Archive of Our Own

He really hadn’t been trying to snoop. It was just–the idea had come to him when he’d gone into the bathroom for…normal bathroom reasons. He’d spied Shane’s extensive skincare collection on a shelf by the sink, and Ilya’s helpful brain had supplied the image: a matching collection of expensive lotions and serums at Ilya’s place, as well.

And because he could never, ever love Shane in a normal way, he decided the best option was to surprise him.

So Ilya slipped his phone from his pocket and began to take pictures of all of the bottles, figuring that even if his phone was hacked or stolen, images like those wouldn’t be incriminating. It was when he was zooming in on the label of the third product that he’d started paying attention to the actual words:

Smooth as a Baby’s Bottom
Dewy Complexion
Glowing Skin
Pro-Collagen Overnight Matrix
Hyaluronic Acid

Each bottle’s packaging boasted the complex abilities to do things that Ilya had to use Google Translate to fully understand, and even then, he was confused. Why did Shane want his skin to be like a child’s ass? And did acid really help with wrinkles? Was this an American beauty standard he was still unfamiliar with? 

Quickly forwarding the pictures to Svetlana, he captioned them with a quick why does Shane want reflective wet skin? in Russian and waited for her reply, taking more pictures as he did so. He was still going to buy the products, of course, even if he didn’t understand. Shane did many things he couldn’t begin to fathom, it didn’t make him love the man any less.

It was a loud, banging knock at the door that made Ilya to nearly drop the glass jar of expensive-looking ‘hydrating night cream’ (how skin lotion could hydrate you like Gatorade, he didn’t understand) and look up. “Yes?” he called in a strangled voice.

“Rozanov, stop fucking around with my skincare!” Shane called, sounding both annoyed and amused.

His eyes widened. What–?

Opening the door sheepishly, one jar still in hand, Ilya locked eyes with his boyfriend. “Did Svetlana tell on me?” he demanded, trying to inject heat in his tone instead of embarrassment at being caught.

“She said, and I quote, ‘Explain to Ilya the concept of anti-wrinkle cream before he ruins that gorgeous face!’” Shane explained with a grin. 

“Nothing can ruin my gorgeous face,” he pouted, crossing his arms. 

“I will, if you won’t stop messing with that,” the shorter man threatened with a grin, snatching the jar and putting it back where it belonged.

Ilya beamed. “Will you ruin it by squirting other liquids on it?” he purred, waggling his eyebrows.

But weeks after he and a spluttering Shane made their way to the bedroom, Ilya still made sure to buy every last bottle of product he’d seen on that shelf. And when Shane came to visit him, he looked absolutely thrilled. 

“Oh my god…” Shane muttered from his spot on the couch, grimacing as Anya dropped a particularly ragged, spit-covered ball into his lap. He picked it up with two fingertips and dropped it, gagging, on the floor.

“I think what you mean is ‘Thank you,’” Ilya corrected Shane with a stern look from a few feet away, turning to beam at the proud-looking dog. “Right, milaya devochka? You are papa’s sweet girl and daddy does not understand how smart you are?” Ana barked happily, wagging her tail.

Shane chuckled at Ilya’s adorable cooing, but wrinkled his nose at the name Ilya had used for him. “Ew, don’t call me ‘Daddy,’” he muttered, shaking his head. 

“Ah, yes. We don’t want to get confused. Is your name for me in bedroom, after all,” Ilya beamed, dodging when Shane chucked a pillow at him.

“Gross,” Shane murmured, rolling his eyes at his fiancé. “You and your dog can both get the fuck out of my house.” He said it fondly, of course, but Ilya clapped a hand to his heart like he’d been fatally wounded.

“So cruel! You will kick out two such adorable beings just like that?” he yelled, standing and throwing his hands in the air. “Come, Anya, we know when we are not wanted!”

But as he beckoned to the dog and pretended to storm off, she just barked once more and jumped into Shane’s lap, settling quickly and gazing up at Ilya with a sweet, innocent expression.

The taller man gaped. “I have been betrayed!” he shouted to the empty house, making Shane chuckle. “You two are…” he paused, devastated demeanor dropping for a moment as he thought, “What is word?” then his eyes lit up and he put back on his emotional mask. “Ah! Yes! Conspiring!”

Anya seemed to yap lightly in agreement, nosing Shane’s hand for pets while Ilya fell dramatically to the floor.

And Shane just laughed, breathless and giddy.

Fuck, he loved Ilya Rozanov so much.

“Wait. I…need to warn you,” Shane said nervously as he and Rose pulled up to a field full of children in brightly-colored jerseys. “This can be a bit…much, sometimes. Especially when Mom and Dad come to see her play. It’s...overwhelming. Dad and I are working on it with Mom and Ilya, but–”

“I’m not fragile, Shane,” Rose said carelessly, pulling her hood over her head and guiding him towards the team in blue. “Did you forget I regularly come to see you and Ilya? I can handle a simple kids’ game.”

Shane sighed, jogging after her. Clearly he thought she wasn’t understanding. “I know, but–”

“This will be fun. I am here to watch my niece play soccer, and to drink my drink which may or may not be spiked with vodka,” she said, waggling her eyebrows and holding up her thermos in offering. “Take a sip of this and relax.”

So Shane decided to give in and go along for the ride, because he’d learned that it tended to be easier that way. 

Obviously, Rose got along with Yuna and David extremely well. They’d met on multiple occasions and had bonded over discussing Shane’s most embarrassing moments. It had probably been mortifying for him, but lovely for them, so sitting together on bleachers in the cool September air was comfortable, and she noticed Shane began to relax.

Until the game began.

Right away, the screaming started.

“YES!” Ilya yelled about thirty seconds in. “Good hustle, Lina, keep running!” 

Yuna was yelling something as well.

Then, a few moments later:

“SHOOT IT!”

“FU--UH, HECK YES, GO TEAM!”

“EARLY LEAD, WE WILL DOMINATE!!!”

Shane clearly wanted to melt into his seat as he clapped dutifully and hunched over. 

Rose, also clapping, leaned towards him. “Are they always so loud?” she murmured, a grin on her face.

“Just you wait.”

Things turned sour when the other team scored. 

“REF! THAT WAS CLEARLY A HANDBALL!”

“THIS DOESN’T COUNT, STILL 1-0!”

“GET A REF WHO’S AWAKE!”

“Honey,” David said placatingly, placing a hand on Yuna’s leg. “Remember this is youth soccer. 

“It’s just for fun,” Shane added, eyeing Ilya.

But both Yuna and Ilya looked deadly. “I played youth hockey once,” Ilya shot back, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Now he plays in the NHL,” his mother finished grimly. 

“Well this is a little different because–”

But the game started again, distracting everyone.

It was when Alina tripped, though, that their corner of the bleacher erupted again.

“RED CARD!” Ilya screamed, standing and gesturing wildly to the clueless-looking referee, who was probably not older than sixteen. “GET THIS PLAYER OFF THE FIELD, YOU–”

“ABSOLUTELY A FOUL!” Yuna was agreeing, stomping her foot. 

Rose, who could see Alina was fine and had actually tripped over her shoe and had not been purposefully hurt by another player, turned to Shane. “They are very passionate about this, hm?” she said with a smirk.

But Shane was on his feet as well. “RIDICULOUS!” he was yelling, shaking a fist. “DO YOUR JOB!”

It was only when four-year-old Alina walked over to them that all three had the good sense to be quiet.

“Grandma,” she said patiently. “Papa. Dad. We’re here to have fun. Remember?”

The three adults had the good sense to look abashed as they sank back to their seats. 

“Sorry, Lina,” Ilya muttered, pouting.

“Yes, sorry.”

“Sorry, love.”

“That’s right, Alina, go get ‘em!” Rose called, leaning forward to give the little girl a high-five.

Grinning, she smacked Rose’s hand and ran off, leaving David and Rose beaming while Shane, Ilya, and Yuna sulked.

“They can be a bit much?” Rose asked Shane, chuckling.

“Fuck off.”

“I think Anya is gay.”

Ilya said this so casually, so calmly, that Shane had to do a double-take. Because…well, yes, they did often discuss what people they thought might be gay, Anya was a dog.

“Ilya, Anya is a dog,” Shane said to his fiancé slowly, eyeing him from the other end of the couch they were sprawled on. “I don’t think dogs…have sexualities.”

Immediately, the taller man looked infuriated. “Not true,” he said vehemently. “Gay is very common in many species. Dolphins, lions, birds…fish change genders, Shane. Is not just humans who do this.”

For a moment, Shane stared, shocked both at his husband’s knowledge and his own lack of know-how about his own community. But after a moment, he refocused. “Okay…but Anya is fixed,” he said reasonably. “Wouldn’t that make her…what’s the thing? Starts with an A? Harris’s friend is one?”

“Asexual,” Ilya supplied easily, attention on the conversation. “But…does removing uterus stop attraction?” He asked like it was a very deep question, one that haunted him late at night.

Shane stared. “I…” he tried to treat this as a normal topic of conversation, and not insanity. “I mean, when people get their uteruses removed, it doesn’t,” he reasoned.

“Yes,” Ilya agreed, nodding like the case was closed. “So Anya can have crushes on other little doggies. And you know what I notice? She never looks very closely at Chiron. She plays with him, but…when she met that dog down the street, the neighbors’ Golden Retriever, Daisy? Shane, she sniffed her for like…five minutes. Is obvious she is interested.”

Shane laughed loudly, amazed. “Ilya, she’s a dog! Dogs sniff each other!”

Ilya, however, gave him a serious expression. “Kotenok, maybe you need to go to therapy. You need to not be so homophobic of our daughter. If she likes girls, we need to accept her. Is good parenti–”

Shane let out a huffing laugh, deciding he was done with Ilya’s antics. Instead, he tackled the taller man, sending him sprawling, and whispered into his ear. “Explain to me how taking your dick up my ass is homophobic,” he demanded, kissing his neck.

He felt Ilya’s face stretch into a smile. “Not sure,” he replied softly. “Let’s try it and find out.”

Ilya nearly scoffed out loud as he sat in front of the small laptop, pulling up Google and beginning to type. Was this what he had been reduced to? Searching up the definitions of English words to reassure himself about the feelings of a boring, ridiculously adorable, freckled hockey player? He was Ilya Rozanov. He was a hockey superstar, wanted by thousands of men and women, stoic, emotionally balanced, and confident. He didn’t do things like this.

Still, he typed the words ‘define lover’ into the search bar.

Because he had been pretty sure, when using the word in Shane’s parents’ home. They’d said ‘I love you,’ after all. They’d…been open with each other, terrifyingly so. And yes, it had been scary for Shane’s mother and father to find out the way they did, but they’d been so accepting. It made their whole plan for the future–for the Irina foundation, for Ilya to move to a different team, for marriage, feel a whole lot more possible.

But still, when Ilya had used that word–lovers–Shane had rejected it. ‘Ew,’ he had said. ‘Gross.’ Why? Was he embarrassed of Ilya? Did he not actually love him? Had he, perhaps, only returned Ilya’s affections because Ilya had said it first?

Lover seemed like the simplest word for them. Even after trying desperately for years to stop his feelings, Ilya loved Shane with his whole heart. He loved him so fiercely, he was willing to change teams for him, to move for him, to never go back to Russia for him, to risk so much for him. Didn’t Shane feel the same? He’d thought…

He was terrified of actually searching the word–of getting confirmation that he had been right about the definition. That lovers were simply people who adored each other, and Shane thought that concept, with Ilya, was gross.

So he sat, finger hovering over the enter key, unsure how to proceed. He was so terrified, he didn’t hear Shane approach from behind. 

“Hey. I actually slept in for once, you must have driven me insane for real,” he mumbled sleepily, hugging Ilya from behind and glancing at the screen.

Ilya bit his lip as Shane read the words.

“Ilya, what–?”

“Is nothing.”

Slamming down the top of the laptop, Ilya turned in his seat to give Shane a smile and a small kiss. “Good morning, malysh. I am glad you slept well. I–”

“You—wait, you don’t know what ‘lovers’ means?” Shane demanded, only a little red.

Ilya winced. “I think I know. I was just…being sure. Like when I searched ‘compatible.’ Is not a big deal…”

“What do you think it means, then?” the shorter man asked, crossing his arms.

He shrugged, trying to shove off his feelings of rejection. “You know. People who care for each other. People who love, maybe. Is not–”

“It means people who have sex, Ilya!” Shane burst out, eyes wide as he gave him a disbelieving smile. “Usually, people who just have sex. Who don’t care at all! That’s–oh my God, you thought I didn’t think–no, I just didn’t want my parents to know the details of our sex life! Or for them to think we were just…sleeping together!”

Ilya deflated, letting out a puff of air that had been hiding in his lungs, allowing relief to seep in. “Oh. That…that makes more sense.”

Shane walked closer, standing in between his legs and cupping his chin with his hand, looking shyly into his eyes. “Remember the other thing you called me? When we were at my parents’?”

“Asshole?” Ilya joked, trying to save himself from total humiliation.

“No. Boyfriend. I know you’re still learning, so let me tell you the definition of that one,” Shane said, grinning. “That means a guy who really fucking loves you. Like, an insane amount. In my case, it also means the very annoying guy who you can’t stop thinking about, even when you really want to.”

“Me, too,” Ilya chuckled, pulling Shane in for a kiss.

He found he liked the term ‘boyfriend’ better, anyway. 

Hayden found JJ standing on the outskirts of Rozanov’s backyard, looking thoroughly shell-shocked as he clutched at a bottle and stared off into the distance. 

“Glad you made it, man,” he said, clapping his teammate on the back and grinning at him. “You know it’ll mean the world to Shane.”

“Yeah…” but JJ still seemed shocked, like he’d seen a ghost. For a moment, Hayden wondered if it had been too much–JJ had slowly accepted Shane and Ilya’s relationship, sticking with Hayden as they quietly stopped other Voyageurs from talking too much shit about their former teammate. But JJ had never spent time with Shane and Ilya as a couple. Was it overwhelming for him? Or, worse, was he disgusted by it? JJ didn’t seem the type, but Hayden had seen, over the past few months, just how awful some guys had been about gay players in general. It was a hundred times more nauseating, in his opinion, for someone to be a dick to someone else just because he liked another dude, rather than for someone to like dick in the first place. But he’d never cared much about other people’s love lives, so…

Maybe JJ was a secret asshole? “You alright, man?” he asked hesitantly, wondering if he would end up kicking someone out of this wedding. He wasn’t particularly loyal to Ilya, but he would gladly get in a fight for Shane.

“No, it’s just…” JJ met his eyes, still looking thoroughly lost. “Have you ever seen Rozanov so…nice?”

Tension melting from his shoulders, Hayden let out a harsh laugh because it was so fucking true. “Right?” he chuckled, taking a sip of his own beer. “I thought that guy only had two modes: asshole and hockey beast. Little did we know…”

“He looks at Shane with hearts in his eyes! Hearts! I did not know Rozanov had one of those!” JJ grinned, cackling. “When they were exchanging vows? He was staring so fondly I thought he would melt! So–”

“Is what Boizeau?” a voice asked from behind them.

They turned, only to see Ilya standing there, eyes twinkling as he smirked.

“Is embarrassing, for me to be in love? No. I think is more embarrassing, to know that I can be so soft with Shane, and I can still kick your ass on the ice. What is it like, to lose to a man who can confess love without being nervous about masculinity and also shove you into boards so hard you forget how to skate?”

Both men gaped before Hayden burst out laughing. “Today, Rozanov,” he said, raising his beer, “just today, because it’s your wedding day, I’ll let you get the last word.”

Ilya beamed. “Not every day is my wedding day, Pike. Maybe you should try winning the other days sometimes.”

But he looked too blissful for Hayden to shove him to the ground…at least for today.

“No…no, no!” Ilya yelled loudly, stomping his foot to the ground as Shane turned and flashed him a triumphant grin. “No! Does not count! Was…was wind! Not your skill at all! Start over!”

Shane, however, continued beaming. “And yet you took all the credit when the wind helped you get a hole-in-one on hole four,” he reminded him in a singsong tone.

Ilya glowered. “That was not wind, that was determination,” he retorted. 

“It was the wind. And you are being a sore loser,” Shane chuckled. “You have to do the dishes tonight, just like we agreed.”

“Nyet!” Ilya hissed, but there was a small, adoring smile on his face. Hitting his golf ball with his club, it sailed over the hole and smacked into a nearby tree, making Shane fall into a fit of laughter.

Before Ilya could admonish him, however, a nervous-looking man approached them both. “Excuse me, sir? You’re scaring my son. Can you…um…calm down, a little?”

The two men were shocked out of their little bubble, turning to see a small, vibrantly-dressed toddler standing nervously by the sign for hole number 18. Sheepishly, they both picked up their fluorescently-painted mini golf balls and looked down. “Sorry,” Ilya murmured.

“Sorry,” Shane repeated, chuckling. “It’s just my fiancé. He can get very competitive, you know? Not at all like me. C’mon, Ilya, let’s go talk about how to handle your anger.”

The things Ilya muttered under his breath in Russian as they walked off were filthy, but not in a way Shane minded at all. 

“Finished with twenty-five step skincare?” Ilya asked him teasingly as Shane climbed into bed, letting out a sigh of exhaustion.

“It’s not twenty-five steps,” Shane muttered, rolling his eyes. “It’s six. And it’s worth it, for soft skin. You’ll regret not doing it, too, in ten years when you have wrinkles and dry spots and shit.”

“I have perfect soft skin now without stupid expensive lotions,” Ilya scoffed, smirking. “Is natural. Plus, I do use skincare. Almost every day.”

Shane snorted. “Bar soap doesn’t count. Most dermatologists would faint if they saw what you do to your skin, actually, so—“

“Am not talking about bar soap—which is very good, by the way. I am talking about special…um…serum. I call it končá sheyna,” Ilya replied, smirking.

Furrowing his brow, Shane pulled his head to the side. He recognized his name, but the other word? Taking out a translate app on his phone, he quickly typed in a phonetic spelling, only to quickly recoil. “Ilya!” he gasped. 

The other man just beamed. “Is very good for skin.”

Shane groaned, pushing his face into a pillow. The worst part was, Ilya did have soft skin. 

He couldn’t remember exactly what’d happened in the dream. Just flashes–a mass falling from the sky, screams, fire, and Ilya’s body, cold and lifeless.

Shane woke up screaming.

He didn’t usually have nightmares. Sleep sometimes evaded him, his mind consumed with the need to go over every moment of the day again, to rehash what he’d said and done and wish he’d done things better, differently. He ruminated and planned at night, sure. But the cruelty of nightmares belonged to Ilya, and though Shane hated that he couldn’t prevent them, he was proud to say he was learning how to calm Ilya in the moments when he woke, terrified. 

