Chapter Text
The video starts with the familiar keyboard sounds of the beloved melody from The Office intro, showcasing obviously handheld footage taken by a camera. The shots showcase a snowy road, the outside of the arena of the Ottawa Centaurs, and the locker room, where a mess of strewn-around clothes and water bottles sit.
A white font appears, reading;
This is what happens when the social media manager for the Ottawa Centaurs just finished rewatching The Office for the 3rd time in 4 months.
As the music picks up, each member of the said hockey team is shown for one second, along with a “starring” and their name, starting with a ‘starring Ilya Rozanov’ accompanied by a shot of him running drills, followed by a shot of Shane shooting a goal and smiling afterwards, and the rest of their team members on and off the ice in various situations.
(Confessional shot of Troy Barrett, sitting in what appears to be a typical small coach office adjoined to the locker room, behind him a whiteboard.)
“So, the fans have been wondering what it has been like to be working with ‘The First Husbands of Hockey,’ referring to our Captain and newest addition to the team, Shane Hollander, of course. Can you tell us about that?”
Barrett shifts slightly, looking off to the side of the camera.
“Well…"
(Cut to confessional shot of Boodram, sitting in the empty seats off the ice, still in uniform, frowning up towards the ceiling.)
“It’s kind of…”
(Cut to Wyatt Hayes and Luca Haas, sitting by a coffee table in a make-shift break room, behind them a vending machine and two steaming plastic cups in front of them.)
The two exchanged a nervous glance before Haas lifted his hand, waving it around as if to hope to make the words appear in the air.
“It took some…adjusting,” he stated carefully.
“What he means is-” Hayes quickly rushes to say,
“-that in the beginning, we didn’t quite get their ’dynamic’. They were just kind of…” Hayes lets the sentence die off, cocking his head, unsure of how to formulate it.
(Cut to Boodram, leaning forward, his face slightly out of frame)
“Can I curse or…?” he asks, the mic picking up the sound muffled by his shifting.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll edit it in post, no worries,” the voice of Harris, the social media manager, answers off-screen.
Boodram nods, leaning back before facing the camera head-on.
“We thought they would fucking kill each other,” he says, the expletives muted and the captioning saying ‘f******’.
(Confessional shot of Harris in the same office space as Troy Barrett’s interview, a text on the screen stating: *Harris. Social Media Manager.)
“So, to start at the beginning,” he states, smiling into the camera while fiddling with his striped sweater, carefully arranging his necklace twice.
“When Ilya joined the team, I was pretty new as well. I think we all were a bit confused about what he was doing here in Ottawa, but…” Harris cocked his head to the side, chuckling to himself.
“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?” he said with a heartwarming smile.
(Cut to a slowly zoomed in shot, taken from somewhere off the ice in the stands, of Shane casually skating on the ice during practice, wearing a Centaurs branded training set, smiling brightly as a he turns around, his smile mirrored by Rozanov, wearing the same tracksuit in a different color as he skates after Shane before cutting back to Harris confessional.)
“So, when that video hit the internet, everyone on this team assured Rozanov that there were no problems, seeing as we have other LGBTQ members on the team as well. I’m really grateful to be working in such an inclusive environment. Of course, the rest of the NHL was a bit…confused,”
(Cut to Wyatt Hayes standing by the vending machine, taking out a can of Coke)
“I mean, it was really crazy, right? They had been painted as rivals their entire career, and suddenly you want to tell me Rozanov, the Playboy, uprooted his entire life to be with Shane Hollander of all people? It seemed crazy. But, well, then shit hit the fan, and we met the guy before he signed. He and Rozanov seemed kinda awkward to suddenly be in everyone’s interest, but it also didn’t seem so crazy anymore after a while. I mean, they called each other by their first names and lived together and stuff, so sure, they were probably couply behind closed doors or whatever. And anyway, we were excited, you know, two of Hockey’s superstars on the same team. I mean, what could go wrong?”
Hayes said, talking as the camera followed him throughout the room.
