Chapter Text
June 2009 - Los Angeles
Shane willed himself to be happy with being the second round draft pick. How many players were lucky enough to get drafted to their home team in the first round? Maybe it wouldn’t have stung as much if anyone but him had gone first. Ilya Rozanov, first pick going to the Boston Bears. That was another thing for Shane to be grateful for, if he had been first pick he would have had to be a Bear, the sworn enemies of his mom’s favorite team. Instead he was going to be an Ottawa Centaur, his and his dad’s favorite team, with no particular bad blood between them and the Montreal Voyageurs.
Not good enough of a team to have bad blood with anyone. Okay, maybe Shane was bitter about being a Centaur, but he could keep that to himself. In his dreams, which he had not told anyone, Shane would have been a Voyageur, bringing them a Cup for the first time in decades. Ottawa had never won a cup and it had been years since they’d made the playoffs.
He could pivot. What a legacy, Shane tried to think, bring Ottawa their first, build a dynasty from nothing. That was working until the photo-op.
Rozanov’s glee was so palpable, wide grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. That could have been Shane, having the best day, knowing that he was most wanted, the best bet, the top prospect. To add insult to injury the photographers asked the top three to hold up their selection numbers as they held the prop jerseys. This isn’t new, they always have the top three picks do this photo, it’s not personal.
It felt personal when Rozanov jostled Shane’s shoulder with his. Rozanov wasn’t trying to get a reaction out of Sullivan on his other side, why was he picking on Shane? Was this some mind game to get in Shane’s head before they faced off again at the next World Juniors? If that was it Shane wouldn’t give in, he could be a good sport, take the high road, he was going to be a Centaur, known for their sportsmanship.
Photos wrapped up and Yuna pulled Shane into conversation with one of the owners, the GM, and the head coach of the Centaurs. Yuna was charming and brought the known to be quiet and aloof GM into a passionate conversation about the planned team development and rebuild strategy.
“We understand Shane is a rookie, but his tactical style and ability to read plays are the kind of skills we want to hone through the whole team,” the head coach, Reeve, told Yuna. He originally had been directing his comments to David but quickly realized Yuna was the more knowledgeable of the two. Shane could tell this shift pleased both of them, Yuna appreciating the recognition and David appreciating how his impressive his wife could be.
“Of course, rebuilds never have immediate turn around, but long term investment in a team requires more than flash and flair,” Yuna agreed, not hiding her glance towards where Rozanov was talking to the GM, coach, and another older man, maybe Rozanov’s dad.
The implication she made was not lost not the people gathered at their table, earning wry chuckles. “We were ready to scoop him up had Boston moved on Shane. I think that he might be hiding some perceptiveness behind his attitude. Disarm other players and coaches with his brashness and physical force,” Reeve observed.
“Huh,” Shane watched Yuna internalize this, eyes drifting back to Rozanov. “It can be hard to convey competency in a second language,” she conceded, the closest she’d ever come to complimenting the Russian.
Shane for his part digested this new perspective, unabashedly watching Rozanov now. He knew from playing him previously that Rozanov was an observant opponent, able to catch holes in a defensive line in a way that only Shane could on his team. At that moment Rozanov looked away from the man next to him and caught Shane’s eye as he took a sip from his champagne glass. His cheeks felt hot as he redirected his gaze to the ceiling.
Yuna began to ask about existing team members and thoughts on acquisitions for the rebuild. They told the Hollanders about two players, Nick Chouinard and Evan Dykstra, hardly seasoned veterans but promising defenseman with good dedication. For now they wanted to pair Shane with experienced wingers while he developed and then, if everything went to plan, recruit and acquire based on that.
It eased Shane’s worries to hear the Centaurs talk about such long term future plans, just like he had been thinking. It wasn’t abnormal for players to get traded or move around, but Yuna Hollander had always praised players who stayed loyal to their draft teams, but that had to go both ways, teams needed to want their players.
The cocktail hour wrapped up with Yuna and David splitting away from Shane to celebrate their son’s success at the hotel bar while he went back to his room. Shane tried to do his night time routine, hoping the motions would relax him and settle his mind and body. It did not work. He lay awake staring at a strange ceiling thinking about how many nights he would spend like this in the future. For road games though he would likely have a roommate, like he did for Juniors. Usually Shane had no trouble falling asleep when he shared a room, that could be the problem tonight. Or maybe adrenaline had built up without a proper outlet. That’s it, I need to work it off.
