Chapter Text
Shane
Neither the Centaurs nor the Voyagers won the cup in 2021, though the Voyagers made it further in the playoffs, eliminating Ottawa in what was a much tougher series of matches than most of the sports world expected. It stung, of course, being eliminated always did, but far less than usual due to one very important factor. It was officially summer for Shane and Ilya.
They got married two days after the Voyagers were eliminated, in a small government office with only Shane’s parents and an official, who clearly had no idea who the two of them were, in attendance. Hayden, Rose, and Svetlana were all displeased with their lack of invitation, but it was only legal stuff, and they hadn’t wanted to have a crowd. The real wedding would come later, once they were out to the public. The only reason they were doing this ahead of time was to ensure Ilya’s safety. Shane’s worst fear was that he’d be deported to Russia—which could absolutely not happen—and it was impossible to predict how things would shake out once they were out of the closet.
Despite the casual nature of the whole thing, once they were done and had said their goodbyes with Yuna and David, they couldn't keep their hands off one another. They barely made it back to the cottage before Ilya pounced, and they nearly tripped over the doorframe just trying to make it to the bedroom; all the while calling one another ‘husband’ and laughing through their tears.
It was a good night.
Ilya
“Shaaaane,” Ilya whined, coming up behind Shane’s stool at the kitchen island and wrapping his arms around his middle. He rested his chin on his shoulder and squinted at the tiny English text on the screen of his husband’s laptop. “What are you doing? And why have you left bed to do it?”
They’d only been married for two days, and it was his opinion that they should only leave bed for food and bathroom breaks, and even those were debatable. He would make an exception if they were going to have exciting, kinky sex somewhere else around the cottage. But this was clearly not that.
“I’m planning,” Shane said, distractedly.
Ilya kissed behind his ear. “Ooh! Sexy plans?”
“No. Logistical ones.”
He booed. “It’s our honeymoon. No planning for at least a week.”
“Oh, so we shouldn’t take that trip to Mexico after our real wedding then?” Shane teased.
“No. That is second honeymoon. Same rules apply.”
“Uh huh.” He could see Shane holding back a smile. “Well, this is… potentially exciting planning. Nothing bad. I’m working with Mom and Farah on potential statements we could release and making a list of the people we want to tell before we go public,” Shane’s voice was shy.
“Oh.” A smile crept onto his face. It still felt unreal that they were finally doing this. After eleven years, the world would finally know Shane was his and that he belonged to Shane, body and soul. And it would be on their terms, which was all he could ask for.
Shane was back to squinting at his computer; he hadn’t brought his glasses out from the bedroom. God, Ilya loved him. “Let me go get your glasses, my love. Then you can tell me about your exciting but not sexy coming out plans.”
Shane looked up at him, expression soft. “Thank you.”
A few minutes later, the two of them were seated on the couch, and Shane said, “So I want to tell JJ first, and the rest of the team right before we release our statement.”
“You want to do these separately?”
Shane nodded. “I trust JJ, but I’m honestly not sure about some of the other guys.” He looked down at his lap. “I don’t want any of them to turn out to be a dick and sell the story before we’re ready. Especially not so close to our plan to do it ourselves. None of them have been outwardly homophobic, but being gay is one thing, and this…” He trailed off, but Ilya could easily fill in the blanks himself.
“Anyone elseyou want to tell?”
“Scott.”
Ilya groaned dramatically. “Please tell me you do not mean Scott Hunter.”
“He’s a good guy!”
“But he is dinosaur,” Ilya whined.
“Shut up.” Shane slapped his arm playfully. “Besides, he should probably have some warning. The media’s going to be hounding him for a statement once the news breaks.”
“Okay, okay. Fine. We will tell the dinosaur.”
“What about you?” Shane turned to him, and Ilya very bravely resisted the lure that was Shane in glasses.
“Who I want to tell?”
Shane nodded. “Yeah.”
“Hmm…” He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “I want to tell Cliff.”
“Cliff… Marlow? The guy who broke my collarbone?”
