Ji9star

David Hollander is definitely the type of man to randomly put on a song and pull his wife up to dance with him, especially if she’s stressing about something, or worrying, or upset, or just because. She will usually lightly protest, honey, I need to finish this email, but she’ll happily go along nonetheless.

David does it for the first time in front of Ilya when the boys are visiting and Shane and Yuna are planning (arguing) about something new brand deal.

He puts a song on the record player (Yuna has given up teaching him the Alexa), and he takes Yuna’s hand without a word. She protests that they need to plan out these contract terms and how his son is being difficult about it.

Shane starts to protest at that, but doesn’t get far until Ilya pulls him up to dance, too. A very embarrassed Shane goes willingly. He’s watched his father do this for years but never thought he would be pulled up to dance one day. From the fond looks from his parents, they probably didn’t either.

Shane meets Ilya’s smile with a half-hearted glare, but can’t deny swaying to the music in his boyfriend’s arms feels much better than stressing about a brand deal. Ilya makes a note to ask David for anymore tips and tricks.

Guys Ilya gets so good at knowing Shane’s needs. Like he just finds his way to make Shane comfortable, it becomes his most important job- to make the world more Shane shaped. His Shane, who’s pretty strong shoulders hunch and bundle and band with tension when it’s loudloudloud when it’s too much.

His Shane who can’t do too many noises his shane who finds some textures wrong, sensations sharp, lights overwhelming. His Shane who likes- needs things soft, his Shane who pushes, works, flourishes under fluorescent lights and on a ice cold rink and in skates that pinch, heavy layers of gear, gets pushed and slammed and then asked and photographed and posed. His Shane who needs things soft but lives in hard for so much of his time, for so long because of his passion for hockey, because he wants to fit in, because he wants to be good. Because the world isn’t made to be soft for him and he seems to accept it. His Shane who exhausts himself existing a lot of the time because it’s out of his comfort.

Ilya, however doesn’t think of one thing he wouldn’t try and change with his own to hands to make Shane feel safe, good. To make Shane realise he doesn’t always have to be good, that the world could owe him and accommodate go him to make it better. Ilya would bend anything to his will to make even one thing easier for Shane. And it’s small things at the start, he replaces his sheets in Boston with the ones Shane had at the cottage, at his apartment in Montreal (because he had been listening to Shane explain the high thread count and the softness of them even when he’d been pretending to shrivel up and die on the soft while Shane did laundry, he had been listening because he loves the boring Shane Hollander who cares deeply about the sheets he sleeps on).

Then it’s other easy things, tossing shirts and hoodies of his that seem to personally offend Shane. (He figures out quickly that it’s the synthetic and silk fibres that Shane hates most) and really it’s no chore because he loves the way Shane curls up into him like a content cat nuzzling his face into Ilyas shirt when it’s a fabric he likes (or even better, the best when Shane comes downstairs dressed in ilyas hoodie, sweat pants, his smile still a little shy all these years in like he’s getting away with something, like Ilya wouldn’t offer his heart from his own chest for Shane). Easy still to keep buying the body wash that Shane had loved, almost scentless but a clean soapy faint spicy smell, to get dimmers on all the light fixtures in his house in Boston (then in Ottawa). Easy to keep the volume a couple clicks lower on the action scenes in the movies he’s watching, to keep the bedroom cool and to play the games on his phone on mute.

It becomes natural to give Shane squeezes firm and strong on the back of his neck when he starts to get a bit too worked up, hands a little frantic (planning, talking, fighting, fucking). Its second nature to lay on top of Shane when he’s fidgeting while they try to relax (Shane is so bad at relaxing) to press his head to his chest and let his full body weight help sink Shane into the touch. He doesn’t even notice anymore letting Shane play with his fingers, his jumpers, his curls, fingers working soothing circles. (He really loves indulging Shane’s oral fixation, he’d feel greedy if he didn’t know how badly Shane needed it too, how he goes all glossy eyes and pliant and happy, sweet and calm and in his skin so comfortably with his mouth full of fingers or cock or Ilyas tongue. But also sometimes it’s Shane falling asleep after sex with ilyas thumb in his mouth, sucking it for comfort. Ilyas knows Shane won’t let himself have that unless it’s after sex, then he can hide it under being fucked out rather than desire. They don’t talk about it, but Ilya adores when Shane pulls his hand to his mouth just for that. He feels so needed, so good to help soothe shane)

There are bigger things that are harder to change, press conferences, lights of cameras, chaos of photoshoots, award nights where for so long Ilya just has to watch from a distance as his Shane winds up tighter and tighter and tighter because it’s all wrong (wrong sounds sights smells, too much too much) for Shane and Ilya has to wait and wait until they are finally alone and he can undo it for him, bring him back to himself safe and warm and comfortable, Ilyas. When he can be by his husbands side he does what he can to bend these to his will too, to offer the rookies or himself to do press after a long game or when he can see the twitch in Shane’s jaw the quiet of his eyes that tell ilyas he’s already a long way away in his head.