This nightmare, though, was raw. It felt so incredibly real, like his heart was being unceremoniously torn from his chest and thrown to the floor, a foot stomping down with malice and causing it to explode in a violent red splatter. 

His hands scrambled wildly in the dark, his throat raw from his screaming. 

Ilya. 

No. 

It was the worst thing–the only thing he couldn’t come back from. 

He could lose anything, anything, but him.

His whole body wracked with a sob when he found the bed next to him cold. ‘He’s fine,’ he told himself, shivering with terror. ‘He’s in Florida. He’s safe, he’ll be back soon, he–’

But his hands were moving already, grabbing for his phone, tapping the right icons.

The ringing that began to sound through the tinny speakers was like a lifeline, slowing his trembling. He knew Ilya might not answer, but he just had to hear him. He needed to know…

“Shane?”

The breath of relief he let out was almost as pathetic as the sob that followed it. It took him a few seconds to collect himself, to answer Ilya’s sleepy-but-concerned questions, his demands to know if Shane was okay.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I just…you’re safe. You’re safe, right?”

“Yes, moya lyubov, I am fine,” Ilya murmured, sounding just as tired. “I will be home to you soon. I promise.”

He’d never felt so irrational. “If you almost die again, I’ll kill you!” he muttered, laughing through another watery sob.

Now Ilya was chuckling, too. “Alright. I will remember this next time. Will tell pilot to beware of scary second-best NHL player.”

He couldn’t help but snort. “I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu, Shane. Always. Now lay down, da? We’ll sleep with phones on. Your snoring is good lullaby.”

Too tired to argue that he didn’t snore, he obeyed, putting the phone on speaker and laying it on the pillow next to him. 

After only a few minutes, Ilya’s rhythming breathing lulled him to sleep.

Whoever had suggested playing drinking games was dead, in Shane’s eyes. Sure, it had been a sweet idea, in theory. They needed to bond and it was a great way to get to know the new rookies and trades, Shane included, that had just been signed. Plus, Shane always preferred when there was an activity during a party–then, there was something to focus on and less small talk to be forced. But now that he found himself playing Truth or Dare with the entirety of the Ottawa Centaurs and most of their spouses, his fifth drink in his hand and Ilya grinning by his side, he realized that this was not a smart plan.

Mostly because Troy Barrett, who had just asked him the dreaded question, seemed to be a master at coming up with humiliating dares.

“Truth,” Shane said firmly, deciding that now was not the time to run around Bood’s backyard in his underwear while screaming the Canadian National Anthem, much like Haas had had to do only minutes ago.

A few people murmured in disappointment while Ilya muttered, “Boring,” under his breath. Shane elbowed him, enjoying the little oof that caused.

Troy, however, didn’t look upset at all. Instead, he beamed. “Tell me, Hollander. When was the first time you and Roz kissed?”

The circle of people went deadly silent, then broke into appreciative whispers. Everyone had been dying to know the answer to this question for months. The press had speculated, the internet had done extensive research, even their friends had lightly pressed to find out. But nobody had been so bold as to outright ask–not until now. 

Ilya chuckled. “Wow, Barrett. Harris has finally given you back your balls.”

More laughter as Harris winked suggestively.

Shane looked sideways to his husband, who grinned and shrugged, clearly telling him that this was his decision. Nobody would know if he lied. But also…it hit him suddenly that it didn’t matter. Not anymore. The truth–the best and worst of it–was out. And this team seemed to truly support him.

So he took a breath and murmured, “July 2010.”

The gasps were slow as people did the math, but when the realizations landed, they were earthshattering. 

“Since before you even–?”

“Holy shit! Eleven years?”

“This whole time?!”

“Eleven years!”

“Oh my fucking–”

“Damn!”

“No wonder!”

Shane braced himself for the anger. The fury of people who had been lied to. But he only saw shock and amazement in the faces around him. Then, Bood said, “We’re so glad you don’t have to hide anymore, man,” and Shane nearly burst into tears.

“Um. Same,” he muttered awkwardly, taking a swig of his drink.

There was an emotional silence, until Ilya interrupted, grinning widely. “Now, Barrett, ask where is the first place he saw my dick.”

Shane joined in with everyone as they groaned, shoving Ilya good-naturedly. Moving to the Centaurs had been a good decision.

Shane was the first to admit that he didn’t always know when someone was…interested in him. But even he could tell that the man in front of him was laying it on thick. Fluttering lashes, overly-large smiles, suggestive eyes and touches that were probably supposed to be gentle but just came off gross, he clearly wanted desperately to take Shane home. Normally, it would be enough to send Shane running in the other direction, but he was here at the bar with Ilya tonight–one of the first times he had been able to go to a gay bar with his fiancé since being outed–and he wasn’t going to let this man ruin it.

Still, he wished Ilya would come back with their drinks soon.

“So, handsome,” the man said flirtatiously, “want to go dance?”

Shane couldn’t help but visibly grimace. “No. Thanks. I’m really not interested actually.” Dancing wasn’t something he’d ever choose, even with someone he wanted to be with. He saw the man’s face flicker with some emotion–annoyance? Anger?-at his reaction. But before he could say something else, the man spoke again.

“Well, don’t turn around for a minute, at least. There’s someone behind you who looks about ready to kill. Better wait until he gets some alcohol into him before we part ways,” he winked, still somehow flirting.

Shane, however, felt a grin spread across his face as he turned around. He knew exactly who was sending them death glares before he made eye contact. “That’s my fiancé,” he said with a chuckle, “and trust me, he can get angrier.”

“Fianc–?”

“Hello,” Ilya said shortly, shoving a drink into Shane’s hand and glaring at the man with so much contempt Shane was a bit afraid he would burst into flames. “Goodbye.”

“Woah. Relax, man! I was just asking him to dance, I didn’t realize he was taken–” the man explained, suddenly looking a lot less confident and a lot more terrified. “I–”

“Well, you should have realized. He is too pretty to be single, yes? And when you ask him, what does he say?” Ilya demanded, knuckles white as he squeezed his own beer bottle.

“No, but–”

“Exactly. He does not dance. But you know what he does enjoy? When I fuck him in bathroom. We will go do that now,” Ilya declared, grabbing Shane’s hand and dragging him away.

“Ilya, we’re not going to go fuck in the bathroom!” Shane hissed, allowing the taller man to pull him away.

He turned back and gave him a grin. “No. We will have drink, kiss on dancefloor for a while, and then fuck at home. But that is less fun for manstealer to picture, so I made it simple.”

Chuckling, Shane nodded and took a swig of his drink. “Alright, then,” he agreed.

“Rozanov, are you trying to drive me insane?”

Ilya Rozanov, who for the first time in his life was not trying to drive Shane Hollander insane, looked up from his task. “I…” he started, unsure of how to react to that. It didn’t seem that Shane was referring to his tight pants, so a sexual response didn’t seem appropriate. “No?”

But Shane still stood at the entrance to the laundry room of his cottage, arms crossed, looking just as frustrated as ever. “Then what the fuck are you doing?”

‘Laundry’ was the answer to that question, but he sensed that this was also not the answer Shane was looking for. So, he decided to stop avoiding annoying his new boyfriend, and sent the shorter man a crooked smile. “Taxes. Why, am I doing this wrong? Maybe if you put on your accountant glasses, you can–”

“Shut up,” Shane muttered quietly, but his grin was fond. “Are you seriously just throwing everything in there without separating, like, colors and stuff? That’s ridiculous! If you don’t separate them, your whites will get all…all dingy and shit, and different colors need different water temperatures!”

Now Ilya was grinning, too. He decided not to ask what the word ‘dingy’ meant and instead focused on his teasing. “So sorry I did not take college course in washing clothes, Hollander. I did not realize every piece needs to be given special care. Will machine explode if I put blue in with green, or–?”

“Shut up,” Shane said again, but he was laughing as he moved forward to sort Ilya’s clothes for him, leaving the darks in the machine and removing the whites. 

Ilya was unable to stifle a laugh as he watched Shane work.

“What?” the shorter man asked, turning to give him a glare.

“Is nothing. Just…you are holding my underpants,” Ilya chuckled, gesturing to the garment in Shane’s hand. 

Screwing up his face, Shane dropped the offending article of clothing and flipped Ilya off. “Fuck you, Rozanov, I–”

“No, no, is sweet. This help. I will separate my clothes from now on, I do not want…what did you say? ‘Dingy’ clothes. This sounds like the most awful thing. But maybe, if you are taking my underwear, I can take these off, too?” He moved forward, pinning Shane to the machine and running his fingers over the waistband of his boxers.

Instantly, Shane’s expression changed, his pupils dilating and his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “That…I mean, that sounds fair,” he murmured.

Ilya grinned. “Compromise is important in relationships, I have read.” He began pulling Shane towards the bedroom.

The laundry wasn’t finished for several more hours.

“Hey, Roz?”

Ilya recognized that tone. People had used it with him before–that gentle, almost nervous tone of voice of someone afraid of his reaction, afraid of his emotions. Heart sinking, he turned to see Troy and Harris standing before him, both of their expressions confusingly unreadable. “Yes?” he asked, abandoning the pads he was halfway through adorning.

“Listen…we debated on whether or not to show you this,” Harris said slowly, phone in his hand.

“We weren’t sure if it would distract you more, or less…seeing it now,” Troy added, wrinkling his nose.

“Seeing what?” he demanded, panicking more and reaching for the phone. He’d just spoken to Shane a few hours ago, confirming that he would be at the game today. Had he gotten into an accident? Was he hurt? Or was it maybe Svetlana? Or–shit. He clenched his fists. Was Anya okay?

“We figured you’d hear about it, see it, as soon as the game started. This way, you have a second to…get yourself together,” Troy continues explaining, seemingly completely unaware that Ilya was about to die of terror. “Y’know. Refocus. Because–”

“Because what, Barrett?” Ilya spat, getting irritated. “Who is hurt, who is not well? If you think I will be playing game instead of going to hospital–!”

“Nah, man, everyone is fine! Sorry to scare you, just–look!” Harry said with an apologetic smile, finally showing Ilya his phone screen.

And there, in tiny technicolor, was a picture of Shane, Yuna, and David arriving to the game, all dressed in Ottawa jerseys.

Ilya’s jersey, to be specific.

Which meant Shane Hollander was in the crowd of Ilya’s playoff game, wearing his jersey. On his body. Ilya’s name on his back. In stadium lighting. For the whole fucking world to see.

“Fuck,” Ilya rasped hoarsely, mind going blank, sinking shakily onto the nearest bench, bringing the phone closer to his eyes. Suddenly, he didn’t care at all about the game today. All he cared about was getting Shane in an empty room, and stripping him of all of his clothes…except that jersey. “This is…”

“Yeah,” Harris said with a bright smile and a nod. “We made the right decision. Imagine if he’d seen that for the first time skating out onto the ice?”

“He would’ve been completely useless for the entire first period,” Troy chuckled, rolling his eyes.

Ilya couldn’t even form a proper retort. He was too busy trying to figure out how to breathe.

“....and then Barrett says that Chiron is not available for playdate this afternoon, which is crazy, because what, does Chiron have other friends? No, of course not,” Ilya says with a scoff, following Shane as they both pad through the house and down the hall.

Shane, who is clearly only half-listening to his fiancé, stops outside of the bathroom door and looks at Ilya with slightly-annoyed eyes before saying, “Maybe he and Harris just…y’know…wanted alone time?”

Scoffing, Ilya rolls his eyes. “They can have alone time later. Anya wants to see her best friend. It has been days, Hollander. I–” but he stops, furrowing his brow. “Are you okay?” Because Shane now looks slightly pained.

Huffing in embarrassment, the shorter man sighs. “Just give me a minute, alright? I have to piss.”

But now Ilya is grinning, and he reaches to hold open the door that Shane tried to close behind him as he walked away. “So? Go piss. Do not let me stop you.”

Shane, hand on his zipper, is very clearly aghast at this statement. “I–what the fuck, Rozanov? Just–”

“Moya lyubov. Shane. We are engaged. I think I have seen your dick before, yes?” Ilya asks, beaming at Shane’s blush. “Is not terrible for me to be in the bathroom while you piss. Do not be baby.”

The shorter man, however, just crosses his arms, which is extra entertaining because his zipper is undone. “Fuck off,” he murmurs sullenly.

And, sensing a boundary, Ilya nods. Stepping out of the room, he closes the door behind him. But of course, he can’t go too far because there are pressing matters to attend to. “Do you think Chiron is best friends with other dog? Do you think he is cheating on Anya?” he calls through the wood, ignoring the sound of water hitting water.

“Ilya, fuck off!”

“Fuck,” Ilya gasped, knees shaking as he fell over the edge, hands scrambling in Shane’s hair, head tiling back into the trump of the tree he was pushed up against. Breath coming in heaving pants, he waited, eyes closed, hands trembling, for his soul to come back to his body. 

Shane, who was still kneeling before him, stood, chuckling and wiping at his mouth. “Good?” he asked a bit arrogantly, a smirk on his reddened lips.

 “Blyat,” Ilya replied with a laugh, fixing himself. “Yes, you were very good dorogoy. What if we maybe sneak into the bedroom, and–?”

“No,” Shane cut him off, rolling his eyes as his freckle-covered cheeks flushed pink. “We are celebrating your birthday, Ilya. We need to go inside, talk with our friends, be good hosts…”

“Boring,” he murmured under his breath, but laughing happily as Shane tugged him by the hand around some trees that had given them cover and back inside the cottage.

A few people greeted Shane and Ilya as they returned, most too drunk to have even noticed their absence. Smugly, Ilya saw Shane head for the bathroom, probably to brush his teeth, and by the time the shorter man came back to Ilya’s side, they both assumed they were in the clear.

Until Rose Landry sidled up to them, a giant grin on her face. “Have a good time outside, boys?” she asked, words only slightly slurred.

Ilya allowed his features to remain impassive, speaking quickly so Rose looked toward him instead of the immediately-blushing Shane. “Wanted a cigarette,” he replied. “Shane agreed to accompany me, because is my birthday. Normally he hates it, you know.”

The actress nodded, eyes wide with understanding. “Of course. That makes total sense. He’s always hated that you smoke. It was nice of him to join you for your day.”

He breathed an internal sigh of relief. Shane would die if they were caught. 

“Just…Pro tip, Shane? Next time you decide to blow your husband while there’s a crowd of people waiting inside?” Rose asked, a devious smile flashing onto her face. “Pick someplace less grassy. You’ve got green marks all over your knees, love.”

Shane immediately choked on the ginger ale he was sipping as Ilya gaped. Svetlana, who was standing a meter or so away, burst into hysterics.

“Happy birthday, Ilya!” Rose said brightly, patting him on the back and walking away.

Yuna Hollander was still trying to figure out the conundrum that was Ilya Rozanov. If she had been asked, even a few months ago, to describe the boy, she would have been so unbelievably confident. She would have used colorful words reserved for only the most deserving of circumstances like ‘asshole’ and ‘jerk’ and ‘arrogant prick.’ She would have been gleeful to do so!

But now, sitting on her couch with a very uncomfortable-looking Ilya, she was completely unsure. She couldn’t reconcile the hockey player she frequently saw on TV and on the ice–the player who ruthlessly chirped and oozed confidence–with the sweet, soft boy who had comforted her son and used the word ‘boyfriend’ at the table only months ago. But now, Ilya’s plane had arrived on time while Shane’s was late, so here they were, picking out groceries for Christmas, and Ilya, who frequently yelled at hockey players much larger than he was, looked absolutely terrified to be in a room alone with her. She and David, who was at work, had made the decision to welcome Ilya into their family wholeheartedly. If Shane loved him, they did too. But part of her still wondered…who was Ilya Rozanov, really?

“What kind of snacks do you like?” she asked gently, fingers hovering over the keypad on her phone. They’d decided to do an online order since the two of them could hardly be seen walking down the aisles of the local grocery store together.

Ilya bit his lip nervously. “Oh…is fine. Whatever you all eat, I will have.”

She sighed. Why did he seem so scared? “Ilya, whatever you want, we can get. We want you to be comfortable here,” she said softly.

Hesitantly, Ilya reached for the phone, quickly selecting a few things and adding them to the cart before handing it back to her. “Thank you,” he murmured, sending her a quick smile.

Curiosity getting the best of her, Yuna looked over the list. She was shocked to see the things an average teenage boy might add– Doritos, popcorn, Coke, and Oreos to name a few. But there were also much healthier things–nuts and seeds, seaweed, rice cakes, and fresh fruit. And, of course, Ginger Ale. Those last things were very familiar. “You like a lot of the same snacks as Shane!” she commented, desperate to find common ground.

Now Ilya blushed. “Oh…no. I add them for him. He has certain…brands?” He frowned, as if searching for the right word. “Yes, brands, I think…that he enjoys. I did not know if you know. So I was just making sure he has what he needs.”

Yuna had to use all of her willpower to not gape openly. Ilya Rozanov had memorized the brands of each of Shane’s favorite foods? Shane, who was so particular about everything–from the ripeness of his apples to the color of his socks?

It was clear to her, now: She may not know who Ilya was, but Ilya was clearly in love with her son. And that was more than enough for her.

“Honey, do you make Christmas cookies with your family?” she asked, clearing her throat, the idea popping in her head.

He looked at her, hesitation still clearly there. “No…I…not in very long time.”

She smiled and began tapping away at her phone. “Well. I saw you put Oreos in the cart and I have to say: I’m relieved. Finally, we have a son who appreciates some sweets! I’m adding ingredients for cookies to the cart, and we’ll make some tonight to surprise David, yes?”

The expression on Ilya’s face was indescribable. Awe, melting into joy, melting into teary glee. “Yes,” he whispered. “Would be very nice.”

“Good,” she said, patting his shoulder. “That sounds good.”

remove - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 347 

Okay guys you have to suspend some disbelief for this one. Just pretend that the rules for buying cell phones were a bit different back in like 2012 than they really were....if you even had phones then.

“Alright, sir. I’ll just take your old phone into the back and set up the new one.” The harried-looking wireless store employee looks about six seconds away from quitting her job, and Shane can imagine why. He’s overheard four separate conversations between workers and middle-aged customers already about things like wireless conspiracy theories, prices that are ‘too damn high,’ bills that have been run through the roof because of something that was entirely the customer’s doing, and more. Shane is very thankful that though his job involves being in the public eye, he doesn’t actually have to deal with the public.

But suddenly, as this woman prepares to take his old phone, which has suddenly decided to only hold a change for about two hours at a time, and replace it with a new one, he realizes that he, too, is going to be causing a problem for her at work today.

“Um,” he says nervously, not wanting his mom, who is standing nearby browsing phone cases, to ask too many questions, “do you, like, remove all the text messages?” He’s thinking of his threads with Rozanov, and he can’t decide which part of this is worse: handing his phone off to a stranger and allowing her access to some possibly damning evidence, or losing the texts altogether.