“Yes.” Ilya nodded. He hadn’t realised until that moment, but he wanted to tell Cliff. He’d been the person Ilya had let closest when he was on the Bears and a constant source of support when it came to his ‘Montreal Girl’. They only texted occasionally since he’d switched teams, and they would get drinks when they were in the same city, but he didn’t worry about Cliff telling anyone. Some instinct was telling him he was trustworthy; a good friend.
“Are you sure he won't talk?”
“Yes. Cliff is a… good guy.”
“Okay. Anyone else?”
“I also think I would like to tell Troy and Harris.”
Shane nodded. “Makes sense. Troy already knows you’re bi, right?”
“Yes, and Harris will just be glad he has time to prepare a team statement.”
“Speaking of the team…”
“I will do last minute, same as you. I believe they are all good guys, but we should still be careful.”
“Is that it then?” Shane asked, and Ilya nodded. “I guess then the real question is, who do we hit first?”
“Hit?”
“You haven’t heard that one before?”
“No.” It wasn’t often that Ilya was surprised by English phrases these days, but this one was foreign to him.
“It just means like, who should we go talk to first. Like ‘hit up’.”
“Ah, I know that one.”
“I think we should tell Scott first. He’ll be the hardest one to find time to see, but I have that commercial shooting in New York next week, and I could tell him after that. You could travel separately to be there too, but that might look suspicious.” Shane’s face scrunched into a frustrated and concerned frown.
Ilya reached out a hand and smoothed out the frown lines with a gentle caress. “Will be fine. Just coincidence, yes? Is not like the story has to hold up for very long.”
“Yeah.” Shane’s mouth quirked up into a smile, lighting up his face. “I guess it doesn’t.”
Scott
Scott hadn’t thought much of it when Shane Hollander sent him a message about wanting to meet up. Apparently, he had a commercial he was shooting in the city, and over the years, they’d occasionally gotten together for drinks or a meal. It wasn’t even a surprise that Shane—one of the most notoriously private guys in the league—asked if they could meet at his place rather than a restaurant. Scott had no qualms about that. Kip was out of town on business, so they wouldn’t be bothering him. Also, though his mainstream fame had faded over the years, he still tended to get mobbed whenever he was out in public, and adding Shane Hollander to the mix was a recipe for disaster.
What was a shock was when he opened his front door to find both Shane and Ilya Rozanov standing awkwardly in the hall. And it was awkward. Shane looked like he wanted to run away, and Rozanov had yet to hit him with a chirp about his age, even though several seconds had already passed.
“Hello?” Scott eventually said. “I didn’t realize you were bringing… company.”
Shane winced. “Sorry. It’s complicated. Can we just… come in?”
With a shrug, he opened the door further and allowed them to pass. This was bound to be interesting. He walked into the kitchen and said, “No allergies, right, Rozanov? I just made chicken parm, but I really don’t want to end up in the news for poisoning a rival.”
Rozanov laughed. “No. I will eat anything. No problem.”
Thankfully, he was used to hosting hockey players, so he’d cooked more than enough for the three of them. As he puttered around the kitchen, grabbing dishes, he wondered what this could be about. It was probably something to do with the Irina Foundation. Maybe they wanted to set up a New York summer camp and wanted his input.
“Thanks for hosting,” Shane said as Scott put down the last plate. “I know I sort of invited myself over and then brought someone along without warning.”
“It’s fine, Hollander. Though I would like to know why…” he trailed off, raising his eyebrows and glancing at Rozanov.
Shane and Rozanov exchanged a short glance, and then Shane took a deep breath and said, “I’m gay.”
Scott slowly lowered the beer bottle he’d been about to take a sip from. He’d heard rumors, everyone in the league had over the past few years, but he wasn’t expecting an explicit confirmation. “Huh. Well… thanks for trusting me with that, Shane.”
Before he could say anything further, Rozanov spoke up, staring intently at Scott, “And I am bisexual.” Shane’s lips were pursed, and he was staring very intently at the food in front of him.
“Okay.” He leaned back in his chair. “Okay. That’s a lot all at once, but I really am glad you both felt comfortable telling me.”
