Work Text:
Summer 2012
Ilya had a late flight out. He was heading home to Moscow for the summer, but he wished he could stay in Boston. His father expected him home, so Ilya would go.
He reached his gate and looked around. People were mostly quiet, napping or reading. Ilya was about to grab an end seat near the window when he noticed a familiar person in one of the chairs facing the window on the other end. The man was hunched over, looking intently at his phone. Ilya walked up behind him, intending to make his presence known, but then he saw what was on the phone screen. Men. Half-naked men with text beneath their pictures. A dating app. Scott fucking Hunter was looking at a gay dating app in JFK.
“Hunter,” Ilya said loudly, giving him a chance to hide his phone before he sat down next to him.
Scott hurriedly turned his screen off, doing a bad job of not looking guilty as fuck. Ilya almost laughed out loud.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Rozanov?” Hunter asked, his voice edged with nervousness.
“I had a meeting in the city this afternoon. Easier to fly out of New York than go back to Boston."
“Right,” said Scott.
“Nice season, old man. What happened?” asked Ilya. He couldn’t resist taunting him, at least a little.
“Fuck you, Rozanov. I didn’t see Boston winning a cup either,” he said, and Ilya couldn’t argue that.
“So. Where are you headed?” Ilya asked.
“Amsterdam. Same as you, I assume?” said Scott.
“Ah, no. Just a layover for me. What’s in Amsterdam?” asked Ilya, not ready to let Scott off the hook.
“Nothing. Vacation,” said Scott.
“Hm.” Ilya dragged the sound out. “Interesting choice.”
He let it go after that and made small talk about hockey, speculating about next season.
About an hour later, there was an announcement over the PA system that their plane was delayed due to weather from its previous destination. Their flight was canceled. Next flight in the morning.
“Fuck,” said Ilya, annoyed. And then an idea struck him.
“Well, Hunter, aren’t you going to invite me over?” he asked, and Scott looked like Ilya had slapped him.
“Invite you over?”
“You would make me sleep in the airport? Or pay for a hotel room for the night?" He let the words hang, then added, “I would let you stay over if we were in Boston.” He softened his cocky smile into something more teasing.
Scott looked genuinely conflicted. Ilya wasn’t sure if it was because he was Hunter and he was nearly as boring as Hollander, or if he knew where Ilya’s thoughts were headed and he was also just as repressed as Hollander.
Ilya hadn’t given up on Hollander yet. He figured if Hollander wasn’t interested, he would have stopped texting him back by now. But clearly Hollander wasn’t ready, and Ilya would give him time, hoping he’d come around eventually. He hadn’t been with any other men since the last time he and Hollander hooked up after the 2011 all-star game, coincidentally in the room right next door to Scott Hunter. Ilya was very much in the mood to hook up with a man. He missed having a hard body pressed beneath him, of tangling with someone who matched him in size and strength. He knew it was risky hooking up with yet another fellow MLH player, but Scott Hunter was about as risky as Hollander. Ilya didn’t think he’d have to worry about that secret getting out.
Scott was still looking at him, face showing more anguish than was necessary for this situation.
“Fine,” he said eventually. “I’ll call a car, let’s go.”
He followed Scott into his penthouse apartment. It had an excellent view of the Brooklyn Bridge, but otherwise it was just as boring and sterile as Scott himself. Ilya smirked. He sure knew how to pick 'em.
Scott was watching him, like he didn’t know what to do now that Ilya Rozanov was in his house.
“So. Maybe we can have some fun,” said Ilya, testing the waters.
“Fun? I’m going to bed. I’ll show you to the guest room.” He turned and headed down a hallway.
They stepped into a big, nicely furnished room. Ilya set a hand on Scott’s shoulder and held his gaze. Scott was a couple inches taller than him, just as massive, and undeniably hot.
“I think we have some things in common,” said Ilya, leaning in to whisper it in Scott’s ear.
“What the fuck, Rozanov?” said Scott, voice going high and nervous.
Ilya leaned back and looked at him. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll go.”
“You’re gay?” asked Scott, the panic giving way to confusion.
“No,” said Ilya.
Now the panic was back, followed by suspicion.