(Cut to Coach Wieber, sitting behind the dark wooden desk in his office)
He looked into the camera for a brief second before bringing his hand up to take off his glasses and then pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing shut and sighing in deep exasperation.
(Cut to Boodram)
“So Hollander signs with us, and we start holding practice, and it’s…I mean, it’s amazing, right? You got two of the best Hockey players, who, as individuals, are also incredible to watch, but then you got them together, and they play together like they can read each other's minds. That All-Star Game they had together a few seasons ago was simply a preview of how well they go along together; it’s a spectacle.” Boodram retells, his hands gesticulating in explanation. Then he holds in for a moment, taking in a deep breath while closing his eyes briefly. As he opens them, he looks directly into the camera, a tired expression on his face.
“But then they opened their mouths,” he said.
(Wide shot of Luca Haas skating up towards the goal, quickly hitting the puck and scoring sharply into the net. He cheers when he perfectly hits it. The next shot is of him drinking from a water bottle, leaning over the rink, still on the ice, the camera filming from somewhere behind the barrier.)
“You said yourself in various interviews that you grew up both idolizing Rozanov and Hollander as players, saying they’re the reason you got into Hockey. Were there any surprises when you finally met your heroes?” Harris’ voice off camera asks.
Haas laughs, looking down abashedly before smiling up to the camera.
“Well, they are as great as they say and have definitely taken me under their wing. I'm so grateful to be able to learn from the best, especially since I'm still so early in my career. When it comes to expectations…Well, I think we all agree here that it was quite a surprise to know Rozanov isn’t the womanizing bad boy everyone made him out to be. Or well, I think he was, but not anymore. He seems quite-…”
Haas sneaks a look off the side, leaning back slightly while holding onto the railing as if to check he’s not being overheard before looking back to the camera, leaning forward again as if sharing a secret.
“-...devoted, actually. I mean, still crazy he moved here from playing for Boston,” Haas states. Then he laughs out loud, his eye crinkling as he shakes his head.
“And for Hollan-..Shane, he told me I can call him Shane, still getting used to that, ha…Well, as for him, obviously, he’s the best, so I guess I sorta had high expectations of him. Everyone does, I assume, that’s probably why he and Roz had to-...anyways, I’m rambling. He’s great, they’re both great and fully reach up to this high image everyone has of them, on and off the ice,” he grins before scrunching up his face in thought.
“If I had to say one thing that was a surprise, though...Well, S-Shane kind of…Well, he sorta..”
The camera begins to slowly zoom in as Haas starts fidgeting with his gear, his eyes once again checking to see behind him.
“He kinda has like…a potty mouth, which I...it’s not really a bad thing! It’s not nearly as bad as anything I hear daily from usual Hockey guys or fans, it’s just that…Well, it kinda surprised me, you know? I don’t think Shane Hollander has ever used a cursed word publicly, but in private, he… well...”
(Cut to Shane coming out of showers, his muscled torso still wet, a towel slung around his waist, while he dries his hair with another towel. The camera moves in on him.
“Hey, Shane, could you just-” the voice of Harris starts up to say.
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST,”
Shane startles, his hand coming up to swat the camera away before it stabilizes, now closer to him and capturing his frowning face.
“Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to get your statement on-”
“You can get my fucking statement on your fucking mom, Harris. Jesus fucking christ, I’m half-naked, think this shit, whatever it is, can wait two fucking minutes?” he states, glaring into the camera, which is moving up and down as if Harris is holding it and nodding with his whole body.
“Right, right, sorry! I just…” Harris trails off in thought, his voice sounding kinda breathy, the camera suddenly moving down a bit slowly to reveal the wet, glistening torso of Hollander. Right as the shot is about to go down to the low slung towel around Hollander's pelvis, it is abruptly moved up again, showcasing a smirking Rozanov standing next to the still glaring Hollander, his arm outstretched beyond the frame, making it clear he had lifted the camera up.
“Hm, do not worry, Harris. If he’s yelling at you, that is just him showing affection, I should know,” Rozanov muses, his eyes never leaving the side of Hollander’s face, looking it up and down, his smirk spreading into a low grin. His arms move from holding the camera up to falling back down to his side. Shane turns his head to glare at him even harder than he did at the camera.
