Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandom:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Carter Vaughn, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Same Team Au, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Jealous Shane Hollander, POV Alternating, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Bad Flirting, Bottom Shane Hollander, Minor Original Character(s)

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Inspired By... Hollanov

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-09 Words: 3,820 Chapters: 2/2

It takes two to tango

Summary

Shane decides to play Ilya’s game of being flirtatious, and it’s a failure… unless

Notes

This happened in an AU where they were on the same team, based on Boston Boys by xpityx.
i love same-team AU from the beginning, and I also like reading fic. This is my first fic. I would say, to understand the context, you have to read the first five chapters of Boston Boys fics. I think most of the time we see possessive Ilya, angry-kitten Shane, but not always Shane being flirtatious on purpose. And I think (because I also work on the specific kind of Quebec nationalism that produces a very constrained identity for racial minorities), Shane will benefit from the kind of Boston multiculturalism compared to Montréal-Hockey (different from the larger Montreal social dynamic). It will be two chapters, something for chapter 2. I might do a series of one-shots based on fics that I like.
So this is my new hobby between preparing for a course and writing an academic article.

See endnote for the books that inspired the character's research. (I am a social scientist researcher working on the sociopolitical/antagonism history of Black and Asian communities’ sociopolitical/antagonism history in the U.S.)

• Inspired by Boston Boys by xpityx

Chapter 1: Faillure

Chapter Notes

October 2017 

Angry kitten was Ilya’s favorite description of Shane’s face when he is silently jealous, staring at Ilya.

But tonight Shane was feeling different, maybe it was the hat trick he delivered a few hours ago against the Admiral, assuring a victory for their team, or being woken up by Ilya with a fantastic blowjob, or maybe it was the life in Boston starting to settle in him. Shane was enjoying a kind of flexi-anonymity in Boston. He was NHL famous, but not US sports famous. Of course, hockey fans recognized him, and maybe sports fans in general, but he was not Naomi Osaka, Messi, or Serena Williams, who get recognized even by non-sports fans. Montreal is a large Canadian city with more population than Boston, yet Boston feels larger and more dense. Yes, Montreal is very diverse, but Boston breathes diversity: Latin-American, Asian-American, African-American, Indigenous-American, in addition to a very large international crowd from the many universities.

Shane enjoyed the fact that his (limited) "party" life (mostly post games) was not completely embedded in hockey-adjacent spaces, being in a team where many players grew up in the city or the state, meaning that they have friends and family around, not linked to the NHL; the world seems bigger, instead of the locker-room extension that Montreal’s tight circle felt like. Tonight was another extension  Kip was in town for a conference at Boston University, and Vaughn’s genius sister, Brittany,  Ph.D. student in African-American Studies at Harvard (and whom Smith, a Boston Raiders defenseman, was in love with since meeting her last year, but also petrified she was out of his league, because she was), was celebrating a big fellowship. Vaughn had paid for the semi-privatization of Soho House Boston. The hockey players present were the non-problematic ones, teammates and friends of Hunter, the cool ones of Boston; the other guests, mostly friends of Brittany and Kip, were graduate students in doctoral programs,  different from the girls, and the queer vibe. In the non-privatized space of the Soho House, the usual crowd, with an influx of model-like women, for the great pleasure of Marleau and other forever-single players.

The music was not loud or overwhelming, and the space had multiple lounges besides the main space and a terrace, so Shane felt less out of place than at the usual bar/club post-game. Also, seeing Scott and Kip displaying PDA (and other queer couples he did know, maybe Brittany’s or Kip’s friends) made him happy (and jealous). Of course, extroverted Ilya is at the bar; he was already surrounded by beautiful women, three, with one advancing her game faster than the others. Since the infamous time in 2016, when he left a club in a similar situation, Ilya has been more careful, putting distance, smiling, but pivoting, and often after 1h or 2h a round, coming to sit next to Shane. But tonight, Shane felt the familiar choreography of their secret relationship needed a little shaking up.

Because even if he had no doubt that Ilya would not do anything with those women or any woman, and that he would leave with him, it still bothered him,  because he suspected that Ilya enjoys the teasing, the angry-kitten face, the possessive sex that followed. As it takes two to dance tango, Shane had decided that he, too, could flirt. He was not immune to people hitting on him, but he was, most of the time, totally oblivious, regardless of gender. That did not prevent Ilya’s jealousy, but contrary to Ilya, he never engaged in flirting as a game or (unilateral) forplay.

