Chapter Text
Alice heard the rumbling burr of two voices speaking in low Russian just outside the office and sat up straight. So did her three officemates. After three years dealing with Ilya Rozanov, they had a borderline Pavlovian response to the language. For better or worse. When Ilya had joined the Ottawa Centaurs, he'd swept in like a tornado. Huge adjustment, big expectations, but he was always so damn sweet about it. None of them had anticipated the notorious bad boy hockey superstar to be such a generous, caring sweetheart off the ice.
Oh yes, he ran his mouth, dropped his gloves, generally terrorized the press. He was still a menace on the ice. But he regularly brought in treats for the office team, always stopped in to say hello, sent flowers for birthdays, never forgot a name. Just a darling, really. And double it when Shane Hollander transferred to Ottawa. They were absolutely precious together, fiercely protective of each other, and would absolutely lead their team to a Cup.
Alice just wished their presence in her office didn't usually mean extra work and raised blood pressure.
Blond curls and a broad smile swung into the doorway. He barreled through to her desk to present a piece of scrap paper.
"Alice! I have the list!"
"Knocking is nice too," Shane muttered behind him. "Good morning, everyone."
"Morning Hollzy!" they sang back.
"Da, da morning is great," Ilya chimed in dismissively. He tapped the paper she was now holding. "These are good, yes?"
She scanned the list of cities and hotels he had presented her with.
"Yeah…we should be able to…okay maybe not Vegas…"
"Vegas is important one."
"I did tell him not to do this, by the way," Shane said. "We know coordinating travel stuff is hard enough as it is."
She beamed at him. "Most of these are absolutely do-able, and since we have enough notice it should work out. But we don't have that kind of budget for Vegas…"
"Is fine," Ilya shrugged. "Shane will pay the difference."
"Oh now I'm paying for this?"
"Da, you should, nice gesture."
"It's your idea!"
"And I am poor now, make big sacrifice to be with you and I have no money."
"You did 11 ad campaigns this summer."
"I'm living off pennies, have to sell my favorite car just to survive."
"You donated it to our charity auction and you have 4 other cars. And a Ducati."
The husbands stared each other down in silence while everyone held back their snorts and giggles. Shane gave in, sighing heavily and rolling his eyes.
"I will pay the difference for Vegas—"
"Yes!"
"Once! We are only doing this one time!"
In a rare bout of PDA, Ilya bounced over and smacked a kiss to Shane's cheek.
"Roadie redux!" Ilya hissed, smacking Shane's shoulders repeatedly with a manic grimace on his face. Cuteness aggression, was a term the office frequently applied to Ilya's interactions with Shane.
"Okay."
"Going to be epic!"
"If you cry even once—"
"I will cry every time and you will love it!"
"Thank you, Alice, we appreciate you," Shane called back as they left.
"Alice you are a perfect beautiful saint among women, I love you!"
Everyone in the office broke down into giggles, shaking their heads. Alice eventually got her breath back and set about booking the list of hotels Ilya had given her.
-
When Shane Hollander transferred to the Ottawa Centaurs, the whole team knew they were in for big, big changes. Not only because Hollander was still one of the best players in the League and therefore raising the bar for them as a whole, but because their captain was his long-standing rival. And apparently they were in love? And married?
There was a lot of confusion, a lot of questions. Shane didn't answer much, usually going with a "That's private" response. Which the team totally…kind of…respected. Ilya wasn't much better. His answers were usually glib and riddled with sexual innuendo that flustered even the gayest among them. Ilya hadn't missed a single step since being outed, in fact those on the receiving end of his chirping would probably claim it made him stronger. Even more of a dick. Like, god fucking help you if you brought up his sexuality or Shane on the ice. It was a terrible idea, he was merciless. Rumor was that he had sent the Pikes chocolates, balloons, a fruit basket, and a singing telegram, he was that happy to be out. He was viciously out now, and still refused to give direct responses.
So no real answers about the hows and whens of what their social media team was calling Hollanov.
But what Troy Barrett knew better than anyone, is that if you wanted something from Rozanov (and couldn't use Shane), then you sent a rookie. A foreign rookie if you could find one. Rozanov was absolutely a Grade A Asshole. He took almost nothing seriously except hockey and Hollander. He lived to get a reaction out of as many people as possible. And he had absolutely no problem making himself look ridiculous for it to happen. Except with rookies. He had a soft spot for them, especially if they were too quiet.
Which is precisely how he blackmailed and bribed Haas into sussing out the one bit of information the rest of the team wanted to know.
Why was Ilya Rozanov suddenly so excited about playing away games?
In some cities, he was basically a cartoon villain and really leaned into that with the crowds. In others, especially Montreal, Toronto, and Dallas, he was focused and vicious. He liked New York because he could spend the whole time irritating Scott Hunter ("I'm sure they will let you play in a wheelchair in senior league, Hunter, you don't need to suffer like this anymore." "Go away Rozy!" "Sign my stick, Pike's daughter likes dinosaurs, she would love it!"). He really loved Boston just because there was such a wide range of responses to him and he ate it up. ("They are my Massholes," he claimed with a sigh, "I love them very dearly." He flipped the crowd off and they roared for him.)