He keeps Shane tucked close to him at awards, gives them breaks away from it outside under the guise of him needing a smoke break. He enjoys it, caring for Shane, being the one to make a place for his boy to shine. To see his laugh soft and genuine with their teammates when they are out instead of it being tight and skittering. Love when Shane is relaxed enough to make jokes or indulge Ilya in a soft kiss, softened by not having to have his protective walls up from being overwhelmed.

It’s so easy, in a club or bar, to pull Shane into him, fit his head to his chest and to cradle Shane’s head in his large palm, hand fitted over his ear to muffle sounds, so worth it for the way Shane melts into him a little more, the way Shane can stay out longer and enjoy himself when Ilya makes it right for him.

And Ilya will never get over having the privilege of making the world more comfortable for Shane, the honour of knowing him so well.

shane falling asleep while cockwarming mmmmm just a thought

Like they're both laying in bed and of course they're all snuggled up and maybe shane starts lazily playing with ilya’s waistband. Nothing crazy, just lightly dragging his fingers along the band, nails softly scratching enough for ilya's tummy to tense every time his nails pass over a particular spot. Shane starts to notice ilya's cock thickening up, maybe it begins to throb and bounce every time shane's nails press a little harder. Shane looks up at ilya without saying anything, ilya already staring back down at him with a soft smile. Shane smiles back, turning his attention back to ilya's cock and begins to shuffle his way down the length of ilya's body. He palms ilya for a while, pressing small kisses into ilya's exposed hip that his cheek rested against. Eventually he tugs ilya's boxers down, sitting up enough to drag them down his legs and toss them towards the hamper in the room. He grips ilya's cock softly, hot little breaths fan over it as he stares in awe for a minute. He's always so entranced by the shape and weight, how beautiful it looks and how well Ilya knows how to use it. Shane smiles and presses little kisses to the tip, kitten licking the slit and closing his eyes as he finally tastes him. He wraps his lips gently around the head, suckling little by little until he pops off and turns to glance back up at ilya. Ilya has one hand propped behind his head, the other hand resting on his stomach. "Can i just keep it in m'mouth?" shane asks quietly. Ilya runs a hand through his soft black strands and smiles "take what you need, malysh." And so shane lays his head back down onto ilya's hip, his mouth lazily wrapping back around the heavy weight. He sucks softly, his lips wrapped around his teeth as he keeps his head in one spot. His tongue drags on the underside, licking in slow strokes, the hand that once held ilya's cock now draped across his hips and tugging him into his body. "So good, sweetheart. You feel good, yeah?" And shane lets out a sweet small hum, nuzzling his face further into ilya's hip. He begins to suck on the tip, his eyes fluttering closed as he focused on how relaxed and sweet he felt. He suckled and held on to ilya's thighs, relishing in the act. Eventually ilya starts to notice small puffs of air evening out on his pubic bone, shane's grip on his hip beginning to release just the slightest bit. He notices the way shane's jaw starts to slack, his lips still suckling like there's a pacifier in his mouth lulling him to sleep along with the hand petting his hair. He realizes shane has fallen asleep cockwarming him. Ilya smiles and feels his cock twitch at the sight, trying his best to keep himself contained as to not awake his sleeping beauty.

Luca staying with Shane and Ilya for a few days while his place is being fumigated. He’s lying in bed when Hollanov’s sex sounds fill his room. Luca sends a video to the team group chat (the one without Shane and Ilya). It’s of him staring blankly into the camera. In the background, you can clearly hear Ilya moaning loudly. Luca is like ‘I can’t listen to Shane suck Ilya’s soul out of his body for the next 2 days. Can I stay with one of you?’ and Troy is like ‘You can come over and listen to me suck Harris’s soul out of his body’ and the other players respond with similar stuff like ‘You’re welcomed to listen to me fuck my wife’ and Luca remembers he’s a hockey player with money and checks into a hotel.

sub top ilya reblog to spread the agenda

I do love the headcanon that Ilya and Cliff Marleau used to have threesomes during Ilya's Boston era. And Marleau 100% is the bro-y type that believes a threesome cannot POSSIBLY be gay if there's a girl involved and has literally zero doubts in his heart that he and his bestie buddy brother man captain Ilya are both entirely straight, despite kissing (full tongue in mouth) over the top of the girl they pulled together (ignoring her for a solid two minutes) at least once (it was multiple times).

