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:

There Was Only One Bed, Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Sleepy Almost Sex

Language:

English

Series:

Part 10 of Retro Writing - May 2026 Challenge

Collections:

Retro Writing Month (2026)

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-10 Words: 2,197 Chapters: 1/1

You didn't even notice?

Summary

“Some of the guys are being pissy because we’re doubled with other teams.” She clarifies. “For instance, you-”

Checking her clipboard, Tasha snorts in amusement. “Guess the league has a sense of humor, even with this clusterfuck. You’re rooming with Boston’s Rozanov.”

Shane doesn’t have to fight to keep his expression neutral; his brain having shorted out completely at the thought of spending the next three days in a hotel room with Rozanov.

“Oh. Ha.” he says belatedly, when he realizes Tasha must be expecting at least some kind of reaction from him. “Hope he doesn’t snore.”

Notes

Prompt fill for day ten of the Retro Writing May 2026 Challenge: Only One Bed.

I had to physically restrain myself from doing too deep a dive on how hotel bookings work as far as over booking, if that's even a thing these days. Please enjoy/forgive the hand-wavey hotel logistics 💛

Hayden gets caught up in conversation as soon as they enter the lobby of the hotel, so Shane makes his way to the team coordinator to collect room keys for both of them. There’s familiar faces everywhere Shane looks; All Stars weekend bringing players in from all over the place.

“...it’s inconvenient, but there’s nothing the hotel can do. They double booked, and this is just the way it is.” Tasha, one of Montreal’s event coordinators, insists. She sounds like she’s said it a half dozen times already, but JJ just shrugs, gives her a salute, and wanders off towards the elevators. He gives Shane a friendly slap on the shoulder as he goes.

“What’s wrong?” Shane asks; being the Captain means he should probably have the answers, if anyone bothers to ask him about whatever the hotel did.

“Hotel’s double booked. The league didn’t get as many rooms as they needed, but it cost too much to cancel outright. So everyone’s doubling up, no singles.” Tasha says, not bothering to pad the facts with platitudes; she knows by now that Shane prefers it that way.

“We’ve doubled up before.” Shane shrugs, just like JJ did. 

“Yeah, well. Some of the guys are being pissy because we’re doubled with other teams.” She clarifies. “For instance, you-”

Checking her clipboard, Tasha snorts in amusement. “Guess the league has a sense of humor, even with this clusterfuck. You’re rooming with Boston’s Rozanov.”

Shane doesn’t have to fight to keep his expression neutral; his brain having shorted out completely at the thought of spending the next three days in a hotel room with Rozanov.

“Oh. Ha.” he says belatedly, when he realizes Tasha must be expecting at least some kind of reaction from him. “Hope he doesn’t snore.”

Shane would actually really, really like to know if Rozanov snores. Those kinds of intimate details have become more and more important to him lately, and he refuses to consider just why that might be.

“Yeah.” Tasha gives him a weird look, but she hands over his room packet; one key and the WiFi information, tucked into a sleeve with his room number Sharpied on the front. “Well, good luck I guess.”

“Can I get Pike’s room too? He’s-” Shane points over his shoulder with his thumb, where Hayden’s actually sitting on one of the lobby couches now, catching up with a player from New York.

“Yeah, but no switching. The league’s already having a nightmare of a time with the hotel, so no shuffling players around.” Tasha warns. 

Shane resists the urge to shrug again. He wouldn’t switch rooms even if he could; regardless of how he sleeps, Shane at least knows that Rozanov knows how to use a shower. He wouldn’t risk a smelly roommate messing up his sleep routine, even if it was just All Stars.

Though, to be fair, Rozanov presented his own unique challenge to Shane’s ability to sleep.

“Here.” Tasha hands over Hayden’s room key.

“Who’s he rooming with? I’ll give him the heads up.” Shane offers, taking the second packet and being careful to keep it separate from his own. 

“Ryan Price.” Tasha says after checking the list, surprise evident. “Huh.”

“Wild card, maybe?” Shane offers, then immediately wishes he could take the words back. Price isn’t a bad player, but it was surprising to hear that he’d made it to All Stars.

“Ouch.” Tasha grins. “I won’t tell, but maybe keep that thought to yourself there, Cap.”

There’s no real comeback to that that improves this social interaction in any way, so Shane just nods and beats a hasty retreat towards Hayden to pass off his key.

