Chapter Text
Shane had gotten to a place where crowded events didn’t send him into a complete spiral and he was rightfully really proud of himself. He walked into the room with the same level of confidence he skated with, and then he checked his phone.
Lily
🤢
What the fuck did that mean? Rozanov did a lot of things, but making fun of his fashion choices through emojis was a new one.
Jane
??
Lily
🤮🤒😴
Jane
There’s no way you’re sick
Hockey players rarely got sick, even if they did they still spent time on the ice and threw up in buckets between shifts, that’s just how it worked. However, Shane can see how coming sick to a charity for cancer may seem a bit insensitive.
Lily
🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮
☠️☠️☠️☠️
Shane pressed call before he even thought about stopping himself, more surprised than anything that Ilya actually picked up, “What the fuck am I supposed to do if you’re not here?”
Whatever Ilya’s response was going to be was interrupted by the sound of him retching so violently it almost made Shane join him in his misery.
“How are you, Rozanov? Can I do anything to help, Rozanov? Do you want me to send video of me jerking off, Rozanov? Always yes to that, but so rude for you not to ask, Hollander.” Ilya groaned, hoarse as ever.
Ilya was the only reason Shane tolerated these things, the NHL always sent captains and since Ilya was the most notable captain in the fucking league (because everyone hated him), he was always present.
He would always corner Shane in the bathroom or some supply closet and get him out of his head, have him fucking floating for the rest of the night. The first time it happened Shane raced to google to see if there was any definition for “I got fucked through a mattress and now feel like I’m sat next to Jesus” but then Ilya was able to send him to that place without even taking their clothes off.
Every interaction they had Shane was chasing that high that google told him was called “subspace” and then he took a test that he couldn’t fail but he’s apparently 85% submissive and 76% brat, whatever the fuck that meant.
All he knew was that he liked it when Rozanov took him aside and made all his worries disappear. Whatever label that fell under Shane would proudly wear it, in absolute privacy.
“You weren’t sick the last time I saw you, right?” Forgive him for double checking but the position Ilya was in didn’t exactly sound fun.
“Beginning to think you do not care about me, but no, it came from one of my player’s snotty child.” Came after more retching and bile spitting, ew.
“Do you need anything? I can send some ginger ale-”
“You use my weakened state to push your root soda agenda?” Ilya tried to laugh but it came out this raspy cough that had Shane frowning instinctively, he was never good at dealing with other people’s sickness.
“Fuck you, it actually helps when you’re puking your fucking guts up.”
Ilya grumbled some more before the conversation reached its end and they said their goodbyes.
Shane wasn’t a big drinker, other than hating public events, this was one thing that was most known about him. If Shane Hollander was seen out with his teammates, he’d have two drinks max, and then leave.
Tonight however, Shane was on his fourth flute of champagne when a hand was suddenly wrapped around his wrist, pulling him away from the other attendees.
He wasn’t drunk, but he was far closer to it than he’d been since he was a rookie. In hindsight, he was grateful for whoever decided he needed to be cut off, Shane’s lips were feeling awfully loose.
Carter Vaughn, Vaughny to those close, was agreeably the nicest player in the NHL. Any mention of him on twitter was likely some girl fawning over the fact that he watched her drink rather than spiking it, or paying for her taxi ride home, with the guys it was more so covering tabs and not hitting on their girls that he could easily snatch.
He had a couple of years on Shane and had given him his number shortly after the draft, giving him a rundown on the players that were just flat out racist. A helpful lesson that Shane truly couldn’t thank him enough for.
So he wasn’t surprised that it was the Admirals’ A feeding him a glass of water, genuine concern written over his face.
“Jesus Christ, Hollander, I haven’t seen you this fucked up in a minute.” Carter said low, mostly to himself.
“‘M fine.” Shane immediately argued, he was the furthest thing from fine.
His head found Carter’s shoulder soon, mumbling absolute nonsense as all four flutes made themselves known.
“He was throwing them back like a fucking fish, Scotty, now he’s fucking sloshed and talking about some Lily chick.”
More hands were on him, this time firmer and turning him around so his back was against Vaughny’s chest, Scott Hunter the Ancient also had this look of grave concern plastered on his face.
“You’re hot.” Shane slurred.
“You’re not too bad yourself, Hollander, rough night?”
