Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Carter Vaughn

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Figure Skater Kip Grady, Good Friend Carter Vaughn, no three year gap we speedrun, Mentioned Slurs

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-04 Words: 8,434 Chapters: 1/1

torch carry

Summary

Scott knew fuck all about figure skating, but he knew this: Kip Grady flew across the ice. No one on the Admirals would beat him in a puck race. He turned sideways, clearly staging for a move, and then he jumped, revolving weightlessly through the air, before landing on a single silver blade. Scott was close enough to hear the scraping sound of it before the breathless gasp of the audience resolved into cheering. Beside Scott, Carter called out, “Woo, yeah!”

Notes

Scott took a deep breath as the horn blared to end first period. Being down a goal against Tampa was nothing, par for the course, but tonight was different. It was the Admirals’ first attempt at Pride Night.

Looking up, Scott saw people waving rainbow flags or holding up the free notebook-sized PRIDE signs that had been available around the arena with the Admirals logo in each corner. It made him feel like the breath was being squeezed from his lungs. All these people that might be okay with him, that might be proud of him, if he came out.

But then there was Stevenson who’d been healthy scratched before the game for refusing to wear the warm up jerseys with the Pride patch on the sleeve. There was Timm who’d rolled his eyes when the rainbow stick tape had been offered around. There were the same fucking homophobic comments as always out on the ice, with all the oblivious fans smiling down.

Scott skated toward the tunnel to the locker room as Bill Martins up in the announcer’s booth boomed out, “And now, a special intermission performance by New York’s own Olympic gold medalist: Kiiiiiiiip Grady!”

Where the tunnel widened out into a proper hallway, there was a man in black tailored slacks and a t-shirt with rainbow stripes diagonally from one broad shoulder to one trim hip taking the guards off his skates. Slim black figure skates, not the heavy clattering hockey skates Scott was used to.

Grady straightened up enough for Scott to properly see his face and his breath choked off for the second time that night. Kip Grady was beautiful. Dark curls tumbled down across his forehead and his sharp jaw was dusted with an enticing five o’clock shadow. Soft brown eyes caught Scott looking and Grady smiled at him, handsome face turning sweet.

Somewhere behind Scott, Klevens joked, “Figure skater? He better not leave any glitter out on our ice,” and a few of the guys laughed.

Scott winced. The smile wiped off Grady’s face. His eyes were hard as he walked past the team, toward the rink. He’d obviously heard the unsubtle dig.

Coach had apparently heard too because he turned around and snapped, “Everyone get back on the bench.”

There was a murmuring confusion. Intermission was locker room time; time to rest, take a piss, strategize. “Now!” Murdock yelled and Scott led everyone backwards, out toward the ice again. When the whole team was sat obediently on the bench, Murdock said, “I want you all to take this opportunity to see exactly what an Olympic gold medalist looks like.”

Klevens twitched. Unlike Scott and Carter, he hadn’t been selected for the US Olympic team headed to Sochi and he’d developed a clear chip on his shoulder about it. Scott felt a brief ding to his own pride. The MLH had declined to let players participate in the 2010 games, and in Scott’s 2006 debut the US had crashed out against Finland, not even managing to take home the bronze.

But Kip Grady had apparently taken home some of the most coveted hardware. Figure skating gold. And he’d done it alone on the ice, no team beside him.

Was Grady gay, Scott wondered as he watched him skate gracefully out to center ice. Or was he participating in Pride Night as an ally, the way everyone assumed Scott was?

Before anything had been announced and publicized, Coach Murdock and the GM, along with one of the directors from Marketing and PR, had sat down with Scott, Huff, and Carter—team captain and alternates—to confirm their participation. Stevenson could be scratched with minimal comment but if the C and As on the team had balked, they wouldn’t have gone forward at all.

“Hell yeah, I’m there,” Carter had said and Huff had nodded and said, “Of course.” Scott didn’t remember exactly what he’d said, more focused on forcing the swell of tears back behind his eyes.

He should’ve been the one to call out Klevens. Should have wrapped his stick with the rainbow tape that Timm had scoffed at. Scott should be leading the room, but he’d spent so long trying not to draw attention in this specific area that saying something felt like throwing a spotlight on himself, inviting questions he didn’t want to answer.

Over the loudspeakers, a bright pop song started to play and then—

Scott knew fuck all about figure skating, but he knew this: Kip Grady flew across the ice. No one on the Admirals would beat him in a puck race. He turned sideways, clearly staging for a move, and then he jumped, revolving weightlessly through the air, before landing on a single silver blade. Scott was close enough to hear the scraping sound of it before the breathless gasp of the audience resolved into cheering. Beside Scott, Carter called out, “Woo, yeah!”

Scott didn’t blink for the next two and a half minutes as Grady put on a display of pure, peak athleticism. Jump. Double jump. Insanely complex footwork sequence. He sped past the bench half a dozen times and Scott wasn’t sure if he actually changed his program to perform a tremendously high jump with his legs up in a splits position directly in front of the gaping Admirals players, but he would bet it was purposeful that after Grady finished a dizzying spin he came out of it in a bow facing the team.

Benny gave a long, approving whistle and most of the team was applauding with what seemed like true appreciation. They were, at heart, ice sport enthusiasts and that had been…well, that had been something, Scott thought, trying to bring his brain back online. His cock was half hard, pressing up against his thankfully camouflaging cup.