Shane's Gaydare was limited, to say the least, but he at least understood symbols. He spotted Kip, Brittany, and three other people, one of them a tall, handsome Asian man with a flag pin, seated in a comfortable chair in a discussion. He joined them, and without looking, he knew Ilya was following him. Ilya was always monitoring where Shane was, whether he was comfortable, and jumping into conversation if needed to save him. He felt Ilya’s gaze; maybe he pivoted from the bar to continue to have an eye on Shane.

Shane sat at the table, unnecessarily introducing himself, and learned more about the others. The three, in addition to Brittany, who was working on Black people cross-dressing to escape slavery, Yann and Amber were in the same panel as Kip in a race, gender, and sex section of history studies, Yann working on post-9/11 use of homonationalism in the Middle East, and Amber on archives on the journal of adolescents in Boston orphanages. The handsome man, Iro, was Japanese-American, a Ph.D. student at Northwestern. He was tall, taller than Ilya ( because, of course, any handsome comparison was always compared to his Ilya), but lean, with perfect hair and a very American white smile, crisp clothes, looked like a COS model.

After the presentation, Shane felt a bit impressed; his life was hockey, and he did not go to college, even though he read a lot..of hockey books. But he was surprised that their conversation was both comprehensive and funny, given that they mostly commented on memes and gossip. They talked about being Japanese-American and the differences between being Japanese-Canadian and Japanese-American, as well as the difference between being WASIAN and not, since both Iro’s parents were Japanese, and his maternal side of the family arrived in California from Japan in 1926. Unlike Shane, Iro spoke Japanese fluently and, thanks to the San Francisco school system, went to a dual-language school.

Shane’s flirt plan was sinking in real time, as his flirtatious super-plan was overpowered by the depth and exciting conversation. They laughed about common Japanese grandparent shenanigans; Iro talked about his research on the lives of picture brides who immigrated to America in the early 1900s. They talked about identity, model minority myth, and Iro made a joke with Brittany about educating himself to not have the most annoying kid, as Brittany stated, “Blasian are the most annoying combo.” Shane was surprised, he seemed young to have a kid, of course, Hayden already had (many kids), but he was kockey old, Shane was under the impression that 25-ish graduate students were not on the same timeline.

“Oh, you have kids,  you're married?” Shane said, looking at the flag pin marked “We’re queer, and we’re here.”

“I have a husband, actually. I know I am basically a child bride, lol. He is a librarian... Jamaican-American and spent his time sending me video of Blasian being ..Blasian.”

Shane was totally unaware of the reputation; in truth, he found himself very unaware of the subset of cross-cultural communities. When he was in Montreal, he often envied JJ, an embodiment of Haitian-Canadian culture, as the city was very marked by the Haitian presence. JJ had hockey, but he was also up to beat every Haitian in the city with other groups of friends (a lot of parties, but also cultural events). Iro and Brittany went in depth and detail to explain to Shane the breakdown of the annoying-to-problematic pipeline for mixed kids, using an Instagram video, an article, and even a Vang diagram drawn on a napkin (white mom, non-white mom, combo, mixed with two people of color parents, etc.).

At some point, Smith got the courage to ask Brittany if she wanted a drink. Vaughn was sending concerned looks from his seat, and Brittany smiled, "Oh my goodness, finally big man," left with him. Kip went to find his man. Yann and Amber disappeared suspiciously together. Left alone, Shane and Iro talked more, Iro showing pictures of his husband and their two cats. They laughed more at some meme, as they exchanged numbers, Iro sent him a list of novels he thought he would like, and Shane explained the rules of hockey. I tried to convince him that it was better than rugby.

The conflict of being seen, of sharing, to his surprise, Shane, without saying it clearly, let it be known that he also had a “someone,” a “he,” and Iro understood, and they talked more about perception of masculinity, family pressure, and identity. They drink more soft drinks; Iro did not drink due to a "complicated relationship with it," and Shane was the designated driver for Ilya and St Simon (mostly Ilya, the depth of St. Simon's tongue in the mouth of a blonde woman at the bar left no doubt where he would finish the night)

Shane no longer cared that his plan to flirt with Ilya and tease him had been a complete (amazing) disaster. They were wrapping up their conversation, making a plan to keep in touch and send more memes, recipes, and videos, when Ilya crashed next to Shane: 

“Shane, I am drunk, I need to get home, give me key, don’t want to disturb you with your friend. Will drive home, maybe die.”

