’s neck and shoulders. 

“I was okay driving.” Shane pouted. He pulled back, looking up at Marlow with an intent, clear focus in his eyes so Marlow understood. 

Shane was tired, yes. Maybe not as tired as he seemed. He wanted an excuse to be clingy and cuddly with Marlow, which he was more than happy to oblige. He placed a kiss on a blooming bruise on Shane’s shoulder where he had gotten a hard check during the final game.

He wanted to kiss more of him.

He wanted Shane riled up and wanting, flushed and pretty and aching for him. 

But Shane was clearly too out of it to get up to much more than muzzle against him and preen against the attention - and Marlow was happy to wait.

They had time.

After Shane was clean, they lingered in the shower for a while - enjoying the warm water and revelled in one another’s presence. 

Marlow and Shane spoke often, but it had been months since they had been able to be physical with one another. Marlow glowed a bit at how that seemed to affect Shane as well - the man buried his face in Marlow’s chest, pawing and petting at the soft dark hair of his navel and the sharp curve of his hips. 

In short order, Marlow had Shane clean and toweled off in a soft terricloth robe. Ilya warned Marlow that Shane hated being picked up - but either he was too tired or too content to care when Marlow lifted him up off the bathroom counter and carried him into the bedroom.

“Ilya…”

Shane murmured, as he spread out against the pillows of the bed. 

“We fell asleep on the couch last night. I’ll bring him in.”

Shane was deep asleep by the time Marlow corralled a bleary-eyed Ilya into bed. He immediately plastered himself to Shane’s side, murmuring to him dotingly in Russian as he teetered on the edge of wakefulness. 

Marlow paused to admire how the two of them gravitated so effortlessly toward one another. He lingered for a moment at the bedside, tired and still a bit buzzed and tried to keep it at arm’s length - the feeling of being like he was intruding on what they had. 

“Marly.” Ilya grunted, snapping him out of it. He looked up at him sternly from over Shane’s shoulder, one eye peeking out and glaring, as if he could read Marlow’s self-doubt clearly on his face. 

Marlow slid into bed after them, bracketing Shane between himself and Ilya.

Shane shifted and sighed contently, mumbling something thoroughly unintelligible against Marlow’s chest as he drifted off.

“I missed you too.” Marlow breathed back.

-

The sun had properly risen now. Fresh, clean air was circulating through the open windows, along with the sounds of wind through the leaves and a whip-or-whill calling from somewhere nearby.  

Shane was still tired, aching a bit. But it was difficult to be too put out when Cliff Marlow was spread out over him, kissing him. 

They had both woken back up around the same time. They’d moved in unison - too tired and lazy to move into one of the spare bedrooms in favor of trying to keep quiet as possible to not wake Ilya who was still dozing within arms reach.

Over the years, Shane had quickly become intoxicated by the concept of time. Not having to rush things with Ilya or with Cliff. Being able to kiss slowly, gently. 

“Sh,” Cliff breathed against the corner of Shane’s mouth. He couldn’t help it. He had moaned so softly the moment Cliff’s hand had touched his naked waist. He tried to roll up into the touch, only to feel himself be pinned and that never failed to drive him crazy. 

Shane’s cock was thick and full. He had to curl his fingers into fists against the pillows to keep from touching himself. He wanted to, but even more than immediate gratification he wanted, he wanted to - 

Cliff shifted Shane gently, slowly until they were flush against each other, Shane’s back pressed against the hard planes of Cliff’s stomach. A broad, heavy hand moved up Shane’s thigh. 

Yes, yes yes-

He didn’t know if Ilya had told Cliff where the lube was kept, or else it was a very good educated guess when he heard the telltale sound of the cap - and a moment later a thick slick finger stroked between his spread cheeks. 

Shane buried his head in a pillow, but keened again. He couldn’t help it. He cracked an eye open at Ilya, who was still deep asleep and unbothered. 

“Will you be good for me?” Cliff whispered. Shane nodded feverishly. Two of Cliff’s fingers from his dry hand brushed against Shane’s lips. He swallowed them down at once, relishing the thick feeling pressed against his tongue as Cliff resumed opening him.

They took their time, even after Cliff pressed inside. 

Instead of chasing the pleasure or rushing to a hot, kinetic climax, Shane languished in the slick push and drag of Cliff’s cock. He moved slowly, a controlled and smooth roll of the hips done with great care to disturb the bed as little as possible. 

Shane wasn’t sure how much time passed like that - drooling mindlessly around Cliff’s fingers while they lazily edged together.

At one point though, Shane realized that Ilya’s eyes had opened, just a crack. 

How long had he been watching?

Shane’s cock throbbed at the prospect, almost painfully as he leaked and ached and wanted.

Shane moaned again, this time soft and begging. 

Ilya shifted forward, kissing the corner of Shane's mouth around Cliff's fingers. They slid free, Cliff braced the back of Ilya's head and pulled him forward so he and Shane were kissing messily.

Cliff didn't pick up his pace. If anything - maddeningly - he stilled, his hips flush with Shane's and pressing hot kisses to his neck.

“Please, please…”

“What do you want, kotenok?” Ilya pulled back, breathless. His eyes were glazed with heavy adoration of the men before him.

“I want… both of you.” The words were pushed out of Shane in a low moan as Cliff continued to move.

“Are you sure?” Cliff’s voice sounded maddeningly even and composed in sharp contrast to Shane, who was on the brink of losing his goddamn mind.

“Yes!” He gasped out, eyes screwed shut.  

Shane just won a Stanley Cup, damnit. He wanted both of his boyfriend’s cocks in him now. 

Ilya and Cliff were talking to one another, but Shane wasn’t listening. He was too preoccupied with not coming all over Ilya as he kissed his way up Shane’s chest. 

The three of them shifted, Cliff pulled out briefly to re-situate Shane on his lap as he leaned back against the headboard of the bed.

Shane couldn’t help it. He pined pathetically at the loss, even if it was brief. 

“Sh, I got you.” Cliff assured him so warmly, sliding back inside. Shane rolled his head back against Cliff’s shoulder. His body was so solid and warm. One arm was wrapped snug around Shane’s waist, supporting him at the odd angle that left him exposed. The other ran greedily up and down his side, soothing and grounding him as Ilya lined himself up to press inside.

They had to go slowly. Neither Cliff or Ilya were small. But Shane was relaxed and determined and horny enough to swallow the stretch and the burn.

“Good boy.”

“My kotenok,”

“Oh my god…”

Shane was flush between them, Cliff pressed against his back and Ilya at his front. They hung there for a moment, letting Shane accommodate to the sensation of them.

Ilya’s hand pressed against Shane’s navel.

“I can feel us here.” Ilya said, lips against Shane’s neck. 

“Fuck off, no you can’t.” Shane pined, his voice high and breathless. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they could. Ilya rolled his hips slowly, pushing fully inside. Cliff’s chest rumbled against Shane’s back. He squeezed Shane a little tighter, his eyes screwed shut. 

“Ngh, Roz-” 

Their movements were careful, but uncoordinated. It was a sensation unfamiliar and overwhelming in the absolute best way.

Shane’s jaw was slack, his mind fuzzy and cock-drunk. The two pressed closer, kissing messily over Shane's shoulder. It sparked a delicious rush, the feeling of being held and used. 

His body clenched around them, a full-body shudder wracked through him.

It was going to be futile to keep from cumming, he knew that. 

But fuck, he wanted to hold on to the moment. 

Wanted to keep all three of them together, just like this.

A tear slipped down Shane’s cheek as he felt his muscles trembling taut.

“Fuck… I love you,”

Shane could distantly feel the hot, wet rush of someone cumming, a fleeting realization before his own hot climax ripped through him - thick ropes striped across his and Ilya’s chest. Four hands pressed against his body. There were fingers twined up on his own. Two more supporting his hips, another on his shoulder - all of them buoying him up and through the tide of pure adulation.

Chapter 9: The Summer - Part 1

Chapter Notes

Thank you to everyone who continues to comment on this story :)! I have a ton of fun engaging with these and it's actually really useul for me to suss out where things are going with the narrative overall.

I do want to give a reminder to anyone reading if you weren't aware / missed the note on Chapter 1. The first two "chapters" of this story exist as separate fics The System and The Boston Breakup Playbook which covers Marlow and Ilya's relationship before the three of them all came together :)!

Also for those asking the photos I mention in the last chapter of Franco Lo Presti (Cliff Marleau in the show) These are the ones I was referring to ! Hollonoveau is a great blog on tumblr if you are looking for more content of the throuple!

“Okay Campers, who wants orange slices?”

There was a small stampede of padded up children tearing across the ice to where some snacks had been laid out. 

It also meant the coaches got a fifteen minute break from wrangling the kids across various exercises. 

Marlow watched Ilya across the rink. At the moment he appeared to be trying to shove about half of an orange into mouth while half a dozen eight year old girls cheered him on.

“So.” Hayden Pike leaned against the boards, looking over at Marlow with a stretched smile. “Shane told me that you, uh.”

“That I-”

“That you know about him and Ilya.” He said under his breath. Which was a fortunate cut in, because Marlow was genuinely about to reply with ‘That we’re fucking?’

Marlow was bad at gossip.

“Oh. Yeah.” Marlow corrected, taking a sip from his water bottle. “Figured it out a few years ago.” he said, as flatly as he possibly could.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Shane told me you walked in on them hooking up.”

“Yeah. Kind of hard not to figure it out after that, right?” Hayden said with a lopsided smile.

“I guess so.” Marlow took another drink from his water bottle, if only just to give himself something to do with his hands.

Hayden was thrumming with a kind of nervous energy that indicated he had something he was psyching himself up to talk about. 

“Hey so. You’re pretty good friends with Rozanov, right?”

“Yeah.” Marlow smiled. “He’s my best friend.”

“Cool.” Hayden leaned back against the boards. “Cool. That’s cool. So. What do you think about it then? Him and Shane?”

“What do you mean?”

“You think this thing is like. I don’t know. Serious?”

Marlow snorted into his water bottle. He looked back at Hayden with an incredulous smile, only to find Hayden to be hilariously baffled and straight-faced.

“Is that a yes, or what?”

“It sounds like you already talked to Hollander about this.” Marlow shrugged. “What did he tell you?”

“Look, you don’t know Shane like I do.” Hayden said seriously. “The guy is sensitive.”

“Yeah.” Marlow said amicably. He did his best not to think back to some ten hours prior, when Shane was slamming down and riding on his cock like it owed him money while simultaneously sucking down Ilya’s tongue. 

“And we all know Rozanov is kind of a party guy.”

“Uh huh.” Marlow hummed.

He had woken up that morning to Ilya cuddling a sleeping Shane to his chest, murmuring softly and sweetly to him in Russian.

“I just want to make sure he’s okay.” Hayden floundered. “I mean, you’d want the same thing for Rozanov, right?”

Marlow smirked, looking over at Hayden with amusement. He was clearly doing his best to sound sincere, but it was pretty clear that ‘what’s best for Rozanov’ wasn’t that much of a priority for Hayden Pike.

“Shane’s an adult.” Marlow said easily. “He can make up his own mind on who he wants to be with.”

“Shane, huh?” There was something firm on the back of Hayden’s tongue as he spoke.

Marlow just shrugged, and skated off.

-

Hockey camp might not have been as much fun as Ibiza, but it did turn out to be more fun than Marlow expected.

He did his best to channel “Fun Uncle Cliff” vibes that made him a hit with his sibling’s small army of children - though it was a bit difficult building that repertoire with kids that he had only just met.

It got easier as the days carried on. By the end of the first week he was getting along fairly well with most of the kids - some of whom had a very serious morning ritual of grabbing onto his legs and seeing who could hold on the longest while he skated laps around the rink. 

Marlow did like seeing how good Shane and Ilya were with kids - both in different ways.

Ilya was loud and boisterous and easily matched the kid’s energy.

Shane was patient and observant. Of the two, he seemed to be doing more to actually improve on the skills of the campers. 

It helped that the rest of the staff were pretty easy to get along with. Despite being from Montreal, he and Boiziau got on almost immediately. They shared the same effortless sort of outgoing energy that had first drawn Marlow to Ilya so many years ago.

Really, he was surprised that Boiziau and Ilya didn’t get along better. 

-

Shane opened one eye, just a slit. 

Cliff was awake. The two tended to wake up around the same time. He watched with warm amusement as Cliff engaged in the process of carefully and meticulously extricating himself out from under Ilya. He probably didn't need to bother. Whenever Ilya had a free day, he always slept in a few extra hours. Cliff probably could have rolled the guy off of the bed and onto the floor and he'd just keep on snoring.

Instead, Cliff was shifting his body slowly, carefully. The entire process took about five minutes, at which point Cliff finally stood and noticed Shane had been watching him and an embarrassed grin spread over his face.

“Coffee?” He mouthed, pulling on a pair of grey sweatpants.

Shane nodded, stretching out on his side of the bed. 

Shane lingered in the hallway, taking a moment to watch Cliff navigate the kitchen. There was still a bit of awkwardness there. Cliff didn't have it memorized yet which cabinet had the coffee mugs, or what cabinet the sugar was kept in. But he was learning quickly. 

It had been too long since they were in each other's space. Shane knew what Cliff looked like - objectively - but it was still a new thing for him to appreciate. The size of his shoulders, the broad, sharp cut of his back and the way his muscles moved under his skin. There was a soft tousle to his hair and a prominent shadow on his jaw that Shane was equal parts deeply jealous of and keen to rub his face against.

Cliff Marlow looked like he'd been built meticulously in a machine in some lab where the only setting was ‘HANDSOME’ and the dial had been cranked up to fifteen.

“Okay, I give up.” Cliff turned to Shane, making him jump a little. “Where do you think Ilya hid the french press this time?”

It was the one item in the kitchen that - for some reason - Ilya tended to put away in a different spot every single time when cleaning up.

Shane grinned, stepping out of the hall to help him search.

A short while later, the two of them were tucked up on a patio sofa on the back porch under a large mohair blanket, watching the early morning birds flit and flick around the feeder that hung on the low branches of a nearby oak tree.

“I liked those photos you posted with Ilya in Boston.” 

“Oh yeah? I’ve got a bunch that we weren’t able to post. You want to see them?”

“Yeah.”

Shane lit up, letting Cliff tuck him more snugly up against his side.

There were a dozen additional photos.

Ilya playing with Cliff’s cat, or asleep on the couch.

Shane found himself lingering on some of the additional photos of the excursions the two had taken together outside. Tossing popcorn during a baseball game, or before-and-after pictures of the two of them crushing a massive beer flight on a rooftop garden.

“I wish I could do that sort of thing.” Shane murmured, scrolling through the album.

“With Ilya?”

“With anyone.” Shane said, speaking before he could overthink it. “I mean. Shit, that sounded really pathetic.” Shane laughed. “I do have friends, I just meant-”

“You work really hard.” Cliff supplied.

He knew what Shane meant. While he and Ilya were coofing around, Shane was busy battling through a gauntlet of playoff games in some of the most challenging hockey of his career so far.

“I wouldn’t have had it any differently.” Shane pressed. “There’ll be a lot of time after to do that sort of thing.”

“It’s okay to want it now.” Cliff said gently. Shane frowned, taking a sip of his coffee and taking his time before answering.

“Yeah, I know. But…” Shane frowned. “There’s still a lot I want to do before I retire. I only have a few more years to be the best at hockey.”

Cliff smiled, and Shane looked up at him challengingly. 

“Hey, I didn’t say anything.” Cliff said gently.

“You don’t think I’m the best?”

“What does it matter what I think?”

That has clearly been the wrong thing to say. Shane’s eyes had gone large and round. 

He tried to squirm away from Marlow kissing his ears, trying to insist on being stubborn and belligerent. 

“You are the best.”

“Better than Ilya.” Shane clarified, looking at him sternly. 

Cliff slid back on the sofa, letting Shane crawl up a bit more comfortably across the expanse of his chest. 

“C’mon man, you can’t ask me that.” Cliff scritched the nape of Shane’s neck. “I wouldn’t ask you to tell me whose cock you like better.”

Shane frowned, looking intent and thoughtful. 

“I think -”

“No, come on, don't answer that!” Cliff laughed. “I don’t want to know.”

Shane sighed, crossing his arms across Cliff’s chest and rested his chin across them. 

“Alright. You don’t have to say.” Shane closed his eyes. 

“And you don’t have to justify wanting more time to focus on your career. Not to me, anyway.” Cliff said gently. “I just want you both to be happy.”

“Are you happy?” Shane asked.

Cliff sighed, squeezing Shane tight.

“Right now? Yeah, I am.”

-

“How do you not know how to do a backfloat?”

“Why do I need to know how to float? I swim just fine.”

“It's important if you're ever in an emergency situation.” Shane piped up from the dock.

Ilya groaned, realizing he was the odd man out on this.

It was a particularly hot and muggy Saturday. There was no camp on, and the lake was calm and inviting.

Marlow and Ilya were swimming out where they could still touch the silty bottom of the water, just a few lengths away from where Shane was sunning himself and reading a paperback book on shoin-zukuri architecture.

“I just don't float. It's fine.”

“Anyone can do it. Look, I'll show you-”

Ilya yelped (there was no other word for it) as Marlow took him by the hips, lifting him easily in the water.

“Put me down!”

“You're fine. Put your head back on my shoulder.”

Marlow sank in the water so his shoulders were below the water line.

Shane watched in amusement as Ilya fussed and seethed. He hadn't realized it before how much he would probably hate being picked up and manhandled. The fact that he let Cliff do it at all was pretty incredible.

“You gotta breathe, dude.”

“I am breathing.”

“You are not. Fill up your lungs with air and you'll float better.” 

Marlow’s hand slid down Ilya's spine to rest on the small of his back, lifting it up a bit.

“Don't think about what your feet are doing. Try to lift your stomach up like this.”

“Have you done this before?” Shane asked. 

“Yeah, I've got a bunch of niblings that all needed to learn how to swim. My parents have a big pool where they all practiced.” Marlow explained, as he slowly drew back from Ilya. The guy reached out in turn with a death grip on the back of his neck.

“I'm just going to sink once you let go.”

“Thats because you need to relax.”

Ilya huffed, then slowly unknit the muscles in his neck. He breathed out, then slowly and deeply inhaled. His chest rose a bit out of the water.

“What is nibling?”

“Nieces and nephews.”

Ilya breathed again, low and deep and steady. Marlow didn’t push him to float on his own, perhaps a little too content to keep him close in the water.

-

“I don’t get it.” Shane said dourly.

“Get what?”

“How do you not think he’s attractive?”

“Do you want me to think he’s attractive?” Cliff asked, eyebrows high.

The three of them were leaning against the back wall of Fabian Salah’s concert.

Cliff had a beer in one hand, his other arm slung around Ilya’s shoulders. 

It might have been a bit cozy but there were also photos of the two of them hanging off of one another for years going back to their rookie season, so the three didn’t pay it any mind. 

Shane was leaning up on Cliff’s other side. His hand discreetly tucked behind the guy’s back so he could hold hands with Ilya without anyone seeing. 

Ilya for the most part looked happy as a clam and perfectly content to pretend the conversation was simply not happening.

“Fabian’s like, the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“I dunno. He’s a guy.” Cliff shrugged. 

Shane gaped. If Cliff was putting on a bit for the sake of being in public, he was doing a really good job. Which was saying a lot, because Cliff was a famously terrible liar.

“Now you know what I have been dealing with for years.” Ilya said, sounding a bit smug.

-

“Do you think Ilya is attractive?” 

Shane waited until they were back on the drive home to ask.

“What?” Cliff laughed, incredulous from the backseat. “Of course he is.”