Getting out of bed Shane put on his workout clothes and made his way to the hotel gym, selecting a treadmill at the end of the row and felt his mind finally clear as he began to run. He was so focused he hadn’t heard the door open and was startled to see Rozanov start up the treadmill next to him with a smirk. Shane did notice that Rozanov set his pace just slightly faster than Shane had, and well, Centaurs might not be sore losers but Shane was chosen to bring a competitive edge that they were lacking. He increased his pace to surpass Rozanov’s.
Infuriatingly this made Rozanov smile, picking up his speed.
The two went back and forth like that until Shane had to slam the emergency stop button, stumbling off the machine to sit on the floor. He closed his eyes, panting and wishing he’d remembered his water bottle when he felt Rozanov sit across from him. Shane watched Rozanov drink from his own bottle and run a hand through his hair, pushing sweaty curls out of his own face.
“Some fucking day, huh?” Rozanov broke their almost silence.
“Yeah, it was,” Shane agreed.
“Everything you dreamed?”
“Almost.”
“Is Boston nice?”
“The team? I don’t know, my mom is a Montreal fan so she would say no. But I’ve been to the city a couple of times and it was fine.”
“You are staying where you are from, yes? That is nice,” Rozanov said after a moment.
“Yeah, I’ve been a fan of Ottawa my whole life,” he panted, licking his lips.
Rozanov watched Shane’s face and then leaned forward, shaking his water bottle at Shane. Shane shook his head and waved the offer away.
“Hollander, you are thirsty, drink,” he kept his arm extended and Shane accepted the bottle, fingers brushing Rozanov’s as he did.
As Shane drank Rozanov continued. “Not so dramatic now. Better drama for us if you go to Montreal.”
“I think we can be competitive anywhere we go.”
“Yes, but our rivalry would have been perfect for the Voyageurs and Bears,” Rozanov scooted forward, shoes brushing Shanes legs as he reclaimed his water bottle, fingers brushing again and lingering.
Most of the time chirping was lost on Shane, he was the kind of person who would find the perfect retort later that night when time had passed and he was tucked into bed. It surprised him when he opened his mouth “Sounds like you don’t want the extra challenge to keep it interesting,” was it perfect? No, but it wasn’t Shane rolling over.
A slow smile creeped up Rozanov’s face. “You still want to be my rival, Hollander?”
“We have unfinished business at Worlds, Rozanov, I haven’t forgotten,” with that Shane stood, knowing he was running out of witty comebacks. “See you in December.”
If Shane went back to his room and thought about Rozanov’s fingers when he jerked himself off in the shower that was Shane’s business.
December 2009 - Ottawa
Shane grinned at the crowd during warmups for the final game of the World Junior Championship. As promised all of the Centaurs that had stayed in Ottawa for the holidays were sat in the stands, surrounding Shane’s parents. Choiunard and Dykstra sat next to David, the defensive pair had invited and encouraged Shane to sit in on their open practices and attend some of the team gatherings, even with Shane’s season not officially starting yet. The captain of the Centaurs, AJ Wilson, sat next to Yuna, the two bent towards each other, Shane certain they were discussing team standings going into the game.
It was a Canada/Russia rematch and Shane wanted Rozanov to see the passion the Centaurs could bring to competition. The rivalry could still exist, if not with the burning hated Montreal would have brought, with a camaraderie Shane had found among his future teammates.
Distracted by the presence of the Centaurs he had missed Rozanov approaching the red line where Shane had been stretching. “I do not think your cheerleaders are very cute.”
He looked up at Rozanov, “what, hockey players not your type?”
Shane could swear Rozanov’s cheeks went pink. “Not those ones, no,” he whispered so softly Shane strained to hear it. “Good luck, Hollander, twice in a row would be sad for you,” Rozanov said more loudly as he skated away.
Did Rozanov think some hockey players were cute? Did he think Shane could be cute? Other players often called Shane ‘pretty boy’ but that wasn’t an uncommon chirp for anyone who still had all their teeth and never a broken nose. Why do I care who he thinks is cute? Shane shook his head, standing up and skating off the ice to give his captain’s speech before the start of the game.
The game was fast paced but after a few unofficial practices with the Centaurs Shane had begun to notice the skill gaps. He told himself it wasn’t in an egotistical way, just observation- and now he was observing Rozanov. There was a definite skill gap between Rozanov and the rest of the team, Russia seemed to have built their strategy around that in fact. Rozanov was the primary scorer and every play seemed to be built around getting the puck to him at all costs. An exhausting way to play a game, and not great for team dynamics.
By the time Shane had discovered the pattern he was able to convey this during the second intermission and Canada was able to exploit it.
When the final buzzer rang Canada had Russia beat. In the handshake line Shane could barely contain his glee as he told every player in the line ‘good game.’ Until he got to Rozanov. “Next time will be in Boston.”
