Work Text:
"How do you think Canada is handling the news?" Vaughny flashes his phone screen at them all, and Scott catches sight of the picture of the Olympic rings and the word 'condom' and has to suppress an eye roll.
"Hollander's probably had the whole team on a sex ban this whole time anyway," Gishy jokes, and Scott's laugh only lasts long enough to catch Jordan's thousand yard stare from across the table. He'd played two seasons with the Cens. Won a Cup with them.
He tips his chin in Jordan's direction once he blinks himself back from whatever shadow realm the comment had sent him to. Jordan frowns at them all. "You never had to room next to them during playoff games. I can assure you there is no sex ban Shane Hollander has implemented."
That seems to weird out at least a few of the guys at the table, who go quiet and dart their gazes to Scott for a moment like they're choking down whatever cock swallower comment was on the tip of their tongues. He's used to it, by now. At least they still respect him enough to bite their tongues. Maybe one day something about the culture of this sport will change.
Carter is too busy wondering about Hollander and Rozanov's sex life to worry about saying something homophobic. "Oh man are they freaky?"
"Competition is foreplay for them, Vaughny, draw whatever conclusions you need to from that."
Carter blinks, and God love him, seems intent on drawing his conclusion right there, no matter how long it takes him to process what Scott was implying. Scott doesn't even know what he was implying, except that in hindsight it was obvious as hell that the rivalry schtick was an excellent excuse for Rozanov and Hollander to be freaky in public with very little consequence. After a moment, Carter grins.
"Well what the fuck are we supposed to do?" Johnston asks, looking like he really might die if he doesn't get to fuck.
Scott shrugs. "You want me to impose a sex ban? Might make you all feel a little bit better about not getting any."
Johnston sighs. Stares despondently out the window of the coffee shop they're in. "I'd know it wasn't actually your fault and feel guilty for being mad at you."
Carter stifles a laugh. "Jesus Christ what are you gonna do when you get married and go on a roadie, man?"
Johnston looks like he's about to say something really fucking stupid like "Cheat." right there in Carter's face, and Scott doesn't have time to deal with the first aid Johnston is about to require.
"I'll talk to Benny. See if I can convince him to make a special trip." Buying condoms for a bunch of sex-pests who can't go a night without getting their dick wet isn't really in the equipment manager's job description, but Benny speaks Italian. And like, four other languages, too, Scott has no idea what Benny is doing keeping track of dumb hockey players sticks when he could be out there figuring out how to rule the world, or something. He likes hockey, he always says, with a satisfied shrug. Scott gets it.
He shoots a text off to Benny and tries his best to continue keeping the peace.
---
Benny rolls his eyes when Scott opens his door. "That was fast," he says, and Benny sighs. Deeply.
The tote in his hand is already raised for the handoff. "Rozanov has some sort of black market condom exchange going on over at the hotel Canada is staying in."
That doesn't surprise him even a little, except - "There's like four boxes in here," he says, incredulous, when he grabs the tote from Benny. Benny sighs again.
"I had to promise them Canada gets first crack at the saws whenever they meet up with us."
"That's a hefty price."
"Hollander tried to negotiate some light equipment tampering and had to be talked down."
"You talked Hollander down?"
"No, Rozanov did."
Scott shakes his head. The Olympics have turned everyone fucking insane.
"To be fair, he mostly did it while laughing hysterically because Hollander wanted me to switch out people's stick tape."
Benny is well aware that would send at least three players on this team spiraling, but Rozanov's idea of a prank probably involves misdemeanors, so.
Benny tips his head back. "Still not the weirdest thing I've ever had to do on short notice, but I'm gonna go now and never speak of this again."
Scott dumps the boxes out on his bed. Goes to hand the tote back to Benny, and Benny shakes his head. "No, Rozanov said that was specifically for you."
Benny's out the door before Scott gets a good look at the array of dinosaurs decorating the outside of the tote.
---
"How the fuck many condoms did you pack?" Asks Markus when Rozanov barters for two of the German's phone numbers in exchange for two boxes. He'd been expecting maybe five total, not two fucking boxes. Markus has no idea what he plans to do with the numbers, but he knows Haas had shown a little interest in at least one of the men connected to them.
"Is Hollander's bright idea. He says 'they always run out too early, they need at least triple the amount of athletes for every single day' - he made me bring an extra carry-on."
"...you brought at entire suitcase of condoms."
"Was room for the little tote bags!"
Markus can still remember when he was terrified of Ilya Rozanov. Hell, up until about five minutes ago, he was still terrified of Ilya Rozanov. But now he's seen his true colors. He's just out here mama henning his way through life.
"How many do you have left?"
Rozanov looks shirty, for a moment. "Was a big suitcase."
Markus doesn't actually know the logistics of how team Canada got here, but he's imagining a customs agent scanning an entire bag filled with boxes of condoms and just...having to let that go.
Still. It's not like he'll have to fly home with many. Markus heard about Rozanov's stash through like six other people, including one of the Swedish curlers. By the end of the week everyone will be hitting up Rozanov for his goods.