But since Hollander had joined the team, Rozanov always seemed more energetic and hyped up for away games. It made no sense. Being on the road was a drag, inconvenient, uncomfortable, but he'd talk about some of them like a resort vacation. Which he hadn't done in the past, actually, he always bitched about it. They wanted answers!
Luca Haas was doing his best to bond with his team. This was his second year on the team, but they still thought of him as a baby, a rookie. He wasn't the most outgoing, and his understanding of North American English still wasn't the best. Canadians and Americans liked to use this double-speak where their expressions had layers and layers of meaning and references he couldn't understand. It was fine, he was learning, and his captain was a big contributor to that. Which is why he was so torn about this "mission" from Barrett. The team seemed to believe he could get personal answers out of Rozanov that no one else could. He didn't understand this, but he also didn't want to argue. He wanted to fit in, so he said yes.
It was simple enough actually because their captain always made room for Luca, pulled him into his orbit, included him in conversations. He would stop a whole team debate to get input from Luca before letting others continue. He had a "don't interrupt Haas" policy that meant he received a dollar whenever another teammate interrupted Luca for whatever reason. It happened a lot anyway. Luca had been concerned, but Hollander told him all that money went to a tip fund for Rozanov's favorite janitor. Luca thought it must be a Russian thing to have a favorite janitor?
They were in Chicago when Luca approached him at the hotel for breakfast. Hollander sat next to their captain, as always, but didn't participate in the conversation. Despite this, Rozanov seemed hyperaware of him; nudging his shoulder, tapping his hand, turning to say something to him in Russian. Hollander would nod, tap him back, take a bite of food, or inhale deeply. There didn't seem to be an issue, so Luca ignored it in favor of asking about Rozanov's past games in Chicago, best and worst. He had a lot of opinions about Chicago itself. Funny ones.
"Can I ask you a personal question, captain?" Luca asked evenly, scooping up his eggs and focusing on the bite instead of Rozanov's face.
"I am a spread book, Haasy."
"Open book," Hollander corrected.
"English is stupid. Open book, ask away."
Luca pinched his brows together, bracing for impact.
"Why is it that you seem…very happy to play away games? Do you like to travel?"
Hollander snorted and he looked up to see the two men scuffling as much as the table would allow.
"Hey juice! Truce! Trêve, trêve!"
"Don't use your French on me, hussy," Rozanov snapped lowly.
Hollander grabbed and squeezed his chin. "Awww, il est beaucoup trop excité pour moi. Je vais faire preuve de clémence." (Aww, he's horny for me. I will have mercy.)
Rozanov smacked his hand away irritably and glared at Luca, whose cheeks burned.
"Did Barrett tell you to ask me that?"
Luca debated for a moment how to answer. On the one hand, team bonding. On the other, truth seemed to work best when dealing with their excitable captain. And he was far too perceptive to be lured and tricked.
He nodded.
"Nosy bastards," Rozanov sighed, picking up his fork again to poke at his food.
"I tried to tell you. You were too excited to be in Minnesota in January."
"We live in Canada. I am Russian. Cold is normal to me."
"Except everybody knows you used to run to Florida every spare weekend."
"Not every."
"Every. Spare. Weekend."
"Stalker."
"You could literally write my wikipedia page."
"You could write every player's page because you're a boring nerd."
"Ilya."
"Shane."
They shared a look Luca couldn't interpret. It reminded him of his parents back home, who always had silent conversations and seemed to understand each other deeply. Luca always wondered if he would ever have something like that with another person. Hollander and Rozanov made it feel possible. He cleared his throat, both men swung their gazes back to him.
"You don't have to tell me, of course. We can make something up so they'll leave it alone." He shrugged. "Barrett is annoyed because of that chirp about Harris."
Rozanov's brows shot up in a way that could only be described as demonic.
"Is he?"
"Down boy," Hollander chuckled. "But seriously, you should give him some kind of answer or they'll never stop."
Rozanov stared Luca down for a long moment, tapping his fork on his plate and pondering. Hollander nudged him and he stopped tapping immediately.
"Mne zhal'," he said offhand, not taking his eyes from Luca. (I'm sorry.) Hollander just twisted his neck with a wince.
"Okay," he sat back and crossed his arms. "Okay, I will tell you. And then we will make up fake answer to tell Barrett because he sucks."
"Barrett does not suck," Hollander argued.
"He sucks ass."
"No, you do that."
Rozanov squawked in protest and Luca tried not smile. Nobody else could get a reaction out of their captain like that, it was funny.
"I pulled best ass in the league for a decade. What has Barrett done? Nothing. Except mope about pretty social media boy and get slashed more times in one game than I have ever seen in my life. Slash hag!"
