Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shane Hollander Gets Outed, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Pre-Relationship, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Shane Hollander Is a Menace, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Developing Relationship

Language:

English

Series:

Part 18 of Retro Writing - May 2026 Challenge

Collections:

Retro Writing Month (2026)

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-19 Completed: 2026-06-01 Words: 3,708 Chapters: 3/3

Fool me once...

Summary

“Hayden, give it-” 

“I don’t think so buddy!” Hayden teases, sing-song; post game adrenaline making him giddy. “I think if you’re ditching us to go hang out with some girl, we deserve the courtesy of at least knowing what she looks like.”

There’s a general grumbling of approval amongst the team, and fear starts to ice down Shane’s spine.

“No, Hayden.” he tries, desperation growing and grabbing at his friend’s arm. “This isn’t funny, stop-”

Notes

Prompt fill for day eighteen of the Retro Writing May 2026 Challenge: Fake Dating AU

Chapter 1

Lily: I told you, Comeau is lagging left side

Lily: What do you want to eat? Getting delivery

Lily: Jane

Lily: Jane

Lily: Jaaaaaane

Lily: Fine. Doritos for you.

Shane can’t help but grin down at his phone. Boston just lost against them. Ilya couldn’t even be out of his gear, and yet here he was, giving Shane a hard time-

His thumbs are just prepping a response when his phone is suddenly snatched from his hands. Blinking at the blank air where his phone used to be, it takes Shane’s brain a full second to start sounding an alarm.

By then, it’s too late.

“Who are you making heart eyes at? You’re not ditching us tonight Hollander, we won! We beat Boston!” Hayden is still riding the high of victory against Montreal’s oldest rival, but Shane’s already over it and looking forward to the rest of the evening.

“Hollander’s ditching again? Big surprise.” Comeau gripes, and Shane makes a mental note to work him extra hard on his left side, because Ilya’s fucking right.

“The Captain doesn’t go out to celebrate?” asks one of the rookies, but Shane’s too busy trying to recover his phone from Hayden to pay attention to which one.

“Hayden, give it-” 

“I don’t think so buddy!” Hayden teases, sing-song; post game adrenaline making him giddy. “I think if you’re ditching us to go hang out with some girl, we deserve the courtesy of at least knowing what she looks like.”

There’s a general grumbling of approval amongst the team, and fear starts to ice down Shane’s spine.

“No, Hayden.” he tries, desperation growing and grabbing at his friend’s arm. “This isn’t funny, stop-”

With the skill of a man used to dodging the grabby hands of his entire flock of children, Hayden neatly tosses Shane’s phone to his other hand and starts rapidly scrolling up the chain of text messages Shane shares with Ilya. Three other players have swarmed them, including JJ, and they’re peering at his screen with Hayden, effectively blocking Shane from getting his phone back.

He’s deleted all the pictures though, right? Because even if Ilya called him paranoid, he still-

“Here we go!” Hayden crows with delight, and JJ slaps at his back in victory. 

“Open it! Let’s see what kind of fish Montreal’s Capitaine has landed!” 

More players are gathering, and the sweat on Shane’s skin from the exertion of the game feels simultaneously freezing and like it’s going to burn off into steam any second now.

“She’s gonna feed you chips? You don’t even eat chips. Like, I’ve never even seen you look at a potato.” Drapeau bitches, but he’s leaning in too, just as invested as the rest of Shane’s nosy, no good teammates.

“Doritos are a corn chip, dumbass.” Comeau points out.

“The fuck do I care? It’s still chips.”

“H-hayden.” Shane stammers out weakly, but it’s too late. Shane can see the exact moment that everyone staring realizes that ‘Lily’ isn’t a woman; their heads cock to the side in tandem confusion before Hayden tips the screen into landscape mode. 

The following silence is deafening; a total vacuum of sound from a group of burly men that normally couldn’t be quiet if their lives depended on it.

Half of the onlookers immediately recoil away, feigning retching. Smiles fade off the other half’s faces. 

JJ looks at Shane like he’s suddenly started speaking in tongues, but it’s Hayden’s reaction that makes tears prick at the corner of Shane’s eyes.

