Chapter Text
The picture is leaked on a random fucking Tuesday in November, months after Ilya was last in Montreal.
Grainy and dark, enhanced digitally to shit but still just recognisable enough; Shane Hollander smiling dopily as a broad-shouldered man in a dark hoodie has him pushed up against a red brick wall, one knee lifted to hook around the back of a thigh, a large hand possessively holding it in place as the hooded figure has his face hidden in the crook of Hollander’s neck — presumably kissing him there, intimately.
The fallout is instant and all-encompassing for the league in that strange way where it is everything that people talk about, but at the same time refuses to talk about openly. It’s discussed in hushed voices in offices behind closed doors and no one dares make any open statements about it before either the MHL, the Metros, or Hollander himself gives some kind of comment on it. The general public and fans more than make up for the silence with their posts and comments and it explodes like a wildfire after drought.
Hollander is scratched from the game the day after the leak, still with no comment from any official channels, which makes the online discourse even wilder. After the game, at the same time, the MHL and the Voyagers release statements about respecting player’s privacy, but does not in any way address the most monumental point to it all — the league’s second known gay player.
Some accounts are quick to theorise that the unknown man is Scott Hunter, who must have moved on from his boyfriend very quickly after risking his career for the man and declaring his love in the acceptance speech for the MVP award, or maybe he was having an affair with Hollander. The rumours are shot down by some very dedicated fans who compare the leaked photo, grainy as it is, with photos of Hunter and Hollander from events and a lot of detailed analysis of brick heights and relative size that shows that Hunter is noticeably taller than the unknown figure.
At least some rabid fans do good detective work. No one is otherwise able to identify Hollander’s secret lover.
The day after the official channels posts — two days after the leak — Shane Hollander makes a statement, also condemning those invading his privacy, but also confirming that yes, he is gay, but was not and still isn’t interested in sharing details about his private life. He is back on the ice two days later for their next game.
Ilya Rozanov started his run as captain for the Raiders cleaning up and setting firm boundaries from the get-go: none of that fucking homophobic shit-talk in his locker room or on his ice. Young as he was, it was fairly easy with Marlow’s hulking figure at his side, and the team had already limited it in respect to Marly’s lesbian sister. Ilya wasn’t out to the team at all and most would never question his supposed straightness with the amount of women he’d been seen pulling over the years, and no one had yet noticed that he’d stopped bringing any home some time during the early spring that year.
He takes the chance at their game the same day as Hollander scratches to remind them.
Ironically, they’re playing the Admirals, a fairly inconsequential game in the early season, all the boys ready in the locker room for his usual Captain’s speech.
“Okay, listen up,” He starts with a yell, just as always, “This is a strategy game, yes? Great to win. Go quick, go hard, but remember we have to last all season.”
He pauses, looking over the players. Even in the break of his voice, they’re silent and all clearly waiting for something, staring at the captain, except Marlow, who’s scanning the faces around him.
“I know you are waiting, so here it is,” Ilya continues, shifting his eyes over the faces of his team, “Same rules. No. Fucking. Slurs. On. My. Ice.” He enunciates each word slowly and clearly, marking each with a pointing finger to the team. A few heads bob in agreement as he continues. “Not at this game. Not at next. Got it?”
More nods moves through the locker room.
“Good boys. Have to be nice to old Hunter, yes? But if you hear anyone say shit, they are prey.”
This makes some of them share looks, but Marlow grins along with an enforcer and the mood starts to buzz again.
“Roll out!”
After the game, which the Raiders manages to pull to a slim win, Roz catches Hunter’s attention while they’re still on the ice. The tall man skates closer at the call of his name, face clearly apprehensive.
“Rozanov,” he greets Ilya, slowly sliding to a stop just a stick-length away.
“You talked to Hollander?” Ilya asks and Hunter swears.
“Right to the point as always. But no, I’ve sent a text, but no answer yet. I assume he’s busy,” Hunter says, eyes narrowing slightly at Ilya’s relaxed stance, head tipped back and helmet pushed up to almost give the impression that Ilya is looking down at the Admiral’s captain.
“Yes, very busy,” Ilya drawls, then pauses and pushes himself a few feet closer, “He says thank you.”
