Work Text:
Shane Hollander never expected the reveal of his relationship with Ilya Rozanov to happen at center ice in Philadelphia after turning down a marriage proposal from Gritty, the team mascot. Just the thought of how this all happened is so ridiculous he can barely believe it, but here he is, making out with his fiance for all to see, their faces projected on the jumbotron to raucous cheers from their teammates and an arena of hockey fans.
Honestly, this series of events isn’t even all that bad, just strangely awkward and enthusiastic, much like the two of them. For an announcement like this, which has been such a long time coming, some couples would be under pressure for everything to be perfect. He and Ilya have gone the other way entirely; they have been more than ready to just get it over and done with. They love each other, and it is time for people to know… end of story. It is that shared attitude that obviously has led to Shane’s current situation.
The planning had been going on for ages, and what was initially brainstorming in the privacy of their own home eventually included the bizarre quorum of Shane’s parents Yuna and David, Ilya and Shane’s joint agent Farah Jalali, Ottawa Centaurs team social media manager Harris Drover, and somehow the best friend contingent of Hayden and Jackie Pike and Svetlana Vetrova. So obviously, when they all met to discuss, which had been way too fucking often, things had been starting to get a bit contentious. On one side was Farah and Yuna, recommending something conventional like a beautifully photographed spread in HELLO! Canada. On the other side was Harris going all in for getting papped on an “instagram adorable” date in Ottawa. Ever the wild cards, the BFFs quickly became persona non grata to pretty much everyone else with their impassioned argument in favor of having a wedding, not telling anyone, allowing social media posts from attendees, and letting chaos unfold.
He understood it, truly. So much of his outing was outside of his control, forced by some asshole videoing his confession to Rose at that restaurant in Montreal ages ago, so the intensity of everyone about this was understandable. But the fretting of their loved ones to make this moment idealic for them had instead served to make Shane feel increasingly reckless, and frankly, for quite a while he had been tempted to just fuck it all and be a normal person in love, holding hands with Ilya in public, and letting the chips fall where they may. It took a while after all the fallout from his confession before he felt like he had a say in the choices surrounding his personal life, but Ilya had helped him reclaim that, and it was time to be himself in every aspect of his life.
Fast forward to today, where all of the squabbling is a distant memory. Though he wouldn’t have ever expected that their love story would be revealed by Ilya becoming jealous of a 300 pound, 7 foot tall, googly-eyed orange mascot, somehow it is also sincerely on brand for the two of them.
***
Several days ago
With two days of down time stretching before them, Shane and Ilya are ensconced at the cottage, as usual. It is an unwritten rule that this time is sacred which means no blowing up their phones for anything short of an emergency. Another observed rule is that texts will be responded to on the timeframe of “whenever we get to them in between athletic rounds of sex.” The final rule is to not call unless you are very okay with hearing something in the background that may scar you for life.
Everyone hews closely to Shane and Ilya’s rules because it is equally well known that after cabin time the two lead players return to play refreshed and universally dominate the next few games, more attuned and in sync then their already practically clairvoyant baseline. So the team has decided, if the sexcapades lead to this kind of outcome, it will not be mentioned. Ever.
They cherish their time together, but it doesn’t mean that they are attached at the hip every second. Ilya is currently at Shane’s parent’s place picking up some perishable food items to make baked goods that Shane would never consider eating during the regular season. Of course, Ilya is always and forever a nuisance and will try everything in his power to tempt Shane with them anyway.
Letting out a huff, Shane jogs across the cold ground from the house to the hot tub. He lowers himself in and carefully adjusts the heat and the jets, finding the perfect spot to relax some muscles that are sore from the last stretch of games, and also from their activities last night.
Meditating to the sounds of nature, and in such a good headspace that even the obnoxious sound of the loons calling aren’t disturbing him, Shane is surprised to hear his phone buzz. It’s been a while since anyone impinged on his time away, so he scoops up the phone right away and sees Harris Drover’s name pop up on his caller ID. The social media manager protects their privacy more than just about anyone else on the team, so assuming it must be important, Shane picks up.
“Hey Harris. What's up?”.
“Hi Shane, I really, really, really hate to bother you. I always try to honor your personal time,” Harris says, contrition apparent in his voice.