He looks… gutted. Devastated. Like it’s his world that’s just had the rug pulled out from under him.

“Fuckin’ figures Hollander’s a queer. Least you’re good at hockey.” someone says, slapping him on the shoulder in consolation and heading for the depths of the locker room.

“Dude, does this mean you’ve been checking us out in the showers? What the fuck man.” grumbles someone else.

No one swings on him.

He almost wishes they would.

The quiet departure of the rest of Hayden’s onlookers is a subdued kind of silence. Like they know they’ve crossed a line, but don’t think he deserves the courtesy of an apology.

“Shane-” Hayden tries to talk, but his voice cracks and he ends up looking away, handing Shane’s phone back to him like his kids pass over toys that’ve been confiscated. His hands are shaking.

JJ recovers the fastest. It’s why Shane likes him on the starting line up.

“Look at the bright side, hm? Our Capitaine has a beau!”

For all that almost every person in the locker room has tried to set him up on a date with a cousin or a friend of a friend over the last couple of years, not a single person seems pleased with this announcement.

“Right?” JJ asks, bending lower to look into Shane’s downturned face.

His brain is still white noise and static at being outed like this to his team, but a warning voice in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like his mother speaks up. If he doesn’t let them think he has a boyfriend already, the team might very well try and set him up on more dates, this time with an entirely untested pool.

Not that they probably know very many gay men, but the threat remains.

“Uh. Yeah. Boyfriend.” Shane shrugs. It’s not like they recognized Ilya from the photo apparently, or they really would have been throwing punches. And even though whatever he and Ilya have going on is far from a relationship, it’s not as if anyone can fact check him against a fake relationship with his league rival anyway.

“...cool.”

Shane strips out of his hockey gear in record time, skips the shower, and heads straight for his hotel to break down in private.

Chapter 2

The next morning dawns at the exact time as the day before, but it feels too early for Shane. Dawn means a new day, means facing people that might’ve taken the time that Shane spent hyperventilating in his hotel bathroom thinking up hateful things to say. 

Powering on his phone, Shane winces as a whole slew of text notifications ping through.

Jackie: Hayden told me what happened. Call me?

Jackie: He feels awful.

Jackie: I told him to talk to you. He’s terrified to text or call, but he just wants to apologize.

Jackie: I’m so sorry Shane. We love you.

Mom: Good game tonight! Watch Comeau though, he was looking a little off.

Dad: You looked great though. Good job, son.

Mom: Don’t forget to wear your Reeboks tomorrow.

Lily: You are late

Lily: You are VERY late

Lily: Jane

Missed Call

Missed Call

Lily: You are ok?

Lily: Your voicemail is full

Lily: JANE

Missed Call

Lily: You have BOYFRIEND?!?!

He sends Jackie a thumbs up, knowing it’s a cop out. His parents get a quick ‘Thanks’, but it’s Ilya’s texts that hold Shane’s attention.

Shane: How did you even hear about that already?

It’s still dawn, so he’s not really expecting a reply from Ilya. His phone buzzes a moment later though, and Shane’s surprised to see that is, in fact, Ilya texting.

Lily: Oh good

Lily: You are not dead

Lily: Just rude

Lily: Which for Canadian, is same thing yes?

Shane snorts with amusement, the first smile he’s been able to manage since he left the locker room last night teasing at the corners of his mouth. 

Shane: Sorry I bailed on you. Something came up.

Lily: I heard

Lily: Hope your ‘boyfriend’ was nice to you 😜

Shane frowns at his phone. Does Ilya actually think he has a boyfriend? Or is he teasing, because Ilya knows he’s the closest thing to a relationship Shane’s managed since he went professional? Either way-

Shane: Nicer than you.

Even if it’s just the sort of hockey player locker room drama that he seems weirdly in the loop on, Ilya is dedicated to his craft; the craft of gossiping. Three bubbles appear on the screen and linger. Either Ilya’s sending a really long text, or-

The bubbles disappear.

Maybe Ilya didn’t actually mean to send anything? Or changed his mind?

Bubbles reappear. 

