Chapter Text
Hayden will forever curse the day Jackie's mom canceled her colonoscopy.
Jackie fell down the fucking stairs yesterday. Sprained her ankle really bad. And with three small kids and one on the way - and thank fucking God nothing happened with that! - Hayden couldn't possibly travel to Boston for their game today. Coach had been reasonably understanding, meaning he hadn't outright told Hayden to go fuck himself, but it had kinda been understood between the lines that this was not a popular decision.
Hayden had tried to reason. Jackie's mom, who'd usually step up, had a colonoscopy scheduled and she couldn't cancel it just because her son in law had a hockey game.
Except, she did. Because Hayden has always been in very good standing with his mother in law, mostly because he's supplied so many grandkids in a short time span. Jackie's mom always boasts to her friends about "her son in law's virile sperm", and while Hayden pretends to get socially-appropriate embarrassed about it, he's secretly pretty pleased. Someone even put it on his Wiki-page.
And, yeah, so what if it was himself, high on life after a very happy celebration when they beat the Raiders 5-2 a couple of months ago. He remembers fondly how Shane scored a hattrick and checked Rozanov really fucking hard into the boards. The Russian asshole had looked pissed, and Hayden heard him growling something to Shane about getting even on his ass later. Fucking sore loser - as if he doesn't rail Shane against those boards all the fucking time.
And now Hayden's arrived in Boston, and he told coach to keep it quiet from the team so he can bolster morale with a little good-natured surprise. He plans to toss his bag into the hotel room and then hit the bar. Comeau's already texted him that they're out for a beer, too bad you're not here, Pike, and Hayden plans to drag Shane along with force if necessary. Luckily, they're sharing a hotel room this time, and Hayden whistles as he picks up the key card and finds his way to floor 8.
Just as he's approaching room 813, a girl in uniform is pushing a room service cart towards the door.
"Hey!" Hayden calls, flashing her a smile. "I'll take that. I'm his roommate."
He lifts one of the cloches and whistles. Fries! Someone's having a cheat day. Knowing Shane, he'll panic about his diet and change his mind, and then Hayden will just polish off the good stuff.
Hayden grabs the room service cart and knocks on the door.
"Room service!" he calls, distorting his voice into a weird falsetto and already looking forward to seeing the surprise on Shane's face and having a good laugh at the expense of his best fucking friend. Hayden loves him dearly, but Shane Hollander is not a fan of surprises and he needs to get out of his comfort zone once in a while.
The door opens, and Hayden says "surprise, cap! Your star player has made a comeback!" as he shoves the cart and himself past a Shane, who is frozen in the doorway, only dressed in a towel slung around his waist.
Hayden turns around with a grin to tease fucking Captain Canada for being speechless with surprise - and he has never experienced a grin fading faster from his own face.
Shane doesn't just look surprised - he looks fucking terrified; limbs rigid in shock, face frozen in a look of horror and looking one more "surprise!" away from projectile vomiting. Hayden takes a step back, his eyes wide.
"Shane, man, what's wr-"
And then it comes. The voice of nightmares. A Russian-accented purr of pure evil and assholery.
"Hollander! You want me to chase you? Crawl back in here, on your knees, like a good boy, and I'll fuck you aga-- Pike?!"
Hayden makes a sound he didn't know his body could physically produce. It's like someone kicked him in the balls and punched him in the gut and strangled him all at once. A strange sort of choked whimper on an exhale.
Rozanov, the fucking asshole of a bastard, has the audacity to snort out a small laugh, even as he's standing there in Shane's hotel room, Hayden's hotel room, butt fucking naked and with a huge fucking cock that's practically right up in Hayden's face even though they're 10 feet apart.
Rozanov looks from Hayden, who's admittedly just gaping stupidly, to Shane, and when Hayden follows his gaze, he sees that Shane is kind of just frozen in place, one hand covering his mouth and his eyes glazed over in shock.
Hayden edges towards the door, pointedly not looking at Rozanov or his anything.
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to... I'll just go. Sorry. Carry on. Or don't! Ugh, fuck. Or don't! Shit. I'm leaving now. Sorry."
He reaches for the doorknob in his stream of babbling nonsense, but Shane suddenly springs into action and grabs his arm, clutching at it and looking at Hayden with panicked eyes.
"No! Please don't leave like this. Let me... I want to explain."
"I think even Pike is not stupid enough to need explanation, Hollander."
"Not helping, Ilya! And put on some fucking pants or something."
Rozanov throws up his hands dramatically. "Urgh, fine!"
He turns around, muttering something in Russian that Hayden sincerely doubts is a reminder to include Hayden in his evening prayers, and Hayden is just about to concede to Shane's pleas of staying and listening and probably not understanding a single thing anyway, when he sees the marks.
Angry, red stripes, criss-crossed from Rozanov's shoulders and over the expanse of his back and down to his thighs and ass - and fucking hell why does Rozanov have an ass like that?! - and he lets out a single, slightly hysterical laugh when he realizes that they can only be from Shane's nails, that Rozanov has just fucked Shane in a way that had him clawing like a feral cat in heat. Possibly yowling like one, too.
And... is that a fucking bite mark on Rozanov's shoulder?!
Hayden gapes stupidly at Shane now. Shane calls Rozanov Ilya and they were going to fuck again and oh dear fucking God, Shane is gay, isn't he?! Gay for fucking Rozanov and his huge fucking... and sweet baby Jesus, he's fucking Shane with that thing?!