Coach let the chastised team off the bench to trickle back to the locker room for the last several minutes of intermission while Grady circled the ice, waving and bending down to pick up the flags and trinkets tossed over the boards for him.

The Admirals won in overtime, 3-2, and Scott ran the press gauntlet, answering questions about expanding inclusivity in hockey that made him feel like a fraud. When he got home, he immediately selected the recorded game replay on his DVR. They hadn’t broadcast Grady’s intermission skate, just the usual talking heads dissecting Scott’s performance, and he turned it off in disappointment.

The internet was less of a disappointment. Consensus—although mainly from shitty drama “sources” like TMZ—was that Kip Grady was gay. Consensus was also that he was the premiere US Men’s figure skater and had been for the past four years, emerging into dominance after a slightly shaky run on the Junior circuit. There were dozens of YouTube videos of his skating programs and Scott watched them, entranced, until he realized it was two-fucking-AM and he had practice in the morning at nine.

Scott brushed his teeth, shucked off his post-game sweats, and settled into bed with Kip Grady’s smile mirrored behind his eyelids.

-

The Admirals won against Buffalo on Thursday, then lost to Toronto on Sunday, and all the while Scott couldn’t stop thinking about Kip Grady. He’d moved on from watching Grady’s televised skating programs to scrolling his Instagram.

Scott imagined sending him a message: Hi, this is Scott Hunter and I think you’re beautiful.

No. Erase.

Hi, this is Scott Hunter. I really admire your skating and I’d love to suck your cock sometime. If you’re into that. And available.

Scott had stalked Grady’s Instagram enough to form the opinion that he was either single (insane to think) or extremely private. Evidence: no obvious “couple” photos, no Valentine’s Day or anniversary posts, Scott’s unwarranted optimism.

Jesus Christ, you have to stop this. He smiled at you for two seconds, Scott chastised himself when he realized it was 1:30 AM and he’d been rewinding a clip of Grady, neck bowed as he received his gold medal in Vancouver, on repeat. What Scott should be watching was game tape. That loss against Toronto could have been a win, he just needed to focus in on why, learn from it.

Scott tossed and turned for a few hours but by five it was obvious he wasn’t going to get any proper rest so he pulled on some track pants and a hoodie and made his way out to the practice rink in Tarrytown. Coach kept all the game tape in the back office.

Brian at the security desk waved Scott through and he walked out into the crisp, clean air of the rink.

Someone was already there. The sound of skates scraping over ice was loud in the otherwise quiet of half past five in the morning. Scott peered curiously over the boards and then stepped back a pace, surprised. Kip Grady was gliding over the ice.

Was he dreaming, Scott wondered. Grady had featured in not a few of his dreams over the past week; strong thighs braced around Scott’s head, mouth open in pleasure cries.

There was the soft shush of skates stopping on ice and Grady looked over at Scott, the only movement in an otherwise empty arena. He glided over to the boards and smiled. “Hi. Scott Hunter, right? I’m Kip.”

Oh God, the smile. Scott felt frozen. “Yeah,” he managed. “Hi.”

“Do you need the ice?”

“Not until later. I’m here early to watch some game tape,” Scott said. “Why—I mean…”

“Why am I on your ice at five in the morning?” Kip extrapolated. “My exhibition skate at Pride Night apparently got a good response so your team management invited me back to do some more at home games. They’re paying me with ice time. I’ve got the four to six slot every Monday through Friday.”

That seemed like kind of a poor deal. Undesirable ice times when no one else would be here anyway in exchange for all the extra ticket sales Kip’s performances would generate? But if Kip was happy with it, Scott wasn’t going to complain.

“That’s great,” Scott said. “Your exhibition skate was amazing.”

“Thanks,” Kip laughed. “I put a little extra spin on it after your teammate pissed me off.”

Scott rubbed a hand over the back of his head, embarrassed. “Sorry about that. It was our first Pride Night and not everyone was excited about it.”

“I’m glad you did it at all. It’s important to people.” Kip’s eyes flickered away then back to Scott’s face and he added, “It was important to me.”

“Good,” Scott breathed. “That’s—I’m glad. Sorry, I’ll leave you alone to finish your practice.” He needed to regroup. Planning out messages he was never going to send was one thing. Actually talking to Kip, faced with his charming smile and the smell of his hard-earned sweat, was completely different.

“It’s fine. I was pretty much done, just need to do some cool down stretches,” Kip said, carelessly raising a leg so his ankle rested atop the boards. He put his hands over his muscular thigh and leaned forward.

Scott swallowed thickly.

Kip rose out of the position and switched to the other leg. Flexible, Scott's brain supplied obviously. Flexible. Hot. Fuck.

“Maybe I can watch you practice some other time?” Scott said and Kip straightened up to look at him. God, his face was probably the same color as his jersey, Scott thought despondently.

But Kip didn’t seem to mind. His head was tilted consideringly and his megawatt smile softened at the edges. “Yeah,” he said. “Any time you like.”

-

“Dude, are you living here now?” Carter asked, two weeks later.

Scott had never been late to practices but he’d also never considered it imperative as captain that he always be the first to arrive. The fact that he was now consistently in before nine, before eight, before seven, was apparently noticeable to the early bird crew.

