Chapter Text
Chapter 2
The first time Shane met Ilya Rozanov was at the 2009 World Juniors, when both of them were garnering attention as hot prospects for the upcoming NHL draft. At that time, Shane was struggling to deal with the pressure of living up to the expectations that his coaches and parents had for him, and was struck by the way that Rozanov, who must have been facing something similar, didn’t show any signs it was affecting him. So he’d made it a goal to speak with Rozanov at some point over the tournament, and had eventually found an opportunity when he saw him smoking at a place he clearly wasn’t supposed to be. Unfortunately, that conversation hadn’t gone anywhere, and Shane walked away feeling like Rozanov was kind of a dick. But that didn’t stop Shane from often thinking back to that moment, or the competitive fire that had ignited within him when Russia beat Canada in the finals. He couldn’t forget the smirk on Rozanov’s face as they had shaken hands after the game and he’d told Shane he’d see him at the draft. Shane had found himself eager for all the opportunities for a rematch with Rozanov that were surely coming.
But that was not to be, because for some unknown reason, Rozanov pulled out of the draft at the last minute and stayed in Russia to join a KHL team instead. Others around Shane had acted like this was a good thing because he would get to stand out all on his own and have less competition for Rookie of the Year. But Shane had been disappointed– he’d had a feeling that playing against Rozanov was the kind of competition that would push him to be better, not take away his opportunity to shine. Plus, something about their first meeting had left him curious, hopeful for an opportunity to get to know Rozanov better, even if they probably would probably always be rivals more than friends.
But Rozanov staying in Russia would greatly limit their opportunities to compete, so when they met again at the 2010 World Juniors, Shane knew that it might be the last time that they faced off. He went with some of his teammates to Russia’s first game of the tournament, which had been encouraged by their coach since they were likely to meet again in the final. Shane found himself unable to take his eyes off Rozanov whenever he was on the ice. Even from a distance, he exuded a confidence that Shane would say was cocky if anyone asked him, but that he privately found quite charismatic.
Shane and his friends were seated halfway up the arena, across from the bench, and early in the second period Rozanov seemed to notice them in their Canada Hockey sweatshirts. Rozanov saluted their way, which Shane thought was somewhat odd, but it wasn’t as odd as the way that he continued to look their direction throughout the rest of the game, even when his attention definitely should have been on the ice. It didn’t stop him from playing well, though, and he scored two beautiful goals which helped secure his team’s victory over Switzerland.
Since the tournament was in Ottawa, Shane spent most nights sleeping in his own bed at home. But for New Years, he joined his team at the hotel that most of the players in the tournament were staying at. Shane was relieved that no one was really drinking much since they needed to be in peak shape for the coming games, and he happily sipped a ginger ale as midnight approached. He nodded along as he listened to his teammates talk about their goals for 2010, which mostly involved playing hockey and hooking up with girls. When it got too loud in the room, Shane headed out to the balcony to decompress. And as he looked out over the loading zone, he saw a figure that he recognized leaning against a tree and smoking a cigarette.
He went back inside and mumbled something about going to the stairs to call his girlfriend. He had broken up with her a couple months earlier, but no one questioned him as he slipped out into the hallway. He hurried down the stairs and out the front door, and as soon as he was outside he knew that he’d been right: it was Rozanov he had seen. He had finished his cigarette now, but was still leaning against the tree, staring into the distance.
Rozanov turned Shane’s way as his footsteps drew near.
“Shane Hollander. What brings you here? Not spending New Year with Mother and Father?”
“Fuck off, Rozanov.”
“I do not think that is what you want, because you are one to find me.”
Fair enough, Shane thought. “I saw you from the balcony” he said, pointing up to the approximate location of the room his team was in. “Thought maybe we could talk?”
Rozanov looked at the lit hotel room windows, and then back to Shane. His gaze shifted up and down over Shane’s body before settling on his face, and Shane was glad it was dark enough and cold enough that he wouldn’t need to explain the blush he felt warming his cheeks.
“Talk?” Rozanov continued to stare at him, and Shane nodded. “Well, maybe this is not best place, maybe we go for walk, find somewhere no more boring Canadians will see us and come interrupt?”