He tries not to think about why he doesn’t want to lose the texts.

The woman, whose nametag ironically says ‘Lily,’ narrows her eyes. “We usually wipe the phone. We can transfer all the text messages, but–”

“Do that,” he says quickly, nodding. “Both things.” Suddenly, it absolutely is the worst thing to lose those messages. It’s not like he stays up late at night and scrolls through them too often, but…still.

She blinks, then sighs. “Alright. It takes longer, and I’m pretty sure we charge a fee. Is that okay?”

“I’ll pay whatever I need to,” he nods. He tells himself that it's because of his large paycheck that it doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with the fact that he suddenly cannot lose those messages.

Thankfully, Yuna is too busy admiring a blue and red Metro's case to notice. So, smiling, he points to that as well. “I’ll take that case, too.”

Lily nods. “Alright.”

“Hey, cap, can we talk to you?” Wyatt Hayes asked, pulling Ilya aside one day after practice, Troy Barrett, Zane Boodram, and Luca Haas flanking him.

Ilya, who had just finished showering and only had a t-shirt and shorts on his muscular frame, raised one eyebrow. “All of you?” he questioned, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Troy assured him, “Just–c’mon.” 

Together, the five men walked out of the locker room to the hall, Ilya still stuffing down a bit of panic. Shane had just joined the team a few weeks ago–were the others maybe unhappy with his performance? Had Ilya and Shane been too coupley in front of the others? He winced. Was Shane better than Ilya, and they wanted him as captain?

All of these thoughts swirling in his head, he gazed stoically at his friends, willing them to just spit out what they were trying to say. They all looked a bit uncomfortable, but Ilya knew he was definitely the most uncomfortable of all of them, willing himself not to reach up and worry at the ring and crucifix on the chain around his neck, a nervous habit of his.

“What is wrong?” he demanded roughly after a few moments of awkward silence.

Luca, of course, was the one to speak up. “Does Hollander think we’re homophobic?” he asked, nose wrinkling with what seemed like sadness.

Ilya had to pause for a moment, wrangling his emotions. No, Shane did not think the team was homophobic. Actually, Shane had expressed several times that he’d never felt more comfortable with a group of hockey players. Hell, he’d even allowed Ilya to kiss him–just a peck, but still–in front of their teammates during practice the other day, which had been such a big step that Ilya had felt like they were getting married all over again. “What?” he asked, completely shocked. “Why do you think this? No, Shane would never–”

“He won’t change in front of us,” Wyatt supplied with a shrug. “Y’know, before and after practice. He’s always going off to the other room. At first we thought he was just a private guy, but then Troy said during All Stars he was fine. And, y’know…one would assume it’s because he’s homophobic, but that’s obviously not true, so…”

“We thought maybe he was trying to make us comfortable or something,” Zane added. “Like you know how some straight guys assume gay guys are looking, or whatever.”

Ilya chuckled at this. “Yes, I know. But…no, is not the reason why.”

“Then why?” Luca demanded.

He smirked. He was sure Shane would kill him for telling the team this, but it was such a good of an opportunity to pass by. “Hollander has thing for me in uniform…especially me…taking off uniform. He is just….avoiding embarrassing himself with his reaction, I think.”

All four men stared at him, their expression ranging from amused to horrified. Then, Troy spoke up. “Yeah, Harris is the same way,” he said with a laugh.

The tension broke and everyone fell into fits of laughter.

“I cannot believe you thought Shane thought you are homophobic!” Ilya chuckled, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Just let him thirst over his husband in peace, yes?”

With a series of groans, the four men ignored him and walked back into the locker room, Ilya following cheerily behind them.

“I leave in two days.”

Instantly, something shifted in the warm summer air. It was the first time either of them had brought up what now felt like a thoroughly taboo topic. For Shane, it had been eating at him since the moment Ilya had gotten into his car a week ago, slowly making a terrifying home in his chest as they’d fucked, cuddled, confessed their love, spent time with his parents:

Ilya wasn’t staying forever. 

This bubble of ludicrous happiness had to burst.

But he’d done his best to avoid reality, at least in conversation. To live here in paradise with his boyfriend (boyfriend!) for as long as possible, to avoid thinking of all of the terrifying things that might happen once they parted. Sure, the idea had consumed his brain when Ilya was distracted or sleeping, but it didn’t have to taint their time when Shane was distracted by the perfection that was in front of him. 

He was both relieved and horrified when Ilya brought it up.

“Y–yeah,” he nodded, staring into the flames of the dying fire in front of them, carding his fingers through Ilya’s hair and using the weight of the other man’s head on his lap to keep himself anchored. “You do.”

“Flight is at six in the morning. Should we…get a car service?” Ilya’s tone was light, but Shane knew him well enough to know he was nervous. But nervous about what? Flying? He wasn’t an anxious flier. Leaving? But why? Because he would miss him? Because he was terrified about how this would actually work in real life?

“Don’t be stupid, I’ll drive you,” Shane admonished softly, scratching at his scalp.

He felt Ilya relax just a little. “Thank you.”

Was that the only reason why Ilya had brought it up? Just to…what? Sort out logistics? Shane felt almost angry. He wanted to scream: Will you miss me like I’ll miss you? Will you want to kiss me like I’ll want to kiss you, when you get out of the car? Will it kill you inside to walk away, even knowing we have something now?

But then Ilya spoke softly. “We are being honest, yes? About…feelings? With each other?”

Shane chuckled, smiling at the memory of asking for that only a few days ago. “Y–yeah. Why?”

“I want to stay, Shane. Can I stay?”

It was like the air was punched out from his lungs. Relief, adoration, unadulterated joy and love, knowing that Ilya somehow was just as obsessed with him as he was. That Ilya did not in any way want this to end.

So he bit his lip and confessed to the moment of insanity he'd had the other night when Ilya had been sleeping. “I…may already booked you a flight one week from now and two weeks from now. Just in case you wanted to stay longer. I…I was probably assuming a lot but I wanted to be sure you had the option, just in case maybe–”

But he was cut off by Ilya sitting up and sending him a huge, unguarded, beaming smile, before pressing their lips together.

throw - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 631 - slightly NSFW - CW: mentions of vomiting

It was six weeks before they could meet again. 

Six weeks since Shane had stoically dropped Ilya off at the Ottawa airport, stared helplessly at the doors of the building long after he’d gone inside, then driven two blocks away only to break down into sobs so intense he shook the car.

And now that they finally both had time to meet?

Of course. Shane was sick. 

Part of him–the logical, hockey-driven part of him–thought this was a good thing. Thank God he wouldn’t miss a game because he was throwing up over the toilet. That was the worst-case scenario…wasn’t it?

Because a bigger, more heartbroken part was destroyed at the idea that now…their plans were ruined.

Shane: I’m sick. We’ll have to reschedule.

He was devastated to send the text. It made him tear up to just look at the phone screen and see their ongoing thread there. To see the name ‘Lily’ and know that he wouldn’t be able to whisper Ilya’s name for so much longer.

He was surprised to see the reply.

Lily: idiot jane

The knock on Shane’s hotel door  was, thankfully, during one of the moments when he was not hugging the toilet bowl.

Staggering to the door, he pulled it back only to greet Ilya with shock, freezing for a moment at the sight of his boyfriend there. Then, letting out a sound between a gasp and a sob, he fell into him, using all of his self-restraint not to press their lips together in a fierce kiss.

“Shane,” Ilya murmured, pushing him gently through the door and closing it, then, somehow, lifting him and depositing him on the bed, diving in after him and settling half on top of him. “Moya lyubov'. How are you? Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Shane grinned breathlessly, body still flooded with relief at being so close to the love of his life. “But…yeah. M’sick, you shouldn’t have come. I mean…you could get sick, and it’s not like we can–”

But Ilya interrupted with a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Shane. I am Russian, we do not get sick. And we are boyfriends now, yes?”

Confused, he nodded slightly. 

“Then why do you think I only want to meet for fucking? I want to see you. Be with you. I miss you. Not just your cock,” Ilya chuckled. “Plus, is my job as boyfriend to be nurse, yes? Or have you never played doctor, Hollander?”

He grinned slightly at Ilya’s suggestive tone, but something in his chest warmed. Ilya was here for him. Their days of simply fucking were gone. This was…more. “I’m going to be honest, I’ve never had a doctor lay on me like this.”

“Well, milyy, you will be very surprised,” he replied, smirking now. “I am very good doctor. I will make sure you get healthy again with a shower and kisses and then, when you are better, I will make sure to give you prostate exam because is very important for medical safety.”

And oh, Ilya’s smile, his attempt to maintain a serious expression, the way he looked at Shane with adoration and love…even his smell, the feel of his skin after so many long weeks, the sound of his voice in person after so long…it was enough to normally make Shane crazy.

Except his stomach was currently betraying him. “Um…Ilya? You need to get off of me,” he said in a shaky voice. “Now.”

Eyes widening, Ilya got off and helped Shane to the bathroom. “I love you!” he called as Shane staggered inside, refusing to allow Ilya to accompany him. “Tell toilet I say hello!”

Shane couldn’t help himself. Even as he fell to his knees, he grinned the tiniest bit. Fuck, he was so glad Ilya was here.

lip gloss - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 488 - mild TLG spoilers

Ilya Rozanov has never been one to care too much about fitting into gender norms. Sure, in Russia, he’d always toned himself down a bit. Elected to wear muted colors and stay groomed according to his father’s expectations, at least while around family. But once he’d moved out of his home country to Boston, he’d been able to take risks. Now that he was in Ottawa, it was more of the same: the ability to goof around and he himself without fear of retribution. So when, while babysitting, Amber Pike offers him a new mini tube of cheap lipgloss as a prize for winning a round of the game Pretty Pretty Princess, Ilya accepts with a happy grin, slathering the liquid over his lips happily and resisting the urge to immediately lick it off. “This is good,” he comments, smacking his lips together and wondering if this is why girls always have such soft lips. The gloss must have some ingredients to help the skin or something. “What favor?”

Ruby grins, delighted. “Cherry,” she says, pointing to the small picture on the tube. “Go show Uncle Shane, you look pretty!

So he happily obeys, walking into the Pikes’ kitchen and finding Shane there. “What do you think? Is my color?” he asks in a teasing voice, puckering his lips for his husband to see.

It’s supposed to be a joke. He’s just playing around, being his normal, obnoxious self. But when Shane turns and nearly drops the pot of whatever he’s cooking for dinner as soon as he locks eyes with his husband, it is suddenly much more serious. “Ilya…what?” he gasps.

“Oh.” He can’t help but grin wider, sauntering over to the shorter man, biting his lip on purpose. “Oh, Hollander. You like this, don’t you?”

Shane looks petulant. “No,” he mutters, but his cheeks are red. 

“You do,” he beams, guiding Shane to put down the food and grabbing him by the hips. “You like my lips, da? They look good like this? Wait until you see how they taste.”

And for a moment, they forget four kids are in the house. They forget that they are supposed to be babysitting, to be role models, to be making responsible choices. Because their lips connect and Ilya pulls Shane close and Shane melts. 

The lipgloss is sticky. Smearing over both of their mouths, making the kiss taste even better than usual, it creates even more heat between them. It feels dirty, and suddenly Ilya needs Shane now.

So of course, this is the moment when Hayden and Jackie, home from their date, arrive.

“What the fuck.” Hayden’s weak voice makes them break apart, panting, and Ilya nearly falls into a fit of mirth at Shane’s mortified face.

But it’s Jackie who lands the final blow. “Are…are you guys wearing lip gloss?” she asks, obviously trying not to judge and failing miserably.

And suddenly, Ilya is hysterically laughing.

“Wow, Hunter, you are really going out?” Ilya commented with a grin as he, Scott, Shane, and most of the other coaches from that week’s Game Changers camp all got their drinks and found seats at the local bar. “Is not past your bedtime?”

Scott, who had clearly gotten used to Ilya’s incessant chirps about his age, merely sent the younger man a grin. “Nah, Rozanov. The nursing home let me out for the night. I’m enjoying my freedom.”

This retort was met with many appreciative barks of laughter and shouts of glee. Even Ilya smiled good-naturedly, enjoying the fact that he and Scott had forged this tenuous friendship, and lifted his beer good-naturedly. “Is good to let the elderly out for fresh air,” he agreed gravely. “Keeps them feeling young.”

But before Scott could think of another comeback, it was Shane who spoke up. Shane, who looked so fucking adorable still wearing his polo with the camp logo and clutching at his glass of ginger ale like it was a lifeline. Shane, whose eyes were beautiful enough to be studied like fine art. Shane, who Ilya deeply considered divorcing after his next words. “You know,” he said simply, like he was merely stating a fact rather than casually ripping Ilya to shreds, “you’re older than Scott was, when you first started shitting on him for being old. Like…ten years ago, you were calling him old, right? But ten years ago, he was younger than you are now, so…”

Ilya gaped for several seconds, feeling the eyes of all of their friends on him. Of course Shane, his Shane, would somehow use a simple fact to completely annihilate him. And look ridiculously sexy and matter-of-fact while doing so.

“Moya lyubov,” Ilya breathed, clutching his chest and feigning heartbreak as all of their friends beamed, delighted. “You have betrayed me. This is not chirp, Hollander, this is cruelty.”

Shane laughed a little as everyone else began to roar with mirth. “Just saying,” he murmured, shrugging. The sparkle in his eyes–those eyes–though. He knew exactly what he’d just done. Exactly how hot under the collar Ilya was now. 

God, Ilya needed him now.

“I…am hurt,” he announced with a grin, standing abruptly and pulling Shane with him. “I will go home now. My husband will fix my broken ego.”

They walked out to wolf whistles and yells, but Ilya didn’t care. He focused on growling, “I am not too old to fuck you into mattress,” into Shane’s ear and enjoying the gorgeous color his husband’s face turned.

“I am finished dusting!” Ilya announced triumphantly, jumping onto the couch like an overgrown puppy and beaming at Shane, who chuckled and placed a bookmark in his hockey book before looking at him. “Time for fun now, Shane! Is summer! Swimming, taking Anya for walk, Jetskis, fun!”

But Shane just gave him a small, amused smile and shook his head. “You didn’t finish dusting.”

Aghast, Ilya pouted. “I did! Everywhere! Trophy room, gym, fucking ceiling, sweetheart, I swear!”

Shane only had to raise one eyebrow to cause Ilya to deflate a bit. “Really? Did you move things off shelves, or just dust around them?”

The taller man only hesitated for a second, but it was enough to tell Shane his suspicions were correct. “Of course I moved! Everything, kotenok, now let’s–”

But Shane just laughed louder now, thoroughly amused by his husband’s eagerness and even more entertained by what Ilya was about to find out. “No. You didn’t. Want to know how I know?”

Another pout. “How? You do not trust me? Is okay, I will just call divorce lawyer, I understand, I–”

But Shane decided to put him out of his misery. “Go look behind that photo on the shelf over there. Go on,” he said casually, gesturing to the large–still dusty–picture of himself and Ilya on the mantle.

Scoffing, Ilya stood and lifted the frame, his face twisting when he found a piece of paper behind it. His mouth moved as he read the words on the small slip to himself. Then, he gaped at Shane. “This coupon entitles holder to one free blowjob?” he hissed like an accusation, stalking back over to Shane and pinning him to the couch. “Shane.”

“Should’ve done it right the first time,” Shane said with a shrug and smile, plucking the coupon from Ilya’s hand and reading the small print. “Not applicable if S. Hollander helps with discovery of coupon.”

Ilya groaned, gaze turning pleading. “I will redo dusting. I will dust the whole damn planet, Shane. Just–”

“Nope!” he beamed, shoving Ilya off of him and walking towards the door. “Too late! Time for swimming, I think.”

And Ilya trailed behind him, head hanging, looking utterly defeated.

renew (again!) - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 428 

“Can you help me with this in other room, moya lyubov'?”

Ilya’s voice broke Shane from his haze, causing him to blink rapidly and try to tune back into the room. Dissociation had always been a skill of his, a way to survive when he was already far past his limit, a way to seem put together when he was, decidedly, not. But now, as Ilya looked at him with gentle expectation, Shane felt a giant wave of annoyance. Why was his husband asking more of him? It’d been such a long fucking day! So much talking, a ridiculous amount of preparation, so many changes at the last minute. He wanted to scream!

“Ilya, we need to focus on our guests,” he muttered through a tight jaw, body still angled toward the conversation he’d been pretending to be a part of, praying that the taller man would get the hint.

Of course he didn’t. “Will just take a moment, Shane. I need another person to help. Do you mind if I steal perfect husband for a few seconds?” he asked the people nearby, two of many possible donors to the Irina Foundation that were in attendance tonight.

Both waved their hands and grinned. “Not at all!” one answered.

Shane could have screamed with the way Ilya firmly guided him away. “Ilya, we’re in the middle of–”

“Don’t care.”

“If you’re taking me upstairs to fucking have sex, I–”

“Am not, Shane, just give me a minute!”

When the got to the top of the stairs, Shane turned and faced his husband, arms crossed and shoulders to his ears. “What, Ilya?” he demanded. “What could you possibly need my help with that couldn’t–?”

But he was interrupted by Ilya pulling him into a firm, unbreakable embrace.

It wasn’t the type of hug that preceded or even proceeded intimacy. It wasn’t comforting or gentle. It was full of pressure–grounding, like an anchor, and it immediately caused Shane’s tense muscles to relax.

“Oh,” he murmured, sinking into the sensation.

“I thought you needed a break,” Ilya whispered into his ear, arms still locked around him. “Is helping?”

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes fluttering shut.

After a few moments, they shifted, arms fitting around each other in a more-normal embrace, Shane’s breathing slowing. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling ashamed. “Thank you.”

“Is nothing, dorogoy,” Ilya said, a smile in his voice. “You needed love so I loved you. Simple.”

Simple.

So, feeling renewed, he pulled back and smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you more, sweetheart.”

They returned to the party together.

dirty (again!) - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 663 

Though he’d worn a cross for more years of his life than he hadn’t, Ilya Rozanov was not a conventionally religious man. Sure, he thought about the afterlife sometimes. He hoped his mother was at peace and proud of his choices in both life and life partner. In the most terrifying moments of his life, he couldn’t not pray.

But still. Now was the first time in his life that he was absolutely sure that God had a stellar fucking sense of humor.

“Sorry,” he said with what he hoped was a polite smile, though he had a feeling it came out more like a leer. “What did you say?”

“It’s just…” Hayden Pike shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room like he wanted to be swallowed up by the couch cushions. But then he sighed, jaw flexing, and he looked Ilya in the eyes. “Look, Rozanov, you just need to fucking cut the shit, okay? You’re clearly making Shane uncomfortable.”

Ilya blinked, staring at the other man while he kept a carefully blank face. “Yes, you have said,” he nodded, internally begging his boyfriend to return from his phone call quickly. This was too good to miss. “But you are saying I am making him uncomfortable because…?”