“No,” Scott said, pulling on his compression socks.

Carter sat down next to him. “Seriously. Something’s different with you.”

Scott sighed internally. He didn’t like lying to Carter and he’d been lying to him, by omission, for a long time now. “Sometimes I come in early to watch Kip practice,” he said. Revealing, but not too revealing. Not the ‘I met someone amazing. His name’s Kip and he’s kind and talented and beautiful’ that Scott might have said. He’d spent the past two weeks watching Kip practice and then getting at least half an hour of his undivided attention to chat and tentatively flirt on the bleachers, Kip’s hand perilously close to Scott’s.

“Kip, like Kip Grady? The figure skater?” Carter asked, confused.

“Yeah, he has rink time here in the mornings,” Scott said, not mentioning exactly how early, how he forfeit multiple hours of sleep to watch Kip in skin-tight sportswear launching himself into ridiculously powerful jumps.

“That’s super cool!” Carter said, enthusiastically. “Actually, wait, that reminds me,” he added, laughing. He picked up his phone and scrolled for a moment before tapping out a text.

Scott’s phone pinged and he opened it to look. Carter had sent him a screenshot from Twitter; a picture of both of them on the Admirals’ bench after watching Kip’s Pride Night exhibition skate. Scott was staring with wide eyes, jaw dropped. His face looked like he’d just been whacked with a two-by-four. Carter, by contrast, looked raucously joyful, hands cupped around his mouth to cheer. The caption below the photo read: There are two reactions to seeing Kip Grady perform.

Scott chuckled. “The front office hired him to do some more exhibition skates during our games, trying to bring in a new demographic. He’s doing the first one this Saturday.”

“You think he’d sign something for my cousin? She’s a big fan.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to,” Scott said and was gratified to see his read borne out when Carter caught Kip on his way past the locker room after his program and got him to sign a picture of a pair of skates.

“I am winning the Christmas gift exchange this year,” Carter said triumphantly as he tucked the picture away in his cubby. “It’s too bad we didn’t get to see Kip’s skate. I bet it was awesome.”

Scott nodded. He’d seen Kip practice it in the mornings, his short program from the past year, all swelling orchestral music and elegant movement, but it would’ve been cool to see it in full in a proper arena. Maybe Coach wouldn’t mind if he and Carter hung back in the tunnel during the next exhibition night. The first half of intermissions was considered personal time and most of the guys just spent it chatting or checking their phones.

If Scott had his preference, he’d spend his time—or more of his time anyway—watching Kip.

-

On Thursday, after back to back losses in Florida, Scott came into the practice rink to a new song playing.

Kip landed a jump and caught sight of Scott. He waved and skated over.

“Is this a new warmup song?” Scott asked, trying not to look too obviously at Kip’s arms. He was wearing a very distracting tank top today.

“It’s for a new program,” Kip said, smiling. “The song from my Pride Night skate jumped up the charts after a video went around online and I got sponsored to promote a whole album for this cool pop group.”

“That’s great. Congratulations," Scott said warmly. “Can I watch?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask again every time,” Kip teased. He reached out, like he might touch Scott’s arm, then stopped at the last minute and pushed off the boards instead.

Scott settled down on the rinkside bleachers. He’d been trying to learn a little about figure skating and he thought he recognized the lutz jump now in comparison to the loop. Kip’s body positioning in the lead up was slightly different. He watched, frowning, as Kip turned fully backwards. He seemed to be setting up for something but—

Kip stabbed his toepick into the ice and his legs flew up over his head as he completed a backflip and landed heavily on both skates.

Scott realized he was no longer sitting on the bleachers. He’d jumped up at some point and he must have made a noise loud enough to be heard over the tinny music coming from Kip’s cell phone because Kip paused and skated over to him.

“Are you okay?” Kip asked.

Was Scott okay? His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He’d never seen a backflip in any of Kip’s skating clips. Was that even safe?

Scott cleared his throat, embarrassed. He certainly didn’t get a say in Kip’s choreography. “Sorry. I—you scared me a little with the flip. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Oh,” Kip said. He was smiling softly now, like he thought Scott was sweet. “It’s not legal in competition so I don’t really do it that often but it’s a huge crowd pleaser so I thought I’d throw it in for a couple of the exhibition programs.”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Yeah, it’s really”—terrifying—“…cool.”

“And I only do it if I feel totally confident,” Kip said. “Otherwise I’d just cut it and in these programs no one would even realize.”

That made Scott feel slightly better. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to watch Kip do it again so he kept talking. “How many different programs are you going to be doing?”

“There’s eleven songs on the album, so eleven I guess,” Kip laughed. “I’m mostly just planning to mix elements from different previous programs I’ve done though. Nothing super strenuous. I haven’t decided if I want to put in any quads. It would be good practice but, no offense, hockey fans aren’t a group I want to potentially eat ice in front of.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Scott said. While he’d learned to live with it, he didn’t appreciate the rattling glass and booing even when it was directed at the opposing team. He hoped if Kip ever fell on a jump he’d get the encouraging applause that seemed normal in figure skating venues but it wasn’t guaranteed.

