Chapter Text
Shane Hollander used to fight on the ice.
It was a fact that not many would believe.
But when Yuna asked him who he wanted to be at 16 and he answered a Voyageur, she told him to clean up his game for the World Juniors. Because he would be compared to Ilya Rozanov.
Rozanov, whose style matched the Boston Bears.
The Boston Bears, who had the number 1 draft pick of 2009 while the Voyageurs had second.
As much as it pained Yuna for her son not to be first, he needed to be compared to Rozanov to have a place in Montreal. Because she knew it wouldn't be easy for Shane to be picked as a simple hockey player, even if he was excellent. Because the NHL were full of bigots and because of Yuna, her baby looked different then what they wanted.
So Yuna was set to build the most famous rivalry in hockey, and it all started in 2007 when she asked Shane to clean up his game so that the media could compare the Golden Boy of Hockey from Canada with a clean game and precise edges to the brash and cocky Russian that seemed to chirp everyone until they dropped gloves.
She was setting up two faces of two rival franchises because of a dream her son had that she would make a reality.
When Shane and Rozanov are announced as captains of their respective teams in 2008 and they are set to win silver and gold, she knows she succeeded in planting the seed. Now she just needed to wait.
On the 26th of June 2009, her son was drafted by the Montreal Voyageurs.
–
June 2009- Las Vegas (Draft day)
The world thought they knew the Golden Boy of Canada, the Prince of Hockey. Perfectly mediatrained, a stoic expression that doesn't let anything faze him. Everyone analysing every possible scrap of media from the two years that he played as a first line center at the World Juniors. Every interview he has ever given. But no one really went to dig deeper than that.
Except Ilya.
Ilya found game tape of Hollander playing as a second line center in 2006. He found game tape of Hollander playing second line right wing in 2005. Ilya studied everything he could about Hollander. Most notably though, he studied Hollander’s tells. Especially once he realised Hollander knew how to throw a punch.
So Ilya studied what happened right before a punch, before a broken nose, before blood tainted the ice. Ilya studied until he was able to tell when Hollander was making a conscious decision that took a lot of effort from him to not throw a punch, to walk away from a fight. Because for a reason Ilya could not understand, once he became captain and the star center he simply stopped fighting on the ice.
Sure, it could be something about image and the persona he wanted to be perceived at. But Hollander was angry. He was angry all the time and now he simply didn’t let it show to the public. And Ilya wanted to know why.
He was surprised to see it at the after party of their drafting ceremony and the media circus that followed. He was watching Hollander and his mother talk to the Commissioner, a man named Roger Crowell that his father was impatient to meet.
He saw the shoulders going back, the spine straightening itself, the weight shifting to the balls of Hollander’s feet, then the unconscious decision of his hand forming a fist before Hollander exhaled and answered Crowell.
Hollander unfisted his hand and looked up at Ilya, supposedly in a conversation with his father and his new coach.
He saw Hollander noticing he was watching. A spark of something passed through his eyes before Ilya turned to a conversation about his need of discipline.
–
August 2010- Toronto (CCM shoot)
When Ilya sent a last minute email to the CCM shoot director, his only goal was to spend time with Hollander to be able to learn more about him. Because he was a puzzle Ilya was desperate to solve.
Hollander arrived with his mother at 10 am sharp and settled in the stands. Ilya was just starting his individual photoshoot on the ice. As he skated slow laps of the rink he could feel Hollander’s eyes on him.
“Ilya! Can we get you at center ice in face off position?”
Stupid Canadians that couldn't pronounce his name right.
He moved to center ice and wordlessly followed the crew’s direction, he didn't need them to make assumptions because of his English. After close to an hour of keeping the same three positions he was starting to get cramps everywhere. Was it possible to permanently have cramped fingers? Would he be able to remove his hand from his stick?
When he was debating breaking his no speaking rule to ask when he would be done the director asked Hollander to get on the ice to start the combined photoshoot that was meant to capture the ‘beginning of the rivalry’.
The ice felt different with Hollander on it. Maybe it was the knowledge that it was someone who could finally be a real competition for Ilya. Maybe it was the way he still chirped at Ilya as if everything was normal when he broke his no english speaking rule under the no smoking sign in Saskatchewan. Maybe it was the spark in his eyes at the draft. Maybe it was the memory of the hotel gym and a shared water bottle. Or maybe it was just those damn freckles.
But as they skated toward each other with what the director thought was hatred, Ilya was looking into Hollander’s eyes to figure out what he could find in them. At the third faceoff, Hollander lifted an eyebrow and Ilya felt the corners of his mouth turn up. At the fourth, Ilya couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his mouth. At the fifth, it was a full giggle. At the sixth, Hollander joined him.
As many times as they tried again and again, they would still end up in stitches, waiting for the director to ask for another take.
“Okay guys, I know it’s a long day so I think we can call it a wrap for the combined photoshoot. We’ll just use the material we already have. You can take five and then we focus on Shane okay?”
As they skated towards the bench, Ilya was the only one that heard Hollander’s snort. At Ilya’s raised eyebrow, asking a silent question, Hollander spoke to him for the first time today.
“They think we hate each other.”
“Don’t we?” And shit. Ilya was supposed to keep his mouth shut. He was supposed to use this opportunity to learn more about Hollander, not give him information himself.