Ilya, obviously, 100% knows that Marleau is at least a little bi, maybe a Kinsey 1 or 2? But he just sort of doesn't have the heart to break it to Marleau because he knows Marleau will have a whole crisis about it and Ilya doesn't have time for all of that rn. Also Ilya absolutely does not want to Awaken Marleau because if Marleau realizes that he likes Ilya then Ilya might have to deal with that and one extremely stressful and confusing secret affair with another hockey player is enough for him thank you!!!

This only comes up when Marleau comes out with the Ottawa guys after a Boston-Ottawa game post-TLG, and whilst drunk mentions the threesome thing and maybe the kissing thing while everyone else slowly exchanges extremely wide-eyed looks across the table.

Shane is incredibly displeased about literally all of this. It's Shane who eventually loses his patience and makes some crack about Marleau being in love with his husband (careful emphasis on his!!!! and husband!!!!) and Marleau goes. Oh yeah no we're just bros. No like. It was all super chill it doesn't count if your socks are on :)

This is when Troy bursts out laughing directly in Marleau's face.

So maybe Cliff Marleau calls in sick that game against Montreal. Or maybe Shane looks where he's going and doesn't get hit. Or maybe the hit just isn't even that bad. And Shane goes home that night and waits for Ilya in his apartment and when Ilya shows up, he's been psyching himself up for the last two hours to end this thing but then he just...can't. Shane is so softly pleased that Ilya is back, open in a way that he's never been before their phone conversations while Ilya was in Moscow, and the hit of having him again after all of that is like nothing Ilya has ever experienced. So they let it ride. And Shane does ask WillYouComeToMyCottage but crucially he is two orgasms deep and Ilya is still inside him and it has about the same effect as the morphine would have. So Ilya hits that "Maybe. Maybe." and Shane hmm's and reaches back to palm Ilya's hip, press him in closer, and they let it ride.

So it becomes real but not at the same time. So they call each other in the evenings, a few times a week, not too much. Ilya sends texts that say You looked good in Buffalo tonight, great game and Does your hole feel empty without me and, worst of all, he texts things like Did your sink ever get fixed I know the dripping was driving you crazy. And he forces himself not to think about what any of it means. And he doesn't stop. Doesn't even really think about stopping, anymore.

He lets his teammates think that things are getting serious with Montreal Girl, because it's a good excuse for why he's not pulling and the guys have formed a narrative that makes sense. Of course Rozanov is settling down now. He just buried his father. Those kinds of things put life into perspective. Time to get serious, time to be a man. He's gonna get a wife and have a couple of kids and slap the Rozanov name on all of them and make dearly departed Papa so very very proud.

Some of it is not untrue, if one considers that Shane IS Montreal Girl, and things are getting serious. Serious in a hot, messy way that neither of them completely knows what to do with. As a younger man, as the kid he really no longer is, Ilya always assumed that this kind of thing would feel like a fucking prison--and it does, but in almost the exact opposite way of what he'd supposed. The bars aren't to keep him in, but to keep Shane out, and it's feeling more and more like Shane is bending the bars, pushing them out of the way and sneaking into the cell with him, and fuck if it's the only thing Ilya wants, to live in this prison with Shane. And maybe they can leave it together someday. But he never says any of it.

The Metros make the playoffs, number three seed against the Admirals' number two. And the first major upset of the playoff season occurs when the Metros knock the Admirals out in game seven of the series after some particularly nasty hockey is played on both sides. Scott Hunter was playing like he had something to prove and Shane Hollander was playing like a man who had nothing to lose--because a two-time Stanley Cup winning captain going for his third actually, really does have nothing to lose.

The Metros go home in the Conference finals. Boston sends them home. They do not even make it to the fucking couch that night. Ilya fucks Shane on the goddamn floor in the entryway of his house, in front of the windows, presses bruises on top of bruises. Shane is feral, biting and snarling and only submitting when Ilya puts a hand against the back of his neck and says, “Who do you fucking belong to?” and Shane says, “You, fuck, it’s always been you,” like it’s being drawn from him with a knife.