“Do you-”

“Oh my god Hollander,” Cliff tipped his head back on the seat. “You’re hot as hell, dude. What are we doing?”

“I think our boyfriend doesn’t feel very pretty.” Ilya hummed happily from the passenger seat. “We’ll have to show him a thing or two once we get home, yes?” Ilya glanced up to the rear-view mirror, waggling his eyebrows at Cliff.

Cliff didn’t answer right away. His face was half-obscured by the dark. The sharp shadow of his neck moved as his adam’s apple bobbed. 

“Yeah, I guess we will.”

-

It was a hot night. The windows were open, and a fan hummed away to circulate the heavy air. Ilya lay on his side, one eye barely cracked open. 

A strip of silver moonlight cast a sharp outline on Cliff and Shane’s bare forms. They were still lying tangled up together, all three of them having thoroughly exhausted each other after they got back from the concert. Ilya and Cliff in particular had made a show of laying worship to Shane’s body, until he was spent and trembling and coming dry pressed tight between his lover’s bodies.

Shane was passed out cold now, his face lax and his body in soft repose. Cliff seemed to be on the brink of sleep, though his fingers gave him away. They were gently stroking over Shane’s chest, thoughtful and reverent. 

Ilya was content for Cliff to think he was sleeping.

He did that, sometimes. Shane and Cliff hadn’t caught on just yet.

He liked to watch how the two acted around one another, when they thought he wasn’t looking.

A little over a year ago, if he had considered the idea of anyone touching his Shane that way, Ilya might have felt sick. That, or overwhelmed with the urge to stab something.

He still hated it. 

That stupid reporter who had been interviewing Shane at the camp - just thinking about it made it blood boil and his teeth itch.

Ilya had always been a selfish little boy.

His first lessons in sharing had been taught to him by his brother Alexei - who had taught him that once Alexei got his hands on something of Ilya’s, then it wasn’t Ilya’s anymore. It had been one of his favorite pastimes, something fun to do when he was bored. Find whatever was in Ilya’s hands and rip it out and laugh at him while he cried.

Ilya learned early on that to share something meant to lose it.

So he had learned to be selfish instead.

He didn’t feel that way about Cliff, though.

Though he wasn’t generous enough with himself to think it was because Ilya had suddenly discovered how to be kind.

No, it was just a new kind of selfishness, and he knew it.

Ilya wanted everything.

He wanted far too much.

That was why he watched Cliff hold and touch his Shane in the dark, with his gentle heart on his sleeve.

He wanted both of them.

He wanted them to want one another.

Not just to make him happy.

It was the least he could do for them, since they had both been unfortunate enough to fall in love with a selfish thing like him.

-

The first week of July, the three briefly moved from the Cottage to Ilya’s house in Ottawa. 

The main reason for this being their combined determination to host a barbecue for the camp volunteers - and Shane being a bit squirrely about wanting to keep the Cottage a separate and private location for just the three of them.

Ilya was more than happy to host, and it gave them all the additional benefit of not having to conceal any signs of their joint cohabitation from any of the guests.

Despite the fact that Shane had a perfectly good barbecue that he was willing to bring over - and that it would likely only get used the one time anyway - Ilya still insisted on picking out the most ostentatious model of barbecue that he could get his hands on. 

For this very important task, David Hollander was recruited to join them. Marlow was determined to make a good impression, and found him to be a surprisingly easy man to get along with.

They drove out to the furthest outdoor supply store they could justify driving to in order to avoid being recognized, but the drive was a pleasant and easy one. After the precursory hockey talk, things moved to grilling - timing and technique and all the pros and cons of a good marinade.

By the end of the afternoon, they had successfully placed an order for an impressive grill, full set of tools, a huge supply of restaurant-grade charcoal, and a dozen other accessories that definitely were not necessary but Ilya had been charmed into purchasing anyway.

They spent the rest of the evening out in Ilya's backyard sharing several slices of takeaway pizza and getting the thing assembled. Marlow privately thought that Shane was going to be much more out of sorts over not having his usual premade macrobiotic meals. However, by the time they got back Shane was fully locked into the project of barbecue assembly. It also helped that they picked up from a local place that Shane had been going to since he was a kid - a family owned restaurant that made sauceless white pizza slices made a certain way that he happened to really like.

 It was dark out by the time that they finished, fireflies winking and dancing over the dewey grass.

David had two more beers with the boys, before Shane drove him home.

“Nice guy, Cliff.” David said amicably. 

“Yeah.” Shane grinned as they drove. “He's Ilya's best friend and he's my… he's my friend too.”

“That's good.” 

David clapped a hand on Shane's shoulder. “Lot of driving for you though. He staying nearby?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah. He's going to stay at Ilya's for a few nights though. While we're there.”

“That's nice.” 

The drive wasn't too far to David and Yuna's house, and Shane was privately grateful for it.

“I'm glad you boys are doing this hockey camp.”

David said it in the same tone Shane recognized from his childhood - when he got the vanishingly rare invitation to a birthday party or sleepover. The tone that meant;

I'm glad you're making friends.

Which was a bit silly, because Shane was nearly thirty, he wasn't a kid anymore. Still, he wore a dry smile all the way back to Ilya's house.

-

It was an interesting change, going from the Cottage to Ilya's home in Ottawa. After all, this wasn't a mysterious Hollander fortress of solitude or an impossibly gated beach.

This was a place that Marlow knew, that he had visited on his own over the past few years. It wasn't a strange liminal space cut off from the world where this thing that they were could exist.

Marlow wasn't sure what it meant at first. But he felt it, when they were lounging around together deciding what to have for dinner that evening, or taking turns running out to get groceries.

Marlow was able to put his finger on it the morning of the barbecue, after they'd finished breakfast and they were enjoying the quiet moment in between morning coffee and their usual run. When he was sitting on the couch with Shane, carding his hands through his hair. Ilya sitting on the adjacent couch, flipping through the television channels. Relaxed and at ease in one another’s space.

It felt normal.

The day and the Barbecue itself was a huge success.

Everyone who arrived brought along food - with the exception of Boiziau who brought a massive truckload of fireworks and sparklers.

Shane and David Hollander took turns manning the grill while Marlow kept himself busy staying on top of hauling dishes in and out of the kitchen and keeping the garbage emptied. He noticed that it was the task that Yuna Hollander seemed to be most anxious about, and had been determined to make himself useful there. 

Ilya ran the Pike children ragged on his backyard kicking around a soccer ball.

Some lawn games were broken out after the last of the desserts had gone out. In an attempt to keep things lighthearted, Shane and Ilya had been paired up on a team together to play against Boiziau and Marlow in a cornhole competition. 

This was in part an effort to keep old Montreal-Boston rivalries from flaring up, but had the unfortunate side-effect of everyone learning the hard way what a formidable team that Rozanov and Hollander made when they were paired together in any kind of competitive event. 

“I wish Ilya hadn’t changed teams, but I’m glad at least he didn’t end up in Montreal.”

Marlow groused to Boiziau, nursing his beer. 

Shane had managed to score another perfect round. Ilya made a show at chirping Marlow and Boiziau for being unable to keep up, while Shane was quiet and locked in with a sort of intensity that sent shivers up Marlow’s arms despite the heat.

“The two of them playing on the same team would be a fucking nightmare.”

Boiziau laughed heartily.

“Rozanov on Montreal? That does sounds like a proper nightmare.” 

“Ah, come on. Rozy’s a good guy.” Marlow said with a good natured smile.

“Come get your beanie bags, if you can find your way across the yard without boyscout holding your hand!” 

Marlow snorted. Boiziau flipped him off. 

Boiziau dutifully retrieved their bags for the next round while Marlow fetched them two more cold beers from the cooler. 

He hadn’t gone out drinking much with Boiziau before, and maybe under-estimated his tolerance. What he said during the next round surprised him.

“I mostly give Rozanov shit these days because Hollander’s crushing on him.” Boiziau said seriously, while Marlow looked very purposefully off to the middle distance.

“You think so?”

“Hm. No. Maybe fifty percent?” He looked over at Marlow as he lined up his next shot. “But I worry it will hurt him. Rozanov is straight as anything.” He put his hands on his hips and sighed. “You are a good guy, Marly. Maybe you can talk to Rozanov? Tell him to let Hollander down easy.”

Marlow froze up a bit.

Ilya and Shane appeared to be oblivious to the conversation going on across the lawn. Shane was showing Ilya something on his phone - possibly some kind of technical readout on a strategy to best win at the children’s lawn game. Ilya was following and nodding along, enraptured and utterly serious.

“I dunno man. Maybe you should talk to Shane?” 

Boiziau considered, then sighed.

“You are right. This is not Rozanov's fault.” He paused.

“Wait, Shane?”

Marlow sank his beanie bag, causing him and Boiziau to erupt in cheers while Shane and Ilya booed and hissed viciously from the other side of the lawn.

Chapter 10: The Summer - Part 2

Chapter Notes

Apologies for the delay in updating! The pace I had been writing at caught up to me a little bit and I needed a breather. I also needed to make some calls about plot (and whether this story should have one). Thank you for all of your support and comments! I really enjoy chatting with people and hearing your thoughts on how things are going with our guys :)

There were only a few days left to spend in the Cottage before Marlow would need to leave to start pre-season training with Boston. 

He was surprised how quickly his things could spread around Ilya’s house in such a short span of time. 

Ilya sat wedged into the corner of his sofa, pretending that he wasn’t sulking as Marlow tracked down and re-packed some of his things.

Shane - who spent more time here than he did at the Cottage - was a bit more relaxed, just throwing on an extra load of laundry.

“He gets like this whenever the summer ends.” Shane explained to Marlow in the basement, matching up socks out of the dryer.

“It’s funny.” Marlow smirked, folding up some of his shirts. “Ilya used to get the exact same way at the start of the summer. They made him miserable. Every year I tried to convince him to ditch and come with me and my college friends instead, he never took me up on it.”

“Did Ilya tell you about his dad, and everything?” Shane asked cautiously.

“Yeah, eventually.” Marlow shrugged. “We bonded over it a bit. My dad was a piece of shit too. Though he didn’t tell me everything until after the guy had passed on.”

Marlow picked up a soft black v-neck shirt. It was Ilya’s, and had gotten mixed up with his own clothes somehow. 

“He likes the summers a lot more now.”

“I do too.” Shane beamed.

And, fuck. Shane had such a pretty smile.

They both leaned in at the same time, sharing a soft, chaste kiss. 

It was a bittersweet sort of moment. Glad that they had something beautiful together now, even if it didn’t always get to last forever.

Ilya continued to be a bit grumpy and avoidant up until an hour or so before the drive back to the Cottage.

Marlow had briefly absconded to one of Ilya’s guest rooms. He needed a quiet place to have a call with Ursula about an upcoming interview with the Boston Herald.

There was some timing about the entire thing that would be important to get right.

When he finished, he found Ilya leaning up against the post of the doorway.

“Hey, sorry about that.” Marlow pushed back from the desk to look up at Ilya. “Just getting some work done.”

Ilya shrugged, his arms crossed.

“Nothing to apologize for.” He sniffed. 

“You okay, baby?”

Ilya just grunted, waffling in the doorway a bit.

Marlow grimaced inwardly and bit down a sad smile.

Not complaining about his pet name was as clear a sign as any that Ilya was in some desperate need of attention. 

Marlow slung his arms heavy over Ilya’s shoulders, pulling the guy’s back snug against his chest. Ilya was stiff as a board, but didn’t pull away. 

He gripped Marlow’s wrist, his thumb stroking over the back of his hand thoughtfully. 

“You know.” Ilya said at last. “Shane has his own room here.”

“Oh?” Marlow nuzzled into Ilya’s neck. There was just a bare hint of scruff there. He must have skipped his shave this morning. Was it softer than Marlow’s own scruff? He’d have to ask Shane.

“Hm, yes. He doesn’t use it. Not really. We sleep in the main bedroom but. It is good if he needs space, or. You know.”

Marlow didn’t know. He had a feeling Ilya didn’t know either. There was something he was clearly trying to get at that Marlow wasn’t following.

“Oh. Shit, is it this room?” He pulled back from Ilya and looked around in alarm.

He thought it had just been empty. Neither of the guys had mentioned any of the rooms here being off-limits.

“No. No, his room is at the end of the hall.” Ilya shrugged. “This is just a guest room. But. I mean.” Ilya rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from him.

“It could be your room. If you wanted.”

Marlow looked back in surprise.

“Could be useful. If you were staying over longer.” Ilya continued. “Especially after this season, if you are still going to retire. I could get-”

Marlow's arms were around him again, this time pulling Ilya up against his chest.

Despite his calm demeanor, Marlow could feel Ilya’s heart beating loudly, pounding against his own. Had he been anxious all day, working himself up to ask?

Marlow drew Ilya forward, giving him a settling kiss.

“I love you too, you know.” Cliff said, against Ilya’s mouth.

He could have sworn in that moment he felt that pounding heart against his chest skip a beat.

-

“I’m going to come out.”

“What, really?” 

“Yeah. A few weeks before the season starts.” Marlow flipped their burgers on the grill. They still had a ton of leftovers from the barbecue, which they loaded up and brought back to the Cottage to try and make a dent in before they all had to go their separate ways.

“I wanted to tell you two first, though. And my family, of course. Also the Bears’ social media person.” 

Apparently New York’s PR guy got fired after Scott Hunter came out.

Not that Marlow was planning on announcing he was out by kissing someone on the ice, but he wanted to cover his bases.

“What are you going to say?” Shane asked, sitting very still. 

“Not sure. I still don’t really get all the labels. Just something about not being straight, I guess.”

Marlow caught the fraught expression on Shane’s face. He took a moment to decipher it, and smiled.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on posting a list of all the people I’m currently fucking.”

Ilya gave Shane a look that was far too smug and knowing. 

“People might start guessing, about you guys.” Shane said cautiously.

“Let them.” Ilya shrugged. “They already do.”

“They’ll probably make guesses about me and Connors too.” Marlow shrugged. Apparently #Mannors was about as popular as #Rozalow and threatening to overtake it in popularity after Ilya’s trade.

“Or you and Allens.” Shane smirked.

“Hopefully not.” Marlow frowned, haunted by the brief but very thorough glimpse of fanart of himself and Ilya that he had seen online. “He doesn’t need that kind of attention.” 

Marlow served up the burgers on some toasted brioche buns and brought them over to the dining table on the back patio where sliced tomatoes and lettuce, ketchup and mustard and other toppings were waiting for them.

“He’s not a bad kid.”

Marlow said, assembling his burger. Shane and Ilya exchanged a look and a smirk. Cliff noticed it, but opted not to comment.

If they wanted to talk about Allens, that was fine with Marlow. Until then, he was happy to respect the general unspoken consensus that it wasn’t something that the guys were particularly interested in discussing.

The most he had ever gotten out of Shane was a shrug of indifference over breakfast back around the start of the summer. The most he had to say on the topic of the guy was;

“I guess I’m just glad you’re not having sex with someone who can baby trap you, or whatever.”

The conversation had gleefully devolved after that to the topic of how Shane came to learn about “baby trapping” and a few horror stories from Ilya and Cliff on sabotaged condoms, and how in conquests past they always made sure in the past to test any that a girl provided herself.

And that had been it. 

-

“Now, after you salt the eggplant, you need to let it sit for twenty minutes.”

“What, why?”

“It draws the moisture out! That’s how you make sure it’s crispy when it fries.”

“Uh. Okay. Ilya, do we have an egg timer or something?”

“Hello, Mama Marlow!” Ilya leaned into the phone’s camera, grinning toothily.

“Ilya Rozanov!” Cliff’s mother’s voice was loud and booming, and pronounced his name terribly. “How are you, dear?”

“Very excited to try one of your recipes again!”

“I was wondering whose kitchen you were in, Cliff. Mind you, I had thought that it might be a nice young lady.”

“You break my heart, Diane!” Ilya gasped, clutching his heart dramatically. Marlow smirked at Ilya fondly and cast a knowing look over at Shane.

He was sitting just opposite them on the counter, out of sight of the phone’s camera.

Shane was still a bit shy to say hello to Cliff’s mother, and happy to sit out of sight and watch Ilya mug and flirt his way through dinner prep. 

“Oh now Ilya I didn’t mean it that way. If I knew Cliffy was going to be cooking at all I would have sent over some jars of our red sauce. We still have plenty in the cellar.”

“You still can!” Ilya said happily.

Shane beamed, mouthing the word “Cliffy” at Marlow, who just shook his head and continued breading thick slices of eggplant.

“Oh, Cliffy. Speaking of nice young ladies. Did you see the news on Facebook?”

“No, what’s up mom?”

“Katherine’s gotten engaged!”

Marlow went suddenly quite still. 

He blinked slowly, and set down the pairing knife.

Shane watched as he braced his hands on the countertop, keeping his head carefully turned away from the phone.

“She has?”

He and Ilya were both watching Marlow now. His words came out somewhat strangled.

“Oh Cliffy you hadn’t heard? I thought maybe she would have called you.”

“Who is Katherine?” Ilya asked Marlow.

“Oh Ilya, she was such a nice girl-”

“Thanks mom.” Cliff said thickly. “We uh. We should probably go.”

“Yes alright, enjoy your dinner boys…”

Marlow peeled away from the countertop, rubbing the back of his neck as he paced away to face the windows, his hands on his hips.

Ilya reached over to pick up his phone and end the call. 

“Cliff?” Shane spoke cautiously into the thick silence.

“Katherine was, ah.” Cliff said awkwardly, looking out over the lake. “She was my fiance. For a while. Then she wasn’t.”

Shane and Ilya exchange a startled glance. Shane raised his eyebrows questioningly at Ilya, who in turn raised his shoulders and shook his head in a clear communication of;

No, I had no idea.

“Sorry about this.” Cliff said roughly. A stiff uncertainty had taken over how he held himself, like he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his body in the space around them.

“For what?”  Shane said sadly.

“Cliff, you don’t-”

“I just. I need a minute.” He said suddenly, turning to the sliding doors and let himself out into the back yard.  The afternoon was muggy and hot. Heavy, grey clouds were thick with the promise of rain. 

Shane and Ilya watched as Marlow walked down across the lawn to the forest path that wound along the side of the lake, disappearing into the thicket of trees.

“Should we?”

“He asked for space.” Ilya said quietly.

“Yeah, but-” Shane floundered. 

He knew that kind of desire for space.

Or at least, he recognized it in himself.

Pushing others away not because you wanted to be alone, but because you didn’t want to be a burden to them.

“I don’t think he really wants to be alone.” Shane looked back to Ilya.

“Then go talk to him.” Ilya said cagily. 

Shane frowned fantastically. 

Ilya was all at once charmed by how much his lover could communicate in a single scowl, and a quiet sense of dread with what he was being tasked to do.

Ilya headed outside. 

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his expression carefully schooled and his jaw locked tight.

Of course, it was also possible that Cliff did want to be alone.

That he didn’t get upset like the way Ilya did, where he pushed others away so they wouldn’t have to see him hurting.

It was possible that Cliff got mad more like how his father did, back when he still put in some sort of an effort to maintain their family unit.

That he left in order to keep from lashing out, from hurting those around him.

Ilya wasn’t sure.

He never really saw Cliff truly upset before. Not emotionally. 

Not in a way that really affected him.

Ilya rounded a bend and ducked around the trunk of a tree. The scent of laurel and wild thyme followed after him in the late summer air.

Cliff was standing out over the lake, behind a secluded thicket of hazel trees. He was looking pensive, idly rubbing a spot on his chest like he had a bad bruise there.

Ilya didn't speak for a while. He wasn't exactly hiding. Cliff likely saw him approach. He didn't dismiss him, yell, or tell him to get lost.

