Work Text:
NOVEMBER 2018
Shane Hollander was an idiot. Scott Hunter shook his head when he realized what he was seeing. He was at the Kingfisher with Kip, watching the Metros demolish the Centaurs on the television over the bar. He’d heard rumors that Hollander had come out to his team at the beginning of the season, but there had been zero public confirmation. He hadn’t been sure the rumors were true until this very moment. He watched the slow-mo replay of Hollander checking Rozanov into the boards and saw the longing look that the younger man gave the smirking Russian. He thought back to the squirrelly way Hollander had responded the few times Scott had mentioned the other player, once even leading to a fight between the two after the final whistle.
Shane Hollander had it bad for Ilya Rozanov, and Rozanov had no idea. He at least hoped for Hollander’s sake that Rozanov had no idea. Rozanov had proven to be slightly less of a dick than Scott had originally thought him to be, but he was definitely still a dick, and he would torture Hollander if he had any idea. Scott didn’t want that for the young Canadian.
He caught Kip’s eye. “Did you catch that?” he asked. “Catch what?” Kip replied. “We’ll talk about it at home,” he said. The Kingfisher was a safe place for queer hockey players, but he certainly wasn’t about to out Shane’s crush.
Later that night, Scott didn’t say anything before playing the slow-motion clip of Hollander checking Rozanov, he just let it play out. Kip watched, his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Scott was showing him. His brow smoothed out, and his eyes widened as he watched Hollander’s blissful face as he pressed his body against Rozanov’s and the way he stared into the Russian’s eyes, then glanced at his lips in the few seconds their faces were so close that their helmets were touching. He watched Hollander’s eyes follow Rozanov longingly when they pushed away from the boards, and Rozanov skated back to his own team.
Kip turned his eyes slowly to Scott. “Holy shit,” he whispered. Scott nodded. “We gotta help the poor kid,” Scott said. Kip frowned, confused. “Help him how?” he asked. “He’s obviously got a crush on Rozanov, and that’s not going to go anywhere. We should set him up with someone suitable,” Scott explained. Kip laughed. “We’re not the gay fairy godfathers of hockey, babe,” he said. Scott snorted. “No, we’re not,” he agreed. “But I’ve been giving Hollander shit about Rozanov for years, not realizing. I feel bad about it.” Kip smiled. “You are very sweet,” he said. “We can try,” he finally relented.
After much discussion, the two decided to try to set Hollander up with Diego Laurent, the left-winger for the new Quebec soccer team. Scott’s group for queer professional athletes had grown beyond hockey and had members from many different leagues across North America. He’d met Laurent through that group and found him to be smart, serious, and a fierce athlete. It didn’t hurt that he was fucking gorgeous, his Mexican heritage clear in his dark hair and eyes and golden skin. His Quebecois accent was distractingly sexy, too. Scott loved his boyfriend very much, but he’d have to be blind not to notice the soccer player’s massive thighs when he played in those shorts.
Scott’s group wasn’t much more than a group chat currently, but it was fairly active. Scott decided to text Laurent directly.
Scott: Hey, Diego, this is Scott Hunter.
There was a delay before Laurent replied.
Diego: Salut, Scott Hunter!
Diego: How can I help you?
Scott: Do you know Shane Hollander?
Diego: I know of him, of course, but I have not met him. Why?
Scott: I’ve heard a rumor that he came out to his team, and it didn’t go well.
Diego: Oh shit.
Scott: Indeed. I feel bad for the kid.
There was another delay, and Scott knew the other man had to be wondering why the hell Scott was texting him about all of this.
Scott: I wanted to invite him to join our group, but we don’t have the best history. You and he are both in Quebec. I was hoping you’d be able to reach out to him.
Diego: You want me to invite him to the group chat?
Scott: Yes, that, but I don’t think he has anyone in Montreal to talk to.
Scott paused. This was harder than he thought it would be.
Diego: You want me to make this sad gay hockey player my friend?
Scott laughed.
Scott: I wouldn’t have put it that way, but basically, yeah 😂
Diego: Bien.
Scott: Merci.