No. No, no. Nononono!
Hayden has seen his share of semi-bad porn.
Hot delivery guy brings food. Two girls in way too little clothes giggle vapidly and throw themselves at him. Shenanigans occur.
And there's probably a gay version with two jocks getting frisky in a hotel room and then the bellboy comes in with room service, and ohdeargod Hayden is the bellboy, isn't he?! And there's most definitely a number of gay shenanigans that he can't even begin to imagine.
Hayden is sure as fuck not going to be spitroasted by Ilya fucking Rozanov in one end and his best fucking friend in the other, no matter how much he loves Shane. Or just being spitroasted by Rozanov in one end and the tip of his huge fucking cock in the other end, thank you very much.
Rozanov pulls a pair of sweatpants up over his hips and then he turns around again, glares a bit at Shane.
"Why the fuck you want Pike to stay, Hollander? You want him to watch?"
"No!" Shane squeaks, just as Hayden takes three steps back from Rozanov's cock and says, "fuck, no!".
"Threesome then? You could at least have called someone hotter."
"Ilya!" Shane half-groans, half-growls, his hands coming up to rub at his temples as if he's staving off a migraine. "No. That's just... gross. No."
The towel around Shane's waist, evidently put on in a hurry in between fucks, suddenly loosens and slides halfway down Shane's hip before he catches it. Hayden stares in horror as a perfect imprint of five fingers from a large, Russian hand reveals itself on Shane's ass. Shane blushes about fifteen different shades of red, and he clutches the towel to himself in one hand and reaches out the other hand towards Hayden, his expression pleading.
Hayden bolts for the door.
Shane intercepts.
For a moment, they struggle for the doorknob with more fervor than they've ever struggled on the ice, but instead of the puck they're fighting for the future of Hayden's sanity.
Shane manages to wedge himself between the door and Hayden and gives him a firm shove into the room.
"Please, Hayd, let me just..."
Hayden is backing away from both of them, his back hitting the wall.
"Shane, I love you, man, but I don't need to hear or see or know any more about this... whatever it is you're doing. With him."
He glares at Rozanov, who flips him the middle finger and retreats back around the corner to the bedroom section.
And oh, great, now Shane looks like a kicked puppy, as if Hayden's the asshole here.
"That's... I understand, Hayd. I didn't want you to find out like this."
Shane bites his lip, and looks like he's weighing his next words. He stares at the floor for a moment as he fastens his towel securely. Then he looks back up at Hayden, and fuck, he looks on the verge of crying and Hayden feels like shit.
"Please don't tell anyone. No-one can know. Please."
Hayden snorts in half surprise, half incredulity.
"That you and Rozanov are... you think I'd tell people that?! Like anyone would believe me. I'm not sure I believe me."
"Not just about... him. About me. That I'm... that I like..."
Shane hesitates, and Hayden stares at him without blinking.
"Men," Shane croaks out, his eyes wet and studiously not looking at Hayden.
Oh. Ohhh.
So it's a gay thing? The shame?
And not a Rozanov thing?
Hayden's not really sure why. He doesn't give two shits that Shane is gay. It kinda makes sense, actually, in the back of Hayden's mind. However, the front of his mind is screaming Shane is getting claw-and-bite-inducing dick from Ilya fucking Rozanov and it's hard for Hayden to focus on anything else.
Hayden realizes that he's been quiet for too many seconds after Shane stopped speaking, and he shakes his head out of the stupor, plastering on a smile.
"Of course I won't tell anyone, man. Your secret is safe with me."
Shane nods jerkily, still looking at the floor. His shoulders are tense, and Hayden feels a pang of empathy, thinking of the slurs being thrown around the locker room on a daily basis. He's probably even fired off some, himself, because it's just... how it is.
"I swear it. I'll tell no-one. Not even Jackie."
Shane lets out a little snort at that, and finally looks at Hayden again. He knows very well that Hayden usually can't keep anything from Jackie.
Rozanov being balls deep in their friend Shane might just be the exception, though.
"Really?"
"Yes, really. And, uh, you know it's cool, right? The... that you're..."
"It's fine," Shane bites him off, tensing up again. "You don't have to-- I know it's not-- it's fine," he says, not looking at Hayden again.
Hayden opens his mouth, doesn't know what to say to break the tense mood.
He'd actually forgotten for a moment that Rozanov is also here. But, alas, he's abruptly reminded when the Russian asshole suddenly emerges again, now fully dressed and heading for the door.
"Not a pleasure, as always, Pike. See you on the ice tomorrow, before you lose."
Hayden grits his teeth and only watches as Rozanov pauses in front of the door, one hand on the doorknob, eyes locked on Shane's. He doesn't say anything, but Hayden can see a flush of color spreading across Shane's neck and chest.
For the love of...
"Hollander," Rozanov says evenly. "Don't forget stretches. I don't want win because you are too sore to skate straight."
He gives Shane a casual bro-slap on the stomach, but it's not really a bro-slap when they just fucked in Hayden's hotel room, is it?!
The door shuts behind Rozanov.
Hayden looks at the door. At Shane's both scandalized and please don't let that be Shane's horny face strange expression. Then he heaves himself off the wall and announces to the room at large, "I need a fucking drink."
"But we're playing tomorr--"
"Don't care!"