Ilya Rozanov wins his second Stanley Cup on a June night in Nashville. He still hasn't slept when his back hits the sheets of a hotel suite he doesn't remember walking into, six o'clock in the morning with dawn behind the curtains. Shane is up for his morning jog. He says he's taking it along the lake. He says he watched the game with his parents the night before. He goes quiet on the other end of the line and Ilya drunkenly hums a tune he heard at some point during the night.

Shane says, "I'm so fucking proud of you, baby," and that, too, sounds like it's being ripped from his unwilling body. There is so much love and jealousy and affection and spite wrapped up in it that Ilya can only laugh. It has never felt more strange, that they are the only two people in the entire world who know about this. This beautiful, awful, insane thing they do. The fact that they cannot talk about it, even to each other.

Ilya goes to Russia.

Ostensibly, he is tying up loose ends. He is visiting his mother's grave. He is giving his niece presents while she stares at him like she doesn't remember him putting her on his shoulders when she was little. Because she probably doesn't. And God knows what her father has said about him, now that she is old enough to understand. It's supposed to be a one-month trip. When the summer spits them out onto training camps, Ilya has only been back in the States for 72 hours.

He has spent the entire summer calling Shane as the moon rises in Moscow, to the point where Shane had eventually confessed to him that his dick had started having a Pavlovian reaction to the clock in his living room announcing that it's gone two o'clock.

Ilya has gone so long without having any thought about fucking someone who isn't Shane, in fact, that he doesn't even think to vocalize any of it. It's just a part of his being now. This brain that sometimes thinks awful things, and these hands that were built to play hockey and throw punches and touch freckles. This dick that only gets hard for Shane Hollander. Ruined for everyone else.

(One time, over the summer in Russia, a girl approached with that familiar look on her face and he'd leaned over and shook his head and said, "I'm married," just to feel the words in his mouth. It hadn't felt like a lie.)

So too much has been said. Or not enough. Or the right things, but to the wrong people. Sveta knows about Jane. She probably has her suspicions on who he is. Ilya is sure that Shane has not said fucking word to anyone, save perhaps Rose Landry. There have been a few implications. But nothing has been said.

So he opens the door to Shane after the first Boston-Montreal matchup of the season and it's perhaps only the third or fourth time they've been together since Tampa. And so much is left unsaid. And so much has been said. And Ilya's body craves Shane's like a fucking addict. It's not his fault that they, again, don't make it to the bed. The couch is close enough.

Shane thinks it's funny--he's in fine form, body moving atop Ilya's with only the absolutely necessary clothes removed. Joggers, underwear. The socks and the crewneck sweatshirt (Metros logo, tiny 24 over the breast almost like a kid with his name sewn into the collar) and the fucking baseball cap he'd worn for anonymity in the cab all stay on. He's panting by the end, overheated in his layers, laughing and running his fingers over Ilya's jaw and telling him that the beard burn on his thighs from playoffs took an entire week to heal. Ilya tells him You loved it and Shane blushes and arches and says, "Yeah, I did," and he's glorious.

Then Ilya lifts him off and slaps his ass and sends him marching into the bathroom with a command to make himself decent again, which Shane scoffs at even as he walks away, awkward swing to his step, wet trail down the back of his thigh.

He is not so glorious when he returns.

He wears a pair of Ilya's sweatpants and he smells like Ilya's soap but he's frowning and he puts himself a whole cushion away from Ilya. When Ilya scooches to him, showing off his shoulders just a bit, Shane watches him come but pulls his face away when Ilya tries to kiss him.

"Baby," Ilya pouts against his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Shane mutters. And the thing is, Ilya knows that Shane is lying. He also knows that if something spooked him this bad a year ago, he would have been ten minutes gone already. Ilya knows that he is trying.

"What scared you?" Ilya murmurs. "Hm? I bet if you tell me, I can explain."

Shane twists his head to the side again, but this time it's more like he doesn't want to be seen. Ilya sees his jaw tense, untense.

"I just don't think it's very fair," Shane says after moment.

"What is not fair, lyubimyy?"

"You..." Shane scoffs, draws a hand through his hair. "You'll fuck her in your bed, but when I show up you--fuck me on the couch or the floor--"

"Shane," Ilya says. "What did you see?"