Shane knew he should feel offended, but he didn’t. And it was true that he did not want his teammates to see him talking with Rozanov. Not that he thought they wouldn’t understand his desire to learn what had kept Rozanov out of the draft if he explained, but still, it wasn’t a conversation Shane had much of an interest ever having. So he nodded.
“Sure, let’s go for a walk.”
They weren’t in a very scenic area, but Rozanov led the way to the road. The sidewalk only went one direction from the hotel, so there was no discussion over which way to go. They walked in silence for two minutes or so, until they reached a bus stop with a bench. There didn’t seem to be anyone out in this part of Ottawa at this time; it clearly was not where the big New Year’s celebrations were happening.
“You want to keep walking, or sit?” Rozanov asked.
“Let’s sit,” said Shane. He didn’t want to get too far from the hotel.
They both sat down on the edges of the bench, leaving about a foot and a half of space in between them. Shane felt awkward, aware that he really should say something, but unsure of how to start.
Eventually, Rozanov did it for him. “You are silent for someone who says they want to talk.”
“Sorry, yes I know,” said Shane, rubbing his head in embarrassment. “I guess I was just wondering, why did you decide to stay in Russia? Last year, you seemed so sure that you would be at the NHL Draft.”
“Ah, you missed me, didn’t you?” Shane managed to resist the urge to nod, and instead stared at him with his eyebrows raised. Rozanov grinned anyways, and continued, “I decided that I did not need to play with stupid Americans or boring Canadians. New KHL is very exciting, yes? Make my father happy if I stay. I can play in Russia and still be #1 hockey player in the world.”
Shane didn’t miss that this was the second time that Rozanov had called Canadians boring, but he had more pressing matters to address. Despite the assuredness of his words, there was something in Rozanov’s facial expression that made Shane think he wasn’t really telling the full story, and that he wasn’t all that happy with the decision to withdraw from the NHL draft.
“Is that what you want, or just what your father wants?” Shane asked.
Rozanov paused for a few seconds before opening his mouth, and Shane felt like he was on the right track. “That is not important. What is important is decision is made, I will still play hockey, I will still beat you in final.”
Shane could tell he wasn’t going to get anywhere, and while that was frustrating, it wasn’t all that shocking that Rozanov was still a dick.
“As if. We’re going to beat you so bad this time you go home crying. Anyways, we should probably get back, huh?” Shane looked at his watch. “Oh, it’s 12:05. Happy New Year, I guess.”
Shane made to get up, but Rozanov grabbed his hand before he could stand. Shane looked at him quizzically, but settled back into the bench and let go of Rozanov’s hand, which had made Shane feel oddly warm for how cold both of their skin was.
“Happy New Year, Shane Hollander. You do not want to spend New Year with me? I thought that was why you came and stalked me in parking lot, no?”
“Shut up. I told you I wanted to talk. And we just did, not that you really answered my question, but we can go back now anyways.”
“That is what you want?”
“Well, what else would I want?”
“It is New Year, Hollander. Surely Canadians are not too boring to have New Year’s kiss?”
Shane froze. Did Rozanov know somehow? In recent months, Shane had found himself noticing his attraction to men, but he had been sure no one had caught on. No, surely this was Rozanov just being a typical hockey player making a stupid joke. Except, when Shane found the nerve to look at Rozanov again, it didn’t really look like he was joking. His eyes were moving back and forth between Shane’s eyes and lips, and he had scooted a few inches closer to Shane on the bench.
“Hollander, it’s okay. I give you 30 seconds, if you leave I never tell anyone. But if you stay, I also never tell anyone. Is our secret.”
Shane gulped, but he stayed seated on the bench as Rozanov slowly scooted closer and closer until he could feel his breath on his face. Driven purely by instinct, Shane was the one to close the gap between them and press his lips to Rozanov’s. Rozanov didn’t let him stay in control for long though, and he quickly took the lead, pressing his tongue against Shane’s as he sucked on his lips. Shane let himself get lost in the kiss, and the feeling of the warm body pressing against him in the cold.
Eventually, Shane noticed himself starting to get hard and pulled back. It only took a moment for reality to set in, and then he curled in on himself, his breathing becoming much faster as he placed his head between his knees. Quickly, he felt a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles.