“Then what the fuck are you doing?” asked Scott, backing up.
“Relax, Hunter. I am bisexual,” said Ilya, and he couldn’t help smirking at the parade of emotions marching across Scott’s face.
Ilya stepped closer to him again, his hand coming up to rest on Scott’s waist.
“We can just have some fun. Blow off steam. Simple,” said Ilya.
“Simple? This is fucking dangerous,” said Scott.
“Why? We have same secret. Same things to lose,” said Ilya.
“Is that right? Somehow, I doubt it. No one would bat an eye at Ilya Rozanov being bisexual. I would lose everything if I were outed,” said Scott. Ilya could hear real fear in his voice.
“Oh, you think? Did you forget where I’m from, Hunter?” said Ilya, his own annoyance starting to show. “You think that would be safe for me?”
Scott’s face relaxed. “Right. Sorry. I forgot,” he said.
Ilya leaned in again, this time not stopping as he pressed his lips to Scott’s. Scott hesitated at first, and then all at once, he was kissing Ilya back. Hands roamed, and clothes came off. Ilya kneeled down and took Scott’s cock into his mouth. Scott’s groans of pleasure were sexy, but Ilya didn’t want to examine too closely why this wasn’t setting him on fire the way Hollander did. He was enjoying himself, and his cock was dying for some attention, but the difference was undeniable. He’d tried to convince himself that the thing with Hollander was just because he was a man, and maybe Ilya just preferred men a little more. An easy explanation for why he was still chasing Hollander, still always thinking about him, even when he was balls deep in pussy. But now there was a dick balls deep in his throat, and he was still thinking about Hollander.
Ilya forced himself to focus on the man in front of him. He let Scott’s dick pop out of his mouth and stood up again.
“Where do you want me?” he asked, smiling at Scott’s pleasure-slackened face.
Scott turned and walked down the hall to what was clearly his own bedroom, and Ilya followed. Scott leaned over and pulled a bottle of lube and a condom out of the nightstand drawer.
“Which way do you want to do this?” asked Scott.
“I don’t bottom,” said Ilya. He couldn’t tell if that was going to be a problem for Scott. He knew he shouldn't assume preferences, but he had a sneaking suspicion Scott might be okay with it.
Scott stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Okay.” He lay on the bed and poured some lube into his hand, reaching down to open himself up.
“Fuck,” said Ilya, giving his cock a few strokes and enjoying the show.
“I, uh…I don’t get to do this often.” Scott's voice was shaky, with embarrassment or desire, Ilya wasn't sure. “Too risky.”
“I’ll be gentle,” said Ilya, smirking. He was really just trying to make Scott feel more comfortable. He wasn’t judging. It was risky, and he understood that as much as anyone.
Ilya almost never let himself pick up a man. It was a rarity, especially now. This was like a treat for him, even though it was Scott fucking Hunter of all people. At least he was hot.
“Fuck you,” said Scott.
“Soon,” said Ilya. He crawled onto the bed next to Scott, leaning down to take his cock into his mouth again.
“Oh fuck, I’m not going to last if you do that.”
Ilya pulled back, letting his eyes rake over the man in front of him.
“Come on, I’m ready.” Scott turned over, getting on all fours. Ilya ran his hand down Scott’s back, to his ass, enjoying his physique, and finally massaged a finger over his hole. Scott moaned. Ilya grabbed the condom and slipped it on, lining himself up with Scott’s entrance. He pushed in slowly, giving Scott time to adjust.
“Okay?” he asked, and Scott nodded, making an affirmative noise.
Ilya began to move, slowly at first, and then faster as Scott said, “More.”
Ilya enjoyed the hard body beneath him, the little moans and groans of pleasure Scott was giving him. But he’d be lying if he said his mind didn’t keep conjuring up a picture of Shane Hollander lying beneath him, looking up at him with his sexy, shy smile and his stupid freckles. Ilya couldn’t fight it. He let his mind go there, while his body pumped into Hunter.
Eventually, their pants became ragged, their moans loud and desperate.
“Are you close?” asked Ilya. All of his focus was on maintaining his current pounding rhythm.
“So fucking close,” said Scott, voice breathy and low.