Reluctantly, Scott watched Kip skate away from him, back out to center ice to restart his practice. He didn’t do the backflip again but Scott saw it half a dozen more times before the Saturday game where Kip was set to debut the program during intermission and it always gave him the same feeling of harrowing exhilaration.

“Hey, Scotty, I checked with Coach and he said it was cool for us to watch Kip’s intermission skate today!” Carter said on Saturday before their game against Anaheim.

“Awesome,” Scott said, feeling conflicted, as he returned the offered fist bump.

Luckily, Anaheim was in what was politely termed a ‘rebuilding year’ so despite Scott’s mind being half on Kip’s upcoming skate he managed to post a goal and an assist before the buzzer ended first period. He’d expected to watch, partly obstructed, from the tunnel but Carter tugged him back onto the Admirals bench.

There was a swell of applause as Kip came out onto the ice and set himself in starting position: chin dipped, arms crossed above his head. A momentary image of him in the same position in Scott’s bed flashed through Scott’s mind and he shoved it away.

The crowd cheered as Kip did a clean triple loop and then a double axel. Beside Scott, Carter was clapping with enthusiasm. “This is cool as fuck, man.”

Scott swallowed and steeled himself. He knew what was coming. Kip skated across the rink to gain momentum, turned backwards, and flipped, landing neatly. The crowd was silent for a beat, shocked, and then they went absolutely wild. A grin broke out on Kip’s face as he moved into his step sequence.

“Holy shit!” Carter said, turning to Scott. “Did you know he could do that?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. High bpm aside, that did make him feel a little smug. He got to see all Kip’s programs in exclusive preview.

Scott and Carter clapped loudly at the end of the program then they hustled back to the locker room. “Where did you guys disappear to?” Benny asked when they sat down at their side by side stalls and started retaping their sticks.

“We were watching Kip’s intermission skate,” Carter said. “Dude, it was cool as hell. He did a wholeass backflip on the ice!”

“Wait, and you didn’t invite me?” Benny said, mock offended. One of the rookies next to Scott—Hanlin—looked over with mild interest.

“You can sit with us next time,” Carter said, magnanimously.

-

It would have been obscenely stupid for Scott to start a gay relationship stateside three months before he was slated to captain the US Olympic team in Russia.

Scott was not obscenely stupid. Except, apparently, when it came to Kip.

He looked across the bed at where Kip was sleeping, his face mashed into Scott’s pillow, and felt his heart turn over in his chest.

Scott had invited Kip over to watch The Cutting Edge with him—“A classic!” Kip had decried when Scott admitted he’d never seen it—but he’d felt sure Kip knew what he really wanted to talk about, what they’d been dancing around for months. At six in the morning, the Tarrytown rink was quiet but it wasn’t a guarantee of privacy. Scott had brought Kip into the bubble of his apartment to finally say, “I’m gay. I’m gay, and I can’t—”

Kip had taken his hand and Scott had pulled the words out of himself, “I can’t come out right now. It would ruin everything. But, you,” he’d waved a hand at Kip, head to toe, the whole of him, “I want you so bad. I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. Is that okay?”

“That’s just fine,” Kip had said, stroking a thumb gently over Scott’s cheekbone. He’d kissed him softly then but Scott had been ravenous and Kip had said it was okay, he’d said yes and oh god and please. He’d stayed the night.

It was Sunday so Kip didn’t have to wake up at an unholy hour for his ice time. Scott pressed a kiss to his shoulder and got up to make breakfast.

Kip wandered into the kitchen in tiny black boxer briefs while Scott was making the eggs and Scott immediately turned off the stove so he could scoop Kip up and toss him, laughing, back into bed for another hour.

“I do have to get to the rink later today,” Kip said from where he was tucked snugly against Scott’s chest.

“On the weekend?” Scott asked, surprised. “I thought your ice time was Monday to Friday?”

“That’s my personal ice time,” Kip said. “I have coaching on Sunday afternoons to work on my more complex elements. Katriana gets to tell me one thousand times that my spine still isn’t straight coming out of the quad. But the rink in Queens is subsidized since I got nominated to the US team so I’m not complaining.”

Scott had practice today too but he’d been hoping Kip would stay, still be here when he came home. “Are you free tomorrow?” he asked. He didn’t really know how to do this. They couldn’t go anywhere, but did they need to?

Kip’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “For you? Sure.”

-

Scott hadn’t expected it to be a big thing, but by Kip’s fifth exhibition skate, almost half the Admirals stuck on the bench to watch.

Scott had introduced Kip to the gym facilities in Tarrytown, because it was ridiculous that he was apparently traveling out to somewhere in Flatbush when they had a weights set up right there, and he’d gotten to talking to Doyle who was in early for leg day about some television show they both watched. Then it was Riley, who Kip tried to convince of the virtues of The Met while they switched off spotting each other on the bench press. Then Sammy and Jalo and McKinnon. It made Scott feel some kind of way watching as some of them went from a mild discomfort at knowing Kip was gay to hyping him up as he hit a new weight goal.

Before practice on Tuesday, Klevens, who had apparently already forgotten the lesson of Pride Night, had made another snide comment about Kip and glitter. And by glitter, he’d obviously meant gay. Fairy. Fag. Every locker room slur Scott had ever suffered, eyes down, mouth shut.

He hadn’t kept his mouth shut this time. He’d given Klevens a firm verbal smackdown and a few of the guys around the room had nodded.