Chapter End Notes

Black on Both Sides: A Racial History of Trans Identity by C. Riley Snorton

The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka

Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times by Jasbir K. Puar

Racial Melancholia, Racial Dissociation: On the Social and Psychic Lives of Asian Americans By David L. Eng and Shinhee Han

Chapter 2: and they were roomates

Chapter Summary

"He has a husband ?"

Chapter Notes

Please read the note from chapter 1, and also, this is my first fic, I am not good at smut (I am a researcher that write mostly non-fiction and academic)

They gave him to me.

The gods had given Ilya a chance, a gift: Shane had been given to him. Because the Montreal Metro was the dumbest team in the MHL, maybe the dumbest team across professional leagues, regardless of the sport. He went to practice with Shane; they lived together every night in his/their bed, waking up in the morning with Shane breathing on his neck, half-hard. Morning blowjobs, pre-nap fucking, post-nap fucking, post-game fucking, weekend hand jobs, the shower… everything. Shane and his bird food, and his boring Canada Dry, which Ilya made sure was always in stock. Shane and his boring, expensive sheets and towels, so boring that Ilya made sure to donate all his previous sheets to a shelter and buy the ones Shane liked. Also, the shoe rack, because Ilya cannot walk around their house with shoes on. He likes all of it: his toothbrush next to Shane’s, Shane stealing his T-shirt to stay home, in their home.

All of it except the secret. And nights like tonight, seeing Grandpa Scott Hunter laughing, with Kip pressing a kiss on his lips, Kip sitting on his lap, jealousy overpowering any other feeling of queer solidarity. 

But at least Shane is here, their relationship hiding in plain sight. Ilya ordered medium-good, overpriced vodka, talked to beautiful women, or mostly they were talking and Ilya tried to follow, but he was looking at Shane, always. Shane does not like staying long. Ilya knows how to fake being drunk; he will stay one hour and say that boring Shane wants to go home, even if Ilya wants to go home now, to their bed, cuddle, fuck, cuddle again, talk about the game, about life, about how many dogs they will have, the names of their future children… no, not that, he cannot risk his chance to scare him.

He knows Shane will look at him with his angry-kitten face and glossy eyes, as these beautiful women try to touch him, promising Ilya amazing sex. But Ilya knows better; he is not cruel, not to Shane. He likes teasing, but not hurting him, so he puts a reasonable distance: close enough for his teammates to talk over his man-lady reputation, but no skin-to-skin contact.

He turned to take another drink. When he turned back, he saw Shane standing up. They had been there only thirty minutes; it was pretty soon to leave, but he was ready to go. But Shane was not walking toward the exit; he was walking toward the table of five people, where Kip and Brittany were. Shane knew only the two. Ilya was starting to feel uneasy; Shane does not like having multiple new people at once. Ilya still half-listened, adding at regular intervals a “very promising, tell me more” to the egregious sexual proposition the woman (her name was Clara, Linda, or maybe Ana) was talking about.

But then he stopped listening when Shane sat not beside Kip or Brittany (who is definitely out of Smith’s league, but Ilya is perceptive and she likes him; she would definitely walk him like a dog. Good for her), but beside a man. Shane was sitting next to a hot and beautiful man, not as hot as Ilya, more like nerd-hot, Clark Kent hot. A hot gay man, taller than him.

Ilya drank his vodka, turned around, and positioned himself to still look interested in 'Clara, Linda, or maybe Ana'’s conversation, but able to watch Shane. At first, everything was normal: a group conversation with Kip, Brittany, and their nerd friends. But everything went downhill really fast. First, Shane was laughing, not shy Shane laugh, not polite, golden-boy laugh. After that, he said something funny that made the others laugh. And the Clark Kent next to him, jokingly, gave a tap on Shane’s back, the man Shane did not know twenty minutes earlier, the hot gay man Shane did not know.

Ilya tried to reason with himself: he should be happy, Shane was relaxed, drinking his boring Canada Dry at a party, and not looking to leave. It was good, it was all good and fine, but it would be fucking better if it were not next to some Clark fucking Kent. So he repeated to himself: Shane was enjoying himself, and they would leave in forty minutes or so, back to their bed.

