Chapter Text
June 2009
Shane’s legs gave out and he collapsed to the hotel gym floor. Across from him, Rozanov lowered himself with more control.
Fuck him.
Shane fought to catch his breath. Rozanov didn’t seem to have a problem with that either.
“Woo!”
The sound bounced off the walls of the empty room, making Shane feel weirdly exposed. The intense, unnecessary eye contact didn’t help.
“What a fucking day, huh?” Rozanov grinned and took a sip from his water bottle.
“Yeah,” Shane replied absently. He wished he’d remembered to bring a water bottle. His tongue felt like sandpaper. “Totally.”
“Is everything you dreamed of?”
The question sounded sincere, but there was the hint of something mischievous in Rozanov’s eyes. Shane could see it because Rozanov still hadn’t broken eye contact.
And fuck it, Shane might smile politely and be a gracious loser on the ice, but Rozanov was baiting him, and it wasn’t like there was anyone around to disapprove.
“Almost,” Shane quipped.
Rozanov took it in stride, scrunching his face up in a mock apology.
“I’m sorry.”
The fucking asshole was grinning again before the last syllable was even finished. Even more annoyingly, he took another gulp from his water.
“No you’re not.” Shane was sure of it.
He expected Rozanov to rub it in some more, but instead he let the grin fall.
“Montreal is– is nice, yes?”
Shane didn’t know why he was asking about Montreal, it’s not like Rozanov would be there often.
“Yeah, it’s awesome.” It was. Shane loved his hometown, but he was more than ready for a change. Soon, he would pack up his things and move into his own apartment, a space that was completely his, in a city where he was a stranger.
Well, as much of a stranger as a number two NHL draft pick (fucking Rozanov) could be in a city that worshipped hockey.
“Boston is nice, too?” Rozanov asked.
Shane wouldn’t know, he’d never been. But Rozanov would be living there soon, a new city in a new country, a whole new way of life to adjust to. Shane was glad he was only moving provinces. Rozanov had to learn a whole new language, though he seemed to be picking it up quickly enough.
“I think so.” Shane might’ve shrugged if his muscles would work. “People like it there.”
“We will, uh,” Rozanov gestured between them. “We will be seeing each other a lot?”
Maybe six games in a regular season. More than some other teams played each other.
“Yeah, Boston and Montreal play against each other often.”
It sunk in as he said it. Shane had known, of course, that he and Rozanov would play against each other, whatever teams they ended up on. Already, the league was hyping up a rivalry between them, before either of them had stepped onto NHL ice.
He and Rozanov would be seeing a lot of each other. Games, All Stars, award nights, and more. The press would undoubtedly ask Shane his thoughts on Rozanov’s season compared to his own. They’d ask Rozanov about Shane. Their names would be in the same headlines, their photos side by side, their stats swapping ranks for number one and two. Shane saw it all play out in his head. Two generational players from the same draft year, really only competing with each other.
Shane would never say so out loud. He could already hear his mom’s voice telling him to act humble, and he would. But he knew who and what he was. Average players didn't become an NHL top draft pick.
While Shane processed their intertwined future, Rozanov shifted where he sat. His legs stretched out into a V. Shane didn’t realize where his gaze had landed until Rozanov blocked it, setting his water bottle between his legs.
Shane looked back to Rozanov’s face, determined not to let his cheeks flush in embarrassment. It was embarrassment he was feeling. He was pretty sure.
Rozanov met his gaze and took another swig of his water. Shane tracked the movement, unable to tear his eyes away.
Rozanov held out the water bottle, offering it with a small shake. Shane shook his head, his mouth too dry to speak. Rozanov just shook it harder. His grin showed off his teeth - original ones still, Shane was pretty sure - and Shane gave in, reaching out to take it.
His fingers gripped the bottle, and somehow Rozanov’s fingers ended up covering Shane’s, fingertips gliding against skin as he pulled back.
The back of Shane’s hand tingled. He squeezed the bottle from a distance, tilting his head back to catch the stream. The feeling was a too-short glimpse of heaven.
Shane swallowed, eyes fixed on the column of Rozanov’s throat as he took deep, heavy breaths.
“More.” The word was little more than a whisper, nearly blending in with Rozanov’s breathing, but Shane saw the shape of the word on his lips. Shane was still thirsty, so he took another sip.
When he handed the bottle back, Rozanov’s fingers slid against his own again. The tingling grew stronger, and it started to spread. When Rozanov, water bottle lifted to his lips, throat moving with each swallow, winked at him, the tingling spread to places that had no business tingling.
For a long moment, he and Rozanov stared at each other. The feeling of sweat drying against Shane’s skin wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as the unthinkable feelings stirring in his body.
Shane pushed to his feet, legs protesting, and left the gym without another word. He didn’t glance back as he headed for the door, but he caught a glimpse in the mirror. Rozanov hadn’t moved, and his eyes were still on Shane. On his back, specifically. Or maybe lower.
The gym door closed behind him, and he tried not to run back to his room. The elevator was infuriatingly slow. By the time he made it into the shower, the water hot enough to burn, and roughly pulled at his dick, he was sure he was going to explode at the first touch.
He didn’t, but he also didn’t last long.
Spent and breathing heavily, one arm braced against the shower wall as steaming water pelted his shoulders and water ran into his eyes, all Shane could think was that one word. The one thrown around in every locker room he’d been in since he was ten. The one tossed around as a joke among teammates, and an insult against rivals. The one that could spell the end of his career before it had even begun, if anyone ever found out.
Goosebumps rose on Shane’s skin despite the steam all around him.
Gay.