Hanlin caught up to him afterwards to thank him and he’d looked so nervous Scott thought he might be about to come out to him, but what he’d actually said was, “My brother is gay and he’s the best person I know.”

Scott had patted him on the shoulder and Hanlin had kept to the bench for Kip’s next skate. He’d actually been the one to instigate the fist bump line up the Admirals now did for Kip at the end of his programs, the whole bench of them holding out their gloved hands for Kip to skate by and bump the way they did for anyone who scored a goal.

The internet loved it. Or at least the internet posts that Kip showed to Scott.

hockeyhorsdoeuvre This is more important than the entire You Can Play campaign

allamericangay I don’t think I’d go that far but yes this is super important and cute as hell

whydoyouask A hockey team actually supporting a gay person? Never thought I’d see the day.

At the end of December, New York played Boston at home. It was a gritty game as always; trying to guard against Rosanov and his smart mouth and his slick stick handling, to sneak a puck past an All-Star goalie. At the end of the first period the score was tied 0-0. Scott tugged off his helmet and settled onto the bench.

He didn’t realize until halfway through Kip’s program—an energetic, speed-focused skate to an upbeat love song—that Rosanov and a few other team members from Boston were also still on their bench watching.

At the end of the program, the Boston team whistled and cheered, holding their gloves out to Kip for the fist bump line. They’d probably seen it on social media somewhere. Kip obliged them but he laughed and made a ‘watching you’ gesture with two fingers pointed to his eyes then to Rosanov before he ran through the Admirals line and gave them a clap to indicate his clear favoritism.

The game ended with a 2-2 tie before Boston took it in overtime and Scott got sent out to press with Vaughny and Rosanov.

One of the reporters nodded to Rosanov and said, “It was interesting to see Boston supporting Kip Grady’s intermission skate. Were you aware that he’s gay? Any comment?”

It was a dick question to ask a Russian player at any time but especially now, two months before Rosanov would be in Sochi. Which was of course why he’d asked it. Clickbait.

Rosanov leaned toward the microphone. “Kip Grady is good figure skater, no? In Russia, figure skating is very respected. I have question. Is for Boston leadership. Why do Raiders not have our own personal figure skater? I have done research. Mika Ruchi lives in Boston. Make call.”

The room laughed and moved on from the mostly dodged question. Scott thought Rosanov had played up his language gap, made his sentences short and choppy on purpose, although maybe he was giving too much credit.

But the question itself was a stark reminder. Kip was going to Russia. Kip was out and going to Russia.

Scott tried to be cool about it and he mostly managed until the Olympic Committee sent out a document detailing host country laws and etiquette which included a section advising openly LGBTQ athletes to “maintain a sense of caution” and keep the phone numbers for their Olympic liaison and the U.S. Embassy on hand.

“Well that’s encouraging,” Kip said flatly from where they were both reading it on their phones at the kitchen island and Scott blurted out, “Maybe you shouldn’t go.”

Kip looked at him. “I’m going to let you take that back,” he said. Not coldly, but deliberately.

Scott did. Immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said wretchedly, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

Kip reached out to hug him because he was forgiving like that. “I’m not going to let anyone’s bigotry hold me back,” he said.

“Like I do?” Scott asked quietly. Kip hadn’t said anything about Scott potentially coming out but Scott could see the little ways the secrecy of their relationship chafed at him; the cagey phone calls that obviously concerned his father, the invitations to go out that he turned down in favor of staying in with Scott, safe inside the same four walls of his apartment.

Kip pulled back so he could look Scott in the eye. “Scott, I understand why it’s difficult for you to come out,” he said. He sighed and tugged Scott over toward the couch so they could sit down. Default position for a serious talk.

“I didn’t plan to come out publicly,” Kip said when they were settled. “My friends and family knew but figure skating isn’t actually less homophobic than hockey. I knew being public about who I was would damage my career.” The expression on his face was pained and Scott squeezed his hand in comfort. “I wasn’t careful,” Kip continued. “I was twenty one and I’d made it into the last slot on the Olympic team by the skin of my teeth. I didn’t think anyone was looking at me.”

Scott could feel his body releasing cortisol just from the thought of what was coming.

“Some reporter was doing pre-Olympic coverage. He took a picture of me with my boyfriend in Williamsburg and that was it, I was out,” Kip said. He swallowed hard. “The team almost dropped me but they didn’t want to turn a small story into something big and we were going to Vancouver, not Russia. I only had a couple sponsors at that point and they did drop me. It made me feel…”

Scott could imagine. Miserable. Worthless. Worth less. If any of his sponsors dropped him for being gay, said, dispassionately, “You’re a liability to our Q3 profits,” Scott would disappear into the woods for an indeterminate period.

Kip should never have been made to feel like that, Scott thought with a flare of righteous anger. If any of Kip’s previous sponsors happened to be Scott’s sponsors now, he was going to term the contracts immediately. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, brushing a tear off Kip’s cheek with his thumb.

“I almost didn’t make it to Vancouver anyway over that. Ice time, coaching fees, equipment, travel—it was a lot of money,” Kip said. He glanced away from Scott, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. “I took out a personal loan. Sky high interest rate. I’m still paying it off.”