⭐

With their flight delayed, Ilya’s half asleep on his feet by the time he arrives at the All Stars hotel. Collecting his room key and waving off the boring details, Ilya blinks at the number on the envelope and hopefully punches in the right number on the elevator.

The motion of the lift is probably the only thing keeping him on his feet; he’s stayed up much later than this to go clubbing or spend time with the team, but the entire day has dragged on and on and on and he just wants his bed. Even if it’s a shitty hotel mattress with pathetic pillows; he just needs to be horizontal and asleep as soon as possible.

The quiet cheep of the keycard has him blinking at the number on the door in front of him; muscle memory from years of away games coming in clutch, stumbling back to his hotel room inebriated but usually in better spirits.

It’s dark inside, but Ilya doesn’t bother with the lights. Kicking off his shoes and flipping the security latch on the door, he fumbles for the bed. Crashing face first into the mattress, his entire body goes lax at finally being able to rest.

The startled grunt from the lump beside him is a shock though, and Ilya yelps as he scrambles off of the bed. 

Light floods the room a moment later as the bedside lamp flicks on, and Ilya is subjected to the angriest kitten-scowl he’s ever seen on Hollander’s face.

“Hollander!” Ilya’s body kicks into near normal parameters, exhaustion fading in the rush of adrenaline and surprise.

“What time- it’s late, Rozanov.” Hollander bitches, flopping back onto the bed. 

“Is this sexy surprise?” Ilya demands. “How the fuck did you get in my room?”

Not that he’s complaining. But still.

“My room too.” Hollander grumbles, rolling over. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

Ilya stares at him.

“Uh. No. I think- yes, fuck no.” Ilya decides, bobbing his head back and forth before clambering onto the bed as obnoxiously as possible. “Hollander. Hollander.”

“What?!” 

Ilya had no idea that Hollander could muster so much rage in such a cute manner.

Just to be obnoxious, he rolls his hips against the swell of Hollander’s ass through the thin hotel blanket.

“You are forgetting something, yes?” Ilya insists. “I will give hint.”

“Stop. M’sleeping.” Hollander mutters, but Ilya catches the barest curl of his lips into a smile, even as he tries to hide it in the pillow.

“Oh, you want to play like this. I see.” Ilya stage whispers. “I can play this.”

Hollander remains silent, but he’s definitely not sleeping now.

Bouncing off of the bed and making sure to jostle it as much as he can, Ilya hurriedly strips out of his clothes before crawling under the covers. He’s delighted to find Hollander sleeping in only his boxer briefs, and immediately plasters himself against his sleep warm skin.

“Okay, you are sleeping.” Ilya whispers, softer now, pressing a kiss to Hollander’s delightfully bare shoulder. “I will be quiet.”

Hollander’s only verbal reply is a soft huff of air, but he presses his body back into Ilya’s own in a clear invitation for more.

Licking his lips in excitement, Ilya runs his hand down the full length of Hollander’s body beneath the blanket, pressing hard into the skin just the way Hollander likes. He’s entirely unsurprised to find that Hollander is already hard, but instead of giving him the satisfaction of touching him where he wants it most, Ilya splays his palm against the sensitive skin beneath Hollander’s bellybutton. 

With a sound suspiciously close to a whine, Hollander’s hips twitch, grinding his ass into Ilya’s own hardness, and Ilya bites affectionately at Hollander’s freckled shoulder. Rubbing his thumb across the lax muscles of Hollander’s toned belly, Ilya rolls his hips forward with intent.

“Tease.” Hollander mutters mulishly.

“Shh. You are sleeping.” Ilya reminds him.

It takes a few tries, but he’s eventually able to position his cock into the cleft of Hollander’s ass, rocking gently. There’s only a thin layer of underwear keeping them separated at this point, the head of Ilya’s cock humping slow but insistent at Hollander’s hole and making him whine.

Ilya kisses at Hollander’s shoulder, biting occasionally, but the rush of adrenaline is fading fast. Though he’s still hard against Hollander’s ass, the movements become slower and slower; with his nose full of Hollander’s preferred body wash that he takes with him everywhere, and his exhaustion from the flight, Ilya’s being lulled into a half sleep. 

“D’you wanna come?” Hollander asks around a yawn. He paws lazily at Ilya’s hand, forcing it lower, and Ilya instinctively cups the damp bulge in the front of Hollander’s briefs. 

“Hmm.” Ilya hums, noncommittal. “Do you?”