"Her fucking--" Shane sighs, and says the word bra under his breath like some people say fucking, but Shane Hollander does everything backwards, it sometimes seems, "is on top of your laundry bag, and your bed's a mess. How recently was she here?"

"Shane," Ilya says.

"I get it, you know. I--maybe I don't love it, honestly, but I do get it. We don't see each other much, and even if we did, it's--" Shane sighs, squeezes his eyes shut. "It's not like I can expect anything. I get that. But could you just...I don't know, is it too much to ask that you change your sheets after you've been with her? Before I get here?"

"Hollander."

"Is that too much to ask?" Shane sounds like he's genuinely asking. Like he actually thinks he's toeing over some invisible line between them.

"The bed is a mess because I am bad sleeper," Ilya tells him, not ungently. He doesn't say, You would know this if you had ever once stayed. Doesn't say it because they've beat that particular horse dead. They've both made their apologies. Several months of cross-continental Skype calls leaves a lot of time to talk things out, once the jerking off is over.

Shane scoffs. "Whatever."

"No, is true." Ilya smacks a kiss onto his shoulder, and then onto his neck. "I kick like donkey. And I took a nap before you came, because I wanted to stay up all night and fuck you very nicely right until you have to leave in the morning."

Shane shudders and gapes and says, "We'd have to sleep at some point."

"You could. I wouldn't mind."

Ilya sees the shudder that runs through him, and the dilation of his pupils, and the very deliberate way that he visibly shelves that train of thought to take back down later.

"The bra?" Shane mumbles.

"Has probably been here for years. When I find it, I send it to laundry with everything else. I do not know where it always hides."

"That's..." Shane screws up his face. "Sort of too stupid not to be true."

"Is truth. Would you like to hear another truth?" Ilya waits patiently for Shane to give his little furrow-browed nod. "You are only person I have ever fucked on the floor. Only person who ever wanted it that bad. Only person slutty enough to let me."

Shane's inhale is deep, shuddery. His whole chest expands with it and he swings his face away from Ilya like his breath on his face is too overwhelming. Ilya grins.

"Ask me," Ilya whispers. "Ask me how many people I've fucked this year."

Shane clears his throat. "How many?"

"One."

Another gasp.

"Now ask me the other thing," Ilya whispers. "Ask me for what you want, Hollander."

Shane's lips part to admit his tongue between them, pink and wet. Ilya watches his lips curl over his teeth, his eyes dilate, and he knows that he is absolutely fucked.

"Fuck me," Shane whispers. "Just me. Please. Make me yours. Be mine."

Ilya stands up, pulls Shane along with him. In a move that's becoming quite practiced, he gets his hands under Shane's thighs and lifts him, and all 200 pounds, six feet of hockey player are in his arms easily.

"Where are we going?" Shane asks, though he clearly knows the answer.

"Bed," Ilya says. "I'm taking you to bed."

Another sweatsuit Ilya because thinking about this while high last night made me laugh

Sleepy boys 💤

Happy birthday Ilya ❣️ From orgo_HR:

Shane is spoiled. He knows that, his parents know that, his teachers, teammates, coaches, etc. He’s not blind to it. He would try in highschool but he couldn’t bring himself to care about algebra when his backhand needed work and he was preparing for international championships. Since he was first scouted for top youth teams at 10 and he started his first development camp, he knew he was headed to the NHL. His teachers had no problem passing papers that shouldn’t have passed, or folding to the weight of his mother’s emails when she demanded his homework be excused. Ms. Hammerson used to say, just remember little old us when you’re famous, dear and stamp an A on his lackluster book report. He’s an only child, an athletic prodigy, and the only grandchild on both sides of his family. Since he was 18, he’s been rich. Even before that, his family was comfortably middle class. He’s had twice weekly house cleaners, private nutritionists, prep chefs, personal trainors, agents, personal shoppers, stylists, wealth managers, accountants, his mother acting as conductor to everything, and so many more advantages. He’s used to hearing whatever you need, Shane. Don’t worry about it, Shane. Focus on the game, Shane, don’t worry about this. So yes, Shane is very spoiled. No is not a word he hears very often. 

“No.” 

They were sitting on his parent’s couch towards the end of their first summer in the cottage. Yuna and David were cooking and Shane was in the middle of watching a hockey game before Ilya, after a sideways glance, plucked up the remote and switched channels. 