“There is more,” Rozanov interrupted.
“There is?” Okay then.
“We are lovers.”
“What?” Scott felt his mouth drop open in surprise, and he faintly thought he heard Shane muttering something to Rozanov under his breath.
Rozanov spoke quietly to Shane, “Hmm, yes, I know. But I like it. Is good word.” He turned to Scott. “So you did not know, then.”
“Obviously! How the fuck was I supposed to know that?”
Rozanov opened his mouth, then– “Ilya,” Shane’s voice was low in warning. Rozanov held up his hands defensively but closed his mouth and didn’t say anything. Shane finally looked up from his plate. “Look, the reason we’re telling you is because we’re planning to go public in about a month or so, and wanted to make sure you had enough advanced warning to deal with the backlash of that.”
He had a point. The public and reporters would certainly expect some sort of meaningful statement from him about… whatever the fuck this was between Hollander and Rozanov. “So, what exactly are you going public about? I assume a real relationship? I can’t see either of you coming out just because you’re fucking.”
“No, is serious,” Rozanov said, and it was at that moment Scott realized Rozanov’s hand was on Shane’s thigh beneath the table. Jesus Christ.
“How serious?”
“Technically, we’re married,” Shane said quietly.
Scott must be having an out-of-body experience or something, but all he could think to ask was, “Technically?”
“We will have big wedding when we are out,” Rozanov said, looking at Shane with a sappy expression Scott hadn’t even known him capable of making.
“It’s just on paper,” Shane added. “To make sure Ilya’s safe, because…”
“Because Russia,” Ilya cut in, expression closed off.
Shane looked vaguely constipated. “Because Russia,” he agreed quietly.
“Right.” Scott sighed, scrubbing his hands up and down his face. “You guys do know this is, like, unbelievable, right?”
“Not entirely,” Rozanov smirked. “We told public we were friends to lower the shock factor.”
Scott gave him a wary smile. “Well, obviously, I’m still pretty shocked. Not gonna lie.”
“If you are going to tell us our relationship is okay or not okay, we don’t care,” Ilya said bluntly.
“Jesus, Ilya,” Shane muttered.
“I’m not,” Scott assured Ilya. “I have no idea how this thing with you has even been working, but you guys obviously have it figured out. It’s definitely never interfered with your hockey.”
Ilya understood what that meant: Scott didn’t believe either of them had ever thrown a game on purpose. He lowered his defenses and said, “Thank you for saying so.”
The three of them fell silent, and as the atmosphere gradually grew more awkward, Scott decided to dig into his food before it got any colder than it already had. The other two followed his lead, and they devoured their food at the average pace of any self-respecting hockey player.
Once their plates had been cleared, they moved to the living room, all three of them nursing beers, even Hollander, who Scott had never seen indulge outside the one time they did shots together.
“So, how long are we talking here?” Scott finally asked. The question had been on the tip of his tongue for as long as he’d known about the two of them, which was only about an hour. God. Had it really only been an hour?
Hollander’s gaze dropped to the floor, and Rozanov got the look he wore right before delivering a particularly devastating chirp. “How long do you think?”
“You can’t just tell me?”
“No.” Rozanov was actively grinning now. “Is more fun if you guess.”
“God… I don’t know.” He thought for a few seconds. “Maybe All Stars? The one where you guys were on a team together. What was it, 2018?”
“2017,” Shane corrected, head in his hands, sounding like he’d prefer jumping off a cliff to this conversation.
“2017 All Stars then,” Scott corrected.
“No,” Ilya said. “We started getting more serious around then, but the beginning was much earlier.”
“Oh my god,” Shane sounded exasperated. He looked up at Scott. “It was 2010. The summer before our rookie seasons.”
Scott had thought there was nothing left that could shock him, but that simple declaration blew him out of the water. “2010?”
“Yes.” Rozanov’s smile softened as he reached out and grabbed Hollander’s hand. “We were just babies, yes? So young.”
“Not babies… but, yeah. Eleven years,” Shane smiled back at Rozanov. Oh shit. They were actually kind of adorable. No! Bad Scott. He could not think of those two demons on the ice as adorable.