So that was good.

After a short while, Ilya picked his way over to Cliff's side and carefully let their shoulders brush together.

Marlow didn’t turn to look at him, but slung an arm over Ilya’s shoulders, pulling him in.

“Hey, baby.” He said roughly. Ilya breathed out a soft sigh of relief.

Baby.

Ilya closed his eyes and let himself be moved, forming himself against Marlow’s warm, solid chest. Cliff breathed in Ilya’s hair and the clean scent of his skin, as if something deep and primal about having him close by could settle his frayed nerves.

Ilya tucked in against him, feeling at once a warm glow of relief, and a soft sense of shame that he might have been nervous.

Cliff was always a safe place for him.

“Sorry about that.” Cliff groused.

“It’s okay.” Ilya said quietly. He thumbed awkwardly at the fabric of Cliff’s shirt.

“I didn't know you were engaged.” 

Cliff sighed, the motion taking more than just the air out of his lungs. He sank down to sit on the large, flat rock over the water. Ilya came down with him, set against his side and still in the comfortable crook of his arms, as long as Cliff needed to hold him.

“It was before you got drafted to Boston.” Marlow said tiredly. “I was. I don’t know. Twenty? We’d been together since we were kids.”

“What happened?”

“I scared her off.” Marlow said simply. He nuzzled a bit into the soft curls of Ilya’s hair.

“Gave her the ring. Told her I loved her. She took it, even though she wasn’t ready.” He spoke, looking distant and far off. 

“She kept how she was feeling bottled up for a few months, I thought everything was going great. Then she just broke everything off. Said she wasn’t ready, that she didn’t think she ever wanted to get married.”

“So you ended things?” Ilya asked. 

“No, she did. I’m still in love with her.” Marlow said roughly. Ilya went solid and still against him. He tried to pull away, but Marlow kept holding him tight.

“Same way I’m always going to love you.”

Ilya had stopped breathing. 

“Cause it doesn’t stop, with me. If I love someone, I’m always going to love him. And if it doesn’t work out, then it’s just going to hurt forever. Just how it goes.”

Ilya didn't speak for a long while.

When he shifted to move again, Cliff let him go. 

The grey water lapped up against the face of the rock under the warm, heavy breeze.

“You have to have known.” Cliff said at last. “You clocked Allens and his crush from the other side of the hockey rink. You must have known, for ages. How I felt about you.”

“You would be surprised.” Ilya said, with a self-depricating smile. Cliff could see the mild terror in his eyes.

“I love you, Ilya.”

He was glad for the quiet moment that they had together in the guest room. In Cliff’s room, the other day. That the first time that he said it was in a peaceful moment with morning sunshine.

This would have been a much sadder way to say it, for the first time.

He probably wouldn’t have been able to, as freely as he was right now.

Cliff probably would have been satisfied living his life with his heart locked up inside his throat, not wanting to burden anyone with it.

But it was too late now, he had caught him too open and raw.

“I’d still love you, even if you and Shane decided to close what you have together, so you can come out, have kids. Or if we keep this open, but the two of you get married. And I’m just Uncle Cliff, who comes over sometimes for dinner on Sundays.”

His chest ached, so hard now he could feel it burn up to the roof of his mouth.

Even now, he didn't know if that was asking for too much.

He knew that Ilya would never choose him over Shane.

He knew that from the start.

That to be with Ilya would mean folding himself into whatever shape that he needed to be in order to fit in his life, somehow. Some way.

Ilya’s thumbs brushed over the scruff of Cliff’s cheeks, and guided him down for a kiss to be placed gently and chastely on his mouth.

“I love you too.” Ilya ached. “Of course I do.”

“Fuck, Ilya-” Cliff bowed his head over Ilya’s shoulder, crushing him tight against his body.

“I know.” Ilya wrapped his arms around Cliff’s back. “It’s scary.” Ilya’s fingers knotted tight into the fabric of Cliff’s shirt. 

They held each other for a long time, until the warm rustle of rain rippled across the lake, speckling over dry stones and rustling the leaves. 

“What about Shane?” Ilya asked at last.

“I’m falling for him too, I think. I am.” Cliff said roughly. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Yes.” Ilya smiled, his eyes a bit wet. “He is… a good person to love.” 

Cliff could see Ilya struggle and fail to convey his sentiments properly in the English language. It was clear Ilya’s feelings were bigger, grander than he had the words to show. 

Ilya loved Shane. More than Cliff. He knew that.

But. 

Ilya loved him too.

That knowledge was like a warm talisman in his chest, banishing the pain that had been haunting him.

The rain was falling thick and heavy outside now. A deep rumble of thunder could be heard far off in the distance over the trees.

Shane was sitting just inside behind the heavy glass sliding door. His posture was tense and rigid, looking out over the lake and the dirt path that wound around it.

There was a stack of bathroom towels on his lap. 

He stood as soon as he saw Cliff and Ilya making their way back up the path, soaked through by the sudden summer storm. He opened the door for them, looking anxiously between the two men. 

“Vso v poryadke, muy lubov.” Ilya kissed Shane’s temple, accepting a towel. Shane’s shoulders unknit slightly, looking to Cliff. 

“S nim vse v poryadke?”

“Da.”

“I am going to have to learn Russian, huh?” Cliff smirked, accepting a towel from Shane.

“Is very sexy language.” Ilya winked, touseling his hair dry. Cliff looked from Ilya to Shane.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Shane said, a bit breathlessly. “Here,” Cliff let Shane wrap  the thick, fluffy towel around his shoulders and over his head. 

“Sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s alright.” Shane said firmly, ruffling Cliff’s wet hair. His expression was intent and focused. 

“It’s okay to be upset. You’re not gonna scare us off.” Shane said firmly.

Cliff looked up at him, surprised. 

“You can be sad around us.” Shane continued. “Around me. Or angry. Or upset. I’m not going to… think less of you, you know?”

“I know.”

Cliff didn’t. Or at least he hadn’t realized it was something he might have been subconsciously withholding.

Shane was watching him closely, sternly. There was a tension to his jaw and a hardness in his eyes that Cliff didn't see often off of the ice. It was holy-shit-Shane-Hollander - not soft-and-sweet Shane that he had come to know this summer.

Well, it was both of them.

They were the same.

“Okay.” Shane nodded, wringing the last towel in his hands a bit. “I’m going to finish dinner. You guys should change.”

Dinner that night was a little subdued, but not uncomfortable. They talked a little bit about the logistics of the next day.

When Cliff would need to leave for the airport. When their schedules would line the three of them up to meet again, and the best time for group or individual calls in the meantime. 

Shane finished dinner, and he and Ilya cleaned up. 

They fell asleep in a pile on the sofa, none of them really paying much attention to the movie that had been put on.

Cliff checked his phone - if only just to confirm that what his mother said was correct. 

Katherine, beaming up at Cliff from the other side of the phone, arm in arm with her fiance. He tried to ignore the fact that the guy also had dark hair and a bit of a beard. That the shape of his jaw was familiar. 

That she looked so happy.

And he was happy for her. 

He was.

Cliff set down his phone again and sighed. He squeezed Shane a bit more tightly against his chest. The guy had dozed off a little while ago, his body heavy and pliant against Cliff’s body. He shifted down a bit on the sofa. Ilya murmured something sleepily, adjusting himself accordingly where he was lying against Cliff’s side and continued to scroll on his phone.

Cliff closed his eyes, just holding Shane and listening to the summer storm rage on.

He was going to miss this.

But it was different than last time, during the All Star game in January. 

That time had ended on something like a promise.

Now, it felt more like a certainty. 

Like something he knew he was going to come back to.

If only because his heart gave him no other choice.

Chapter 11: The Victory Lap

Shane paced anxiously in the kitchen. 

“Yeah. This sink is blocked up good.”

The handyman under the countertop propped himself up on his elbows. The man’s legs were casually splayed open. He wore a pair of acid-washed jeans with a natural-looking rip at the shin, another at the side. A heavy leather toolbelt hung off of his hips. Shimmying in and out of the small space under the sink had caused his black t-shirt to ruck up, showing off a sharp cut of hips and abdominal muscles in deep bronze.

“I don’t know how this could happen.” Shane sighed. “I always-” His lips trembled viciously before he bit down on them to regain his dour composure. “I always keep my pipes so clean.”

“Well, it’s nothing that me and my tool can’t fix.” Marlow pulled out a wrench, giving it an expert spin and a very white smile.

“Do you think you can before my husband gets home?” Shane knelt down on the kitchen floor to get at eye-level to Marlow. 

“Is he the one who's been taking such poor care of your pipes recently?” Marlow tutted, drawing Shane up between his legs. Shane ducked his head, trying to hide another muffled snort. “Maybe someone needs to show him how it’s done?”

Marlow ran his hands down Shane’s sides, taking his time to marvel and appreciate for the hundredth time how taut and pretty his hips tapered off to thick, muscled thighs. Shane lifted his arms as Marlow shucked off his shirt, letting him mouth hot kisses down his chest. 

“Ah! No, please! I’m a married-” Shane floundered, glancing over his shoulder to where Ilya was watching intently from the kitchen door. “Woman?”

Ilya shook his head minutely.

“-Man. I’m a married man!”

“I don’t think this got the memo.” Marlow cupped Shane’s very real boner through the thin fabric of his shorts. He tugged Shane more comfortably into his lap, giving him the leverage needed to rock his hips into Marlow’s hand that had slipped up under the fabric to cup and palm the hot skin of his velvet cock.

“Don’t worry. Maybe when your husband gets home he can join in on the fun.”

Shane’s jaw fell slack and his eyelids shuttered. Cliff's hand was large and warm, calloused fingertips rubbed over the tender sensitized skin or his balls. He let himself sink into the fantasy of it - the idea of doing something as reckless and wild as letting himself be shamelessly manhandled by a stranger.

Shane had always been so careful throughout his life. On more than one occasion he found himself quietly envious of the experience Ilya and Cliff had garnered early on in their careers. He'd fantasized about it before - going to a club in LA or someplace he could disappear into the crowd. Finding someone who could take him and give him the release he'd been starving for when he was younger and so fucking lonely and-

A long, thick finger slipped between Shane's cheeks. He keened tightly. Shane had prepped beforehand. He was slick and open and Cliff's digit slipped inside him without resistance.

“Good boy-” Cliff praised duskily. His finger curled forward and Shane whimpered, rutting his hips against it. “You like that, sweetheart?”

Like wasn't enough. Shane was wrecked and they'd barely even started. The front of his shorts were damp, his untouched cock strained against the elastic and leaked uselessly.

Shane fumbled at the thick denim of Cliff's jeans. He helped with his free hand, shifting his hips so that his own cock could be pulled free. It was flush and thick and perfect.

Shane was sitting up on his knees, his shorts pushed down low. He hugged the back of Marlow's head and thrust his hips into Marlow’s fist with cute, bitten-off little noises as he did. Over his shoulder, Marlow made dark eye contact with Ilya - holding his gaze as Shane sank greedily down onto Cliff’s cock until he was seated and trembling on his lap.

It was very much like Ilya to come up with a game that featured a premise of him being married. Marlow quietly suspected that Ilya was getting off just as much on hearing Shane call him his “husband” as he did seeing Shane riding Cliff’s lap.

It was Cliff's last coherent thought before Shane started rocking his hips down onto Cliff’s cock. His body was just so tight and hot. Solid muscle moved gracefully - Shane was in perfect control of every part of his body. He could see how Shane drove Ilya insane. The power that came from being wanted by someone like Shane Hollander was a fucking rush.

Their bodies shifted, Cliff leaning over Shane splayed out in his back. His legs were twisted up behind Cliff, who had Shane's body lifted practically off of the floor. It gave him a delicious angle to thrust into him, even if it made the tool belt jangle awkwardly as he moved.

Once Shane came, Ilya barged in on cue. He did a fantastically dramatic job of acting offended and outraged at Shane's horrible, slutty infidelity - at least until Marlow bent him over the counter and started pounding into him. Ilya came roughly, Shane greedily sucking down his cock as Cliff practically held him upright with his hand tight around Ilya's throat.

They'd shared a deep mutual afterglow in the hot tub - none of them bothering with swimsuits or clothing.

The memory of it carried Marlow through the dismal flight back from Canada to Boston.

He wasn't looking forward to going back to his old, empty apartment. Though stopping by Ms. Bradshaw’s flat to pick up Miss Penny certainly helped.

She had gotten distinctly heavier over the summer, purring loudly in Cliff's and yawping with indignation whenever he tried to set her down.

“I know, I'm sorry.” He murmured, scratching her under the chin. 

He would ask, next summer. See if Shane would be okay with some cat fur.

-

Marlow threw himself into pre-season training. 

If this was going to be his last season, he wanted it to be a good one.

He wanted to be more than just the guy who held the team together in Ilya's absence.

They nearly had it, as well. Everyone could feel it.

It wasn’t until they were too late in the season, but they had really started to get their rhythm together.

If they held onto that momentum this time around, they could go all the way. Marlow knew they could.

They just had to stay focused.

Avoid unnecessary distractions.

St. Simon whistled loudly.

“Looks like someone had another good summer!” He playfully slapped his wet towel at

Marlow’s bare ass as he passed by in the showers. It narrowly missed the suspiciously teeth-shaped bruise on his thigh that had come with him as a souvenir from Ottawa.

“Shouldn’t have doubted you’d manage to get up to some fun. Girls in Canada aren't quite the same as Ibiza, eh Marly?”

“Yeah we'll, you know how hockey moms are.” Marlow attempted.

St. Simon snorted with laughter.

“Man, Marly you can't lie to save your life, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.” Marlow sighed. He really shouldn't have tried. He could see St. Simon locked on now, wondering what Marlow was trying to hide.

He really shouldn't have said anything. The guy really didn't give a damn who was biting Marly's ass until he had to go and make it interesting.

“Is she someone we know, or something?”

“Fuck off Saz, Marly doesn't want to kiss and tell.” Connors spoke up, to Cliff's quiet relief.

St. Simon shrugged, finishing up with his rinse and headed out.

Connors gave Marlow a discreet thumbs up. 

Allens was still watching the entire exchange far too intently.

-

After the team’s first full scrimmage, they went out together to celebrate the start of a new season. 

Marlow dutifully bought the first round of drinks as Captain, as well as a round of shots. The Tawny Bear was a regular spot for the team - the bar owner had a back room that he would clear and keep reserved when they were coming by. The far wall had a line of photos of various captains of the Boston team over the years frequenting the place. The last of which was a framed and signed photo of Ilya on the wall from an infamous night where he ended up doing a strip tease on top of the bar.

It was a fun evening. 

The team had built up a solid foundation of camaraderie over the years. Some of the older guys with wives and kids would end up leaving early. The younger rookies would likely stay out late and carry on the evening to some other bar or nightclub.

During the first few hours though, everyone dutifully hung around together, catching up and hearing how everyone’s summers went.

“So how’s Rozy?” Connors leaned in against Marlow’s shoulder, the two out of earshot from the rest of the team. 

“He’s good.” Marlow said warmly. “You should come coach with us next Summer.”

Connors snorted, nursing his drink. But then he seemed to take a moment to seriously consider it and gave a thoughtful shrug.

Marlow was quietly impressed with Allens. Not only had he appeared to have stayed out of trouble all summer, but also looked to be genuinely connecting with their fellow teammates. He was sitting at another table, flanked between some of the new rookies and the other guys who played on his line. They were chatting and joking. He looked a little stiff, but he was there. It was a pretty stark change from when he first joined, and spent the first few months mostly keeping to himself.

It wasn’t until it was getting close to midnight - when those who were still around were talking about peeling off to find a club - that Allens started pawing at Marlow a bit. 

Marlow wrapped an arm around Allens’ shoulders, turning him to the side so the other guys would think they were just messing around and not notice him drop the words into his ear.

“Soon, okay? Be good a little longer for me.”

Allens’ fist tightened on the fabric of Marlow’s pants, but he nodded stiffly.

Marlow kept him at arm’s length, at least until the group splintered off for the night. Marlow and Allens quietly let themselves get lost between the two factions, slipping off unseen to the next street over.

“I want to see Miss Penny!” Allens crowed, arms in the air. He was walking purposefully in the direction of Marlow’s apartment, which was within convenient walking distance of the arena. “How is she?”

“She's getting fat.” Marlow smirked, hands in his pockets.

“Good! Fat cats are cute.”

Allens was flushed and happy, more than a bit tipsy from the team drinks.

Once they were inside, Marlow had Jamie drink a full glass of water before laying him down on the sofa and dressing him down with his mouth.

Thunder rumbled deep and rich and heavy over the night.

Marlow stretched out in bed. The air was still holding on to too much warmth from the late summer to bother hunting down his sleep clothes.

Jamie came out of the shower and tucked himself under Marlow’s arm with a soft, petulant sound. His voice was thick with sleep when he spoke. 

“It’s raining. Don’t make me leave.”

Marlow sighed, petting Jamie’s hair a bit. 

“Alright. No kicking Penny off the bed.”

Jamie breathed out, his contented exhale so long and deep he seemed to deflate from it. 

Marlow shifted down the bed, tugging the duvet up around them. It probably wasn’t necessary. Jamie’s body was extremely warm. He was likely going to wake up sweating during the night. But in that moment, it felt like the right sort of gesture.

While Jamie dozed off, Marlow scrolled through his phone.

He had missed a few texts from Shane and Ilya. 

They had been going to Hayden Pike’s house to babysit that night - which typically meant lots of photos and updates from Ilya on how adorable the guy’s kids were. 

The last photo in particular made him smile.

Shane and Ilya were squished together, looking a bit ridiculous. Ilya had plastic flowers in his hair, and Shane was wearing what looked like a toy magician’s bow and cape. Tiny plastic rings had been crammed onto their smallest fingers - their nails painted an assortment of bright colors. The Pike children were all crowded around, beaming. 

Ilya: You are the first to know - Shane and I have gotten married!

Ilya: We are sorry you could not be here. It was a beautiful ceremony.

Ilya: Shane says next time you are in Montreal we will have the twins marry you also.

Ilya: Though you will likely need to see Hayden Pike again.

Ilya: :(

Cliff scrolled through the messages with one hand. With his other, he idly scritched the base of Jamie’s scalp, who had started to snore gently. His body pressed down heavy on his chest.

Penny had curled up beside Cliff’s head, purring loudly.

He expected that familiar ache, that creeping black feeling of being on the outside, looking in.

And it was there, a little bit. 

But he also felt warm, good. 

Outside, the storm raged on, muffled and muted and far away here in the peaceful dark.

-

Marlow was surprised to find himself sitting in Crowell’s office.

He had known that his decision to come out wasn’t going to be popular with a lot of people. But it honestly hadn’t occurred to him that it was something that was going to be of any interest to the league commissioner himself.

Much less that he’d get a summons (he wasn’t sure what else to call it) to their New York headquarters just a few days before the start of the season.

“Mr. Marlow?” A pretty young PA approached him in the quietly opulent waiting room of the top floor. 

“Mr. Crowell will see you now. Please follow me.”

Marlow had let a few people know ahead of time. 

His mom and his family, of course.

He had gone over for the big family monthly dinner after returning from Ottawa and let them know over dessert. 

That had been fine, he knew it would be. He wasn’t the first person in his extended family to identify as LGBQTA. He had an aunt on his mom’s side that rescued parrots down in Florida with her wife, and at least two cousins that fell somewhere along the not-straight spectrum as well. 

The night had ended in tearful hugs and prompt return to normalcy that he greatly appreciated.

He had let Coach Reilly know.

He had worked with the man for years, and figured he owed him that.

