Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), POV Ilya Rozanov, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Slice of Life, Team as Family, Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, they’re obsessed with each other, Fluff and Humor, No Angst, Happy Ending, Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog

Language:

English

Collections:

Seekers All Time Great Fics, No thoughts just gay hockey, The best pairings to bask in

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-15 Words: 4,417 Chapters: 1/1

all over me, it’s understood

Summary

“Jar!” Hayes calls out from across the room.

“What? We didn’t even do anything!” Shane insists, rather indignantly.

“Oh, please. You can’t look at each other like that and call it nothing. I know that look - I have a wife.”

“So I can’t look at my husband now?” Ilya whines. “This is workplace bullying!”

 

(Or, the Centaurs get Ilya and Shane a PDA jar. It doesn’t work.)

Notes

Title from Wood by Taylor Swift.

The thing about Ilya and Shane is, well, they’re obsessed with each other. Sickeningly, embarrassingly, insufferably obsessed with each other.

It’s not a new thing, of course.

Ilya remembers being seventeen, in a hotel room with his road roomie in some town just outside of Moscow, watching some sports channel talking about up and coming draft prospects. Ilya had been on the list, despite not being eligible until next year’s draft. So had Shane Hollander: some dark haired, freckled kid from Canada, with maybe the slickest hands Ilya had ever seen. He’d been transfixed since that very moment.

He remembers an alleyway in Saskatchewan, two handshakes in two minutes, freckles.

A hotel gym in Los Angeles, lingering eye contact, a brush of fingers that ignited a spark that refused to go out.

A photoshoot in Toronto - one that Ilya specifically arranged just to see Hollander again - a steamy locker room shower, an evening that changed their entire lives.

He remembers it all. Every moment.

It only gets worse once they’re married.

For a very brief amount of time, Ilya had figured that once they were married - once they lived together, and played together, and started building their life together - they would stop being so obsessed. That the frantic, almost desperate need to be close to Shane would ease up a little, and the urge to burrow beneath his ribcage and live there would fade away.

Ilya has never been so happy to be wrong in his entire life. Because, if anything, the yearning becomes even worse.

Shane is his. His partner, his husband, the love of his fucking life. His soulmate, too, if you believe in that kind of stuff. And Ilya hadn’t - had thought it was ridiculous, honestly - until he met Shane, and it felt like the planets fucking aligned, or some insane shit like that.

Shane wears Ilya’s ring on his finger, and Ilya still wants. Wants him in a feral, unhinged kind of way. Like hands around throats, and teeth sunk into skin, and Ilya’s fingerprints bruised onto Shane’s hips in ownership. In possession.

It feels like he can’t ever get close enough. Like no amount of time will ever make up for all the years they lost to their own fear.

Ilya loves his husband. More than he thought a man like him would ever be allowed to. So it’s not his fault if he always wants to touch him - not his fault that he can’t keep his hands to himself now that he’s finally allowed to love him out loud.

Why should he even bother to try? Shane is his, and Ilya is proud of that.

They’re in the locker room after a particularly gruelling practice. Coming off a rare back to back loss has Weibe pretty pissed, and the bag skates have left everyone panting and aching. Shane, with his pink cheeks and heaving chest, drops down into his stall beside Ilya’s.

He looks beautiful like this, all sweaty and breathless. Ilya can’t help himself.

As he reaches Shane he curls a hand around the back of his neck, holding him still so he can bend down and press a kiss to his sweaty forehead. He lingers for a moment, tasting the salt of Shane’s sweat as Shane’s own hand winds around Ilya’s wrist and squeezes.

A load groan travels through the team.

“No. No. That’s it, I’ve had enough,” Dykstra grumbles loudly.

As Ilya takes a seat in his own stall, his eyes flicker around the room. Everyone is staring at them.

“What is the problem?” Ilya asks, bending down to unlace his skates.

“You two!” Holmberg exclaims. “You’re the problem.”

“You’re too…y’know,” Bood says, waving his hand around vaguely.

Ilya frowns. “Too what?”

“Too fucking sweet, man,” Hayes huffs. “All cute and touchy, and shit.”

Shane snorts out a laugh that makes Ilya turn his attention on him. He doesn’t even hesitate to reach out and ruffle his hand through Shane’s hair, earning a wide smile and adoring look from his husband. It makes Ilya want to eat him alive.

“Fucking see! Oh my god, you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“Ahh,” Ilya says, as if a lightbulb has just switched on inside his head. “You are jealous.”

He loves screwing with the guys. He hadn’t been doing it intentionally, of course, he just loves his husband and isn’t afraid to show that. But, now that he does know, well. There’s no way he isn’t going to have a little fun with it. So just as Shane starts to work on unfastening his pads, Ilya takes his hand and kisses the back of it - a loud, wet kiss that he grossly over exaggerates the volume of.