“Because!” Pike exclaimed, face red and eyebrows furrowed. “All that…that shit you say in Russian to him! You’re obviously talking dirty just to embarrass him in front of me, and it’s a dick move. Just fuck off with that!”

Ilya couldn’t help but smile wider, leaning back in the cushions as he regarded Pike with bubbling mirth. “Ah, I see. You are homophobic?” he asked lightly, lifting a single brow.

Pike turned magenta, mouthing silently for a few seconds. “I–fucking–I–no! It’s not about me, man! I don’t care what shit you two get up to in your alone time! It’s the fact that Shane turns the color of a watermelon every time you switch languages that’s got me pissed! You're saying dirty shit to him and he doesn't like it, it's so obvious! But you just continue to mess with him and he's too nice to stop you, and it’s not fair! I don’t like that you’re being a dick to my friend!”

He could only continue to beam. “Ah, so you are playing hero? Defending your best friend?”

“Yes. Because you–”

But Pike was interrupted by Shane’s return. Ilya grinned broadly. Just in time.

“Solnyshko,” Ilya said happily, reaching out for Shane. “Will you help me translate, please?”

Shane looked at him in confusion while Hayden immediately began to protest, yelling about not wanting to know what gross shit Ilya said in Russian.

“Your English is perfect,” Shane said bemusedly, shaking his head. “What–?”

“No, is not me. Pike is very worried,” Ilya said gleefully. “About words I call you. So will you help him understand?”

Immediately, Shane turned pink, setting Pike off.

“See? See, he’s embarrassed! He doesn’t like it!” Pike burst out, gesturing to his friend. “Solnyshko probably means little dirty whore or some shit–”

But Shane cut him off. “Oh my God, no. It means...it means ‘sunshine,’” he corrected, voice trailing off in a murmur as his eyes turned shyly to the floor.

And oh, Ilya must have done something lovely to deserve this great karma. Pike gaping, Shane blushing, and Ilya right in the middle of the perfect chaos. 

He wasn’t going to let it end like that, though. He wanted more. “And dorogoy?” he pressed, beaming.

“‘Sweetheart,’” Shane translated, lips curling up into a reluctant smile as he blushed harder, eyes still cast downwards.

Pike gaped more.

“Moya lyubov’?”

“‘My love,’” Shane answered in a low voice, soft smile stretching wider, now, making Ilya’s heart leap. God, he was adorable.

Pike's mouth twisted in disgust. “That’s…ew.”

“Is the truth, Pike,” Ilya preened, chuckling.

“Well….what about malysh?” Pike demanded, obviously grasping at straws. “That....sounds like something sick!”

Ilya just turned to Shane, unable to contain his glee.

This time, Shane looked up, though his face was still flushed. “It means…baby,” he answered, freckles standing out on his cheeks and eyes shining as he grinned. “That one’s my favorite.”

Pike just groaned, slamming his face into a nearby pillow. "Yeah, I was right. Disgusting."

recall - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 763 

Shane had always had a painfully good memory. His ability to learn things like names, numbers, stats, and figures had always impressed everyone–from his parents to his teammates. It was a useful skill, to be sure, especially in his profession. When he was facing Buffalo, for example, he could recall instantly that the starting center had achieved a 40 goal season last year. He could tell you exactly how many injuries the goalie had suffered in the past five years. He could even rattle off the number of minutes each defenseman had spent in the penalty box last game.

Which was why, when Ilya said ‘ya tebya lyublyu’ for the first time, the words knocked the wind out of him for more than one reason.

It was one of those moments that he’d experienced like he was looking from above. Ilya’s tearful eyes boring into his soul, his choked-off voice translating the words so emphatically it was like the taller man might choke on emotion. Shane had spit out his reply of ‘holy shit’ without thinking, but the follow-up ‘I love you, too’ had been just as charged.

But now that he was laying in bed, Ilya’s head on his chest, the heat of the moment still keeping his bare skin warm in the cool summer air, he thought back, his meticulous brain reminding him that he’d heard those words before.

A tinny speaker, an echoing stairwell, and a voice that sounded so painfully far away. Ilya’s rambling words that he didn’t understand, filled with the feelings he somehow sensed even from thousands of miles across the ocean. 

And those damn words: ‘tebya lyublyu.’

Stomach clenching, heart leaping, Shane grabbed his phone, clumsily typing what he remembered. He tried to shine the light of the screen away from the sleeping man on top of him, but Ilya still stirred.

Ya tak sil no teb ya lu blu i ne zna yu cha to s eh tim delat, Shane typed, fighting with autocorrect as he did.

“Shane,” Ilya mumbled, rolling a little and frowning. “The fucking light..”

“What does this mean?” he demanded, shoving the phone in Ilya’s face, no longer caring about something as trivial as sleep.

“Hollander,” the taller man grumbled, turning away while he shielded his face from the light. “You are blinding me. This is…what is…? Sabotage. This is sabotage, Hollander. Is night time, for sleeping, fuck off and–”

“What does this mean?” Shane repeated more firmly, placing a hand on his chest and heaving his body half on top of Ilya’s. He had to know. Had Ilya confessed weeks ago? Had he–had they–?

Finally sensing his tone, Ilya blinked, opening his eyes completely, squinting to focus on the screen. “Ya tak–is written wrong–”

“Shut up and read!”

“Fine! Ya tak sil’no…oh…” Ilya’s eyes grew wide and he rested his head back on the pillow, his cheeks turning a light pink as he chewed at his lip. 

“Rozanov, if you don’t tell me right now,” Shane threatened, nearly vibrating with the need to know. “I swear, I’ll kick you out of this damn cottage and–”

“I love you so much and I don’t…don’t know what to do about it,” Ilya murmured, eyes flickering to Shane and holding his gaze. 

He gasped, phone falling from his hand as he stared. They both were quiet for a moment as Shane took this in.

“That was weeks ago. You…you were in Russia. You…we were on the phone–” Shane murmured, feeling tears prickling at his eyes.

“Da, yes, I was there for conversation,” Ilya retorted snarkily, though there was clear worry in his eyes.

“How long?”

The taller man frowned. “How long, what?”

“How long did it take? If you…you said it in Russian before you said it in English? How long have you been…thinking it?” Shane dared ask, swallowing thickly at the startled look that appeared on Ilya’s face.

“I don’t know, Hollander, I–” Ilya began to protest, furrowing his brows and turning away.

“We said we would be honest with each other!” he couldn’t help reminding him. Fuck, he needed to know! How long had Ilya been thinking this, only to hide it behind languages Shane didn’t understand?

Ilya deflated. “Long time,” he whispered, eyes filling with tears. “Longer than I…than my mind knew. My heart did. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

They gazed at each other again, and Shane felt like he was about to come undone. 

“Say it again,” he murmured, feeling like this was all a dream.

Ilya smiled through tears. “Ya tebya lyublyu, Shane.”

He’d never smiled wider.

bears - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - tlg spoilers - word count: 336 

“Do you think they have a point?” JJ asked in a low voice, as he and Hayden started to get dressed, the awkwardness of the locker room slowly dissolving into resentful murmurs, Shane’s absence allowing for gossip to resume.

“A point about what?” Hayden asked a little sharply, shocking even himself with how mad he was about this whole fucked-up situation. The guilt was eating at him–he hated what’d happened to his best friend, and he hated feeling like he owed Ilya fucking Rozanov.

JJ looked down. “Shane. His playing. Against Ilya.”

Now Hayden wanted to throw something. He wanted to scream at JJ–to remind him of everything Shane had done for both of them–for the goddamn team. But he also knew he’d questioned the same thing a little bit, just a few years ago. And he felt the eyes of a few of their teammates on him. “JJ, you should look at the numbers,” he said simply, turning to his stall.

“Numbers?”

“Yes. Shane had some of his best fucking goals when we played against the Bears. He has some of his best games against Rozanov,” he said, shaking his head. “Remember that insane game a few years ago, when he got seven goals in one game? That was against him. The one time he had like ten assists? Rozanov. Trust me, man, I get what you’re saying, I worried about it, too. But Shane’s our friend. And the numbers don’t lie. He’s not throwing games to get some dick.”

JJ cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Haden looked at him. “Want to know the most fucked up part?”

“Alright.”

He paused a bit, making sure the whole damn locker room was listening. “His worst season? Like the one with his worst stats, all of his worst games? Was the one when he was dating Rose fucking Landry.”

JJ’s shocked reaction, the way he blinked in surprise, was satisfying.

But the stunned stares Hayden got as he stormed out of the room? Those were fucking amazing.

replace (again!) - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 482 

When Ilya’s call flashed on Shane’s screen, it made his gut dive to his toes. Ilya had only been gone from Shane’s car for ten minutes–he couldn’t have even been through airport security yet. Had there been an issue with his passport? Had someone seen them?

Shane, who had been allowing his tears to fall silently as he drove back to the cottage, answered the call so quickly he forgot to worry about being eager.

“Ilya?” He heard his voice breaking but he valiantly tried to ignore it.

“I remember, now. The word.”

Shane instantly knew what this was about. On the way to the airport, they’d driven hand-in-hand, grips so tight that Shane’s fingers now ached. And as he drove, Shane had ruminated, worried, finally gotten the nerve to ask, “You’re sure…about all this?”

Ilya’s look of furious indignation had been enough to make him sink into his seat. “Hollander,” he’d said, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

Thoughts that he hadn’t allowed himself to think had been flooding back to him. Articles about Ilya’s trysts and club nights, pictures of Ilya with so many beautiful women, rumors about Ilya’s crazy bachelor lifestyle… “You’re…giving up a lot. I’m not much of a replacement,” he’d murmured, shrugging to push away the terror that had built up higher the further they’d gotten from the cottage.

But Ilya had seemed almost insulted when he’d replied softly, “Shane. You are not a replacement. You are…blyat, what is word? So much more.”

He’d chanced a crash at that point to glance over at his boyfriend then, tears in his eyes. 

“Clubs, women, drinking…these things do not make me feel like you do. Nothing does. I am so sure.”

And so was he. He’d never been more sure of anything in his entire life.”

So they’d said a stilted, choked-off goodbye at the airport, Shane wanting nothing more than to throw his arms around Ilya and breathe him in one more time. And ten minutes later…

“When I got boarding pass just now. They asked me, ‘do I want to upgrade my seat?’ I said, ‘of course, I like lots of space for my big dick,’” Ilya said with a grin in his voice, making Shane laugh.

“Fuck off,” Shane murmured, but the joking made something twisted and needy ease in his chest. “So?”

“Upgrade, kotik. You are upgrade. Girls, clubs, hookups, alcohol, Boston…they are economy ticket. Being your boyfriend, moving to Ottawa, loving you? It is the best upgrade in the whole world.”

Shane gulped, a new wave of tears spilling over his lashes. “Fuck. That’s not fair. You can’t say shit like that when I can’t blow you for it,” he murmured, lips curling upward at Ilya’s laugh. 

“Soon, moya lyubov. Three weeks. And know I am only yours. Okay?”

He sighed, smiling softly. “Okay. I love you. Fly safe.”

“Always. Ya tebya lyublyu.”

behind - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 869 

Hayden had never been one to judge. 

Sure, he liked to joke. He teased Shane a bit mercilessly and shit on him for his weird diet, but he loved the guy. So even though he knew Shane was a bit…behind…when it came to things in the romance area, he didn’t, like, look down on him for it.

Shane was just quiet. He didn’t like to go to clubs or parties, and he wasn’t much for dating apps. It made sense that Hayden had never really seen him with a girl! 

But that didn’t mean Hayden didn’t worry. He didn’t want his best friend to feel lonely or sad. All he wanted was for Shane to feel loved, because he was a great fucking guy.

But Hayden was also–as Jackie constantly reminded him–learning a lot about…things.

The first time Jackie had introduced him to her lesbian friend from the gym, Hyden had said some things that were, as it turns out, not okay. So he’d done some research. Learned from his mistakes. Then, when Jackie had mentioned that their neighbor was trans, Hayden had made sure to find some articles about how to not be a total dickhead to the guy. He may have been ignorant, but he wasn’t stupid, you know?

So when he met one of Jackie’s coworkers who identified as asexual, Hayden already felt that he was doing a lot better at this than he had been a few years ago.

And as he researched what that word meant, he couldn’t help but think about Shane and feel like kind of a dick. Because what if, after all these years, he’d been trying to set Shane up with people when Shane just simply didn’t want that? What if Shane was happy with how things were? What if, for some reason, Shane didn’t like sex?

Of course, Hayden couldn’t imagine such a thing–Jackie was way too fucking hot to even consider the possibility–but if someone else felt that way that was their life, right?

So he decided he really needed to apologize.

“Hey Shane, buddy, I wanted to, uh, talk with you,” he said to his best friend one day after practice, the two of them the only ones left in the locker room.

Shane, predictably, looked scared. And really, that made sense. Most hockey players loved to talk about women. Shane was probably worried about getting judged for not liking something that everyone else did. “About what?” he demanded quickly.

“I…well, I realized something. About you. But you don’t have to worry, man, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” he said reassuringly, watching as Shane’s face went from terrified to slightly less so. “I just…I want to apologize. I’ve been pushing girls on you for a long time. I shouldn’t have. Jackie says assuming makes an ass out of you and–uh–me, you know? And girls, well, they’re always right, eh?” He paused, frowning. “Not that you have to date them to know that.”

Shane broke into a hesitant smile. “I…um…thanks, I guess. You’re really okay with it?”

“Yeah! Yeah, man, you know I love you for you! I know some people really judge about that shit but I have your back. Jackie’s been teaching me about this stuff for years, so I’m in your corner,” he bragged, thinking about all the flags he now knew the names of. 

“Yeah, okay,” Shane laughed, shaking his head. 

“And, y’know, I’ll help you with the others, too. Tell them to lay off,” Hayden added, nodding seriously.

The other man smiled gratefully. “Fuck, that would be great. I mean…I’ll have to tell them eventually, but…not yet.”

“Whatever you want, man. And listen, I don’t know if you ever get like…lonely, or whatever? I don’t know how these things work. But if you do, you know I’m always here for company, right?” Hayden offered, placing a hand on Shane’s shoulder.

Instantly, he knew he’d said something wrong.

Shane’s face twisted into deep discomfort, his eyes widening. “Um…what?” he asked, blinking wildly. “I…Hayden, that’s…are you telling me that you’re…?”

He shook his head, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. “No, I–! Sorry, I just don’t know how being asexual works! Like if you ever need someone to talk to about it, or something, I–”

“Asexual?” Shane repeated, cheeks pink and face awestruck. “Hayden, I’m gay!” He whispered the last part, but the confession was clear.

Hayden froze, mouth hanging open. “Oh,” he murmured, several things clicking into place. “Oh, shit.”

Laughing weakly, Shane nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck, I thought you were offering–”

“No! Fuck no! Sorry, man, I’m with Jackie!”

“Who says you’re my type?” Shane shot back, a small smile on his face.

Hayden laughed loudly, still in shock. “Well, that’s…okay, that makes sense, too.” He breathed, taking in this news. “But wait…now I can set you up with guys! I know someone from–”

“I have a boyfriend,” Shane said quickly, face bright red.

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Wait, really? Who?”

The ‘fuck it’ look on Shane’s face was one Hayden would remember forever, simply because of the words that came next.

“Um…Ilya? Rozanov?”

“What?”

Suddenly, he very much wished Shane was asexual again.

start - hollanov - cw: homophobic language/slurs - TLG spoilers - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 615 

As Shane faced Montreal’s new center for the first face-off, he reminded himself to take a deep, calming breath. He’d gone over the plan for this game-his first game against his hold team- a million times in his head. He’d talked about it with Coach Wiebe, with Farah, with his teammates, with Ilya–no matter what his old team tried to start, he was not going to react. He was going to take the high road, to ignore the insults and hissed accusations, and to–of course–fucking win.

So, in his new Ottawa jersey, he faced the snarling man in front of him with a blank expression and a clear head.

“Those assholes don’t matter now, kotek,” Ilya had reminded him earlier, at home before the game. “This–us. Is the only thing that matters. We are happy. You are happy. Let them see what they are missing. Let them see the big mistake they made, letting you go.”

Still, a sick, triumphant flame curled in his gut when he won the first face-off, letting out a small “Ha!” of glee that made the opposing center growl. 

And for a while, everything seemed easy.

Well…not easy. Montreal was a formidable foe, even with Shane gone, and he wasn’t going to pretend that his minutes on the ice were simple. It sucked, to look over and see Hayden and JJ and know that they were enemies, at least while the clock was running. But this–playing hockey, communicating with his teammates–was instinct. He was good at it and it was something predictable. He could even let the small hisses of ‘cocksucker’ and ‘fag,’ and ‘cheat,’ and even ‘traitor’ slide right off his back, because by the third period he’d scored two goals and every time he was called off the ice he passed a grinning Ilya who looked at him like he’d hung the moon. There was no reason to fight. Why would he? He didn’t care about what these assholes thought. He knew who he was.

He was also thankful that Ilya and the rest of the team didn’t seem to be reacting to Montreal’s visceral blows, either. Many of them had been dealt vicious checks and been chirped in ways that were over-the-top, even for hockey standards. But nobody reacted. They played a clean(ish) game.

Until the third period.

It happened quickly. The same burly center slammed Ilya into the boards, only meters away from Shane on the bench. A wham, a yell, and then, “Bet you wish you could go crying to your mommy, Rozanov. Think she’d be disgusted with you because you take it up the a–?”

Shane dropped his gloves before he even had a chance to think.

Hurling himself over the boards, he was on top of the man in seconds, slamming his fist so hard in his jaw that he instantly knew he’d bruised his own hand. Voice shaking, entire body on fire, he yelled, “Don’t you fucking dare! Don’t you dare bring up his mother, you sick son of a bi–”

“Hollander!”

Ilya tore him back, pressing him away as Troy grabbed his arms, Shane trembling with rage the entire time. Rationality was long gone, he just needed to get to the man again, to tell him exactly what he thought about him, to use his fists to do so.

But Ilya’s face swam into his vision, and Shane slowly stopped fighting. “Hollander,” he said again, a giant grin stretching his lips wide. “You–what? Defend my honor?”

He frowned, heart still hammering wildly. “Fuck you,” he spat.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ilya nodded, eyes wide as his smile stretched still larger. “Later. But, um…penalty box now, I think.”

Shane gladly took the penalty. 

Some fights were worth it.

gift (again!) - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 347

It was Shane’s fault, really. He’d been stupid, to think that Ilya wouldn’t take advantage of a clear opportunity to mess with him. Plus…Ilya had seen Yuna Hollander’s competitive glare…he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that look. 

