Chapter Text
Hayden Pike knew he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He came to terms with that many years ago. Luckily, he had Jackie and Shane to keep him on track. But he wasn't so oblivious as not to realize the role he played in the team's current situation. They hadn't spoken on it beyond Shane driving them to Jarry's for a 'thank you for playing a part in my masterplan' smoked meat poutine.
He could also see that, for the most part, his teammates didn't realize what was happening. When Shane had joined them for wine night and laid out the broad strokes of his plan to eventually come out, Hayden hadn't thought his teammates would be so blind. Shane had just looked at him with a raised eyebrow and pointed out his seven-tier anti-racism scheme and how well it had worked already.
Looking at his teammates now, filling out two rows of the lecture hall seats in their first women/gender studies class, Hayden realized that while he wasn't the sharpest, he sure as hell wasn't the dullest. If it were anyone but Shane who was steering this ship, Hayden might be worried. But his best friend, while utterly ruthless, was a good person at his core. He looked down at the filled-out questionnaire in front of him, the question of his sexuality filled out with an uncertain and shaky, Panromantic Demisexual.
It came as a bit of a shock to him to realize that he wasn't as strictly straight as he had always believed. On the night of this discovery, Hayden took a seat on his patio, away from the chaos of his children, with a cold beer and allowed himself to really think it over. He had met Jackie when they were both 15. They were each other's first everything. Hayden always assumed that the fact he had only been sexually attracted to Jackie was because she was his soulmate. But now he had a word and explanation for what he had always felt.
He had never understood how most of the team slept around, but he also knew that he was the odd one out. It was part of why he latched on to Shane their rookie year. Here was another man who didn't feel the seemingly desperate desire to fuck anything that walked. He still found women besides Jackie beautiful, but never, not ever for a split second, did he want to have sex with any of them.
Until he started dating Jackie, Hayden thought there might be something broken within him, but after getting together, he never needed to think about it again. But here it was, finally an explanation for what he had always struggled with. Demisexuality.
Of course, he wasn't being led around by the dick like so many other hockey players were. He was completely uninterested in the thought of sex outside of an emotionally fulfilling relationship.
This brought up more questions: Was he only interested in women?
Hayden picked at the label on his beer bottle as he thought. Just like with random beautiful women, he had always been able to recognize a handsome man. He didn't think this made him not heterosexual. Hayden had heard many straight men say that other men were handsome. Hell, many hockey players joked that if they had to fuck a man, of course, it would be Shane Hollander. Having sex with Shane Hollander was basically just having sex with hockey.
So recognizing men could be handsome didn't automatically make you not straight. Hayden took a slow sip, considering things. The only person he was nearly as close to emotionally as Jackie was Shane. So if emotional connection was necessary for him to find someone attractive, did he find Shane attractive? Beyond the baseline of just acknowledging facts, yes, his best friend was attractive. And with some thought, if the worst was to happen to Jackie, the only person he could even possibly consider having sex with was Shane.
Huh.
"Hey, Jackie!" He called out, slightly panicked.
His beautiful, amazing wife stuck her head out of the door. Amber was wrapped against her chest, and a wooden spoon was in her hand. "Yes, husband dear?"
Hayden suddenly felt like shit. He jumped up and rushed to her. They were both exhausted, but Hayden got a break during the day, and Jackie didn't. And here he was having a sexuality crisis outside while she was preparing dinner. He really tried to be a good husband, to be present when he was home and to give her a break from the kids when he could. Hayden was already missing so much of the most important years of his children's lives, so he cherished every moment he could get. "Shit, babe, I'm sorry I should be cooking."
"Hayd, I know you were going to, but the look on your face when you got up said you needed some time alone." Jackie had dark bags under her big brown eyes, and she hadn't stopped her gentle rocking to keep Amber asleep.
She was the most beautiful woman Hayden had ever seen.
Hayden cupped her face in his hands, running gentle fingers over her cheekbones, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I don't deserve you."
Jackie smiled, "Maybe not, but you are the one I chose."
Hayden pressed their foreheads together, "Give me Amber and go take a nap." He carefully held Amber, not stopping the gentle rocking for a single moment, as Jackie placed the wrap around his chest. They were so practiced in such maneuvers that Amber stayed asleep for the whole thing.
"So what had you freaking out?" Jackie asked as she passed over the spoon.
Hayden studied his wife's face, not sure what he was looking for. "I realized I'm not straight." Not for a moment did he think Jackie wouldn't accept him, so he felt no need to dance around the topic.