Scott shook his head. “I think I at least got them to talk,” he said. Kip grabbed his phone from his hands and read through the text exchange. “That was painful,” he said, laughing. “Yeah, maybe gay fairy godfather is not my calling,” Scott said.
Four days later:
Unknown: Hey Shane, this is Diego Laurent. How are you?
Ilya looked at the text on Shane’s phone. He was at Shane’s home in Montreal, on a three-day break from practice. “Hollander,” he said, his tone flat. “Who is Diego Laurent?” Shane stepped out of the kitchen, screwing the lid back on Ilya’s water bottle. He frowned at Ilya’s tone - and at being called “Hollander” in their home. “I think he’s a player on the new soccer team in Quebec City,” he said. “Why?” he asked, handing Ilya the water bottle he’d just refilled.
Ilya silently handed Shane his phone, a single eyebrow raised. Shane glanced at his phone, confused, and then saw the text. “What the fuck?” he said, taking the phone from the other man and swiping open the message. “Why is Diego Laurent texting me?” he asked. “That is a very good question,” Ilya responded. Shane rolled his eyes at Ilya’s jealousy. He knew Shane was his, and he had nothing to worry about. “He is very good-looking,” Ilya said, looking at his own phone. “Oh, and he is gay, too,” Ilya said, the teasing note to his jealousy vanishing. He held up his phone to show Shane the photo he was looking at - the cover of Out Canada, with a golden-skinned god with flashing dark eyes, wearing nothing but tiny shorts, pictured. Shane choked and then laughed. “Okay, yeah, he’s hot, but why is he texting me?” Ilya nodded at Shane’s phone and said, “There is only one way to find out.”
Shane opened the text thread back up and responded before he could overthink it.
Shane: Hi, I’m doing well. How are you?
Ilya read over his shoulder and laughed. “This is how you talk when a hot guy texts you? So boring, Hollander.” “You want me to flirt with him?” Shane snarked back. “He is hot,” Ilya replied. “Maybe we could-” “No threesomes.” Shane interrupted before Ilya could finish. Ilya rolled his eyes. “Skuchnyy,” he whispered. Shane knew enough Russian at this point to know he was being called “boring” again. His phone vibrated with a text before he could respond.
Maybe Diego Laurent: I am well, also. I hope you don’t mind the text out of the blue. Scott Hunter gave me your number and asked me to reach out to you.
At this, Ilya started muttering about dinosaurs and Methuselah. “Why did Scott Hunter want a gay soccer player to reach out to me? Hell, how does Scott Hunter have my number?” Shane asked.
Shane: Oh, that’s weird.
“You are so awkward, kotenok,” Ilya said fondly. “What?” Shane asked defensively. “It’s fucking weird.”
Diego: LOL Yes, it is weird. Scott Hunter is a weird guy.
Diego: Scott is building a network of queer professional athletes. He heard a rumor that you came out to your team, and it didn’t go well. He asked me to reach out to you since we’re both in Quebec and invite you to join our group.
Shane blinked at his phone, stunned. He didn’t know how to feel about this. He didn’t love that the hockey world was talking about his personal life. He caught Ilya looking at him, concern in his eyes. “It’s fine,” he said, trying to reassure him. It was not fine and they both knew it. Ilya threaded his fingers through Shane’s and pulled him close. Shane groaned when his phone vibrated again.
Diego: I apologize if I’ve overstepped or if Scott got his information wrong.
“Shit, now I made him feel bad,” Shane said.
Shane: You didn’t. He didn’t.
Shane: I just didn’t realize people outside of my team were talking about it.
Diego: Scott is the face of queer athletes now - people tell him things.
Diego: I will be in Montreal next week, maybe we can have coffee? It’s easy to feel alone when you first come out.
Ilya snorted. “He thinks he can fuck you!” he crowed, vindicated. “Shut up, Rozanov,” Shane replied. “He’s being nice. I know you’re not familiar with that.” Ilya snorted. “I was very nice to you in the shower this morning, sweetheart.” Shane felt his face flush, but shoved Ilya anyway. “Stop,” he said, trying to hide his laugh.
“Would it be weird for me to meet him for coffee?” he asked. “It would be nice to have someone to talk to,” he said. “Someone else,” he corrected quickly, before Ilya could get offended. “I think he is hitting on you,” Ilya said. “But yes, I understand wanting to talk to someone. And I trust you.”