“Hollander, it’s okay. No reason for panic attack. I know I am very good kisser, but not even I can kiss good enough to kill you.”
Shane groaned.
“Same secret, remember?” Ilya continued to rub Shane’s back, and he felt himself relaxing. “And now I also have secret that you are good kisser. I thought that’s impossible for someone so boring, but you surprised me. You have very good mouth.”
These words should have frustrated Shane, but he found that with every moment, he was a little more calm, so when he finally sat up straight he allowed Rozanov to keep rubbing his back. They sat like that in silence for a couple minutes, until Shane finally felt brave enough to look Rozanov in the eye.
“Um, I’m sorry. And thank you. And we really should go back now, my team thinks I was just calling my girlfriend that I don’t actually have.”
Rozanov chuckled at that. “Okay, we go back. But first, can I kiss you one more time? Just little kiss, but if this is only time, I want us to end on a good memory.”
“Yeah, I think that would be okay.”
Rozanov leaned in and gave Shane a short kiss that felt more comfortable than any he’d ever shared with his ex-girlfriend. It couldn’t have lasted more than a couple seconds, but it left Shane feeling grounded in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Rozanov got up first, and offered Shane his hand to pull him up, which Shane accepted just for the excuse to touch him one more time. They made their way back towards the hotel, but Rozanov came to a halt before they got within view.
“You should go first,” he said. “My team is not wondering where I am.”
“Oh, okay,” said Shane, who again was filled with questions about why Rozanov was staying in Russia. “Well, Happy New Year. See you when we beat you.”
“Happy New Year, Hollander.”
After giving Rozanov a small wave, Shane walked towards the hotel and forced himself not to look back. When he got inside, he decided to just go straight to the room he was staying in for the night instead of rejoining the team party, and he was grateful to see that his roommate had still not returned. He went to bed, knowing that no one would be surprised he chose to sleep immediately after midnight. But when his roommate came in sometime after one, Shane was still just pretending to sleep, with his mind preoccupied ensuring that he did not forget one moment of his time with Rozanov. Yes, he’d had a minor panic attack, but that didn’t change how good it had felt to be pressed close to the other man, or how safe he had felt as they sat quietly on the bench together.
Shane’s last thought before he fell asleep was that he’d been right to be disappointed that Rozanov had pulled out of the draft. They probably would have had a lot of fun together if they had gotten to play against each other regularly.
***
Canada did indeed beat Russia at that tournament, and then Shane didn’t see Rozanov again until 2014 at the Sochi Olympics. It was during the Sweden versus Finland game, after Russia was already out of the tournament. Shane was sitting with his teammates, but Rozanov was standing alone, not even wearing any Team Russia clothing. At a break in play, Shane told his teammates he was going to the bathroom, and made his way to Rozanov.
“Hey,” Shane said. “Long time no see.”
Rozanov stared at him for a few seconds before responding. “Do you want something? Directions back to Canada, maybe? That is where this silly jacket comes from, yes?”
Shane looked down at his Team Canada fleece and pondered Rozanov’s words. It was the same kind of ribbing he would have expected four years ago, but something about the way he was talking was less confident, and his face looked almost anxious. Shane decided that he wouldn’t push it.
“Fuck off, Rozanov. I’m just going to the bathroom and thought I’d say hi, check in.”
Rozanov just nodded and Shane stood there, waiting. He was hoping that he would get something more from the man that had been an embarrassingly frequent figure in his dreams over the past few years, some kind of acknowledgement that he hadn’t been alone in thinking they meant something to each other. However, as Rozanov avoided eye contact with Shane, he knew it was not coming.
“Goodbye, Shane Hollander.”
Shane took the dismissal for what it was and actually headed to the bathroom to center himself. Yes, he was disappointed with how that had gone, but it really wasn’t that big of a deal. He had come to Sochi to play hockey, not to see Rozanov, and nothing that had just happened would get in the way of Shane helping his team win the gold.
***
Shane had crossed paths with Ilya Rozanov one more time, at the 2018 World Championships in Denmark. It was Shane’s first time attending Worlds, because the Voyageurs had made the playoffs pretty regularly since he had been on the team, and the couple that hadn't Shane had been nursing an injury. But in 2018, the Voyageurs had missed out on the playoffs despite Shane being in full form, and he was grateful for the opportunity to play on the world stage since the NHL had barred them from going to the Olympics.
