yeah, right

I hope he struggles to look Hayden in the eyes sometimes because he can't stop thinking about that fucking video. He doesn't want to, that's his best friend and it was an honest mistake, but God, would it have killed him to watch it back? He was so close to getting to come out on his own terms. So fucking close.

I hope he's bitter about how nice the Centaurs are because how is that fair? Why didn't he get to have that in Montreal? Why was it so impossible for them to give him this? Why do the guys in Ottawa make it seem so fucking easy? Even Troy Fucking Barrett's nice here?! What the hell's in the water?

I hope he looks up at the rafters when they play Montreal and all he sees is where his jersey should have been retired and he just wants to scream. I hope when fans burn their Hollander jerseys, he's not able to laugh it off as absurd extremist homophobia. He's fucking livid.

He looks at his body, at his legs that will be shot before 50 and every bone he's broken and every injury he's played through, all to be tossed aside because, what? Because he fell in love? Because he tripped, which players do all the fucking time?

I hope he's angry and then angry at himself because this is supposed to be his happily ever after. He's supposed to be happy. Why can't he just be fucking happy? Why can't he just hold Ilya's hand and kiss him in public? Why does that still feel like a death sentence? Why can't he get his brain to understand that he's free now?

And I hope we see Ilya loving him at his most bitter self, whispering reminders that he doesn't have to move on just yet. That he's spent a decade carefully controlling every single emotion and he's allowed to feel them now, even if they're not pretty.

Shane always just wanted to play hockey. He didn’t want to talk about the racial barriers he was breaking, he didn’t want to talk about the homophobic barriers he was breaking. He just wanted to be known for his hockey. And now he’ll always be known as the gay Asian hockey player who married his rival and just possibly might have thrown a game for said rival. Mud sticks.

I want him to be angry. He has every right to be. And I desperately want Ilya to support him. Yeah, the Centaurs gave him a soft landing, but it still isn’t fair that he needed one. That his team, management, and fans of a decade turned on him the very first time he did something that didn’t fit the sexless hockey robot image they’d built in their heads.

That they got outed and couldn’t control the narrative because Hayden couldn’t take two minutes to play back that stupid birthday video before sending it to fucking Brad. Brad, who posted it to fucking Twitter like Shane kissing his fiancé was the next Watergate.

There are so many reasons a person may choose not to come out and there is no reason a person would owe the public or a stranger that information. Certainly it's not owed simply because someone is famous.

MHL Awards, 2014

Shane's mind goes fuzzy at the first touch of Rozanov's lips against his.

It's been racing all night, running through different potential scenarios in Rozanov's penthouse like plays on the ice. Drifting constantly back to Brian, to you should at least try. Reminding himself that he shouldn't feel guilty for wanting Rozanov or for planning to act on it, now that he's been given permission.

Then Rozanov kisses him and it all disappears. Shane doesn't know what he was worrying for, not with Rozanov's tongue licking at the seam of his mouth or his hand on the back of his head, heavy and warm.

Rozanov's other hand grabs his shirt, tugging. Shane goes and they stumble towards the bedroom, lips locked. They're still just kissing and Shane's dizzy with it anyway, already half-hard. Rozanov kisses like he's trying to devour him. Shane kind of wants to let him.

Has he ever been kissed like this? He can't remember.

who knows what we might have in common?

See you... bonus

The next season, the grief had time to settle and time hasn't healed anything. Shane and Ilya play the worst season of the their careers.

The first time they play each other is a repeat of the post Rose Landry game. The second time is a little better, they both get a goal each and it feels almost a little like it used to. So much so that Ilya texts Shane, just two simple words. Come over. 

Shane can't believe the audacity. (or maybe he actually can) 

We're not doing that anymore, he texts back. 

I know, Ilya writes. Come over. 

No. Shane gets a cab anyway. 

When Ilya opens the door he's smirking. “You came.”

“Fuck off,” Shane says and then flings himself at Ilya, gets his hands into his curls. 

Ilya reaches for Shane, there's a moment where they fight for control and then Shane gives and Ilya can fit his mouth against his neck, make him moan, and Shane drops to his knees right there, Ilya grappling for balance against the wall as Shane gives him the greediest, sloppiest, most perfect blowjob known to man. Ilya comes so hard he almost misses how Shane jerks himself off and comes as soon as Ilya's finished. They stand there, kneel there, panting for a moment, no thoughts just bliss, then Ilya pulls Shane up, goes to seek out his mouth, all plush and red and spitslick now but Shane stumbles back, doing up his pants and says “shit, what are we doing” and turns on his heels and flees out of Ilya's house and Ilya thinks fuck, of course again, and fuck, we didn't even kiss. 

