Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Rose Landry, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Troy Barrett, Ryan Price (Game Changers), Baldwin (Game Changers), Lundin (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Smut, Mixed Media, Rivals to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Ten Years Of Bidirectional Yearning To Lovers Speedrun, POV Ilya Rozanov, Smart Ilya Rozanov, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Professional Yearner Ilya Rozanov with 10 Years Experience On The Job, Shane Hollander Comes Out, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Battling for Shane Hollander, Everyone Loves Shane Hollander, Everyone Has a Crush on Shane Hollander, Kip Grady is a menace to Scott Hunter, All The MLM Characters In One Place: Shane Hollander's Inbox, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry Friendship, Good Friend Rose Landry, Rose Landry Brings All The Boys To Shane Hollander's Yard, Grumpy Troy Barrett, First Dates, Getting to Know Each Other, Romantic Gestures, Ilya Rozanov's Boyfriend Material Folder, First Kiss, Service Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Consent Kings Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Tender Sex, Anal Sex, Happy Ending, No Beta - We Die Like The Last Shred Of Ilya's Dignity When He Sees Shane's Freckles

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-20 Words: 13,525 Chapters: 1/1

Jousting for Hollander

Summary

Rozanov: Is this where I hand in my boyfriend application? I have prepared CV, introduction video, letters of recommendation and photo of me in bed with Stanley Cup. With or without clothes, your choice ;)

Lundin: We were supposed to prepare something? I can do that, no problem! How long do we have?

Baldwin: I think he is making fun of the whole thing, can we throw him out?

Rozanov: Is no joke, I have fileshare link ready to send.

Hunter: He is definitely joking.

Baldwin: What are you doing here? Aren’t you getting married?

Hunter: My fiancé insisted.

Hunter: He said, and I quote: “I never thought about adding a third but it’s Shane fucking Hollander, we would be dumb if we didn’t try."

___________

The world stops when Scott Hunter kisses his boyfriend Kip on the ice after he wins the Stanley Cup in 2017.

The world tilts fully off its axis when Shane Hollander comes out after his third cup win in 2018.

What follows are a bunch of (drunk) Instagram comments, a Rose Landry shaped intervention, a brutal battle between NHL superstars and one precious price on the line: A date with THE Shane Hollander.

Notes

Hello everyone!

This was inspired by this tumblr post by watermelontuesdays. (I don’t have a tumblr account but jeannetterankin kindly sent them the link! Thank you for the fun prompt and thank you for relaying the message! And also thank you to sunless_garden for sending the prompt.)

Good to know what is different from canon before you go in:

• Shane and Ilya have never hooked up before.
• Shane won the 2015, 2016 cup as in canon but also won in 2018 here.
• Some minor timeline stuff had to be shifted to make it all work.
• Kyle, Fabian and Harris are not in the picture here.
• As this is a crack/fluff piece, we presume the NHL is much more chill about sexual orientation after Scott came out than in canon.

English is not my first language, still no beta, there will be mistakes. I left a bunch of references in the notes below for you!

*** IMPORTANT ***

Please activate work skins for the group chats to work! The phone for the group chats are scrollable, shoutout to fanfictemplates.com! All the links should work as well. The Instagram post was made with the help of thefake.design, you can even click on the post at your own risk!

Nine years, three cups, one captain.

Penny Wembley for Vanity Fair

Published June 29th, 2018

Shane Hollander has won everything there is to win in the NHL, most recently his third cup in four years and just like Scott Hunter during last year’s cup celebration, he came out as gay after his triumphant success last week.

We talk to him about his feelings around the third cup, his summer plans and how his life looks like after coming out.

.

.

.

So... is there anyone we need to know about?

You mean a partner? No, nobody on the horizon so far.

Nobody sliding in your DMs?

Oh, I don’t look at those, never have. There are too many of them even before the coming out. Someone from my management team goes through them to see if brands tried to reach out. You would need my phone number.

Our DMs told us to ask you what you are looking for in a partner?

The usual.

The usual?

I like people who are passionate about what they do. It helps when they are successful as well.

Successful how?

[laughs] I think a Stanley Cup win would be a good start.

[crew laughs]

Plus points for an All-Star or a captain. It won’t hurt if he’s attractive. More points if he can bench press me. 

[everyone laughs again] 

So like I said, the usual.

***

“So!” Rose Landry clapped her hands together after everyone concluded their warm-ups. “You all said you can bench Shane’s weight easily, but now it’s time to show it. You all have one try, it’s a pass or fail situation. If you lied about your personal records and can’t bench him, tell us now before you get injured.”

Ilya looked around the room, no one making a move, not even Kip who Ilya thought was weirdly buff for a guy who used to make smoothies for a living and now just studied art history. Then, he remembered the one time he went out to a gay club in New York where two thirds of the guys were randomly built like Calvin Klein models.

It should have felt more ridiculous for all of them to fly out to Montreal in their limited free time during the off season to compete for a date but a) they made competing their whole job and b) it was for a date with THE Shane Hollander after all.

Ilya always had a bit of a thing for Hollander. He had tried several times to gauge the deal with him but had never gotten very far, so he had decided to bury his interest - okay, maybe his obsession - deep somewhere in the back of his brain, not to be touched if he wanted to keep his sanity.

Cue the cup win and Hollander’s coming out Instagram post which Ilya could recite in his sleep including the hashtags, the emojis and probably the top 100 comments. If Brad817, Mr. This-Doesn't-Belong-In-Hockey, ever crossed Ilya’s path, he would have a stern look, an educational talk and a comfy pair of cement shoes ready for him.

The interview had made everything worse. He blamed Cliff for his impulsive (and yes, drunk) comments and the consequential tournament that Rose had organized. Stupid Cliff and his stupid idea to go to stupid drag brunch where Ilya had had the time of his life and too many mimosas to realize that he had already saved the number he needed. Hell, all of his teammates that had gone to brunch had the number but had just laughed at him. His anger had only subsided when he had seen a full six minutes rendition of Celine Dion’s “It’s all coming back to me now” by a drag queen called Kitten With A Whip.

So now, he was here in Montreal with six other NHL players (and one smoothie boy that was way too young and spry for his brittle boned fiancé) to finally get a chance with Hollander.

“Can we do multiple reps?” Lundin asked, standing next to the bench where the barbell was already loaded with weights for a total of 200 pounds.

“Sure, you will spot each other. Again, no funny business, gentlemen. We don’t want anyone injured.” Rose shot a warning look at each of them. 

Price went first which was, in hindsight, not the best idea as he did 20 clean reps without breaking much of a sweat. Everyone after that pushed to their maximum. Kip and Barrett both made it to 13, Barrett visibly pissed he got the same as Kip who just seemed to enjoy the show provided by the others. Lundin and Baldwin managed to get to 16 and 17 respectively, Lundin’s light blonde hair popping against the bright red his face had turned, each repetition changing it to one shade darker. Hunter, from the looks of it, almost tore something after rep 18, arms shaking but somehow he was still annoyingly chipper.

Ilya knew that he could beat that even on an okay day but he didn’t just want to do what the others did, he wanted to impress Hollander. He needed a different tactic.

“I want to lift Hollander,” Ilya proclaimed.

“That’s kind of the whole point,” Baldwin replied, irritation embedded in his tone.

“No,” Ilya retorted, “I want to actually lift him, not the bar. He said bench press him and not bench press his weight in interview.”

Rose looked at Shane whose eyes were fixated on Ilya’s chest. “He’s correct, I said bench press me.”

“Fine, your choice.” Rose sighed dramatically.

“Do we have to go again?” Lundin asked, face still patchy and faded red.

“No.” Rose waved him off. “Doesn’t make a difference in scores.”

“Do we get to go again?” Barrett inquired, still looking miffed over his results.

“We have a full day ahead of us.” Rose impatiently tapped her foot. “We have to move along.”