“So you guys have been fucking your entire MLH careers then?”
Rozanov beamed at him. “Yes! Exactly!”
“Great,” Scott said faintly before he let his expression turn dangerous, the way it often did on the ice. “You guys should think about how Crowell will react to your relationship. He’s a dinosaur. He’s standing in the way of progress. I think he’d kick me out of the league if he thought he could get away with it.”
Ilya snorted. Shane said, “He’ll probably be the same about us when we come out.”
“Probably worse,” Ilya added. “And Troy Barrett, he got an email after that was like...what is the word? Nice, but sounds angry?”
“Passive-aggressive,” Shane said.
“Yes. Okay. That.”
“Our publicist knows our situation, and our lawyers. We know what we’re walking into,” Shane said seriously.
“You know,” Scott said. “Carter Vaughan and I are trying to start a group of NHL players.” He paused. “No. Of hockey players—I’ve already reached out to Max Riley and Leah Campbell—who are interested in fighting back against toxic hockey culture. Not just homophobia, but all of it: racism, sexism, rape culture, transphobia, toxic masculinity. I know that sounds kind of huge and impossible, but it has to start somewhere.”
“Like a club?” Ilya asked. “Of nice hockey players?”
“Basically,” Scott said. “I thought when I came out that would make a difference for other queer hockey players.”
“I think it did,” Shane said. He glanced at Ilya. “It did for us, anyway.”
“Yeah? That’s nice to hear.” That was… sweet of him to say. He wondered just how much he’d changed things between them by coming out. Rozanov said they started to get serious in 2017, so the dates lined up. Scott was surprised and a little bit touched at the thought.
Scott’s mood soured as he added, “But when I heard Troy’s story, it made me realize that queer NHL players still didn’t feel safe coming out. And that’s just one problem with hockey culture.” He sighed. “Sometimes it all seems so broken, I don’t know if it can be fixed. But I want to try.”
“So,” Shane said slowly, “like, if someone in hockey says or does something awful, we would speak as a united front against it? Is that what you’re thinking?”
Scott felt himself lighting up with excitement. “Exactly! Right now, it’s scary, speaking out, when you’re just one person. But if we have an organized group who can release statements, it’s a lot less scary. It’s powerful.” He leaned forward. “I have over fifty hockey players interested in joining already. I think we can really do this. I’m sure all of us would be happy to support you guys if the league gives you any trouble.”
Ilya looked impressed. “I’m in.”
“Me too,” Shane said. “A hundred percent. I know J.J. and Hayden would be into it too.”
“My coach might join as well,” Ilya said thoughtfully. “He is a very good guy.”
“Yeah? That would be great. I’d love to get some people from that side of the bench.” He smiled. “Sorry, I kind of jumped right into my pitch. I mostly just wanted to say that, y’know, I’ve got your back. And congratulations, I guess.”
“You can congratulate us after our wedding,” Ilya said, smirking
“And when will that be?”
“July,” Shane said. He glanced at Ilya. “Makes sense, right? Maybe the week before camps start?”
Were they deciding now?
“Sure,” Ilya said easily. “Whenever.”
Scott blew out a breath. “Jesus. This is really weird. Sorry.”
“Why?” Ilya asked. “Because we are both men?”
“What?” Scott sputtered. “No! Because...you know what? Fuck you, Rozanov.”
Ilya laughed, then stood and extended his hand to Scott. “You are a good guy, Hunter.” When Scott took his hand, Ilya pulled him to his feet and, alarmingly, wrapped him in a hug. He let out a surprised-sounding “Oh,” when his enormous body collided with Ilya’s.
“Well,” Shane said. “There’s something I never thought I’d see.”
Scott laughed and stepped out of the embrace. “Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing when I saw you guys holding hands.”
“I want to be friends,” Ilya said simply.
“Me too,” Scott said. Then he grinned and added, “But not during the season, of course.”
Ilya smiled back. “Obviously. I’ll be too busy beating you.”
“Dream on, Rozanov.”