“Shut up, not everyone wants to be a pompous asshole doing their interviews shirtless,” he bites, his arms now coming up to cross over his chest.
Rozanov grins broadly as he steps closer to Shane, mere inches separating them.
“I bet you watched all my interviews like that, didn’t you, Hollander? That's what made you want to put a ring on it?” he stated, his voice sultry and taunting while holding his hand up, wiggling his fingers.
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Hollander groans out, yet he doesn’t move as Rozanov sneaks his arms around him, pulling him closer, a barely detectable twitch of the corners of his mouth visible.
Rozanov turns to the camera again, smiling happily.
“See, like I said, if he is cursing at you, that just means he likes you. And if he calls you ‘a fucking asshole’, that means you won the jackpot,” he says, turning his head again to look at Hollander, smiling sweetly. Hollander rolls his eyes, yet his annoyance is undermined by his slowly spreading smile. Rozanov's eyes continue to look his face up and down, looking at him as if he’s a prize to be won.
“Will you keep filming my naked husband, Harris?” he suddenly asks, though his face never leaves Shane, whose smile turns even sweeter at the word ‘husband’. He looks down, shooting a breath through his nose as a laugh.
“Oh, shit, sorry, I-”
“No, no, no. Is all good. He works so hard for this body, everybody should see,” Rozanov says, his voice sounding like a taunt as he makes Shane blush impossibly quickly.
“Oh fuck o-” but before Shane can finish his sentence, Rozanov moves his arm around Shane’s neck, abruptly pulling him closer before facing the camera dead on.
“But is all mine,” he just says with a smirk as he turns his head again to dart his tongue out and lick a stripe up Hollander's cheek. Shane’s eyes widen, and he pushes Rozanov off him before swatting the camera again in one fell swoop.
“OH YOU MOTHER-” are the next words that can be heard from Hollander, followed by a bunch of bleeped out sounds as the camera shakingly turns around, finally finding focus on the opposite side of the room, where Boodram sits, also just out of the showers. His eyes hold the camera for a second before he braces his elbow on his knees and places his head in his hands.
(Cut back to Wyatt Hayes and Luca Haas in their previous confessional)
“So, during practice, we notice them play well together, but we also notice them, well, fighting a lot,” Haas says carefully.
(Cut to Barret sitting in his previous interview spot, sighing deeply, throwing his head back against the wall)
“They made everything a competition,” he sighs.
(Cut to Coach Wiebe in his office)
“A lot of people think the rivalry was fake, made up by the NHL for views and whatnot. I think I can confidently tell you not all of that was bullcrap.”
(Cut to the team sitting on the sidelines, all dressed in Hockey gear and looking exasperatedly off to the ice. The camera pans to zoom in on Hollander and Rozanov on the ice, sounding by training equipment.)
“Think you can beat me, Hollander?” Rozanov shouts as he just finished the training course, his arms outstretched menacingly.
“How about I take this stick and shove it up your-” Hollander starts, but the camera quickly pans back to the team sitting on the sidelines, a nervous Haas glancing around before leaning towards Boodram, who is sitting a row in front of him.
“Think we should do something?”
(Cut to Harris)
“And that’s how we started the chart,” he nods seriously, turning around to turn over the whiteboard behind him, showing a statistical table tracking what the camera zooms in to say “Mom + Dad Fight chart.”
Harris turns back around.
“We felt it was necessary. I mean, their only nicknames for each other were their last names or ‘asshole’, that's just weird, right? So we had a categorisation system,” he said, showing the different colored table behind him.
“If it got from orange into red territory, we would stage an intervention. I mean, some of us were starting to get seriously concerned for their marriage, okay?”
(Cut back to Hayes and Haas)
Hayes eyed Luca warily before turning to look back into the camera.
“Poor Haas thought they were going to get divorced,” he said sympathetically while clapping his back.
Haas ducks his head in embarrassment before sighing.