Shane: Coffee sounds great, just let me know when you’re in town. And how do I join this gay group of Hunter’s?
Diego: It’s nothing official yet, basically just a group chat. I can add you.
Shane: That would be great, thanks.
Two weeks later, Shane was at Ilya’s home in Ottawa and was forced to do the worst thing ever. “You were right,” he said. Ilya literally danced around the kitchen, twerking aggressively at Shane. “Say it again, moya lyubov - it is so sexy when you say it,” he crowed. Shane rolled his eyes. His coffee date with Diego Laurent had been, well, a date. Shane knew he wasn’t the best at reading social situations but it was hard to miss Laurent’s intent. He wasn’t subtle at all. Shane had been forced to awkwardly shut down the other man’s flirtations, without hurting his feelings or letting him know why he was shutting him down. Laurent was objectively gorgeous and clearly was not used to being turned down.
“Shut up,” Shane said over Ilya’s gloating. “That’s not even the worst part. He made it sound like Scott Hunter was trying to set us up.” Ilya stopped twerking and frowned at Shane. “Set you up? Like for a crime?” he asked. Shane tried and failed to hide his smile. “No, like set me and Laurent up on a date. He was playing matchmaker.” Ilya’s confused frown turned into a murderous glare. “I will fucking kill him. I will go to jail for murdering a senior citizen, and it will be worth it,” he growled.
Scott Hunter frowned at his phone. “What’s up?” Kip asked. “Diego Laurent just texted - he had coffee with Shane Hollander and it didn’t go well,” Scott said. “Maybe you’re not the fairy godfather of hockey after all,” Kip teased. Scott didn’t smile back. “Laurent said Hollander seemed really uncomfortable and then kind of pissed when he found out I was the one behind it.” Kip rubbed Scott’s back comfortingly. “He has to know you weren’t being malicious, babe.” Scott hoped so. Maybe his matchmaking days were over.
November 2019
Scott had sworn off matchmaking since his disastrous attempts at setting Shane Hollander up last year - the young Canadian still checked him a little harder than necessary when they played each other, but something was up with Ilya Rozanov. They were at the Kingfisher, and the Admirals had just beaten the Centaurs, and yet Rozanov was at the Kingfisher, alone. Scott knew the young Russian was perceptive, but Scott watched as Rozanov watched the drama unfold between Eric Bennet and young Kyle behind the bar. Interesting, Scott thought.
Scott was surprised when Rozanov approached him and asked him to coach the camps that he and Hollander were running. He was surprised at Rozanov’s focus on inclusivity and representation in his sales pitch. Was Rozanov queer? He thought back to the Russian’s history of womanizing and began second-guessing himself. It’s possible that Rozanov was just a decent guy who wanted to see more inclusivity in the MLH, but more than likely, Hollander had set him on this course, surely. He was starting to believe the two were truly friends, and it made sense that he’d want a supporting team around his gay friend.
A few months later, it was time for yet another All-Star game. Scott watched as Shane Hollander demolished Ilya Rozanov in the obstacle course, and watched Rozanov’s eyes light up at Hollander’s celly. During the actual game, Scott would have to be blind to miss the chemistry between the two as they played.
Oh shit, Scott thought. If Hollander had a thing for Rozanov, that was one thing. But if Rozanov also had a thing for Hollander - that could only lead to disaster. Not just a personal disaster, with Rozanov ultimately breaking Hollander’s heart, but a professional disaster as well. The league would not be happy about the two rivals hooking up, and honestly, Scott didn’t think the two of them teaming up would be good for his own mental health.
Scott decided to dust off his fairy wings and wand and try to set Rozanov up with someone, anyone, besides Shane Hollander. “Do you have any fuck-boy friends, love?” Scott asked Kip out of the blue when he was back in New York after All-Star Weekend. Kip snorted. “Uh, yeah, quite a few, why?” he asked. “Ilya Rozanov is queer,” Scott said, and Kip started to argue and then paused. ‘Yeah, that actually makes sense,” he said. “What does that have to do with fuck-boys?” Scott sighed. “I think he has a thing for Hollander,” he said, shaking his head. “What?! That’s great,” Kip exclaimed.