That conversation had been a good deal more succinct, with a short;

“Do what you gotta do.”

Which may have seemed gruff or a bit cold for anyone who didn’t know him personally. It was the exact same tone of voice he would respond to news that there was some technical issue on the rink delaying practice, or some unexpected issue with a shuttle bus. That tone that meant;

This doesn’t change anything. You’re still Cliff Marlow.

And Marlow breathed out another sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

The last person on the roster was the Bears’ social media manager Lori.

In hindsight, Marlow probably should have found a nicer way to say it than in passing, his head briefly ducking into her tiny office as he headed out at the end of the day.

“Hey Lori.”

“Oh, hey Cliff!” She said brightly, looking about halfway ready to show him some viral meme she was planning to make the team participate when Marlow spoke next.

“Just letting you know, I’m going to tweet something about being like, not-straight this weekend. Wanted to give you a heads up.”

He had gotten about two paces down the hall before all one-hundred-and-twenty pounds of blond Boston rage managed to somehow haul Marlow into her office and shove him down onto a folding chair.

“Was that some kind of fucking joke, Marlow?”

“What? No. Totally serious.”

“Explain. Now.”

Marlow grudgingly ran her through the plan in more detail, and he was glad that he did at the end of it. It was good to see that she grudgingly approved of the plan that he and his agent Ursula (mostly Ursula) came up with as his manager for how it was going to be done. 

Mostly, she seemed relieved that he had a plan.

Though, he hadn’t planned for this.

“Cliff Marlow. Great to finally meet you.” Roger Crowell had a firm handshake. He was smiling, though it wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. 

“Same, it’s an honor to be here.”

“Not at all!” He said, a bit too loudly, his arms spread wide. “Take a seat.” 

There was a hint of steel on the back of his words, too subtle to casually remark on.

Marlow sat.

The chair smelled like rich leather. Tall floor-to-ceiling windows flanked his back, casting the heat of the sun onto the back of his neck. Crowell was standing on the other side of his large carved desk, hands on the glossy wood.

“Great to hear about your donation to the Youth Center. Really amazing stuff.”

“Thanks.”

He needed to thank Ursula, really.

It was a great idea, in its own right - nevermind any connection to Cliff’s personal agenda.

The Lighthouse Project was an incredible charity that had been struggling with funding over the past two years. They hosted a support group for LGBQTA teens, as well as emergency services for those finding themselves in at-risk home environments. They had been basically surviving on the skin of their teeth with donations - and were recently faced with the difficult decision of shutting down their little annex based in the Kennedy youth center. 

With Marlow’s donation, they would be able to keep the lights on and keep their 24-hour emergency line running. 

Coincidentally, Marlow had an interview scheduled with the Boston Herald a few weeks later.

It was meant to just be a small feature on the personal side of Cliff Marlow - hobbies and interests, plans for the future, how he felt about the upcoming season.

They didn’t ask the interviewer to bring up the donation, but it had been a pretty solid gamble that she might. Ursula had worked with her before, and knew that she did her research ahead of these types of things.

“It’s come to mean a lot to me, in recent years.” Cliff said evenly, when the reporter asked him about The Lighthouse Project. He'd practiced what he was going to say a few times. Lori and Ursula walking him through it so it didn't sound too canned or rehearsed. He was aware it probably did anyway.

“Since I've come to realize I'm not entirely straight myself.”

The journalist interviewing him - to her credit - didn't react apart from a slight widening of her eyes and a sharp stillness to her posture.

“I had always assumed it was the default, so I never really examined that side of myself, growing up. And I wonder if having more places like this might have helped me learn more about myself sooner.”

It wasn't some long, eloquent speech. Marlow was still no Scott Hunter, and he still didn't really want to be. Marlow politely evaded a few gently probing follow-up questions and the interview concluded shortly after.

Marlow went back to his apartment, and dutifully uninstalled every social media app that he had off of his phone. He didn’t want to know what people were saying about the article. He didn’t really care. Anyone whose opinion he actually cared about already knew that he wasn’t straight, and that was all that mattered to him - this is what he told himself.

It was Ursula who had to contact him to say that the head office of the NHL was trying to get in contact with him, and that he was going to be expected in their office in New York in two days time.

“It’s always great to see members of this institution giving back to their local communities.” Crowell carried on with his platitudes that definitely could have been in an email, and not a face-to-face meeting.

"Of course, charity work is important. Though, as a personal move I would have considered it an ill-advised platform to make a statement about your personal life.” His tone was light, not scolding. A gentle barb, the first tug of the seam to unravel. 

Marlow frowned, his jaw set. 

It, well. That was true. The donation had been a means to announce Marlow’s sexuality - in a roundabout sort of way.

It had also done a lot of good for the community.

Apparently registrations for their youth group had skyrocketed overnight after Marlow’s article dropped. 

Crowell was making it sound like it was a bad thing.

Marlow was deep in thought on the best way to reply - knowing full well how carefully he’d have to choose his words in this conversation. 

Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be something that Crowell particularly needed a remark on, as he continued.

“I heard from Coach Peter Reilly that you are planning your retirement at the end of the season.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll certainly all be sad to see you go.” Crowell said, nodding his head thoughtfully. “You’ve had a great run. Strong, consistent player for Boston. You managed to hold the team together after losing their Captain. This year likely would have been a great victory lap for you. Now, it’s going to be about. Well, this.” Crowell gestured vaguely, sounding - perhaps not disappointed but sympathetic. 

Everything from his posture to his tone suggested a man who was offering a sincere, if mildly concerned (but supportive) demeanor.

“Is that what you wanted?”

Marlow thought about it carefully before answering.

He really wished he was a better liar.

“Honestly, not really.” He crossed his arms. “But it felt like something I needed to say.”

He wished it wasn’t the case, but it was. Keeping his personal life to himself would have been a lot more preferable than sticking his nose out like this. 

It didn’t mean he regretted it. Just wished he could have been a better person in his motives.

Crowell set his mouth tightly. There was a thin breath out through his nose that made Marlow’s stomach clench. It was the same sort of thing his father did on those bad nights, when he was just a kid.

“And do you feel like you’ve said all you have to say now?”

“How do you mean, sir?” Marlow asked.

“Have you spoken with Scott Hunter about this?”

“He reached out to offer his suppot.” Marlow said blandly.

“And are you planning anything with him?”

There it was again - the tone that made it sound like that was some kind of seedy thing to do. Heaven forbid two gay players in the NHL want to make some kind of statement or movement on the topic of inclusivity.

“How do you mean?”

“You’re finishing up your career this year. However, I will be running this league for a very long time.” Crowell said, with comfortable certainty.  “Whether you want to own up to it or not, your words have an impact on his institution.” His voice was steely.

Marlow listened quietly, fuming a bit on the inside.

“With all due respect, sir. I didn’t drag anyone out onto the ice and kiss them.” Marlow said sternly. “And I’m not planning to.” He added, in afterthought.

Not that he’d be against it, personally. But he knew Shane would be mortified.

And Ilya would probably take things too far.

To his annoyance, Crowell seemed to be somewhat mollified by this.

“I’m glad to hear that at least.” He sighed. “Listen, Marlow. You’re a good man. You’ve done good work. Your donation - great. Obviously. All I am saying. Is that if you have plans to make any more waves-” He spread his hands. “Let us know first. To work with you. We’re all on the same te-”

“-Right, yes.” Marlow cut in. He had realized at the last second what Crowell was about to say. While innocuous, the idea of it coming out of this man’s mouth in this context was like a punch to the gut.

Crowell frowned at him for butting in. Marlow held up his hands.

“I mean. I get what you’re saying.”

“Good.” Crowell nodded, looking satisfied. “One more question, before you head out. Does this have anything to do with Shane Hollander?”

Marlow carefully schooled his expression.

Maybe too carefully.

Crowell watched as Marlow carefully considered his next words.

“It seems to me.” Cliff spoke slowly, carefully. “That if your goal is to control the discussion on this kind of thing within the NHL, it might be a good idea not to bring people into the conversation who never made any sort of formal statement on their own sexuality.”

There was a long, assessing moment between the two, before Crowell finally spoke.

“That,” He said at last. “Is something we can agree on.”

-

Marlow stepped out onto the bustling Manhattan street. He took a few steps, then found himself exhaling a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

Well. 

That had sucked.

Though honestly, Marlow had been expecting worse.

And at least now he had something to look forward to.

He was a few blocks away from the tall, imposing copper-faced building of the NHL headquarters when a man appeared from behind a newsstand and plastered himself to Marlow’s side.

“Well?” Allens looked up at Marlow from under his baseball cap and hood. 

Marlow smirked. The guy was overdoing it with the shades. 

“If you wanted to go incognito in Manhattan, you shouldn’t have kept the Red Sox hat.” He joked, pulling off the black baseball cap and ruffled his hair. 

“Hey, quit it!”

One thing that was nice about Manhattan was the relative anonymity the massive city afforded. There were so many major teams that operated out of here - and even then the place had a thriving population in the millions that didn’t give a damn about sports altogether.

Marlow slung his arm around Allens’ shoulders, crushing him against his side as they crossed the busy street together.

“Did you eat while I was up there?”

“I had an energy bar.”

Marlow hummed thoughtfully.

Marlow had heard about The Kingfisher before, but never had much of an opportunity to visit. 

He was currently on a league-mandated break from pre-season training however, and as good of an opportunity as he’d ever get to stop by. 

Allens balked a bit at the rainbow flag in the window, but Marlow dutifully herded him in.

If the kid was going to buy a plane ticket without asking and follow Marlow to New York, then he was damn well going to own up to his choices and pay respect to his elders.

“Scott Hunter.”

“Cliff Marlow, glad to see you.” The two shook hands. It was a stark night-and-day contrast to the greeting with Roger Crowell not an hour earlier. Scott was open and genuine - looking properly happy to see them and have the two in his territory.

“Have you met Jamie Allens?”

“Only on the ice. Hey man, nice to meet you.” 

Allens flustered through a handshake while Marlow pulled out of his coat.

“You guys don’t serve food here, do you?”

“The pizza place next door will deliver here if you place an order. We’ve got menus at the bar.”

Marlow looked around. His eyes gravitated at once to Shane Hollander, who was sitting at the bar and chatting amicably with Eric Bennett. 

Shane looked up and made an immediate beeline to Marlow’s side. 

“Hey!” Marlow beamed. “We’re getting pizza, have you eaten?”

“What?” Shane gaped. “Of course not! How was your meeting with Crowell?” He demanded.

“I want pizza, yes.” Ilya said, appearing on Marlow’s other side. “But I also want to hear if you still have a job.”

“I still have a job.” Marlow said, drawing over to the bar for a menu. “Though I don’t know if you all will, dropping everything to come down here.”

“That is a funny way to say thank you to your good friends for supporting you.” Ilya sighed loftily. 

Ilya ended up brushing shoulders with Allens, who was skimming through the pizza menu. “Give.” He took the menu unceremoniously out of Allens’ hands, glancing over the options himself. 

Jamie looked up, ready to argue. Instead, he was forced to do a double-take as he found himself suddenly flanked by Shane Hollander and Ilyz Rozanov.

“Ah, they still have chicken parmesan pizza. This is good, you should order this.”

“Why would you do that to chicken parmesan?” Shane balked, taking a menu from Cliff. 

Cliff was just glad that Shane was actually giving the menu a chance. 

He was also amused by Jamie - who currently looked like he wanted the floor to eat him alive. 

Allens had asked about Ilya Rozanov on a few occasions to Marlow after learning the two were best friends. 

Apparently he had been quietly devastated to join the team just as Ilya had transferred, robbing him of the chance to play alongside one of his childhood sport idols.

Marlow could have given Jamie a heads up that they’d have company.

Then again, Jamie should have given Marlow a heads up that he was planning to ditch training to come to New York.

“Do you think they’d do the garden pizza with olive oil instead of sauce?”

“Sure.”

“And no cheese.”

“You need protein, Shane.” Cliff gently admonished.

“Okay, fine. Feta instead of mozzarella. They have it listed as an extra.”

“What are you getting, Allens?”

When he tried to speak, his first syllable came out sounding strangled and choked off.

“They’ve got a spicy pepperoni on the menu, do you want that?”

“Yeah.” Allens managed. 

He tended to pick the hottest thing on the menu when he got a chance. 

“I’ll place the order.” Shane offered, taking out his phone and turning away from the group. 

Allens tried to make a beeline for the door with the break in conversation. Marlow grabbed him by the hoodie and hauled him back to the table at the far end of the bar to join Scott Hunter and Ilya. 

“Well?” 

“What happened with Crowell?”

“Nothing happened.” Marlow held his hands up placatingly. “Crowell was just pissy. I think he wanted to make sure I wasn’t conspiring with Hunter to like, stage a gay coup of the NHL.”

“Now there’s an idea.” Ilya said with a catty smile.

Hunter laughed, crossing his broad arms.

“Ilya, come on.” Shane frowned, sliding into the booth after them. “This is serious.”

“What’s serious is the waste of our time.” Ilya rolled his shoulders and sighed. “Crowell drags you all the way out to New York just to wag the finger at you?”

“You two didn’t have to come out here, you know.”

“We know.” Shane said firmly. “But we’re here anyway.” He was so frank and sincere about it - Cliff had to struggle to keep his heart eyes in check.

“So what happens now?”

“Nothing happens now.” Marlow shrugged, taking a sip of his water. “I did what I wanted to do. I came out. I’ll take some heat for it. Hopefully I get a chance to bash some homophobes out on the ice before I retire.” 

Under Armour had quietly scaled back their most recent brand campaign for “re-evaluation” but Marlow didn’t think that relevant to bring up and tried not to think about it too bitterly. 

“Toronto can be a real pain in the ass.” Hunter said conversationally. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen how Kent goes after you every time.” Marlow sighed grimly. “This year he won’t have Barrett to back him up, though.”

“And you’ve got Allens to look out for you.” Hunter said, tossing Allens a wink. 

“He does.” Jamie answered, pointedly and earnestly - as if he were challenging anyone to say otherwise.

Nobody did. Worse, they smiled and chuckled warmly which caused Jamie to rankle and charge off grumbling something about the bathroom.

“I can see why you like him.” Shane admitted.

“That so? Some days I’m still trying to figure it out myself.” Marlow joked. 

Scott glanced between them with vague interest.

“Oh, so is Allens your-?” He gestured at Marlow.

The response was a discordant array of vague, noncommittal and conflicting noises from the three men that had Scott Hunter raising his hands. 

“Yeah, you know what, not my business. Forget I asked.” He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I think that’s your pizza at the door, anyway.”

It was a bit surreal. Earlier today he was walking into the office of the NHL Commissioner, thinking he was about to get dropped from the league. Now, he was sitting in a gay bar, eating pizza and talking about the upcoming season.

Marlow was quietly proud of Allens for keeping his mouth in check. He supposed it was because the guy was still somewhat starstruck by his company. 

-

“So.” Scott Hunter slid back into their booth later on in the evening. It was just the two of them now. Shane had gravitated back to the back to resume his earlier conversation with Eric Bennett. Svetlana had appeared as well, holding court at a booth with a number of admirers who had either arrived with her or naturally gravitated to her presence.

Ilya and Jamie were playing a game of foosball in the corner, loudly yelling and raging at eachother as they battled for the top spot. 

“How have things really been?”

“What do you mean?” Marlow asked dryly. 

“I can tell you’re putting on a pretty strong face for them.” Hunter gestured vaguely again. “Your… guys.” He looked over at Marlow consideringly. “You know, after I came out my old high school math teacher got in touch to say how disappointed he was with what I had done with my career.”

Marlow chuffed out a laugh, part sympathy and part disbelief.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I really looked up to that guy.” Scott shook his head, taking a swig of a beer. 

“Sucks man, I’m sorry.” 

“I’m over it.” Hunter shrugged. “So. How have things really been.”

Marlow sighed, taking a drink as well. “My car got keyed.”

“Ugh.”

“It’s whatever.”

Cliff tried to tell himself that at least nobody had gotten hurt. It was still annoying.

“What else?”

Marlow sighed, nursing his beer. 

A small crowd of onlookers had gathered around Ilya and Jamie’s foosball game. It looked like a small betting pool had formed around them. 

“Most of the guys on the team have tweeted in support of me coming out. But… not all of them.”

“They talking shit?”

“Nah. They just. Haven’t said anything.” Marlow hummed. “Not like I expected everyone to immediately be on board with it. But.”

“Hm, yeah. It’s hard when it’s your own team.”

Things weren’t difficult. They were just a bit. Off.

It helped that there were a number of guys on the team that he had known for years. Connors, St. Simon, Russo. Sebbins. They all had flocked to his side in a vicious way that he deeply appreciated. But some of the guys were… distant. A bit cold.

“When does that go away?”

Scott just laughed in a sardonic way that made Marlow grimace internally. 

“Yeah, sorry man.” Scott shook his head. “You had to know you were signing up for it.”

Marlow just hummed, looking out over the crowd.

The foosball appeared to have been kicked out of the table and was lost somewhere in the mess of the place. In the face of a potential stalemate, Ilya and Jamie were arm wrestling to decide the winner.

Jamie was losing, and trying unsuccessfully to kick at Ilya’s shins in a last-ditch effort.

“Was it worth it for you?” Marlow asked idly.

“For me? Yeah man, it was everything.” Scott said warmly. “It made all the difference for Kip. The bad stuff doesn’t even measure up. 

What about you?”

“Me?” Marlow mused. 

Ilya had won the arm wrestling match. The small crowd was cheering and exchanging money. Shane had thrown an arm around Ilya’s shoulder in congratulations. It was only a friendly gesture but… they both looked happy. Ilya was consoling a fuming, sulking Jamie. Well, consoling him or trying to piss him off further. He had grabbed Jamie’s cheek and was pinching it and saying something that looked condescending, and there was steam coming out of the kid’s ears.

Marlow snorted, shaking his head.

“Yeah, it was worth it.”

Chapter 12: The Kimchi Oyster

The news of Marlow’s announcement - for better or for worse - fizzled out and was lost behind the dull roar of the new season starting with a vengeance. 

The awkwardness on the team still lingered, somewhat. But mostly by players who didn’t make much of an impact on the ice to begin with.

They were nothing compared to Jamie Allens, who tore his way into the start of the season like a man with something to prove. The kinetic energy he had started building up in the second half of last season was out in full force. More than himself, the team overall had years of solid camaraderie and ruthless training that had honed them into a powerful force.

One more Cup. I can do this. 

Marlow told himself like a mantra, as he did his best to rally the team and keep them all working comprehensively as a single unit. To punch above his weight, even if he was feeling tired or sore or hurting.

Under Armour - after some deliberation - opted not to pull his contract after all. In a strange turn of events, some far-right asshole had tried to shred an (apparently expensive) baselayer shirt on a Youtube livestream in a show of defiance to Cliff Marlow’s Big Gay Agenda. 

He had failed spectacularly - the guy’s round grape-shaped head going bright red as he eventually resorted to trying to chew through it with his teeth before the stream cut out. 

It had been a strangely effective bit of viral marketing to the product’s durability, sparking a number of copycat videos and an uptick in online sales.

Marlow wasn’t sure how he felt about all of that himself, but Ursula assured him it was “publicity you couldn’t buy” and that the brand was going to be dutifully sticking by him until the end of the season.

It was far less embarrassing than Dunkin Doughnuts media rep wanting him to do a photoshoot with a range of various colorfully frosted doughnuts (apparently there was more than one type of gay flag) in preparation for next year’s pride month. That one in particular he was pushing off as long as possible. June was still months away and he knew that they were just worried about him getting a black eye or something before then now that the season had started. 