Ilya never hesitates on his texts. What is he doing?

Lily: But does he play hockey as good?

Lily: Are you into older men? IS IT SCOTT HUNTER

Lily: Jane. SHANE. You deserve better.

There’s an opportunity here that Shane can’t resist. If Ilya’s firing back at him this early in the morning, there has to be a reason; they’re playing in Boston, it’s not like he has an early flight. Ilya is invested. 

Shane: He’s a pretty good hockey player, yeah. 

Shane: And actually, he’s younger than me.

Shane: He’s not out though.

Lily: Neither were you until fucking Pike opened his mouth

Lily: Have shovel. Will help hide the body, if you need

It’s both sweet and disturbing that Shane isn’t sure if Ilya is joking on that front. Obviously he knows he wasn’t outed with Shane, or he’d probably be getting shipped back to Russia already for who knows what kind of heinous punishment he’d face.

Shane: Thanks? And no. We’re not killing Pike.

Shane doesn’t really know what he’s going to do with Hayden. But honestly, he doesn’t have many friends, not close ones. And he knows Hayden would never have done it on purpose, if he’d known.

Lily: We?

Lily: You and boyfriend, we?

Lily: Or you and me and shovel, we?

Ilya, as Shane has taken to allowing himself to think of the Boston player for the last few months, hardly ever needs clarification on English anymore. And Shane’s pretty sure he knows what’s going through Ilya’s head right now. The thought nearly dislodges the chill of dread in his chest, but Shane knows at least one way he can check...

Shane: Can you even call someone your boyfriend if they never really asked you out? 

Lily: Depends

Lily: Does he text you about day, send you pictures, know your favorites?

Lily: When you fuck, does he get cuddles after?

Shane pauses. That’s… oddly specific. And honestly, Ilya gets all of that. He’s shown up to Ilya’s hotel room and found ginger ale already cool in the fridge; not a last second purchase, but an intentional buy. And Ilya does text him constantly; not just pictures of himself, but cute dogs he sees on his run, weird looking art. A few times Ilya has sent him pictures of plain cardboard boxes, tagging them ‘it’s you!’ with laughing emojis. 

Shane doesn’t understand that one.

Shane: Yeah

Shane: And more

It’s almost a full minute before Ilya replies, which, after his rapid fire texts from before, has Shane nearly convinced that he’s walked away from the conversation. He’s fairly certain he’s clocked Ilya’s jealousy, but when his phone finally vibrates with a response, he gets his confirmation.

Lily: Lucky

Interesting.

Armed with the knowledge that Ilya might have stronger feelings about Shane’s single status, or apparent lack thereof, Shane decides to run with the lead he’s been given. He needs a distraction from what practice and his time with the team is going to look like going forward anyway; and since he’s not ready to address Hayden and all that conversation might mean, this is perfect.

With the same tactical mind that brought Montreal to the playoffs and beyond for the first time in over a decade, Shane plots.

Chapter 3

Ilya may actually, finally, be going insane.

It’s not the run times and weight lifts that Shane’s new boyfriend is somehow performing better at than Ilya does, numbers Shane texts him to confirm; though Ilya hits the rink gym even harder and pushes his team to the absolute limit with those numbers hanging over his head.

It’s not even the frequency of texts between him and Shane; if anything, now that he’s been ‘outed’, Shane seems almost giddy to have someone to talk to about his new lover. He must be, because he talks about him constantly.

Gritting his teeth against the desire to check his phone again while running on the treadmill in his home gym, Ilya scowls at his reflection in the wall to wall mirrors.

No, it’s what Shane isn’t saying about his lover that is going to drive Ilya insane; because the man apparently plays hockey and that means that every player in the league is suddenly Ilya’s competition off the ice too. Because despite having kept Shane’s sexuality like a state secret tucked beside his own heart for years, Shane won’t give him a name.

Ilya’s phone buzzes again.

What if they’re an asshole? What if they’re just using Shane for sex, and don’t have a proper appreciation for everything else that makes up the enigma of Shane Hollander? The neurotic little behaviours, like how he folds his clothes, refuses to sleep on hotel bedspreads, and has to alternate which hoodie string he’s chewing on so they wear out evenly.