Let me pay it off for you, Scott almost said, because that seemed like the only possible thing he could fix. But this wasn’t about the money. It was about what Kip didn’t want to happen to Scott. The choice that had been taken from him, the fallout.

Scott tugged Kip against him and Kip went easily, his damp face pressed into Scott’s neck as Scott ran a hand up and down his back. All that and Kip had persevered, gone on to win gold.

“Ugh,” Kip said eventually, pulling back. His face was pink and splotchy and Scott thought he was still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. “Anyway, I understand the stakes are even higher for you. I don’t think you’re a coward for staying in the closet. I want you to know that.”

“I love you,” Scott said, because maybe it was too soon, but he wanted Kip to know that.

“Well, good,” Kip said, his smile breaking through. “I love you too.”

-

So Kip was going to Russia. The only thing Scott could do was go with him and, in the meantime, let the stress eat slowly through the lining of his stomach.

He was playing like shit. Being side-eyed in the locker room and lambasted on podcasts. George Cameron, the coach for Team USA, had called him to check in and “see how he was bearing up under the pressure” which wasn’t something you did when you thought someone was bearing up under the pressure well.

Carter clearly thought Scott’s nerves were about their upcoming medal chances too.

“Man, this is our year,” Carter said, enthusiastically. “We’ve got Nelson, Davies, Williamson. And you know how much I hate Florida, but Callahan doing defense for us instead of against us is going to rock.”

“It’s a good roster,” Scott agreed, lackluster. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the gold anymore, it was just that he didn’t care about it in comparison to Kip.

Carter groaned. “So then what's the problem? Why are you not excited as fuck?”

Scott looked at his entreating face. Carter had always had his back. He wanted to help Scott and Scott thought maybe it was time he accepted it. “I’m worried about Kip going to Russia,” he said.

It obviously wasn’t what Carter had been expecting. His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you worried about…oh,” he said, getting it. “Oh shit, yeah, I read that etiquette thing. That was brutal. Kip’s brave as hell going to a country with laws like that.”

“Yeah,” Scott said.

“You guys have gotten pretty close, huh?” Carter asked with an affected nonchalance that immediately raised the hair on Scott’s arms.

“Vaughny,” Scott said. Why was it so fucking hard to say the rest of it? He was in love. It was a good thing. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Scott had looked at Kip this morning while he was standing in the kitchen, gold sunlight warming his skin, and Scott had thought, for the first time since he was twelve, God, I’m so lucky.

Carter nudged his arm, encouraging. “I like Kip a lot.”

“I like Kip a lot too,” Scott said, weighted, and he thought Carter understood what he meant, the implied revelation they were both skating around.

Carter put an arm over Scott’s shoulders to hug him, quick and tight, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Good. That’s great, Scotty. And we’ll take care of him, okay?”

“How?” Scott asked, because that was the crux of it. There needed to be a plan. A foolproof one. And Scott didn’t even know what he was afraid of really. Russian officials dragging Kip out of the Olympic Village, sending him to the stereotypical gulag? Spectators throwing bottles and jeers at the ice? Some kind of sabotage from the contingent of Russian skaters?

Kip hadn’t laughed when Scott asked whether there was tension between him and any of the Russians he knew from other championship events but he’d smiled a little and said, “I don’t expect any kind of Nancy Kerrigan type issues if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve been friends with Viktor Petrov for years and Andrei Volk is really only interested in showing that he can land a quad lutz in competition.”

The one place Kip did apparently have some type of figure skating beef was with the lone Italian skater that had made the Olympic cut. “I beat him at Worlds last year by half a point and he called me a cocksucker on the podium,” Kip had said, sounding remarkably blase. But then, he’d had the gold medal around his neck and no words could take that away.

“Visibility,” Carter said. “I mean, he’s the reigning gold medalist, I know he’s going to be visible, but we make him visible with us. Two guys who are going to be right there, on site, if anyone tries something shady.”

“I guess,” Scott said, skeptical. It was better than nothing. Scott had made plenty of guys back up with his 6’2” 215 lb frame. He couldn’t exactly bodyguard Kip around the Olympic Village while trying to play half a dozen games and attending practices but if people thought he at least might be there it could serve as a deterrent. “I mean, so far we’ve been kind of trying not to be seen together because of,” he waved a vague hand.

“No sweat. If you guys went out alone, sure maybe somebody might say something, but we all go out together and that’s a friend group, not a couple. Don’t worry,” Carter said, grinning, “I’ve got ideas.”

-

Within three weeks, Carter’s vaunted ideas had resulted in multiple online articles about ‘New York’s Olympic Ice Trio’, one of which had gotten picked up for print in the New York Times Sports section.

Then there was the brand promo.

Scott hadn’t gotten to participate in it but he’d watched it approximately twenty times already. The energy drink Carter represented had done an Olympic video spot with both him and Kip where they tried out each other’s moves on ice in a friendly competition. Kip looked insanely hot as he displayed his edge work, agilely swerving through cones on one foot while Carter trailed behind him in his more clunky hockey skates.

In the next clip Carter tapped his stick confidently on the ice and showed off his goal shooting skills. Afterward, Kip skated over to the row of pucks and calmly slapped one into the top shelf of the net. Carter’s jaw dropped, obviously unscripted. “Who taught you that?” he demanded as Kip skated out of the frame with a beatific smile on his face. “Did Scotty teach you that?”