Scott shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Rozanov will chew Hollander up and spit him out.” Kip bit his lip in concern. “I thought we were done matchmaking, babe?” he said, the doubt in his voice clear. “We’re not matchmaking,” Scott explained. “Just a distraction. Rozanov will always want the next shiny thing,” he said. “We’re just going to show him something shiny and distract him from ruining Hollander’s life.”
A week later, Rozanov was at the Kingfisher again, pestering Kyle. Kip’s friend Makram was at Kip and Scott’s reserved table, drinking a specialty cocktail created by Kyle. After Kyle shooed him away, Ilya joined them at their table. He eyed the new addition and nodded. “Rozanov, this is Makram, Kip’s friend,” Scott said. “Ilya,” Rozanov said, nodding at the other man. Makram Khan eyed the Russian and nodded. Suddenly, Kip and Scott both needed to head to the bar, leaving Makram and Ilya alone at the table. “You play hockey?” Makram asked. Ilya nodded. “Yes,” Ilya explained. “I play for the Centaurs in Ottawa.” Makram eyed him up and down, his interest clear. “How long are you in town?” he asked. “Just for tonight,” Ilya said. “Are you looking for company?” Makram asked, looking up at Ilya from under his thick dark lashes.
Ilya would have to be blind not to notice how attractive Makram was, but he was unmoved. He smiled regretfully. ‘Not tonight, I’m afraid,” he said. The other man frowned. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Scott said…” he tapered off as Ilya shook his head. “If there is one thing we know for sure, it is that Scott Hunter is an idiot,” Ilya said.
That night, alone in his hotel room, Ilya facetimed Shane. “The dinosaur is up to his old tricks,” he said in lieu of hello. On the small screen in his hand, Shane frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I think he tried to set me up tonight at the Kingfisher,” Ilya explained. Ilya blinked at Shane’s reaction, shocked by the look of pure rage that consumed his features. “Who?” he growled. Holy shit, his boyfriend was hot when he was possessive. “No one we know, moya lyubov, a friend of Kip's,” he said. “I was not important enough for famous professional athlete,” he said. “He was very hot, though.”
Suddenly, Ilya was staring up Shane’s nose, as Shane tapped at his phone. “We play New York in two weeks,” Shane muttered more to himself than to Ilya. “I’ll fucking kill him,” he said. Ilya laughed and, setting his phone into the tripod he never failed to pack on road trips, he took off his shirt. “Get naked, my love,” he said, his tone firm.
January 2021 - All-Star Game
Shane Hollander won the fastest skater competition against Ilya Rozanov. Scott watched as they chirped at each other, but it felt more like flirting than actual animosity. Holy shit, they actually like each other, he thought. That night, after the celebrations in the hotel bar, he lay in his hotel room with Kip in his arms. “I think Rozanov and Hollander like each other,” he said. Kip shook his head and sighed. “Of course they do,” he said. “They’re the best of the best.”
He shrugged apologetically at Scott’s sound of objection. “You know it’s true,” he said dryly. “They’re perfect for each other, if you look at it objectively,” Kip said. Scott sighed, knowing his fiance was right. “What do we do about it?” Scott asked. Kip sat up in bed, turning the light on so Scott could clearly see the glare he sent his way. “Nothing, Scott Hunter. We do nothing,” he said firmly. “They’re both idiots,” Scott said, objecting. “They’ll never figure out how to be together on their own.” Kip shook his head. “Do you really want both Rozanov and Hollander after your ass on the ice?” Kip asked. “Because I don’t!” “We could just… nudge them together,” Scott said. “Scott Hunter,” Kip said, and Scott cringed at the use of his full name twice in one conversation. “I love you, and I can’t wait to marry you, and you are literally the hottest man I’ve ever seen in real life.”
Scott preened before he realized there was a “but” coming. “But you are the worst matchmaker I’ve ever heard of. You suck at this, and you need to stop.” Scott frowned. Kip didn’t know what he was talking about. He was going to help these two. He was going to be a gay fairy godfather, dammit.