Jackie let out a barking laugh, quickly quieting herself before pulling Hayden close and into a deep kiss. "My love, you've had a crush on Shane for years." When she pulled back, Hayden's face was flushed, and she saw the confusion in his eyes. "Hayd, I know you love me, that you would never cheat on me. But I also know that if the situation were different, you and Shane could have been happy together."
Hayden's brows furrowed, truly letting himself consider what life with Shane as a partner would be. He would never give up the life he and Jackie had built together, but he could easily imagine a world where he and Shane fell in love.
"Are you okay?" Jackie linked their hands.
"Yeah, just… It's a lot." A large part of how he had identified himself for years was suddenly upended. If not for his amazing wife, he wouldn't be handling this revelation as well as he currently was. Hayden kissed her once more before directing them back into the house. "Go take a nap, I'll wake you when dinner's ready."
So now, sitting in a college lecture Hall, staring down at the words Panromantic Demisexual, Shane Hollander at his side and his teammates surrounding him, Hayden Pike was ready for more of his understanding of the world to be upended.
Cliff Marleau knocked on his best friend's door.
Ilya threw the door open, a cocky smile on his face, and his sweatpants criminally low. Cliff rolled his eyes and pushed past the other man. "Put on a shirt, you're not getting out of this conversation by flexing your pecs."
Ilya drooped like a wilting flower, pouting as he stomped over to the couch to grab his shirt from behind a pillow where he hid it. "You're no fun."
Cliff scoffed and opened the fridge to pull out a pair of beers. "You're just mad your attractiveness won't get you out of this situation."
His best friend dropped onto the cushions, being as dramatic as he possibly could. He held out his hand for a bottle, which he opened and downed half of before waving his hand for Cliff to get on with things.
"Shane Hollander."
"Yes? He is a hockey player. What's your point?"
Cliff forcibly pulled Ilya up before sitting down and then pushing his best friend down to lay his head in Cliff's lap. "Ilyusha."
Ilya closed his eyes and sighed. Marley was so glad he had met Sveta. Just a small change to his best friend's name had him surrendering to his fate. "Pet me," Rozy demanded, and Cliff was quick to comply, running his fingers through soft golden curls. "What do you want to know?"
"Shane Hollander?"
Ilya sighed again, setting his bottle on the floor and turning over to hide his face into his friend's stomach. He mumbled something that Cliff didn't catch, but knew anyway. Cliff didn't make Ilya say it again, just continued to run his fingers through soft hair while taking a sip of cold beer. "How long has this been going on?"
Ilya didn't speak. Instead, he pushed his face harder into Cliff's stomach, nose digging in almost painfully.
"Years?"
Ilya nodded.
"More than five years?"
Ilya nodded once more.
"The whole time?"
Ilya stilled. Long seconds passed before a minuscule nod moved Cliff's shirt. Cliff sighed, head falling onto the back of the couch. "Ilyusha…"
Ilya curled into a fetal position, wrapping his arms around Marleau's waist as he started to cry silently. Cliff let him do so without comment, never stopping his movement through Ilya's hair and using his other hand to carefully cup the back of his neck.
When Ilya finally relaxed again, legs stretching back out and arms letting go, Cliff spoke again. "Tell me about him."
"He's love of my life."
Shane Hollander knew the Dawson Campus well since he had been taking classes here for years. The administration had always been understanding of his position. They allowed him to attend classes at random in whatever subjects caught his interest. He had probably attended a class by every staff member and in every track, but the ones he found the most interesting were those related to anthropology, psychology, and sociology.
His interest in those subjects began in high school, when he took an introductory course for his humanities credit. It was then spurred on by the works of Sun Tzu and Niccolo Machiavelli, and exactly how they could be used in hockey.
At 28, Shane Hollander had attended all the classes required to earn a PhD in those three subjects, though he had never turned in a single piece of classwork. It was one of his best-kept secrets because the moment someone realized what fields he had studied, they might deduce his tactics. Everything he did would be examined for nefarious intent. And while not usually nefarious, beyond the 'I will use every advantage to win', he never saw a problem with using his knowledge to get what he wanted.
And right now, he wanted his team to accept him when he eventually came out.
Their first class had gone well, though many of the students had eyed them warily. And the questions they asked were ignorant instead of bigoted. Luckily, Shane had already taken many courses under Professor Fluerant and had the forethought to seek her out before he signed his team up for this class.
They sat down in her office with cups of coffee he brought to help butter her up. "So what can I do for you today, Shane?"