“It’s OK man, that’s why I picked up. I know you wouldn’t call without a good reason. So what can I help you with? Need some more real estate pointers?” Shane says with a laugh.
“Uh, no. Not exactly.” Harris gets right to the point. “So, we’re in Philly next week. I’m not sure if you know this, but their social media manager has been focusing a lot on philanthropy this year. It’s actually really cool because they’ve been allowing the visiting team to share their charitable work as well. Sometimes they'll have a silly little game on the ice, or donate a portion of food sales.”
“That is nice. Guess the city sports fans aren’t as mean as what they claim,” Shane says.
“Well, no one will ever forget them throwing snowballs at Santa Claus, but hey, two things can be true at the same time, am I right?” Harris says with a laugh. “So anyway, they were asking me if we had a charity we wanted to spotlight, and I mentioned the Irina Foundation.”
Shane smiles softly. The foundation he runs with Ilya is very dear to him. It was initially pitched to get the world used to them as friends and not rivals, but more importantly, it is near and dear to both of their hearts with its focus on mental health and youth hockey opportunities.
“That's really great. Thanks, Harris. You know you have carte blanche to bring up the foundation as one of our fundraising partners.”
Harris lets out a hum. “Well, we love to highlight your work. Obviously. But, well, yeah there is another piece to this… So you know Philly is a pretty LGBTQ+ friendly town. Their management does a lot of good work fundraising for local charities that support our community. They have year round inclusion events and seem to be trying. Certainly more of a commitment than just hosting a pride night. Anyway, their media team was wondering if you could do a quick little speech about the project.”
Shane groans audibly. “You took a lot of pains to mention their initiatives. You’ve got to tell me before we go any farther, am I the token gay guy in this scenario?”
“Well, their social media manager was really hoping for the Hollander touch. It would be foolish to think that wasn’t a part of it. They had that player a while back who didn’t want to wear the pride jersey and they did that PR thing where they praised their LGBTQ+ cred while also saying they respected that guy’s religion and choice. Honestly, their social media team is young and hungry and I think they want a different look for the team. They did request you.”
“It’s fine. You know I’m used to it by now, Harris.”
Harris clears his throat. “There is one more part to this. They also were hoping that after you do your intro you’ll goof around with their mascot, Gritty, on the ice for a bit.”
Shane rolls his eyes, not that Harris can see him, but still.
Clocking the silence Harris continues. “He’s the most popular character in the league, you know. His clips go viral on the regular. He has more followers on socials than even some NHL teams. Within 24 hrs of his reveal he was tweeting death threats at Pittsburgh’s mascot. Having a Gritty moment could be really good for the foundation.”
“Can’t Ilya do it? He’s good at threats,” Shane says morosely.
“Yeah, maybe that wasn’t the best example, but please? Again, Hollander touch, it’s for charity!” Harris implores.
Shane sighs. He understands why teams have mascots and how the visibility can bring fans in, especially younger ones. He also gets merchandising and social media buzz, obviously. But everyone knows that Shane is a serious player. During his time with the Voyageurs, he was always shielded from most of the puff pieces that the social media team ran and was featured in other types of content. Irreverence just wasn’t his thing. He was awkward, stoic, and sometimes touch-averse, not goofy. The most he ever interacted with his former mascot was a photo or a brief high five. Harris is right though. It’s for charity. And it kind of is Philadelphia’s thing, so he can suck it up and make the sacrifice for the opportunity to raise money, at an away game no less.
This is communicated, unsurprisingly, seriously and stoically. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Shane can practically hear Harris gloating across the line. “Thank you so much, Shane! You really are the best. And no worries, I know their social media manager and they aren’t like the types to be mean or anything. Gritty is a good ally. Represents at the city pride parade. Solid dude.”
Shane rolls his eyes at Harris talking about the mascot as if he is an actual person, but given his infectiousness is endeared in spite of himself. “I’m in. Just vet it for me and send me some details so I know what I'm getting into.”
He can hear Harris typing madly away already as they hang up.
***
Indeed, baked goods are on the menu, brownies to be exact. Shane sits next to Ilya on the couch after dinner, his feet in the other man’s lap, as he watches him shovel an endless parade of chocolatey morsels into his mouth.