One game in particular, Marlow had blocked off on his calendar that he was looking forward to more than usual.

Boz: Marlow! 

Boz: We are beating your ass in Montreal next week.

Boz: Let's grab dinner! I have a friend who has an art gallery opening.

Marlow: Sorry, I'm pretty sure I have plans.

Boz: Ditch them, come out with us! 

Boz: Shane Hollander will be there.

Marlow raised his eyebrow, swiping to his separate chat with Shane.

He glanced over his shoulder in the locker room. He wasn’t sure if he would get in worse trouble - if he was caught texting Shane about a potential hookup or texting JJ about a potential hangout.

Marlow: Hey! Are you going out with Boiziau the night of the game?

He had taken it as a given that Shane would want to see him? Whenever they spoke about the upcoming season, the three of them treated their game dates with a kind of reverent unspoken promise that it was when they’d get to be together.

Still, it wasn’t the same sort of chest-compressing fear of rejection that Marlow had contended with back around the All-Star game.

This was more of a casual confusion - wondering if he had missed or forgotten some sort of update from the guy. 

They’d been doing this for almost a solid year now. A steady foundation of trust had been slowly built there, brick-by-brick and with alternating hands. The gradual shape of something real was beginning to take shape there, buoying them up. 

Shane texted back almost immediately.

Jane: No? Let me check.

A few minutes later, Shane texted back.

Jane: So 

Jane: I lost a bet with JJ. A while ago. I owe him one night out, no excuses.

Jane: I guess that is now…

The same night he was going to be in Montreal, seriously?

Marlow sighed thinly. He had been researching so much into Shane’s weird diet too (he was determined to make the guy a meal that was something other than salmon and brown rice). 

Marlow: He’s invited me out too. 

Marlow: I guess we’ll still see each other anyway?

Marlow flipped back to his chat with JJ, curious now.

Marlow: Yeah, I can go. 

Boz: Haha, excellent!

Boz: Pike will be there as well. It will be a Game Changers camp reunion :)

Marlow: You, Hollander and Pike?  This is starting to feel more like a Voyagers plot to take out the competition. 

Marlow: Should I be worried?

Boz: Bring one of your teammates then!

Marlow chuffed out a soft laugh.

“Who are you texting?” Jamie asked, appearing suddenly out of nowhere and pressing close to his side.

Absolutely not.

“Nobody.” Marlow shoved him in the direction of the showers. “Hey Connors, you like art?”

“I guess?”

-

It was a surprisingly nice affair.

The art gallery was a blend of trendy and elegant. It was located in a trendy part of downtown Montreal, built out of an old and refurbished warehouse. Exposed brickwork and piping in an old early century building cast a stark contrast to the large, sweeping vistas of paint and sculpted resin that hung on the walls. 

The attendees were milling about, most looking more interested in catching up and networking than the art itself.

A number of staff were walking around with trays of drinks and finger foods - that was going to be a nightmare for Shane’s strict diet.

JJ met his friend Valerica with a big hug and cheek kisses.

“Glad you could come!”

She mostly seemed very glad that JJ had brought along a slew of NHL players to her event - insisting on a few different photos with them for her Instagram before the group broke up a bit to mill around and appreciate the art. 

“These aren't bad.” Marlow said appreciatively. “What do you think?”

“They’re… fine? I think it's all going over my head a little bit.” Shane hummed. “You do need artwork for the walls in your apartment though.” He noted.

“Aw come on, it’s not that bad.”

“It looks like you just moved in.” Shane smirked.

Cliff was about to answer, when both he and Shane at the same time glanced up to see if the other guys had been listening. 

Hayden and JJ were chatting. Connors was taking a selfie with one of the big black-and-gold murals. Fortunately, none of them seemed to overhear Shane’s familiarity with the inside of Cliff’s home.

“I guess it is nice.” Shane said, awkwardly curtailing the conversation back around to the exhibition.

“Yeah. It’s cool how the composition changes based on the way the light hits it. That’s probably why all these lamps are set around.” Cliff noted, thoughtfully. 

Shane frowned, tilting his head to the side.

“Here, move like this-”

Marlow and Shane naturally drifted off a bit from the main group, purposefully discussing the artwork.

Marlow privately liked looking at Shane Hollander more than the artwork on the walls. Whenever he saw the guy, he was typically either in sports gear, or done up in a stiff and formal game day suit. Which suited him fine by all accounts. Tonight though, he was wearing a navy silk shirt with thin white pinstripes, light pants and smart loafers. He was casually wearing a limited edition rolex from his latest ad campaign that had to cost a small fortune.

His stylist seemed to be earning their keep.

“Yeah, it’s cool I guess.” Shane hummed, glancing to see that they were out of earshot. “I still wish we had just gotten to spend time to ourselves tonight.” He couldn’t help but grouse a little bit.

“Ah, this isn't so bad. It's not often we get to go on dates.” Cliff said idly. 

Shane grinned.

“Yeah, but this isn’t like, a real date, Cliff.”

“I'm pretty sure it is.”

Back near the entrance of the gallery, JJ was watching the proceedings smugly.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That Hollander and Marly would hit it off.” JJ said proudly. Connors and Hayden both snapped into immediate focus on him.

“What?”

“Oh, no man I don't think-”

Connors and Hayden both rushed to speak at the same time.

“Listen, you weren't at Hollander’s camp this summer.” JJ said with a wave of his hand to Connors. “They had chemistry.”

“Are you sure it’s not just that they happen to be the only two gay hockey players you know?” Hayden cautioned.

“What? No.” JJ scoffed.

“Oh? Who else do you know?”

Both Connors and Hayden were watching JJ intently. Hayden had said it challengingly, but both of them were watching with open curiously - silently challenging him with the loud and demanding unspoken words.

What else do you know?

Instead, JJ shrugged, throwing his hands up.

“I guess you got me there! I still think they’d be good together.” He laughed, hands on his hips and thoroughly oblivious to the other two’s inner turmoil.

On the other side of the hall, Cliff and Shane were still admiring the artwork. 

Without disrupting their conversation, Cliff casually braced his hand on the small of Shane’s back, directing him to shift his position slightly. It was a small thing, guiding Shane out of the direct line of the speaker that was pumping out a low electronic base music. 

Shane didn’t even seem to notice it, or that Cliff had identified he might prefer to stand in a way that didn’t have him struggling to hear what they were saying over the ambient noise. 

Connors and Hayden both frowned, watching it unfold.

“How do you even know Marly is single?” Connors said testily. 

“Oh, shit. Is he not?” JJ said - sounding as though he genuinely hadn’t considered that.

“I told JJ I didn’t want him setting me up with anyone.” Shane sighed, crossing and uncrossing his arms with a nervous fidget.

“Ah, come on. He set you up on a blind date with your boyfriend, that’s pretty cute.” Cliff grinned, even if his stomach swooped as he said it. It was the first time that he had used the term out loud. It still felt dangerous. Like if he offered up the word, Shane might snatch it away and not give it back. 

“A blind date is when you haven’t met the other person before.” Shane corrected him primly. “And what if it had been?”

“What, if he set you up with a stranger? Then you tell that guy you’re not interested. I think Boz just wants to see you happy, man.”

Shane huffed gently.

“It feels unfair to Ilya.”

“Then tell him you’re dating Ilya.”

Shane blinked at him a bit owlishly. Cliff tilted his head. Curious, but not insistent. 

“Why haven’t you told him? Might as well. He clearly doesn’t have any qualms about you dating other hockey players.”

“Because it’s dangerous.” Shane said quietly. There was a hint of a question mark on the end of the sentence that he couldn’t quite commit to. 

“You’re worried about your career?” Marlow didn’t say it accusingly, just plainly. 

“No. Maybe?” Shane hawed. “Is that a shitty thing to say?”

Cliff shrugged. A server was passing by with a tray of oysters on ice. “Do you want one?”

“No, I hate oysters.” Shane frowned, still feeling a bit grumpy. “The texture is awful.”

“There’s something on it too.” Marlow observed. There was a scattering of vibrant red over the soft flesh of the oyster.

“Oh, that’s kimchi.” Shane brightened. “I do like that.”

“Cool, split this with me then.”

“Come on, you have to admit that’s cute.” JJ said proudly. The three boys watched from the other side of the art hall as Marlow fed Shane a bite of kimchi off of a toothpick.

“He’s like that with everyone.” Connors lied grumpily.

“It’s not just the hockey of it all.” Shane sighed, as Marlow placed the empty shell on another server’s tray in exchange for two more canapes. 

“It’s dangerous for Ilya to come out. He won’t be able to go back to Russia again. I’d… it would need to be his call to make.”

Cliff nodded, thoughtfully. 

“I’m glad he’s got you, you know.” Cliff  said warmly. “Roz never told me about any of this stuff. His dad, Russia.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally. He still doesn’t really like talking about it.” Shane said gently.

“Do you have anything without alcohol?” Cliff asked as he took a flute of prosecco from the server. With astonishing speed, the man produced another tray with spritzers of sparkling water and sliced fruit, yuzu and cucumber. Shane took one gratefully.

“Thanks. Hm, we should circle back to the others.” Shane said, not sounding too happy about it. “I know you haven't seen JJ in a while.”

“I haven't seen you in a while.” Cliff corrected. He didn't mean for it to come out sounding like it did. Low, rusky and needy.

Shane glanced sideling back at him. His warm brown eyes were dark. There was a tension in his throat that gave away how their thoughts aligned.

“I had something special planned for tonight, you know.” Shane murmured. 

“Is that so?” Marlow smiled, his eyebrow shot up. 

“Well, yeah.” Shane smirked back. “Last time we played eachother, Allens landed that hit that shitty hit on me. And I wanted, well.” He shuffled a bit. “I wanted to do something nice for the first night that it was… just the two of us.”

“Shit, really?”

“Yeah.”

“How long do you think until we're able to sneak away?” Marlow asked, looking around as if he could spot a hidden exit.

“We’ve only been here like twenty minutes.” Shane sighed. 

He glanced around thoughtfully, then looked back at Marlow - his expression set and intent.

“I have an idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shane cautioned. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Okay…” Marleau looked around. “I guess as long as it doesn’t interrupt the art show or anything?”

A short moment later, the wail of the fire alarm ripped through the building.

By the time the crowd of individuals had poured out onto the street and oriented themselves, Connors and Boiziau both had separate texts from Shane and Cliff with excuses to turn in early.

Shane’s master bathroom was an impressive affair. There was a wall-spanning mirror and twin sinks. A massive waterfall shower. But most importantly, a luxurious jacuzzi tub that took up the full corner of the place.

“It’s impractical for ice baths.” 

Was all Shane had ever said about it, which led Cliff to believe it had probably not been otherwise used much - and certainly not for relaxation.

Now however, it was full of decadently steamy water. 

Two dozen electric candles had been lit around in the bathroom, the lights off and the windows drawn for a delightfully cozy and romantic effect. 

The far side of the tub had a gently sloping wall. It was perfect for Cliff to recline against. Shane was seated pretty in his lap, his head bowed low over Cliff's shoulder as he took his time slowly scissoring Shane open. There was some sweet-smelling bath oil in the water that made his skin soft and gleaming in the flickering light.

“I missed you.” 

“Fuck, I know.” Shane whimpered, leaning forward and letting himself be stretched open by Cliff’s fingers. His skin was flush and warm to the touch from the gently steaming water. “I still think about that first night at the Cottage some nights, when I’m alone.”

“That was hot.” Cliff agreed warmly. He pulled his fingers out of Shane, taking his time to stroke their cocks together with oil-slick fingers. 

“Not as hot as you driving two hours with a butt plug in though.”

“I had to, you saw Ilya’s Halloween costume!”

“I made him promise to wear it next time I’m in Ottawa.”

Shane laughed, cut off into an low and decadent moan as their bodies aligned and Cliff eased inside him.

“To be honest, I might have been hoping you'd show up to the art gallery with something like that in mind.”

“I didn't want to be horny and pissed off at JJ at the same time.” Shane grinned back wolfishly.

“I think it's hot when you're mad.” Cliff leaned back a little further, giving Shane the leverage needed to ride him properly.

“Ugh, don't,” Shane moaned as his body accommodated itself around Cliff's cock, his brow furrowed in concentration as he fucked himself down to the hilt. “I get enough of that - hah - from Ilya…”

Cliff sucked on the pulse of Shane's neck, just below the ear.

“I also think it's hot when you get so cock-drunk you forget how to put two words together.” His voice was low and dark in the dim light, and sent a delicious shudder up Shane’s spine.

“Yeah?” He breathed out, his eyes starry.

“Yeah.” Cliff pressed forward. “Let me show you.”

-

Their escapades took them from the bathtub, to the shower - then the bathroom countertops - then back to the shower again, though that was mostly just for a general hosing down.

Cliff collapsed onto the broad expanse of Shane's bed, feeling thoroughly exhausted for the day. Between a full hockey game (against Montreal, of all teams), the appreciation of modern art, minor felonies and Shane Hollander's particular brand of madcat marathon sex he was ready for a deep night's sleep.

“Do you want pajamas?” Shane offered around his toothbrush as he cleaned his teeth.

“What? No, fuck off. I'm not moving until the sun is up.”

Shane grinned, ducking back into the bathroom to spit and rinse.

“I have arnica oil if you want some.”

“You going to rub it on me?” Cliff grinned.

“I'm pretty much rubbed out, but it is good for sore muscles.”

“My muscles will be fine, I've just got this trick in my knees that's been flaring up recently,”

Shane tugged on a snug pair of boxer briefs and fished a little bottle out of his gym bag.

He also pulled out his phone - mostly on reflex - and frowned down at the screen.

“Ugh, I have a ton of missed texts from Hayden.”

Shane groaned, scrolling through his phone.

“Yeah, I probably do too.” Cliff threw an arm over his head and tried to make himself feel worse about it in the post-orgasm glow. “Not from Pike, from Connors-”

Then again, possibly not. Connors knew about Marlow’s tendency to wander off - especially if he was going to get laid. He probably didn't think much of it at all.

“Shit.” Shane said through his teeth. “Hayden’s really pissed.”

Cliff privately thought it was a bit rich considering what the guy had said to him over the summer about Shane's relationship with Ilya.

At the same time, he probably wouldn't have forgiven the guy for quietly condoning Ilya's boyfriend (supposedly) cheating on him.

Shane rolled over and held the phone up to his ear.

“Hayden-” Shane paused as the man on the other line seemingly launched into something serious and impassioned by the tinny tone squabbling away on the other end.

Shane sighed, glancing up at Cliff, his mouth set tight.

“I did leave with Cliff, yeah.”

There was a sharp angry question on the other side.

“We did, yeah… yeah. Hay- Hayden! It’s fine. Ilya knows about it.” Shane rolled over onto his back, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s none of your business! But yeah, we aren’t exclusive like that. It’s fine. You can ask him, he'll tell you.”

Shane listened for a minute, then his expression looked thunderous as he launched off the bed.

“No, Ilya did not put me up to it! It was my idea!” 

Cliff drew back a bit, wondering if he should give Shane some privacy when he continued to rage into the phone.

“BECAUSE I LIKE SEX, THAT’S WHY!”

He exclaimed with such force Cliff had to bury his face into a pillow to keep from laughing.

Shane gave him a stricken look, then softened.

“I mean, it started out that way. But. Cliff is a really great guy.” He spoke into the phone, but held Cliff's gaze as he spoke. “And. We all make each other better people. It’s a really good thing we have.” 

Cliff rolled over, rubbing Shane’s back. Shane didn’t look back at Cliff, but he did reach behind and seek out his hand, twining their fingers up together.

“Yeah. All three of us.

…

 Uh. Since last winter.” Shane finally cracked a smirk. “Yeah, during Summer camp as well. Look, at least you didn’t walk in on anything this time?” 

Cliff shuffled forward, laying his head in Shane’s lap. He could tell by the tone that the worst of it was over.

“Yeah. Yeah of course.” Shane shrugged, eyes cast down. He was petting Cliff’s hair in a self-soothing sort of gesture. One of his fingers twisted around a lock of Cliff's hair.

It always got thick and curly if he let it dry with no product in.

“Also Hayden,” Shane continued. “For what it’s worth. I appreciate you calling for Ilya’s sake and defending him. Even if it’s against me.

…

Yeah, you too. Okay. See you tomorrow. Bye.”

Shane hung up and heaved a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

After collecting his bearings, he looked down at Cliff who was looking up at him dreamily from his lap.

“What?”

“You like me.” Cliff teased. Shane laughed, shoving him off of his lap. 

“That was fun, you should call JJ next.” He continued, earning a very naked tackle from Shane, wrestling him into the sheets.

Chapter 13: The Gold Thread

Ilya was in one of his low moods, and Cliff knew better than to push it.

Cliff would be too, if Boston had gotten crushed like Ottawa just did. Cliff was glad that Ilya never took it personally. He was a stronger player than ever, but Ottawa’s overall roster was still lacking in a way that made it difficult for their team to gain much traction. Ilya didn’t hold it against Cliff though, which he was desperately relieved by. Instead, Ilya acted none too differently than he would back in Boston whenever they lost a game together.

“I swear, if Dillon drops one more pass-”

“What are you going to do?”

“Something very Russian.” Ilya said menacingly. It didn’t have quite as much mileage to it as Ilya might have liked. After all, the guy was naked in his boxers, on Cliff’s couch, with a cat curled up between his legs and a pint of cookies n’ cream ice cream balanced on his chest. 

“Luca Haas is doing a good job on the second line.” Marlow noted casually. “He’s cute too.”

“You stay away from my son! You have enough boyfriends!” Ilya said irately, shoving his foot into Cliff’s face. 

Cliff retaliated at once by grabbing Ilya’s toes with his mouth. 

He had also been eating ice cream. The sudden shock of a tongue cold on Ilya’s feet caused him to yelp and sock Cliff hard in the shoulder with his other foot. 

Penny yowled in indignation, running off over Ilya’s shoulder to leap off the far side of the couch. As she did, her back claws sank into Ilya’s shoulder, causing him to yelp with pain. 

It was one of those incidents so sudden and patently ridiculous that it actually managed to shock Ilya out of his funk, and he ended up laughing on the floor instead. It made it easy for Cliff to pounce on him in relation, pinning his arms to his front and attacking his neck with biting kisses.

“конец! Stop, stop!” Ilya laughed, scrambling and shoving at him.

“I love you.” Cliff said, deeply and warmly.

Ilya rolled over onto his back. His hair fluffy and askew, stars in his eyes.

“I love you too.”

Cliff said it a lot, now. If only just to hear Ilya say it back. And he did every time, without reservation.

He loves me too.

Ilya loves me.

It made him feel a little insane. A bright giddy rush that he expected to fade over time but remained stubbornly brilliant and bright, glowing against his ribcage.

Cliff's love for Ilya had always lived in a quiet corner of his heart, banished and tucked away after Ilya left Boston. Like a dog turned out onto the street.

I can't keep you. He'd said to it. You can’t stay here. You have to leave now.

“No, stop! Your mouth is so cold!” Ilya squirmed and yelled as Cliff hugged his middle and pressed kisses down his chest.

Now, that love was someplace safe. Warm and fed, curled up by the fire.

“Blyat!” Ilya yelled and wriggled even as he laughed, the scruff of Cliff’s face tickled at Ilya’s navel, nuzzling against the soft fuzz of his happy trail. “No, please - I can’t cum again- not so soon-”

“I won’t, don’t be a baby.” Cliff kissed him instead, just below the bellybutton.

“Am I supposed to be baby or not? Make up your mind!” Ilya huffed, wriggling his arms free and tugging on Cliff’s hair petulantly.