(The shot cuts again, though the two are in the same position, but clearly at a slightly later point in time, still discussing the topic)
“I just think I would have gone with Shane in the divorce. I just think he’d need me more, you know?” Luca tells Wyatt.
Wyatt looks from him to the camera, holding eye contact for a brief second before looking back at Haas, frowning at him.
“You know they’re not actually your parents, right? It’s important to me that you know that,” he says, serious concern evident in his voice.
(Cut back to Boodram)
“So we kept that ridiculous chart, and then we played against Montreal. Obviously, there is some bad blood there, which I legally probably can’t get into too much detail. Anyways, one of Shane’s old teammates says some shit, and then Rozanov just goes full-on attack dog. You’ve seen the clips,”
Boodram shudders.
“I’ve played Hockey for a long time, but that was the first time I have actually heard someone’s bones breaking. Anyways, the fight after that in the locker room certainly wasn’t pretty. You can imagine that Hollander didn’t want Rozanov to fight anyone for him, certainly not his old teammates. He’s like, extremely concerned about favoritism, since Roz is the Captain and all,”
Boodram throws his head back, laughing once before looking back at the camera with a smile on his face.
“As if we all don’t know who his favorite is,”
(Cut to Rozanov and Hollander, wearing casual clothing and sitting side by side in a different office space, behind them a plain wall with a window with the shutters in front, seeing out to the parking lot, the camera still trying to focus on them)
Shane was still settling in his seat while Rozanov was adjusting the mic on his shirt. His necklace, holding a crucifix and a ring, was exposed by his low V-neck shirt. Shane turns to his side, gently whispering a small “here, let me,” before adjusting the mic for Rozanov, who smiles at him. He steals Shane’s hand away as it leaves the microphone to quickly intertwine their hands and bring them up to his mouth before kissing the back of Shane’s hand. Shane smiles at him, ducking his head down in a blush before placing their conjoined hands in his lap, his other hand coming up to rest over Ilya’s. The camera briefly adjusts so the couple is only visible from their shoulders up. They both smile at the camera.
“So, what were your feelings when you discovered the fighting chart?”
Ilya snorts, and Shane's face cringes hard.
“He is still upset over that. ‘I’m not someones fucking mother, what the fuck,’” Ilya mimics Shane, pointing with his free hand at him as the other huffs.
“Well, I’m not,” he says petulantly.
(Cut to Shane standing by the ring, fussing over Haas’ gear, who stands on the ice, looking like a puppy getting scolded. The camera is slowly approaching them as the audio picks up on what they are saying.)
“You need to clasp your helmet properly. I don’t care if it’s just practice, it’s a safety measure,” Shane scolded softly as he clasped Luca’s helmet for him.
“But Ilya said-” Luca begins, quickly interrupted by Shane.
“Don’t listen to him,”
“Ah, but I am Captain,” Rozanov's voice says as he skates up, coming up to Luca and breaking his speed by clapping a hand on the other’s back, giving him a full body jostle.
“Yes, and I’m surprised no one has died yet,” Shane mutters under his breath, moving on to adjust Luca’s shoulder pad.
“Can I just say that I think-” Luca began.
“No,” both star players said at the same time.
(Cut back to their confessional)
Shane clears his throat, sitting upright as he fumbles with his clothes, while Ilya stays leaning back, the left side of his mouth quirking up at Shane’s movement
“Well, the fighting chart thing was… unfortunate. You see, I was really in my head about showing too much affection to Ilya, who is my husband, but also my new Captain, especially since this is supposed to be a workplace. So I…” he began, scrunching up his nose in embarrassment.
Ilya groaned, possibly at Shane taking too long to answer, but there was no malice behind it.
“It was a simple matter, really. He had ‘no touch’ rule. Very strict, very boring, very Hollander,” he said.
Shane huffed, finally leaning back again, now shoulder to shoulder with Ilya.
“I tried to establish a professional work environment, okay? Only apparently it got construed as….kind of hostile instead,” he said. Ilya snorted.
(Cut to Boodram)
“The way they found out was that we staged an intervention. All Harris' idea, really. God, I wish I could turn back time,” he groaned.