Shane blinks. “Give me the remote, Ilya.” 

“Hm,” Ilya said, who is just as spoiled, but did grow up with an older brother. “Nope.” 

“I was watching that game.”

“Is old recording,” Ilya said, flipping through channels without looking over. “It is my turn now.”

“Your turn?” Shane said. “This is my parent’s house. Give it.”

“Your parents house, my turn.”

Shane made to grab the remote and then Ilya did the unthinkable. 

He yanked his hand up, away from Shane. “Go away, Hollander, I’m watching Ancient Aliens."

“Ilya.”

“Shane.” 

That’s when Shane reached again and Ilya - Ilya flicked him. 

“You - you!” And Shane pounced. 

“Give me the remote!” 

“Nyet!” 

“You’re being a child!”

“You are not respecting turns!” 

“Turn it back!” 

The wrestled - Ilya only had one hand to fight with since the other was holding the remote far away from Shane’s grabby hands. Of course, neither one was using their full strength and Shane’s playful smile betrayed his actions. At one point, he tucked the remote under his chest and curled around it, but that led to Shane rolling them both off the couch. Now on the rug, Shane had just put hands on the edge of the remote when they heard a sharp - 

“Boys!” 

They both whipped their heads around to see a wide-eyed Yuna taking in the messed up couch, blankets strewn around, cushions everywhere, her son and his boyfriend tangled together on the rug, Shane's fingers brushing the remote Ilya was holding away from him.

Ilya, having more experience, immediately took the opportunity. “Yuna! Shane is not letting me have turn.” 

“Shane,” her eyes zeroed in on Shane and narrowed. “Ilya is our guest.”

“But! Ilya isn’t a guest, he’s my boyfriend.”

“And he’s my guest. Honestly, you two.” 

“I will clean pillows, Yuna,” Illya suggested sweetly. 

“Thank you, honey.”

“But!”

“It would be nice for you to offer to clean sometimes, Shane,” Yuna uncrossed her arms. 

“Yeah, Shane,” Illya smirked and it filled Shane with an unreasonable amount of rage. 

“Dinner is almost ready,” Yuna said. “Shane, come help me.”

“But mom!” 

Yuna turned to go back into the kitchen, catching her husband’s amused glance. 

As Shane trudged into the kitchen, David told Yuna, “we always wondered what two would be like.”

“Mh,” Yuna said quietly as David wrapped an arm around her. “I haven’t seen Shane play like that for a long time.” 

Sveta breaks her leg and she lives in a stupidly pretty loft apartment with nowhere to sleep downstairs so Ilya offers her a spare room at the cottage over the summer to recover in since she will basically have her own space.

Except that Ilya and Svetlana have their own routine together, even outside of them hooking up prior. They grew up together, mamas taking pictures of them in the tub together, no boundaries between them bc that’s just how they are. It’s why they slept together in the first place. Who better to try stuff with than the person who’s grown up with you?

Shane thinks he’s prepared for this, knows Ilya in and out but the first time that Sveta picks spinach out of Ilyas teeth like it’s second nature, he feels like he should be jealous but he’s not. He laughs when Ilya barges into the bathroom while she’s showering just to piss because he’s too lazy to go upstairs. He can’t even be mad when he hears the shower door open and Ilya’s affronted scream when Sveta turns the shower on him to run him out. (She happily mops the water up afterwards anyways so the only victim is a damp Ilya who mopes about having to change clothes)

Shane doesn’t really fit into their dynamic naturally and he’s okay with it, has a weird sense of loss when he watches them but he’s so happy to see that childlike joy from them that it doesn’t even really matter to him.

Except Ilya is gone for a whole two days for a sponsorship photoshoot and Shane is left with Svetlana alone for the first time that isn’t a few hours or less. It’s easy at first, nothing new. Except that he wakes up to the sound of her sobbing the first night.

Shane bursts into her room, scared out of his mind and already halfway through calling Ilya when she tries to just tell him to leave. To let it go and that she’s just being stupid bc she’s in pain. Shane doesn’t let it go though, coaxes it out of her that she has chronic back issues, ones that are debilitating some days and she normally soaks in a hot bath but her stupid broken leg means she can’t and nothing is helping anymore. She tries to shoo him out, apologizes for waking him up but Shane stops her. Tells her he will be back before he digs the fancy Epsom salts out of his own stash.