Cliff just smiled against the warmth of Ilya’s skin.

Was this real? 

Did he get to have this?

-

“Shane's diet is driving me crazy.” Ilya finally admitted, sometime after the wrestle and mellowed out into a proper cuddle. 

“I guess you can be glad you’re not on it also?”

“Psh, sometimes I wonder if that would be easier. His judgement is worse. Worst is that it makes him unhappy and stressed.”

Cliff took a moment to examine Ilya. The slight slump in his shoulders. The little tic where he scuffed his nose - which meant he was more uncomfortable and sad than he was angry. It was a practiced once-over that came from spending a cool decade getting to know another person. It let him know with confidence he could pull the guy in for a one-armed hug and just get minor grousing until Ilya relented and submitted to the affection.

“What would make you feel better?”

“Cheeseburger.” Ilya huffed, his face half-buried in the crook of Cliff's armpit.

Ilya's favorite burger place in Boston was still going strong. It was a food truck parked semi-permanently at the edge of the park that occasionally migrated with the weather and the local farmer’s markets.

They also had hot spicy pickles that Ilya would probably eat straight out of the jar if they were an option.

While they waited for their food, a few hockey fans were queuing about as well. Cliff signed a couple autographs and he and Ilya took a handful of selfies.

When they collected their order, the couple operating the van asked quite earnestly if they wouldn’t mind taking a quick selfie with the food. 

Technically he was supposed to run that stuff through Ursula, but Cliff didn’t think much of it. He knew that the couple that ran the place were saving up to buy a restaurant someday, and the publicity would probably help. 

It might mean he’d have to lay low from the truck for a while if it got mobbed with Boston fans, but he could take that loss in exchange for a good deed. 

Cliff took out his burger, following Ilya’s direction on the angle the shot so he got the truck sign in the photo as he went to take a bite. At the last minute, Ilya ducked forward into the photo as well, biting at the burger from the other end. 

It made for a pretty funny candid shot. 

He posted it, tagged Ilya and the food truck and didn’t think much else of it.

That was, until a little while later when they were back at the apartment and a call came in from Shane.

“Hey!”

“What the hell are you two doing posting photos like that?”

The sudden, sharp tone took Cliff out of it. 

He’d heard Shane upset before. But it sent Cliff strangely off-kilter. He took a split second to gather his bearings and realize that the source of his disorientation was that he had never heard Shane directing his upset at Cliff before.

“Photos like what?” He asked, genuinely baffled.

“Of course you don't know.” Shane huffed, sounding irate. “Ilya just posted some photos of you two doing the Lady and the Tramp thing on some giant greasy cheeseburger and now Rozalow is trending all over Twitter.”

Cliff put a hand on his hip and frowned with intent focus. 

He was genuinely trying very hard to remember if “Rozalow” one was the “bro” hashtag or the horny one.

“Ilya and I do stuff like that all the time.” He said, still feeling strangely out of place. “I think that just trends whenever he’s in Boston.”

“Yeah, but it's different now.” Shane pressed. It wasn't lost on Cliff the slightly pained, maybe a little bit panicked tone in his voice.

It's different because I'm out now.

People are going to think we’re really flirting.

“I’m sorry.” Cliff said sincerely. “I can see why that would be stressful, when we’re not ready for this to be public yet.”

“I just - I think we need to be careful about this. We never talked about how we’d want to - if we ever came out to everyone. I don’t want it to be like Hayden again-”

“It won’t be.” Cliff said gently. “And even if it did, we’d figure it out. Just like we did with Pike.”

Ilya sat across the living room, eating the pickles off of his burger and feeling distinctly less hungry than he had before.

It was interesting seeing Cliff do his thing like this - with someone who wasn’t him.

Ilya knew what he was doing with the selfie, of course.

He knew it would piss Shane off.

Shane was just fun to piss off sometimes. Just a little bit.

He still loved Shane more than anything. So much it killed him sometimes.

But he could love the guy and still get driven up the walls when he scoffed and sighed whenever Ilya ate food that tasted like food and not like unseasoned grilled chicken and rice.

He never took it too far, of course. It was what they did.

They pissed each other off, fought, fucked about it, and it was generally fine after.

It was fine.

He told himself this resolutely, but still quietly filed the train of thought away for his next session with Dr. Galina.

But it was interesting seeing Cliff interact with Shane’s anger.

Just… absorbing it. Diffusing it.

He didn’t roll over and take Shane’s anger. 

Cliff apologized to validate Shane’s feelings, not for his actions. Or rather, apologized for the way that those actions made Shane feel, and was searching for the common ground between those two things.

Cliff wasn’t making promises not to be close or affectionate with Ilya in public, when it seemed like that was what Shane had called to argue for. Instead, he seemed to be seeking out what was it that got Shane upset in the first place, tugging at it like a tangled knot, gently working it loose until it was laid out straight and smooth.

Did Cliff even realize he was doing it? Ilya popped the last pickle slice into his mouth, savoring the spicy vinegar tang thoughtfully.

“It’ll be okay.” Cliff soothed, his eyes half-closed. “Yeah. I know. Of course, my knee is fine. I’m taking good care of it. Of course I will. Okay… you too. okay bye.”

Cliff hung up, looking over at Ilya with a sigh.

“Antagonizing him won’t help, you know.”

Ilya shrugged.

“Not all of us grew up with three older sisters who made us have tea parties and taught us how to talk about our feelings.”

Some people had dead moms and a father and brother who processed their emotions with their fists. 

Ilya had to ponder how clearly that  old wound must have shown on his face, because instead of giving out to Ilya for being a little shit, Cliff just ruffled the soft curls of his hair as he sat down heavily beside Ilya and tucked in to his burger.

After a few bites, he finally said.

“Shane yelling at me gave me the weirdest boner. We need to fuck about it once these are done.”

Ilya answered by shoving the rest of his own cheeseburger into his mouth with relishing veracity.

-

Rozalow did in fact trend for several days - and inspired a brief meme where people would take twin bites out of increasingly ridiculous food items while insisting how platonic they were being. But Lori was convinced it was all in good spirits and probably fine.

The tag did die down, same as it always did after Ilya left. 

There were a few photos posted strategically to Ilya’s Instagram as well as the Centaur’s social media page - him wrestling with Bood and Dykstra. Another of him hugging Luca Haas tight and pinching his cheeks together affectionately that also got a bit of buzz from the same circles.

They did what they were meant to do.

They communicated effectively and easily.

This is just what Ilya is like.

He’s like this with everyone.

Cliff should be glad that the bait was taken and swallowed so readily.

He tried not to feel surely and cross about it. 

He knew it was just a byproduct of missing him. Missing them both.

The season carried on.

Boston continued to do well - winning a good fair share more than they lost.

Fall gave way slow and heavy to winter.

Cliff paid a few visits to the volunteers at The Lighthouse Project.

During an away game in Tampa, he stopped in to visit his aunts and their small flock of rescue parrots. He'd never been very close to his dad's sister Margie growing up, or her wife Lucia. But they congratulated him for coming out, and invited him to the secret family LGBQT group chat - which up until then was really just themselves and Cliff's fourteen-year-old cousin Xan who had recently started identifying as nonbinary.

At a game in Nashville, one of the home fans threw an egg at him on the ice. 

Which sucked, mostly because Jamie nearly got a suspension when he all but launched himself over the boards at the guy who threw it, foaming at the mouth with rage. It was only St. Simon grabbing him at the last minute that likely saved him from a suspension.

They still won, but barely.

Games with Jamie in a bad mood were always a struggle.

Without having to look, Cliff caught Coach Reilly’s stern look toward the end of the game.

He gave him a slight nod as they communicated a few words unspoken.

Yeah, I’ll take care of it.

Cliff knocked on the hotel room door.

“Hey Cap!” Matías Noh opened the door. He had started the same year as Jamie Allens, and was in almost every way the guy’s opposite. Big, open and friendly - exuding the unflappable energy of a golden retriever. 

“You ready to go out and shake it up tonight?” He grinned, white teeth very bright. He was wearing an extremely loud orange silk shirt. The team was gathering in the atrium now to head out to a nearby club.

“I’ll catch up to you guys. I venmo’d you $250, buy the victory shots for me, yeah?”

Matías went stern and solid, giving Cliff a stern salute.

“I will not let you down, Captain!” 

He bounded off for the elevator. Jamie followed in his wake, trying to plow past him. Cliff’s arm shot out, blocking him in.

“No.” He said sternly.

Jamie groaned.

“We will have a drink for you in memoriam, Allie!” Matías made the sign of the cross as the elevator doors closed and he was gone. 

“I know you were just trying to help.” Cliff said gently.

The hot pulse of the shower water beat over them. It was a pretty decent tactic to keep Jamie from trying to charge off or shut him out mid-lecture. 

The guy loved physical touch, and especially loved it when Cliff washed his hair for him. 

It was a strange but effective way to keep him attentive for a dressing-down.

“But I don’t need you to protect me.”

Jamie huffed. His eyes were closed, his pupils moving a bit under his lids as Cliff’s fingers worked through his hair, massaging his scalp. 

“Those assholes-”

“Got a rise out of you. You gave them exactly what they wanted.” Cliff tugged on Jamie’s hair as he rinsed, just a little.

“You want to shut them up, do it with the puck. I know you can do that.” 

Jamie’s shoulder trembled slightly under Cliff’s heavy hand. 

“I can do that.” He said roughly.

“Good boy.” Cliff pressed a kiss into the crook of Jamie’s neck. He hugged him close under the hot spray, before lifting him up onto the bench of the shower and sank down to his knees.

“You don’t have to.” Jamie groused, his head ducked low. “I don’t deserve it.”

“You know you messed up. You won’t do it again.” Cliff kissed the inside of Jamie’s knee, followed by his thigh. 

Jamie shifted about, tucking his hands under his thighs like Cliff had trained him to do whenever they did this (he was a hair-puller). 

“So there’s nothing to… I don’t know. Punish you for, or whatever.”

“I - I don’t-” Jamie breathed out long and shuddering as Cliff’s mouth swallowed down his half-hard cock.

He sucked Jamie off, quick and efficient to help take the last of the edge off of him. 

He did it because he wanted to.

Because Jamie was actually quite cute after a good orgasm - going soft and lax and letting himself be handled in a way that was normally impossible to do with the guy.

Cliff kissed his cheeks and his ears. As he moved from one to another, Jamie chased after Cliff’s lips - making a soft and petulant sound when they danced just out of reach.

“I’m sorry, I messed up tonight.” Jamie pined. His expression was tired and distant. Damp, dark hair was plastered to the sides of his face and curled around his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about the game.” Cliff helped him up and out of the shower, tugging a towel off the rack. He ruffled Jamie’s hair dry, smoothing it back so he could see Cliff’s stern expression. 

“If you get into fights off of the ice, you’re going to be facing a suspension. I don’t want that for you.” 

Cliff tied a towel around his waist while Jamie tugged the towel down on either side of his head, deliberately obscuring his face as his blush deepened. 

“C’mon. Let’s go out and meet the guys. We’re not going to get a chance to go out in Tampa, so we should have some fun with the team.” 

And they did.

Tampa was always a fun time.

It warmed Cliff to see Jamie stepping outside of himself, enjoying his time with his teammates. 

During his rookie year, Jamie was scarce on nights out. He kept close to himself, hidden in a fortress of cynicism and sarcasm.

Cliff wished he hadn’t taken so long to recognize it for what it was.

But he loved to see how far the guy had come.

They tracked down the rest of the team at a bar on the edge of the beach. 

Noh, Holmes and two of the other rookies cheered as Jamie jumped into the fray on the dancefloor and threw himself into the  music.

"Still out?" Cliff perched himself at the bar with St. Simon, who slid him a beer.

"Yeah, someone had to babysit the rookies while you were giving Allens his spanking." Simon said casually, while Cliff snorted into his drink in a fantastically uncool fashion.

-

Toward November, there was a rare night where Shane and Ilya were both off - and Boston was playing Toronto.

Cliff managed to swing a separate flight home. Instead of going back to the US, he rented a car and tore through the four-hour drive in a cool three-and-a-half in the empty midnight roads and arrived in Ottawa in the early hours of the morning.

It was dark, but Cliff had been given a key to each of their places a while back.

He crept inside, making his way to the room Ilya had designated as his over the summer. There was absolutely nothing in it to suggest that the room belonged to someone - in every way it was still very much a guest room. But the gesture still warmed him.

Cliff changed and moved down the hall into the master bedroom where two shapes were nestled together under the heavy duvet.

Shane made a soft, sleepy noise as the covers pulled back.

“It's me. Go back to sleep.”

Shane turned in to greet him. His arms wrapped around Cliff's torso and greeted him into the soft warmth of the bed.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” They whispered to each other in the dark, exchanging quiet kisses, careful not to disturb Ilya. Shane fell back asleep with Cliff’s mouth on his, his breathing evening out long and steady. Cliff took a moment just to watch the two in the dark before fatigue pulled him under.

Cliff woke up a few bleary hours later in the weak winter light. Shane was still curled up against him, his breathing soft against Cliff's chest.

Though he was certain Ilya had been sleeping when he arrived, he had moved at some point. Now behind Cliff, one arm slung over his waist.

Cliff rolled over, arranging Ilya so he was a bit more comfortably tucked up against his body. He heaved a massive yawn and stretched as he did so, the muscles in his shoulders and back and legs shivering taut. This also meant Ilya was incidentally squeezed tight against Cliff’s chest, until he squeaked with the air that rushed out of his lungs. 

Shane sniggered.

“Wut?” Ilya groused.

“Nothing. That was cute.”

“I am not cute.” Ilya protested, his voice sleep-slurred, his body lax and tucked up against Cliff’s torso like a large contented cat.

Seven hours of round trip driving was well worth it just for this. Cliff would have gladly driven three times as long just to get to wake up between Shane and Ilya.

Shane slipped out to get the morning coffee going. 

Cliff rolled himself and Ilya over, peppering him with hot kisses and pushing inside him for a lazy morning fuck. 

Ilya pined and squirmed pathetically, but the moment Cliff’s lube-slick finger brushed against his puckered hole Ilya’s cock had jumped obediently for him - his body eager for it.

“Ugh, baby. You feel so good for me.”

Cliff licked a hot stripe  up the side of Ilya’s neck as they rutted together into the sheets.

His flight home was in six hours.

Could he stay inside of Ilya the entire time? Possibly. He would be sore for a while, but it would be worth it. 

Shane returned in short order, slotting himself in nicely against Ilya. The two kissed deep and doting. Shane slung his leg over Ilya’s thigh, giving the two of them leverage to frot and rub their cocks together while Cliff matched their pace.

The coffee was left waiting for a long while.

The three shifted through a few positions - all of them following an unspoken agreement to take their time. They drew back when one of them got close - keeping eachother on edge.

Cliff relented in letting Ilya go, only for him to be replaced with the hot perfect clench of Shane Hollander’s body around his cock. His powerful, muscled thighs around Cliff’s waist, drawing him in.

Something fizzled into being there, as Shane wrapped his arms around Cliff and drew him in for a deep kiss. Cliff bottoming out in a frictonless slide, filling him until they were flush together. Some golden thread snug around their bodies as Cliff moved against him, sweet and slow. It wound between their fingers and elbows and thighs, tied snug against the heart. 

His body was so perfect. 

Shane was so sweet, so good. 

Oh my god… I love you.

The thought came and went like a wisp in the sex-addled haze of Cliff’s mind. Too quick, too new to hang on to.

Shane had said that, during the start of the summer. In the throes of lovemaking not unlike this one.

Cliff had assumed the words were meant for Ilya. He hadn't allowed himself the hope to even ask about it later.

But could it? 

Maybe one day - could Shane love him? 

Cliff whimpered against Shane’s velvet lips, thrusting inside him in a way that made him arch and moan. 

Ilya’s hands ran down Cliff’s back, kissing the nodes of his spine.

Fuck, Cliff wanted this.

To wake up in the mornings and have them. Both of them. 

For this not to be something they only got to steal in short hours every few months at a time. Cliff’s teeth dug into the meat of Shane’s neck as he picked up his pace with a fervor. Shane cried out, gripping his hair by the roots, encouraging him on.

Cliff’s hand gripped Ilya’s arm wrapped around his stomach, as if he could hold onto the moment and keep all of them together, just like this.

Chapter 14: The Candy Cane

Chapter Notes

Please enjoy this frosty Christmas chapter in July <3

They didn’t fuck the entire time that Cliff had to spend in Ottawa - but they did end up with precious little time to do much more than shower and change and have a quick meal that looked quite a bit more like lunch than like breakfast.

It was actually pretty good. But also Cliff was pretty sure he was developing a pavlovian-style attachment to salmon and brown rice.

They all had large bowls with teriyaki-miso salmon and soy marinated eggs topped with sesame and scallions. Cliff probably wouldn’t want to eat it all the time, but privately considered adding it to the modest list of recipes that he was able to make independently at home. Though he also didn’t turn down the additional massive loaf of garlic cheese bread while Shane watched trying not to look too forlorn. 

Cliff tried to insist on cleaning up for them, but they negotiated down to all doing it together.

It felt so domestic and homey - something Cliff could tell they were all feeling.

He hadn’t planned on asking, but he was happy and full. The kitchen was warm and the promise of early winter flurries had him thinking of the end of the holidays. 

“You should come visit my family this Christmas.” Cliff realized, as he tucked away the last of the silverware.

Ilya’s eyes and ears perked up at once with delight.

Shane however, looked wary.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Don’t you have like - a million relatives?

“Yeah, but they’re all really supportive. It’s cool.” Cliff assured. 

Apparently it wasn’t cool. Cliff could tell by the tension that had crept into Shane’s shoulders.

That, and the way Ilya had gotten… withdrawn.

“You don’t have to go as my boyfriends. Both, or either of you.” Cliff clarified, wondering where he’d tripped up. “Or, is Christmas really big in the Hollander house? My family celebrates for like, four days straight. You can come whatever day you want.”

“It is true.” Ilya prodded gently. “I have been before, years ago. It is a lot of fun.”

“I’m sure it is a lot of fun.” Shane looked between the two of them with a frown. “But… we can’t. There’s going to be so many people there. If word gets out, what reason would I have for being at your house on Christmas?”

“Okay.” Cliff frowned, trying to keep the hurt from hitting too close to his heart. He turned the thought over in his mind. He didn’t want to let go of the nice feeling of the morning. But he also knew it was something that needed to be prodded a little further before he could let it go in good conscience. 

“But. If I am going to move to Canada after the season ends - I need you to meet my mom first, at least.”

He sat down across from Shane at the table, watching him calmly and steadily.

“My family means a lot to me. She should meet the guys I’ll be leaving the country for.”

Cliff placed his hand over Shane’s, giving it a small squeeze.

Shane’s eyes darted, his mouth set tight.

“Is that still something you want?” Cliff pressed gently.

“Of course it is.” Shane answered immediately. 

“Well, I am going to Marlow Christmas.” Ilya spoke up, resolutely.

“You are?” Shane asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Yes.” Ilya crossed his arms. “For Christmas Eve, and the night before. Then I will fly back to Ottawa Christmas day, to exchange presents with your parents like we do every year.”

Shane frowned, fidgeting in his seat.

“That’s fair, I guess.”

Even if it didn’t feel fair. True, the two of them didn’t really have any special plans for Christmas Eve. But it was going to be a day and a half he could have spent with Ilya gone.

His, Ilya and Cliff’s schedules always had their time together so few and far between. They never had to choose - one person or the other before. 

Well. They didn’t really have to choose. 

It was Shane choosing to stay behind, wasn’t it?

Cliff smirked, watching Shane’s thought process unfold.