(Cut to Hayes and Luca on the ice, shooting a puck between them)
“You see, we confront them in the locker room. Tell them about how we are concerned about the chirping, the constant measuring up, competing, that they’re never affectionate, all that jazz. We tell them we are concerned that they can’t lay down the years of rivalry once they are on the ice and that it might affect their relationship if they continue to play together. I mean, Haas’s quite literally has tears in his eyes.” Hayes supplies. Luca cringes at the memory and almost misses his shot.
“But that’s when Ilya starts laughing, telling Shane he was right about his ‘no being gross at work rule’ and whatnot,” he continues. He receives the puck from Luca and then leans on his stick, talking to the camera directly.
“So, okay, we figure that rule like that made sense. Explained why we hadn’t seen them be couply and shit. But then we mention all the other stuff, like them being too set in their rival ways or whatnot, and Hollander just starts going red like a tomato and-...Ugh, Roz does that smirking thing he does,” he continues, shuddering.
(Cut back to Ilya and Shane)
“I told them, no worries. We knew how to be lovers on the side while playing hard against each other. Shane being the second-best player and me being better than him has never interfered with our love,” Ilya says, his tone dripping with suggestion, waving his hand dismissively.
“Ugh, I told you that word is gross. Also, you’re second best, ” Shane groans.
“I tell them, they should be glad. The more we fight against each other on the ice, the better we get. Both on and off it,” he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively as Shane places his face into his hand, his head shaking.
(Cut to Boodram)
“And that’s when I realised…they got off on it,” he sighed, leaning back and running his hands over his eyes.
“I mean, all these years, their whole ‘rivalry’ was just some kind of weird mating ritual. If you look back, and trust us, we’ve all looked back, you can see. I mean, there’s like, actual front row footage of Roz slamming Hollander against the glass and them just smiling like giddy schoolgirls with a crush on each other. While playing for the fucking Stanley Cup,”
(Cut back to Ilya and Shane, both staring straight into the camera)
“No comment,” Shane deadpans. Ilya starts cackling.
(Cut back to Hayes and Haas sitting by the vending machine, still in their gear)
“They promised us they’d try to find a balance that would be less disturbing to us, but it took some adjusting for them. Shane still called Roz an asshole for three weeks after that, though he tried to catch himself every time. And Roz is physically incapable of not goading other players, especially his husband,” Hayes snorted.
“But between you and me, Boodram promised that he’d handle it if they ever got too much again,” Hayes said conspicuously to the camera, laughing afterwards.
Haas frowned, looking at Hayes.
“How?” he wondered. Hayes chuckled, turning to place his hand on Luca’s shoulder.
“He’d just tell them to bone it out before practice,” he laughed.
“Ew, Hayes, gross, those are our dads!” Haas cried out before his eyes widened, his quickly reddening face turning between the camera and Hayes, making the latter burst out in laughter.
“I mean, Captains! Our Captain dads! I mean, Cap-” Luca tried to stumble.
“I’m so glad you got that on camera,” Hayes hollered, wiping a tear from his eyes while holding his stomach.
(Back to Harris's confessional)
“So after that failed intervention, they promised us they’d be more, well, normal. And they slowly started to open up more, which is great! Only now, well…some members of the team find them to be a bit-”
(Cut to Barrett)
“Sickening,” he deadpanned into the camera.
(Cut to Shane, his hair distinctly longer, in a tracksuit, standing on the ice and leaning against the glass next to the player area, no skates, glasses on his face, and writing down on a clipboard with a stopwatch in the other hand)
Rozanov skates up to him, leaning his stick against the barrier before reaching down to take a water bottle, his chest heaving slightly. His eyes never leave Hollander as he drinks, raking his gaze over his body and fixating on the glasses, Hollander not looking up once.
“You were 0.55 seconds faster than last week. That’s a good improvement,” he states casually. Rozanov stops drinking, grinning shark-like before taking another long sip.
“Ah, new assistant coach now, yes?” he asks. Shane smiles, but still doesn’t look up.