He easily finds some tiny candles, a soft floral scent that’s similar to the perfume she always wears, and lights them in the bathroom before dimming the lights and running a nearly scalding bath. He grabs the plastic sheeting and waterproof tape they keep in every bathroom because they’re athletes and they have to be able to waterproof injuries at a moments notice. He takes it back to Svetlana who’s already trying to pretend she’s going back to sleep.

“Come on, I’ve got you.”

She tries to protest, says she doesn’t need someone babying her, to which Shane rolls his eyes and asks her if she wants him to call Ilya who will absolutely force her to let him help if he doesn’t try to fly home immediately.

She finally lets him tape her up, not really sure where it’s going but trusting Shane bc Ilya trusts him. She startles a bit when he scoops her out of bed like she weighs nothing. He brings her into the bathroom, setting her carefully on the edge of the bathtub. He’s gentle when he helps her out of her clothes, eyes carefully diverted even though she knows he’s never looking at her like that. There’s a little hammock on the edge of the bathtub, and when he helps her into the hot water he tucks her injured leg as much out of the water as possible.

The heat is incredible, and her eyes tear up with the relief her back feels. When he turns to leave she grabs his hand, voice low as she asks him to please stay. She can’t have Ilya right now, but Shane is willing to be there and no one else ever has outside of her Ilya. Shane smiles, rolls up his pant legs and sits himself on the edge of the tub. They talk about nothing and everything until the water is cold and her back has stopped spasming enough that her pain meds are gonna be able to kick in finally. Shane is as calculated as ever when he lifts her out, heated towels already set up for him to wrap around her. She dries herself off, and Shane helps her get dressed again before carrying her back to her room even though she insists she can get back with her crutches.

When he goes to leave after tucking her into bed, she tangles her fingers in his and offers him the other half of the bed.

“I hear you, moving around when he’s not home. I know it’s hard to sleep without him.”

Shane hesitates for a moment, but he slides into the bed with her anyways. He know Ilya doesn’t care. He’s found them tangled up asleep together countless times over the years, but it’s never just been just the two of them.

Ilya comes home early the next morning, expecting to surprise both of them but when he checks on Svetlana first and finds both of them tangled up together, his heart nearly bursts from his chest. He slides into next to Shane quietly (after taking 30 pictures of them)

It wakes Shane just a little bit but Ilya shushes him, kissing him quietly before wrapping his arms around Shane’s waist. He can hold hands with his Sveta this way too and even in her sleep she squeezes his fingers gently.

It’s the best sleep that Ilya has gotten in a long time.

Shane's not freaking out. Its fine. Its fiiiine.

Ilya left with Harris and Troy to get fitted for his best man suit for the upcoming Drover-Barrett wedding hours ago. He'd sent a very sexy selfie from the changing room, linen suit pants hanging loose on his waist, white dress shirt draped over his shoulders and unbuttoned down the chest, stupid lopsided grin with laugh lines and crinkles around his eyes (fuuuuuck, why are Ilya's crows feet doing it for him lately? Definitely not going to unpack that one).

But hours later and still no text from Ilya. Shane doesn't want to be clingy. He knows the Centaurs see him and Ilya as a two-headed, codependent entity (which, honestly, fits in with the whole Centaur thing, wait no, Shane, don't lose the plot here). But he's starting to worry. Every now and then, Ilya will enjoy a beer since starting his SSRI, but never more than one, and he's always been completely fine. But still, Shane's brain is picturing awful scenarios, and he's practically thrumming with anxiety.

So Shane's anxiety wins and he dials Ilya. It rings a few times, and his heart fills with relief at the static crackle and rush of air filling the speaker. "Hello, Lyubimyy," Ilya purrs.

"Fuck, Roz, where the hell are you?"

"In the car, driving home from the bar. I'll be home in about 20 minutes. Just have to make a quick stop on the way."

Shane lets go of a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Okay. But if you're not home by 8, I'll suck my own dick."

There's a muffled gasp, but it doesn't sound like Ilya. He hears a tinny voice in the background. "Can he really do that?" it asks incredulously. Troy. Motherfucker.

He hears Ilya scoffs. "No. Wait. Can you really do that?'

"I bet its the yoga," another voice says. Harris. Fuck.

Shane blinks. His voice goes dangerously quiet. "Ilya," he starts. "Am I on speakerphone?"

"What?" Ilya squawks indignantly. "You are always so worried about me driving and talking, so I use the bluetooth."