After a brief discussion about coordinating the whole thing, they decided for Hollander to be lifted sideways, one of Ilya’s hands between his thighs, the other at the side of his chest with Hollander grabbing onto his arm.

“Ready?” Hollander tentatively asked.

“For you? Yes.” Ilya regretted not being able to see his reaction.

Ilya rolled Hollander onto his chest, let him lie there for a second longer than necessary as he was briefly distracted by Hollander’s ass suddenly very close to his face and then started pressing up. He did the trick a dancer had once taught him about turns: counting down instead of up.

“24! We have a winner!” Rose announced to the group.

“I thought it wasn’t about reps?” Hunter’s lips were pressed into a thin line.

“It wasn’t but I will make a note.” Rose scribbled on her clipboard. “Let’s move on.”

She shooed the group along to the next test, Ilya hanging back with Hollander.

“Did you do 24 on purpose?” Hollander whispered to him.

“Is your number, yes?” Ilya enjoyed the pink hue showing up under the freckles he had studied in face-offs for a decade now and could probably draw from memory. There were a couple of new ones from the summer sun.

“Be glad I don’t wear the 81,” Hollander responded.

“You can have any number you want: 24, 81, 69…” That got him an elbow to the ribs which kicked his heart into high gear and an eye roll that was unsuccessful in covering the smile flashing across Hollander’s face.

“Alright, next challenge!” Rose had brought them out of the gym room into the Voyageurs’ locker room.

“I thought no skates?” Lundin asked with a hint of confusion in his voice.

“And you won’t need any. We want to test your intelligence. There are a number of clues hidden around the arena, one leading to the other. There are five overall, we will send you out one after the other and time you. There is a number on each station you will have to note down. Don’t try to remove the number, let’s keep this fair, okay?” Rose explained to the group. 

Rose called out Price to go first, handing him his initial clue and a map before he disappeared into the tunnel. Rose gave each candidate a ten minute window after which she sent out the next person. Ilya was third out with his first clue in hand.

Where everything snaps, crackles and pops but no cereal in sight.
Pain is part of the process, there is no need for fright.

Ilya didn’t get the cereal part but was off towards his suspected destination. He ran along the hallway, rounded a corner, then another, checked the map while sprinting down a long corridor to make sure he was heading in the correct direction, made another turn to then come to a screeching halt in front of the door he was looking for. 

The PTs room.

On the door was a big 9 on it, which Ilya noted down on his map. Below the 9 was the next clue written on the schedule board, which he took a picture of with his phone.

Plain, filled and holes we offer to you.
Red is the color you should run to.

Of course, of course, this place had a Tim Hortons. Thank fuck for Cliff and his insistance to drag him to a Tim Hortons basically every time they went to Canada. A quick scan over the map and Ilya was off to the closer one on level 1 where one of the two stands was located. When he arrived, he spotted that the donut display had another number on it, this time it was a 1.

There were a handful of donuts on top of it but no new clue in sight. Ilya instinctively grabbed a donut which felt pretty light for a supposedly filled donut. He ripped it open and found a piece of paper stuffed into it.

Rich in trophies, his number is the floor.
Rich all the way, his number on the door.

Rich… rich…

He gnawed on his donut while reading the riddle a few times over. Why was rich on there twice? There was specifically one place where rich people liked to go in the arena. The map revealed the suites were spread out on two levels: 3 and 5.

Rich in trophies, his number is the floor.

Ilya made his way up to floor 3, the number of cups Shane had. He just had to find suite 24 which was thankfully not far from the stairs he had just run up. He was starting to register the heaviness of the cigarettes he had smoked today to calm his nerves but now was not the time to slow down. He could always get new lungs.

He put the 5 he found on the door next to the previous two numbers and opened it to search for the fourth clue which peeked out of one of the bowls of peanuts that were dispersed on the tables.

A picture says more than a thousand words.
The wins let us fly higher than the birds.

He went all the way back down to the front offices where he suspected he would find what he was looking for. And there they were: the wall opposite of the offices plastered with the group photos of all the cup wins ever since Montreal joined the NHL. Someone had put a sticker on the cup of the first picture with the fourth number on it, another 1. Ilya looked around for his last clue, just to find it taped to Shane’s hand on the latest picture of their cup win.

Be our guest, be our guest.
Put your talents to the test.

Oh that one he knew immediately. He rushed through the halls towards the visitor’s locker room which was painted in the bleakest piss yellow Ilya had ever seen, borderlining on psychological warfare against visiting teams. Belle’s dress would never. 

There was a big 0 on the doors. He bursted through them to find Rose standing with a stop watch in one hand and her clipboard in the other. She jutted down his time while Ilya collapsed next to Price and Barrett.

“How was my time?” Ilya got out between his heaving breaths.

“She won’t tell us,” Price grumbled into his beard.

Rose ignored Price and turned to Ilya. “Can you show me your numbers?” 

Ilya added the 0 behind the other numbers and handed the map to Rose.

“Good job!” She made another note with a pleased smile. “And do you know what they are for?”

Ilya answered without missing a beat. “That is Hollander’s birthday. Japanese format.”

“Great!” Rose gave him an enthusiastic nod while Barrett and Price snapped their heads towards him.

“How the fuck do you know that?” Price blurted out.

“I played him once during playoffs when the whole arena sang Happy Birthday to him.” He refrained from mentioning that that happened six years ago. “He is five weeks older than me, stats people love to mention that.” 

“Ugh, I hate you even more than before.” Barrett’s pissy mood hadn’t improved since the bench press.

“Wait until I win this whole thing.” Ilya decided to be extra obnoxious and started humming the Happy Birthday melody which earned him another elbow in the ribs, this time from Barrett.

Ilya was checking his phone every now and then. Hunter came through the door nineteen, Baldwin thirty-one and Lundin forty-seven minutes after him.

“It is…” Lundin was trying to catch his breath. “Unfair… to put up English riddles… when there are two people who don’t have English as their first language.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ilya was grinning from ear to ear while solving his daily Sudoku on his phone.

“Three, my first language is technically French,” Baldwin interjected.

“Potato, potato, you grew up bilingual.” Lundin put his crumpled map into Rose’s stretched out hand and plopped down on one of the benches.

“Sorry to interrupt, but do you know what the numbers mean?” Rose had the clipboard positioned against her hip she was leaning onto.

“Uhhhhmmm… is it the area code he grew up in or something?” Lundin was staring towards the ceiling, sweat dripping down the sides of his head.

Rose made a loud ERRRRNNNNNTTTT buzzer noise. “Incorrect!”

“Did anyone get it?” Baldwin asked the room.

“Rozanov did,” Barrett provided through gritted teeth. Ilya sat there, basking in the glory of being the only one who got the final riddle. He had no clue how to win this whole thing but it definitely felt like he was winning and he loved that for himself.

“You’ll get more chances, don’t worry. You can get into your normal clothes now or whatever you need for talent later. I’ll see you in the press room.” Rose strutted out of the room, leaving the guys to change. The others made some quips towards one another but Ilya stayed focused on the unknown challenges ahead.

He tried to keep up his usual boisterous but deadly exterior which was getting increasingly more difficult as the day went on. Nine and a half years since the cute Canadian boy with the most earnest brown eyes, most enticing lips and most precious freckles he had ever seen had shaken his hands. Nine and a half years of agony over being close to him, so close but never able to really touch him, just a brush of an arm, one time a foot pressed against his, one time a semi-drunk half hug and one time a kiss to his helmet followed by a playful shove. Today, he might be able to get more, maybe an actual hug, maybe he could hold his hand, maybe he…

Ilya shook the pathetic thoughts out of his head. He had been titled NHL’s most notorious bachelor not once but three times by different tabloids and he was currently internally melting at the thought of hand holding. He never really wanted to hold hands with anyone let alone agonizingly yearned for it but Hollander made him think and do and want all sorts of things he usually didn’t. He didn’t even allow himself to call or even think about him by his first name to keep up the thinly veiled pretence of not being full on crazy about him.