He revels in the synchronised groans and gags that ripple throughout the locker room, but not as much as he revels in the peachy-pink colour that floods Shane’s cheeks.

“Oh fuck off, that’s it. We’re getting you assholes a PDA jar,” Hayes announces.

Shane scoffs. “A what?”

“PDA jar,” Bood repeats. “$20 in every time you make us witness you two being all fucking obsessed with each other.”

“You have discussed this,” Ilya remarks. It’s a statement - not a question - because the answer is obvious.

Shane rolls his eyes. “We’re not that bad. You guys are just dramatic. Sorry no one loves you, or whatever.”

Ilya lets out a loud bark of laughter. He loves Shane’s filthy mouth. Not just in the bedroom - which is pretty fucking marvellous - but in the locker room and on the ice, too, though that’s an entirely different kind of filthy. He has such a potty mouth, always chirping and swearing and getting under people’s skin. He’s a menace, despite the golden boy persona.

It’s kind of a turn-on, honestly. Like Ilya hears Shane chirping someone and it instantly reminds him of the years they spent using it as a form of foreplay. It makes his dick hard, so.

Maybe the guys have a point, actually.

“Hollzy, my guy, you two are basically glued to each other,” Choui points out.

“You can’t go five minutes without pulling some bullshit,” Troy wagers.

“Of course we can, don’t be ridiculous,” Shane argues, as competitive as always.

That’s Ilya’s man, refusing to back down from a fight. Even if it’s one they definitely cannot win. Ilya is obligated to take his husband’s side, of course, so he nods his head in solemn agreement.

“Fine. Then you’ll have no issue with us implementing the PDA jar.”

“Fine!” Shane insists.

Ilya grins. He loves his husband dearly. More than anything in the entire world, in fact. He’s got his back in anything and everything. He’s dropped his gloves on the ice plenty of times since Shane joined the Centaurs, because he doesn’t play about his man. He’ll defend Shane with everything he’s got, against anyone and everyone. No questions, no hesitations, no doubts. But.

The team is right. They can’t keep their hands to themselves, and Ilya has absolutely no intentions of even trying to.

He fears his obsession with Shane is about to get very, very expensive.

They’re the first two on the ice, which isn’t at all unusual.

Ilya has always worked his ass off when it comes to hockey, but never as much as he does now, with his husband playing on his team. He used to love the sport as a kid, until it became nothing more than an escape for Ilya - something he did because he was good at it, and because it was his chance to leave Russia and his father. But playing with Shane has made him love it again. It makes him want to be better, stronger, faster, so he can lift the cup with his husband and his team.

That, and Shane coaxes him out of bed every morning with the threat of withholding sex.

The locker room was just starting to fill up as Ilya and Shane stepped out onto the ice, so they’re taking a couple of warm up laps before everyone else joins them. Shane is stick-handling the puck with those silky smooth mitts that first caught seventeen-year-old Ilya’s attention, and he finds himself leaning against the boards and watching, completely mesmerised by how effortless Shane makes it seem.

Ilya can’t help himself. Or, he could, but he doesn’t want to. And they’re alone anyway, so what does it really matter?

He begins to follow Shane as he handles the puck in small loops around centre ice. He lets himself get closer and closer, until he’s near enough that he can close his arms around Shane’s waist and pull him back into his chest. Shane startles, clearly not expecting the contact, and he laughs quietly.

In an instant, he’s melting into Ilya.

Shane tips his head back to rest on his shoulder, turning into him just enough to press his forehead against Ilya’s jaw.

“Hi, baby.”

“You’re so hot. You know this, yes?”

Shane chuckles, nuzzling his nose along Ilya’s jaw as he asks, “Is my hockey turning you on, Captain?”

Ilya groans. “Those hands.”

Shane laughs again, kissing just above Ilya’s jaw. “That’s not all they can do.”

God. Ilya looks down at his husband - at the way he’s smirking, and the devious glint in his eyes - and he wants to fucking devour him. He knows exactly what he’s doing to Ilya. He’s such a goddamn tease, and Ilya is getting hard inside his cup, and-

“Jar!” Someone yells across the ice.

Shane and Ilya both flinch.

They pull away from each other so quickly that Shane almost stumbles, and they hold their hands up in the air like they’re in some kind of hostage situation.

Which, actually - this team kind of feels like that sometimes. In a good way, mostly.

Ilya spots Luca, Barrett, and Bood stepping onto the ice. It’s Bood who’s got his arm outstretched, finger pointing directly at Ilya and Shane as if he just caught them committing some kind of grievous crime.

“We didn’t even-“

“Nope.”

“But no one was-“

“Nope!” Troy insists. “Pay up, guys. $20 for the jar.”

