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Scott Hunter knew his life would change the moment he cupped Kip’s gorgeous face in his hands and kissed him, right there on the ice for everyone to see. He just hadn’t expected his life to include this.
Whatever this is.
He stares at his phone where he's sprawled on the couch and the random text he’s just received; frowning in confusion because he has no goddamn clue who it’s from.
Unknown number:
You are pretty brave for old man.
Scott:
Uh…thank you?
Unknown number:
Not many people brave enough to come out like you did.
Especially dinosaur of hockey.
🏒🦕🏒🦖
You and your old teammates.
Scott:
I'm 37! I'm not old.
Unknown number:
Like I said. Dinosaur.
Scott:
Did you message me just insult me?
Unknown number:
No. That just extra fun part.
Scott scrubs a hand over his face and huffs, amused despite himself. Whoever the person texting him is, is an asshole, no doubt about it. But still, it's amusing. He combs his fingers through Kip's hair where his boyfriend snoozes with his head on Scott's lap. Looking all soft and cosy, and Scott couldn't love him more if he tried.
Scott:
What do you want then?
Unknown number:
Want to ask if you be coach at our new youth hockey camp.
Scott blinks, wondering who he's talking to because he's not heard about a new hockey camp being set up. Before he can respond his phone vibrates with more messages.
Unknown number:
Is very gay camp.
Not that we ask if gay because that is dick move.
Could be bisexual. Or lesbian. Or anything, there is whole spectrum.
But is queer friendly. And full of hockey.
Show homophobic assholes that anyone can play hockey, yes?
Scott:
Okay, who is this?
Unknown number:
That not answer. You want to be coach for cute kids or not?
Scott:
I'm not answering until you tell me who you are.
Unknown number:
Urgh. So boring. But fine.
Ilya.
He frowns, sitting up slightly because he only knows one person with that name and like hell would the captain of the Boston Bears be texting him. Winces in panic a second later when Kip grumbles in his sleep at Scott disrupting his nap. Strokes Kip's nape until he sinks back into sleep again.
Scott:
Ilya who?
Unknown number:
Ilya. Rozanov.
Best hockey player in the league, ring a bell?
🙄
Scott:
I don't believe you.
There's no response for a few minutes and Scott grins to himself, sure he's shown the person pretending to be Rozanov that he's no easy mark. But then his phone vibrates again, only this time it's a facetime call and not a text. "Oh, hell no."
Scott immediately declines the call.
It rings again.
He declines it again.
Unknown number:
Hunter. Answer your phone.
Scott:
No.
Unknown number:
Hunter!
The phone rings again, and growling in frustration, but determined to tell this asshole where to go, Scott answers it. His mouth falls slack in shock when he sees it's actually Ilya Rozanov staring back at him. All dirty-blond curls, blue eyes, sharp jaw and kittenish smirk. He's wearing a light-grey zip hoodie and he's fiddling with the gold cross he always wears while holding up his phone with his other hand.
"What, you so old you don't know how to accept facetime call properly, ey?" Rozanov says as soon as the call connects.
Scott opens and closes his mouth like a fish, before spluttering out, "I didn't actually think it was you! Jeez. I thought I was being pranked."
"Pfft. Too boring to prank."
"I'm not boring!"
"You are. Boring old man with knees like butter and not great beard."
Scott bristles like a cat; squinting at Rozanov through the screen. "I thought you wanted my help with something. Insulting me isn't going to get me to agree."
Rozanov shrugs, unbothered. "Cannot take a bit of chirping off the ice, no? And you'll say yes. Your gooey heart cannot deny the children."
He refuses to admit Rozanov might have a point. About him unable to say no to kids who want to play hockey, not that he's old, has buttery knees and a shit beard. Kip happens to like his facial hair and that's all that matters. "What is this hockey camp anyway? I'm not saying yes, I'm just...interested."
Rozanov hums; the corner of his mouth kicking up in amusement. It's the same expression that makes so many players want to punch him. On and off the ice. "Is new. We'll be setting it up as part of a new charity foundation. Need hockey players who teach kids how to play. And you are above mediocre and so.." He shrugs again, and Scott knows Rozanov knows exactly how annoying he's being.
"Jeez, thanks. Who's we?"
"What?"
"You said we'll be setting up the camp. So, who's we?"
Rozanov goes silent, and then puts him on mute, talking to someone off screen. Scott sits there, wondering what's going on, when the call is unmuted again and someone flumps down next to Rozanov and—
"Hollander?!" Scott clears his throat and lowers his voice, not wanting to disturb Kip again, but Jesus Christ. He hadn't expected this. "What are you - what the - okay, what is going on? I didn't even know you were friends."
Shane Hollander waves at him awkwardly through the screen, a blush on his cheeks. He's in a hoodie too, and looks right at home next to his supposed rival. "Uh, hi, Scott. Good to see you."
"Yeah, you too," he replies faintly. Scott's always gotten along with Shane, even when the kid had tried showing some teeth on the ice with words rather than his stick. He was a great player. The best. Scott just hadn't realised he was more complex than he'd first thought. But then again, now he remembers what he'd said to cause Shane to hiss at him like a cat, maybe it wasn't so unexpected.
