Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e01 Rookies (Heated Rivalry), Drunken Shenanigans, Scott Hunter Knows About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Las Vegas Wedding, Implied Sexual Content, Humor, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Collections:

*Heated rivalry melts my heart*, Favourite Heated Rivalry Fics 🏒, TDH Game Changers / Heated Rivalry

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-01 Words: 1,685 Chapters: 1/1

Not Quite Hypothetical

Summary

Scott wakes up to a text from Shane Hollander asking about an annullment. He immediately regrets doing shots with the rookies the night before.

Notes

We were discussing captains having to put up with rookies being young and dumb... couldn't resist having hollanov give Hunter grey hairs. 😅🤣

• Inspired by With or Without You by a1phab3ts0up
• Inspired by "The captain of grandfathers and his dumpster fires" by Idkhowtodothis

A persistent buzzing woke him and Scott groaned as he turned over in his bed. With a huff, he reached for his phone.

It buzzed with yet another message and Scott blinked rapidly as he read them all.

The Rook:
Hey
Sorry to bother you so early.
Just have a sort of random question
Not a big deal
But would you happen to know how to annul a marriage?
Preferably without anyone finding out. Ever.

"What the fuck?" Scott squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, the messages were still there. The messages from Shane fucking Hollander.

Scott:
What happened?

The Rook:
Nothing!
It's a hypothetical question.

Scott squinted at his phone, eyes flicking to the time.

Scott:
You have a hypothetical question about annulling a marriage at 6am the morning after you won Rookie of the Year?
*In Vegas?*

The Rook:
Yes?

He should tell him to google it, tell him to ask his parents or his captain. They're all here after all. This should not be Scott's problem. He should just ignore it and go back to sleep.

But then the memories from the night before float to the top of his mind.

Shane only started drinking because of him. He'd rounded up all three of the rookies - Hollander, Lemaire, even Rozanov. They'd done shots together.

Scott:
I have no idea how to annul a marriage.
Probably just paperwork?
Unless its consummated or whatever.

The Rook:
Oh.
What if it is consummated then?
Do they actually ask that or...

Scott:
Having never been married, or needed to annul one, I don't know.

He waited a minute, a whole thirty seconds at least, to see if the kid responded.

Scott:
Want to explain why you're asking now?

The Rook:
Not really.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Scott took a deep breath. He considered calling. Obviously, the rookie needed help.

Hollander had to be desperate if he was reaching out to him after all. They barely knew each other.

His phone buzzed. The next message was just a room number. Scott arched a brow.

Scott:
Are you okay?

No response came. Ditto for his next two messages after he finally dragged himself out of bed.

In sweat pants and a tshirt, he headed for the elevator, dread settling heavily on his shoulders. Scott half expected Hollander to be waiting at the door, all awkward and nervous. Or maybe to throw it open before Scott had a chance to knock.

Either of those options would've been preferable really. Scott didn't even have a chance to question it when Ilya Rozanov dragged him into Hollander's room.

The Russian didn't say a word. He didn't linger either. Rozanov slammed the door behind them and then abandoned Scott in the entry way, rushing back into the room.

Low voices carried through the room. Rozanov's mostly. His accent thick, lilting slightly as he spoke softly.

"We are okay, Hollander," Rozanov said, "Safe." He inhaled sharply, "Breathe now. We figure out the rest after." The exhale came next. Slow and steady.

Scott rounded the corner to find the Russian kneeling beside the bed. A very... used bed. The sheets twisted on top.

His face flushed as he took in all the discarded clothes. Rozanov was shirtless, a pair of briefs left little to the imagination and his back was covered in claw marks.

In front of the Russian, huddled against the wall, was the rookie. Hollander shuddered through each breath Rozanov coached him to take. He had a shirt on, but Hunter suspected it didn't belong to him.

The white button down hung loose on his shoulders, with embossed flowers on the fabric the kid's suit the night before definitely hadn't had.

"What the fuck do we do?!" Hollander cried and his voice broke. Rozanov grabbed his hands. In the next moment, Hollander was clinging to him, fingers digging into Rozanov's shoulders as he took gasping breaths. "Everyone will know!"

"No, we will take care of it," Rozanov assured him, though his voice wavered slightly. "And we can say it was a joke, yes?" He brushed a hand through Hollander's hair. "Drunken prank. Did not mean to go that far. Overcommitted to the bit."

A sniffling laugh and Hollander ducked his head, "Joke. Yeah. Okay. We can do that." He inhaled as Rozanov did. Exhaled.

Whatever panic attack Hollander was having, Rozanov seemed to have a handle on it, which was its own shock on top of everything else. Scott shuffled his feet and looked pointedly away from them.

They were together. Seeing each other, in some fashion or another.

Even without the earlier texts, without the evidence drying on the bedsheets right in front of him...