"Take care of Haasy for me," Roz says, as he hands off a tote with a cartoon yeti on it. Or maybe it's a sasquatch - he's Canadian, after all.
"I would have given him Huber's number for free," Markus tells Rozanov, and slings the tote over his shoulder.
Rozanov smirks back. "I would have given you condoms for free. You're the one who came looking for a trade."
---
"No," Ilya says to the man at the door, and slams it closed so quickly the man has to stumble back to keep his nose from breaking. Shane glances up at him.
"His agent put out statement defending Dallas Kent," Ilya tells Shane with a shrug. "I hope his dick shrivels up and dies before an Olympian sleeps with him."
---
"I gave your equipment manager four boxes," Ilya says, and Scott sighs.
"I'm here on a social call."
Shane is already shrugging into his Lulu jacket and glancing apologetically at Ilya. "You said you didn't want to watch the men's free skate. Scott and Carter had fun the last time we went."
Ilya can feel cartilage crunching when he rolls his jaw. Damn. "Fine, I will go with." The last time he'd watched figure skating he'd been so fucking miserable he'd wondered how badly it would mess up the performances if his body landed on the ice mid triple axel. He'd yelled at Shane. This time will be better.
"You need a ticket," Scott says, and Ilya narrows his eyes.
"Does Kip know you are trying to steal my husband?"
"Kip is coming too," Scott parries. "Kip is a good husband who doesn't refuse to go to events his husband wants to go to."
"This is because I am bisexual. Not gay enough for the rest of you."
"Carter is also going," Shane reminds him, working on the laces of his right shoe.
"Carter would fuck you in heartbeat if not for his beautiful movie star."
"Carter is right out here in the hallway begging you two to be cordial."
Ilya has to bite down the urge to blow a raspberry. "What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"
From the inner pocket of his jacket, Shane produces a second ticket. He's been tricked. This was all a trick. And he enlisted Scott fucking Hunter to help him
He loves his husband so fucking much.
---
"I never got the sex ban, to be honest," Shane is saying, when Ilya settles back into his seat. It's taken years of being an absolute nightmare to get Shane to even say the word sex to other people without blushing. Well.
His ears are a little pink.
It's fucking adorable.
"Yeah, we hear you guys have a different set of rituals for playoffs than the rest of us."
Shane blinks at Carter Vaughn. There's a bit of pink in his cheeks, now, too.
"Some people say the tension makes you more aggressive," Carter blazes on, unaware Shane has just had to factory reset himself.
Or not. "Some people should know the endorphins make you better rested and more focused," Shane argues.
Vaughn laughs, and reaches over Scott and Shane to smack Ilya in the chest. "Is that how you added all that hardware to your collection? A scientific release of endorphins?"
Two more Cups since Shane came to the Cens. A Conn Smythe for each of them, two Presidents trophies. It's far less about the sex than the fact that Ilya gets to wake up to those freckles every single day and admire them as much as he likes. He's not telling Carter that, though. "Yes, my release is very potent."
"Gross, Ilya," Shane says, simultaneously with Hunter's "Gross, Rozanov."
---
Ilya downloads a translation app on his phone the fourth time a Japanese athlete knocks on his door. He's starting to realize that broadcasting information about his supply was not the smartest idea he's ever had. Shane has threatened to get his own room the last two times someone showed up after ten-thirty.
He's in over his head.
Ilya just wants to fuck his husband without getting interrupted by other horny athletes.
He shoots the text off to the only person he can think of who might actually be a little responsible about this.
"You can fuck right off,' Hayes says, before Ilya can do so much as greet him after answering his call.
Thankfully, Ilya traded for a trump card two dozen boxes ago. "Georgian skier traded me for something called Batman Adventures #12. You can have it if you take The Suitcase."
"Fuck you, no they didn't."
"He said I had to keep it in the plastic," Ilya continues. "But I can't read it if I keep in plastic, so -."
"Fucking fine. I'll keep this entire damn village supplied, do not open the plastic."
Ilya doesn't really get the whole comic books thing, but he knows when to have an ace up his sleeve.
---
"I do not have them anymore," Ilya says to the approaching group of snowboarders, who all deflate. It's been six days. The Village is fucked. Or these athletes don't know how to use fucking condoms, in which case... the Village is fucked. "You have to talk to Hayesy."
"Who the fuck is Hayesy?" American. New England, if Ilya had to wager a guess. Either a former fan of Ilya's who hates him for moving to Ottawa, or a fan of a rival team who hates him for boosting Boston to stardom for almost a decade.
"Is goalie. For Team Canada. Looks like massive nerd." He rolls the phrase over in his head. "I mean, he is very large, and also a nerd."
The kid stares at him for a long, long moment. "Good luck against Germany tomorrow."
Ilya grins. "Good luck spinning and twisting and flipping with your legs in shackles."
When Shane sits down beside him thirty seconds later, he has three tiramisu and a bemused grin on his face.
"What?"