Shane knew that there would probably be a couple other teams staying at their same hotel, but he was still startled to see some men wearing Team Russia clothing gathered in the lobby durinc check-in. He still didn’t know for sure if Rozanov would be at the tournament, but he thought it was likely. He’d been the captain for the Olympic team just months earlier, after all. But Shane’s exhaustion from travel helped push the question from the front of his mind, and with gratitude that a combination of his seniority and reputation for needing alone time had landed him a single room, he headed to bed as soon as he had his room key.
Shane’s state of mind changed once he spotted Rozanov across the room at breakfast before the first day of games. His occasional pondering about if Rozanov would be there and what it might be like to play him again suddenly transformed into spirals about the last time they’d seen each other. In Sochi, Rozanov had made it clear that he had not wanted to talk to Shane, but was that just because they were in Russia? While the Russian flag on Rozanov’s jacket was a reminder that they would still need to be cautious, surely it would be safer for him to talk to Shane in a more liberal country. And, even if they were to speak, they probably wouldn’t go past basic greetings or comments about the tournament. It had been almost a decade since their New Year’s kiss, and Shane had no reason to think that Rozanov had any interest in something similar happening again.
Yet deep down, Shane knew that he personally had a lot of interest in something happening again. In the past years, Shane had gone a lot further than making out on a bench, first by swapping quick blowjobs with men he met in clubs in non-hockey cities, and eventually a couple Grindr experiences that had helped him confirm he preferred to bottom. But no first kiss had ever made him feel anything like he had with Rozanov. Shane had tried to tell himself that it was only because it had been his first kiss with a guy, but it didn’t stop him from occasionally getting off to the idea of Rozanov fucking him into a mattress (or a wall, or the boards of an empty rink, etc.).
Shane knew that this would probably remain in his imagination forever, but as he looked at Rozanov that morning he wondered what this tournament might bring. They would be staying in the same hotel for over two weeks which surely would provide some opportunities to talk that were more private than a crowded arena. Shane decided that he wouldn’t rush it, but he would try to shoot his shot before the playoff round began. This wasn’t where his head needed to be once they got to the more consequential games.
***
It turned out Shane only had to wait three more days for the opportunity to arrive. Canada had handedly beaten Denmark earlier in the day, bringing them to a 2-1 record. Afterwards, the team had come back to the hotel to rest, and Shane had watched Russia trounce Austria on TV with much of Team Canada in a suite a couple of the trainers were staying in. Rozanov had gotten two goals and an assist, which added to his three points from the earlier games meant that he was leading the tournament so far. Shane had racked up four points over the three games, which he knew was more than respectable, but the idea of catching Rozanov had ignited the most competitive part of Shane, and he hoped it would happen soon.
In the evening, he was feeling restless, so he decided to head to the hotel gym to work out a little energy before bed. The team had been given strict orders to take it easy outside of games, but a light jog on the treadmill was fine, especially since they now had a couple day break ahead of them. Shane ran for about ten minutes before the gym door opened and Rozonov walked in. Shane instantly paused his hockey podcast, but he kept his airpods in and attempted to maintain his composure. But going by Rozonav’s smirk as he stepped onto the treadmill next to Shane’s, he hadn’t succeeded.
The only other person in the gym was on a stationary bike. Shane hadn’t thought much of them before Rozanov arrived, but as he turned on the treadmill to match Shane’s speed he desperately wished that they would leave.
After a few minutes of running in silence, Rozanov looked at Shane, and tapped at his own ears, so Shane finally had an excuse to put away his airpods.
“Nice game today,” Rozanov said.
“Oh, you too,” replied Shane.
“Of course, not as good as game I played. But good for #2 hockey player.”
“Fuck off.”
Rozanov didn’t say anything to that, but he wiggled his eyebrows in a way that was simultaneously goofy and unfairly attractive.
They jogged in silence for another few minutes, neither of them reaching for their headphones, until finally the biker finished their workout and left them alone in the gym. Shane knew he should take this chance to make his move, but he had no idea what to say. Rozanov, however, didn’t seem to have the same problem.
“Nice hotel, yes?” he asked Shane.