Ilya reached around and grabbed Scott’s dick, giving it a few strokes. He felt Scott contract around him and let himself tip over the edge.
“Fuck, Hunter,” he said as he came, hips losing their rhythm and stilling. He was grateful he'd said the right name and didn't embarrass himself.
Scott collapsed beneath him, and Ilya followed him down, rolling onto his side. The two men looked at each other, both with the hint of a smile on their faces.
“Fuck, Rozanov. I needed that.” Scott turned over, gaze drifting to the ceiling.
Ilya leaned over and pressed a kiss to Scott’s lips and then rolled off the bed. He was both relieved and annoyed that he didn’t feel like kissing him more. He was still thinking about Hollander. How hard it had been to keep their mouths off each other the two times they’d been together.
“I will shower now. We should probably both get some sleep,” said Ilya.
Scott nodded, and Ilya headed back to the guest room.
——————————
Fall 2012
Boston was playing the Admirals tonight, their first match against each other this season. Ilya was frustrated. Sexually, emotionally, mentally. Summer had been exactly as defeating as he’d expected, thanks to his father’s disappointment and his brother’s open hostility. Thankfully, he’d had Svetlana, but he’d been hoping to finally get Hollander in bed again after their first match in Montreal. Hollander was still texting him back, so he clearly hadn’t written him off, but he also wasn’t giving in yet. Ilya needed to fuck someone. A man. He needed to get Hollander off his mind. He looked over at the Admiral’s bench, eyes locking on Scott Hunter, who was talking to one of his teammates. Fuck, he was really hot. And he was probably the safest option in North America right now. Just then, Scott looked over at him, and before he could think better of it, he mouthed Tonight? Scott’s eyes went wide, and he looked away. But Ilya could see the corner of his mouth pull up, and he knew he was in. He’d text him after the game.
Boston won. He would try his best not to rub it in, but no promises. He texted Scott his address. There was no response, so Ilya headed home and figured he’d relax and watch a movie, still hoping his phone might ding eventually. About an hour after he got home, there was a knock at his door. He opened it to find Scott Hunter standing there, dressed in dark jeans, a tight t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Fuck, he was hot.
Ilya closed the door behind him.
“Good summer?” asked Ilya, deciding to spare Scott the humiliation of teasing him about New York’s loss.
“Not bad. Never quite as…fulfilling…as I’d like.” Ilya could empathize. Being closeted, only allowing yourself a quick, unattached fuck here and there. At least Ilya had women to take the edge off.
Ilya headed towards his bedroom, assuming Scott would follow. He did.
Ilya stopped next to the bed. “Take your clothes off.”
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” said Scott, not moving.
“Fine." He pulled his own off. Scott watched him intently. Ilya stretched his arms wide, as if to say Well…?
Scott finally dropped his jacket and pulled off his shirt, moving to unbutton his pants.
“What do you want to do?” asked Ilya, dropping down onto the bed.
Scott finished removing his clothes and joined him.
“Do you want me to fuck you again?” asked Ilya, pulling Scott against him, pressing their mouths together.
“Not tonight,” said Scott, moving his mouth down to Ilya’s neck. Ilya groaned, almost embarrassed at the sound he made. Shane Hollander flashed through his mind. Fuck. He tried to focus on the man next to him, who was perfectly hot, and most importantly, in Ilya’s bed, ready and willing.
They used their hands and mouths to get each other off. Ilya enjoyed the push and pull of who was on top, who was steering the ship. Scott was just as massive as he was, and Ilya enjoyed the feeling of all that muscle on him and beneath him. When they were both spent, they lay next to each other, chatting about hockey and who they were looking forward to playing and beating this season.
It was getting late when Scott said, “I should go.”
Ilya pulled a pair of pants on and walked Scott to the door.
“See you in New York?” he asked, testing the waters. If Hollander was going to keep freezing him out, he’d go where he was wanted for now.
“We’ll see.” He winked and gave Ilya a cocky, almost out-of-character smile.
Ilya smiled back. “Good night, Hunter."