So he sat on the couch during his first ever Hollander Family Game Night, watching Shane act out what was clearly supposed to be the word ‘hockey,’ while pulling a woefully confused face.

“Um…” he said, tapping a finger to his chin, “...baseball?”

Shane, lips clamped shut and face a little red, let out a sigh of frustration, shaking his head wildly. He looked like an adorably annoyed puppy. Then, he continued miming a slapshot.

“Oh!” Ilya shouted, grinning as the timer Yuna held in her hand slowly counted down. “I know!”

Shane’s face lit up. 

“Golf!”

The man in front of him deflated, all but stomping on the wooden floor. Ilya’s body flushed warm with glee, and he couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. David, who was just watching them, coughed behind his hand.

With bigger movements now, Shane reset his stance, using his hands to carve out and invisible net in front of himself before again swinging his hands.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, louder this time than before, smacking his hand on his forehead like he was mad at himself for being so stupid.

Shane’s hopeful, relieved look almost made Ilya take pity on him.

Almost.

“Terrible backhand!” Ilya announced confidently, smiling so wide his jaw hurt.

As if by divine timing, the timer finished, an alarm ringing in Shane’s furious silence. Then–

“Oh my God!” Shane huffed, stomping into the kitchen, no doubt to get another ginger ale and question his life choices.

Ilya just chuckled as he took the timer from Yuna, turning to her and David. “Is okay if you two go,” he said generously, gesturing to the bowl of prompts. “He may be a while.”

David, who was still laughing, shook his head in amusement. “You sure know how to get under his skin, eh?”

”Is a gift,” Ilya beamed.

become - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 294

“Does it ever make you like…nervous?” Shane asked softly as they both got into the car, having just left a party at Boodram’s place. 

“No,” Ilya answered with a grin, no idea what Shane was talking about. “But I am sure it makes you nervous. What is making you nervous, kotenok?”

Shane rolled his eyes but stared forward, worrying at his lip. “Like…it’s easy now. We don’t have to hide.”

Ilya blinked, dumbfounded. “Yes. It is fantastic,” he said emphatically.

“No, but…” Finally, Shane turned to him, his eyes full of anxiety. “No more sneaking around. No more….I don’t know…sexy meetups or whatever. It’s become….boring, now. You don’t like boring.”

It hit Ilya, then, what Shane was saying. “Shane,” he murmured, cupping his husband’s cheek in his hand and waiting until he was sure the other man was truly listening. “This is…all I have ever wanted. All I have ever…” he swallowed, pushing down the tears that threatened to spring up, “I have not even dared dream of. You. Not sexy sneaking around, not secrets, not stupid fake names in phone. Just you. Plus you are forgetting: you are most boring man I know and you are also my absolute favorite.”

Shane was smiling reluctantly now, and Ilya grinned, pleased with himself. 

“Okay? I promise. I am happy, Shane. I have never been happier.”

The other man nodded, leaning in to kiss him lightly on the lips. “That’s good,” Shane mumbled, too close for Ilya to catch his expression. “Enjoy it. Because now that on the Centaurs, I’m coming for that C on your jersey.”

He leaned back, grinning, and Ilya let out a shout of mock astonishment. 

“Oh, Hollander, if you think I will let you, you are boring and stupid!”

turn - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 197 

“Your turn,” Shane said smugly, leaning back in his chair and gazing at Ilya, whose face betrayed nothing.

The taller man sighed, then leaned over the board. “Pyat, shest, sem,” he muttered under his breath, pointing to the tiles Shane had just played, then glancing back at him. “What does this word even mean, Hollander?”

“Uhhh..’folly.’ Like…foolishness. Acting stupid,” Shane explained, shrugging. 

Ilya stared, then scribbled Shane’s points down on the slip of paper they’d been using to keep score. 

It was probably mean of him, to have picked Scrabble to play. But after Ilya had just completely annihilated him at cards, Shane had needed a bit of revenge, and this was the perfect way to do it. So he waited, grinning, for Ilya to place his tiles on the board.

“Ah! Yes,” Ilya said after a moment, grinning widely.

And Shane watched as the complete asshole used the ‘o’ from his word to create the word ‘blowjobs’ using every. Single. Tile.

Ilya ginned over at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Extra fifty for me, yes? For using all letters? And is on triple-word square.”

Shane slumped over. “Fuck you,” he muttered. 

So much for revenge.

again - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 652 - slight TLG spoilers

“Wait, I’m so sorry….say that again?”

Ilya sat in the Hollanders’ kitchen, regretting having ever tasted a drop of alcohol. He had been utterly stupid, to accept the vodka David had offered. He’d been even more stupid, to accept the third and fourth drink.

It was just…he felt comfortable here, now. Even with Shane all the way in Montreal, he was able to go visit Yuna and David by himself–have dinner with them, laugh with them, play games with them. It was beyond nice, to be able to have a family like this.

Except…he’d gotten too comfortable. Because now he was tipsy in Yuna and David’s kitchen, full from Yuna’s chicken parm, drinking vodka from a glass David had poured, trying to figure out how to explain away what he’d just admitted to.

“We’re so glad you’re here,” Yuna had said so kindly, drinking wine and a bit flushed as well. “Ilya, you have no idea how happy you make Shane.”

Of course, he’d answered. Told both of them how happy Shane made him. But the alcohol had told him: Oh, Ilya! Don’t stop there! Tell them every detail they don’t need to know! And he’d finished his little speech with: “Is funny, though. This almost maybe would never have happened. Yuna almost ruined whole thing.”

And now both Hollanders were looking at him in utter confusion.

“I…sorry,” he muttered, words feeling a bit like marbles in his mouth. “Nevermind, is–”

“Wait, no!” Yuna protested, her words a bit slurred, eyes full of amused dismay. “You can’t just say that! What do you mean?”

And what was he to do? The truth was funny…and David and Yuna were sweet people. What was the harm in telling them a purely PG version of the tale?

So he grinned widely, relaxing back into his seat and taking another swig of his drink. “Alright. Aright, but do not tell Shane I told you. He will kill me, leave body in lake behind cottage.”

David and Yuna exchanged an amused glance, then nodded. 

“Was first time we…hung out?” Ilya explained, only stumbling with his words a little. 

Eyes wide, Yuna nodded. “Right, the summer before Rookie Year, you told us.”

“Yes. Shane told me his room number, we were in hotel. I–” he let out a little snort, remembering the moment his stomach had dropped out of his ass. “I press elevator button to go to his room, but the doors open, and–” he gestured to Yuna, “-there is Shane Hollander’s mother.”

“Oh, fuck!” Yuna yelped, causing David to look at her with wide, dancing eyes. “What?” she challenged her husband. “I remember that! I thought you were–well, excuse me, but–an asshole! You wouldn’t share the elevator with me!”

Ilya grinned, shrugging again. “Ah, yes. Now you know why. Sorry to be rude.”

David snorted. “Does Shane know?”

“No,” he shook his head vehemently. “His head would explode if he found out, I think.”

Both David and Yuna laughed at that, for which Ilya was very thankful. He didn’t want them to think he was actually insulting their boy. 

“Tell that story at your wedding,” Yuna advised with a smirk, pouring herself more wine. “That’d make a lot of people laugh.”

But at that word–wedding–Ilya froze for a moment. Sure, he and Shane had talked about it, and Ilya had dreamed about it for longer than he’d been willing to admit. But to have Shane’s parents, the people whose approval was absolutely imperative, in his mind, to make a wedding happen, talk so nonchalantly about such a dream…it made him even more lightheaded than he was before.

So he grinned, cheeks hurting from how wide his mouth stretched, imagining Shane’s face if he shared that memory in front of their loved ones, rings on both of their fingers.

It sounded hilarious.

It sounded beautiful.

It sounded perfect.

“I will,” he murmured, sipping his drink again.

try - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 216 - cw: I know nothing about hockey. please pretend I do. - TLG spoilers

“Today,” Ilya announced as the team congregated on the ice, his face a hard mask of anger and betrayal, “we will be doing extra conditioning. Speed drills, puck battles, edge work. And do not plan on being out of here early. We will be practicing late. Is close to playoffs, we need to be in top form. If you do not skate out of here crying, you are not doing your job.”

A collective groan sounded amongst them, everyone exchanging annoyed glances.

“The fuck happened to you husband, Hollander?” Troy muttered to an irritated-looking Shane, curling his lip. “Never seen him this pissed. He looks like you took Anya and gave her away or some shit.”

“Or fucking cheated on him or something,” Bood added in a low voice, shaking his head. 

Shane snorted, rolling his eyes. “He’s being dramatic. I didn’t do anything wrong. I just–”

Unbeknownst to them, though, Ilya had come up behind them and interrupted Shane’s explanation. “He crushed my soul,” Ilya said simply, eyes flashing. “Is simple: my husband hates me. Now, go line up.”

But after he skated off, Shane finished his sentence: “I decided to try contact lenses,” he sighed, shaking his. 

“Ah,” both Troy and Bood nodded in understanding.

They’d heard Ilya wax poetic about Shane’s glasses before.

believe - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - NSFW - TLG spoilers - word count: 368 

“Nah, man, I just can’t believe that,” Troy said loudly, shaking his head and looking between Shane and Ilya, who were blushing and grinning respectively. “Rookie year?”

The entire crowd of people at the Centaurs’ party in Bood’s backyard looked shocked at what Ilya and Shane had revealed. 

“Summer before,” Ilya said proudly as Shane gave a shy, slightly-embarrassed smile.

“Shit, man! That’s insane!” Bood yelled, high-fiving both of them and turning to his wife. “Imagine?”

“I can’t,” she said honestly, her expression torn between awe and sadness.

“Exactly. There’s no way the two of you have been hiding this for ten years,” Troy insisted, crossing his arms and turning to Harris for support. “It’s been since that All Stars game in Florida, I swear.” 

Harris nodded in agreement. “That chemistry was adorable.”

But now Shane’s competitive streak was flaring, overcoming his embarrassment. “We can prove it,” he said with a glance to his husband, who beamed. 

Harris gasped, grinning as well. “Receipts?”

“Texts,” Ilya corrected, obviously not understanding the term. “Dating back to…well, a long time.”

Shane watched as Ilya pulled out his phone and scrolled back in their messages to the early days–messages spread months apart, exchanges of room numbers and ‘see you next season’s. Then, he handed the phone to Troy and Harris, who hunched close together, eyes wide.

“Fuck, this is old!” Troy exclaimed, eyes roving over the screen. “Jesus, years and years of it!”

But then Shane realized that this might not be such a good idea. He always deleted the pictures Ilya sent to him, but Ilya may not have deleted his own. “Wait, don’t scroll too far, it–”

“Oh, God!” Harris exclaimed maniacally at the same time Troy let out a noise of shocked disgust.

“What, what is it?” 

“What’d you find?”

The entire team looked both terrified and amused as Ilya grabbed his phone back, a giant smirk on his face. He glanced at the screen. “Ah,” he said simply, shrugging. “Is my cock.”

“Ew, Roz!”

“Rozanov, what the fuck?”

“Ilya, Jesus!”

“Shane said not to scroll,” Ilya beamed, pocketing the phone. “But the proof is there, right? Pay up, Barrett!”

Troy looked thoroughly offended. “We didn’t even bet anything!”

risk - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 423 - minor TLG spoilers 

Something in Shane’s body had been programmed to believe that every kiss with Ilya in sunlight was a risk. That he was putting both of them in danger every time he even thought about reaching out for the other man’s touch in public, every time his skin prickled with the need to be closer to the love of his life.

Even when they were just with friends or family, it still happened–adrenaline coursed through him, his heart beat faster, his palms sweat, and he looked around for the inevitable shocked reaction, the terrifying disdain.

Obviously, it never came, but still.

So when he joined the Centaurs, it was odd…to think that if they wanted to, they could. They could just…be affectionate. Anywhere.

Not that they were going to. They’d agreed: they would be professional in the rink as much as possible, returning to their old competitive ways, but keeping their hands to themselves.

Ilya, however, had taken ‘in the rink’ much too literally. Because as they got out of the car for their first practice, Ilya had immediately pressed him against the hood, enveloping him into a passionate kiss that immediately made him forget his own name, let alone all of his surroundings.

“I am a little excited you are on my team,” Ilya admitted under his breath as they broke apart, a bright grin on his face.

“A little?” Shane teased, smiling back.

But a noise made him jump, and immediately his whole body reacted: fear, panic, the urge to run. They were kissing. In public, at a rink. He was wearing his team logo, for God’s sake!

He turned to meet the slightly-shocked, slightly-resigned gazes of a group of his teammates, who all looked distinctly annoyed to be awake at such an early hour.

“Uh…hi,” Shane mumbled, wanting to shrink into nothing, his stomach churning. Fuck, they were being so unprofessional! So over-the-top, so obnoxious. Surely people would complain about them, there was no way this would work. He should just quit now.

But Troy Barrett, standing near the back of the group, just snorted and shook his head. “Gay,” he muttered, smirking slightly at them both before taking off toward the rink again.

Ilya burst into loud laughter. “Ah, are you talking of us or you, Barrett?” he called after Troy’s retreating form.

The man just raised a middle finger, waving it in the air as the team laughed.

And Shane let out a small, relieved sigh, his body relaxing slowly in Ilya’s arms.

Maybe, somehow, they could have this.

spot - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - slighlt NSFW - word count: 628 

Night One at The Cottage

“Uh, so, yeah. I just…need a minute,” Shane said awkwardly, pinching his face together as he looked between Ilya on his bed and the ensuite bathroom nearby.

Ilya, who was naked, covered to his waist in a sheet and artfully spread over the mattress like some sort of Greek God, smirked up at him. “You know you are supposed to clean asshole before we fuck, right?” he teased, his bright smile making Shane’s already-wobbly knees weak all over again.

Instantly distracted, he did a double-take. “I–I did! Wait–did–?”

Ilya grinned wider, eyes sparkling. “Hollander. Was a joke.”

His panic subsided. “Asshole,” he muttered, but it was fond. “I just…I have to do my skincare.” 

It felt like he was admitting some sort of deep, dark secret. Something embarrassing that Ilya was sure to tease him mercilessly about. Because, really, they’d never done this before–chosen to spend a long stretch of time with each other, take down their walls, be human. They were no longer just Rozanov and Hollander, two hockey players who snuck around and hid their feelings and fucked, they were Ilya and Shane…two people who had vulnerabilities and emotions they were struggling to ignore.

So how were they supposed to act during this part? The existing together part? The time where they weren’t having sex and were just…being?

Even admitting that he did fucking skincare felt like he was flaying himself open and laying himself on a platter for Ilya to scrutinize and destroy. It was terrifying.

But the other man just smiled a little. “Show me,” he muttered, standing and walking with him to the bathroom, completely comfortable with the fact that he was driving Shane insane with his bare skin. 

So Shane showed him. Mumbled self-consciously as he explained to the taller man what each bottle was for–how he was moisturizing and fighting age spots and wrinkles. And Ilya listened, an amused grin on his face, picking up each little container and looking it over before setting it down in the wrong place, Shane moving it back to i’s proper location.

“What?” Shane demanded after applying the final serum, feeling thoroughly self-conscious about the way Ilya was still looking at him with far too much delight to be appropriate for one listening to a skincare routine. 

But Ilya, fuck him, just shook his head, still grinning, and muttered, “Is nothing, Hollander, come to bed now.” He reached for his hand, pulling him back in the direction we came.

Shane couldn’t let it go, though. It was too much–being with Ilya this way, being so open with him, having nowhere to run to, no excuses to hide behind. He needed to know. What was Ilya fucking thinking? What did that damn smile mean? “You said we’d be honest,” he blurted, eyebrows furrowing. “You said–”

Ilya’s hand slid up his arm quickly, cupping his bicep. “Shane,” his tone was soothing, now. “I am not laughing at you.”

“Well it kind of seemed like–”

“I just–” Ilya paused, light eyes searching, refusing to meet Shane’s, as if he was nervous about his answer. His teeth pulled at his lip for a moment, mouth forming unvoiced words, and Shane swore he could hear his heart thumping in his chest. 

But then resolve hardened in Ilya’s gaze, and he stared into Shane’s soul. “I like listening to you talk,” he admitted softly, lips pursing a little as he waited for Shane’s response. “Is…makes me happy. When you are happy.”

All of a sudden, he felt lightheaded. Relief and awe flooding him in equal amounts, almost overshadowing the absolute joy and shock of hearing Ilya’s admission. “Oh,” he mumbled, allowing himself to smile just a little.

“Yes. Oh,” Ilya repeated, smiling wider. “Bed now?”

“Yeah.” But he wasn’t sure they’d sleep much tonight.

found - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 336

Ilya looked up at Shane’s slightly-annoyed voice, making sure to fix his face into an innocent expression as he realized what his boyfriend was holding. “Is my hoodie,” he offered simply, blinking in a way that suggested Shane’s question was ridiculous. “You went through my things?”

“Your—I—“ Shane stammered, face twisting with frustration. “I saw the sleeve hanging out and found it inside your suitcase! Ilya, this is mine!”

He worked very hard to keep his lips in a straight line, tilting his head in mock confusion. “Hollander, is my hoodie. You said: was in my suitcase. Why would you put your hoodie in my things?”

Shane mouthed wordlessly, his adorably freckled cheeks flushing red. “I didn’t put it in there, you asshole! You stole I—“

Now he couldn’t help but grin, getting up to meet his boyfriend where he was standing and fidgeting with agitation. “Shane,” he said softly, as if he was trying to soothe the shorter man. “Do you really think I would do this? I have my own hoodie.”

Now Shane looked absolutely petulant, his features distorted with fury. “Yes, I fucking do! Rozanov, this is my fucking-“

Sensing Shane was at the end of his rope, Ilya decided to drop pretenses, wrapping his arms around the angry man. “But Hollander,” he whined into Shane’s neck, still smirking with amusement, “it smells like you. Boring cologne, expensive shampoo, stupid Canada…I want to bring it back to Boston with me to remember my perfect boyfriend.”

Shame physically melted in his arms, as soft “oh…” dripping from his lips.

Ilya pulled back, grinning down at him triumphantly, thrilled and a bit turned on at how pleased Shane looked now. “Yes? I can have?”

Shane rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were furiously red now. “Fine. But I want something of yours,” he murmured, eyes cast downward.

“Ahhhh, you like my scent. Like a dog, are you?” He teased delightedly, chuckling when Shane gave him a horrified look.

“Oh, fuck off, Rozanov!”

useful - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 295 

“Did we tell you, your cousin got a pet snake?” Yuna said casually as she, David, Ilya, and Shane sat around the table at the Hollanders’ house for family dinner one evening.

Ilya watched as Shane visibly shuddered, his eyes going wide and his face going pale. “Fuck. We’re not going over there ever again,” he muttered, shaking his head a bit.