Shane’s cell phone pings, alerting him to an email from Harris and he opens it up, trying to pointedly ignore Ilya lasciviously moaning with each bite of desert. The sound is ridiculously over the top and isn’t turning him on, as much as Ilya insists it is, but it isn’t exactly turning him off either, which is definitely a him problem. For a moment his brain flashes ahead to their plans for this evening. Ilya has recently gotten a very special kind of box delivered in the mail to the cabin. While they definitely don’t typically bring anything too wild while traveling, lest nosey rookies are accidentally scandalized picking up the wrong bag, at home things are a bit different. Simply put, Shane has been pleasantly surprised by Ilya’s online purchases on more than one occasion.
As Shane tries to bring his brain back online, Ilya suggestively licks crumbs from each of his fingers. Shane snorts derisively and looks down at the list of photos and links that Harris just sent. Undeterred, Ilys sidles up to him and looks over his shoulder as Shane scrolls down to the first photo, picturing a large, tubby, very orange, mascot wearing Flyers hockey gear. As Harris had mentioned, the character is walking down the main streets of Philadelphia waving a rainbow flag, and the adoring crowd surrounding him is decked out in their best pride gear.
Ilya taps his finger on the side of the laptop. “Gritty. Gay icon.”
Shane looks up at him with his perfected side eye.
Ilya shrugs, “Hey, not sure if that guy is an ally or queer himself, but he is solid."
“You too? You and Harris, talking about the mascot like he’s a real person? I expected more from you Ilya. You’re Russian for fucks sake.”
“Hey, just because I am Russian does not mean I do not have whimsy.”
Shane just stares.
“You’ve seen pictures of Russian churches? Fantastical, yes? And I think the Flyers struck treasure with Gritty.”
“Struck gold,” Shane corrects, not missing a beat.
Using all of the hand gestures in his repertoire, Ilya continues, “Yes, Philly struck gold with that mascot. Is funny, and sarcastic, and the people love him. Even fans from other teams. Rest of NHL has lame mascots, but not Philadelphia. They made their Gritty weird and outspoken and perfect for that fucking city. What do we have? Beaver named Chuck. How does that even make sense? We could have had a fucking centaur. Half-man, half-horse. Strong. But no. A Beaver. On the gayest team in the NHL, even.”
Shane can’t stop himself, he dissolves into laughter while continuing to scroll. He clicks the first link and watches Gritty’s introduction, descending from the ceiling of the Wells Fargo Center on a wrecking ball before landing and gyrating all over the ice to delighted cries.
“Why did Harris send Gritty videos? He is trying to find you a new line of work for you and your old creaking bones, Hollander?” Ilya snipes, elbow digging into Shane’s side.
Shane finally looks up, shifting the lap top. “Harris said Philly has been featuring not only their own charities at games, but also highlighting the opposing team’s as well. Like when Montreal was there a month ago, they made poutine at a few of the food stalls and all the proceeds went to the charity of their choice. Stuff like that. When they reached out to Harris he mentioned the Irina Foundation and asked if I would say something and do a little sketch with Gritty before the game.”
“And you are actually considering this?” Ilya’s voice raises, incredulous. “You did not try to give it to me? I am hilarious, charming, certainly a match for Gritty. Why would Harris come to you over me? You’re boring Hollander. Gritty and I are not boring.”
Shane sighs. “One guess. The Flyers are pretty good at supporting LGBTQ+ causes. Most of their players are great but…”
“Oh yes, that fuckface. Because he is Russian he can’t support the gays. I’m Russian and I fuck men. I bet the team is glad that asshole got traded. Philly is a city with a good scene for people like us. They don’t need regressive homophobes on their team.”
“Regressive? You’ve been studying,” Shane teases.
“It makes for a good insult. Many of the meatheads on the line do not know what I’m saying even though English is their first language, unlike mine. They have to look it up. Makes me happy to see them confused. Easier to get puck and kick their ass.”
Shane reaches over and grabs Ilya’s hand before closing the laptop and settling it onto the coffee table. “I’m going to do it. I’m used to being asked to play the gay card, and it’s for a good cause in this case. And they weren’t assholes about it. Plus, we’re so close to figuring out how to tell everyone about us… the team has been awesome, our family and friends are supportive, you’re a Canadian citizen now. It is our time. Finally,” he says, emotion creeping into his voice. “Might not be a bad idea to remind everyone that I was their second gay hockey player.”
“Their best gay hockey player,” Ilya says fondly.