Hunter’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You’ve talked with Hollander?”
Ilya shrugs in his usual nonchalant way. “Lucky me, yes?”
More than a few heads are turned towards the two captains talking, both players and some of the audience that’s stuck around, although none can hear their voices.
“Why the fuck would he answer you now?” Hunter spits out, more incredulous than venomous. Ilya simply grins.
“On ice we are rivals. Off ice? Is whatever,” he admits, “He is boring, only dangerous with skates and a stick.”
Hunter scoffs out a short laugh. “You’ve both got all of us fooled with that, you never stop talking shit about him.”
“Is only hockey stuff, nothing else. Maybe once I said he is bad at women, but that is not so wrong, no?”
Hunter’s laugh this time is loud enough to be heard across the ice, and he is a bit surprised and embarrassed by it. “He did pull Rose Landry.”
Ilya’s head tips down and he scowls at Hunter at the name. “If he cannot grow one, he must find beard at the club.”
Scott isn’t proud of the snort he makes at the chirp, but he recognises Rozanov’s point with the jokes. He’s showing his support in the only way Roz really seems to know — casual chirping that’s borderline friendly. He’d done the same to Scott at the afterparty at the award show, which has been almost as surprising as the idea that he and Hollander are remotely friendly off the ice. Scott would have guessed Rozanov to be the stereotypical homophobe, Russian, womanizer, the whole spiel, but he’d been taken aback by Roz’ claim that he did not tolerate bigots in his locker room.
“Shut the fuck up, Roz,” Hunter answers goodnaturedly and meets his outstretched glove with a fist bump of his own before they both skate off towards their teams to get off the ice. They both know the message it sends, to see them talking and being friendly at this point. It’s just the beginning of the new season and the teams are trying to find out how to handle Hunter being out — and now, with bated breath, everyone is waiting to see how they will react to Hollander.
The media will know what they talked about. Ilya made a point to be seen talking friendly to Hunter at the Awards, and this is just as much of a point to make.
Ilya isn’t surprised to catch Hunter getting questioned about the whole situation in the media circus after the game, but he is a bit surprised to be asked himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised, since it is breaking news — to anyone but him, at least — about his supposedly sworn rival. They have no clue that the unknown man in the leaked photo is Ilya himself, or that he’d spent his summer in a cottage in Canada in Shane’s arms.
“Do you have any comments on how the news about your rival Hollander might influence your game when you meet the Metros next?” a reporter asks, her question as uninspiring as her mousy brown hair. Ilya raises his eyebrows.
“Influence? I am not sure I understand, is no different. He is no new person, he will play hockey, we will play hockey.”
The interviewer didn’t get his dismissive tone. “I mean, will you approach the game any different?”
Ilya scoffed. “No. We are playing the Metros, we know them well and we use our game plan. Just like we followed game plan tonight against the Admirals and Hunter.” He drags his hand through his sweaty hair and rights his necklace on the way down. “I don’t care who he fucks. I care how he plays hockey.”
That is a small lie, of course, he cares a lot about who Shane fucks, but the reporter gives him the shocked reaction he wants. She reels back a bit, but another steps in, sensing an opportunity for a scoop. “Do you think this shock will disrupt the Metros and make them easier to beat?”
Ilya shrugs, hoping Shane is watching the interview, since he was pulled from his own game today, which was both a blessing in terms of giving Shane time to collect himself, but also fuck the Metros administration for treating him like a liability. At least Shane would have an opportunity to watch his boyfriend shirtless and sweaty on TV. Ilya knows he likes that, although he probably won’t like what Ilya’s about to say.
“If they get messy, we take the win. That is their mistake, yes? Hollander won them two cups, maybe even three if he did not get hurt in the spring. Now Hunter won, so last three Cups had gay captains,” Ilya says, then lets a crooked grin form on his face, “so maybe sucking cock is secret to great hockey and winning the Cup now. Maybe more players should test it, yes? Great superstition.”
The reporter sputters as Ilya winks at the camera and walks back to the locker room, secretly wishing that he could say that actually, the last four Cups have had queer captains, since the year before Shane, Ilya himself had won it, and he is also quite the fan of sucking cock, but it is not his time. Not yet, anyway.