“Is it $20 each, or just one of them? How do you decide who pays?” Luca asks, glancing between Ilya, Shane, and Bood.

Ilya huffs, planting his hands on his hips and fixing Luca with a glare. Luca is his rookie. Or, he was, back when Luca was still just a starstruck baby deer on too-long legs. He’s supposed to be on Ilya’s side, so Ilya disappointedly mouths, ”Traitor,” at Luca, who winces and whispers, “Sorry,” right back.

“Cap was definitely the instigator,” Barrett says.

“Agreed. Cap, you owe us.”

When Ilya turns to Shane for back up, to his absolute horror he finds his husband nodding in agreement. His jaw drops, and Shane just grins at him when he catches the expression on Ilya’s face. His shrugs his shoulders in a what can you do? kind of way, and begins skating backwards to join the growing circle of their teammates.

He winks at Ilya and blows him a kiss, but both of those actions go unnoticed by their teammates.

The little fucking-

“Traitor! Even my husband is betraying me!” Ilya whines.

Later, after making his terrible, evil team do so many drills that their fucking hair begins to hurt, Ilya drops down into his stall with a thud. It rattles Shane, who’s already sitting in his own stall beside Ilya, and he quickly sticks his tongue out at him.

For a moment, Ilya forgets where he is.

He thinks about sucking Shane’s tongue into his mouth and tasting him, or grabbing it between his fingers and pulling on it, but Ilya just about manages to hold himself back. His husband knows him too well, though, and his eyes light up in excitement.

Fuck, Ilya can’t wait to get him home. He’s going to absolutely wreck him.

A jar being shoved in his face snatches Ilya out of his reverie. It’s one of those big plastic ones - the kind that candy stores have lined up behind the counter, with all different types of candy in. Wyatt is on the other end of it, shaking it insistently in Ilya’s face.

“Come on, Rozy. Twenty bucks.”

Ilya sighs. “This is ridiculous. Where did you even get that?”

“Doesn’t matter, Roz,” Dillon pipes up. “Just hand the money over.”

Ilya groans, loud and long and dramatic, but he roots around for his wallet anyway. He doesn’t usually carry all that much cash on him, but he’d known this was going to happen and so he came prepared. He pulls out a twenty and, rather begrudgingly, he stuffs it into the plastic jar.

“Happy?” He asks sarcastically.

“Thrilled,” Wyatt says, seriously. He grins like this is the best day of his life.

The next time Ilya sees the jar, it’s been…

“Bedazzled. You bedazzled the jar,” Shane comments in disbelief.

Ilya doesn’t know this word - has never heard it before in his life, and he doubts it even exists in Russian - but it somehow manages to fit what’s happened perfectly. Bedazzled. He mouths the word, rolling it around on his tongue to test it out.

The jar - which was just plain, clear plastic yesterday - now has little coloured gemstones glued onto it.

Ilya raises his eyebrows questioningly at Bood, who nods at the jar so Ilya and Shane both look down at it again. He shows the R on one side of it, then rotates it so they can see the H on the other side.

“R for Rozanov and H for Hollander,” Bood explains unnecessarily.

“Yes, thank you for that, Zane. We would never have guessed if you hadn’t told us,” Shane says dryly, making half the team burst out laughing.

“Fuck off. Cassie did it,” he elaborates. “Now put the money in the jar, and no one gets hurt.”

Shane scoffs and leans away. “Not me,” he says. “I’m not the offender here.”

Which, okay. Ilya would like to complain about his husband hanging him out to dry, but. This one was entirely Ilya’s fault, and he’s man enough to admit when he’s messed up. Though, messed up is pretty subjective, he figures.

Ilya sees it as a win, even if he’s now down an extra $20.

They’d been between intense runs of their powerplay setups, clinging to the boards as they gulped down some desperately needed water, and. Well. It had started to drip over Shane’s chin and down his neck. What else was Ilya to do? He’d reached his hand out, used his finger to swipe the droplets of water from Shane’s throat, and then sucked them into his own mouth.

Choui had caught them instantly.

“Pay up, Rozanov,” Shane says, grinning smugly at Ilya.

And - fuck. Ilya can’t stop himself. He grips Shane’s chin in his hand, gently shaking his head from side to side as he glares teasingly at his husband. Shane laughs, loud and bright, and shoves Ilya’s hand away from his face.

“Stop, Ilya, that’s-“

“Forty now!” Dykstra calls out, sounding almost triumphant.

They’re enjoying this far too much, Ilya thinks. His team is too happy. They aren’t frightened enough of him.

“You heard the man.” Bood shakes the jar in his face. “Pay. Up.”

“Fine, fine,” Ilya huffs, waving his hand dismissively.