Ilya, who enjoyed pressing Shane’s buttons and had always thought reptiles were kind of cool, tilted his head to the side. “Why not? Is interesting, no? You could see it up close, touch it, see it shed sk–?”

To his amusement, Shane interrupted by literally gagging. “No. No,” he said over and over, lips curled into a look of utter disdain as he shifted his weight back and forth, twirling his fork in his hand. “Absolutely not.”

“Shane hates snakes,” Yuna supplied helpfully, humor in her eyes. “He has ever since he was a little kid. We always avoided the reptile houses at Zoos.”

Ilya couldn’t help it. He knew he was grinning widely–that uninhibited, boyish smile that Shane loved on him. But this information…oh, it was so very useful. “Oh,” he said with a smirk, turning to Shane and raising an eyebrow. “This is…such a good fact. So if we were on the ice, then, and I said, ‘Oh, look Hollander, there is snake on the ice!’ you would, maybe, lose faceoff?”

Shane’s expression turned livid. “Don’t you fucking dare, Rozanov,” he growled, cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink.

Ilya had to laugh. He reached over to Shane and patted him on the back, grinning as Yuna and David chuckled as well. “Do not worry, malysh. Was just joking…probably.”

Shane’s eyes continued to flash. 

Ah, the sex would be fun tonight.

remarks - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - slightly NSWF - word count: 427

“Hollander…oh my god,” Ilya said gleefully as Shane led him into the small room, face already set with resignation.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

It was his first time bringing Ilya to Yuna and David’s Ottawa home, rather than their cottage. It was Shane’s childhood home. Which meant Ilya was naturally dying to see Shane’s bedroom. 

He’d been prepared for this. Prepared for Ilya’s chirps and remarks and teasing. But still, the unadulterated glee that sounded in his boyfriend’s tone both amused and annoyed Shane.

“Hollander, do you like hockey? I did not know?” Ilya continued to tease, looking around the room.

Shane could understand why. Every inch of every surface of the space was covered in hockey memorabilia. Posters on the walls, magazines and trophies on the shelves, cards taped to the headboard and hockey-themed sheets on the bed. It was…well, it was a bit embarrassing, honestly. 

But the worst part?

“Oh my god, Shane, is that me?” Ilya asked, utterly thrilled as he crossed the room to find an image of himself in a small collage of pictures of players above Shane’s small desk. “Hollander, you worship me! Is adorable!”

“I do not worship you! I put that up there before I even knew you!” Shane insisted, feeling himself flush red with embarrassment. “And there are twenty other people up there, all people who were my competition back then! I–”

“No, no, is alright,” the taller man said, grinning as he sat by the desk and leaned close to the wall, finger pressing onto the picture. “I understand. You have to hide me with others. Is perfectly reasonable, Hollander, to do this. But I know. You put me right here, where you can see, you you can stare at my handsome face all day–”

“Fuck off,” Shane grumbled, walking over to shove at the chair a little, knocking Ilya off-balance for a second. 

But the asshole wasn’t done being a menace. “You ever have sex in this room?” he asked casually, eyes sparkling as he looked up at Shane, hands resting on Shane’s hips.

“I–Jesus, Ilya, no! My parents are right–” Shane began, but Ilya’s fingers were already at the button of his pants. 

“They are outside. Cooking on grill. And you have a talent for being very quick, yes?” Ilya asked, beaming up at him from his chair. “What do you think, Hollander? Should we put on a show for all of these hockey stars in your room?”

Shane folded quicker than the lawnchairs his parents were sitting on outside.

lesson - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - NSFW - word count: 375 (translation in author's note)

“I hate you.”

Svetlana grinned as soon as she heard Ilya’s voice on the other end of the phone. Pausing the television, she sat on her bed, eager to talk to her friend. It had been far too long. “Yes,” she agreed, nodding with faux sympathy. “I saw the article a few weeks ago. ‘Hockey Star Ilya Rozanov Seen Out and About with Mystery Woman Who is Even More Gorgeous than He Is.’ Is it difficult to be overshadowed by my beauty?” she teased.

“Ha! I would never allow anyone to publish such lies,” Ilya quipped back, laughing. “No, is not about press. Is about my boyfriend.”

She smiled even wider, loving the soft way the word left Ilya’s lips. It was clear the man was happier than he’d ever been with Shane, so she was thrilled for him–even if it meant losing a very good fuck every few months. “What about him?” she asked lightly, tilting her head to the side.

There was a snort through the phone. “You have been giving Shane Russian lessons. Do not lie.”

Now she was grinning so widely her cheeks hurt. “So? It’s important for your boyfriend to understand your first language, Ilyusha.”

“That! That is problem!” Ilya exclaimed loudly, a slamming noise echoing over the line. Svetlana figured he’d slapped his palm on a counter or his thigh. 

“Problem?” she asked innocently, knowing all too well exactly what she’d done.

“He looked at me,” Ilya growled, obviously gritting his teeth, “with stupid big eyes and stupid pretty freckles…and said…” the sound of Ilya swallowing cut off his words.

“Said what?” she pushed, giddy with glee.

The taller man sighed. “‘Konchi dlya menya, Ilyushka,’” he murmured gruffly, clearly a bit embarrassed by the words.

Svetlana had never been prouder in her entire life. “He did, did he?” she asked, absolutely thrilled. “And? What happened?”

Ilya swore loudly from the other end of the phone. “I fucking came before I even got inside him, you fucking–”

Svetlana burst out laughing, utterly elated. “Well, sounds like my pupil has been putting his lessons to work then,” she said between giggles. “I am proud of Shane.”

There was another flurry of swears before Ilya hung up, leaving Svetlana to her laughter.

continue (again!) - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 329 - slight TLG spoilers

“...no, but I think it was much earlier!” Luca Haas insisted, frowning as he looked around the locker room.

Exclamations of denial filled the room. 

“There’s no fuckin’ way, man!” Boodram shouted, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Hollander and Roz definitely hated each other for at least a little while. I’m still betting on that All Stars game.”

“I agree it was earlier,” Wyatt weighed in, earning a few nods from Troy and Harris, who were both standing nearby, “but not as early as you’re thinking, Haasy. Definitely Rose Landry.”

“No, I think that was Hollander trying to avoid the truth!” Luca explained, sure that his theory was correct. “If you look at the stats, both he and Roz played terribly while he was with Rose, and–”

A collective inhale cut him off, and he turned, stomach sinking, to see Ilya Rozanov himself standing behind him.

“Oh….” he stammered, feeling himself blush. “I….hey, Roz…sorry, I…”

“No, continue,” Ilya said with a smirk, arms crossed. “Is an interesting theory.”

But all of his confidence and bravado was gone as he was faced with half of the couple he’d been gossiping about. “That’s…it. I just think you and Hollander have been together for a while. Even since rookie year, maybe.”

The taller man snorted, grinning widely like the idea was hilarious. “Imagine? Would be insane. Ten years, almost, of hooking up in hiding. Crazy story to tell someday.”

It was a bit crazy. Deflating, realizing there was absolutely no way he was right, Luca sighed. “Fine, fine. All Stars makes more sense.”

But as the subject in the room turned to other things, people branching off into their own conversations and the volume rising, Ilya leaned close to Luca, beaming. “No. You are almost correct. It was summer before rookie year. But nobody will believe I told you that, and is fun to keep everyone guessing, I think.”

And he left Luca gaping as he walked away, chuckling.

restart - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - slightly NSFW - word count: 319 

Shane wasn’t quite sure how they ended up in these situations, but it always happened. Standing in Bood’s backyard, hand touching the trunk of a tree, he narrowed his eyes as he leaned forward and glared determinedly at Wyatt Hayes on the opposite side of the grassy, open area, both of his hands outstretched at his sides. 

Ilya stood the same way next to him, a wide grin on his stupidly handsome face. “What will I get when I win, eh, Hollander?” he murmured, lunging his front foot a little farther forward, body poised to run.

“Disappointed. Because you’ll fucking lose,” Shane hissed back, not even bothering to look towards his husband. 

“Hm. You think you are so fast on ice, yes? But off ice, you remember: I beat you in every run. Is it because I am better, or just because you like looking at my ass when you are behind me?” Ilya muttered gleefully. “Is very nice ass, after all.”

“Only nice thing about you,” Shane shot back, trying to stay focused.

But right as Luca, who had somehow procured a whistle from somewhere, raised the object to his lips, Ilya whispered one last thing: “You should check your knees, Hollander. There are grass stains. Everyone knows where you had your mouth earlier.”

It worked. 

Eyes flicking downward, Shane’s attention slipped right as the whistle blew, and he stumbled at the start while Ilya darted off right away.

The fucker made it across the yard and slapped Wyatt’s hand almost a whole second before Shane did.

“Not fucking fair!” Shane yelled as most of the crowd of onlookers booed, wishing he had won. “Restart! He cheated!”

“Cheated how, Hollander?” Ilya asked smugly, raising an eyebrow at him. “You want to tell the team what I said to you that would distract you enough to make you lose?”

Immediately, he felt himself turn bright red. “Fuck you,” he spat, storming off.

sunny - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 

The sunny weather had lured Shane and Ilya outside, despite the lack of usual necessities like a proper bed, lube, and condoms. Laying together on the dock, soaking in the rays and smiling happily to himself, Shane allowed himself a brief, fleeting, rare moment of unadulterated joy. For now, at least, he could pretend like he and Ilya could be like this all the time. For now, at least, they could just be together.

Of course, his constantly-whirring brain quickly drained the joy from every cell in his body, as he glanced over to the cottage and realized the paint was peeling a bit from one of the exterior walls. "I need to pick new paint for the house," he muttered, brow furrowing as he began to weigh the pros and cons of different greys, calculating the cost of hiring painters. "It's looking a bit-"

But Ilya interrupted. "Hollander, no," he whined, lifting his head from the warm wood of the dock and giving him a lazy wave of his hand. "We are relaxing. Worry about this later. Or...even better. We will talk about it next summer, da?"

He should have taken it as a reminder to breathe, but his brain stuck on the words. "Next summer?" he repeated, mouth curling up a little as he felt himself blush. "You...uh...want to do this next summer?"

Ilya gave him an incredulous look. "Shane," he said simply, sitting up and looking him in the eye with a stern glare. "We are boyfriends now, yes? We are starting hockey camp. Being...what is word? Mono...monogo..."

"Monogomous," Shane answered with an amused smile, utterly enamored by the man in front of him.

"Yes, that. And you think we will, what? Spend our only free weeks in summer apart? For what? Do you have plans with Rose Landry?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well, actually, it might be nice to invite her here at some point," Shane mused, tilting his head. "You two could meet. She likes the water, and--"

He was cut off with a kiss.

"Hollander, you are idiot. Yes, of course I want to come to boring cottage with you next year. And year after and year after," Ilya said, grinning. 

Shane beamed. "Okay. Yeah, okay."

vast - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 377 

“Shane.”

Ilya pouted as he watched his boyfriend who, for some absolutely ridiculous reason, was not paying attention to him. “Shane.” 

The other man looked up from the game tapes he was watching. “What?” He asked a bit gruffly, obviously irritated at being interrupted.

Ilya just looked at him, spreading his arms wide as if to say ‘there are better things-better people-you could be doing right now.’ But Shane, the asshole, just huffed and looked back to the TV. 

Ilya wrinkled his nose. Fuck, no. There was no way he was going to let this happen. 

Padding into Shane’s bedroom, he opened the closet wide, sifting through the vast array of very similar-looking clothing to find one of Shane’s old jerseys in the back. Grinning like a madman, Ilya slipped off both his shirt and pants before putting on the ugly thing, deciding that the sacrifice of wearing another team's colors was worth the reaction. Then, he headed back into the living room, chuckling to himself. “Oh, Hollander?” he called in a singsong voice, beaming when he saw that Shane wasn’t paying him a single glance. Perfect.

The other man let out a snort of fury, again pausing the TV and looking toward Ilya with unfiltered rage. “What Rozano—“ but he stopped short as soon as he saw what Ilya was wearing. “Oh. Fuck.” His expression morphed from angry to awe, tone both amazed and desperate. 

Ilya’s whole body felt like it was on fire in the best way. “You like?” He asked casually, slowly turning so Shane could see his name on Ilya’s back. “Is new. I am trying new style,” he said, sending his boyfriend a cheeky grin.

Shane just swallowed thickly, looking like he’d been clubbed over the head as he stared. “I…shit. Yeah,” he murmured, frozen in place. 

“I was going to see if maybe someone could help me take it off,” Ilya said, voice dripping with innocence even as he gripped the front of the shirt, allowing Shane a peek at the sizable bulge that was hiding in his briefs beneath. “But if you are so busy watching stupid hockey tapes, I—“ 

He didn't think Shane had ever gotten up from the couch faster. “Bedroom,” the man panted, hands already spreading over Ilya’s chest. “Now.”

Ilya beamed triumphantly. Finally, the attention he deserved.

grand - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 533 - warning: author knows nothing about how hockey works, so all of this is probably very unrealistic. but it's cute, so...deal. 

Shane had never been one for grand gestures. 

In all honesty, they terrified him. How many things could go wrong? How many people would perceive him? What if the person he was planning for didn't like it at all, and ended up hating him because of it?

No, he preferred meaningful gifts, time spent together, things like that. But he also knew that Ilya Rozanov, who had always been larger than life, adored all that was dramatic. And Ilya had always loved Shane as loudly as possible, given the circumstances, so he was determined to give him the same on his special day.

Of course, Ilya's birthday fell on a day that they could not spend together. It wasn't surprising, given the fact that the Bears were in the playoffs, but it was disappointing for both of them, since it was Ilya's first birthday since the two of them had become official.

Shane, of course, suggested that Ilya simply lose some previous games so they could spend the time together, to which Ilya told him to kindly fuck off. 

So Shane came up with a plan. 

Using his connections as well as the connections of Svetlana, whom he had befriended after overcoming his initial nervousness, he set the trap. Then, he sat back and relaxed at his parents' house, eyes on the TV, waiting for his boyfriend's reaction.

The game was intense. A battle between Boston and New York that left the teams at a tie at the intermission between second and third period. Shane's heart ached a bit as the camera zoomed in on Ilya's stressed-out face as the buzzer sounded, and he yearned to both pull the taller man into a hug and chirp him incessantly until the fire was back in his eyes. Thankfully, the feed didn't cut to commercial when the announcer in the rink began to speak.

"...have just been told that it's one Boston player's birthday! Here to lead us in singing to number 81, Ilya Rozanov, is his close friend Svetlana Vetrova, along with a surprise present!"

And then, to Shane's utter amusement, Svetlana walked over to a shocked-looking Ilya and presented him with an extremely oversized stuffed loon.

He could see the moment it hit Ilya. When he realized that this was Shane, not just Svetlana, wishing him love in front of thousands on his special day. His face lit up, his eyes filling with tears, and he took the stupid stuffed loon with the excitement of a small child. As the whole rink sang to him, Ilya beamed the type of smile that was usually only reserved for private moments between the two of them-an unreserved, vulnerable glee flashing on his face.

Shane felt himself tear up as well.

"You may have just won him the Cup, you know," Yuna muttered to him, amused disapproval in her voice. "He looks about ready to fight armies now."

It was true. As Ilya surreptitiously wiped his eyes with the neck of the loon while the song ended, the normal fire he usually brought to his game returned full-force to his expression, and Shane beamed. "S'fine," he muttered. "If it couldn't be me, I'm glad it's him."

belt - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - cw: mentions of past child abuse, Ilya has not fully processed this and thinks it is his fault - word count: 722 

Ilya had known what he was allowing the moment Shane had begun tracing fingers over his bare chest and asking questions. 

In a post-sex haze, they lay on the bed in The Cottage, bodies bare and sated. The air was warm, both of them deliriously happy, Ilya feeling suspiciously safe. And then Shane, in a moment of sweet, brazen bravery, started exploring the centimeters of skin on Ilya’s muscular frame, his large fingers tracing over the unsurprising marks there.

It was normal for a hockey player. Scars from injuries, surgeries, checks gone wrong. So Ilya knew there was no ill intent. Just a way to get to know each other more, to memorize each other, to make conversation, even. He could have stopped it–distracted him with his body or mouth. But he chose not to.

“What’s this one?” Shane asked for the tenth time, pointing at a mark on Ilya’s shoulder as he half-lay on top of him, tracing lightly on his skin and making him shiver.

“Um…from puck during practice when I was small, I think,” Ilya said truthfully. “I was not wearing pads.”

It was adorable, the way Shane’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at past-Ilya’s stupidity. The way Shane didn’t voice his protectiveness over him because, maybe, he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. Fuck, Ilya wished he would. “Idiot,” he mumbled instead, pressing on the scar a bit harder with his thumb, making goosebumps of pleasure break out over Ilya’s back.

“Yes, is true,” Ilya grinned, loving the way Shane just rolled his eyes.

Down, down, Shane’s fingertips moved, making Ilya almost tear up with the softness of how he was being touched, the foreignness of the amazing feeling, to a rather nasty scar on the side of Ilya’s ribs. Small, L-shaped, and ragged, it was older than many of the others, but still prominent on his pale skin. “And this one?” he asked dreamily, probably much more focused on touching him than anything else.

But Shane had asked for them to be truthful, so Ilya decided to honor that. “Is from my father,” he whispered. “He liked…well, the belt was not as common. But…you know. He was not a nice man.”

Shane’s face did something complicated. He didn’t comprehend at first, that much was clear. But oh. When he did?

Ilya had seen Shane angry before. He’d been the cause of Shane’s anger before. Both on purpose and, heartbreakingly, by accident. But never in his life had he ever seen Shane Hollander look so close to murder.

“He hit you?” Shane demanded, his voice so low and gravelly that it rumbled in his chest, his eyes dark and wide, his nostrils flared.

He wasn’t sure what to say. So much of him felt guilty–Shane deserved to be only happy, only content. And, really, he’d done so many things wrong…surely, he’d deserved a lot of what his father had done. “Da,” he murmured, swiping his thumb over the crease between Shane’s eyebrows, wishing more than anything it would smooth. “But is not a big deal, okay? I am–”

“Ilya, no!” 

And–no, no, no! Shane was sitting up now. Letting out an embarrassing wounded noise, Ilya reached for him, causing them both to freeze, both of their heartbeats thunderous in the quiet.

Shane was the first one to speak. Voice monotone, eyes narrowed, he asked, “Would you say it was no big deal if it was me?”

Ilya immediately saw red. Picturing a young Shane as the subject of his father’s ire brought tears to his eyes, fire to his soul. “Fuck you, Hollander. No,” he muttered, jaw tight as he stared out the window, avoiding Shane’s eyes.

It was different. It was different.

Was it different?

He looked back to Shane, heaving in a breath and allowing a tear to fall. “Is a lot,” he sighed after a long time, blinking a little as his boyfriend wiped the tear from his cheek. “I am fucked up, I think.” He hated to admit it out loud, lest Shane decide he was too much, that he should leave. Because really, he hadn't signed up for this. He deserved so much better.