Does Shane’s new boyfriend get to meet his parents? Will they like him? Can he cook, or will he let Shane eat meal prep for the rest of his life, never tempting him with the bare necessities of life, like donuts and Doritos?

When his phone goes off again, Ilya tears himself away from the treadmill with a snarl. Fucking what-

Jane: He’s made me cum hands free

Jane: Got really excited about it

Jane: Wanna see if I can do it just from blowing him

And why, why did Shane suddenly start sexting Ilya after he had a boyfriend? Ilya desperately wants to kick something, anything really, but all the equipment in here is metal and would likely do more than bruise him for his stupidity.

Shane has been tormenting him for weeks at this point, and Ilya is nearly to his breaking point. He’s not sure what a breaking point even looked like before, in regards to Shane, but this must be it.

For half a heartbeat, he thinks about being mean; about throwing something belittling in Shane’s face about how easy, how incredibly fucking easy he is to please.

But though his fingers grip his phone hard enough to make the case creak, he doesn’t do it; won’t risk never seeing Jane pop up on his notifications list again. Because if Shane has a boyfriend now, what does he need Ilya for? There’s nothing of worth he has that Shane can’t get himself, except his body. Ilya’s body, and his skill, because if there are three things Ilya excels at, it’s hockey, disappointing his father, and fucking Shane Hollander.

Two of these things, he’s proud of.

One of them, he may never get to do again.

Ilya: Sounds fun

Inhaling so sharply that the air whistles through his nose, Ilya racks more weights onto the next machine than is probably advisable this far into the season. 

He doesn’t fucking care, he doesn’t fucking care, he doesn’t-

👨‍❤‍👨

Las Vegas is too fucking hot.

The scant few seconds he’d been out of the car before making it into the building that was thankfully also the hotel for the awards, Shane thought he might combust into flames.

Now, inside the banquet hall and surrounded by dozens of people, he’s starting to wonder if outside might be preferable to this. 

The heat might want to kill him, but at least it didn’t want to make small talk.

Slipping away is easy enough; no one’s fawning over the Metros after their lackluster run for the cup. Everyone’s drooling over Ilya Rozanov, the Captain that whipped his team into such a fervor late season that they’d made the playoffs look like a cake walk.

With a final, failed attempt to pick Ilya out of the crowd as he slips from the room, Shane hopes the reporters aren’t the only ones that will be drooling on Ilya tonight.

Teasing his rival turned fuck-buddy, mostly by running comparisons against his made-up boyfriend, had started as a way to get back at Ilya for the relentless ribbing he’d received over the years. But-

It had quickly occurred to Shane that he liked the idea of Ilya being jealous. Of feeling possessive, in any manner, of Shane. Like Shane belonged to Ilya first.

The bathrooms were blessedly empty when Shane stepped in; likely because he’d picked the one off of the conference room hall instead of the ones near the main lobby. He uses the urinal, and is just drying his hands from washing them when the door thuds open.

“No hot date tonight?” Ilya asks, because of course he’s found Shane, even in this out of the way bathroom in a crowded building.

Turning from the sink without a reply, Shane faces Ilya and takes in his appearance. He’s unfairly handsome in his suit; every man in the room is wearing the same penguin get up, but Ilya’s looks like it was painted on to his extremely fit body. 

Licking his lips isn’t a conscious choice on Shane’s part, but he sees the exact moment that Ilya clocks the motion; his eyes narrow, predator like, on Shane’s mouth.

“Nope.” Shane finally replies, and Ilya saunters a few steps closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored pants.

“Does he know you are dressed like this?” Ilya’s chin dips at Shane’s own fitted dark suit. It’s nothing special; something nicer than his travel suit for the league, sure, but hardly warranting the glare that Ilya’s leveling at it. There’s the barest tic, a jump in the muscle at Ilya’s jawline when his eyes make their way to Shane’s face.

“What? It’s a nice suit.” Shane defends.

Ilya steps forward again, and Shane considers stepping away, just to see how far Ilya will chase him in this small bathroom; decides to hold his ground instead, because it’s frankly been far too long since he was in Ilya’s orbit.