Scott Hunter was drunk. The Admirals had been trounced by a relatively new team from Texas, and Scott was in the hotel bar after the game, drinking and watching the Ottawa team’s win against Toronto. He refused to admit that he was tearing up seeing the Centaurs play with rainbow tape on their sticks in honor of Pride night. Love is love, he thought, grabbing his phone. He texted Kip first.
Scott: I love you, Christopher Grady.
Kip: Christopher Hunter, actually. You okay?
Scott: Oh shit, that’s right. That’s so hot.
Kip: Oh, babe. You’re drunk.
Scott: Yes. Love is love, right?
Kip: You watched the Ottawa game?
Scott: I love love.
Kip: Hey, maybe you should go to bed, sweetie.
Scott: Nah, I got fairy godfather shit to do.
Kip: Scott.. Do not.
Kip: Scott?
Kip: SCOTT HUNTER.
Scott ignored Kip and created a new group text.
Scott: Hey, you two.
Ilya: Hey?
The chat was silent for almost an hour before another response came in.
Shane: Hey?
Scott: Did you watch the Ottawa game?
Ilya: I played in it, Hunter.
Shane: Yes, I watched it.
Scott: It was beautiful. Love is love.
Ilya: Yes. Love is love.
Shane: Are you okay, Hunter?
Private chat:
Shane: What the fuck?
Ilya: I think the founding father is drunk.
Shane: Clearly, but why is he texting US?
Group Chat:
Scott: I know something.
Shane: Hey Scott, maybe you should get some water? Or go to bed?
Ilya: No, no, you’re fine, Hunter. Tell us what you know.
Private Chat:
Shane: Ilya quit provoking him.
Ilya: I want to know what he thinks he knows.
Shane: He doesn’t know anything.
Group Chat:
Scott: I know Hollander likes Rozanov.
Scott: And I know Rozanov likes Hollander.
Scott: I didn’t think it would work, but my husband says y’all are perfect for each other, and my husband is never wrong.
Shane: You’re reaching, Hunter.
Ilya: Tell me why you think Hollander likes me.
Private Chat:
Shane: Dammit Ilya, leave the poor man alone.
Ilya: Never.
Group Chat:
Scott: You should just give it up, boys. Love is love.
Shane: Okay, Hunter, whatever you say.
Scott was mortified when he looked at his phone the next morning. Kip could never find out about this. He opened his text thread with his husband and immediately buried his head under the covers. He’d screenshot his entire conversation with Rozanov and Hollander and sent it to his husband.
Scott: Booyah! Fairy godfather.
Kip: Oh my god. Oh shit, Scott, what did you do?
March 2021
Scott and Kip stared at their phones in shock. Every sports channel and gossip website had Hayden Pike’s fanmail video playing on repeat, with Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov aggressively making out in the background. Scott couldn’t deny that the two of them together were hot as hell. Scott realized… he had done that. He’d texted them last month! Admittedly, he was beyond drunk when he did - but he’d been the spark that lit the flame.
He hated that they’d been outed before they were ready, but he knew they belonged together. They’d be okay. He turned to Kip to gloat. “Shut up, husband,” Kip said before he could get a word out. Scott shut up.
July 2021
Scott wraps his arms around Kip from behind, and they sway together as Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov dance together to Diamond by Rihanna. “I did that,” Scott whispers to Kip. “Shut up,” Kip said fondly. The wedding was casual, but there were still speeches. At the end of Ilya’s speech, he thanked Scott Hunter. Scott’s face fell when he realized Ilya was thanking him for kissing Kip on the ice, and not for his help getting the two of them together.
“I have loved Shane Hollander since our rookie year,” Ilya said into the microphone, chuckling when Shane, Yuna, and David all interrupt, shouting, “The summer before!” Ilya shook his head. “Yes, since the summer before.” Ilya paused as the crowd gasped. Ilya made sure to meet Scott’s eyes as he explained the timeline to the wedding guests.
Kip was shaking in Scott’s arms as he listened. Scott realized Kip was laughing. He leaned down to look into his husband’s eyes. Kip shook his head and gazed back at him lovingly.
“You didn’t do shit, fairy godfather.”