He changed into his favorite black slacks that hugged his tapered waist and his well formed butt but hung loose starting around midway of his thighs. He wore a burgundy shirt with a deep v that highlighted his shoulders and pecs. He reshaped some of his curls in the mirror and then left for the press room with the rest, only Bennett still in his workout clothes.

The long table where the players would sit after a game now had seven chairs, their places equipped with both microphones and buzzers. Kip was already sitting in the first row. They took their assigned seats and, to Ilya’s excitement, not only Rose but also Hollander had returned. He looked resigned to his fate but not in any way, shape or form bored of this whole ordeal. Ilya leaned back into his chair, eyes raking over Hollander as they had done so often. His blue jeans had a tinge of cool grey and were holding on for dear life around his thighs. His simple cotton T-shirt in charcoal was pulling tight around his biceps which was aided by the crossed arms. He let his gaze linger on him, finally allowing himself to be more open about his adoration. That was what they were all here for, right?

“Welcome to your next challenge!” Rose's voice boomed through the room without a microphone, the theatrical training paying off. “We will play a round of ‘Do you know your Hollander?’. I have prepared a number of questions about our dear Shaney.” Shaney let out a deep groan. “And you will hopefully answer them. I have an app to show me who buzzed in the fastest. Only buzz after I finish the question or I will stop whenever you buzz. Got it?”

The lot of them nodded, some already straightening their backs and hovering with one hand over their buzzers. Ilya pulled his buzzer closer to himself but stayed back in his chair, making sure he had everyone in his view.

“We start with a couple of easy ones.” Rose looked up from the tablet. “First question on the board: Where is Shane Hollander from?”

All of them buzzed, Price being the fastest. “Ottawa.”

“Correct, one point for Ryan!” Rose tapped the tablet twice and continued with her next question. “You have seen them during awards and on the ice after the Stanley Cup wins. What are the names of Shane’s parents?”

Hunter was first on the buzzer this time. “Yuna and David, very lovely people.”

“Stop being a kiss ass!” The heckler was Kip of all people. “You can do that later!”

A mix of groans and whoops filled the room for a second before Rose got them back under control. “Name two brands Shane is cur-”

Ilya decided it was time to put some pressure on the rest and buzzed early. “Rolex and Tim Hortons. But he also works with Speedo, Calvin Klein and Reebok.”

“That is correct! I can’t give you any bonus points but you named five of the six brands, just forgot about Gatorade.” Rose clicked her tongue as if she expected the full six but then couldn’t suppress a smirk.

“Gatorade is technically not out,” Shane interrupted. “I only had the photoshoot, it won’t be published until later this month.”

“Whoops, had some insider information there.” Rose flashed a smile at Shane. “Sorry that I can’t keep up with all your sponsorships. Anyway, you got them all but still no bonus points.”

Kip booed a little before he remembered which team he was on.

“Against which goalie did he score his first professional goal?” Rose barely got to finish the question before Bennett buzzed. “Henrickson, he retired in the middle of that season.”

“One point to Benny!” Rose gave him a friendly nod before the next question. “What teams did he beat to win Olympic gold?”

“Group was Finland, Austria and Norway.” Ilya had the tournament still burned into his brain. “He beat all, Finland in overtime. Playoffs were Latvia, USA and last was Sweden 3-0. Lundin failed to catch up to him before he scored final goal.”

“Hey!” Lundin protested. “That wasn’t part of the question. I tried for four years to forget about that.”

“You would’ve lost anyway,” Rose interjected. She asked about a dozen more basic questions before she announced, “We are moving on to some more fun ones!”

“Oh god, here we go,” Hollander grumbled just loud enough for everyone to hear it.

Rose cleared her throat, shooting him a telling look. “What is not part of his pregame routine? Yoga, a handful of sour gummy worms, a secret handshake with JJ or singing happy birthday twice in his head?”

Only Barrett, Ilya and Price buzzed in.

“The Happy Birthday?” Barrett said tentatively.

“Nope!” Rose checked her tablet. “Rozanov?”

“Secret handshake,” Ilya confidently answered. ”Yoga is for focus, sour gummy worms are for nerves and happy birthday is to remind himself that he is lucky to have his career.”

Barrett cursed under his breath while Hollander, for a brief moment, fixed his gaze onto Ilya, searching his face for something. 

Rose’s voice snapped him out of it. “Why did Shane personally remove a reporter in a press conference in Detroit?”

Ilya’s hand shot to the buzzer. He leaned into the microphone. “Guy was very rude about him hanging out with you, Ms. Landry. Asked if you were a distraction and to blame for loss. Very dumb guy. Only time Shane Hollander yelled in press conference.”

“Very good.” Rose offered him a pleased smile.

“He was dumb!” Hollander threw his hands in the air. “He tried to force his way into the next press conference in Chicago, I got him banned from the Voyageurs press cons for a year.”

“Sort Shane’s cup winning playoff runs in order of his points!” Rose checked her tablet to call on Baldwin.

“2016, 2018, 2015,” Baldwin stated. 

Before Rose could answer, Ilya corrected him, “Ah no, that is for goals. For points, it is 2016, 2015, 2018.”

“You weren’t next!” Rose narrowed her eyes at him. “That is the right answer but no points. Keep in line, Rozanov.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He did a little salute for good measure which earned him a scoff from her.

“What record did Shane break in the regular season in 2013 that he still holds to this day?” No one immediately buzzed in. Hollander held so many records, it was hard to keep track.

“Most goals in the regular season?” Lundin tried.

“No,” Rose answered.

“He broke that in one 2012 and then again 2016,” Hunter chimed in. Ilya shot an annoyed look at the Admirals Captain. 

Mr. I will never retire, Mr. I am such a Good Guy™️, Mr…

“Least amount of time in penalty box compared to ice time for skater in regular season with more than 70 games played,” Ilya bursted out.

“Point to Rozanov!” Rose gleefully exclaimed. “Honestly, I didn't think anyone would get that one.”

“I forgot I still hold that one,” Shane absently said. “Why does someone track that stat?”

“In 2015, what did Gregors famously-” Rose stopped when the buzzers were all simultaneously slammed.

“If you hate your goalie,” Ilya quoted with a smirk, ”do what my team did and leave him alone with Hollander. I will hand in my trade request today and look for a therapist tomorrow.”

“Ugh, Gregors is always so dramatic!” Hollander crossed his arms tighter, pushing up his chest. Ilya deeply hoped he wasn’t drooling, he felt like he was.

“You should see the goalie chat.” Bennett chuckled. “One season, we started sending each other condolence flowers after games against you.”

“Okay, last one.” Rose dramatically looked at each of them. “What did Shane jokingly describe as his worst nightmare in the Men’s Health interview in 2017?”

Price was the fastest. He froze. “Fuck, I know that one. I read it like yesterday.” 

“3… 2… 1… Time is up, we go to Scott.” Rose pointed towards him.

“Having an allergy!” Scott basically shouted. 

“Not quiet.” Kip made a displeased noise in the front row. “We go to Baldwin.” 

“I panic-pressed the buzzer.” He looked down at the floor in embarrassment.

“Rozanov?” Rose turned towards him.

“Cat or dog hair allergy,” Ilya supplied. “He said, and I agree, what’s the point of life if you can’t pet cats or dogs?”

“Just pet them anyway!” Price exclaimed. “That’s what allergy pills are for!”

“I should have gone with Team Rozanov,” Kip grumbled.

“I can hear you, you know,” Hunter responded.

“Question is for how much longer,” Barrett quipped.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Rose could as well be herding cats at this point. “We’re gonna head to the big conference room for the last portion of the day. You finally get to show us your talents!”