—————————
All-Star Game January 2013
Ilya was on his way back to his hotel room after having dinner with a couple of his teammates post All-Star game. They were in Ohio, the most boring place in America, apparently. No one wanted to go find a club, so Ilya figured he’d try his next best option. He texted Shane Hollander. No response. Fine. He texted Scott Hunter his hotel room number.
An hour later, there was a knock on his door. He looked through the peephole, stupidly hoping to see Hollander’s face before remembering he hadn’t given him his room number anyway. Scott Hunter was standing there, and Ilya quickly let him in.
“Thank god. I’m dying of boredom in this terrible place.” He grabbed Scott and kissed him.
Scott laughed. “I only have a couple of hours.”
“Plenty of time to fuck you then,” said Ilya, tilting his head in question.
“Yes,” said Scott, barely masking the need in his voice. Ilya knew how he felt.
They made quick work of their clothes and were tangled in the bed, both impatient tonight. Ilya slipped a hand down to Scott’s hole, surprised to find it was already slick and relaxed.
“Fuck, Hunter.” His voice was thick with desire now.
Ilya grabbed a condom and lined himself up. Neither of them was in the mood for slow or gentle; that much was obvious.
Scott was on his knees, head pressed into the pillows. Ilya pushed inside, giving him enough time to adjust before he started thrusting into him. As it usually did, his mind drifted to Hollander. He wondered what he was doing right now, if he was with someone. A girl, maybe. He couldn’t consider the other option. He couldn’t let himself wonder if Hollander might choose to have another man his first time instead of Ilya. Fuck. He shook his head and picked up his pace, slamming into Hunter and enjoying the groans and whimpers coming from the large man beneath him.
Once they were both spent, lying beside each other trying to catch their breath, Ilya let his mind wander again. He only felt tired, not satiated. It scratched the surface of the itch, but deep down, it was still there, gnawing at him. Hollander’s stupid freckles and earnest smile flitted through his thoughts, making him irrationally angry.
“I should shower,” said Ilya, ready to let the hot water wash away whatever the fuck was happening in his head right now.
“Yeah, I should go,” said Scott.
Scott got dressed and headed to the door, stopping just in front of it and looking back at Ilya draped across the bed.
“See you, Rozanov.” He let himself out.
Ilya sighed deeply and rubbed his face. What the fuck was he even doing?
—————————
Fall 2013
Boston lost to New York. The game had been close, but Ilya had been distracted. They were playing Montreal in a few weeks, and Ilya had been trying to get Hollander to agree to meeting up, finally. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he also couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had a sinking feeling that it was going to be just like the last times. Hollander would respond to a few texts and then ignore him for a while, until the season ended and more opportunities passed them by.
He was lying in his hotel room bed, trying not to think about Hollander. He was restless.
Free tonight?
He typed and hit send. A minute later, his phone dinged.
Come over.
Ilya called an Uber and gave them the address for Scott’s building. When he arrived, Scott let him up, and Ilya pushed past him, spinning around and pinning Scott to the door. He kissed him hard, trying to will away all thoughts of Hollander.
“Jesus,” said Scott, and then he kissed him back.
They made their way to Scott’s bedroom, clothes falling on the floor along the way. Ilya didn’t want to fuck Scott tonight. He couldn’t get the thought of fucking Hollander out of his head, and if he was being honest with himself, he might admit that he didn’t want to fuck, in the strict sense of the word, any man but Hollander right now. But he did want to get off, and Hunter would make that happen.
“Suck my dick,” said Ilya. Hunter looked like he wanted to say something snarky, but instead, he bent down and took Ilya into his mouth.
He worked Ilya with a level of skill that surprised him. It didn’t take long before Ilya’s release was building, and he let Hunter know so he could pull off. He switched to his hand and stroked Ilya through his orgasm, cum landing on his hand and stomach. Ilya gave himself a minute to come down from it, then he turned over, pushed Scott down on his back, and returned the favor.
He sucked Scott’s dick with as much fervor and skill as he had, trying to keep all of his senses busy and focused on the man beneath him. His traitorous mind still conjured up images of Shane Hollander, reminding him of the sweet little whimpers he made when Ilya sucked him like this. Fuck. He had to get Hollander in bed again, get him out of his system so he could stop thinking about it every time he had a body beneath him.