Shane just gave him a soft smile. “Well I am, too. Guess we’re compatible, then.”

The watery laugh he couldn’t help but let out healed something long-broken inside him.

bright - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 321 - slight TLG spoilers

“Mom?” Shane called, flustered as he opened the cabinet to the right of his parents’ refrigerator only to find it without the glass cups he usually preferred. It had been a while since he visited, yes, but they rarely made changes to where things were kept. 

Ilya, who had been relaxing on the couch with both David and Yuna, watching Ottawa’s game from the night before where he had managed to score a hat trick, walked into the kitchen. “What is wrong, malysh?”

“Can’t find the water glasses,” Shane mumbled, annoyed. “I think my parents moved–”

“Ah, yes, they are here,” Ilya answered easily, opening the cabinet that housed the mugs and wine glasses to show Shane what he was looking for. “Yuna reorganized last weekend. Said she wanted all breakable things together. I helped her get things from top shelves.”

Shane blinked, a bit caught off-guard by the fact that Ilya knew more about where things were in his parents’ house than he did. But then he began to smile, the realization sitting warm and bright in his chest. “You…come here a lot, don’t you?” he asked, grinning. 

Ilya just shrugged, face unreadable. “I tell you when I visit.”

“Yeah, but I just…I just kind of realized. You’re part of the family,” he beamed, unable to hold back his joy.

The taller man didn’t seem to know what to do with that declaration so he smirked a little, winking. “I have replaced you for favorite son, I think.”

And now Shane narrowed his eyes, quickly distracted by that false statement. “Keep dreaming, Rozanov,” he said with a teasing smile. “It’s not like you’ve been told all the family recipes yet, or–”

But Ilya just beamed, eyes flashing mischievously. “Oh, you mean how secret ingredient to Yuna’s famous soup is bit of honey? Yes, I know that too.”

Shane gaped. “Mom!” he called, stalking into the other room. “What the fuck?”

other - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 638 - slightly NSFW 

In the back of his mind, Shane knows he should be very turned on right now.

They’re at the cottage, his cottage, and Ilya is staying with him for two weeks. Not only that, but Ilya is currently nearly naked in Shane’s bed, staring at him like he’s about five seconds from eating him whole. 

Yes, all things considered, he shouldn’t be thinking about much else other than Ilya’s mouth. And his hands. And his dick.

But the problem is…

Ilya Rozanov is currently reclining on the right side of the bed.

Phone on the bedside table, charger plugged into the outlet, Ilya has made himself at home on Shane’s side of the bed and, oh. That just won’t do.

“Hollander,” Ilya says invitingly, hand already drifting to his own underwear. And it is clear he is only thinking about the things he wants to do to Shane.

“I–um–” Shane stammers, trying desperately to accept the fact that for tonight, he’ll be sleeping on the other side of the bed.

But fuck.

What if this isn’t just for tonight?

What if Ilya claims this side of the bed for the whole trip?

And shit. What if Ilya comes to visit at Shane’s apartment and takes his side? What then? Will Shane have to switch sides in his own place?

And fuck! What if they get their own place someday and, because he never said anything, Shane has to take the left side of the bed then, too? What if he is now forever assigned the left side of the bed because of this one moment?

Obviously he knows they can’t get married, they can’t get a place together, but fuck, the fear feels so real, and then he’s hyperventilating, sitting on the end of the bed with his head in his hands.

Ilya’s hands are on his back in an instant.

“Shane? Shane, what is wrong?” the other man asks desperately, the heady need in his tone completely gone. “We do not have to fuck, is okay, I am not–”

“No, no, I want to!” Shane insists, looking up at Ilya and attempting to give him a comforting look. But it must read as something completely different because Ilya just looks more worried. “It’s just…it’s stupid, it’s fine.”

Now Ilya looks a bit mad. “You are uncomfortable, is not fine,” he insists, frowning. Shane, tell me. You say we will be honest, be honest. Please.” 

It’s the genuine, caring tone that does it. The way Ilya’s voice lacks any teasing or humor. He wants to know how to help, so Shane…tries to let him.

“You’re on my side of the bed. Your charger, your stuff. That’s…my side. If we both like the same side, how will we spend two weeks sleeping in the same bed together?” he asks desperately, gesturing toward Ilya’s things.

And the expression on Ilya’s face melts from concern, to confusion, to realization, to amused awe. 

“Shane,” he says, smiling a beautific, boyish smile that leaves Shane breathless. “I do not care about sides. Take both of them. I will sleep on floor, or at your feet. I am just…happy to be here. With you.”

It’s not just the relief of a problem solved that makes Shane smile. It’s the fact that Ilya hasn’t dismissed his concerns. He’s simply acknowledged and helped with them, not making Shane feel small. “Oh. Okay,” he says, grinning. “I mean, you can sleep on the left side, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable…”

Ilya chuckles, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Yes, this sounds good. Now, we have solved crisis. Should we sleep, or maybe….?”

His kisses have become sloppier and Shane is already turned on, his worries long gone. “Yes. I mean–no sleep, yet,” he answers hoarsely, turning his head and allowing Ilya to connect their mouths.

shine - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic- word count: 624 - warning: author knows nothing about hockey trading cards

"Shane! Disgusting pizza is here!" Ilya called from the bedroom, obviously having received a call from the delivery driver on his phone.

"It's not disgusting," Shane yelled back from his spot on the couch, furrowing his eyebrows. "Cauliflower crust and dairy-free cheese is just-"

"Just get door before driver throws up from smell!" Ilya interrupted, his tone amused. "Wallet is on table, and don't you dare use your own money or I will score extra goal tomorrow!"

Unable to stop himself from smiling a little, Shane stood, grabbing Ilya's expensive-looking wallet from the table and opening it to fish out a few bills. He greeted the delivery driver quickly, avoiding small talk, and traded the money in his hand for his pizza without any issue. It was only once he closed the door again, looking down to put Ilya's wallet away, that he saw it-something colorful and vaguely familiar stuffed in one of the back slots.

Slowly, he placed the pizza box down on the table to get a better look. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he knew that he shouldn't be snooping. But at this point in their relationship, they'd shared so much, been through so much, that Shane didn't really balk at the idea. So his fingers slid the piece of cardstock from the slot, his stomach flipping as he realized what it was. 

A hockey trading card. He'd have recognized it anywhere. Hell, he'd obsessively collected them when he was young, carefully placing them in binders and protective cases, going to carshops to get the rarer prints he coveted. The telltale matte-shine and the stats on the back brought him a sense of nostalgia, but he still held his breath when he flipped the card to see the image on the front. What card could Ilya find important enough to keep with him at all times? The first printing of his rookie card? An idol he'd looked up to as a child?

He nearly dropped the small rectangle when he saw.

It was a rivals card. Their rivals card, a limited print that had been created early on in their careers. The two of their pictures had been edited to face each other like they were actually vying for the puck, though Shane knew it had been done through photoshop. But still, there they were. Together. In Ilya's wallet.

"The other guys have pictures of partners in their wallets." Ilya's soft voice behind him made him jump, and he turned to see his boyfriend standing there with a small, nervous smile on his face. "It was...nice. I wanted to have, too, but you know. I could...not."

So much said in so few words. They didn't even have pictures together, so even if Ilya could have an image of them together in his wallet, it would have been impossible. But how could he keep a picture of Shane there, when all that they had was clandestine?

"So...you keep this instead?" Shane murmured, holding up the card.

"Yes. For good luck. I look at your face, remember to play like I am playing against you. Is better than nothing, you know?" Ilya said with a smile and shrug, like he wasn't saying the most romantic thing in the world.

"Want want one, too," Shane breathed, already thinking about the slot in his wallet he would put it in. "Where did you get it from?"

Ilya lit up. "Do not worry. I have ten of them," he said, grinning.

Shane let out a laugh of shock. "Ten? Wow, Rozanov. Be careful, or I might think you're obsessed."

"No, no. I just want to protect others from ugly hockey card," the other man scoffed, but his eyes sparkled with delight.

greet - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 292 

The first time Shane opened his hotel door to Ilya after so many weeks apart, he wasn't sure what to expect.

They were boyfriends, now. They'd been texting back and forth nonstop, facetiming every chance they'd gotten, talking on the phone when they could, updating each other about their days...they were something more.

So why did this part–the part they'd been doing for so long–suddenly feel the most nerve-wracking?

He almost contemplated putting on a suit again.

It was just...now they'd acknowledged that this held weight, how should he act?

What were the rules? Had they changed? Should he hide his eagerness like he had done for so long, or could he actually show how much he'd been aching just to feel Ilya's hands on him?

What if he ruined things somehow? What if he lost this, after all they'd been through, how far they'd come? 

The other man's knock jarred him, knocking him headfirst out of his obsessive thoughts. This was just Ilya. The man who'd jumped at loon calls and had eaten his mother's pasta like it was something sacred. He could do this. 

Taking a deep breath, Shane opened the door to greet his boyfriend, his nerves jangling, heart racing, chest tight.

He was nearly blown away by Ilya's blinding, unrestrained grin.

"Hi, sweetheart," the man murmured, eyes so bright and smile so big Shane wanted to melt in it.

"Hey," he muttered, feeling himself slowly break into a reluctant smile as well. Everything in his body had instantly relaxed, like there had been a single puzzle piece askew in his brain, and now it'd been righted. 

"I fucking missed you so much."

And then Ilya strode in, slamming the door closed, and crashed their lips together.

soothe - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 

Shane had never been one for social media. 

He didn't completely understand the rules associated with it, the social nuances of what to post where and at what time. Why did some things go on Instagram stories while others were on an official feed? Why did some people prefer Facebook over Twitter, and why was that now called X? Not to mention lesser-known sites. Like once, he'd tried Reddit, and fuck. He'd pissed so many people off that day. And really, why did people feel the need to pretend that their lives were perfect, bragging all about their accomplishments and their families and their jobs? Wasn't it tiring to put up such facades?

Sure, he had his official Instagram. But his manager had control of that, and he was much happier for it.

So he'd been very reluctant to even download TikTok.

He didn't even fully understand the concept of it. It was Ilya's incessant insistence, combined with the fact that Hayden, Rose, and Ilya all were constantly sending him links to the app to look at, that made him finally cave.

But fuck, once he did.

It was a bit addicting, he had to admit. Scrolling, watching funny videos, sending clips of Ilya missing shots to him and smirking when Ilya sent back a slew of angry emojis. 

The thing was, his FYP had been doing something strange lately.

Every few TikToks, he got something like this:

"You know you have autism when..."

"Late in life diagnosed autistics rise!"

"How to soothe yourself after an autistic meltdown..."

And the dissonance this was causing was starting to make him really fucking anxious. Because obviously he didn't have autism (right?), but damn those videos were relatable.

"D'you ever get things on your TikTok that are just completely random?" he asked Ilya one day, trying to be casual after watching yet another one about ten signs of autism, all ten of which he possessed.

"What, like people going on about loving crazy orange American president?" Ilya asked, shooting him a glare. "Sometimes I think it's this, but then is someone stitching and saying the first person is a dick. Why?"

"Nothing."

But hiding his feelings from Ilya was impossible now. Not when Ilya knew him better than anyone else. So after a bit of impromptu wrestling during which Ilya stole the phone from Shane's hand, Ilya watched the TikTok in question, face completely impassive. Then, he turned to Shane.

"Alright. So?" he asked, so calm it made Shane want to scream.

"So...why's all this stuff on my FYP? I'm not autistic," he mumbled uncomfortably.

Ilya blinked, unnervingly calm. "What if you are? Does it make you bad person? Stupid? Not capable?"

Shane swallowed, sitting with his discomfort. "I...don't know. Maybe?" He hated voicing his discomfort out loud, but yeah, he felt like it was an insult, to think of himself in such a way.

"Well, that's stupid. You are already Stanley Cup Champion, yes? And if you have autism, you did not magically catch it last week, you have had it your whole life. So you got Cup with autism. You got into NHL with autism. You are just the same, just maybe with a fancy label for why you only eat brand name protein shake." Ilya grinned, pulling him in for a hug.

"Autism's a lot more than that, Ilya," Shane murmured, but he knew his boyfriend was trying to reassure him.

"I know, Shane," Ilya chuckled, letting him go and looking at him. "You know I love you, yes? Whether TikTok is correct or no?"

He sighed and nodded. "Unfortunately." He smirked, allowing their banter to comfort him.

"Fuck you," the other man snorted, but he looked as happy as Shane felt.

Obviously Shane's feelings are valid but not reality, and autistic people are very capable and also Ilya is just joking, etc etc.

studded - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 312 

"Hello?"

Rose Landry answered her phone on the first ring, rather shocked when she saw the name on the caller ID. Sure, she and Ilya Rozanov were on speaking terms and had been for some time now, but they'd never really had conversations on the phone. Ilya, she knew, still had reservations about her close friendship with Shane, and though she did her best to reassure him that she had no interest in the man anymore, she knew there was still a lot of hesitancy there.

So a phone call from Ilya probably meant someone was in the hospital, the morgue, or jail.

But it seemed she didn't have to worry. "Rose Landry, I will marry you now," Ilya said in a hoarse voice the moment she answered, his words instantly dispelling any of her anxiety and filling her with shocked delight. 

"Oh? What does Shane have to say about that?" she asked coyly, grinning and twirling her hair a bit even though she knew the man couldn't see. 

"He will have to live with it," Ilya replied dismissively. "Rose. These pants. The pants you have bought him? I am dying in the best way."

Now she couldn't help but giggle, picturing the jeans in question. She'd forced Shane to purchase them on their last outing, ignoring his distaste at the extremely tight fit and the studded design on the back, reminding him that Ilya would probably be on his knees in an instant if he saw Shane in them. She was, it seemed, extremely correct.

"So you like them?" she teased, quite proud of herself.

"'Like' is not the word. I am...going crazy," Ilya insisted, sounding like he’d been hit over the head.

Rose just smiled. Who knew that the key to winning Ilya Rozanov over was just putting a pair of tight jeans on his boyfriend's admittedly perfect ass?

shimmer - hollanov - early situationship - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 591 

This happened sometimes. He and Rozanov were scheduled for the same events and sponsors, because people loved seeing them interact, loved hoping to see them chirp each other in real time. Shane understood it, really, but sometimes it was tiring. Pretending not to want to fall to his knees in front of Rozanov was much more difficult with the man’s incessant texts as of late. Also, this ‘rivalry’ was feeling more and more forced as the months went on. Yeah, Rozanov was an asshole, but didn’t people have other things to worry about?

Still, he let the fragrance managers explain more about the ‘vibe’ of the scent they’d been hired to promote, both he and Rozanov sitting shirtless in chairs a few feet away from each other. Apparently, it was a ‘fiery, electric’ smell, ‘made for men who pack a punch.’ Whatever that meant. It fit with the whole ‘rivals’ schtick, so here they were. He nodded along, pretending to care deeply about the brand, then took the bottle they handed to him.

“Okay, Shane, we’re going to start with you here, and Ilya, you’ll be over here,” one of the directors, Jake, explained, pointing to two x’s on the floor.

Except–he pronounced Rozanov’s name Eye-l-yah.

“Ilya,” Rozanov murmured politely, walking over to his spot.

“Right,” Jake brushed him off, batting his hand in the air. “Whatever. Okay. And then, you’ll…”

They both obeyed. Stayed professional. But a few moments later…

“Cut! Good! Now, Eye-l-yah, if you could just start with a little more of a frown,” Jake said, gesturing to Rozanov.

Shane saw it. The tiny furrow between Rozanov's eyebrows. The shimmer leaving his eyes. 

“Right,” Ilya murmured, standing on his spot.

Shane’s stomach clenched with anger when he realized–Rozanov wasn’t going to correct him again.

He frowned. Should he say something? Was it his place? He didn’t even use Rozanov’s first name, it would be weird if he said it, wouldn’t it? Fuck…

Again and again, Jake mispronounced the man’s name. He didn’t seem to care at all that at other points, people said Rozanov’s name correctly, he just pushed on, ordering both of them around, yelling Eye-l-yah like he had every right to call Rozanov whatever he liked. And inside, fury boiled hot in Shane’s chest as he watched Rozanov simply take it, his usually cocky demeanor becoming more and more reserved. What the fuck? Rozanov was a jerk, sure, but he didn’t deserve this!

After the tenth time, he lost it.

“Jack?” Shane called, looking to Jake to make sure the director knew he was being addressed. “Can you remind me what to do after the flash of light, again?”

Jake blinked, frowning. “Jake. My name is Jake,” he corrected, frowning. “It’s not hard.”

Normally, Shane would’ve crumpled at the embarrassment. But he looked slightly to the side to see Rozanov beaming at the ground. 

“Right,” Shane said dryly, batting his hand in the air like Jake had before. “Whatever.”

Jake glared. “Fine…after the flash of light, you move to the left and–”

“Wait, Jack? Do I not go left?” Ilya interrupted, face innocent but eyes glittering with mischief.

And Shane’s whole body warmed with triumph as he forced down a laugh. He had cheered Rozanov up. He had made him happy. Beaming, he turned to the other man. “No, Eye-l-yah, you go to the right! Right, Jack?”

They both stared at Jake, who seemed to be dealing with an aneurysm. Then, after a few long moments, he let out a long sigh.

“We’re taking five.”

Shane grinned.

starry-eyed - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 436 

The setting sun cast a warm glow on the end of one of the best evenings of Shane’s life. 

Yuna and David had, indeed, come over for dinner. After a precautionary text, as requested, they’d shown up with armfuls of food. Shane had been nervous, anticipating that after the chaos of the unexpected outing of the day before, this more-planned meeting might not go as well. But he needn’t have been worried. Ilya melded into his life as easily as their bodies fit together. The dinner went by in flashes–Ilya and David in the kitchen fixing the salad while Shane and Yuna talked about upcoming sponsorship opportunities; Ilya, Shane, and Yuna bickering about the upcoming season over dinner while David wisely stayed quiet; David and Yuna asking Ilya questions about himself in a way that felt curious but not invasive while Shane grinned and kicked Ilya’s foot lightly under the table, the other man kicking back; Ilya and Shane sitting by the lake and watching the fish jump while David and Yuna insisted on cleaning up.

And now Shane sat in the living room with his mom, watching a replay of an old game on the TV while David and Ilya started a puzzle of all things, talking amicably at the nearby table.

“I know I shouldn’t take pictures,” Yuna murmured to Shane, pulling out her phone and tapping a few things as she spoke. “I’ll delete it, I promise. But I thought…you two looked so sweet. I couldn’t resist.”

And then, an image of himself and Ilya showed up on her screen. They were sitting side-by-side on the right edge of the dock, Shane pointing out to something on the lake, an easy, boyish smile on his face that looked truly carefree.