Ilya’s nerves that he had kept under wraps for most of the day were now on high alert. The other parts he had kind of predicted and hadn’t been much of a challenge with his ongoing obsession - okay, yes it was an obsession - and general high-level of fitness even compared to other NHL players. But the talent part? That was suddenly subjective, suddenly exposing, suddenly potentially embarrassing. He also had zero clue what the rest had prepared. Kip seemed awfully gleeful, even more than before. Barrett was checking something in his bag. Bennett stretched his arms, none of that revealing what Ilya was about to face.

They filtered into the conference room, two people already sitting at the table facing the improvised stage. One was the infamous Yuna Hollander herself and the other person…

“Folks!” Hayden fucking Pike greeted the group.

Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition.
Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition.
Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition.
Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition.
Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition.
Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition.
Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition.
Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition.
Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition.
Don’t ask how he is supposed to judge a talent competition. 

Pike looked directly at Ilya, his gaze daring him to say something. Ilya used every ounce of self control to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he raised his eyebrows in a bored manner and then turned to warmly smile at his future mother-in-law Yuna Hollander, who was busy sizing up each of them individually.

“Gentlemen.” She gave them a singular nod before writing something in her notes. Hollander and Rose sat down at the judges’ table as well.

“Let's start! We randomly decided on the order. Please take a seat behind us and we'll call you when it is your turn.” Rose gestured towards the chairs behind her.

Ilya sank down on one end, the rest arranging themselves on the other chairs.

“We’ll start with… drumroll please… Troy Barrett.” A short burst of applause filled the room while Barrett grabbed whatever he had in his backpack out of sight from everyone and marched to the front.

“Hello judging panel.” Barrett’s body looked stiff as a board. “I’ve prepared something for you with this.”

Barrett held out, and Ilya had to check twice, a Rubik’s cube? If the rest of them had prepared similar stuff, this was about to be smooth sailing towards the date for Ilya.

Without another word, Barrett turned around and put his hands behind his back. Okay, this was getting slightly more interesting, but only slightly. He took a deep breath and then his hands were moving at lightning speed over the toy. Before Ilya could finish his thought about how you would get the idea to learn something like that, Barrett was already done. He turned back, did a tiny bow when the audience applauded again and went back to his seat.

“Next up: Scott Hunter!” Rose announced.

“Ah, for this one I will tag in Kip, if that’s okay?” Hunter inquired.

“Sure, let’s see what you got, Kip!” Rose waved him towards the front.

Kip walked to his spot and pulled out a ball of yarn from his pocket. He winked at Hollander who let out a little cough and then put the string between his lips. He pulled it through his mouth to come out as a full on chain. The whole row of players was too shocked to say anything, only Baldwin whispering to Lundin, “Is he sure he wants to marry Hunter and not me?”

Rose was the first to clap, the rest of the room following her lead. Kip set the chain in front of Hollander before taking his seat next to Hunter again.

Rose ticked off Hunter on her list and moved further down. “Baldwin, your turn!”

The Vancouver defenseman moved in front of the audience and cleared his throat. “I was a scout through all of my childhood, so here we go.”

He then put his hands around his mouth and started making bird calls, naming each bird and use of the call as he went. Ilya almost fell off his chair when he heard the last one. Everyone clapped again except for Hollander.

Rose turned to him. “That didn’t impress you?”

“I, erm…” Hollander’s back straightened. “I wasn’t about to say anything but that wasn’t a willow tit, it was a marsh tit. They look very similar but that was definitely a marsh tit. And the last one wasn’t a loon mating call, it was their territorial call which would get the following response.” 

Hollander formed his hands in front of his mouth and made an alerting sound. Out of all the things he could have been attracted to, being fluid in bird was not on Ilya’s bingo card but here he was, having to cross his legs to cover up his bird call induced hint of a boner.

Lundin was fourth and had the brilliant idea that a Gollum impression in both a Scottish and an Italian accent would win him the date. Bennett, who went after Lundin, showed an impressive amount of body control as he slowly went in a handstand, then an elbow lever he managed to do on one hand. Hollander seemed really interested in that but from the hushed conversation Ilya just happened to overhear, he was more interested in what training techniques he used than in Bennett himself.

Ilya was getting antsy in his chair, shifting from side to side, unsure if he had chosen the right talent or not. When he had been at home it had been clear as day what he had wanted to choose but as time had gone on his confidence had dwindled ever so slightly. The carpet wasn’t ideal for what he had planned and it had been a while since he had done it in front of an audience. But he hadn’t gotten a plan B as a plan B seemed boring more than anything, so this was it then.

Price was second to last which left Ilya to be the finale of the show. He would usually thrive under these conditions but regarding what he could actually win here, his whole body felt like a live wire. Price stepped forward and queued Rose in. Moments later, beautiful orchestral music was playing. Price’s gaze was drifting to somewhere in the distance, his usually stoic face painted with the sort of longing that made Ilya feel a painful type of recognition. Everyone in the room was frozen into place by anticipation. 

Price opened his mouth and out floated some of the most gorgeous notes Ilya had ever heard, goosebumps flashing over his arm, a lump forming in his throat and his eyes welling up against his will. For fuck’s sake, of course the only guy with an actual talent (besides Kip) had to go right before Ilya. He tried really hard to be mad but Price and his angelic voice made it unbelievably hard to feel anything but a deep sorrow that not everything could be as excellent as this. Ilya risked a glance around the room, everyone else similarly captivated by his performance, including Hollander who was leaning on his forearms on the table.

When the music was winding down, the small audience erupted into loud cheers. Kip and Lundin were standing up for their round of applause and Ilya was sure he had heard a Wow out of Yuna Hollander. Price gave a small smile while scratching his beard and sat back down.

“Well, that leaves us with one guy.” Rose cast an expectant look at him. “Ilya Rozanov to the stage, please.”

Okay, show time.

Ilya rolled his shoulders back, brought his chin in a parallel line with the floor and walked to his starting position. He let his eyes wander over the room, skipping Pike, and then he gave Rose a nod for his music to start. 

He started out slow, his hips drawing a figure eight while his hands were gliding along his body and up towards the ceiling before he moved his arms out to his sides, elbows always slightly in front of his torso like he was taught. He did a couple of simple but effective steps to fit the alluring intro, cucarachas to both sides, two time steps and a spiral turn into a drag.

When the singer joined the instruments, Ilya picked up the difficulty and the drama with it: sliding doors, three threes, three alemanas, doing the follower’s steps for them all as the leader’s steps alone for almost any rumba figures would probably put everyone to sleep. He pushed his energy on 2, sailed through 3, sank into the music on 4 and completely melted on 1, continuing the cycle over and over again, painting the music with his body from the tips of his fingers right down to the edge of his toes.

Ilya knew that a solo rumba was a daring choice, a dance that was supposed to be romantic, passionate, a love poem danced between a pair. So his imagination would have to help him to fully sell it. He put his focus wholly on Hollander, his mind dreaming up how it would feel if he actually got to dance with him. The solid but ever evolving connection, the gentle back and forth of leading and following, the speaking to each other without words that a dance like this demanded. The whole day, he had kept his usual spiel up. For the dance, he finally let go, showing a side only very few people in his life were ever allowed to see: soft, caring and a touch melancholic at times. In the back of his mind, he knew other people were still in the room but they completely disappeared, all his attention centered on one man and one man only.

His hips were swaying as smoothly as butter, his feet drawing on the floor like a canvas, his arms brushing through the air in time with the wanton cries of the guitar, all to make a deadly combination of sensual moves that left Hollander in front of him with his mouth ever so slightly gaping, his hands inching closer towards Ilya on the table, his whole body leaning in. He got him where he wanted him and yet Ilya was the one who felt the pure want for his counterpart rapidly heating up under his skin to the point of nearly boiling over.

The music gradually faded out, the spell broke when the applause (and Kip’s wolf whistle) filled the room instead. Hollander cleared his throat before applauding as well. Ilya did an extra deep bow before sauntering back to his chair, the eyes of the rest of the contenders still fixed on him. 

“So… is that how you got all these women to sleep with you?” Baldwin asked in a quiet voice.

“And guys, apparently,” Barrett added, his eyes narrowed at Ilya.

“No. No need.” Ilya smirked at them. “This is only for… special occasions.”

“Listen up, everyone!” Rose interrupted. “We’re going to tally up your scores and then tell you the results. You can hang out in the other conference room.”

They shuffled from one room into the other, everyone talking about the different talents they had presented. It took a couple of minutes for Ryan to accept any form of praise, Hunter almost getting him to agree to sing the national anthems for their next matchup. Lundin, after a long debate, accepted that he had picked the worst talent but the rest agreed that his backup, naming all ABBA songs in chronological order, wouldn’t have brought him anywhere closer to the date either.

“Stop jiggling your leg,” Barrett grumbled next to Ilya.

“I am not jiggling anything. Or do you want me to?” He shimmied his shoulders in an effort to annoy him even further.

“Fuck off.” Barrett dramatically threw himself back into his chair, Ilya succeeding.

Before a fight could break out between Baldwin and Hunter over Kip’s talent, the door was swung open by Rose.

“The decision has been made.” Her smile was blinding. “and the winner is…”

She stopped for a second.

“Guys, a drum roll would be cool here, come on,” she whined playfully, the group drumming their hands on their thighs in compliance with her request.

“ILYA ROZANOV!” She announced to the room. A concerto of groans echoed from the walls while Ilya had to bite his cheek, otherwise the smile which was threatening to take over his face would ultimately split in half.

“Shane will meet you at the place you told me you booked.” Rose gave him a wink before turning to the others. “And the rest of you I will meet in two hours at moi-moi. The address is in the group chat. Let’s go.”

“Good luck, Roz.” Price gave him a singular pat on the shoulder before following Rose.

“Not too much luck,” Barrett protested under his breath.

“Well, if you two need a third and a fourth…” Kip started.

“Kip, no, come on.” Hunter stopped.

“I was joking,” Kip replied with a cheeky smile.

“Were you?” Baldwin inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“Bar’s gonna be fun.” Lundin pushed them out with a chuckle. “We want full details tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not.” Ilya glowered at him. These gossip hungry goblins could be happy if they got an invitation to the wedding.

Ilya stood in front of the restaurant he had booked for the night, his stomach twisting and churning under his ribs. He was early, he knew he was early when he drove over in his rented Mercedes and somehow he still felt uneasy about being so early. 

He had packed three different date outfits but there was really only one he wanted to go with. He opted for the forest green button down shirt that was unbelievably smooth to the touch through the high end silk fabric. The subtle diagonal pintucks running down from his shoulders to the middle of his shirt highlighted his silhouette even more. The fabric for the row of buttons was velvet which made the buttoning and the unbuttoning process a tactile pleasure in itself. He paired it with charcoal pants that were tailored to hug his butt just right. His watch was a simple golden one that fit with his necklace, the belt buckle golden as well. His outfit was completed by the finest Italian patent leather shows in high shining black.

He checked the time again - still early - and stopped his hand just in time before it could run through his hair and ruin the neatly styled curls that unnervingly had gone really quick into the shape he had wanted them to be in. A car stopped right at the curb and from the back seat, Ilya’s date appeared in a light blue dress shirt and grey-mottled trousers that highlighted everything just the right way, Ilya’s breath catching in his throat.

“Hi,” Hollander said with a shy smile. Or was it Shane now? Should he ask? No, that seemed weird. Fuck, maybe he could avoid saying it either way, even though he loved saying his name.

“Hi,” Ilya replied after a beat. “Shall we?”

He held the door open, still too lost in his thoughts to fully register the waitress leading them to their table. Not that it mattered.

“Did you book out the whole restaurant?” Shane asked him with big eyes. Oh god, these eyes were going to be the death of him and he had zero objections against that.

“I wanted it to be private.” Ilya told the curtain right next to Shane. “No need for an audience for tonight.”

“Oh, that’s… really considerate, thank you.” Shane whispered something to the waitress and then focused back on Ilya. “These are for you.”

“What?” Ilya snapped out of his thoughts to stare at the grand bouquet of creme, pink and dark red peonies in front of him that he somehow hadn’t noticed until just now.

“Do you not like flowers?” Shane let the bouquet sink to his side. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been on many dates, it wasn't really possible.”

“I love flowers,” Ilya assured him. “No one has ever… thank you. Where can I…”

Before Ilya could finish the sentence, the waitress had reappeared with a fitting vase in hand, expertly placing the flowers on their table. They both slid into the plush half circle booth, having to sit closer than on opposite ends to see each other with the flowers on the table. The waitress took their drink orders and left them alone.

They sat in silence for a moment before Shane started speaking. “This is a nice restaurant, how did you get it booked for us?”

“Ah.” Ilya couldn’t help but give him his signature lopsided smirk. “So there is this thing called money, people are happy to take it and have a relaxed evening with just two guests in return.”

Shane huffed at him but let out an amused noise right after, undermining his played-up annoyance. “And what would you have done if you hadn’t been chosen?”

“Then these nice people got their money and a free evening. Even better deal for them.” Ilya tried to ignore the sharp pang in his gut from the thought of someone else being on a date with Shane right now.

“I asked about you.” Shane wouldn’t let it go.

“I… I would have been very sad,” Ilya disclosed, his stomach sinking at the brief silence between them.

“Me too,” Shane said quietly and reached over the table to squeeze Ilya’s hand before pulling it back into his lap.

“You would?” Ilya searched his face which was showing all of his emotions at once, unlike his usual well-trained media facade that he would conjure for protection, just like Ilya.

“Yeah.” Shane sounded like he wanted to say more but was interrupted by the waitress who Ilya had liked just until this point.

They were handed the menus, a small selection that still covered most people's favorites, and ordered two medium-rare steaks, one with mashed potatoes and green beans for Shane and one with thin cut fries and a side salad for Ilya.

The waitress came back with their drinks, a freshly made grapefruit lemonade with a hint of gin for Shane and a darkly brewed citrus ice tea with a dash of rum for Ilya. She also opened the bottle of champagne Ilya had pre-ordered and handed them their glass flutes before Ilya could ask Shane if he actually liked champagne. There was too much he didn’t know.

“You don’t have to if you do not like it.” Ilya already half reached for the second glass before Shane took a swift swig from it.

“If I didn’t like champagne, I don’t know if I would survive all the stiff charity events that are just a bunch of rich people deciding who they would look best giving money to.” He took another sip. “Sorry, if that was too sinister.”

“I like that side of you.” Ilya put his own glass to his lips.

“What, sinister?” Shane asked, befuddled.

“No.” Ilya vehemently shook his head. “Just saying what is on your mind. You are usually so controlled.”

“There is not much space for what’s really in my head between We need to improve our late-game strategies and This isn’t all my doing, we work as a unit.” The corners of Shane’s mouth curled up.

“Would make for more interesting press scrums.” Ilya smiled back.

“That’s more your job, you are entertaining enough for the whole league.” Shane swirled his champagne around before consuming more of it.

“I take that as a compliment.” Ilya downed the rest of his champagne in one go, feeling a sudden high that had little to do with the alcohol content of his drink.

The waitress delivered their entrees and the conversation flowed easily from there. They exchanged the latest trade gossip, talked about their off-season plans and projects, the ad deals they had gotten and the ones they hadn’t and just everything and anything their minds drifted to. The only small hiccup was when Shane asked about Ilya’s family before remembering that his dad had died the year before. Ilya gave him the brief overview and Shane thankfully picked up on that not being a topic of choice for Ilya. There was only so much to discuss after saying My brother is the only one left and he is a major asshole I have not spoken to in a year.

“So…” Shane took the last bite of his plate. “How long?”

“How long what?” Ilya was already done with his meal.

Shane swallowed. “How long have you been… erm… interested in me?”