“Hm, someone told me this team needs all the help it can get if it finally wants to win a cup,” he states, voice still just as calm. Rozanov laughs, throwing the water bottle back behind the barrier as he skates closer to Hollander, resting both his hands against the railing, his eyes trained on the other, who has yet to look away once.
“Is so? Hm, well, makes sense they hired you. Those who can’t do, coach, or so I heard,” he taunts. Shane huffs.
“Then I expect to see you being head coach in no time, Mr. Rozanov,” he replies, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Ilya smirks up at him, eyes sparkling while looking at Hollander. His hand reaches out to tug at the string of Shane’s sweater, causing the other man to finally look at him, an equally mischievous smile on his face
“Hm, if I’m gonna be the future coach and you are the new coach, we should have dinner sometime, yes? Get to know each other better,” he says, still tugging on Shane’s sweater, so the other steps closer. He laughs before lifting up his clipboard, showing it to Ilya.
“Well, I’d love to, but I’m afraid the Captain of this team has left me with a lot to fix. Got no time, I fear,” he pouts.
“That is too bad. Maybe he can just show me around the arena then, hm? I hear there’s a storage area a little off the locker rooms that's perfect for-”
“Mr. Rozanov, I’m just the new assistant coach. I can’t believe you’d proposition me at work!” Shane exclaimed in fake outrage while laughing, making Ilya grin widely.
“Who says I'm proposing anything? I just want to get familiar with the staff,” he smiled, his hand moving from the string of Shane’s sweater to drag a suggestive finger down his chest, both boys lost in the action, with bright grins on their faces.
Loud groans off the side interrupt the scene, and the camera hastily swings to Troy and Luca, sitting only a few seats away in the players' box.
“You two are quite literally married and fucking annoying,” Troy groans.
“Hm. I’m also your fucking Captain. 10 drills for that,” Ilya muses as the camera zooms out to capture both the couple and him. Ilya’s body was turned towards Troy, but his hand was now resting in the pocket of Shane’s sweater as if it were a normal place to be.
Troy stood up in shock.
“Oh come on, I just finished my drills!” he lamented.
Shane clicked his tongue, lifting up his clipboard again and shuffling some papers.
“Well, actually, you were 0.23 seconds slower today than your average. It seems to me like following your Captain's orders might be a good idea,” he said matter-of-factly.
Troy sputtered for a second before eventually getting up, sliding out to the ice while the camera followed him, and a distinct “Monsters” could be heard.
“And while I’m on it, your goal accuracy was down 0.76%!” Shane called as he began walking after him.
The camera panned back to Ilya’s face, which was staring at Shane with an expression entirely unfit for a public setting.
“What a fucking nerd,” he laughed, his eyes following Shane, the camera swinging between them before eventually landing back on Ilya.
“I want to eat him,” he said, voice low and reverent.
Luca blinked at him, horror slowly etching onto his face.
“Like…sexually or…literally?” he asked.
Behind the camera, Harris cleared his throat to remind them of the camera’s presence. Ilya’s eyes had never left Shane, from where he was still berating Troy, citing some charts from his clipboard.
“Yes,” he just said, purred.
Haas looked into the camera in utter fear and shock. The shot froze briefly, moving off to the side as the infamous shot of the scared hamster appeared next to it with a small text appearing underneath, reading;
This picture has become a frequent meme in the Ottawa Centaurs group chat.
(Confessional shot of Boodram in the locker rooms from a different day in the process of putting on his gear)
“I mean, Roz’ got it bad, you know?” he laughs.
“I was the first to notice the ring, the one in a chain around his neck, and that’s pretty much when it clicked for me that he had moved here for someone special. I mean, we all heard the stories, so I was really surprised, but it wasn’t so unbelievable. I know my wife certainly tamed me,” he said, laughing again while shaking his head and putting on an elbow patch.
“After learning that it was Hollander, some other things started making sense, like why we hadn’t met his partner yet and whatnot. But I think what none of us expected was the way Roz’ would just be so-”
He made a sharp and loud whip sound with his mouth, his hand following the motion.