“Lily couldn’t make it, sick.”
Scott responded, maybe? Shane didn’t remember anything after getting put in an uber.
Sandwiched between the two Admirals and half conscious, Shane was not privy to the word spoken low and over his head.
“I didn’t even know Hollzy had a girl, much less one serious enough to get him drinking like this when she leaves.” Carter whispered.
Scott bit back a smirk as he nodded along, he wasn’t sure about what he thought he knew, but Scott wasn’t going to lie and say the walls between 1221 and 1222 were thicker than they actually were.
“He’s a private kid,” Scott shrugged as best he could with Shane’s head weighing down his shoulder, “I can’t say I blame him, we don’t exactly make good partners.”
Carter spared a glance at the driver before lowering his voice even more, “Have you heard from him at all?” His voice filled with sympathy Scott wasn’t sure he deserved, “I know you said he said he wanted space, but-”
“But nothing, Vaughny, he asked for space so I’m gonna give him space.” Scott said like it was simple, like he wasn’t struggling to fall asleep every night.
The desolation of his relationship with Kip was as amicable as it could’ve been, given all the details Carter didn’t know.
“How am I supposed to fulfill your needs if you’re always on the road?” Kip had asked on his final night in Scott’s apartment.
It was a valid question, one Scott didn’t have an answer for, thus the relationship ended. Simple, logical, and still painful as hell.
Unsurprisingly, it was a two man job getting Hollander into the elevator, the two decided it was easier to take him to his own room where all his stuff already was rather than lug him up to theirs.
“Alright, Hollzy, Scotty here is gonna stay with you tonight, make sure you don’t do anything stupid, sound good?”
Hollander made a noise of agreement from where he was face down on his bed, leading both men to grimace at each other.
“He’s gonna want to die in the morning.” Scott spoke quietly.
Vaughny agreed with pursed lips, “Welp, have fun!”
And then he was gone. Scott undressed the kid as best he could without feeling weird himself, pocketed the room key, and placed the trash can next to his head.
Lily
Call me 🤕
Scott stared at the screen for longer than he meant to, they were three years removed from that fateful All-Star Game where he learned what he’d deny like his life was on the line if anyone asked.
Scott should’ve just ignored the text, but he knew from his own experience Hollander is the type to respond immediately unless he was in the middle of game and any lack of response apart from that meant he was dead in a ditch somewhere.
So he unlocked Hollander’s phone, which was embarrassingly easy. The kid needed a new password, and called Lily.
“I’m gonna talk just in case you don’t want to,” Scott began, waited a breath, there was no response, so he continued, “Shane got really drunk, Vaughny and I got him back to his hotel room and I’m gonna stay the night to make sure he doesn’t choke on his vomit. Any questions?”
He was met with more silence before he was greeted with the roughest laugh he’d ever heard from Rozanov, “You cannot know, that is not allowed.”
“You gave him your room number right in front of me, jackass, and from what I heard it wasn’t for business purposes.”
Rozanov sighed, “Does anyone else know?”
“No one from me, you two aren’t nearly as clever as you think you are.”
“Just, hmm,” Rozanov’s English had come such a long way from when he was an actual rookie that it sometimes slipped Scott’s mind that he still wasn’t fluent, “Be gentle, in the morning? My Jane cannot handle cruelty.”
“Not even yours?” Scott asked before he could help himself.
“No, he finds mine the most upsetting, I think.” It wasn’t said with usual pride Rozanov had when he knew he was under your skin, Rozanov had hurt Hollander’s feelings and he didn’t like it.
Scott woke up to the violent sounds of Shane vomiting in the bathroom.
While not unfamiliar, it sounded like the morning after any rookies’ 21st, it would always remain unpleasant.
“Fuck, kid, should I call an ambulance?” The groan he got in response was enough to make him actually consider it, “You know Hollander, you could’ve just hung out with Carter and I instead of drowning yourself in champagne.”
Shane was in the fetal position when Scott entered the bathroom, moaning softly in what Scott could imagine was absolute agony.
“I’m gonna have Carter bring us some good fashion greasy American breakfast food, disregard your diet completely and load you up with carbs and calories.” By the end of his spiel Hollander emptied his stomach once more, another trick Scott had learned over the years.