It struck him how he didn’t normally smile like that. The images online and in ads were usually so different; so unnatural. Others probably couldn’t see it–they didn’t know him. But this, this was his real smile.

And then there was Ilya. 

Ilya was on his far side but leaning out and turned a bit towards him, his whole face alight. Though it was clear from the photo that Shane had wanted Ilya to look at something, Ilya clearly only cared about watching him. The definition of starry-eyed, his grin was radiant, little crinkles in the corners of his eyes, his expression as free as Shane’s.

They looked so fucking in love.

Shane’s whole chest ached with a strange sort of melancholy happiness.

“Can you…can you print it first? Before you delete it?” he murmured, turning to Yuna.

She smiled softly. “Of course.”

gleam (again!) - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 293 

The moment before the first faceoff was always the best. The stares of the crowd pressing in, the pressure of everyone on the team relying on him to win the puck. Shane lived for these moments, no matter the game. But the first game against Boston after having Ilya at his cottage that summer?

Fuck, he could feel the arousal rolling off of Ilya in waves.

Their eyes locked while Ilya was still skating up to the line, heat flashing so white-hot that Shane was shocked the gleaming ice didn’t melt. Ilya, the asshole, smirked the smallest smirk, licking his lips, as he looked Shane up and down like a predator sizing up his prey, and fucking hell, Shane wanted to be devoured by him right then and there. Sure, they’d spent the night together a few weeks ago, had plans to spend time together tonight, but it still felt like it’d been forever, like he would die if Ilya didn’t touch him now.

He swallowed, trying to work his throat with a dry mouth, and got in position, trying to focus.

Then–

“Good summer, Hollander?”

That absolute asshole. Shane fought the need to grin, to blush, to jump on him, to scream at him, to stare at him like he was absolutely insane. Because damn, what kind of question was that?

But the referee seemed about ready to drop the puck and he needed a retort fast, something to wipe that gorgeous smirk from Ilya’s face, something to take back the upper hand. 

Just as the referee’s hand rose, it came to him:

“Hm. Spent most of it in bed,” he said, voice even and casual, eyes flicking up to Ilya before returning to the ice.

The puck dropped.

He fucking won.

missed - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 278 -minor TLG spoilers

"How many shots in your career do you think you've missed because you were distracted by this whole thing with Rozanov?"

Standing in front of the media scrum, facing the crowd of restless, hungry reporters, Shane felt like a sheep staring down a pack of wolves. It was his first time talking to reporters since the unfortunate FanMail incident, and he'd been anxiously anticipating this moment for days. He'd asked his coach to avoid it for just a little while, to be give some respite, but the man had just given him a cruel sneer and reminded him that 'actions had consequences,' leaving him with a sick feeling in his stomach.

It both made him feel worse and a thousand times better to know that Ottawa was protecting Ilya from a lot of this, vetting all reporters before they were allowed within ten feet of him.

So he took a few deep, calming breaths, a strategy Ilya had taught him, something he'd learned from Galina. Then, reminding himself of what Ilya had told him--that he was the best hockey player in recent history and all of these reporters probably were just jealous homophobes that wished they could be him--he rolled his shoulders back and pretended this was just like any other interview about Rozanov.

"Well," he said, face impassive as he raised one eyebrow. "I'd say since I currently hold the record for most goals scored in a season during the 2000s, probably a hell of a lot less than Rozanov, right?"

Nearby, Hayden let out a snort of laughter, clapping him on the back as the reporter gave him a dumbstruck look.

Yeah.

He would be fine.

wonder - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 293 - minor TLG spoilers

It took about five minutes for Svetlana and Rose to lock eyes across the crowded backyard, their brains seemingly on the same wavelength as the wedding attendees mingled and chatted after the ceremony, waiting for their turn to wish the newlyweds well.

Rose grinned at the other girl, walking toward her with purpose. They'd never been introduced before, but fuck, they would be having a conversation now.

Head high, shoulders square, she walked up to the tall, striking woman with a grin and stuck out her hand. "I’m Rose Landry," she said, beaming. "We have so much to discuss."

Svetlana didn't seem surprised at all to see her. On the contrary, she broke into her own knowing smile and shook her hand. "I am a big fan of your work," she acknowledged.

"Which work?" Rose smirked. "My acting, or my figuring out that Shane was ridiculously gay?"

This made the other girl smile even wider. "Oh, both. Definitely both. I wonder, should we compare notes? When did you realize that Shane was completely hopeless about my Ilyusha? Have you been pulling your hair out as long as I have?"

She laughed brightly, hair falling back a little as her head tilted. "Oh, probably about ten seconds after the first time he tried and failed to fuck me. It's a little sad, to see how down bad they are, hm? Has Ilya been desperate for him for that long, too?"

Svetlana snorted, rolling her eyes, as he placed a hand on Rose's shoulder. "Longer. Forever, I think. We can get drinks, then talk about our hopeless boys, yes?"

Draining the drink in her hand and gesturing to the bar, Rose nodded. "Hell yes," she grinned. Finally, someone to talk to about these insane men.

glory - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 475 - slight TLG spoilers

"Oh fuck."

It'd been mindless. He'd had a rare, lazy afternoon, laying around his house. He'd done his morning workout, had a smoothie for lunch, and then found himself with a few hours of free time before he was set to meet Hayden at the gym. So Shane allowed himself a moment to indulge--to scroll on Ilya's Instagram.

At least now that they were dating, now that they were engaged, he didn't feel like such a creep about it. Back when they'd been fuckbuddies, or whatever they were, the few times he'd allowed himself to get lost in the images of the other man on his phone screen had felt both thrilling and dirty. He'd known he shouldn't be looking, but damn did he refuse to rip his eyes away.

Now though, he argued with himself that he had a right to look. Ilya was his, so...couldn't he enjoy admiring a little? Plus, he didn't have any pictures of the other man from when they'd first started dating, so it was nice to reminisce, to see Ilya smiling during so many phases of his life.

Laying on his couch, Shane scrolled back through years' worth of Ilya's pictures, both grinning to himself and a little horny as he floated in the memories. That was Ilya from July 2017, the Ilya who had confessed his feeling for the first time at the cottage. That was Ilya from March 2017, the Ilya who had spoken Russian on the phone to him.

And...fuck. That was a picture of Ilya in 2014, winning the Cup. God, he looked so beautiful. Grinning, basking in the glory, he and his team hoisted the Cup in the air, looking so unbelievably proud. Though Shane obviously wished that he and his team could've won that year, he was still so proud of Ilya for his accomplishment.

It then struck him that now, he could save these pictures. They'd been outed, there was nothing to stop him. So he hovered his thumb over the screen and--

"Oh fuck."

He liked the damn picture. The picture from 2014.

Shane didn't know a lot about social media etiquette but he knew that was bad.

Scrambling, trying to figure out how to unlike a picture, he sat up, blood pumping. And then--

*Incoming call from Lily.*

"Fuck," he mumbled, blush forming on his cheeks. "Hello?" he answered.

"Hollander, you are obsessed with me!" Ilya said on the other end of the line as a greeting, sounding absolutely delighted. 

"I-It was a mistake!" he stuttered, horrified. "I didn't mean to-"

"Ah, but you are looking at my old pictures, malysh. You cannot deny," Ilya cooed, grin in his voice.

Shane sighed, unable t argue. "Fuck you," he murmured petulantly instead.

"Hm. Yes. Later. Enjoy my pictures for now."

Swearing, Shane hung up the phone. Fucking asshole.

believe - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 332 - TLG spoilers

“Marly!” Brad Hammersmith’s loud shout caused Cliff Marleau to look up from lacing his skates just in time for a phone to be shoved unceremoniously into his face. “Look at this shit!”

Pulling back a little to get a clearer view of the screen, Cliff felt his eyes nearly pop from his skull as he processed what he was looking at.

It was a picture–clearly a screenshot taken of some sort of recording–of Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander. Even this would have been enough to make Cliff pause. Having known Ilya Rozanov for years, having experienced the madness that was the Hollander-Rozanov rivalry firsthand, it was still odd to hear about his new friendship with Hollander.

But this?

“Are they fuckin’ kissing?” he gasped, grabbing the phone from Hammersmith and glaring at the picture.

They were. There Roz and Hollander were, locked in what appeared to be a very heated and very intimate embrace, like they did it all the fucking time. Cliff had no idea what to say.

“Insane, right?” Hammersmith asked, shaking his head and chuckling. “I mean, it’s Rozy…he’s always been a bit weird, right? So like…can’t be completely shocked, but..”

But Cliff was too busy having the biggest realization about his entire life. “Holy fucking shit,” he breathed, phone dropping from his hand. He ignored Hammersmith’s yelp of anger. “Oh my God.”

“You nearly cracked the screen, man! I know it’s surprising, but what the–?”

“No, no! Roz told me!” Cliff hissed, heart hammering, eyes wide.

“He what?”

“Yeah! He–like, maybe his second year on the team? I asked him why he couldn’t go out one night! And he just looks at me and goes, ‘I am obviously going to go fuck Shane Hollander, Marly, this is much more exciting than stupid club.’ But–fuck! I–I thought he was joking! Why would I believe–?”

“His second year?” Hammersmith breathed, utterly blown away.

They just gaped at each other, no idea how to proceed. Ilya Rozanov really was an enigma.

attached - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 485 

“You’re being an idiot,” Shane said to himself firmly as he glared at his utterly miserable-looking reflection in the rearview mirror, trying not to break down in the middle of the highway. “You’re being stupid.”

It wasn’t the best pep talk he’d ever given himself, but it was doing the job of helping him keep himself together.

It was just…he felt like he was dying. Like he’d left a crucial piece of himself on the curb at the airport. Like the small, halfhearted wave he’d given to Ilya as he’d driven off (because he couldn’t exactly kiss him, could he?) had just made this entire thing so much worse.

His chest was aching, his heart hammering, his eyes stinging, his stomach churning…it felt like he’d been checked hard into the boards, the wind knocked out of him, and he was wheezing on the cold ice, disoriented and alone.

The worst part?

They’d both known this was coming. They’d known they would have to go back to this, that their time at the cottage would end. It was so stupid, to get so attached, when now he felt the real world overtaking him. Sure, they’d made promises. Daily texts and facetime dates as much as possible. Monogamy and meetups whenever their schedules allowed. But did Ilya actually want that? With him?

The panic quickly overtook the misery, his heart thrumming in his throat.

“Fuck!” Shane hissed furiously, slamming his palm on the steering wheel, the first tear spilling over onto his cheek as he swerved a little. 

He was suddenly so terrified that he almost didn’t hear his phone ring. But when he looked over to see the word Lily on the screen, he nearly drove off the road trying to answer in time.

“Ilya,” he muttered desperately as soon as the line connected, unable to hide his emotions, hide the panic in his voice. The tears were falling thick and fast now and a quickly swiped at them with the hand holding his phone, trying not to cause an accident.

“Shane,” Ilya responded.

And…oh.

He sounded just as bad.

Hollow and wrecked and devastated.

Was it bad that Shane’s panic subsided a bit at that?

“I…how are you?” he asked, taking a huge breath and trying to calm himself.

But Ilya’s wry chuckle made his whole being hurt, his skin call for the other man’s touch. “Is stupid,” he murmured, “I miss you already.”

Shane let out a watery laugh. “Oh thank fuck,” he breathed, shaking his head. “Me, too.”

Ilya began laughing with him, filling Shane with aching longing. “You have ruined me, malysh,” he muttered in a tone that sounded almost adoring. “I…am not sad about this.”

“Same here.”

They laughed again, amusement almost harmonizing, making Shane feel warm, easing the pain.

So by the time they hung up, Shane could breathe again. It would be hard, but they could do this. Together.

loon - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 344 - very minor TLG spoilers

Community Service Day was something that Ilya always looked forward to. As a team, the Centaurs did their best to put aside a Saturday a few times a season to give back to their community, visiting hospitals or fixing up local parks. Ilya adored spending time with his teammates in such a low-stress way, and he had to admit that it felt good to be able to better the city that’d welcomed him so wholeheartedly.

Now that Shane was part of the team, these days were even more exciting.

Beaming and chattering from the back of the team bus, Ilya stopped himself mid-conversation with Bood to look up to Harris, who always planned these outings, when he saw the Social Media Manager stand at the front, clipboard in hand.

“Everyone, shut up!” he called to the team. “Harris is telling us how we will service community!”

Harris, grinning, winked at Ilya. “Thank you. Okay, today, one of our newest players, Shane Hollander, suggested we do something a little different!”

He was immediately cut off by a rousing chant of ‘Hol-ly, Hol-ly’ directed at a blushing Shane, who sat beaming next to Ilya.

“Okay, okay! So Shane pointed out to me that we’ve done a lot with people, but not as much for animals or the environment. He also said this particular cause is important to our captain–”

“Fuck yeah, Roz!”

But Ilya was confused…he didn’t have any environmental or animal charities he held particularly close to his heart. He glanced sideways at Shane, only to feel his stomach flip. Shane had the biggest, shit-eating grin. Oh, fuck.

“-so today,” Harris continued, still smiling, “we’ll be going to the Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge to help protect the local loon population!”

Ilya’s mouth fell open in shock as he turned to Shane, who was now laughing behind his hand. “Hollander!” he gasped softly, unable to stop himself from smiling. “You are trying to kill me!”

“Face your fears, Rozanov,” Shane retorted simply, still grinning like a madman.

And oh. Ilya loved his husband so damn much.

howl - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - slightly NSFW - word count: 652 

Shane did some of his best thinking at the cottage, during the warm summer nights, in front of a roaring fire. Something about the inviting air, the crackling of the logs, the howling of the loons in the night, and now, more recently, the security of Ilya’s arm around him, made him feel safe as his mind wandered, allowing him to reflect on things without becoming anxious.

He enjoyed being in his own head during these moments, wading in his thoughts, basking in the silence. It was a rare feeling.

It was during one of these quiet moments, as Shane stared thoughtfully into the flames, reminiscing about the past, that it occurred to him.

“Holy fucking shit,” he murmured, sitting up straighter and covering his mouth with his hands.

Ilya, lost in his own thoughts, jumped a little, turning to Shane. “What?” he asked, voice a little sleepy, accent strong. “You are okay?”

But Shane was too busy having an existential crisis. “I–yeah,” he murmured, turning away from his boyfriend.

Ilya, perceptive as he was, though, saw right through him. “Wait, no,” he said, a bit more curiously now, smile in his voice. “Malysh, you are blushing. Were you daydreaming about my cock?”

“No!” Shane denied, shooting Ilya a death glare, too adamantly to be casual. Fuck, he was not helping himself.

Ilya beamed. “Ah, what was it, then? My tongue? Big muscles, hm? The way I look when I c–”

“No, no! I just…I just realized something from when we were–when we were younger,” Shane muttered, shaking his head and closing his eyes for a moment. Shit, fuck, Ilya would never let him live this down.

“Ah, you realized you have been gay this whole time? Yes, is true, Hollander, my dick did not magically make you gay. As that singer with cool outfits says, we are Born This Way, so–”

“No, Rozanov, I just–” he took a deep breath, knowing he would tell Ilya eventually so it might as well be of his own volition. “I was just remembering how…like before we met? I used to watch tapes of you playing…a lot.”

Ilya looked at him for a moment, eyebrows pinching together. “So?” he asked confusedly. “I did also. I had to know my competition and you were closest thing to threat, so–”

But he wasn't going to rise to the taunt right now. “No, like…” he swallowed, feeling himself go redder. “Like I watched them a lot. Like…obsessively. Like I think I had a…” he trailed off, hoping Ilya got the idea and he wouldn’t have to say the embarrassing words out loud. Fuck, he felt like the first had spread to his skin with the way he was blushing.

But Ilya just looked absolutely tickled, his face lighting up in a huge, beaming smile. “A what, Shane?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “I do not know English, you have to help me understand.”

“You know plenty of English, you complete asshole,” Shane shot back, shoving him. 

But Ilya just grinned, waiting.

“A crush, you dick! I think I had a crush on you!” he gave in, swatting at Ilya’s shoulder. “Oh my God, how fucking annoying can you b–”

But he was cut off by Ilya’s lips on his, swept up into a hungry kiss that stole his breath away.

“Hollander,” Ilya murmured as he pulled back, letting Shane catch his breath and figure out which way was up.

“Hmm?” he asked dazedly, a stupid smile on his face.

“I hope you still have crush on me. Because I have crush on you,” Ilya whispered between them, like it was some sort of secret.

Shane couldn’t help but grin. “Maybe I do,” he answered, shrugging. “Just don’t tell my boyfriend.”

Ilya’s smile could have lit up the entire backyard. “Boyfriend,” he repeated, obviously still thrilled by the new term. 

The next kiss was just as hungry as the first.

fly (again!) - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - slightly NSFW - word count: 382 

“I’m coming to the cottage.”

Hearing those words, Shane resisted the urge to do something stupid like pinch himself or laugh hysterically. The image of Scott Hunter kissing a man on his television screen was still burning on the inside of his eyelids and his heart was hammering erratically, all of his nerves jangling, his hands shaking just a little. “I–really?” he murmured, mouth stretching into a dazed smile, highly aware of the fact that his parents were only one room away. What the fuck was his life right now?

“Yes. I–yes. If you still want.”

If you still want. Fuck, he wanted it more than anything. “Y–yes,” he whispered shakily, reminded of the first time they’d fucked, of the way he’d waited so long, how how worth it it’d been…he hoped this would be the same. “I want.”

“Okay. Good. When?” Ilya asked in a firm tone from the other end of the phone, his voice doing strange things to Shane’s already-racing heart.

Fly out tomorrow was his first thought, but that was terribly eager and sadly impossible. Shane was still in a sling for a few more days and Ilya no doubt had end-of-the-season obligations. Plus, Shane had to prepare. Go shopping, get Cokes and all of Ilya’s favorite things, make an excuse for why he wouldn’t be available. So instead he went for the much-more-casual, “Next week? Um, after the MLH Awards?”

“Yes. I will book flight,” Ilya agreed readily, voice tense.

“Alright,” Shane breathed, no idea what to say. Should he tell Ilya how fucking excited he was? How jittery and terrified the idea of weeks alone together made him, not because Ilya scared him but because fuck, that made this real? How right now, all he wanted was Ilya’s arms around him, a few moments alone with him to pretend they could have something that would last?

“Hollander? Shane?”

“Y–yes?”

“I am excited.”

His stomach flipped and tears inexplicably formed in his eyes. Fuck Rozanov for making him feel so much. It wasn’t fair, it was so dangerous, they should have walked away ages ago..

It was far, far too late now.

“Me, too,” he admitted, smiling a watery smile.

Ilya’s responding laugh made his whole body spark. “Goodbye, Shane. I will see you soon.”

“Bye, Ilya.”