(Cut to a shot of the team walking back into the lockerroom after a gruelling practice, everyone heaving and panting while slowly shedding their gear)
“I fucking hate morning practice, I never have time to eat before. Hey Cap, can we all just go somewhere? Hopefully, your treat, Mr. NHL top player?" Hayes pleaded, nodding towards Roz, who was sitting on the bench next to Hollander, passing him a waterbottle. Shane quietly thanked him before drinking from it.
“Sure, whatever. You all did really well today. Let’s go to the Mexican across the street,” he said between heavy breaths, a smile on his face.
True to their exhaustion, there was only a mild chorus of ‘yays’ before Hollander finished drinking from the bottle, releasing it with a suction sound.
“Not Mexican. Choose somewhere else,” he breathed before using the rest of the waterbottle to drizzle some water onto his head and then his husband’s, next to him, who simply shook his head as Hollader carded through his hair once to distribute the water.
“Alright, sweetheart. What about Greek?” the Captain instantly replied as he began unlacing his boots.
The camera panned over to Boodroom who stared directly into it, mouthing the words “See? W h i p p e d,” before doing the motion again. The camera panned back to the Hockey couple.
Shane leaned back against the locker, smiling down at Rozanov, who was still untying his boots. His hand was still cradling the other’s wet hair.
“I think that would also be too heavy, we have dinner with my parents tonight, remember? How about some poke bowls-”
The team quietly groaned at the suggestion of Shane’s healthy food choices, but was quickly shut up by their Captain’s head snapping up, glaring into the room. He then turned his head to look at Hollander.
“If you want rabbit food, sweetheart, we’ll get you your rabbit food,” he said with a shrug and playful smile.
(Cut to Barrett, sitting next to Harris on the sofa by the vending machines)
Barrett snorts, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, don’t quote me on this, but Hollander walks Roz’ like a dog,”
“That kitty's claws have been pulled,” Harris said in a sing-song, not looking up from where he was typing something into a laptop on his lap, his feet in Troy’s lap.
(Cut to zoomed in footage, possibly from a window, of Shane taking to his mother, Yuna Hollander, who is showing him something on an ipad, both of them with serious expressions while they keep a brisque, businesslike pace, followed by Ilya, strolling behind them while looking down at his phone, his fingers twisted into the back of Shane’s sweatshirt as if not to lose him.)
(Cut to a taping of the first Montreal vs. Centaurs game after Hollanders switch, moments after the infamous fight Rozanov got into. In the shot, Shane is standing slightly off the side, a bit away from where the Refs are currently dragging away the player to the Montreal bench. Another Ref pushes Ilya away towards Shane. As Ilya turns around, you can see Shane saying something to him, his hand pointing at him, before he abruptly turns around and skates away. Rozanov sighs, throwing his head into his neck before dutifully skating after Hollander.)
“Oh, oh, trouble in paradise already?” the voice of the announcer prompts over the shot.
(Cut to Shane and Ilya’s confessional)
“You know, some of the other players have hinted that you guys are easy to give in to each other. Married people stuff, of course. However, some critics like to think that may have applied to each other on the ice from when you were playing against each other?” Harris' voice carefully asks.
Shane's eyes narrow while Ilya just rolls his, blowing out a loud breath through his mouth. Shane suddenly crosses his arms in front of his chest, leaning back into his chair while looking off to the side in annoyance.
“I think that was the worst part about being outed, despite the invasion of privacy and everyone putting their noses into our personal business, of course. But being asked if we ever let each other win? That made my blood boil. Still does,” he states seriously.
"Truly ridiculous. He’d never forgive me if I let him win. And him, letting anybody win? Clearly, you have never had to play Monopoly with a Hollander. It’s a nightmare,” Rozanov lamented.
“I mean, they think that, what, there were games where I would throw the towel just to make my stupid fucking boyfriend happy?” Shane marched on, his brows furrowing even further.
Rozanov's head turns to him, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, I am your stupid fucking boyfriend, am I?” he asks.
Hollander blinks before turning his head, an apology on his lips. However, despite Rozanov’s warning eyes, a smile was playing on his lips.