Shane shoots him a look.
“Hey, I'm bisexual, or I would be best gay hockey player.”
And with that, Shane clambers into Ilya’s lap, wrapping his fingers around the curls at the nape of his neck and gently tugging. Ilya responds with a groan, similar sounding, but worlds away from the utterances he was making while eating his brownies. The sound shoots straight to Shane’s core and he can feel himself hardening immediately. Ilya can obviously feel it too
“Ready to go upstairs? I have surprise,” Ilya whispers. “And this was not planned, but the surprise is the color orange, like your new Philadelphia boyfriend.”
Shane jumps off his lap, but not before landing a playful cuff to his ear. “I hear another word about that and you’re sleeping on the couch,” he says.
“Then we would play horribly. Not worth the risk, I think,” Ilya says. Their eyes lock, equal desire on both of their faces as they stagger together towards the bedroom.
***
Today
Shane is an awkward guy. This has always been true, and while his media coaching and experience has made it less noticeable, it’s not going away anytime soon. He has accepted it and makes it work for him, not against him, in his role as an earnest, nice, Canadian player. It certainly hasn’t hurt his brand sponsorships, which, if anything, increased after the world discovered his sexuality, at least with the high ticket partners. Rolex stayed in, Canada Goose picked him up, and Brewhouse beer, which was a weird fit for him anyway, was out.
So here he stands, center ice. People are still settling into the arena, which is awash in black and orange. They are finding their seats with their beer and snacks or running to the bathroom before the start of the game. And here Shane is, fully suited up, with the exception of his helmet and gloves, in the middle of the ice as his team stands to the side. He has his PR smile on as he talks about his and Ilya’s foundation, and what the support of the crowd would mean to kids and mental health charities in his hometown. His face is on the jumbotron, and he has a pleasant expression plastered there.
The MC, Philadelphia’s social media manager, a nice woman named Kate, asks him a few prearranged softball questions. The Philly social media team had told him that after discussing the charity, Gritty would run out and shoot the puck around with him a little bit. The sketch was that if Shane got the puck past him, Kate would announce a percentage of merchandise proceeds for tonight going to the foundation. People could also donate from their phones, and a QR link was spread around the stadium.
Before the game Shane got to hear how Harris was already frothing at the bit to start something similar in Ottawa, and frankly, Shane could see why. It is nice, and even though play in hockey can be contentions, this is a good way to break down barriers and highlight the players as real people.
Feeling foolish, but glad for the fundraising opportunity, Shane places his stick to the ice, facing the orange monstrosity of a mascot as Kate drops the puck between them. Shane takes it slow. The person in the suit probably has played hockey before, but not professionally. They mock fight for the puck for a bit, before Shane handily swoops it out from in front of Gritty, and executes an incredibly flash series of footwork, coming up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder.
Shane braces for a hug or a cuff on his helmet, but is surprised when instead of that Gritty drops down to one knee in front of him, hands clutching his heart. He knows the expression on his face is confused, a smile still plastered there, but the movements get a little more clear in intention as out of, god knows, somewhere, Gritty produces a bouquet of silk flowers and offers them to him. Shane accepts gratefully, before a large heart shaped box of candy is also extended up toward him. Shane shakes his head good naturedly, ready for this to be over to get in the right head space for game play… but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards. Again, as if being plucked from the depths of the furry suit, a bear with a Flyers jersey is proffered. Shane's arms are getting full as he juggles all of the trinkets, smile still locked on, scene streaming over the jumbotron as people goodnaturedly chuckle.
Philly is used to these antics; he is glad he is playing along as they seem to be endeared, as evidenced by the cheers, and the occasional wolf whistle rising up through the stands, which only makes the cheers pick up in volume. As Shane waits with dread for the next item, he is absolutely not expecting to look down at a ring box. Of course, the rough and tumble mascot is now, for all intents and purposes, staging a fake marriage proposal on center ice.
Shane looks at Kate, panicked. He doesn't want to refuse the mascot and have everyone boo, but they really can’t expect him to accept a ring pop in an expensive jewelry box from a strange orange muppet, can they?
Kate nods reassuringly and puts the microphone up to her lips. “Gritty,” she says, disappointment lacing her voice as she hams it up beside the mascot. “You’ve only just met Shane Hollander. Don't you think it’s a bit soon to propose? Maybe you can talk to him after the game. Take him out for cheesesteaks.” She puts on a firm, cross armed stance. “No kidnapping him just because you want him on your team, okay?”