The most painful part is having to wait for their next game against each other before he gets to see Shane again, after the whole deal. With their schedules, they didn’t have the opportunity to fly in or see each other, although they called most nights. Shane had told that the Metros didn’t take it very well; Hayden and J.J., Shane’s closest friends, were mostly just hurt that he hadn’t told them. The rest was… mostly silent. Some were borderline hostile, and it showed in their games. The worst part was the administration, who did nothing at all and let the team slowly disintegrate.
So it is weeks later before Ilya gets to hug and kiss his newly outed boyfriend. Luckily, the news cycle is fast and moves quick, especially since he is not the first. It is not easy in any case, and Ilya has thrown punches in response to slurs thrown at him after his suggestion that more players should try sucking dick. He spends the night making sure he has the best foundation for another Cup win, according to his own theory.
“It is a bit of a relief, in some ways,” Shane says when they’re curled around each other in Ilya’s bed in Boston, “that people know. I wish I could have chosen it, but it feels better not to keep it secret.”
“Not that part, at least,” Ilya murmures into Shane’s neck, hands still running softly over Shane’s torso, slightly tacky from the shower. It makes goosebumps rise on some spots of the skin underneath his fingers. Shane scoffs and follows it with a sigh.
“I know. Being gay kind of seems like the smaller secret at this point.” His eyes are as soft as his lips when he pulls Ilya by the hair to meet in a kiss.
Ilya grumbles, but kisses back lazily, sated and loving. He would never get tired of tasting Shane.
“I cannot promise Comeau will be walking away from game,” Ilya admits when Shane tucks himself under Ilya’s arm, head resting on his chest. “My team has strict no-bigot policy.”
Shane’s sigh is deep. His teammate Comeau, who’d been at the Metros for Shane’s entire career at the team, seems to be the epicentre of the coldness, and they both know Comeau has the support of the administration. It lit a fire in Ilya’s muscles every time he watched a Metros game lately, to see how some of the players completely disregarded their captain.
“I know. Just don’t tell them.”
“Is too late, lyubimyy. They have already seen the tapes and they will notice during game.”
“When I get as grey as Hunter, know that you’re the cause of every single hair.”
“Ah, but that will take years and years, yes?”
They are getting ready for the warmup when Connors lightly checks Ilya’s shoulder.
“Should we do a show of support? You know?” he asks when Ilya looks down at him. Connors is small for a hockey player, but deadly fast and graceful as a figure skater with the puck.
“Of course. Comeau is free for all,” Ilya confirms. No one on the team has any doubt that it will be a rough game for that specific Metro player, both from watching tapes from their last few games, but also — though surprised — from Ilya’s vague insider knowledge of the Metro locker room.
“I was thinking more obvious to the League. Actual, visible support.”
Ilya narrows his eyes. “What are you thinking.”
Lily: Stay close to the center during warmups
Jane: What?
Ilya has the pleasure of knocking out two of Comeau’s teeth himself and skates to the penalty box with a wide grin, teeth bloody from his own split lip.
They see the video posted the next day, on the Raider’s official instagram.
Connors theory had been true, and it was simply too good of a show of sportsmanship that management couldn’t resist capitalising on. He’d tipped their social media intern who was at the game to make sure the whole thing got filmed.
Clipped together, the video shows a number of the Raiders, one by one, unorganised throughout warmup, pass by Hollander at the middle of the ice to offer a gloved fist bump, not crossing the line but just making an acknowledgement. Marlow even throws in a comment that makes Hollander smile hesitantly, and at the end of the video, a clip of Rozanov skating up at speed and stopping with a small spray of ice, cocky as ever. He’s the only one who really stops and talks with Hollander, although the video has no sound but some instrumental music. Rozanov nods and says something, the angle capturing Hollander’s response perfectly: A laugh, what looks like a shut the fuck up, Roz, and then they pull their right gloves off to shake hands. Rozanov uses the hold to pull Hollander forward and taps their helmets together just as Hayden Pike skates up. Rozanov skates off and uses his ungloved hand to throw a rude gesture at Pike as the Metro player throws an arm around his captain, showing a similar gesture to the Raider with a grin.
The video is captioned Hockey is a team sport. The comments are a riot.