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  1. Heated Rivalry (TV) (7)

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  1. Rec *

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    “Adventurous,” Ilya said, smiling sharply.
    “Shut up.”
    “This is unlike you.”
    “Shut up.”
    Ilya did, pulling open the sealed cardboard slots instead and upturning the box over his palm, not all that careful considering its contents were glass, letting the bottle fall into his hand.
    “Shit, Rozanov,” Shane said, exasperated. “I was going to return it.”
    “Oh, no, you will go broke now?" Ilya popped the cap off the perfume and sprayed it at Shane.

    Shane Hollander finds a hobby.

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    31 Jan 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 52

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    They’ve hooked up like this about half a dozen times by now, maybe more; often enough, apparently, for it to become something Shane eagerly looks forward to. Beat Boston, then get railed by Rozanov. Preferably on all fours.

    He isn’t going to let a tweaked knee get in the way of that, goddammit.

    (In which Shane and Ilya have to be careful with each other during sex for the first time.)
     



    Shane tears his eyes away before Rozanov can say something obnoxious like “Like what you see?” or “Is rude to stare,” but Rozanov is towering over him now, and when Shane drags his gaze up, his entire field of vision is filled with rippling muscles.

    “Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

    “Like what you see?” Rozanov asks, looking down at himself.

    “Yeah,” Shane says, resigned. No point in denying it.

    Warm hands cup his face, tip his head back. “Is rude to stare, you know.”

    Shane allows himself to melt into the touch. “I know.”

    He feels the tension drain from his shoulders the moment their mouths meet.

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    26 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “If you don’t come here, I will come to you.”

    “Rozanov.”

    “I will drive,” Ilya tells him without sympathy. “Park illegally in my big muscle car. Everyone will notice. Lots of photos, probably.”

    Shane rubs his forehead. He gets to his feet and glances at his bag, still packed, on the hotel dresser.

    “I hate your car,” he says, at last.

    “Yes, I know,” Ilya says. It sounds like he’s smiling.

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    18 Jan 2026

  4. Rec *

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    “Shane.” Ilya takes Shane’s head in his hands, squeezes his cheeks so that Shane looks puffy, absurd. Beloved. “I am saying that to me, even though you are retired, you will always be No. 1 hockey player. Fuck Wayne Gretzky.”

    That’s what does it, as Ilya knew it would. Shane rears back, spluttering, outraged, trying not to laugh.

    “Oh, I have committed blasphemy now. They will take back my citizenship, big crime, very sad.”

    Shane smoothes his hands along Ilya’s calves, rests his fingertips on Ilya’s ankles. “Fuck Wayne Gretzky,” he says. He looks like he can’t believe what he’s saying. Ilya wonders, distantly, if he can get it on tape to play back to himself when things feel particularly bleak. “We can live in exile together. I don’t care. You’re my, my best, my second best hockey player forever too.”

    --

    Shane decides he has to retire. Ilya, of course, will go with him.

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    18 Jun 2026

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  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya has a particular way of holding himself when he’s listening to Shane like this, when the air is thin and fragile between them. He goes very still, eyes wide open, the perfect absurd bow of his lips the only trembling thing. It isn’t enough, Shane thinks. This little soft-shuffle step towards better, God, it feels like a fucking mockery. It isn’t enough when Ilya is this, this warm-breathing world that Shane loves so completely, this thing that roars through his body like waves on rocks, sending him tumbling.

    --

    Shane and Ilya are three years out from retirement, on their second billet kid, and they're trying to figure out the future.

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    26 Jun 2026