Shane reached into his backpack and brought out a thick folder. "I've already spoken to the administration about this, and they said I would need to get your permission. I assume you've seen the video?"
Her lips pursed, and her tone was cold, "Yes."
Shane sighed and leaned back into the hard chair. "I hope you know me well enough to know that I do not hold such views." She nodded stiffly. "There was only so much I could do before now. I had an easy excuse to stamp out the racism, but the homophobia and misogyny… Well, I had to pick my battles."
Professor Fluerant's expression was still sour, but there was a begrudging acknowledgment in her eyes. Hockey culture was well known to most people in Montreal, and the fact that Shane had made racism completely unacceptable in the locker room was already a near miracle. "But now… Well, I'd be a fool not to use this situation to my advantage."
"And why should I waste my time with students who aren't truly interested in my subject but rather in repairing their image? Why should I subject my other students to that?"
Shane didn't blame her for not wanting to hold the hands of 22 grown men on their path to enlightenment. Right now, they were agreeing to all this because they didn't truly understand what they were in for and because Shane had manipulated them into it. It could go so very wrong, so very fast.
If what he had done and what he would continue to do were ever discovered, he would be out of MLH faster than he could say, 'Two-time winning Stanley cup Captain,' or 'In everyone's best interest.' No team would trust him, and no general management would touch him. It didn't matter that he was arguably the best hockey player in the world. That he had the highest merch sales and best brand deals. He would lose everything.
But Ilya was worth the risk.
"I need them to be better people. I'll do all the hard work, I just need the legitimacy and pressure that classes provide."
"Why does it matter to you?"
Shane considered her for a moment. Of anyone outside those he trusted most, he believed that if anyone would understand and keep his secrets, it would be this woman. "I'm gay."
Ilya Rozanov grew up right after the fall of the Soviet Union, a deeply unstable period in Russian history. He grew up during the rise of the Oligarchy and the Bratva's height of power. He grew up with an ex-prima ballerina of the Bolshoi Ballet mother and a police colonel father in Russia's largest city.
Cutthroat tactics were his bread and butter.
He knew how people's minds worked because he grew up having to. In the circles his family ran in, ruthlessness was necessary for survival. Even as a child, one misstep on his part could have his family falling from grace.
His mother hadn't been able to hold up under the pressure with no rest, even at home. But Ilya had thrived. He might not like who it turned him into, but there was no denying it was useful.
Part of why he and Shane were so perfect for each other was that, for different reasons, they had both developed this same edge. That they were willing to use it against each other but also able to put it away when they were alone. There were no hurt feelings when one of them used a dirty tactic against the other on the ice. It just drove them to do better next time.
Living in America and age had softened Ilya until he was able to fully commit to a relationship with Shane. And now that they were together, he would be giving it up over his cold, dead body. So waking up early three times a week to round up his team for breakfast and a gender studies class was hardly a sacrifice. If he had to goad his team into posting about it on social media and tagging the Voyageurs to rile up the competition to prove who was the better team, he would do it without hesitation. And if using his bisexuality and the threat Russia posed was what it took to make the Bears into true allies, Ilya Rozanov would do it gladly.
The first four weeks of classes passed like this. Ilya's team complained about the assigned reading, but still did it so they could brag online about what they were learning. And when Shane tricked one of his teammates into implying that the course material they were studying was better than the Bears' material, it only spurred his men to buy the books the others were reading. And so it went until both teams were going out of their way to read and watch everything recommended by 'well-meaning' classmates and professors, in an attempt to one-up each other.
Whenever things started to cool, Shane or Ilya would subtly stoke the flames once more. By the time his devious little rookie, Feller, decided to come out as pansexual, the Bears would destroy anyone who even dared look at the kid wrong if they thought it was about his sexuality.
The rest of the league was scratching its heads over the whole situation.
It's not like anyone could say anything about it online without causing a shit storm to come down on them. And it got so 'bad' that other teams were pressured by both fans and reporters to do similar stunts. No one wanted to be seen as the bad guy in this situation after a few people had spoken up at the beginning and been harassed off public platforms.
No one needed to know that Shane and Ilya had a large hand in it, using multiple cross-platform anonymous accounts.
By the time the first Boston/Montreal game of the year started, every player across both teams was using allyship tape on their sticks that Ilya and Shane had supplied. There was no going back at this point. The massive outpouring of love for every player, from fans and non-fans alike, for their honest, though manipulated, efforts to be better people, always made the men puff up with pride.
Positive reinforcement went a long way.