"Ohhhhh well in that case," Shane says in a fake cheerful voice. "But you might have mentioned it before I STARTED DESCRIBING SEX ACTS IN FRONT OF OUR FRIENDS!" Shane yells.

"Shane," Ilya whines.

"Don't you 'Shane' me."

Ilya sputters. "I like to be hands free!"

Harris snickers in the background. "Apparently Shane likes to be hands free, too."

"Dude," Troy says. "You think he, like, can bend in half?"

Ilya growls. "Stop picturing it, Barrett!" he yells, presumably into the backseat. "Your fiance is literally next to you."

"Oh it's cool, Harris says Shane is my hallpass. Or, you know, Hollpass."

Ilya sighs. "Shane, we will fight about this later. I need to go kill Troy." And the call disconnects.

And dammit, now Shane's hard again.

shane is the star captain of the hockey team at his college in boston. ilya goes to one of home games either on his own or maybe sveta drags him to one. he sees shane and becomes absolutely obsessed and starts hard-core stalking the fuck out of him. shane figures it out but uh... he kinda Really likes it and Really wants his stalker to progress things.....

eh? ehh?

ilya rozanov who’s known to boston as the mysterious fuckboy from russia who chirps like he’s getting paid for it and is crazy good at hockey. one day a teammate is absent from a few games in a row and turns back up to practice with a fucking newborn and they’re all in their hockey gear fawning over this tiny baby. then once everyone’s said hi before practice, the crowd parts and ilyas just stood by the doorway, a literal deer in headlights staring at the bundle of blankets in his teammates arms and-

“do you wanna hold him?”

ilya’s moving forward before he can process the words and everyone’s holding their breath as he gathers the newborn into his arms, pausing to take his gloves off first. it’s a few tense seconds before the baby babbles and shifts slightly before tucking his head into the crook of his arm and swiftly falling to sleep.

ilya looks up to see his whole team stifling grins, “i think we’ve found the new babysitter” and he bites back a chirp because he doesn’t want to wake the baby he’s holding so delicately to his chest.

he’s stuck on the sidelines for the whole practice while he rocks the baby through the slams against walls, waving its little arm towards its dad when it eventually wakes up.

and yeah pictures surface soon after of fucking rozanov staring down at the baby in his arms with the fucking softest eyes and twitter has a field day proving he’s a softie at heart

find - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 385 - NSFW - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

One bottle. 

That is how much wine Shane is going to limit everyone to from now on.

Because right now, sitting in his living room with three very wine-drunk individuals, he is about three seconds away from exploding with embarrassment.

Well. At least a very red-faced Ilya looks like he is having the time of his life.

"Okay, okay, okay, I need to know," Rose Landry says, slurring her words a little and waving her hands wildly to Svetlana, who is sprawled across a couch. "Rozanov. Is he really as good as everyone says?"

"Rose!" Shane hisses at her, scandalized.

Ilya looks like Christmas has come early.

"You could at least ask me! His husband!" Shane continues, annoyed.

But Rose scoffs. "You're in love with him, babe, of course you'll say he's fabulous. I need real answers. For…science."

All eyes go to Svetlana, who is grinning. "He is...very good, yes. Takes direction well. Can...find important places well enough, if you know what I am saying. I would recommend to a friend."

Rose giggles, Ilya beams, and Shane furrows his eyebrows. "Find...what the fuck?" he mutters, looking over at Ilya.

This, for some reason, makes Svetlana giggle. "Ah, poor Rose. Hollander is not as good at hide-and-seek as his husband, hm?"

Shane is still bewildered while Ilya is laughing so hard that tears are streaming from his eyes. 

"Honestly, he tried very hard!" Rose answers in a voice that suggests she's sticking up for Shane, and he can't help but feel thankful even though he's utterly lost. "Like...you know! Most men don't even care. He...made an effort!"

But Shane's not stupid enough to take this as a compliment. "Jesus, glowing review, Rose," he mumbles, covering his face with his hands.

Ilya finally finds his voice. "I do not know what you are talking about, Rose Landry," he says through laughter. "Hollander and I have never had these problems. I wonder what difference is?"

Everyone laughs again–even Shane gives a reluctant chuckle. 

It's not until about an hour–and another bottle of wine between them–later that it hits him.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, leaning into Ilya and blushing red.

"What, malysh?"

"...the clit. You guys were talking about finding the clit," he mutters, and Svetlana, Rose, and Ilya promptly burst into laughter again.