"What what?" Shane stares at him like he has no idea what Ilya is asking.
Ilya gestures. "That smile. Who is that for?"
"Oh. Um. You, I guess."
Shane doesn't elaborate. He's too busy shoving a forkful of dessert into his mouth, and Ilya has to take the opportunity to admire him for at least a few seconds. He's indulging, in Milan. Ilya has watched him eat more pasta and delicate desserts in the week and a half they've been here than he ate for at least the first three years of their relationship.
The irony of this being the most laid back Ilya has ever seen him in a competition setting isn't lost on him. The media had gotten a single soundbite out of him before the round robin had begun, some beat reporter Ilya didn't know asking Shane if he had any plans for what he would be doing to enjoy himself in between games. And Shane, without a hint of a smile, had told him he wasn't there to have fun.
Of course, he'd immediately made himself out to be a liar by getting caught on an arena camera joining in with the rest of Team Canada in a crowd wave.
"Me why?" There's a better way to phrase the question, but sometimes Shane gets pissy when Ilya falls back on the "language barrier" and Ilya likes it when he's riled.
"Two of the Australian skiers gave me their tiramisu? Said they made a deal with you."
"Is not my fault they all thought condoms were given through a bartering system. You are one who tried to get Benny to switch out American's stick tape."
"You spent a stupid amount of money on them."
"Shane. We are very rich."
"Well how come we're the only ones who planned ahead?"
"Who is this 'we' you speak of? Only one of us boarded two different flights with whole suitcase full of condoms."
Shane grins back at him. Ilya sometimes wishes he could burrow under Shane's cheeks, count the freckles from inside his skin. "I carried it for you at least once."
Shane's mock outrage when Ilya stuffs an entire slab of tiramisu into his mouth is entirely worth it.
---
Shane gets the text from his mom twenty minutes after Ilya has sucked his soul out of him. He has his head pillowed on Ilya's arm, his phone balanced on his chest and his glasses propped too far down his nose because he's too comfortable to move enough to push them back up, when the notification slides across the top, and he glances up at the preview, sure he's about to get some insight into the weaknesses of the Hunter led US team.
Mom: Can you explain to me why Trojan just reached out to
His phone knocks his glasses off the tip of his nose when he drops it straight onto his own face.
"Shane?" Ilya's been snoring in his ear for the last ten minutes, but he blinks blearily now as Shane shuffles into a sitting position, staring at the phone that has tumbled into his lap.
"Uh. Mom just...uh."
"You are freaking out." He goes from sleepy and ruffled to serious and alert in a heartbeat. One day, Shane will be able to tell Ilya how much he appreciates that about him. "What's wrong?"
Shane takes a deep breath. Flips his phone back into his hand and opens the thread of messages from his mother.
Mom: Can you explain to me why Trojan just reached out to talk to me about an endorsement with the two of you?
Shane nods his head. Yep. Yeah, that's about what he expected. They've given out so many at this point, Shane couldn't even begin to say who would have spilled the beans.
He passes the phone off to Ilya in silence.
Ilya's laugh breaks the silence. "You think chances of landing this deal change if we tell them we only brought Durex?"
"Ilya." He's trying desperately not to smile about this, the absurdity of it all, the pull of Ilya's wide grin as he hams it up.
"Could invite Hayden to join. Consequences of not using contraceptives: thirty children and premature greys."
"Hayden does not have grey hair."
"Oh, so you are looking closely?"
It's bait. It's a trap. "He's a very handsome man." Shane tosses his phone onto the nightstand and pretends he isn't getting exactly what he wants when Ilya pins him to the bed amidst both their peels laughter.
---
The game comes down to double OT. Shane can't fucking believe Hunter managed to wrangle his team of degenerates into a cohesive group in time for this.
Tuccard throws caution to the fucking wind with four minutes left. "Hollander, Rozanov, Barrett. Go out there and end this shit."
It takes them seventy-two seconds. It's not the longest shift Shane's ever skated, but as he finds a streaking Troy barrelling through the neutral zone, it certainly feels like it.
Ilya makes it over the blue line just after Troy, and Troy's pass connects. The puck wobbles, Ilya corrals, and Shane watches four US players converge in front of the net. Ilya twists out of a poke check and sends the puck careening Shane's way.
There's a screen. For half a second too long, the D pair shift in front of the crease, and Shane sends a wrister flying through the air.
Troy is in his arms before Shane has had a chance to do more than raise his arms in celebration. Ilya collides with them both and sends them careening into the boards, and then the rest of the team is there, screaming and yelling and definitely crying because they played a game and two thirds of another one before they could pull away.
In the chaos, Shane only catches snippets of what everyone is screaming and yelling around him. A couple "Captain fucking Canada"s break containment, and when the dog pile finally eases a bit, Ilya kisses Shane's face about fifty different times and Shane isn't even mad about it, even when Barrett, Hayes, and at least three other team members follow suit.
It's not until after the podium that Mom sends him the clip of Ilya yelling "wrap it up", and informs him that Durex and SKYN have both reached out as well.