“You’re such an only child, man.” He said fondly. 

“What does that mean?” Shane frowned, then sighed. “No. I mean. Yeah. I get it. I see Ilya more than you do. It just-”

“Is not enough.” Ilya supplied.

“No.” Shane agreed, breathing out heavy and frustrated. 

“This sucks for you guys too, huh?” Cliff hummed. 

“Of course it does.” Ilya said plaintively. 

“I guess whenever you guys weren’t with me, I always thought of you two as being together.” Cliff leaned his elbows on the table. “That was the whole idea behind Ottawa, right?”

“Yes. We do see each other more.” Ilya said slowly. “But… not always. Often it’s weeks at a time we’re on our own.”

Shane perked his ears up, frowning at that.

That wasn’t true. They weren’t alone.

They had Shane’s parents, right? And… their teammates.

Did Ilya feel lonely?

“That sucks, man.” Cliff commiserated.

“It’s still more than you get to spend with us.” Shane said quietly.

“That can be true, and it can still suck for you.” Cliff shrugged. His thumb stroked Shane’s knuckles soothingly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come down for Christmas Eve?” He nudged gently.

“Yeah.” Shane said, giving Cliff’s fingers a squeeze. “You guys have fun. I’ll see Ilya on Christmas Day and I’ll… I guess we’ll see each other at the All Star Game this year?”

Cliff shook his head grimly.

“No All Star Game for me this year.”

“What?” Shane frowned. 

“Same thing happened to Scott Hunter after he came out. The guy gave me a heads up not to be disappointed when it happens.” Cliff shrugged. “It’s alright. It’s not like they can keep me out of the city. I’ll get a nice AirBNB close by. Chill out and relax while you two take the games way too seriously and then we can enjoy the evenings together.”

“Yeah, okay.” Shane said, sounding a bit happier at the prospect.

“Okay, good. Are we done talking about serious things now?” Ilya groaned, stretching his arms out over the countertop. “We only have three more hours to spend together. I want to spend it naked.

-

Christmas came up rapidly.

Cliff tried to keep his regular calls with Shane and Ilya, but more often the three had to fall back to texting as their practices and games kept them on odd timelines. Boston continued to play powerful and strong - racking up several more wins, including a truly spectacular shutout game against Philadelphia just after Thanksgiving.

Jamie scored his first ever hat-trick, and that night Cliff pounded him into the mattress of his bed while Jamie cried and clawed at the mattress and came hard and untouched.

Shane and Cliff texted frequently. 

There was something on Cliff’s mind since the last time all three of them were together that he was interested in digging into. 

A sort of project, took shape and grew legs the more that the two of them discussed it. 

Cliff busied himself with getting presents picked out for all of his various cousins and relatives.

During a free day he drove down to his parents house to help them set up the massive stockpile of Christmas lights, and to haul the fleet of wicker reindeer out of the back of the garage and on to the front lawn. 

As he expected, Cliff’s family were delighted to hear that Ilya would be coming this year. Two of Cliff’s older sisters exchanged knowing looks that Cliff refused to acknowledge or entertain.

He tried not to think about the Shane-shaped absence that haunted his side of the conversation, and did his best to be content with what he had. 

-

“Merry Christmas!” 

Ilya Rozanov was at the door in an ugly Centaurs Christmas sweater, Santa hat and a very cheap white beard. He beamed and leaned forward with a big grin and hands on his hips. “Have you been a very good boy this year?”

Jamie Allens gaped, holding the door open with an air of stunned disbelief.

“... what…? ”

“Jamie - don’t be a dick, let Ilya in.”

Cliff called out from the kitchen. 

“I thought you might be here. Good, I can give you this in person.”

Ilya walked into the apartment, grabbing a comically oversized candy-cane out of his bag.

Jamie’s confusion only mounted as he held the thing, wondering what Ilya Rozanov expected him to do with half a kilogram of peppermint sugar - trying to puzzle out if the gesture was genuine or if the guy was making fun of him somehow.

“I uh. Didn’t get you anything?” 

“Ah, that is okay! You making this face is worth it for me. Cliff has told me it is possible for you to look cute sometimes, and I wanted to see for myself.”

Jamie was too flummoxed to react to Ilya ruffling his hair with one hand and throwing his bags down with the other.

“You hungry, man?”

“Always. Pizdets it is freezing out. How is it colder down here than it is up in Ottawa?”

Cliff just shrugged, piling some meal-prepped chili into bowls while Ilya tore off his fake beard and Santa hat. 

The two tried to cajole Jamie into staying for lunch, but he had a flight to catch and still wasn’t quite ready to feel comfortable around Ilya Rozanov just yet.

-

“Hello Marlows!”

“Ilya!”

Cliff was practically left hanging on the doorstep as Ilya was eagerly ushered inside by Cliff’s small army aunts, sisters and in-laws.

His mother’s house was a large old tudor-style house that had belonged to her grandfather before her. They had a soft tradition now of spending the day after Thanksgiving (since it was a a rare guaranteed day off for Cliff) getting all of the lights and decorations set up. It hadn’t looked quite as impressive then, when the leaves had barely finished falling off of the trees. But now - with a modest scattering of snow and frost over the chilly winter ground - it looked just like a postcard.

The air was crisp and dark and cool - with the warm scent of pinesmoke from someone’s fireplace on a house down the street. 

As cold as the air was outside, inside was bright and rich and warm. The heat had that overworked, slightly stuffy quality of a house holding fifty people - half of whom were kids running about in their holiday attire and causing general chaos. 

They were one of the last to arrive, and everything was in full swing. Someone had a football game muted on in the den while relatives milled about and caught up. Cliff could just about hear Ilya being dragged through being introduced and passed around to everyone. The scent of garlic, butter, sea brine and white wine was apparent from the kitchen while half a dozen Marlows rigorously worked the various seafood dishes into shape.

“Uncle Cliff!” 

“Hey Xan! Help me with these presents will you?”

They had brought along a handcart to bring everything in. Ilya was a terrible hand at wrapping presents, but was keen to learn. The small mountain of presents for everyone showed a clear progression of Ilya’s skill as he got better with measuring lengths and applying tape and ribbons to everything. 

Cliff and Ilya got settled, took off their coats and scarves and did their rounds greeting everyone.

In short order, Cliff found himself helping his mother and sisters assemble everything while Ilya gleefully helped wear out some of Cliff’s younger siblings so they would sit still for dinner. 

Over the years, a nonexistent but extremely pervasive competition brewed under the surface with various members of the Marlow clan attempting to out-do one another in the volume and complexity of the dishes brought to the table.

It was Christmas Eve, which meant a table full of seven (more like a dozen) various fish dishes. Ilya had been particularly excited about this, bringing a smoked herring dish himself that only he and one of Cliff’s cousins seemed particularly keen on. The rest helped themselves to tall plates of stuffed clams, grilled shrimp, crab and lobster linguine, braised octopus and whole salt-baked seabass.

After dinner, Cliff’s Uncle Tony came in dressed as Santa to distribute out gifts. A few of Cliff’s cousins were recruited to dress up as elves and help wheel everything into the den, which had a large armchair pushed up against the tree for Santa to sit in.

Ilya sat on the arm of a chair in the opposite corner, watching the proceeding with thinly veiled envy.

“Next year.” He said, lowly and ominously.

“Uncle Tony isn’t going to give up being Santa, man.”

“I would be a much better Santa.”

“It’s tradition. Besides, he’s got the belly for it.”

“You wait and see. I will be the best Santa.” 

Ilya said, with the same set calculating determination and demonic fire in his eyes that had driven Boston to three Stanley cups. 

Cliff smiled. His arm slipped around Ilya’s waist. It was a casual gesture, one that could have been mistaken for them conserving space in the living room overly crammed with children and an increasingly mounting pile of wrapping paper, boxes and other detritus as presents were ripped open. 

But it was also… nice. Just to have him here like this. 

Cliff let his face casually rest against the side of Ilya’s flank. Something deep and feral in him soothed by the familiar scent of his body, his warmth. Having him here in Cliff’s space, with the people he loved.

Ilya frowned, his pout settled into something deeper.

“I know man.” Cliff’s thumb brushed under Ilya’s shirt, stroking the warm skin of his lower back. “I wish Shane was here too.”

Ilya’s mouth was set tighter, his gaze turned far away.

Things wound down fairly quickly after presents. After doing their bit to help clean and round up, Cliff and Ilya left early. Ilya looked happy and full and sleepy.

“Is Shane still up?”Cliff asked, glancing to Ilya texting.

“Yes.” Ilya smiled, though it was… wavering. There was a strange weight to it. Like Ilya was struggling to keep it up at the edges.

The lights of the street flashed blue over Ilya’s profile as they drove on in the night. Bing Crosby crooned White Christmas over the radio. 

“I haven’t seen that look in a while.” Cliff remarked casually, turning his gaze back to the road.

“What look?”

“The ‘I miss Jane’ face.” Cliff clarified, with a little smile. “Whenever you two didn’t get a chance to meet up back when you were in Boston. It sent you into a funk for days.”

It also typically meant Cliff would have to find a way to intervene and snap Ilya out of his funk before the next game.

He had gotten quite good at recognizing it.

“I still wear it more than I like to.” Ilya said morosely. “I have one for you too.”

“Yeah?” Cliff said with a sad smile.

“Yes. I miss you often. Both of you.”

His voice was heavy and sad. There was more to it, Cliff considered. Something that was bothering Ilya more than just missing Shane, or missing Cliff - though he couldn’t put his finger on what that might be.

He liked to think he was good at reading Ilya. And he certainly was, better than most people.

But Ilya was also quite good at not letting people know how he felt.

Cliff reached out for his hand in the dark car, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

“Well. You’ll be sick of me before long.”

“This is not possible.” Ilya smiled. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat of the car. It was a relaxed position, by all accounts. But there was still some unknown tension that was held there.

The two drove on in silence a while longer. White wisps of snow flew out of the dark, sweeping past them as they drove down the empty roads back to the city. After a short while, Ilya spoke. 

“Are you really going to do it? Move up to Canada?”

“You did.” Cliff shrugged, then smiled. “I dunno. Could be fun, being a full-time WAG.”

Ilya finally smiled. And when he spoke, he sounded wistful.

“Oh yes? Tell me about it.”

“I’ll paint my face and go to your crappy home games. Walk the dogs while you’re away. Learn how to make Aunt Carol’s seafood linguine. Cheer for you guys even when you lose. Be there for you when you get home.”

Ilya seemed to only just be letting himself consider it now. In a quick glance, Cliff could see it there. The deep ache behind his eyes.

It was there last Christmas as well. At the club in Manhattan.

Some sort of demon shaped like loneliness that haunted Ilya Rozanov.

“I would like that very much.” He said quietly.

Cliff reached into his jacket pocket, and fished out a slip of paper he’d been thumbing during the night. 

“What is this?”

“Early Christmas present. Sort of.”

“You don’t have to get me anything. You know I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“I probably should learn more about that, yeah.”

All Cliff really knew about the Russian Orthodox church was the wonky cross, and that Christmas wasn’t celebrated until early January. He only happened to know as Ilya took time off each year to go to church - but mostly just because it’s what his mom would have wanted.

“What is this?”

“It’s a map.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

It was a printout of a Google Maps view of the stretch of Canada between Ottawa and Montreal. A circle drawn in an unassuming patch of rural greenery about ten minutes off of the 401. 

“Turns out there’s really nothing between your cities. Just a lot of farmland. So there’s a good bit of work to do. But the land there - it’s pretty nice. A lot of old trees that give a lot of privacy off the road. I figured it could be a fun project after retiring.”

“Doing what? Farming?” Ilya said, looking aghast.

“Designing and getting a house built there.” Cliff laughed. “One hour drive from Ottawa and Montreal. It’d be in my name. Not you or Shane. I’ll tell people I’m going someplace quiet to write a book or something. So no suspicion on either of you guys if you want to take your time coming out. And even if you don’t want to take your time.” He shrugged. “It’ll still be a place that lets you two share a few more nights together.”

Ilya listened, eyes wide.

“This is too much.”

“I gotta do something, man. I was kind of kidding when I said I’d just be a WAG and walk dogs and make spaghetti.” Cliff smirked. 

He loved Shane and Ilya deeply. 

And he got why Ilya made the move he did. 

But he also didn't want to make the same choices that Ilya did. 

He didn’t want to move his entire life for the sake of a relationship, then having nothing to fall back on in the spaces between. He would need more to his world than Shane and Ilya and being a retired hockey player.

No, he'd find something. Do something dumb with crypto, maybe. Or start a charity of his own.

“Does Shane know about this?”

“You think I know how to do this shit on my own?” He laughed. “Yeah. He put me in touch with the guy who designed his ‘Cottage.’ We’re having our first Zoom call after New Years.”

Cliff wished he had waited until they got back to the apartment. The look on Ilya’s face was priceless and he wished he was able to take it all in without risking vehicular manslaughter.

“We’re really all going to be together.” Ilya said quietly. As if he hadn’t quite let himself really believe it. 

“Yeah, man.” Cliff was startled to hear his own voice break just a little. “As long as you want me. I uh-” 

He fumbled, thinking hard. 

“Ya - tvoya… krepost.”

Ilya didn’t answer. Though Cliff heard him muffle a dry sob. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Ilya scrubbing his cheek furiously.

Their hands stayed interlocked for the rest of the drive back home.

“Hey, Mr. Marlow.”

The security at the atrium of Cliff’s building waved as they entered.

“Hey Reggie.”

“There’s a visitor here to see you.”

“Oh?” Cliff stalled, surprised.

“Yeah, he had a key so we let him up. Same as you told us.”

“You are expecting someone?” Ilya asked, looking over to Cliff - who shrugged.

“Jamie kept causing trouble with the doorman so I told them next time just to let him go up.” Cliff shrugged, as the two headed into the elevator. “Maybe he missed his flight.” He frowned down at his phone. 

He hadn’t missed any messages.

Ilya smirked, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. He gave Cliff an assessing sort of look as the elevator rose up smoothly.

“What are you going to do with Allens, Cliff?”

Cliff looked up, surprised by the question and the first-name basis. 

“What do you mean?”

Ilya shrugged, gesturing as if the question ought not need an explanation. 

“Does he know you are leaving?”

“Yeah. I mean. He knows I’m retiring this year. He knows about Shane.”

Ilya watched him patiently as Cliff started turning over his feelings like garden rocks. 

“I should probably tell him about you too, huh? Would that be okay with you?” Cliff asked slowly.

“Yes.” Ilya said, leaning forward in earnest. “You should tell him everything. He is clearly…” Ilya waved his hand, clearly trying and failing to find the right word in English.

“No, you’re right.” Cliff nodded, as the elevator dinged open and he went to the apartment door. “I’ll tell him everything tonight. Not how I planned on spending Christmas Eve, but-”

Cliff stepped inside, expecting to see Jamie sprawled out on the couch or raiding his fridge.

But it wasn’t Jamie.

It was Shane.

Standing by one of the windows in the living room, hugging Miss Penny to his chest. He turned around to look at them, suddenly caught out.

“I, uh. I caught a flight last minute.” Shane swallowed, pushing the words out. “I hope that’s okay. I know I didn’t call, or anything. I just, I wanted to-”

Cliff crossed the room in three long strides, sweeping Shane up in a crushing hug.

“Hey.” Cliff said breathlessly.

“Hey.” Shane had gone wonderfully lax in Cliff’s arms, accepting a sweet kiss as Penny squirmed and yowled in indignation at being suddenly pressed uncomfortably between them. 

And then Ilya was there too, and everything was perfect.

He had his arms around Shane, muttering soft doting words in Russian between kisses to his cheek and neck.

“I’m sorry.” Shane whispered into Ilya’s ear.

“It’s okay.” Ilya murmured back, his voice raw. “It’s alright, lyubimyy.”

It was the best Christmas present Cliff could have asked for - being able to wake up in the morning in a warm bed with Shane and Ilya both. 

The three had an unhurried breakfast, and huddled around the couch in their sleepwear, showing Ilya survey photos of the land that Cliff was purchasing. Plans that had been drafted up (mostly by Shane) on what the house might look like. With a large gym and a cinema room. A massive master bedroom - but with individual rooms for each of them so they could have individual space if they wanted.

In the afternoon, Cliff’s mother drove up for lunch at the apartment. 

It wasn’t a fancy affair - being a bit last minute. They had picked up a large quiche and some soup and challah bread from a local deli. But it was worth it to see Diane Marlow wrap her arms around Shane and embrace him so warmly - to see some of the stress that he wore semi-permanently unthaw a little bit in the face of such radical acceptance.

“It wasn’t what I was expecting, of course.” 

Diane told Cliff privately, later on in the day.

Ilya and Shane had gone back up to Canada to see the Hollanders - and Cliff returned to his parents house to help out with the madness that was Christmas Day.

Still, the two of them found a quiet moment in the breakfast nook to prep a large bowl of green beans for a casserole.

“Most of the family has had their suspicions about you and Ilya since you came out. But Shane Hollander was a lovely surprise as well.” 

She chuckled to herself, shaking her head a bit.

“The important thing is that they make you happy.” She smiled, snipping the ends off of the pods with efficiency and speed.

“And they do?”

“They really do, yeah.” Cliff smiled, feeling it up to his ears.

“Well, then I’m sure you’ll figure out all the rest. If not, well. You can always come back home.”

Cliff shook his head with a fond laugh.

“Thanks mom.”

Outside, the wind howled as a sudden gust of cold wind ripped down across the street. There was muted crash as one of the wicker reindeer on the front lawn toppled over.

Diane swore softly, getting to her feet to inspect the damage.

“It’s getting cold out there.”

“Yeah. Temperature is supposed to keep dropping.”

“I gotta say I’m jealous of Ilya. His team is going to be down south all next week after new years.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. We’ll be snowed in and he’ll be having cocktails on a beach in Tampa.” 

Cliff laughed, tossing the green beans into a bowl.

“I’ll tell you what, sometimes that guy has incredible luck.”

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 15: the Road Trip

Chapter Notes

Cliff had learned over time that Jamie liked being bodied around a bit. His arms pinned, or his legs hiked up. When he didn’t have a means to push himself away, his mind finally quieted down a little bit. 

This time around, he had Jamie sitting up on one of the massage tables in the recovery room. 

 His arms were behind his back, both wrists held fast there against the small of his back by Cliff’s hand. His pants were bunched around his ankles, locking them around Cliff’s neck and forcing him to bow over as Cliff sucked and swallowed his cock.

Practice was over, the team had gone home, and the sports therapist didn’t work on Thursdays, which meant this back corner of the place was virtually abandoned. It had a door that locked from the inside, and no cameras like some of the other parts of the stadium. Plus, the place smelled like sandalwood and that was nice.

Allens had been tense and cagey all practice - ever since coming back from the Christmas break. He must have had a shitty holiday, but didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Jamie rarely let Cliff into his head, but he did know that this sort of attention did a lot of good to settle him.

“Hff, hah…” 

Also, it was cute the way that he squirmed when he was getting really good head.

Doubled over like this, Allens couldn’t pull his hair or fuck Cliff’s throat - something he had a bad habit of doing. He’d get too worked up and excited. It was endearing, but also could hurt sometimes. Sitting like this, he couldn’t do much more than whimper and cry and take Cliff’s mouth.

“Please…” Jamie rasped out, mindless and begging. His words were muffled, like he was biting his lip but couldn’t quite keep the words down. “... hng, hah… daddy-”

Cliff hadn’t paid it any mind, but the slip had an instantaneous effect on Jamie. He went stiff at once, thrashing and kicking at Cliff to pull off of him.