He finds his wallet - now filled with cash to accommodate for his, uh, addiction - and pulls out two $20 bills, shoving them both into the jar.

“Good job, baby,” Shane teases him, lovingly patting Ilya’s cheek.

Ilya instantly smiles at him. Because he loves his husband, of course, and he always, always wants to be touched by him. But also because-

“And that’s another twenty!” Luca joins in with an apologetic grin. “Sorry Hollzy, it’s your turn.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

They’re on the plane the next time it happens. Which Ilya doesn’t think is fair, honestly. In fact, he doesn’t think any of these so-called ‘rules’ are fair. He’s pretty sure everyone is just making them up as they go along, based on vibes and nothing more.

He and Shane are sat side by side of course, because that’s always where they sit.

One time - after a particularly crappy road trip - Ilya had elected to sit beside Robertson, their new, British rookie. He had been doing the captain-ly thing of offering the kid reassurances, promising him that the losses weren’t just on him.

”We don’t win alone, and we don’t lose alone either,” Ilya had been telling him.

But then Shane had appeared at Ilya’s side, his nose and eyebrows all scrunched up in the most adorable of frowns. He hadn’t said anything, didn’t even make a fuss, he just plonked himself down on Ilya’s lap until he’d finished giving Robertson the pep talk. He’d even nodded his head, adding his own comforting words of wisdom that were definitely befitting of the A on his jersey.

So. They’re sitting side by side, of course, because if they’re not in arms reach of each other then they start to go a little bit insane.

And Shane knows that he’s not supposed to, but he also knows Ilya - knows that sometimes flying still makes him nervous, even years after their almost crash. So he tucks his arm behind Ilya’s head and tugs his shoulder until Ilya is leaning back against him.

Ilya closes his eyes and lets himself relax.

“Hollzy. Come on man, we just sat down,” he hears Robertson grumble at he takes the seat in front of them.

“Shut up,” Shane says, quiet but serious. “I’ll pay your twenty fucking dollars.”

Ilya reaches up to grab Shane’s hand, where it’s resting on his chest. He kisses his knuckles gently.

They’re sitting in the back corner of the video review room, waiting for everyone else to file in. They’d sealed an easy win at the game last night, so they’re not expecting a particularly long session. Though, if Ilya is being honest, he very much wishes they didn’t have one at all today.

Crawling out of bed had been a feat of epic proportions this morning.

Shane had been sleep-soft and sweet, as the sunlight flickering through the blinds made his freckles dance. Ilya had kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, over every single inch of his body, letting Shane pull him back in every single time Ilya tried to move away.

Ilya loves him always - every single wonderful version of Shane - but there’s something extra special about clingy Shane, who is so open with his desire that it makes Ilya feel overwhelmed with love and adoration for his husband. He still sometimes struggles to believe that this is his life, this is something he gets to keep, because it’s so perfect he’s not sure if he deserves it.

Shane always makes sure to remind Ilya that he does, though. Shane always makes sure he knows just how lucky he feels to be married to Ilya.

And Ilya makes sure that Shane knows just how much he adores him - just how grateful he is for the life they’ve built together. It was hard fought for, and hard won, but now Ilya gets to spend every day of the rest of his life falling more and more in love with his husband.

Still, even now, his heart beats faster every time he looks at Shane.

He looks at his husband now - the glimmer in his eyes, the fresh hickeys dotted along his collar bones, his kiss-swollen lips - and Shane looks right back.

“Jar!” Hayes calls out from across the room.

“What? We didn’t even do anything!” Shane insists, rather indignantly.

“Oh, please. You can’t look at each other like that and call it nothing. I know that look - I have a wife.”

“So I can’t look at my husband now?” Ilya whines. “This is workplace bullying!”

“Not with bedroom eyes, Rozy,” Bood chips in. “Bedroom eyes are not suitable for the workplace.”

Ilya can’t help but pout. This really isn’t fair at all. He glances at his husband, who has his arms crossed over his chest and looks equally perturbed, and wonders what these guys want from him. Seriously. Have they seen Shane? Do you they understand just how good he looks?

He gestures broadly at his husband, like Ilya is some kind of game show host on television.

“But look at him!” He exclaims. “He is so beautiful. How could I not?”

Shane’s cheeks burn brighter, so pink beneath the freckles on his cheeks that Ilya simply has to touch. Just to check - to see if they’re as warm as they look.

Everyone groans instantly.

Except for Shane, of course, who smiles softly and leans into the caress like they’re the only people in the room.

“And…that’s another $20 in the jar.”

“Forty bucks, Cap. Pay up.”

Ilya huffs. “Make it sixty,” he says, then tugs Shane in to press a smacking kiss on his cheek.

Because the thing that Ilya has realised is that fines don’t work. