rosepickle



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Following an afternoon of sex and tuna melts, Shane goes searching for the explicit rules of what being 'friends with benefits' entails. In his humble opinion, they're nailing it.

    Once friendship is on the table, Shane reconsiders the usefulness and immutability of the public rivalry narrative. Surely the NHL can make just as much money from a bromance as it can from a rivalry?

    A missed call from J.J., a dinner at All-Stars, and an ill-considered mad dash to the airport send Shane's season in a very different direction to the disciplined three-peat he'd been planning back in October.


    "This rivalry thing: it was everyone else who said we hated each other off the ice. There’s no rule that says we have to keep doing that forever.” Shane stared outside, past the blinding billboards and down at the streets below. “It was nice. Hanging out, last time.”

    He knew what it looked like when Rozanov shut down, when he closed himself off and pushed the world away. He’d finish the conversation abruptly, curt, clipped, and retreat. So Shane knew he’d won when Rozanov finally answered with: “Are we six years old, Hollander? Asking if I want to play in sandbox with you?"

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    03 Aug 2026

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    “I’m trying to figure out,” Rose wonders aloud. “Are you always a complete prick? Just with women? Or just when you lose a game?”

    Ilya barks a laugh, shocked and almost delighted, and his smile spreads wide enough that Rose can see all those pearly whites of his that are so much nicer than she expected any hockey player’s to be. “All the time,” he grins, “all the time. However much of an asshole Hollander has told you I am, double it.”

    She answers truthfully, shrugs her shoulders in her tiny silver dress. “He hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

    After a shitshow of an evening in a Montreal nightclub, Ilya wakes up the next morning in Shane’s bed. Only, he’s not in Shane’s bed — Rose Landry is, and he’s in Rose Landry’s body, and she’s in his. Well, what the fuck are they supposed to do with that?

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    06 Jul 2026

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    "I don't mean to come here and freak you out," Scott said, though he knew there was no avoiding it. He'd been where they were before. It had felt like he was dying, back then. "I just don't want you to think you're the only ones, okay? There's lots of us."

    Their eyes snapped to him in unison, startled and intense. Hollander croaked, "What?"

    "There's over sixteen hundred guys in the MLH and AHL," he reminded them, because it had felt improbable to him when he first heard until he remembered the sheer size of the hockey world. "There's — well, we don't know how many of us there are, but there's at least seventeen of us that know each other. Plus you two. We watch out for each other."

    His eyes enormous, Hollander asked, "There's, what? A secret underground gay hockey network?"

    Scott shrugged. "Yeah, basically."

    ----

    Ilya and Shane find their way into The Tennis Club, a network of closeted hockey players that hook up - so long as everyone keeps it casual. Which is no problem! They can do casual, right?

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    28 Aug 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya Rozanov is many things—a pain in Shane Hollander’s ass, hockey’s biggest playboy, a better chirper in his second language than most people are in their first, the only player who can challenge Shane for the title of “best of his generation.” But when Shane and Ilya get stuck next to each other on a long-delayed flight to the MLH Awards, Shane realizes something else about him: Ilya Rozanov is hot.

    ***

    Shane and Ilya never hooked up at the CCM shoot. Seven years later, they end up on the same flight from New York City to Las Vegas.

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    27 Aug 2026

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    Love is miserable, Ilya thinks. It's dirty work. It fights worse than an MLH enforcer with a drinking problem and seven missing teeth. It'll toss you about and break your bones and leave you bleeding out on the ice.

    He's been in love twice, and both times he fucked it.

    The first time, he hadn't even known what it was until it was gone. He had learned its shape from the hole it left behind. Hollander had gone. Poof, whoosh, like a ghost. All that was left was the man on the ice, jaw tense and eyes dead, who played like Ilya was a bug to be crushed. Ilya tried to play so dirty Hollander would throw down his gloves and then they could at least touch each other again, fist to face, but all he got was decked by a series of troglodytes in Metros jerseys.

    [COMPLETED, posts semi-regularly]

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    14 Aug 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Ch 4