Work Text:
When Kip had started dating a hockey player, he had accepted that he might have to start watching more hockey. This was to be expected. He wanted to support his partner’s work. It also helped that Scott looked incredibly hot when he was in his element. What he had not anticipated (but in hind-sight, he probably should have), was that he would be watching more than just Scott’s team play.
Now, Kip wouldn’t say that he was a hockey expert now by any means, but he’s picked up some stuff. That stuff mostly being Scott’s opinions on other teams and players. And there was certainly a range to Scott’s thoughts. While watching one game, he might comment something as simple as, “He’s a nice guy,” or typical hockey talk like, “That dude is fucking scary on the ice. I do everything in my power to avoid fighting him when we play against each other.”
Sometimes, though, his commentary was a bit more, well, gossipy. He’ll point to a guy on the screen (who will no longer be where he’s pointing a second later due to the fast-moving nature of the game) and say something like, “You see him? He’s deathly afraid of butterflies.”
And Kip would of course ask Scott, “How and why do you know that?”
And Scott would shrug and say, unaffected, “Was near him when he saw one at the All Star game.”
Another memorable time, Scott had shared that two guys on LA’s team were dating the same supermodel, and neither of them knew about the other guy.
“How do you learn all of this information?” Kip asked, incredulous.
“I think I have a trustworthy face? And I’m observant.”
“You’re observant?”
“Oh yeah, that’s just the tip of the iceberg of professional hockey gossip, you don’t even know,” Scott said, shaking his head.
The two of them had laughed at that.
That all led to today, when Scott dropped quite possibly the most interesting bit of gossip Kip had ever heard, at least concerning hockey players. After Scott had come back from practice, and the two of them had settled in for the night, Scott had turned on the Montreal-Boston game.
It was a tight game, with scoring going back and forth, mostly between Hollander and Rozanov. Kip certainly knew those names after hearing Scott complain about playing against them on multiple occasions.
On screen, Rozanov was getting up in Hollander’s face after Hollander’s shot was snatched by Boston’s goalie, stopping the play. Rozanov was smiling in a taunting way as his shoulder pads bumped into Hollander. Despite their supposedly fierce rivalry, Hollander just rolled his eyes and didn’t really fight back.
Scott scoffed, shaking his head.
“What’s that?” Kip asked.
“Nothing,” Scott replied, clearly lying.
“What?” Kip questioned further.
Scott sat in silence for a moment. Kip stared at him, eyebrows raised. Finally, Scott looked down and sighed. “Okay, but you’re not allowed to tell anybody what I’m about to tell you.”
“I can keep a secret, Scott,” Kip said. Unfortunately, he could not keep the smallest bit of heartbreak out of his voice. Scott looked like he felt a little bad about that, but he quickly recovered.
Scott visibly psyched himself a little bit to say the next part, “Okay, those two,” he gestures at the screen, “They’re fucking.”
“Which two?”
“Hollander and Rozanov.”
“Hollander and Rozanov?”
“Yeah,” Scott confirmed, letting out a small chuckle.
“But don’t they, like, hate each other?”
“Supposedly.”
“But they’re fucking?”
“Yep.”
“How in the world do you know this?” Kip asked, exasperated. “That doesn’t seem like information they would voluntarily give to you.”
“They’re not exactly subtle about it. It’s just that most guys don’t know what to look for.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, like…their rookie year, they organized a hook up at the All Star Game, on the ice, right in front of me.”
“What? How did they pull that off with only you noticing?”
“Rozanov gave Hollander his room number. I happened to have the room next to Rozanov. And like clockwork…”
“You heard them?”
“...They certainly don’t hate each other. Also, Hollander can’t lie to save his life. It’s a good thing nobody’s asked point blank if he’s sleeping with his biggest rival.”
Kip shook his head in disbelief, and turned back to watch the game. Hollander and Rozanov were taking a faceoff. Ironically enough given the information Kip now had, the announcers were talking about the deep seated hatred between Montreal and Boston being best epitomized by the rivalry between their two captains.
“It’s kind of funny,” Kip said.
“What is?”
“You know there are these two other queer players in the league, but you hate both of them,” Kip said, letting out a full laugh.
“Hey,” Scott responded, “I don’t hate Hollander.”
“You don’t hate Hollander? Aren’t you like the only person he’s fought his entire career?”
“How do you know about that?”
“I watched that game. Before we were dating. When I had this massive crush on the cute hockey player that kept buying smoothies from me. So massive that I started watching all his games,” Kip said, smirking.
“That wasn’t my proudest moment.”
“What did you even do to piss him off?”
“Well he made a comment about how I wasn’t playing well.”
“And he fought you for a comment he made?”
“I might have implied that I knew about him and Rozanov.” Scott winced.
“Oh my god. You could have outed him?”
“No. God, no. Nothing like that. I just said that he was starting to sound like Rozanov. So like…he knew what I meant and I knew what I meant, but nobody else did.”
“But you two fought anyway?”
Scott sighed, “Yeah, we did.”
“You’re really isolating yourself from your potential community of gay hockey players,” Kip joked.
“Well, my potential community of gay hockey players should stop being annoying little shits without an ounce of discretion in their bodies.”
“This is so fun to see. My kind, trustworthy, gentlemanly boyfriend can be kind of a bitch!”
Scott let out another scoff (though this one was fonder than the one he gave Hollander and Rozanov’s antics) as Kip laughed at him.
“Well, remind me to introduce you to them if, god forbid, you’re ever in the same room. You’ll see. Those two’s shenanigans will turn anyone into a bitch.”