“Yeah, I’ve certainly stayed in worse,” he responded.
“You have your own room this time?”
“Yeah, I do. Do you?”
“Ah, yes I do. But I wonder if maybe your room is better than mine. Canada is different than Russia, yes?”
“Yes, Canada is definitely different than Russia.”
Shane had a feeling Rozanov was not referring to the budget each team had spent on the hotel rooms. It did seem that if they were to meet and somehow get caught, it would be much better for it to be by one of Shane’s teammates than Rozanov’s.
“So, maybe I come see your room sometime?” Rozanov asked.
“Maybe I’d be up for that.”
“What time is team curfew before game?”
“10 PM.”
“So maybe I come at 11 when everyone else is sleeping?”
“It’s also my curfew, Rozanov. What if someone hears?”
“Then you tell them you have visitor who helps you sleep really well once they leave.”
Shane frowned at Rozanov, but inwardly was pleased. This was probably a riskier plan than Shane’s, which had depended on waiting until the end of the tournament when most of his team would go out clubbing. But Shane was willing to take the risk if it meant that he would have Rozanov in his bed sooner. And it was true that an hour after curfew, it was very unlikely anyone would be in the hallway to witness him knock on Shane's door.
“My room number is 1410,” Shane mumbled.
“Speak clearly, Hollander. Or else maybe I go to wrong room.”
“One. Four. One. Zero,” Shane said it slowly and clearly, but he kept the volume low.
“Your next game is in three days?”
Shane nodded his head to confirm
“Then I see you in two days. 11 pm.”
Shane put his airpods back in but didn’t resume his podcast. He didn’t know what else to say, yet he was not quite ready to leave Rozanov’s company. He ran another kilometer and then hit the cool down button. Rozanov immediately followed suit. He didn’t follow Shane to the door, however, instead moving to the weights. But before Shane left the room, he turned back his way, and blew him a kiss. Shane blushed, and headed to the elevator, doubting that this trip to the gym had done anything to help him sleep that night.
***
Two days later, after he was supposed to be in bed, Shane paced around his room waiting for Rozanov to knock. What if Rozanov didn’t show up? Or what if he did, but it turned out that he and Shane had no chemistry, and that teenage kiss had been a fluke?
Shane was shaken from these thoughts when he heard a tap on the door; he instantly opened it and pulled Rozanov inside. He closed the door and turned to Rozanov.
“Should we talk?” Shane whispered.
“No, I think let us do something more fun.”Rozanov did not whisper back, but he did keep his voice low.
And then his lips were on Shane’s, with one hand gripping the back of Shane’s neck and the other rubbing his chest. After a minute, Shane sank to his knees and went to pull down his team Russia joggers, but Rozanov pulled him right back up.
“Let us go to bed, yes?” he murmured into Shane’s ear. “I hear you have very special day tomorrow, old man. Let me take care of you, give you present.”
Shane supposed that some game commentary had probably mentioned his birthday, but he was still surprised that Rozanov was aware, touched, even. Shane let himself be pulled to the bed. And then, as Rozanov kissed down his chest, he even accepted the pillow that was shoved in his face to muffle the moans that Shane clearly couldn’t keep inside. And he wasn’t even embarrassed about it.
***
Both of them played great games after their after hours hookup, so when Rozanov caught Shane’s gaze during breakfast two days later and raised his eyebrow, Shane had nodded. They continued to meet the night before games, never going all the way, but swapping blow jobs and hand jobs that were frankly much more satisfying than any of Shane’s previous sexual encounters. He’d never hooked up with the same man more than twice before, and he’d been amazed by the speed at which they had learned each other’s bodies and preferences.
The night before the last games of the preliminary round, however, Shane had decided he needed to set a boundary. So far, hooking up with Rozanov hadn’t made a negative impact on his performance on the ice (if anything, it had a positive one), but it wasn’t a risk he was willing to take during the playoffs. After they both had finished, Shane broached the subject, lying with his face close to Rozanov’s ear so he could whisper.
“We can’t meet again until after the finals, okay?” he asked. “Everyone will probably go get drunk that night, we can have more time.”
Rozanov pulled Shane into his chest, and then trailed his hand down to his ass. Shane shivered.
“You have done it before, Hollander?”