The barest hint of a smirk breaks free from the tension held in Ilya’s face; it makes the bow of his lips look extra kissable.

“Did he give you goodbye kiss, at least?” Ilya asks. His voice has taken on that extra deep resonance that makes Shane’s bones feel like they’re made of butter. He’s already melting, can feel the sort of fuzzy white noise that only Ilya can coax his mind into growing stronger at the edge of his awareness.

“I don’t remember.” Shane replies honestly; there’s no boyfriend, he has to remind himself. But he can’t remember if Ilya had kissed him goodbye, the last time they’d met up. And if wants to maintain his strategy of teasing Ilya with things he’s only ever actually done with Ilya himself-

“You don’t remember?” Ilya scoffs. “He is shit kisser then?”

There’s a wise crack on the tip of Shane’s tongue, but it gets swallowed up by Ilya closing the gap between them with a biting, demanding kiss. He bullies his way into Shane’s mouth, and the white noise spreads through Shane’s body, melting him forward into Ilya’s waiting arms.

Ilya is relentless; the kiss feels furious, like every stab of Ilya’s tongue into Shane’s mouth is an attack, an effort to expunge whatever pathetic kisses he’s supposedly gotten from the boyfriend he doesn’t actually have. Every press of Ilya’s lips, the dangerous hint of his teeth against Shane’s mouth feel like a claim; marking Shane as his and only his.

“Does your boyfriend kiss you like that?” Ilya hisses, one hand coming up to grip Shane’s jaw and tilting his head back far enough that Shane is forced, through the haze of the white noise, to make eye contact.

“I don’t know. Can I even call someone my boyfriend, if you never really asked me out?” Shane challenges, swallowing hard when he feels Ilya’s body stiffen in shock against his own.

Ilya’s eyes dart between Shane’s own, like hunting the puck on the ice.

“I make you come hands free.”

Shane nods.

“I play hockey.”

Another nod.

“And you’re younger than me.” Shane reminds him, speaking softly; not because the sound already travels in this small bathroom, but because he isn’t certain Ilya isn’t about to bolt. To run for the hills and never look back, because he never wanted this, never wanted Shane-

“Barely.” Ilya protests, frowning.

“Thirty six days.” Shane corrects, and though Ilya’s brows remain tipped at an angry angle, his lips twitch with a smirk.

“If I were your boyfriend, I would kiss you like that, and more, every chance I got.”

“You better ask me then.”

And this is so stupid, it’s a dangerous game to play when they can’t be out, not together, not now-

“Shane Hollander.” Ilya snorts, tightening his grip on Shane’s chin and chasing away the spiral trying to suck away all of Shane’s happy white noise. “You will be my boyfriend. Da?”

Shane’s lower lip hurts when he smiles; there’s a good chance that he became a little too acquainted with Ilya’s teeth with their kisses. His initial instinct, to duck his head and look away, is thwarted by the hold Ilya has on his chin.

“Da.” he says, when Iya gives him a teensy little nudge on the chin. “But what kind of ‘more’ are you thinking? Because I’ve never actually had a -”

“You come to my room tonight, I will show you more.” Ilya swears, shaking his head and pressing another kiss to Shane’s lips. “You will never need fake fucking boyfriend again.”

“You’re getting jealous of yourself now?” Shane teases, because if Ilya’s going to make him go back out into the crowds of people and pretend to be normal after this, he deserves it.

“Hmm, more like I want to give you opportunity to practice neat trick.” 

The predatory glint is back in Ilya’s eyes, and it makes Shane curse the fact that the awards ceremony has barely even started.

“What if I can’t do it?”

“Oh, I think I can let you practice til you get it right.” Ilya huffs, amused at Shane’s expense.

“Wow. Practice.” Shane can’t help but smile, unreasonably charmed by Ilya’s audacity.

“Is my duty, as boyfriend-” Ilya tries to insist, but it’s Shane’s turn to shut him up with a kiss.

“Asshole.” Shane mutters, because-

“Your asshole.”

Well. Fair enough.