Ilya wagered his options. His first instinct was to say something funny, most likely inaccurate as well. He went with the blatant truth instead. “First time I saw you. I flirted with you a lot.”

“You did?” Shane gave him a baffled look.

“You did not notice?” Ilya tilted his head to the side. That would explain a bunch of things.

“I’m not sure. When?” Shane’s eyes rapidly jumped between several spots somewhere over Ilya’s head.

“In the gym at the draft, for starters,” Ilya recounted.

“I just thought you were asking about the cities.” Shane’s eyes had found a spot to stay on. “And that you accidentally brushed my hand. I didn’t want to read more into it than it was.”

“And then the CCM shoot. I organized whole thing to see you,” Ilya continued.

“I… damn…” Shane’s gaze wandered down to the table cloth. “I thought you just wanted to use the rivalry to your advantage. Which made sense, I played into it, too.”

“No, I did not care about that.” Ilya clicked his tongue. “And then at All-Stars…”

“Which All-Stars?” Shane interrupted.

“Basically all of them.” Ilya thought back to last year. “I kissed your helmet but that’s not what I wanted to kiss.”

“Oh.” A slight blush creeped over Shane’s face, similarly to when he was on the ice. Ilya always had to look away when they played, his freckles standing out against it would make his thoughts spiral like crazy and Ilya actually liked playing good hockey more than stumbling over his own feet over freckles. “I thought it was only me the whole time who was into you. I told myself for a while that I just introduced myself because you are a talented player but who am I kidding. I wasn’t even sure you weren’t making fun of me when you wrote those comments and then the whole thing about the boyfriend application…”

“I was not joking about any of this.” Ilya pulled out his phone and scrolled through his fileshare folders. He scooted closer to Shane to hand him the phone. “Here, you can look at it.”

Shane searched his face for a second before taking the phone and clicking through the different files. Ilya flinched when he started the introduction video, Shane simply putting a hand on his thigh in response like it always belonged there. Ilya tried to ignore his own voice, he had recorded early in the morning as his voice was usually lower and he knew a lot of people were into that. 

When the video ended, Shane lowered the phone to the table, staring at the black screen, not saying anything. Ilya’s heart was beating alarmingly fast, like it was trying to escape his chest, his throat feeling impossibly tight, too tight to speak either. Shane moved to press their thighs together and turned his face to only be a couple of inches from Ilya’s. His eyes flickered between Ilya's eyes and mouth, Ilya’s heart now simply stopping all together. Shane leaned in, slowly, impossibly slowly, giving Ilya all the time in the world to decide what he wanted to do but all the time in the world wouldn’t have been enough to prepare him for the boundless rush through his entire body when his lips touched Shane’s for the first time.

The kiss was short and so unbelievably sweet, Ilya barely recognized he was fixed on the spot. Shane pulled back ever so slightly, brushing his nose against Ilya’s before going in for a lingering kiss. Ilya’s brain finally caught up to what was happening and kissed him back, his hand finding the nape of his neck to deepen the kiss further and further until they both ran out of oxygen.

Shane sank into the cushion, panting in the process, his hand still firmly on Ilya’s thigh. The thumb on his other hand was dragging over his lips that were pulled up into a small, private smile.

“Just to be clear,” Ilya got out through desperate attempts to regain proper airflow to his lungs, “you can do that any time you want.”

Shane let out a relieved laugh and went back in for a second round, oxygen be damned. His tongue brushed against the seam of Ilya’s lips, Ilya opening them without hesitation, letting their tongues dance with each other. Shane’s hand slid further up his thigh until it was dangerously close to where Ilya’s pants were already tightening from the brief makeout session.

Ilya reluctantly broke the kiss and dropped his forehead against Shane’s. “Ahhh, I…” 

How could he make it clear that he was furiously aroused and even if the restaurant was closed, he still would want to continue this somewhere more private without being too forward? The evening was going so well and he didn’t want to assume it would be going any further for now. He usually didn’t care about being too forward or assuming but he usually also hadn’t had thoughts about this exact situation for nearly a decade and wanted to avoid fucking it up at all costs.

“Do you want to go to my place?” Shane gave the corner of his mouth a quick peck. “It’s okay, if you don’t. It was a long day and…”

“Yes!”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll tell the waitress to pack up the desserts to go.”

A couple of minutes later, they were in Ilya’s rental car, Shane in the passenger seat with the flowers in one hand and the dessert box in the other. Neither of them talked much, Shane just giving him directions where he needed to go. He parked the car in front of the giant house and followed Shane into his home. They got rid of their shoes, Shane placed the flowers into a vase and the dessert in the fridge. Ilya was leaning as casually as possible - so not casually at all - against the kitchen island. Shane stepped into his space, letting his hands run over the ridges that the pintucks made before his hands wandered up into Ilya’s curls to pull him in again. Ilya placed his own hands at Shane’s side, running them up and down to cover his noticeable tremor.

“Hey, are you okay?” Shane asked, his mouth pausing its previous activity for a moment.

“Yes, just… nervous,” Ilya confessed against his lips.

“Thank fuck I’m not the only one then,” Shane chuckled gingerly.

Something about that emboldened Ilya. He turned them around and trapped Shane against the counter, his body pressed against his, his hands still at his sides. Shane let out an unfairly delicate moan and carefully guided Ilya’s hands lower, lower, lower until they were wrapped around his ass where Ilya squeezed his cheeks, gaining him another moan that shot straight to Ilya’s hardening dick. Ilya positioned his thigh between Shane’s legs to give his groin nowhere to go but against it when he dug his hands deeper into Shane’s flesh.

“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane gasped against his ear and Ilya wondered how he wasn’t in a full on puddle on the floor already. “What do you want to do tonight?”

“Anything to make you feel good.” Ilya’s mouth was trailing over Shane’s prominent jawline. 

“Fuck!” Shane rubbed his erection over Ilya’s thigh once more, his body vibrating under Ilya's attention. Ilya dragged his tongue from Shane’s clavicle up to his earlobe where his teeth gently tugged on it, a lust ridden groan followed by a shudder going through Shane’s body.

Shane pushed them away from the counter and took Ilya’s hand to lead him to the bedroom where he guided Ilya down on the edge of the bed and seated himself into his lap. He resumed his efforts to kiss every last brain cell out of Ilya while his fingers found the buttons of Ilya's shirt, popping them impatiently until he could yank it off. Ilya had more issues with Shane’s buttons as his hands still had a slight tremor to them but managed in the end. He freed Shane’s bulging pecks with his dark brown-rosé colored nipples for Ilya to play with. Shane’s hand trailed down Ilya’s torso and toyed with his waistband, one finger dipping into it ever so slightly. 

“Can I…?” Shane muttered, his attentive but determined tone dropped down, only tightening Ilya’s pants more, his cock begging to be released.

“Yes,” was all Ilya got out, was all that Shane needed before pulling on the belt to open it, unbuttoning the top and slowly dragging down the zipper until only the thin fabric of Ilya's boxers were between him and Ilya's length. He unceremoniously shoved his hand down his underwear, Ilya’s breath catching in his throat when he wrapped his hand around it.

“Jesus Christ, you are big.” Shane’s eyes went wide before his eyelids dropped to half mast. “You know what would make me feel good? If I could suck you off.”

“Fuck, Shane… yes!” Ilya had trouble swallowing as his mouth went desert dry just at that thought of those gorgeous lips closing around him.

Shane moved to the ground, kneeling in front of Ilya, pawing at his pants to get them off. Ilya lifted his hips up to help his endeavour. When he was fully naked, he parted his knees further for Shane’s broad body to fit comfortably between them, presenting himself for Shane to take whatever he wanted.