Scott had in fact taught him that. After Kip’s morning practices, sometimes they played around on the ice, Scott showing Kip how to shoot on goal mainly as an opportunity to get his hands on him with what could be brushed off as legitimate form correcting purposes.

Kip had tried to teach him some of the same spins he was showing Carter in the promo and Scott had almost given himself a concussion. Carter looked like he was doing a slightly better job of it, laughing at himself. The video had already racked up half a million views and comments to the effect of:

olympics5evar This is cute af

exactlyexactly They should be boyfriends 🏒❤️⛸️

puckmeup Carter Vaughn, open your eyes!

Scott was aware that if he’d done the promo spot with Kip and the comments had been about him it would have sent him into a mental tailspin, but he also wanted the comments to be about him. He wanted people to look at him and Kip together and think cute, perfect, right.

Carter, Scott’s wingman, was one thing but Kip took to the idea of visible solidarity and proposed it to the Team USA LGBTQ group chat. By the time they got to Sochi, most of the athletes in the chat had agreed to a buddy system. Kip’s ‘buddy’ was an alpine skier named Derek Sanderson and he was, objectively, gorgeous. When a picture of them laughing together got posted to the Team USA socials and received an outpouring of likes, Scott cracked a water bottle with his grip and Carter patted him on the shoulder.

“Derek and I have basically opposite schedules for our events so we can stick together pretty easily,” Kip told Scott after the opening ceremony, oblivious to Scott’s inner turmoil. Scott wasn’t even going to be able to attend Kip’s short program since it conflicted with the team’s game against Germany, but Derek was going to get to be there. “We’re going to come to your game against Italy if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Scott said, warmed.

When he was out on the ice, he looked up to where Kip was sitting, wearing a Team USA jersey with Vaughn on the back, and smiled. Maybe someday Kip would sit in Scott’s seats in New York. Maybe he’d wear Scott’s name on his back.

They slaughtered Italy 6 to 1 and Scott felt his optimism rise.

Kip tapped on the door of his and Carter’s room in the Olympic Village that night, Derek nowhere in sight. “Come in,” Scott said, gesturing Kip inside. Carter was out trying to woo one of the speedskaters from Finland.

“Oh, lovely, your room also has the black mold smell,” Kip said.

“Yeah,” Scott agreed, sitting gingerly on his twin bed. There had been multiple reports of people breaking them already. If he could have Kip the way he wanted him, Scott’s bed would most definitely have ended up among them but they’d agreed not to risk it. A certain level of functional touching was allowed though and Scott pulled Kip’s feet into his lap, tugged off his shoes, and started to massage his ankles, thumb dragging along the Achilles tendon. Kip let out a soft moan and Scott felt his cock twitch. “Are you ready for your short program tomorrow?” he asked, to distract himself from asking please please can I suck you?

“I might throw up before it, but yeah, I’m ready,” Kip said. “I honestly barely remember my skates from Vancouver. It’s like I blacked out from the nerves and my body just went through the motions after the million practices.”

Scott moved his thumb to dig into Kip’s arch. “You’ll be amazing,” he said.

Kip was amazing. Scott watched the highlights immediately after squeaking past Germany 2 to 1. Kip had posted the second highest score among all the skaters and he’d told Scott he could make up ground in the free skate.

As the week wore on, the team knocked out Switzerland and then Finland in the semi-finals which meant they were going head to head with Canada for gold in two days' time. Scott threw his anxiety about that aside so he could be properly anxious over Kip’s attempt at gold in—he checked his watch—less than four hours.

“Scotty, we’re going outside,” Carter said, when he found Scott in their room, reorganizing his two drawers worth of belongings for the third time. They walked down the beachfront thoroughfare eating ice cream like it was summer and not February at forty three degrees latitude.

Carter stopped and peered in the window of a cafe. “Hey, is that Hollander?”

“Oh, yeah,” Scott said, pulling open the door so they could go in and chirp him over the upcoming finals.

“Don’t worry, Vaughny, you’ll look great in silver,” Hollander returned, grinning as Carter winced exaggeratedly.

“Hey, we’re going to go watch our friend Kip in the men’s figure skating in a couple hours. You up for it?” Carter asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, my buddy Joe is actually in that too,” Hollander said, looking pleased.

The arena when they arrived was buzzing. They barely snagged three seats together up near the rafters.

Kip had joked when Scott praised him for bringing in fans to the Admirals games in New York. “Sweetheart, you are selling out Madison Square Garden. I am selling out section 207,” Kip had said sardonically. His fans had organized online so they mostly ended up in the one section, holding up their homemade signs and screaming when Kip came out on the ice. During one of Kip’s first skates, before he became a known fixture, there had been two guys in the section that obviously had bought the seats there not realizing it was the unofficial Kip Grady section. They’d visibly jumped when the people around them started screaming but they’d been good sports about being lightly laughed at on the jumbotron and one of them had been interviewed by the local news later and said, “Hey man, I may not have been a fan then but I’m a fan now.”

Here, in Sochi, everyone was obviously there specifically for the figure skating and Scott saw dozens of US flags being waved in Kip’s honor despite what had been a sixteen hour flight from LaGuardia. Kip’s dad hadn’t been able to make the trip due to a bum knee but he was apparently hosting a watch party in a Brooklyn sports bar.