“We just spend thirty minutes giggling over nothing.” Ilya made his way to sit on the bench and took a sip out of his water bottle as he looked at Hollander, casually leaning on the boards. “You’re the only one that can keep up with me. I can’t hate you for that.” Hollander was looking at his skates move back and forth on the ice, not meeting Ilya’s eyes. He already broke his no speaking rule, he might as well talk now.
You knew you would do this with me?”
“No. I got the email last week. You?”
“Was my idea.” Ilya enjoyed the few seconds where Hollander looked at him with surprise in the eyes before the director called for him and he was needed on the ice.
Later, in the showers Ilya wouldn’t be able to tell you what overcame him. He's pretty sure this is not typical behaviour. But Hollander was throwing interested glances, looking over his shoulder, so Ilya just acted. It wasn't thought through, definitely not. So when Hollander rejected him, he was surprised that it was with a “Not here” and not a “Get away you creepy bastard”. Ilya noted Hollander was clearly interested, he just needed to show him that he was equally turned on.
As Hollander closed the door to Ilya’s hotel room, Ilya understood that he had made a decision that would shape his and Hollander’s life. Because that night wasn't the best sex of his life but it definitely was the hottest thing he ever experienced. He would be a fool not to keep it going.
—
December 2013- Shane’s condo (1st time Ilya sees it)
The condo has been waiting for 2 months, untouched by anyone. Still set up as if construction workers were coming in soon. The only fully furnished room was the bedroom because Shane has plans.
He doesn't know what made tonight different from the other 4 times Montreal played against
Boston in Montreal this year but he decided to give Rozanov the address to the condo before the game. Maybe it would destabilise him enough that they would lose. Shane could only hope.
As it turns out Boston lost the game. Shane should break his routine texting Rozanov before games if it leads them to a win.
His phone pings with a notification. There is only one person that would text him at this hour after a game, he checks it anyway to make sure.
Lily: I’m outside
Lily: I am freezing
Lily: You should open door
“You going to murder me in dark alley?” Man was this guy an asshole. Shane couldn’t help but grin.
“Just shut up and get in.”
Throughout their arrangement that has been going on for three years now, Shane learned that Rozanov was really the only person that he could compare to.
He was the only one that he could compare his form to. The only one he could compete in points in a season. The only one he could compete in milestones achieved.
He knew that the Alternate Captain and Captain position he just received this year was mostly a PR ploy to keep the rivalry going. Shane heard the angry voices of Comeau and Drapeau complaining to Coach Thierault about following someone with ‘the likes of him’.
It’s why he jumped at the opportunity to get into the performance enhancing diet that Thierault recommended a few days later. He wanted to prove to everyone that he made his way to the top, he didn't just follow Rozanov.
Because that would make even Rozanov pissed. Because it meant Shane wasn’t a real threat to him. And Shane couldn’t allow that.
The fact that they hooked up and Shane didn’t really do that with anyone else just meant it was
convenient. The condo was just a place where the risk of being found out or heard is close to 0%.
The fact that Shane is hung up on a promise made 6 months ago was not taken into account for this decision, definitely not. Shane couldn't be seen as desperate.
That plan fell apart as soon as Rozanov pushed him backwards onto the bed.
As Shane showed Rozanov to the door, trying to make conversation, he discovered Rozanov isn’t as simple to understand as he thought. He isn't just some jock that is having fun and experimenting, or using Shane as a convenient way to release excess energy after games.
Rozanov actually cared about what Shane had to say, not something he could say about many people. At the door, Rozanov’s kiss could almost be considered as sweet, a promise that it wouldn't be the last time they saw each other.
As Rozanov left the condo Shane bought for him, or their arrangement more like, he was hit with the realization that he was looking forward to the next time he saw Rozanov. If only for the possibility to learn more about him.
—
March 2016- Shane’s condo (pre second Stanley cup win for voyageurs)
“You motherfucker! You can't just fucking text me before a fucking game and not–”
“I don't know that one.”
Shane turned towards Rozanov that was lounging on the bed with only his boxers on.
“I'm not fucking your mother am I?”
“Well I would sure fucking hope not, she's married! And that's just– not the point. Motherfucker is more like an exclamation. You can use it interchangeably with fucker–”
“Don't know that one either.”
“Interchangeably?” At Rozanov’s nod he gave a short definition and in what context the word could be used. The banter wasn't new but the vulnerability that Rozanov showed definitely was. Shane hadn't realised how difficult learning a new language later in life could be. Shane was taught three languages since he was a child but Rozanov only learned Russian and only started learning English in high school.
Shane even started to learn Russian himself for some goddamn reason. Turns out it is actually hard to get every rule memorised but Shane was getting the hang of it. Not that he would ever willingly bring this new ability to the light by himself. He would just keep it a secret until the most opportune moment. Maybe an OT faceoff for the finals of the conference playoff spot.
Shane also learned that Ilya had an impeccable accent, he just exaggerated it for the media so that he would fit the mold they wanted him to fill. Same as Shane with his fighting.
This was also new, learning about each other. The scraps of themselves that weren't shown to the media. As it turns out, the 2014-2015 was a good one for Shane. They clinched the playoffs early and he didn't need to run out of Rozanov’s hotel room even if he was exhausted. Instead they talked to the ceiling. If they looked at each other it would make it real. Shane couldn't let it become anything real.