Rozanov had been had been glaring at the player just before Shane and looked surprised for a moment before squeezing Shane’s hand tighter. “Looking forward to seeing you again, Hollander,” he smiled.
Shane smiled back, startling at the flash of cameras around them. Rozanov looked towards the cameras, “Smile Hollander, you won today,” they posed momentarily, hands still clasped and smiled in the direction of the photographers.
The next day the first photo taken of the two of them was published, candid and real smiles on their faces. Under it, the headline ‘The rivalry is alive and well!’
July 2010 - Toronto
The excitement for Shane’s rookie season had been building after Canada’s victory at the World Juniors Championship. Yuna lamented that they might have been able to capitalize on it more if he had gone to a team with higher market value but Shane was content with it. The idea of a brand limiting how he dressed, what he ate, and all that overwhelmed him. He would have done it, he knew it was good for him to have a few sources of income and not put all of his eggs in one basket. So when CCM called to ask if he would be interested in a sponsorship deal and photoshoot with Rozanov to sell their rivalry Yuna had hastily agreed.
Now, at the rink, face to face with Rozanov Shane was buzzing. The director of the shoot had said his vision was to build on the story the photo had started. Reigniting the fun of rivalry. He kept saying the goal was to have fun.
Shane didn’t know what it meant to look like he was having fun. He knew his smile looked forced in almost every photo he’d seen of himself, with one recent exception.
“You look pretty,” Rozanov said as he and Shane posed as if they were facing off, smiling as he met Shane’s eyes.
“You’re wearing makeup too, asshole,” Shane grumbled.
“I’m not pretty though. I look like normal hockey player, you look like you could be a cheerleader.”
Shane’s cheeks warmed. “A cute one?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.
Rozanov’s grin was blinding. “A very cute one,” he purred.
Shane felt his lips twisting into a smirk. What was happening? He knew he was smiling and it wasn’t fake and that stressed him out even more.
“That’s great guys, smiles are great but if we could cut the chatter?” The director called from behind the camera. “Now we’re going to do some video shots, if you two could back it up and skate in, keeping up the energy.”
The next hour passed quickly, Shane found that Rozanov could be hilarious and he had no problem with whether or not his smiles felt real.
When a break was called while they set up for some solo shots Shane and Rozanov skated to the bench to drink water together.
“When they tell you about doing shoot together?” Rozanov asked casually.
“Oh, a couple of days ago I think?” Shane was suddenly worried that maybe Rozanov was pissed that this hadn’t been a solo campaign for him. “What about you?”
“They didn’t tell me, was my idea,” he shrugged.
“Your idea? What do you mean?”
“They ask me about photoshoot and I show them photo of us together, how popular it was. I say it could be fun for us to do together, the people like when we are together. I like-”
“Shane, we’re ready for your solo skating shots!” The director called cutting Rozanov off. Just as well, Shane didn’t know what to make of this new information.
Rozanov stayed on the bench while Shane skated as directed, Shane did his best to ignore his gaze, focusing on his own skating. Once he was done he wanted to go shower right away but instead he sat where Rozanov had sat. Rozanov was a natural, he skated like he owned the ice, easily giving whatever facial expressions the director called for. When his shots were finished Shane stood and moved to the shower, Rozanov staying behind to look at some of the shots.
Shane was not alone in the shower long before he was joined by Rozanov. He had never had trouble keeping his eyes trained on the shower tiles before, and he originally looked over to ask Rozanov to clarify something he’d said earlier about setting up the photoshoot for them when his eyes wandered. Rozanov was just so, masculine. Shane knew he himself was muscular, but the way Rozanov’s muscles flexed under the water fascinated Shane.
Fuck. Shane was getting hard. He tore his eyes away from Rozanov’s body and looked to see whether he’d been caught. Double fuck. Rozanov raised his eyebrows, eyeing Shane’s half hard dick.
Without a word Shane turned off the water and shuffled out of the bathroom. He dressed himself in fits and bursts, trapped between needing to run away and wanting to explain that it wasn’t about Rozanov things just happen and to never talk about it again.
Towel slung low on his hips, Rozanov appeared next to Shane. “So, what do you want to do?”
The night he spent with Rozanov was… illuminating. While nothing they had done had necessarily been new to Shane, he’d had a girlfriend after all, it had not felt like that before. As much as Shane felt like he learned about himself, it was not anything he could ever have again. Besides, Shane’s hockey career would start for real with training camp starting in just two months. At that point he wouldn’t have to worry about girlfriends or Rozanov or anything but hockey.