Chapter Text
When Hollander was drafted into the Montreal Metros, Gilbert Comeau was in his fourth year. He had hold onto the center position with an iron fist and bleeding fury. Although the Metros were struggling in its franchise, they were still in a comfortable spot in the league, a force to be reckon with. So, when Coach Theriault decided to put a mere child into HIS position, there were loud disagreements by his teammates..
Drapeau was visibly snarling, defending Comeau’s post, others had nodded despite the Coach’s glare and warnings. The Montreal Metros was a team of bloodthirsty wolves, protective of their own in their hard affection. Comeau was shockingly quiet, more curious than disappointed really.
He’s seen several playbacks of Hollander’s playthrough, hell, the whole team had seen it. He wasn’t a normal rookie, they were handling a generational talent kid that would change the dynamic of his team, might even allow them to be out of stagnation and taste that cup.
Hollander was THE rookie; the golden weapon they needed to pull through. There was hearsay about him before the draft, fitting the so called ‘diversity quota’ by the MLH Board due to his Asian background. Comeau wondered if that would affect the image of the ruthless Metros since Hollander looked withdrawn in his official portraits, soft at the edges. Eventually, after coach’s sharp insults and warnings, everyone settled down..
The next day, Hollander arrived with several management staff, wearing an oversized blue jacket and jeans. Coach Theriault looked even more stern, arms crossed at his chest as he introduced the new rookie. Comeau had choked on his drink when he saw the boy.
Shane Hollander was a vixen beauty. Not feminine, but a graceful masculine presence that Comeau had only seen in models. Freckled rose colored cheeks adorned his cheeks like Ganymede, downturned doe eyes. Hollander had nodded at whatever coach was saying and had introduced himself, head tilted slightly. His voice had a slight rasp to it but not as noticeable.
(Comeau was in his second year of Marriage, one year old son and a daughter coming along. He had met his wife in a gathering full of models and top NHL players. His whole team had envied him when he managed to get her, stole her really from her ex-fiancée.)
Pike had jumped in and hugged Hollander’s stiff body, said that they’ve met outside the rink yesterday when he was helping the management's interns. As soon as Pike let him go, the Metros decided to come forward as well, introducing themselves, announcing their position and name. Comeau stood still at the back, star struck.
He visibly shook his head and put on his signature cocky smirk, brushed his sweaty blonde hair to the back and walked towards them, Up close, Hollander’s beauty shined through. His doe eyes seemed brighter, plump lips glistened, how could someone so graceful looking be involved in a game like hockey? He introduced himself and shook the boy’s hand, gripping it tightly. Rough palm, the rook must’ve been training hard, good.
(His wife’s hands was soft, long fingers dainty, nails long and sharp like how he liked it. So unlike Hollander’s short and neat nails and rough hands. But when he moved it around, he could see his wife’s movement, as if he was her puppeteer.)
The rook was slightly shorter than him, a few centimeters. Hollander had lifted his chin slightly, looking at Comeau, his brown eyes moving rapidly around his face. God, Hollander’s dark eyes looked sinful. Hollander was looking at Comeau’s lips as he talked.
“Hi, glad to be here.” Hollander had simply greeted back with a small painfully awkward smile.
(His wife was confident, long-legged beauty with blonde hair brighter than his. Pearly whites adorned her teeth and thin biteable pink lips. Small and cherubic nose, green-hazel eyes. Hollander has thick, plump red lips and a straight nose though. Long dark lashes fluttered. His lips, red like a siren’s.)
Comeau tightened his hold but Hollander didn’t look scared or uncomfortable, just tilted his head to the right. He was frowning, his mouth turning inro a small pout in confusion. Eyes still looking at anywhere but Comeau's eyes.
(Biteable red lips)
Drapeau had laughed loudly and smacked Comeau’s back, hollering at him to go easy on the kid. The rest were laughing as well, saying that Comeau was asserting his dominance to the new rookie as he should.
(dominance…)
He shook Hollander’s hands roughly, eyes locked at Hollander's eyes. 'Look at me'. He noticed Pike’s frown.
(He shouldn’t have)
Later, they were redirected to their rink, new position, new dynamic, new order.
Hollander’s eyes had looked at his on the ice before he wore his helmet, those dark void clashing his blue ones. His body was slender beneath his uniform, he showered beside Comeau and God, that body. As years passed, Comeau had witnessed the body carved through brutal trainings and strict diet. A statue rebuilt.
(He had the roughest sex that night with his wife, wanting those lips to be red and plump. Looking at her clear fair skin, no, he wanted freckles. He squeezed her breast and bit her shoulder. Not as broad, not strong but adequate. His wife was so happy, said that it was one of the best sex she ever had. Her voice soft not raspy, blonde hair not brown-or was it black?)
Hollander had looked at his eyes again when he was chosen as a captain. Had looked at his eyes when they won the cup twice. Had looked at his eyes in every momentous occasion. Hollander was an angel, a temptation, pulling him into a hellish dream.
He had looked at Comeau’s mouth in the night club when they were celebrating their wins, shared a shot in the same glass. Refused to dance, sticking to the corner of the room with his phone. Had nodded at Comeau with a small smile when he waved.
Had looked into his eyes when Comeau’s wife had passed his third child into Hollanders arms in one of their gatherings, eyes hooded as if he was whispering at Comeau’s ears, taunting him with that forbidden vision. He held Comeau’s child with grace, as if the child was theirs.
But Hollander had also looked into Pike’s and JJ’s eyes, with warmth, so different from the bedroom ones he presented with when he was with Comeau. He had resisted this temptation, nails digging into his palm till it bled. He needed time.
(He dreamt of a chiseled body below him, freckled shoulder and soft sighs. Of silent moans and trembling lips. Tongue that would taste of ginger ale and sin. He would bite those lips like a silent prayer. Of raspy voice singing his name with so much devotion and in return Comeau will devour him.)
Pike was becoming an annoyance, not leaving Hollander’s side even for a minute. Had even pushed Comeau’s body aside once when he was close to their captain. For years, Pike had looked at him in silent anger, challenging him with unnecessary contempt, hand slinging around Hollander’s shoulders with his wife. As if the young captain belonged to them. For years they were close, closer than Comeau could ever be.
Hollander should have waited for him before he had outed himself. Should have waited for him to settle his financial matters with his wife for the divorce she wasn’t aware of. Should have waited for him to taste his skin first. Should have waited.
Instead, he left.
For a bloody psychopathic Russian. A traitor.
But Comeau knows.
Hollander’s teary eyes had always been for him.
Jackie: Hayd, he’s getting a divorce. The WAG group is CHAOTIC.
Hayden: Fuck, does Rosanov know?
Jackie: I don’t know? Should I tell him? Does he even know Comeau is…you know...
Hayden: Shit, fuck this is bad. I’ll call him. Is Shane with you?
Jackie: Yeah, taking a nap with Arthur.
Hayden: Alright, I’ll pay Rosanov a visit. Just don’t let Shane know wtf is going on
Ilya: Jackie, I'm with Pike. On our way. Don't let Shane go out of house till I'm home.