"I am the best in the League, thank you for finally admitting it."
"Best ass, Hollander."
"I don't know… Crosby—"
"Don't you dare say that relic's name in front of my pancakes." He speared one and picked it up. "This is Crosby's ass, flat and dry." He dropped it back down.
"Ew. You love Croz."
"I hate him."
Which was funny because Rozanov respected the hell out of Crosby considering his comments after the couple was publicly outed.
"Crosby! Any thoughts about Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov?"
He blinked, looking surprised and confused.
"Uh, huge loss for Montrèal and it's gonna be a pain in the ass playing against them both at the same time. We're gonna have to lock in, tighten up our defense."
"I meant about their relationship?"
"They're great on the ice together. I'd split them up, personally, spread the wealth. Either one would be wasted as a wing—"
"No their romantic relationship? A video of them kissing leaked at the end of last season?"
"I don't understand the question."
"Do you have an opinion about their relationship?"
He snorted. "Hollander can do way better. Call me, dude, I know some awesome guys."
"He is always trying to steal you for his stupid cousin, is jackass. Anyway!" Rozanov leaned forward clasping his hands on the table and lowering his voice. "Not many people know, but Hollander and I would meet up sometimes since our rookie season."
Luca blinked, trying to process that information. He, like most people, thought their relationship started after they teamed up for the Irina Foundation. Some speculated since All-Stars 2017. There was a lot of theories, actually, because they gave very few details to anyone about their life together. But their rookie season?
"Before," Hollander corrected.
"Summer before," Rozanov amended.
Luca's jaw actually dropped. He had grown up idolizing Ilya Rozanov. He had watched every game, tracked his stats, learned his signature moves. The whole time he'd held some contempt for Shane Hollander because they were rivals, enemies, always pitted against each other. They were fun to watch, but they had hated each other. Right?
"But—"
"Yeah."
"So all of the rivalry talk…"
"Mostly press bogus," Hollander answered. "And he wanted my attention."
"I had crush," Rozanov chimed in blithely, "sue me."
"He's also an asshole."
"It was fun!"
Hollander bobbled his head. "It was. Most of the time."
They shared another look, a little heavier this time, and Rozanov reached over to chuck Hollander's chin who blushed for it.
"We could only meet up when we were in same city," Rozanov explained. "Had to have a reason to be there. So games. Commericals. League events."
"Sounds hard."
"Wasn't so serious at first," Rozanov answered with a shrug. Hollander stretched a hand to Rozanov's neck, squeezing. It was the most physical affection Luca had ever seen between them, even at team parties.
"It was a lot of hotels for a long time," he explained. "And we were…"
"Not very careful with each other," Hollander inserted.
"Stupid," Rozanov corrected. "We were kids and stupid."
"That too."
"Good times get all…" He wriggled his hand and fingers mid-air, "tangly with the stupid. So I think," he shrugged, "we make nicer memories in the bad ones. We can go back to those places, play our game together, have a better time. It's fun." Hollander was smiling at their captain very fondly when he turned to grin at him. "Is like romantic date but better because we get to play hockey together and make other teams cry at home."
Hollander laughed, shaking his head even as Rozanov bit his lip and clasped his arm roughly.
"That…" Luca said slowly, processing as quickly as he could. "That is very nice." He nodded. "Healing, yes?"
Both men smiled at him.
"I cannot tell Barrett that," he said with a sigh.
"No," Hollander agreed. "Gambling problem?"
"Net. Bad for Foundation."
"Travel points?"
"You are the most boring man in the world."
"Well you're not saying mistresses."
"Secret love child—"
"That's worse."
"Hmmm."
"No. Please don't. Do not drag me into this."
He turned bodily back to Luca. "I have perfect idea…"
-
"He told you it's a sex thing?"
Luca nodded. "A kind of list."
"Like a bucket list?"
He nodded again, remembering Hollander had given him that term despite being mortified. Luca didn't understand why saying it was just a sex thing for him was better than the truth, but he was just the messenger. The faces around him pinched in thought or confusion, maybe some disgust.
"But they've been to all these cities before…"
"He said something about the arenas?"
Their collective jaws dropped in horror. Which was actually pretty funny, he wished he could take a picture.
"Those freaks are fuckin' at the rinks?"
"Every rink? Our rink?"
"I guess so," he answered with a shrug. Luca had no earthly idea how they were buying this when the two men would barely even touch each other on the ice, let alone a locker room or public space. Hollander would probably pass out.
"So Rozy wants to fuck Hollander in every MLH arena. Great."
"Whoa! You think captain tops?"
"I know he does."
"How? How would you know because you know that we all know that he would never, ever tell you that!"
"I just do! Look at Hollander! That man is a bona fide bottom if I ever saw one."
"Crazy thing to say about a guy you've never fucked."
"Okay now I wanna know—"
They all swung their attention back to Luca who flushed deeply.
"Hell no!"