Ilya was perceptive, but not gifted with foreseeing the future; alas, forty minutes later, the plot worsened. The others left to circle around, and Shane was alone with Clark Kent. They were laughing, touching forearms, tapping shoulders, Shane laughing as if he could not breathe, exchanging numbers, looking at videos, and worst of all, they stopped laughing and seemed to be in a heart-opening, confession-like conversation.

For one hour, and only one drink, Ilya tried to reason, but he was spiraling. What cruelty. He was feeling like a Dostoevsky character, the cruelty of the gift of Shane, in his city, his team, his town, to be snatched away. Maybe Shane figured out he could find a nice, hot man (less hot than Ilya, but still), a nerd, going to be a professor in some fancy university, and they could be a hot gay couple. Someone who understands him better, Japanese, not a teammate in a homophobic sport, but a liberal and open-minded academic. They would have a beautiful wedding and beautiful children with freckles. It had been wonderful months; now it was done. Better remove the bandage. Shane would move out, find an apartment, go on dates, and Ilya would be alone again.

He did not recall walking, but he was next to Shane. He wanted to say, “I will give you everything, please don’t leave, I will learn anything, come home with me, come to our home.” Instead, despite not being drunk:

“Shane, I am drunk. I need to get home. Give me key. Don’t want to disturb you with your friend. Will drive home, maybe die.”

Shane looked at him, perplexed at first, and then with a smile in his eyes. He did not even comment on Ilya’s dramatic opening statement:

“Ilya, this is Iro. He is a friend of Brittany. He is doing amazing research on Japanese people in the U.S., Iro, this is Ilya Rozanov, my captain and… friend. We are... roommates.”

Iro said, “Oh, roommate...nice to meet you, Ilya. I am not a hockey dude, but I know you are one of the best.”

Shane interjected, “Second-best player in the league.”

Ilya, becoming more pissed off by the minute: “Nice to meet you… Shane, I need to go home. Key.”

Shane, without looking at Ilya, turned to Iro: “Was so glad to meet you. Please send me more memes and videos, and we should go for coffee or food. I need to learn your korokke recipe.”

Iro, standing up and giving his hand to Ilya for a handshake: “Sure thing. I will try to find a healthy version in an air fryer. Guess I will see you around, Ilya.”

Ilya, giving a too-firm handshake: “I guess.”

And they hugged. They fucking hugged, Shane, who, despite prolonged physical contact, hugged this man. Ilya shrugged. He said he would drive drunk, even if he was not, and might die; now he wishes he could. 

******

After saying their goodbyes, they drove home silently. Ilya hoped that Shane would feel some type of shame or guilt, but no. He had a happy smile on his face. He would not even give Ilya the opening for a fight. Maybe he was already planning to move out, going to do korokke with Iro, reading his amazing work, wearing the sexy glasses that only Ilya had seen him with.

Arriving home, Ilya knew he could not sleep without the fight or begging Shane not to leave. Instead, to lead with the mature option: “I was jealous to see you talking to this hot man,” he went for, “You did not have to drive me. I could have driven. I have enough money to buy your boring car if I had accident .”

Shane looked at him with the same smile. “You drive too fast and badly, but I know you are not drunk, so you would only have had to pay me for a speeding ticket, I guess.”

Shane walked to the bedroom, then the bathroom. Ilya followed him.

“So why did you not go with your friend, finishing the touching you started?”

Shane: “Why are you not? You were also in much touching at the bar.”

Ilya, in a muttered tone: “Lie. I was not. I told you last time, it means nothing. I always come home with you.”

Shane, closing the distance between them in the bathroom: “I came home with you, too, did I not?”

“Why was he touching you? Why were you laughing like you do with me?”

Shane: “He was funny.”

Ilya: “I am funny. I make you laugh. You gave him your number.”

Shane, now whispering in Ilya’s ear, pressing a kiss: “I did.”

Ilya grabbed Shane’s chin, kissing him desperately, pushing his hips, and placing one leg between Shane’s legs. “Why are you doing this to me? Do not let men touch you.”

Shane, now breathing heavily, puts his hand over Ilya’s shoulder, looking at him with defiance: “I thought you liked teasing. You always do. No touching, but talking and entertaining those women and looking at me with my angry-kitten face. You know we need two to dance tango. Maybe I like the angry-kitten face on you.”

Ilya, kissing Shane’s neck, biting him: “No, do not do this to me. I will stop. I will not do it again. Please, Shane, you are mine. They gave you to me.”

“And you?”

“What?”