"I have you, hmm? You are okay?" Rozanov whispered. His voice softer than Scott had ever heard it. Not even a drop of sarcasm. No taunting or mocking, just concern. Care.

"But what about..." Hollander hiccupped, "You're suppose to go home in three days. Isn't it... you could get in trouble, couldn't you?"

Rozanov twitched. His whole body stiff. When Scott snuck a glance, Hollander's eyes were wide and glassy, shimmering with tears as he stared at Rozanov.

"Will you be safe?"

"Is not illegal to be with a man," Rozanov said, slowly, obviously choosing his words with care, "Just cannot brag about it. If I do not mention, they will not known."

That was decidely not an answer to Hollander's actual question, but Scott didn't want to point that out just yet. Hollander finally seemed to be relaxing a bit. His shoulders slumping as the adrenaline crashed.

In a move that Scott refused to find impressive, Rozanov swept Hollander up off the floor and desposited him on the bed before the other man could so much as yelp. It earned him a glare from Hollander, but the Russian only smirked.

"No biting, kitten, we have a guest," Rozanov drawled, knuckles brushing over Hollander's cheek. His smirk twitching into a much softer smile once Hollander's gaze snapped to Scott.

With a wave, Scott cleared his throat and rocked forward on the balls of his feet, "So... that hypothetical question... ?"

The blush rising on Hollander's face was also on his chest, drawing attention to the fact that he had only slightly more clothes on than Rozanov did. Scott cringed when he caught sight of several hickeys decorating the kid's neck and chest.

"Is your fault," Rozanov clicked his tongue, straightening up. He ignored Scott's choked scoff and gestured vaguely out, "We are too young for drink in this country, yes? You gave us shots, we got drunk, now we are married. Your fault."

"Rozanov!" Hollander hissed. He reached for Rozanov's arm, tugging less than gently.

With a whine, Rozanov flopped beside him on the bed, puckering his lips into a pout, "What? Is true, no?" Hollander rolled his eyes.

"You're not funny," Hollander deadpanned, shoving at Rozanov's head. He took a breath, slow and controlled, before turning his attention back to Scott.

"Okay, so... you two got married?" Scott asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hollander nodded. His blush getting even redder.

Scott sighed. His head hurt and he didn't even have a hangover. Rude.

"This is Nevada," Scott reminded them. It only earned him two blank faces.

Right. They weren't American. Scott sighed and pulled out his phone. He quickly searched up 'gay marriage nevada' just to double check.

Hollander quirked his head to the side and Rozanov arched a brow as the silence stretched.

"You don't need an annullment," Scott said, holding out his phone for them to see the information for themselves, "Gay marriage isn't legal in this state."

They both blinked. Rozanov's lips twitched down and Hollander's brow furrowed.

"It's not even legal in California right now, so whatever you did last night, it's not legally binding." Scott looked up at the ceiling, cheeks burning.

"So... as long as no one sees the pictures, we're fine?" Hollander checked. Scott nodded and dropped his chin just in time to watch Hollander flop face first into Rozanov's chest.

The Russian hummed, smiling again as he ran a hand through Hollander's hair and rubbing at his back. "See? All good," Rozanov teased him, "No need to panic."

Head tilting back, Hollander glared up at the Russian, chin resting on his bare chest when he growled, "Shut up!" Given the smirk now twisting at Rozanov's lips and the heat in his gaze, that was exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for.

Scott coughed, drawing their attention back to him. He pocketed his phone and started walked backwards towards the door.

"I'm gonna go now. I won't tell anyone about..." he gestured vaguely at them, "Whatever this is."

Hollander blushed, already mumbling a quiet thanks before Scott finished.

"Honestly, I'll probably go back to my room, drink whatever's in the minibarm and pretend that this entire thing was a horrible alcohol fueled dream." Scott arched a brow, "We never mention it again, okay?"

"We, uh, we'd appreciate that," Hollander nodded, ruffling the hair on the back of his head as he laughed. "Sorry I dragged you out of bed for nothing."

"No worries, see ya around, rooks."

He left the room and did his best to ignore the honest to god giggling that followed him out. Especially once Hollander's turned into a breathy moan.

Elevator. Room. Alcohol.

Scott rubbed at his temples. He'd prefer a hangover to this headache, but at least it was over. Settled. His phone buzzed again just as he got to his room.

Another message, thankfully not from Hollander this time.

Vaughny:
You see this cap?
Looks like the rooks went a little wild last night after those shots...

Against his better judgement, Scott clicked on the link. With a groan, he turned around, heading back for the elevator, already thumbing over to his chat with Hollander.

Looks like they'd be calling it all a prank after all. Luckily, Lemaire had been even more drunk than Hollander or Rozanov so his caption makes no sense.

Fucking rookies... Why the hell had he suggested they all do shots last night?!