“Oh fuck, Rozanov, I’m gonna cum,” said Scott, his hips starting to thrust upwards.
Ilya increased his pace, encouraging Scott to let go. He swallowed his release down, then crawled up and kissed him. It felt nice, but there was no spark, and only the usual heat he felt when he had good sex. It didn’t burn him from the inside out like it did with Hollander. Fuck, what was wrong with him?
He didn’t want to fuck and run, so he stayed for a little while, gossiping about hockey and the asshole Dallas Kent who played on Scott’s team. When it got late, Ilya put his clothes back on and called an Uber.
“Good night, Hunter,” he said on his way out the door.
“Later, Rozanov,” said Scott, closing the door.
—————————
Fall 2016
Hollander was dating Rose fucking Landry. Ilya thought back to the comment he made the day Shane left his house in a panic just weeks ago. He told Shane he never heard about him with girls. Well fuck him, he was hearing about it now, on every news channel and every website, from his teammates and the goddamn commentators at the games. It was endless. He had to get over this. So Hollander was dating a woman. He’d probably get married to her, have kids. He’d have to see Rose Landry at every game he played against Montreal. Fuck this shit.
They were playing New York tomorrow. He and Scott hadn’t been hooking up regularly for a while. He had been satisfied, as much as he could be considering the infrequency, with hooking up with Hollander and whatever women he picked up when he wasn’t in Montreal, or Hollander wasn’t in Boston.
Now, though, now he needed to get Hollander out of his head. He needed another hard body to take his frustration out on, or at least to fuck away all thoughts of Hollander that seemed to be permanently stuck in his head.
Free after the game tomorrow?
He typed and hit send. A few minutes later, his phone dinged.
Maybe.
Ilya smirked and figured that was confirmation enough.
New York won the game. Ilya wasn’t playing his best, and he hated the reason why.
When he got to Scott’s later that evening, he didn’t want to talk, but one of the first things out of Scott’s mouth was enough to piss him off.
“So, how about Hollander dating a movie star, huh?” he said, amused, clearly unable to see the storm raging in Ilya’s head.
“The most exciting thing Hollander has ever done in his life,” Ilya said, not hiding his annoyance.
“Wow, you guys really do hate each other,” Scott said.
“Are we fucking or not?” asked Ilya. He didn’t have the restraint for this conversation right now, and the last thing he wanted was Scott fucking Hunter to figure him out.
They did fuck. And Ilya wasn’t gentle, but only because Scott encouraged him to fuck him hard and fast. He figured Scott still wasn’t getting laid very often, considering he was still firmly in the closet.
After, Ilya lay beside him for a bit, letting himself cool down.
“Do you think anyone will ever come out?” asked Scott.
“I don’t know. Maybe. There must be more of us,” he said, thinking again about Hollander and his buzzy new relationship that he didn’t have to hide. Everything was so fucking unfair.
“I’m sure. Whoever does it first is braver than me,” said Scott, and Ilya laughed, but not like it was funny. He hated that it was still such a big fucking deal. Who cared if they liked to fuck guys? Everyone apparently.
“Well, Hunter, you’re fucking old, you could just retire and come out, and no one would care,” said Ilya, smirking.
Scott punched him in the shoulder, not hard.
“Fuck you, Rozanov. I’m not that much older than you, and I’m not retiring anytime soon,” he said.
“Good. I’d miss beating your ass every time we play,” said Ilya, cocky grin back in place.
“Need I remind you who won tonight?” asked Scott, clearly pleased with himself.
“A bit of luck. Don’t get used to it,” said Ilya. He leaned over and kissed Scott, then pulled back and said, “I should go.”
Ilya got dressed, said good night, and caught an Uber back to his hotel.
He still felt broken inside. Defeated, frustrated…betrayed. But seeing Scott helped a little. At least he wasn’t alone in this stupid fucking situation of having to hide part of himself, but he was alone in his stupid fucking self-made Shane Hollander prison. If only it were Scott Hunter who set his skin on fire, who lit up every dark place inside of him. It would still be complicated, but at least Scott wouldn’t leave him for Rose fucking Landry.