“Fuck you!” Shane snapped with the malice of a kitten, he immediately winced and tucked his head into his arms, “You chose now to show how much of a dick you can be?”
“As good a time as any,” Scott shrugged, passing him four ibuprofen and a bottle of water, “Get yourself together, whatever that means for you, we need to talk.” Framing it as an order hadn’t been Scott’s intention, but it was interesting how receptive Shane was to his tone.
Very interesting.
Scott envied the way Shane’s brain worked, everything was very black and white, things went where they went, no exceptions made.
Watching him organize himself not even twelve hours after getting completely shitfaced was a thing of beauty, his mind worked wonders. He brushed his teeth a total of four times, spent 23 minutes in the shower, and whatever the hell he was putting on his face took an additional 11 minutes.
The person everyone perceived Hollander to be took exactly 42 minutes and 26 seconds to create, Scott was not weird for noticing this.
“Good, I was told to be gentle with my approach but I’m gonna be completely honest with you, I do not know how to say what I need to say without you freaking out.”
Shane tilted his head just enough to be way too fucking adorable, “Are you sleeping with my mom or something?”
“No!”
Shane narrowed his eyes, “My dad?”
“I’m being serious here, kid. Think of the last thing you want people to know, I already know it.” That was pretty gentle in Scott’s opinion, but didn't exactly stop the look of complete horror on Hollander’s face though.
Shane Hollander would lose everything in a poker game, the array of emotions he was feeling were written on his forehead for anyone to observe. Luckily, his only audience to his breakdown was Scott Hunter, the ancient.
“You passed out and Lily–fuck, are you crying? Shit-” Hollander looked like a kicked fucking puppy, the last thing Scott wanted to do was hurt him.
“You can’t tell anyone.” Were the words Shane finally strung together, his eyes red with both shed and unshed tears, “You really fucking can’t, please-”
“Shane, I’m gay.” And I would never do anything as stupid as sleep with another player for years on end, “So take a breath,” Shane listened, Scott praised, “good, again.”
“I don’t know what I am.” Shane all but whimpered, further pulling at Scott’s heartstrings.
“That’s okay, though I’m sure your time with Rozanov has painted a pretty nice picture, yeah?”
Shane groaned and slid off of the bed, landing on his knees on the carpet, “You’re judging me.”
“Rozanov is the biggest asshole in the league, and your actual rival, how long has this been going on anyway?” Shane’s hair was still damp from his shower, Scott couldn’t stop himself from running his hand through it, “Shane?”
Scott forced himself to ignore the fact that Shane was on his knees just mere inches from his cock for the sake of all involved parties.
“Do I have to tell you?” Shane asked, his thumbs running over each one of his knuckles. He was so fucking nervous.
“I would like an answer, yes.” Scott responded gently, now massaging Shane’s head in an attempt to get him less tense. The kid didn’t even lock up like this to prepare for a check, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you about my relationship woes in exchange.”
“Woes? Fuck, you are old.”
Scott wasn’t proud with how quick he responded by tugging on the other man’s hair, but the fucking sound that left Hollander’s mouth, holy shit.
“You’ve got everyone fooled, hiding this bratty mouth behind these pretty freckles for all these years.” Scott was even less proud with how painfully hard he currently was, he didn’t even know if they were exclusive and he was half way to fucking him.
Shane was hard too, having inched forward so he was pressed up against Scott’s leg.
“Fuck, my ex broke up with me I wasn’t home enough for either of us to get what we needed.” Space was a lie, it was the softening of a death blow. How do you begin to heal if you don’t acknowledge how hurt you actually are? “Your turn.”
A beautiful flush spread across Shane’s cheeks, “I haven’t um, he’s the only one.”
“Ever?”
Shane nodded shyly and tried to turn his face away from Scott’s view, “He didn’t talk to me for eight months, then we hooked up after he won MVP and we didn’t even kiss and-”
“And he was supposed to be here last night to make things right.” Scott finished, everything now making perfect sense, no wonder he was anxious enough that alcohol poisoning seemed a better alternative.
Shane nodded again, this time with a soft sniffle and pressed himself further into Scott’s firm hands, “I like the floaty feeling, it helps.”
Oh. Perfect fucking sense, of course the People Pleaser 1000 Turbo Shane Hollander, was submissive and the second he thinks he’s been rejected his self-esteem plummets.