“Well,” Hollander states, his voice now lengths warmer than before.
“Now you’re just my stupid, fucking amazing husband,” he snorts, his hand reaching out to grab Ilya’s before bringing it to his lips, like Ilya had done to theirs at the beginning of the interview. Ilya just hummed, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, avoiding Shane’s adoring look.
“Sure, love you too,” he said sarcastically, turning his head away from him.
Shane smiled wider, kissing the back of Rozanov’s hand one more time before tugging on it.
“Hey, come on,” he said, still smiling.
Rozanov finally turned to him, still carrying an unimpressed look. Shane brought his hand up to his face, using thumb and index finger to squish Ilya’s cheeks and turning further his head towards him.
“Shut up, you know I love you,” he said, squishing Ilya’s cheeks. The latter hummed again, this time more happily, his eyes going soft as he looked at Shane, the two sharing intimate eye contact.
Shane cocked his head slightly, his fingers still squishing Ilya’s cheeks as he looked at him almost apologetically.
“But I’d still rather chomp my arm off than let you win at Monopoly, let alone Hockey,” he said before pressing a quick peck to his lips, causing Ilya to snort.
(Slowly, the same distinctive piano music from the beginning music fades in again)
(Cut to a black screen, adjusting as a camera is being turned on, and the visor is taken off. You can only see the feet of someone on a concrete floor as the lens adjusts.)
“Hey, that's Harris’ camera,” Barrett’s voice says off camera, playing over the outro music.
“What does he want to film again?” the voice of Ilya Rozanov says before the camera turned around to show Rozanov in his gear, behind him empty seats of the stadium, presumably in the players' box.
"Some sort of documentary footage?” Barrett, next to him, says.
“Ah, documentary. Well, then,” Rozanov laughs before the camera is turned around to show Hollander on the ice, idly skating as he practices switching the puck with his stick.
“Here we have an example of a very boring Canadian in his natural habitat, doing what feels natural to him. Being boring,” Rozanov mimics, as he follows Hollander with the camera around.
As if he senses being in the gaze of his husband, Hollander comes to a slow skate, letting his stick rest as he straightens up and looks over to the players' box. Upon seeing Rozanov, a slow smile appeared on his face, which turned into a bright grin, eyes soft and posture relaxed in a way that a very limited number of people have ever seen the star Hockey player on the ice.
“He is, also, the love of my life.” Ilya’s voice says quietly as he slowly zooms in on Shane’s face, whose smile never leaves him as he looks down on the ground, a small blush underneath his beautiful freckles. Almost as if he heard him all across the ice.
@Hollanovwarrior#1: amazing, give me 14 of those
@thenhlcansckmyd1ck: FOUGHT ALL THE ODDS AND NOW THEY CAN JUST BE GAY HOCKEY DADS BEING CUTE AND ANNOYING THEIR TEAMMATES YES
@Namjooncansuckmyt2s: I never gave a shit abt Hockey but suddenly im crying over two hockey dudes and their found family, fUCK
@thosetwofirefighterstruther: shane hollander coming out of that shower dripping wet looking like a glazed donut and then ilya rozanov licking his fucking face and calling him mine like some bad madia wattpad story? idc this shit has awakend smth in me
@ROZ81: if you told me 8 years ago Roz would be called whipped for shane hollander and that he walks him around like a dog…i would have asked you for the ff link
@Shaniatwink: it physically makes me ache that he cannot get that man pregnant just LOOK at them, they already have a son-...and then he said he wants to EAT him oh my god im so not normal abt them
@hockeymeup: That (probably) overcaffinated queer social media manager had 10 dollars, a team full of millenials a dream. And still made history.
@puckbunny4: There's a positive work environment, a hostile work environment, and then whatever gay shit this is
@Bostonbeartrap: everyone talking abt how down bad rozanov is but hollander literally can’t look at that dude without his eyes turning into literal boba hearts its insane
@quadrableaxel: oh i just know they would absolutely eat up a game of charades against the others
@pugmeup: calling your husband asshole as a term of endearment, shane hollander bossy bottom tsundere i see you