—————————
Spring 2017- between Shane’s injury and the SKip kiss
Boston played New York, and New York won. They were on a hot streak, but Ilya was looking forward to facing them again in the playoffs. After the game, Ilya was at home, texting Shane. Their relationship had taken some big steps forward after Shane had broken up with Rose and come out to him. After he’d poured his heart out to Shane in Russian, finally admitting to himself at least that this thing between them was never going away, at least on his end. He still thought it would be best to break it off. It could never be more than it was, and they were both going to spend their entire careers tortured by the inability to move forward, either with each other or without. A prison of their own making. Unfortunately, there was nowhere else Ilya would rather be. Every time he thought about ending it, he would hear Shane’s voice, look into his eyes, feel the warmth of his hand on his face, and he’d fall a little deeper. He wanted so badly to take Shane up on his offer to go to his cottage this summer. But he knew if he did, he would be in danger of saying things. Irrevocable things.
Fuck. He needed a drink. And a distraction. Not the sex kind.
Want to come over?
He hit send. A minute later, his phone dinged.
I can’t do that anymore. I’m seeing someone.
Well, well, well. Scott Hunter had a boyfriend. Ilya wondered how that happened.
So am I.
He wrote back. Then he sent Scott a picture of a bottle of vodka and two glasses.
Just for a drink and talk.
A minute later, Scott responded.
On my way.
An hour later, Ilya opened the door to let Scott in and led him to a bar stool at the counter, where two glasses of vodka awaited them.
“Tell me about your man,” said Ilya.
“He’s amazing. I love him,” said Scott, and Ilya had never seen or heard him so happy and carefree. But there was still an edge of something else there.
“And he is okay hiding? Dating a big hockey star in secret?” asked Ilya. He was fascinated by this dynamic, at least knowing it couldn’t be as complicated as his and Shane’s situation, but still a complicated one nonetheless.
“No. He’s being patient, but it’s been hard on us. He wants more,” said Scott. The defeat in his voice made Ilya want to put an arm around him. He understood this feeling all too well.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m working on it. I want to come out. I’m just not ready yet. Everything will change. My whole career…,” said Scott, trailing off. Ilya nodded.
“What about you? I haven’t heard about you dating a woman. Are you with a man?” asked Scott.
“Kind of. Yes. I want to be. But it’s complicated,” said Ilya, trying to make it clear he wasn’t going to be providing any additional details.
“It’s so fucking unfair. We shouldn’t have to hide. Why does anyone care who I’m fucking?” Scott sighed. “I hate it.”
“Maybe one day things will change,” said Ilya. He longed for the day when the locker-room slurs were a thing of the past.
Scott laughed, but it was bitter and sad.
They spent a couple of hours talking. It was nice. Ilya felt like he had a friend, maybe. Even though he and Scott wouldn’t be fucking anymore, he thought maybe they could keep in touch. He’d come to realize he enjoyed Scott’s company over the years, talking to him and just shooting the shit. It was nice having someone know about him. Someone he didn’t have to hide in front of. It was a relief to just let his walls down. To just be. It wasn’t the same kind of safety and warmth he felt in Shane’s presence, but it was still nice. Scott fucking Hunter…who would have thought they’d ever be friends.
——————————
Summer 2017- the kiss
Ilya was frozen in place. He watched Scott wave someone, a man, down to the ice after he won the cup. Ilya knew this must be Kip. Holy fucking shit. Was he about to do what Ilya thought he was about to do? He had been texting Shane, but now he couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch Kip walk down the stairs, camera following him. The next thing he knew, the man was on the ice, and Scott was kissing him. Not a polite or chaste kiss. He was kissing him the way Ilya kissed Shane. Like he was the only oxygen in the room, and Hunter was gasping for air.
Ilya felt the whole world tilt on its axis. He saw flashes of himself and Shane. Not hiding, but existing together. He imagined them in a world where they were allowed to love each other. A world where he was allowed to be happy, to be loved, to be himself. He didn’t want to let himself believe it. He was used to disappointment. To being a disappointment. But maybe it could be different. Scott fucking Hunter had just told the world it could be different.
He called Shane immediately, still daring to hope, even if just for a little while.
“I’m coming to the cottage.”