Scott watched as all the skaters before Kip performed, clapping dutifully except for that asshole from Italy, and then, finally, Kip skated out onto the ice. His costume was classic black slacks and, for a punch of drama, a scarlet red shirt with a design that evoked the delicate patterns of lace. He looked beautiful and Scott was absolutely going to ask if he could fuck him with the costume (mostly) on when the Olympics were over.

The music started up and Scott held his breath as Kip went into his first jump, the triple axel. He landed it cleanly, to a surge of applause, and then he absolutely attacked the rest of the program. Speed, precision, huge height on the jumps. And the quad, landed without so much as a wobble. Scott’s face physically hurt from how wide he was smiling as Kip finished his final spin and he and Carter jumped up to cheer.

Kip waved out to the audience, face glowing, as flowers and plushes rained down on the ice. He scooped up a bear on his way to the boards and Scott wanted so badly to be there, to have the right to kiss him as he stepped off the ice, hug him just for a second before he went off to the kiss and cry.

It took what felt like forever for the judges to return the scores, the murmurs in the stadium turning into an eruption of cheers as Kip vaulted into first place. There was only one more skater after him; he was guaranteed the silver medal if not the gold. But it was no surprise to Scott when, ten tense minutes later, Kip was officially awarded his second Olympic gold.

“Are you crying?” Scott asked Carter as the medal was looped over Kip’s neck.

“Fuck yeah, I’m crying,” Carter said, wiping at his cheek with a wrist. “Kip got the gold fucking medal, Scotty!” He draped an arm over Scott’s shoulders.

“I’m gonna head back to the Village. Tell your friend congrats for me,” Hollander said, edging out into the aisle.

“Will do, man,” Carter said, waving goodbye to him. “We’re celebrating with Kip tonight, right?” Carter said, turning to Scott.

Scott nodded. “He said to meet him out by the locker rooms after press. God, he was so good, wasn’t he, Vaughny?” Scott said, unable to hide the pride that was bursting out of him.

“Literally the best, dude,” Carter said, grinning. “Let’s go find him.”

It took almost an hour for Kip to escape the ravenous press corp and get out of his costume, his skates, into his regular clothes. When he saw Scott and Carter waiting for him in the hallway, he jogged over to them and threw his arms around them, the left over Carter’s shoulder and the right over Scott’s.

“You were amazing,” Scott said fiercely, hugging him tight. He wanted to kiss him. Pick him up and pin him to the wall.

“So fucking good,” Carter said, laughing, and asked, eagerly, “Can I see it? The gold?” Kip drew the medal out of his pocket and put it into Carter’s hands. Carter made a sound akin to a whimper and said, “Scotty, I want one so bad.”

Scott put his arm back around Kip’s shoulders. “We’ll get one,” he said.

-

They got them. Olympic gold medals. And, four months later, they won silver.

Scott lifted the Stanley Cup over his head as the stadium roared. The team handed it around for their victory laps and then there were handshakes and pictures and finally, finally, the families started to make their way carefully out onto the ice.

There was an uptick in cheering as the jumbotron focused on Kip, extra recognizable after his most recent gold medal. He made his way over toward Scott, graceful on the ice even in flat-soled trainers, and Scott felt his heart rate, already tripping, pick up to a gallop.

“You did amazing,” Kip said, grinning, as he glided into Scott’s open arms. “I’m so proud of you.”

Scott hugged him tight, tucking his chin down over Kip’s shoulder. “Do you still want to?” Scott asked. They could leave it here, the assumed close platonic friendship that the media had run with over the past year, but Scott was dying for his victory kiss, and Kip nodded against his neck.

Scott had told Benny and Huff about Kip back in March, the first dominoes before he’d talked to his agent, then Murdock and the GM, then let the knowledge trickle out into the locker room, tacitly confidential.

After Sochi, it had seemed less and less important to keep things with Kip under wraps. He had his teams’ support, his agent doing pre-emptive ‘reputation management’, and a goddamn gold medal. Scott had been told he was “fucking glowing, Hunter” so he hadn’t been doing a great job of keeping his happiness hidden in any case. Dozens of reporters had asked variations of, “Scott, Scott, you’re on an absolute tear lately. What’s different? Where is this sudden energy coming from?” and Scott had said, coy, “Check back with me after the playoffs.”

“Are you sure?” Kip had asked, concerned, when Scott said he wanted to go public in the summer.

Scott had looked at him and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” He wanted everything with Kip. He’d never been more sure of anything in his life.

Scott slid backward on his skates a few inches so he could cup Kip’s face in his hands. Kip looked beautiful, happy, right, and Scott leaned down to kiss him as cheers exploded like fireworks around them.

-

whatsupbuttercup did they legit bait and switch us?? kip grady is dating scott hunter and not carter vaughn?? obvs i tits out support it, i’m just like 😮

huntergradytruther I 👏 WAS 👏 RIGHT 👏 !

admiralsfanatic21 A Cup for my team! A boyfriend for my captain!! <3

januaryfriend Scott Hunter saw all this [gif of Kip Grady doing a backflip on the ice] and did what any self-respecting gay man would do: shot his shot. Good for Scott Hunter!