Chapter Text
Ilya has no idea what to expect from this weekend. He’s sitting in a hotel bar in Tampa, nodding to various MLH All Stars as they filter in.
Scott Hunter is the first to actually greet him, if you count a sarcastic “nice shirt" as a greeting. Ilya puts on a mock-insulted face to defend his Hawaiian print button-up. Hunter settles into the barstool next to him. As much as they hate each other, their paths collide more frequently than any other two players. And Ilya is pretty sure they've clocked each other.
The impossibility of his situation with Shane has been weighing on Ilya for months. He is positive if there were openly gay players in the MLH, things would be different for them. Or, Ilya tells himself that's a factor. They can't be anything, Ilya knows that. But today, he's blaming it on having to hide. He's blaming Scott Hunter.
If there were out players, their last conversation wouldn't have been so coded. Shane would have been comfortable preferring men, and admitting it. He would have stayed when things got too real. He wouldn’t have had a panic attack— ok, he definitely still would have— but they might have talked it through. There would be no Rose Landry.
They would probably have made plans this weekend, not just vague hopes. Shane would have texted when he booked the plane tickets instead of Ilya studying flight schedules and guessing that Hollander’s plane should be landing right about now. Shane would have texted when he landed and again when he got in and he would sneak up to a room before anyone saw him arrive so that Ilya could ravage him before they had to socialize at all.
Instead, Ilya is here, clueless and just hoping Hollander does not bring a fiancée. He shudders into the silence between him and Scott Hunter. Hunter looks over inquisitively, so Ilya decides to share the part that he can share. The part he has autonomy over, no one else.
“How long are we going to do this?”
“What?” Hunter asks. Though hearing loss can be a concern with men of Hunter's advanced age, Ilya knows he heard the question. He knows what Ilya means, too. “If this is a retirement joke—”
A light laugh escapes Ilya, “No. But you are old, I love that it is on your mind.”
“Asshole.” And after a pause, “Then what do you mean?”
Ilya glances around. There’s no one paying attention to them. Even the bartender is far away.
“This. How long are we going to do this?” Ilya can’t imagine Scott Hunter, of all people, is going to make him say it out loud.
“Rozanov.” Hunter is wary and gives a threatening glare. “Are you… propositioning me?”
Ilya takes a second to remember that word, but then a smile splits his face, “No!” He laughs, “God, Hunter. No. No. I am allergic to dust, would not be able to suck you off. Sorry.”
“Ok, disgusting. And mean. And…” Hunter trails off, trying to understand if Ilya is serious about being the one sucking the dick in this scenario. Ilya just watches as he puts together the subtext. The puzzled, amused, cautious expression on his face is all the confirmation Ilya needs.
“The league, moron. How long will we let the league think everyone is straight?”
Scott’s face falls and he glances around nervously. “I—” he stares at Ilya and swallows. “I mean… No one wants to be the first.” His voice is low and his eyes dart around the room in a way that actually makes their conversation more noticeable. Idiot.
“But just one would get everyone else to do it.” Ilya says, knowing it’s not true. He and Shane are impossible, no matter what. Shane would probably rather marry a woman than come out. But if there were a lot of others... if it were normal...
Hunter nods in agreement. “Probably. I don’t know, I guess I would if there were others.” Then he gives Ilya a sideways glance. “Someone has to be first.”
“I have thought about this.” Ilya is careful. He trusts Svetlana's opinion, because she's never been wrong about the final four teams in the playoffs. She has Hunter’s Admirals to win the whole thing this year. “I will make you a deal. If you win the cup, you have to go first.”
“And if you win you'll be first?” Scott smirks a little.
Ilya swallows. “Fuck it. Yes. I will.”
Scott puts out a hand. Ilya shakes it.
Ilya chugs the rest of his beer and stands up. “I am off. If you see Price, I am looking for him.” Scott’s eyebrows raise, and Ilya shrugs boyishly. “I will get others to make the same deal. Maybe three more? To increase our odds just a little bit.” He leaves with a wink. There's an hour before Shane arrives. He thinks he saw someone useful by the pool.
Why not? This side quest will at least take his mind off whatever fresh emotional hell Hollander has in store for him.
Worst case scenario, he gets decked for assuming someone is gay.
Who is he kidding? Worst case scenario, Hollander shows up married.
With Scott Hunter out of the way, Ilya has three other pretty good guesses among the 50 odd players here for the weekend. Convincing them to take the deal and agree to come out will be a whole other challenge.
Victim #2 says yes that evening. He, like Hunter, thought Ilya was hitting on him. Maybe he should change his strategy a little.
#3 agrees, but definitely thought he was about to be hate-crimed. Ok, so Ilya could stand to be a little friendlier.
Nope. Too friendly— he finds #4 by staring too long in a bathroom trying to guess. The man threw himself halfway across the room toward him before Ilya could finish his sentence, making the rest of the conversation very awkward, but ultimately successful.
During the skills competition, #2 has no qualms telling him all about his suspicions for #5. Ilya had never heard of the guy, but after meeting him, he silently agrees with the assessment. When he finds out what team he plays for, Ilya almost doesn't bother asking him. This game is for people who might actually see the cup finals. He asks him anyway, just to include the poor guy.