Shane knew what he was asking.
“Yes, a couple times. Have you?”
“Yes, but not for long time. More dangerous in Russia now that I am famous #1 hockey player. And I like women too, so…”
Shane had suspected that was the case. “I can go get lube and condoms. It’s probably safer for me.”
Rozanov hummed, and pressed a kiss to Shane’s forehead.
“I should go. I will see you on the ice when we beat you.”
“Keep dreaming, Rozanov.”
3 days later, when they bent for the opening faceoff in the first round of playoffs, Shane felt like he was the one dreaming. He hadn’t been on the ice with Rozanov since they were eighteen, and both of them had greatly grown as players since then. But as they chased each other up and down the ice, Shane felt emotionally transported back to that first World Juniors, meeting someone who seemed like his true match for the first time.
In the end, Canada beat Russia 5-4 and knocked them out of the tournament. Canada celebrated while Russia commiserated, but Shane broke free from his team when he saw Rozanov skating their way.
“What’s up, Rozanov?”
“As captain, I am here to congratulate your team on good game.”
Shane had played enough hockey games to know this was not standard behavior, but Rozanov still made it seem natural. He shook Shane’s hand and then leaned close to his ear to whisper “three days and I will give you prize.”
***
Three days later, Shane felt like this prize was almost better than the one he would have received if Canada had managed to medal. Getting fucked by Rozanov had somehow managed to surpass his fantasies, and he allowed himself to just enjoy the feeling of satisfaction he felt as he ran his fingers through Rozanov’s curls.
Some of Shane’s teammates had returned from the club early and were having a party down the hall, and while it meant that Rozanov would need to be extremely careful returning to his own floor, it had also meant they hadn’t needed to be so cautious about being loud. Shane had allowed himself to make noises he never had before, and had been saved from embarrassment by Rozanov’s own groans and whimpers that Shane had found outlandishly hot.
But as Shane basked in the afterglow, Rozanov had gone quiet. He hadn’t even chirped Shane about the way he hid the condom in a protein shake bottle before throwing it out.
“Penny for your thoughts?” said Shane.
“That is English phrase?” Rozanov asked.
“Yes, it means, ‘what are you thinking about?’.”
“That is a lot of English for now, Hollander. You just killed me, remember?”
It was quiet for a moment.
“I wish I knew Russian,” Shane eventually ventured.
“Maybe next time I will teach you useful phrases. You can say them to me in bed.”
Something in the way he said this had seemed very sad. It should have been a joke, but it didn’t come out as one. Shane thought he understood, though. They probably would never have this opportunity again. Shane had obviously never thought this thing with Rozanov would extend beyond casual hookups during the tournament, and he was sure they were on the same page there, but he also hadn’t thought they would manage to get together as much as they had in the past couple weeks.
A bout of shouting from the end of the hall drew Shane out of his head.
“They’re probably going to be up for a while longer,” he said. “How about we just go to sleep? We can set an alarm for 4 am, you can sneak out then.”
He felt Rozanov nod more than he saw it, then got up to go to the bathroom, set the alarm and turn off the lamp. When he got back to the bed, Rozanov was lying on his side, facing the wall. Shane briefly considered doing the same, but he knew this wasn’t an opportunity he’d have again. So he got under the covers and shuffled closer to him until he could press his forehead to Rozanov’s neck and throw an arm over his waist. Shane pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and then let sleep take him, comfort and exhaustion overtaking the distracting noise from the end of the hall.
That had been the last time Shane had seen Rozanov. When the alarm woke him up a couple hours later, he was alone in bed. And in the middle of summer, he read an unexpected headline: Ilya Rozanov had announced his retirement from professional hockey and would not be participating in the upcoming KHL season. Shane had texted a Russian player who had spent a few seasons on the Voyageurs to ask if he knew any more details about the situation, but it had been fruitless. Apparently, it was a complete shock to the Russian hockey world, and no rationale had been given beyond “personal reasons.”
In the following four years, Shane wondered about these personal reasons more than was healthy, but he had resigned himself to never figuring out what had inspired Rozanov’s retirement. However, as he stood in Ilya Rozanov’s new kitchen on that late summer day, looking between him and the little girl with identical golden curls, he realized that he had finally gotten his answer.