The Raiders’ dream of defending the cup goes up in smoke. The Metros don't do much better and in the end the Raiders don't even make the playoffs and the Metros barely manage the wild card spot and get swept in the first round by fucking Buffalo of all teams. 

Shane and Ilya still meet at the MLH awards. Shane is nominated for the sportsmanship award, and despite the Raiders overall poor showing their rookie is nominated for the Calder and Ilya is being a good dutiful captain. 

They both seek out the roof, Ilya for a cigarette and Shane for peace and quiet. 

“This can't happen again,” Shane says. 

“What, you nagging about my smoking?”

“No. That neither of us is nominated for any of the trophies.” 

“You're nominated for nicest player.”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

And Shane looks at Ilya, really looks at him. “If we're giving this up, then it has to be worth it. What we had, it could be good. So good.” 

“If we were not who we are.” Ilya says bitterly. 

Shane nods. “So it's only worth it if we're the best of who we can be. Together at the top. Dominating the league. Building an unquestionably legacy. Future Hall of Famers.”

“And then?” Ilya asks. 

“Then we are beyond reproach. The greatest who ever played the game.”

“And then?” Ilya asks again.

“Then we can do whatever the fuck we want,” Shane says, calmly, evenly. 

He doesn't say what that is. He doesn't need to. All of these years, all of the risks, and they cannot stay away from each other.

Ilya nods. “Together at the top.”

Shane holds out a hand, just like he did all those years ago in Saskatchewan. 

“May the better man win.”

Ilya grips his hand tight. “I will beat you.” 

Shane grins. “That's not gonna happen.”

Letting go of Shane's hand is physically painful. 

“1410,” Ilya says. “For old time’s sake.”

Shane looks at him very seriously. “For old time’s sake.” 

They don't return to the party. It’s not even midnight. 

They have ten hours and they don't sleep for a minute. They gorge themselves on each other's bodies, they kiss and fuck and kiss. They hold each other and touch each other. They talk and they're quiet, they laugh and at one point in the darkness they cry. 

And in the morning they leave, flying back to their respective cities. 

(During the summer, Scott Hunter announces his retirement. He is grateful for hockey and for the Admirals, but he needs to focus on his personal life.)

At the beginning of the next season, Hollander and Rozanov return to the ice with a vengeance. Record breaking seasons, top of the division, top of the conference. They meet in the conference finals and over seven hard fought games, the Metros take the victory. It's Shane who lifts the cup that year. Who gets playoff MVP. 

At the MLH awards, Shane gets the Rocket and Ilya gets the Art Ross and Ilya is season MVP. Hollander and Rozanov are back, dominating the league like never before.

“1410,” Shane says to Ilya in passing. 

Ilya was so annoyed when he tried to book that specific room and it was already gone, he should have known. 

The next year, the Raiders take back the top spot. 

And round and round it goes. There are years when neither the Metros nor the Raiders win the cup of course. Hockey is a team sport and not even someone like Shane Hollander or Ilya Rozanov can win a cup by themselves. 

But they meet at the awards every year because they're nominated every year. Between them, there isn't a year where neither of them wins a trophy. 

Hollander and Rozanov, together at the top. 

The rivalry is as strong as ever. The tone of it changes though. They are less cutting, more complimentary in interviews. By unspoken agreement they start saying words like mutual respect, friends off the ice, challenging each other to be better. The media says they've matured. The league calls it sportsmanship. 

Ilya and Shane don't call it anything. But once a year, in Las Vegas, in room 1410, they spend a night truly together at the top.

And once they retire, the same number of cups to their name, the faces of their franchises, their numbers hanging in the rafters in Montreal and Boston, Ilya leading Shane in career goals but Shane beating Ilya in overall points, unrivaled trophy rooms, the league defining players for two decades, once that is all over, they meet at the MLH awards for one last time. 

“1410,” Ilya says who beat Shane to the reservation that year. One last victory.

In the morning, Shane hands him a piece of paper. An address. 

“I have a cottage,” he says, “where I spend my summers.”

Ilya does not admit how often he's watched the documentary about it.

“Come whenever you want.”

I think this ship (spaceship) is really funny