“I’m sure you do, Hollzy.” Scott whispered, his thumb circling Hollander’s plump bottom lip, “Are you feeling floaty now?”
“No.” Muffled from the thumb he was now sucking on, “But want to, want to so bad.”
Scott reached over to the nightstand where Shane’s phone was and handed it to him, “We can, but there does need to be a conversation beforehand, call him.”
“He’s gonna be asleep.” Shane argued.
“Then wake him up.”
Shane opened his mouth to argue further but was stopped by two of Scott’s fingers sliding in, “Do you like this?” Shane nodded eagerly, “Do you want more?” Again, Shane nodded.
It took three times for the Russian to answer, “We have both survived, is he still there?” God his voice was fucked.
“Yes.” It was like all other words failed Shane completely, he was a deer in headlights and on the verge of panic. What if Rozanov got pissed? Sure he’s slept his way through the entirety of Boston, so much so that there was a goddamn subreddit support group because women couldn’t find anyone else with dick game as good as his.
Shane had a blast finding that out during his eight month fucking ice out, and he was just about to push him right back into the arms of all those women. Fuck.
“I offered to help, he wanted me to help five seconds ago, but holy hell you weren’t lying about your cruelty. You’ve ruined him, Rozanov.”
“Yes yes, big bad Rozanov has destroyed tiny little Canadian.”
Shane scrunched up his face, “I’m taller than you.”
“Lies, and for this I say no, Hunter may not help you.”
“If you were nicer, maybe I’d extend my offer to you,” Scott teased, rubbing alongside Shane’s ribcage, “Hollander is such a good boy which means he gets all my attention, and you might just have to listen to how good I can make him feel.”
Shane whined high in his throat, climbing into Scott’s lap and pawed at his shirt, “Please Rozanov, please let him fuck me.” He begged oh so sweetly, which sent Scott into the “painfully hard” territory.
“Is this what you really need, Hollander? Someone to treat you kindly because I am just so terrible to you?” Even in his hoarse, barely there voice, Rozanov was capable of sounding downright fucking mean, and Scott quickly got hip to the fact that Hollander loved it.
“Rozanov, out of the little respect I have for you if you say no I will leave, but your boy is fucking leaking right now.”
Rozanov chuckled softly, “He moans like a whore if you play with his nipples, and if you call him a good boy enough times he’ll come hands free.”
“Anything else?” Scott asked with pants around his ankles and Shane’s shirt halfway over his head.
“Have fun.” And then the line went dead and Shane had his cock buried in his mouth.
“Oh fuck, Hollander!” Scott hissed, his hips immediately thrusting up into Shane’s mouth, drawing out perfect little gasps, gags, and moans from him.
Scott was only a man and Shane was apparently an expert cocksucker, he never had a chance at lasting any longer than a goddamn teenager.
“Fuck I’m coming, Hol-” Of course he’d swallow, hell Hollander gulped his come down just like he was throwing champagne back not even twelve hours before, “You are such a good little slut, holy fuck, you’re gonna fucking kill me baby.”
“In a humane way though, like putting down an old racehorse.” Shane smiled softly, his eyes full and shiny and his sweats wet with his own release.
“I’d say something mean back but I can tell you’re floaty, so I’ll be nice.”
“I did good?”
“So good, baby.” Scott reassured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
Cleaning Shane up was an easy task, one that Scott found himself instantly driven to without the slightest hesitation.
“I want to do that again,” Shane said suddenly, wearing new sweats, “I want to go all the way, I want to be able to call you if I’m freaking out and I want to trust you to be able to calm me down.”
Scott smiled instinctively, he was such a better sub than Scott was, “I can do that, what else do you want?”
Shane blushed and let his gaze lower, “I don’t want to call you your name, it feels weird.”
“I like Sir, it’s what I called my ex and isn’t as psychologically loaded as Daddy.” Scott joked and Shane somehow blushed even further.
“I also like Sir, what, um, do you have any rules for me?” Shane asked, fiddling with his knuckles again.
“Full transparency if you want to sleep with someone outside of Rozanov and I, condoms are non-negotiable, and I need to know if you are uncomfortable with something immediately. Okay?”
Shane nodded, his freckles prominent against his flushed red cheeks, “Yes Sir.”