Hollander rolls his hips experimentally, back against Ilya’s cock, then forward to get some friction from Ilya’s hand on his own.

“I could be good.” he admits. “M’tired.”

“You could be very good.” Ilya agrees. “Sleep now, be good. I will fuck you awake in the morning.”

“Not if I fuck you first.” Hollander mutters, but he’s half gone too.

Adjusting himself so that as much of his own skin is touching Hollander’s as possible, Ilya snuggles in closer. The lights switch off a moment later as Hollander slaps blindly at the bedside lamp, before settling in as close as humanly possible to Ilya’s chest and letting out the softest little sigh of contentment. 

⭐

Shane is late to breakfast, which, if Hayden were a man prone to panic, would normally put him immediately into DEFCON 4. But he’s a father to twins, so, his panic scale has been significantly altered in the last couple of years.

Knocking at Shane’s door to collect his tardy Captain though, Hayden’s surprised when Shane answers a moment later in nothing but a towel. Still damp from a shower, Shane blinks at Hayden in confusion.

“Everything okay?” he asks, immediately slipping into solemn Captain mode, and Hayden just wants to squish his cheeks sometimes. 

“Yeah, buddy. Just checking in on you, you’re not usually late to breakfast.” Hayden assures him, slapping Shane on the shoulder and muscling his way into the room.

The brief look of panic on Shane’s face is distracting, but not nearly as much as the very much also naked Ilya fucking Rozanov on the hotel bed inside. A thin hotel towel across his lap is the only thing that saves Hayden from needing therapy for the next few years, and he turns around so fast that he immediately smacks into Shane’s shower damp body.

“Oh my god, Shane!” Hayden yelps. “You told me you were rooming with ‘some Boston player’, not, not- him!”

If Hayden has to say Rozanov’s name out loud right now, he might actually keel over and die.

“You knew the rooms had double occupancy!” Shane argues, and god, Hayden can’t believe he thought Shane was flushed red from his shower. There are fucking teeth marks on his chest. 

Which.

Hang on.

There is a very real difference between knowing your best friend is gay because your wife got him really drunk on white wine once, and having evidence right in front of your face.

“Tell me you didn’t-”

Hayden can’t even choke out the words.

“Uh-”

Shane is a terrible, terrible liar.

“Oh he did.” Rozanov chirps gleefully from the bed behind him. The bed that Hayden is pretty sure will need to be burned after the state these two have left the sheets in.

“Not helping.” Shane grits out, and Rozanov has the audacity to snicker.

“Is this because of the-” Hayden waves his hand behind him, because he really can’t look at the hotel room and its obnoxious Boston occupant without possibly blowing a fuse.

“The what?” Shane asks, shoulders hunching and avoiding eye contact and shit, now Hayden’s made his best friend uncomfortable.

“You know, the sleeping arrangements.” Hayden says awkwardly. “Like, if you’d had your own bed, this probably wouldn’t have happened, right?”

Shane blinks, finally meeting Hayden’s eyes and clearly confused.

“What?”

Hayden has not had enough coffee for this conversation, but he can muster through. For Shane’s sake.

“Your own bed. Did this just… happen, because there’s only one bed in this fucking room?” Hayden manages to squeeze out. He just can’t make sense of the whole ‘Ilya Rozanov’ of it all.

“Oh, is there-” Shane’s frowning now, peering past Hayden and his mouth falling open in surprise. “I guess there is only one bed. Weird.”

“You didn’t notice?” Hayden squeaks. Jackie can never know.

Okay, she probably already knows that Hayden’s a squeaker, nevermind.

Then the implications of Shane’s surprise finally kick in.

“You mean you really didn’t notice? You didn’t walk into this room, with its one bed, and immediately turn around and ask the hotel about it?”

“Is he being homophobic?” Rozanov asks. “I can kick him out.”

“He’s not being homophobic.” Shane scoffs, rolling his eyes. He looks fond, oh god, this is what his best friend looks like when he’s fond of someone.

“It… wasn’t really an issue? I guess?” Shane continues, face carefully blank as he manages to maintain eye contact.

Hayden’s heart sinks into his stomach.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, is it?” he asks faintly. 

Rozanov’s laughter and Shane’s blush are actually answer enough, but Shane must need to clarify.

“I mean. This is the first time there was only one bed in the hotel room?”

Behind them, Rozanov cackles.