Shane placed firm kisses from Ilya's knee all the way down his inner thigh until he reached the hinge of Ilya’s hip, doing the same on the other side, the teasing already driving Ilya near the brink of insanity. He took Ilya’s dick in his hand, licking along a prominent vein, stopping at the underside of his head to give the sensitive spot there some extra attention. Ilya could do nothing but throw his head back at the sensation. He gained back control over his neck muscles just in time to look down at the scene happening right in front of him. Shane swirled his tongue around the head, tasting Ilya’s precum with a pleased little noise before opening his jaw wide, letting the tip glide into the slick, wet heat of his mouth all while keeping stern eye contact with Ilya whose insides wanted to implode at the picture drawn for him.

He knew he was panting, he knew his face was twisting in all different directions from the sheer ecstasy running through his veins, he knew he usually had more composure but my god was it impossible to give a singular fuck about any of that when he saw Shane’s lips sink down on him inch by inch until he got to feel himself bump against Shane’s throat. 

Shane backed up a little, just to push him further down with a hum on his lips until his nose was nestled in Ilya’s neatly trimmed happy trail. He swallowed around his tip one, two, three times before pulling back so he could properly breathe again. He worked up and down Ilya’s dick, exploring different places, playing around with pressure and tempo to see what got the biggest reaction out of Ilya who was completely unable and even more unwilling to do anything but surrender to the pleasure given by Shane so generously. 

Ilya felt the heat pool low in his guts way too rapidly for his own taste, wanting to stay in the moment for eternity. But he knew with Shane dismantling him expertly like that, there was little to extend it, he had to call for a stop.

“Shane, I’m… ahhh… so close, you need to stop.” Ilya tugged on Shane’s silken, ink-black strands to maneuver him off.

Shane let his dick out of his mouth with a pop but hovered rather close. “Are you not staying the night?” His eyebrows were drawn together in anticipated disappointment.

“I will stay if you want me to, but maybe you want to do something else?” Ilya suddenly realized he hadn’t even asked if Shane preferred to top or to bottom or maybe neither. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“I do,” Shane simply replied, “but erm… how long is your… down time?”

“Ah… maybe between like fifteen and thirty minutes?” Ilya had never timed himself but he knew he could go pretty fast if he felt like it.

“Okay, then I don’t see the problem.” Shane gave his tip a quick kiss. “Can I finish what I started?”

Ilya let out an astonished huff at the sheer practicality Shane was approaching Ilya’s most treasured fantasies with. “Go for it.”

Shane got back to work, his cheeks hollowed while he moved along Ilya’s shaft, obscene slurping noises combined with drool dripping down to Ilya’s balls that were rolled around in the palm of Shane’s hand hauling him to the edge in record time. He would have given a warning if his orgasm didn’t hit him with the speed of a Concorde before he could make any noise but an earth-shattering cry when he came down Shane's throat in generous spurts.

Shane made sure to swallow every last drop, even giving his oversensitive head a last lick, before settling back on his heels.

“Was that good?” He asked while wiping his mouth. Ilya could do nothing but blink at him for a solid second.

“That was so fucking hot, I think I blacked out at the end.” Ilya was not 100% sure he was fully back. “Come here.”

He pulled Shane back into his lap, swiping his tongue through his mouth to get a taste of himself. They languidly made out for a while, Ilya still working through the post coital haze to gain his bearings to continue the evening. He wrapped his arms around Shane to flip him onto the mattress and maneuver him into the pillows.

“Can I return the favor?” Ilya asked, involuntarily licking his lips just thinking about it.

“Fuck, please do.” Shane dragged his lower lip through his teeth. 

Ilya dipped down to do the same with his own teeth, gaining him a pleading groan from Shane’s talented throat. He wanted to give him back everything and more, so he took his sweet time. He started at Shane’s throat where he traced the side up and down with kisses, finding the sensitive point above his pulse where he sucked down, conjuring goosebumps all over Shane’s skin. Ilya snaked down further, his lips closing around one of Shane’s hardening nipples, teasing and caressing it while the other got rolled between his fingertips before switching. Ilya lapped up the thin layer of sweat pooling between Shane’s abs with his tongue, the salty taste fueling the thick clouds surrounding Ilya’s brain back up.

He unwrapped the lower half of Shane’s body as well, his mouth watering at the first sight of Shane’s fully naked body. His plump cock was leaking against his stomach while Ilya kept his lips moving across his skin. Ilya would have teased him for longer if that didn’t mean teasing himself as well. His lips found the tip of Shane’s cock, taking him in a tick too fast as he made himself slightly gag when he reached the base. Shane’s hand was on his cheek, a tinge of worry behind his eyes. Ilya lifted his head a couple of inches, just to sink down with more vigor the next time, Shane’s concern melting from his face. 

Shane was one to talk about big. Ilya’s jaw was already aching from the girth stretching out his mouth. Lucky for them both, Ilya enjoyed the pinch of pain it gave him, the solid weight heavenly pressing down his flattened tongue, drops of precum filling Ilya’s mouth with Shane’s intoxicating taste.

Ilya got lost in the sensation of Shane gliding in and out of his mouth. His eyes were closed, everything narrowed down to his singular task of making Shane feel good. He ignored any gag reflex that threatened to stop him from his mission, flexing his throat muscles around Shane before bobbing his head, increasing the suction as well as the speed. Shane’s hand was buried deep in Ilya’s curls, holding on for dear life as his bedroom got saturated with his cries and gasps with every one of Ilya’s moves. 

Ilya could feel himself grow hard again, noticeably faster than usual, Shane undoing him even while Shane was on the receiving end. Blood was pumping loudly through Ilya’s ears, everything else falling away into nothingness while Ilya could feel Shane so close to the finish line. He wrestled Shane’s bucking hips down with his forearm to avoid having to pull off before he got the chance to feel Shane fill his mouth with his cum. The grip in his hair grew stronger, the moans coming out shaky, thigh muscles trembling next to Ilya’s head. Shane’s orgasm came with a dire wail, Ilya desperate to drink down every last eruption of cum down his throat.

He could have stayed right here between Shane’s thighs for an eternity but a gentle tug at his hair guided him off of Shane’s dick and into his arms.

“Holy shit, that felt so good. I need a bit to recover from that.” Shane nuzzled into Ilya’s hair and wrapped him tighter to his body, Ilya just happy to close his eyes and rest there for a minute, no matter how hard he already was again.

Ilya’s thoughts floated in and out of his head, most of them still confused that after a decade of leisurely flirting and a, what he thought, one-sided, profound infatuation, it took drunk Instagram comments, a famous actress’s intervention, a full day battling other NHL players and a private dinner to get them where they were right now. But they were here and Ilya had every intention to stay right where he was.

Shane’s hands started wandering over Ilya’s body, his fingernails dragging with minimal pressure over his back. Ilya wanted him to sink them into his skin, claw at him, give him something tangible as evidence that he hadn’t just all dreamt it up. Ilya shifted his hips so his dick was trapped between his stomach and the side of Shane’s thigh. He did a little test roll of his hips, the fingernails twitching into his shoulder blades indicating he might be recovered.

“Ready for more?” Ilya asked.

“Mhm…” Shane put his hand on Ilya’s jaw to tilt it up for a deep and wanting kiss.

“On your stomach,” Ilya calmly commanded against his lips.

Shane reached over to the nightstand to wordlessly lay out a bottle of lube and a condom next to them, Ilya ignored the rumbling of potential sextoys in the back of the drawer. For today.

Then, Shane did as requested with Ilya placing a pillow under his hip. Ilya took in the masterpiece in front of him, the finely tuned and viciously strong back muscles ready for war on the ice, the square hips that were thickly cushioned in the back by the most sublime ass Ilya had ever seen, fairly firm with just the right amount of fat to have a satisfying squish to it, and those thighs… the back was equally as spectacular as the front, Ilya overwhelmed by the choice of where to touch, where to lick, where to bite.

His teeth landed at the bottom of the right cheek, the left one getting attention right after. Shane let out a giggle. “Hey!”

“No?” Ilya graced his teeth over the seam where cheek met thigh.

“I’m ticklish there.” Shane threw him a scrunched up glare.