"And, um, yeah, me and Ilya are friends. Actually we're more than that, we're—"
"Lovers."
Shane sighs; pinching the bridge of his nose. Scott bites back a laugh, because clearly this was old territory for them. "Ilya, what did I say about that word? It's gross."
Rozanov pouts at him, and Scott blinks in shock, never having seen the Russian so soft before. "But we love each other, so we're lovers."
Shane smiles softly even as he nudges Rozanov with his elbow. "Still gross. Sorry about that, Scott. But yes, we are together. Though obviously that's not public knowledge. And sorry for Ilya just texting you out the blue, but we did really want to ask you if you'd be a coach at our new hockey camp we're setting up."
"You two love each other?" Scott was still on that. He'd known there must be other hockey players like him, who didn't quite fit in with expectations, but it was different seeing it right in front of him.
Shane blushes again and Rozanov wraps his arm around his shoulders, bussing a kiss to Shane's temple. "Da," Rozanov says; blue eyes fierce with devotion. "We do. Assume you don't have problem with that, considering you love your puppy smoothie boy?"
Scott chokes out a laugh; thumb subconsciously massaging circles into the soft patch of skin behind Kip's ear, right where the arms of his glasses dig into if he wears them for a long time. "What? No, I don't have a problem with it. Just shocked that it's you two, considering everyone believes you don't like each other." He pauses and then adds, "And Kip isn't a puppy smoothie boy."
"Da, he is. If he were dog his tail would wag when he sees you."
"Like you with Shane then?" Scott dares him to disagree.
Instead Rozanov laughs. "Hmm. Maybe not so boring after all, Scott Hunter."
"I don't think kissing a man in front of millions on TV is boring, Rozanov."
"No," Rozanov agrees; a serious tilt to his brow. "That was not boring. That was very brave."
"Uh...Thank you. Are you really going to set up a hockey camp for queer kids?"
Shane nods. "Yeah. The money from the charity is going to help both the kids and mental health organisations, and we'd really like it if you would help. We're, uh, not quite as brave as you, as we're not out to anyone other than my parents, a few close friends, and now you, but it would mean a lot to us, and the kids, if you could be there. Show them that they can play hockey and love who they want to love."
Scott swallows past the lump of emotion clogging his throat, because even though they’re not public, it’s clear that both of them - Shane in particular - are being brave just by telling him. He nods. "Okay, yeah. Yeah, that would be fun. Can never play too much hockey right, boys?"
"You do need to get as much hockey in before your bones crumble to dust, da."
Scott just rolls his eyes. Rozanov can act like a dick as much as he wants, but Scott's seen the real him, and can't be fooled anymore. "Ha ha, yes, I'm old. I get it."
"So, you'll do it?" Shane asks; perking up with excitement. Scott nods. "Awesome. Thanks, Scott. We really appreciate it."
"No problem. Can I, uh, tell Kip about this though? We tell each other everything, but as you're not out I don't want to presume. He wouldn't tell anyone."
Shane and Rozanov look at each other and have a silent conversation, before the Russian says, "you can tell him. But only if we get free smoothie if we go to his shop."
"Ilya!" Shane laughs; whacking Rozanov on the chest. "Scott, he doesn't meant that—"
"I do. I want free smoothie."
Shane covers Rozanov's hand with his mouth. "Please ignore him." He squeals and then pulls his hand free with a disgusted wrinkle to his nose. Scott can only assume that Rozanov had licked his palm. Shane growls at Rozanov and then plonks himself down on his lap as if that will stop him. Rozanov's head pops up behind Shane; a dopey grin on his face when he hooks his chin over Shane's shoulder. They're very domestic. Sickenly so. Though Scott knows he's the same with Kip, and considering how they've all felt the need to hide, he can't bring himself to tease them. "But yes, you can tell Kip. It would be...nice, to know another gay couple." Rozanov coughs pointedly. "Sorry, nice for us - a gay man and bisexual man - to know a gay couple."
Rozanov smacks a wet kiss to the hinge of Shane's jaw. "Thank you, kotenok."
Shane reaches behind him to stroke Rozanov's curls, a soppy look on his face, and Scott knows right then, that no matter how annoying Rozanov is to him, he's going to protect them with everything he can. He's older than them, and while he's had to deal with some bigotry and hatred since coming out, he knows it would be worse for the two younger men. Especially with them being rivals and both hockey players.
"You can contact me whenever you want," Scott says. "Though try and keep the chirping to a minimum, yeah? At least off the ice."
Rozanov huffs like this is a big sacrifice, but jerks out a nod. "Okay, will be nice. Even if that is boring."
"You like boring, Ilya."
"No, I like you, Shane.”
Kip starts to snuffle awake then, and Scott clears his throat. "Send me more details when you have them, yeah? I gotta go. And you can trust me - us - to keep your secret."
"We know. Thanks, Scott. And bye."
"Bye, Hunter."
The call ends and Kip sits up; stretching with a hum. His hair is flattened on one side, and Scott has to kiss him. "Mmm, that's a nice way to wake up," Kip says when they pull apart. "Who were you on the phone to?"
Scott just huffs and says, "Kip, baby, you're not going to believe it."