Gammets



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    Shane and Ilya are thrilled to be on the same team this year but can't resist a little on-ice fighting. The team is very concerned.

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    “Great,” Troy muttered. “They’re going to kill each other.”

    Across the boards from him, Harris squeaked, “Should we, like, do something? Call Coach? Call–"

    “A therapist?” Troy interjected.

    “I’m serious!” exclaimed Harris.

    “So am I,” said Troy. “Those two have been on opposing teams for their entire professional careers. I don’t think they have any idea how to turn off their competitive bickering. This is going to be an interesting season.”

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    16 Apr 2026

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    The Boston Raiders disappear from the afterparty one at a time. Rozanov never made it in the first place.

    ...

    Ilya goes into rut at a charity scrimmage, and Shane has to figure out how to get him somewhere with a bed and plenty of extra sheets without drawing too many eyes. Even Shane himself tries to scrutinize the situation as little as possible, watching it in shadows and mirrors like Ilya's going to turn him to stone if Shane confronts the very real and very precarious position he's gotten himself into.

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    12 Apr 2026

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    When the unsentimental financial imperative of the NHL sees Shane traded to the Boston Raiders, he and Ilya are thrown into closer extended proximity than ever before. As they adjust to life as teammates, they are forced to contend with the nature of their relationship -and must answer for themselves: is it even a relationship at all?
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    Sliding down the wall, Shane hunched over his untied sneakers, shoved on hastily when Coach had called him in for a meeting after morning skate.

    “Boston wanted you specifically. I’ve already spoken to their GM. You’re flying this evening or tomorrow morning: I’ll confirm once the paperwork clears.”

    “Mom,” Shane managed.

    “Oh sweetie. I know, okay. Those fuckers, how dare they do this! Two fucking cups! Now all of a sudden they decide they want a reset and you’re going to fund it.”

    Shane put his head between his knees and tried to breathe. God, Boston. They hated him there; it was so far away; he was fucking their captain.

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    28 Jan 2026

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    Ilya hums, playing the card he's been considering for this entire conversation. “We could make more interesting, yes? A bet.”

    “A bet,” Shane repeats, eyes flashing. “Like what?”

    The reporter cuts in. “What about wearing the other player’s jersey?”

    They both turn to her, and Shane says, “Like, the loser wears the winner’s jersey?”

    “Maybe at the next game in a couple of months?”

    “Is a good idea,” Ilya muses, nudging Shane’s elbow. “You will look better in my jersey than in Montreal jersey.”

    Shane makes a low noise, his eyes holding a bit of a spark when he looks back to Ilya. It’s what Ilya was hoping for—the tiniest crack in the mask. He can see a hint of exasperated affection around the corners of Shane’s eyes, a little bit of fire burning just beneath the surface. It sends a thrill down Ilya’s spine, and he wonders if Shane will be snarky when Ilya gets him naked tonight.

    “That’s not happening,” Shane replies, shaking his head. “Because you’re not winning.”

    ---
    Ilya should have known better.

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    27 Jan 2026

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    He peels the domino off of Tim’s face. The blown blood vessels are back in the whites of Tim’s eyes, and the dark circles are dire again, blue-purple and sunk in deep.

    “You wanna tell me how much sleep you didn’t get today?” Jason says.

    ++

    Tim’s insomnia is out of control. Jason helps.

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    19 May 2025