“Are you mine?”

“Yes, I am. I will give you everything.”

“Show me.” 

Leaving the ensuite bathroom without stopping the kiss, Ilya pushed Shane onto the bed.

Ilya, now battling, removing Shane’s belt messily: “Clothes off. On your stomach,” Shane lost no time. Ilya put one hand on the back of Shane’s head, the other on his hips. Usually prone to teasing and making Shane beg, tonight Ilya had a need to repair a wrong. He wanted Shane, all of him. He wanted to remind him that only Ilya could give him everything.

“I am going to fuck you, you will not think about anything or anyone else, no tango, no anything,” Ilya whispered. Shane gasped. Ilya lowered his body, first pressing his tongue on Shane's hole. Shane screamed, starting to tremble. “Oh, Ilya, you are so good.” Ilya felt his power back. Putting the lube on two fingers, he started moving slowly around Shane hole,  “So good for me, Hollander. Only me can give you like this.”

Shane gasped, “Ilya, yes, only you.” “Fuck me, Ilya.”

Ilya removed his fingers and entered Shane in one stroke. He started steadily and slowly, but Shane wanted more. “Harder, Ilya.”

Ilya, in vengeful bliss: “They gave you to me, you are mine. Say it.”

“I am yours, Ilya, more, give me more.”

Ilya continued, pressing him against the mattress. “I will give you everything, sweetheart, pretty boy, you’re mine. So good, my Shane.”

Shane was breathless, Ilya’s hand tightening on him, wanting everything. “I’ll only be yours.” Shane, lost in his pleasure, was saying everything and anything, close to coming. “Ilya, it’s so good you are my first and my last, only you.”

And Ilya lost it, now holding him close, wanting to keep him, to push him, to cuddle him, and at the same time make him say his name. “You will always come back home to me, Shane.”

“God, yes, Ilya,” Shane screamed while Ilya pounded into him.

Shane came first, and half-conscious, Ilya was slowing down, “Don’t come.” Shane pushed Ilya out of him, got on the floor on his knee, Ilya removed the condom, and Shane was face up looking at Ilya with sex drunk eyes, tongue outside his mouth. It only took Ilya 4 strokes to spread his cum into Shane's face.

“God, fuck Shane”

Shaking from the release, he went down to the floor next to Shane, kissing him, taking his cum in his fingers, and slipping them in Shane's mouth. Afterward, they lay together, breathing hard. Ilya went down next to Shane, kissing him, holding him close.

Shane looked at him and said with a smile, “I think I like tango.”

After showering together and changing the sheets, they stayed in bed talking, mostly Shane talking about Iro, playing with Ilya's necklace.  Shane waited until Ilya’s exasperation reached its peak to add, “Yeah, Iro was showing me pictures of his husband.”

Ilya looked down at him. “He has a husband?”

“Opps, I should have led with that, I guess.”

“You are a menace… but even with a husband, he still cannot touch you and make you laugh… and I don’t like tango.”

***

Three weeks later, Iro and his husband, Damian, came to a cooking dinner at their house, preparing korokke and experimenting with a healthy version for Shane. It was not a success, as some foods are not meant to be quinoa and air-fried. Of course, Iro, aka Clark Kent, has a sexy, Clark-Kent-like librarian husband who is also funny. But Ilya and Shane were hotter anyway. Because Ilya is chronically online and nosy, of course, he knows about Blasian, because of Sonja Sohn from one of his favorite shows, The Wire. He cannot say to Shane that he likes Iro; he can say that he likes Damian (like Jackie and Hayden), but he had a nice night. Their relationship, often confined to this house, felt more expansive with new friends unrelated to hockey, filling their home with laughter and conversation. Like it was a mondaine situation: two couples having a nice dinner, no questions about the timeline or the secret.  Soon, Ilya and Shane could discuss their six to eight future children with freckles. Ilya is inclined to compromise; he is willing to settle for five.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading. Time is my worst enemy, and I have a book to finish, but I am thinking of the other one-shot, like this one extension based on another fic, "Courage", exploring Shane's visit to Ilya's house in Calgary for the citizenship ceremony. But no promise, I am in the trenches, and fan fiction writing just replaced deep cleaning in my active procrastination.

Update: the fic based on Courage has been published
Update 2: I have a new one, "Future Tense" (long form), just published, with 1 chapter a week. Shane and Ilya from 2017 are sent back to 2008.