“That’s not a no.” Ilya combined his teeth with his tongue for maximum effect.

“Okay, stop, STOP!” Shane was still giggling. “I don’t want to accidentally kick you, would be a waste of our night.”

Ilya was nothing but a rule follower… if the rules made it so they wouldn’t waste their night. A kick in the head would explain the apparent hallucination that he was about to eat Shane Hollander’s ass which was straight up shaped by the gods as a gift to humanity.

He pulled the luscious cheeks apart to reveal the puckered entrance he was about to devour. He gave the crease one long lick from down at the base of the balls all the way over his hole.

“Fuck yes, Ilya!” Shane’s voice was slightly muffled from the pillow he was clinging onto.

“I want to hear everything.” Ilya gave him another firm lick that sent Shane’s head back into his neck. Shane let his head drop sideways, nothing obscuring his sounds anymore.

Ilya fluttered his tongue against his hole, running the tip around the rim several times to coat it thoroughly with saliva before he tried to breach the ring of muscle with it. It held sternly against his first couple of tries but Shane relaxed more and more into the mattress until Ilya could eventually enter him, first with his tongue, then with a single digit. He worked them in tandem, fucking his tongue in and out of him while his finger loosened Shane up bit by bit until Ilya could add a second finger with the help of some lube. His fingers spread and prodded further inside where they found the sensitive bump that caused Shane to clamp down around them. Ilya massaged over the spot in a continuous rhythm, drawing out every last little or big noise Shane would give him, only increasing in volume when Ilya added a third finger. 

“Fuck me already! Please!” Shane begged under him, Ilya not one to deny him.

Ilya rolled on the condom and slicked himself up, placing himself between Shane's legs. He leaned over him, kissing along his neck, shoulder and side of his face. Shane craned his neck and pushed one hand into the mattress to turn enough to actually kiss him. Ilya positioned the tip between his cheeks, Shane impatiently canting his hips back to press against him. Ilya followed his lead, sinking his head into him, having to stop for a second at the sudden heat surrounding him. He spread his knees a smidge wider for more stability before pushing in further, slowly, carefully, until he bottomed out, stilling there to give Shane time to adjust to the intrusion.

“Are you okay?” Ilya’s chest was lightly pressed against Shane’s back, only bearing minimum weight, his face close enough to study every minute shift in the half of Shane’s face he could see.

“So okay.” Shane’s gaze wandered down to Ilya’s mouth, Ilya picking up the signal, kissing him again. “You can move, you know.”

“So bossy.” Ilya let out a small laugh before locking lips again.

He rolled his hips in small circles against Shane, gauging the reaction before drawing bigger circles, gliding in and out of him in a constant motion. The first proper thrust punched a moan so deep out of Shane’s chest that Ilya could feel it vibrate against his own. Ilya picked up a sturdy rhythm, trying not to go too quick too fast which took everything he had. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, want to fuck you forever,” Ilya purred into his ear.

“Yes, fuck… oh god...yes…,” Shane babbled in response.

Ilya hated that he could only see half of his stunning face from this angle, hated that Shane’s hands could barely touch him, hated he couldn’t properly kiss him. So he made an executive decision, pulled out to Shane’s brief confusion before Shane was flipped over and he reentered him with one swift push of the hips.

“Want to see your whole face when I make you come again.” Ilya dove down to capture his lips while he pistoned his hips against Shane’s ass, folding Shane in half in the process.

“Harder, I can take it, come on!” Shane smacked his ass against Ilya, lewd clapping sounds filling the air, making Ilya lose the last ounce of restraint, jackhammering into him with all his might.

His nervous system fired off sparks all over his body, igniting a fire deep in his gut that was consuming every last cell. He could feel his impending loss of control over his mind and muscles, threatening to lose his rhythm while trying to drive even deeper, faster, harder into Shane just like he had demanded. He was fighting with every last bit to hang on just a little longer until he could fuck Shane to completion, Shane making it impossibly hard, falling apart under him in a devastatingly beautiful way that got Ilya addicted at the first hit. His gaze was fixed on Ilya’s face, his deep brown irises almost completely swallowed by the pupils that opened into whole universes in front of Ilya’s eyes. His lips were permanently parted, furiously puffing out hot air against Ilya’s face, his hands buried deep into the sheets next to his head. Ilya in a last ditch effort lowered himself further, intertwining their hands, giving Shane’s dick friction between their bodies.

“Don’t stop!” Shane cried out. "Unghhhh, Ilyaaaaaa!”

Shane’s eyes screwed shut, his spine arching off the bed in what little space he had, his hole hungrily clenching around Ilya’s cock while he fucked him through his second orgasm of the night, Shane’s dick painting their chests and stomachs white. Shane opening back his eyes, lust drunk, fucked out and still taking more from Ilya somehow, finally tipped Ilya over, his own orgasm hitting even harder than the first one, his vision blanking out for a moment while his hips stuttered and his dick pulsated madly buried to the hilt inside Shane’s ass.

When he regained enough composure, he cautiously pulled out of Shane, tying off the condom to put it in a tissue from the box on the nightstand to then sort out their limbs so he could cuddle closely to Shane’s side again where he already felt at home. The comedown was gradual, the landing velvety smooth, Ilya tracking the slowing down of Shane’s heartbeat under his ear.

Shane insisted on a shower and Ilya, as reluctant as he was to move, wasn’t keen on sleeping covered in dried sweat and cum either. They cleaned each other in the spacious shower, Ilya repeatedly stealing kisses in between lathering up Shane, taking care of every last inch of his body. Shane quickly changed sheets while Ilya grabbed two water bottles, two spoons and the desserts, a white chocolate mouse with raspberry coulis and a small, dark chocolate cake filled with chocolate ganache and berry jam. Shane threw a towel on the bed to avoid having to change sheets again before they both sat against the headboard in their fresh boxer briefs from Shane’s wardrobe. Ilya settled half against Shane’s chest, Shane's hand coming to rest on Ilya’s back. Shane threw his leg over Ilya’s and Ilya placed his free hand that wasn’t going to town on the dessert on Shane’s thigh.

Ilya didn’t even notice when his thoughts drifted off until Shane placed a kiss under his ear and asked, “Is everything alright?”

“You know… we could have had this for a decade,” Ilya replied before he could stop himself.

“I know, I want to kick myself for not getting it sooner,” Shane grumbled, genuinely irritated.

“No kicking! Next time, I will just ask. Would that be better?” Ilya snickered, drawing lazy patterns over Shane’s thigh with his fingertips while Shane fed him the last bit of the mousse.

“Yes, please. That would make it way easier.” A happy sigh escaped Shane’s sublimely shaped lips. “Wait, would you want there to be a next time?”

“Was that not obvious?” Ilya turned his head to meet Shane’s gaze.

“I’d rather hear it out loud.” Shane’s eyebrows pulled together which Ilya couldn’t have. He smoothed out the lines between them with his thumb and let his hand roam through Shane’s hair.

“I would like there to be many more times,” Ilya admitted openly.

“Good.” Shane’s face visibly relaxed. “I don’t want to look back in another decade and ask myself what if again. I would like to hang out, go on dates and stuff.”

“Ahh, and stuff.” Ilya squeezed the back of Shane’s neck.

Shane lovingly rolled his eyes at him. “Not just sex, even though I wanna do that again when I have any resemblance of energy back. I really liked our date, it felt so… I don’t know… easy to be with you.”

“Good. I have not booked a flight back yet, you will not get rid of me that fast,” Ilya casually dropped, Shane’s whole face lighting up.

“Now give me the last bite of the chocolate cake or I will have to bite you.” Shane abruptly leaned forward, stealing the cake off of Ilya’s spoon.

“Hey! That was mine!” Ilya put the container to the side before jumping into Shane’s lap to get a taste of the sweetness of it all, Shane delightfully snickering under him.

Yeah, he could stay here for the rest of his life.