All five say yes to his wager. If their team wins the cup, they will come out. Ilya knows this is just a safety net. Hunter will win. Hunter will be the one to break the ice.
Five teams, not including his own. The weekend is winding down and he has one left, probably the hardest to convince.
“Shane,” Ilya says the name, just because he can. “Would you ever come out?”
They’re in heaven, and they’re fighting sleep. Shane has to get off of Ilya's chest and leave at some point but right now, they're having the first moment they’ve ever let themselves enjoy. Tonight was the cherry on a perfect weekend.
“I’ve thought about it.” Shane nods, “But I can’t be the first. And it can’t be…” Ilya understands. It can’t be with him. He heard Shane loud and clear earlier. Being gay is one thing, fucking your arch rival is another.
“But you can come out without handing over a list of all the men you are fucking, no?”
Shane scoffs a little. “I guess. Why?”
“If I win the cup, I will come out.”
Shane extracts his cheek from Ilya’s chest and props himself up. “Are you serious?”
Ilya is happy he sat up, glad to see his face again. God, he is so fucked.
“Make me a deal.” Ilya says quietly. “Do the same.” He strokes a thumb across Shane’s cheek freckles.
“Ilya… I can’t promise that.”
“Because you don’t think you will win the cup?”
“No, fuck you. We’re winning this year.” Shane’s face turns competitive and Ilya's heart just fucking stops beating for a second. “That’s why I can’t make a promise. I can’t be the first.”
“It will be your third cup. Third in a row! I don’t think many people would mind.”
“It would be my third in a row.” Shane's eyes lose focus dreamily at the prospect. “Ok. Ok, yeah. If people have an issue with a 3-time cup champion… yeah. I’ll do it.”
“Perfect.” He draws Shane’s head back to his chest and closes his eyes happily at what he’s created. Montreal doesn't have a shot. Shane’s not at risk of having to come out. Ilya knows he wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.
Six teams plus his own. Shane was the 7th awkward conversation he's had this weekend, and by far his favorite. Ilya also pats himself on the back for a 6 out of 7 gaydar. He could have sworn he saw Troy Barrett check Shane out once. But the guy nearly spat in his face when Ilya carefully brought up the subject of homosexuality.
He didn't tell anyone except Hunter that there are more than two people in the bet, that he is collecting the queer players like infinity stones. There’s no sense in starting a witch hunt.
But he considers telling Shane. He wants Shane to know if it's not them, it will be someone. The best teams this year are the ones with the queer players. The odds are now quite good that on the night of the cup finals, the league’s dam will be broken.
Shane finally leaves, to both of their dismay. It’s late at night but he checks his phone. He has two texts from an unknown number, received hours ago.
Unknown: Hey it’s Scott Hunter
Unknown: How many did you get?
It’s too late at night to respond now, right? The old geezer has been in bed for hours. Maybe he’s actually up by now, swimming laps in the pool before a fiber-full breakfast. Ilya texts him back anyway.
Ilya: We have 7 teams.
Ilya: Good teams.
Ilya: This is happening this season.
Weirdly, Scott’s answer comes in quickly, despite the absurd hour.
Oldest Man Alive: Christ, Rozanov.
Oldest Man Alive: 7???
Oldest Man Alive: How did you know who???
Oldest Man Alive: Don’t tell me.
Oldest Man Alive: What if we all just did it at the same time?
Ilya scoffs at the old man. The Admirals are favored to win this year, it’s not just Svetlana saying that. It must be sinking in, and Hunter’s getting cold feet already.
Ilya: Betting is more fun
Ilya: If you change your mind you can always throw the cup
Ilya: I am sure Dallas Kent will love being first.
Oldest Man Alive: Dallas Kent???
Oldest Man Alive: No.
Oldest Man Alive: You’re joking.
Oldest Man Alive: You’re joking?
Ilya: And Commissioner Crowell was only sad he has no team so he can not be included
Oldest Man Alive: lol fuck off
Oldest Man Alive: But 7 guys.
Oldest Man Alive: Holy shit.
Ilya: I know
Ilya: 7 guys is your dream.
Ilya: There are more than 7.
Ilya: But I need only one per team. I have 7 teams.
Ilya: If you chicken out let me know
Ilya: I have backup Admirals on the bench
Oldest Man Alive: You’re joking
Oldest Man Alive: Damn, now I can’t tell if you’re joking
Ilya: Shower with one eye open 😉
Oldest Man Alive: You can’t make homophobic jokes if you’re the diplomat of queer hockey
Ilya: Then you should win the cup.
Ilya: You don’t want me to represent you.
Oldest Man Alive: I will. We have a good team this year.
Ilya: Good night Hunter. Take the dentures out before bed.
Oldest Man Alive: 🖕
And, because it makes him a little nauseous to end his perfect day like that, after Shane just moved his whole world off its axis, he texts Shane too.
Ilya: Good night Shane.
The response comes immediately.
Jane: Good night Ilya
Nothing left to do but wait.