And thank fuck for that. Shane can just be the straight man (ha) as Gritty looks down abashedly and stands up, shuffling his feet.
Shane is so focused on, whatever this is, that he doesn't catch the movement at his elbow until it is too late, and he sees Ilya barrelling across the ice, towards them, peeling off his helmet and gloves as he comes closer and closer. Oh no, just oh no.
Kate looks surprised, but she is no slouch, so she plays along readily. “And look, it’s Ottawa team captain Ilya Rozanov, the other founder of the Irina Foundation, here to give his teammate and friend an assist?” she questions.
Ilya stands next to Shane, hands on his hips facing off against the mascot. He gestures for the microphone and as he speaks into it, his accent is thicker than usual. He huffs out, “Gritty.” before pointing aggressively at the mascot. “You do not know Hollander. Who do you think you are, proposing to him like this?”
Shane wants to sink into the ice. Ilya can sometimes get deep into horsing around for the sake of the bit with the guys in the locker room, but this really is not the time or place. The sketch was almost over, Shane had an out, everyone looked good for donations to the foundation. What the actual fuck?
The actor playing Gritty is obviously a professional and equally at one with his orange alter ego because he puts his hands up imploringly, gesturing at Shane before putting them to the side of his head, swooning in place.
“Yes, yes, we know Hollander is a dream boat, but you forget yourself Gritty,” Ilya growls.
Now the mascot puts his hands on his own hips squaring up with Rozanov, and for fucks sake, this is really going to be all over social media, isn’t it. Probably will make ESPN as well. Well, at least if it gets some web traffic for the foundation Shane can say it is all worth it. He guesses.
“No. None of that,” Ilya waves his finger in Gritty’s face again and steps forward aggressively as Shane looks to the side, rolling his eyes at his team who, of course, seem ridiculously amused.
“Gritty, you are good guy. But Hollander is MY fiance. Not yours. You need to back off now.”
Shane’s head snaps around and before he can even figure out what just happened, Ilya is moving between Shane and Gritty, shoving the microphone at the mascot, before gently taking Shane's face in his hands. He smiles that devastating grin of his and leans down for a tender, but unmistakably open mouthed, kiss. Shane feels tongue and briefly wonders at how zoomed in the jumbotron is before becoming fully immersed in the passionate embrace with his love.
They break apart, and Shane knows, despite all of the utter ridiculousness, that the dopey smile he always gets after kissing Ilya is more than present and will be shared widely over social media for all of eternity. Yet he can’t even begin to care. He had wanted this announcement to just be over and done with, and here is Ilya giving him what he needs, just like he always does, Shane hears the crowd absolutely roaring with applause and cheers, as he leans in and gives Ilya a small but tender peck on the lips before turning to Gritty and shrugging.
Kate is entirely beside herself, as any good social media manager would be, as she pivots on the spot. She steps to the mascot, reaching up to pat his shoulders, microphone now back in her possession. “Well Gritty, tough for you.”
Gritty shakes his head forlornly and Kate says, “Yeah, I didn’t know either. Guess there’s a reason these two play so well together. I’m almost going to feel bad when our own Philadelphia Flyers beat these two love birds tonight.”
Ilya and Shane dissolve into laughter. The unmistakably visceral sound of sticks rhythmically hitting the ice picks up as ‘All I Do is Win’ starts playing on the loudspeakers. The two men grasp hands, skating off toward their team who surround them with hugs and pats on the back, before the Flyers players skate over to join the celebration and offer their own high fives and embraces.
Harris is tucked into his phone, madly reposting the Flyers content on their own social media and probably coming up with some witty captions. Shane sees him look down and mouth an expletive. Well, that could only be their manager or Shane’s mom. And you know what? Shane absolutely does not care. Nothing to worry about at all.
He continues to hold hands with Ilya. The cheering is still outrageously loud and he can clearly hear the chants echoing through the Wells Fargo Center: Holl-an-der, Roz-a-nov. They wave in a slow turn to the hockey fans in attendance and share one last embrace before retreating back to the locker room. After all, they are already winning at life and love, and now it’s time to show some real grit and win some hockey as well.
End.