“That wasn’t - I didn’t-”

“Fuck, Allens you just kicked my face-”

“I said damnit. Because you’re taking so goddamn long to suck me off!” 

Jamie flailed and practically crashed onto the hard tile floor, his face bright red. 

Cliff smirked, wiping the corner of his mouth. He watched Jamie struggling to get his shorts righted. When he spoke, his voice was a bit deep and raspy from the mild abuse.

“You wanna be my baby, Allens?”

An electric shudder ran up Jamie’s spine.

“Shit,” 

His back was to Cliff , taut and haunched over. By he could see a telltale streak of white running down his trembling thighs from where it had escaped out of his fist.

It was followed by a beautiful flush of pink that scattered down his back.

“I’m not- I don’t-”

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s alright.” 

Cliff took one of the hand towels from the little rolled stack by the table, moving to Jame’s side to help him clean off. 

Jamie fisted Cliff’s shirt in his hands, his head half-buried against the top of Cliff’s head.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay. I’ve had worse things happen to me when giving head then getting kicked in the face.”

Jamie laughed dryly.

“Hey, so listen.” Cliff sat back on his heels. “I gotta talk to you, okay?”

Jamie recoiled on reflex. 

“No! Fuck, just - forget I said anything, seriously!” Jamie went bright red at once, flushed up to his ears. He grabbed the massage room door, yanking on it furiously a few times before remembering to unbolt the lock.

“No. Jamie, not about what you said-”

“I didn’t say anything!” 

Jamie bristled and hissed like a startled wet cat and tore out of the facilities before Cliff could get another word in edgewise. 

For a moment, Cliff considered trying to chase him down. He probably could catch him. But it would have been pretty undignified for the both of them, and it wasn’t like Jamie was really going anywhere.

They still played together, after all. There was only so long and so far the guy could reasonably ignore him. And Ilya had been right. Somewhere over the past year or so, Jamie had become important to Cliff as well. Maybe not in the same way that Shane and Ilya were, but also not… less either.

It was like Ilya talked about. 

Different types of love.

It would be good - he realized - to work that out.

-

Cliff enjoyed his rare day off. 

He slept in with Miss Penny, went for a run in the park.

He spent a few hours on the couch, looking over mockups and floorplans that had been exchanged between himself, Shane and the housing developer.

Signed some paperwork on the ladn sale.

Ursula was putting out some feelers to TSN and Sportsnet - letting them know that Cliff Marlow had plans to move up to Canada after retirement. Cliff personally thought he would make a terrible sports pundit, but she made a good case that it would be a solid, stable way to get a Canadian visa.

Connors came over that evening. The two of them drank some beers and played an old shooter game - something they hadn’t done since they were rookies. 

The next day, Cliff swapped out his morning run with a trip down to the gym. 

Jamie wasn’t answering texts, but that wasn’t too unusual.

He finished his reps, showered off and headed out with vague thoughts of lunch.

On his way to his car, he was flicking through some recommendations from Instagram when a message popped up from Ilya.

He smiled, popping open the chat window.

I love you. 

I’m sorry it took so long to tell you that.

But I’m glad I did. That you didn’t let me push you away.

Please don’t let Shane push you away.

Cliff frowned.

It was sweet. But. Intense.

The three dots continued to indicate Ilya was still typing.

Cliff hit call on his phone, but it went to voicemail.

What was going on? 

Cliff flipped back to Instagram, hitting the call button.

Ilya answered immediately.

“Cliff…”

His spine went rigid. 

Ilya’s voice was small. Strained. Muffled, like he was curled up on himself.

“Where are you?” Cliff demanded at once. 

A hot pulse of adrenaline had snapped him immediately into a fighting stance typically reserved for games.

“I’m on a plane. But. There’s a problem with the engine. They’re trying to land…”

The ground tilted under Cliff’s feet. 

He was standing in the parking lot, gym bag over his arm. 

And Ilya…

Ilya was…

“What? You’re on the plane? Right now?”

“It’s trying to land. But I don’t know… if it can…”

Cliff’s eyes went wide. His breath was caught in his lungs. 

That’s right. Ilya was on his roadie.

And the plane was - what, crashing? 

Was Ilya about to-

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, quietly spiraling. Likely just a few seconds, but it seemed to also last an eternity.

The thought circled around, hot and slick and nauseating in the back of his mind.

He had to say something.

Because he might…

There might not be another…

“I love you, okay?” Cliff pressed. His eyes were closed tight, his forehead pressed against the rough bark of a tree. “I love you so much. I always have. I just… I couldn’t see it. For so long. It was… too big.”

Fuck, he wasn’t explaining it right. He didn’t have the words.

It was like… not seeing the curve of the Earth. 

It was too big. Too… everything.

“I love you too.” Ilya’s voice was small and rough.

He was never supposed to sound that way.

“Shane-”

“Ilya, it’s going to be okay.”

“Please, stay with him.”

“Of course I will.” Cliff ground out. “Always. I promise. I’ll spend the rest of my life stalking him if I have to. Fuck.”

Ilya breathed a small sigh of relief over the phone, even if it came out wavery at the end, like he was choking back a whimper.

On the other side of the line, there was a thud and a shudder. 

Several people screamed.

Cliff felt his stomach roll over, a wave of nausea rushed through him.

He refused to process that he might be listening to the last words he’d ever hear from Ilya. They existed outside of himself, far away. Staring down at him like they were looking into a fishbowl he was trapped in.

“We’re landing. The plane, it’s - descending now.”

“Stay on the phone with me.” Cliff begged.

“I will.”

“Did you call Shane?”

“He’s in his game.”

They spoke rapidly, not wanting any silence to let the fear wedge its way in through any cracks of silence.

“I can be there in three hours. I’ll be with him.”

“Thank you.”

“Ilya I-” 

There was another loud noise - more raised voices. This time Cliff swore, loud and angry. He was dimly aware of a sharp rush of pain as his knuckles connected with the frozen tree trunk.

“Ilya!”

“I’m here. I’m okay. We landed. We’re on the ground.”

Cliff’s lungs emptied.

“I’m staying on the phone with you until you’re off the plane.”

“Yes, okay.”

And he did. Ilya didn’t keep the phone to his ear the entire time. There were other members of the team he needed to speak with, staff they needed to listen to. But he kept the phone on him, letting Cliff hear snippets of instructions or the rushed, warm words of reassurances between passengers.

Some fifteen minutes later, Ilya’s voice was back in his ear.

“Cliff? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“I’m off the plane.” 

“Okay.” Cliff said robotically. He had calmed somewhat, but his pulse was still rushing. His chest ached. He was going to be sick. He wanted Ilya to stay on the line. In case the plane like, blew up or something.

“Thank you for calling me.” Ilya sounded tired, cored out. 

“Of course.” Cliff gently knocked his forehead against the bark of the tree again, feeling helpless and useless in all the worst ways. “I’m going to see you soon, alright?”

“Yes, I- I need to be with my team. But I am okay. I’m alright.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The line ended. 

Cliff stood there, stunned. He looked down at his phone.

Eighteen minutes.

He could have sworn that he had left the gym hours ago.

He lingered in the car park a while longer, distantly aware of his numb fingers and nose as his body tried to decide whether or not it wanted to throw up. 

Cliff checked his phone.

Shane’s game would be ending soon.

-

He knew roughly once Montreal’s game finished. Not because of any update on the news, but when Shane’s phone rang.

“Cliff!”

“Hey Shane.”

“Have you - did you speak to Ilya?”

“Yeah. He’s okay.”

“Cliff, I fucked up.” Shane sounded thin and panicked.

“No you didn’t. What is your room number?”

“609 - why? I did though. I fucked up - Ilya and I- we had a fight-”

“What? When?”

“After Christmas.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“Hold on, someone’s knocking at the door. I'm going to get rid of them.”

Shane tore open his hotel room door with an air of frantic exasperation. He found himself face-to-face with Cliff Marlow - looking a bit haggard and worse for wear, but there.

Shane’s phone clattered to the ground as he threw himself against Cliff. He caught him as he strode forward, sweeping the two back into Shane’s hotel room and slammed the door shut behind him as he went.

“Cliff!” He sobbed.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“You’re here! How are you here?”

Cliff buried his nose in Shane’s hair. His hands squeezed Shane’s shoulders and arms, drawing him in close.

He could hear Shane’s heart pounding against his own, rapid and frantic like a little animal.

“You’re okay, you’re alright bunny.” Cliff soothed.

“Wh - What did you just call me?” Shane choked out a laugh. It was a weird enough pet name to shake him out of his panic, at least.

“No?”

“No! C’mon, that’s stupid don’t call me that.” 

“Ilya’s called you weirder things.”

“That’s so I can learn Russian.” Shane laughed, though a flutter of panic clouded over his expression almost immediately. “Oh god, Ilya-!”

“Ilya is okay.” Cliff collapsed onto the edge of the bed.

He maneuvered the two of them awkwardly so Shane could curl up onto his lap.

Shane wasn’t a small guy - over two hundred pounds of solid muscle. But he somehow made himself small there, half crushed under the weight of his misery.

“Ilya - fuck. We had a fight - before he left. A stupid, fucking fight-”

Shane sobbed out. 

Cliff shifted a bit, rubbing Shane’s back and rocking him a bit as he cried.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby. Ilya is alright. He’s okay.”

“I know…” Shane sobbed. “I spoke with him. Did- did you?”

“Yeah. I spoke with him on the phone. Stayed on until they landed.” 

“You’re shaking too.”

“Yeah.” Cliff said hoarsely. 

Shane rubbed his hands up and down Cliff’s back. They both didn’t say anything for a while, they just held one another.

“What did Ilya say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Cliff said tightly. “Ilya’s okay.”

“What did he say?” Shane asked again, tugging away from Cliff a bit.

Cliff kissed Shane then. Sweetly, gently. A soft sort of promise that briefly calmed his pounding heart.

“Oh.”

“He asked me. And I promised to always be there for you.”

Shane’s eyes were shining and wide.

Cliff’s heart swooped pathetically, his thumb brushed over the pattern of freckles that dusted Shane’s cheek. 

Shane doubled over, snuffling again.

“Fuck. I want to see him. The next flight isn’t until tomorrow and I hate it.”

“It’s a seventeen hour drive.” Cliff remarked casually. “I’m game if you are.” 

“Seriously?” Shane looked up at him, surprised.

“I gassed up on my way into the hotel here. We can take turns sleeping in the car.” Cliff mused. “If we get on the I-95 before rush hour, I bet you we can make it in twelve hours.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Shane asked. But he had already rolled off of Cliff’s lap and was on his feet, gathering his things in untidy armfuls and throwing them into his bag.

Shane texted his coach from the car that he’d be flying back separately.

They did - in fact - make great time.

Cliff had already been traveling for a while, but he had a few more hours in him before he’d need to crash. In no time at all, the two blew out of the tri-state area and before long were flying down the Virginias. 

Neither man was in the mood to talk much. Though every so often they’d reach for one another’s hands. Interlace their fingers, stroke over one another’s knuckles. 

A soft, consistent reminder.

I’m here. I’m with you.

The sun hung low in the sky, washing the horizon in deep orange-golds.

The trees on the hills that rolled by were grey and barren with the winter. Strands of weak evening sun filtered through empty branches as the highway lights came on.

“So what did you two fight about?” Cliff asked.

Shane frowned, looking up from where his head had been resting on his arm against the window. 

“It’s my fault. I noticed he… got sad. Sometimes. But we’d been communicating better, over the past year. We had been. We talk about you. How we feel, our relationship to one another. I figured… we were on the same page. Even if it seemed like he still had bad days sometimes.” 

Shane drew two hands over his face, leaning back low in the seat. When he spoke, it all came out in a rush.

“But I was wrong. I’d been so selfish this entire time. Ilya gave up everything for me and - fuck I barely even showed up for Christmas. If he hadn’t moved up to Ottawa to be with me, he could have been with you every day and maybe he wouldn’t be so sad-”

“Woah, hey- hey!” Cliff looked over at Shane, alarmed. He gripped his hand a little tighter.

“I’m okay!” Shane insisted, forcing his voice to steady through sheer force of will. “We. I mean. We talked afterward. Cleared some stuff up. So.” He shrugged miserably.

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

Shane shrugged a second time.

“I don’t know. Maybe I thought… talking to you about it would. Make it real. Serious.” Shane chewed over his thoughts a while longer as they drove on.

“Maybe I was afraid… that you would take his side. And you’d both hate me.”

“Shane.” 

Cliff’s heart broke over the word.

“Do you really think that could happen?”

“I don’t know.” Shane kept his gaze fixed on the road. “I look at you two sometimes… it feels. Easy. What you have. And I feel like, maybe I’m just making things- not that.” He finished lamely.

“Oh, no. Baby…” Cliff took Shane’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Shane, Ilya and I were hooking up for years. I never realized I wanted the guy until he was gone. You two getting together kicked my ass in gear, man. And even then, I probably - shit. I probably would have just spent the rest of my life feeling miserable for myself over letting him go. Until one day my mom calls me and tells me that Ilya’s getting married and I’m just stuck on the shore of a lake feeling sorry for myself.” 

Cliff shook his head.

“I lived most of my life just. Letting stuff happen to me. You made this happen. You’re incredible, Shane.” Cliff pressed, earnestly.

“I think I’ve been so preoccupied with being incredible, I didn’t notice he was hurt.”

“You did notice.” Cliff reminded him sternly. “And Ilya loves you. So much.” He brought Shane’s knuckles to his mouth, placing the sentiment there that his heart wasn’t ready to form just yet.

Still, Shane relaxed a bit. Perhaps he had heard it as well.

Around 8PM, Cliff pulled into a rest stop for gas. He expected that Shane would trawl the meagre store for raw almonds or a pre-boxed salad. To his surprise, Shane instead ordered a cheeseburger and fries to match Cliff’s out of the McDonalds drive-thru and inhaled all of the glorious meat, cheese, salt and fat as he took over driving and tore down the interstate.

Cliff managed to doze off for a few hours in the passenger seat. The adrenaline that had been fueling him for the past nine hours had finally given out.

At one point, Cliff jostled awake. 

Or at least, he thought he might have.

He never slept well in cars and tended to hate buses. It was one of those memories that could have been real, or it could have been a fever dream brought on by stress and emotions that had been running too hot for too long.

Shane driving, one hand on the wheel, the other clasped in Cliff’s hands. He watched as the streaks of orange highway lights in the dark flashed over the stoic profile of his face. Shane looked to Cliff, then back to the road.

“I’m going to ask him to marry me.”

Shane sounded calm. Confident and assured.

“I should have ages ago. I just… I didn’t know what that would mean. For the three of us.”

Cliff squeezed Shane’s hand. 

“Hm. That’s good.”

“It is?” Shane said breathily, his eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Cliff hummed. “It was always going to be you two. Ilya’s not going to be safe until he has a passport.”

Shane snorted, scrubbing a tear away from the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah, I guess. I mean. That’s not why I want to-”

“I know, baby.” Cliff hummed, squeezing Shane’s hand again. “S’cause you love him.”

“He loves you, too.”

“And he loves you.” Cliff said with an air of confident finality. “So it’s all good. It’s why it’ll all be okay. Yeah?”

Shane watched him for a moment - as long as he could while pushing the truly absurd speed they were driving at.

“Yeah.” Shane gave his hand another, final and reassuring squeeze. He held the pressure there, even after Cliff had drifted back to sleep.

However it worked out, the two pulled into the parking lot of a Tampa hotel a little after midnight.

Ilya answered his phone when they texted.

He hadn’t been sleeping.

It turned out he hadn’t been the only one. Harris Drover’s hotel room had become a sort of unofficial late night group party - though it was less of a party and more a group of deeply shaken men sleeping (or attempting to) on the bed, couches and floor while the Sound of Music and a rotation of other soft musicals played on the television.

They snuck up to Ilya’s room. Shane and Cliff let out a collective tension they had been holding for almost a full day as soon as they had Ilya crushed between them. 

It was only at that moment that Cliff let himself feel it. Holding Ilya close enough that he could feel his heart beat - his pulse frantic and pounding against his neck and his wrists and every part of his body pressed up close against him. 

It seemed to hit all three men at the same time - as Cliff was dimly aware of Shane and Ilya’s eyes closing at the same time that his world went dark, huddled together on the too-warm, too-small bed in the muggy Florida hotel room.

-

Cliff woke up, groggy and disoriented around the time the sun was rising.

His fingers were threaded loosely in Ilya’s, whose body tucked warm against Cliff’s side. Cliff’s thumb brushed over the knuckles of Ilya’s ring finger, imagining a gold band there.

Shane’s head was just visible over Ilya’s shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around the man’s middle - as if he were afraid Ilya might slip away and disappear during the night.

Cliff cautiously considered what Shane had said to him in the car.

Not about the proposal. That was something he’d been bracing himself for for a while now.

But about feeling - jealous? Of what Cliff and Ilya had.

It felt impossible to consider.

After all, Cliff had spent most of this ‘relationship’ steeling himself for the day that Shane would announce that this thing had run its course. That it was a curiosity now satisfied, a finished chapter. Knowing, with absolute certainty, that Ilya would follow where Shane went - even if it was away from Cliff.

Shane Hollander, the beautiful and untouchable Prince of Hockey. Awesome and terrifying who Ilya loved more than anything else in the world.

A small, truly awful part of himself sometimes lay awake and wondered if Shane was someone Cliff had decided to seduce out of a sense of necessity. Having known there was no way Ilya would choose Cliff over someone like Shane. That the only option was for Shane to want Cliff as well - whatever shape it took.

Whenever that thought moved like a dark shape in the deep waters of his mind, Cliff recoiled away from it, repulsed. But he wondered - for the first time - how this thing they had might have looked from Shane’s perspective.

Cliff had been making due with only seeing Ilya every few months for the past year.

Shane had been enduring it for over ten.

Only now, Shane and Ilya were getting the chance to build something real. Building it from scratch - in shadow of the bond that Ilya and Cliff had - which was old and strong and built on top of a solid foundation of trust and friendship.

It was a lot to consider.

A re-orienting of his worldview that Cliff didn’t feel quite ready for.

The last forty-eight hours had left him feeling drained, lacking any machinery needed to process all of it.

Cliff shifted down in bed a bit, kissing Shane’s neck until he shifted and squirmed.

What he did know, was Shane Hollander was sweet, and kind.

He was dedicated and loyal and earnest and afraid.

But he let Cliff in anyway. When he didn’t have to.

“Hey,” Shane said softly. He turned his head back, catching Cliff’s lips for a soft morning kiss.

“Hey.” The bridge of Cliff’s nose brushed against Shane’s. “I love you.” He said quietly.

Shane’s eyes went warm and wide, shiny in the morning light.

Ilya stirred and groused between them.

“Yes, yes. It’s great being in love. I want kisses now.” He pouted, and both men obliged with enthusiasm.

There wasn’t a ton of time to spend in Tampa, for Shane and Cliff.

While Ilya had the day off to spend with his team, the two of them were on tight schedules that needed to be adhered to.

The three had time for little more than a room-service breakfast before Shane had to tear off for the airport - Cliff on his heels. 

He found a private parking garage to keep his Porsche. There were also a fair few black book services where one could hire a private valet to transport a car over long distances. They were typically employed by the too-much-money crowd for reasons like this. Individuals who wanted to joyride their expensive cars down scenic routes but couldn’t be bothered to drive them back. 

For Cliff, it was more about the fact that he had taken an unannounced two-day holiday from his job - something he had never done before in his entire career. And he couldn’t afford either the time or the physical toll it would take to embark on another fifteen-hour drive.

He was sitting in a lounge in Tampa International Airport when the call he’d been dreading came in.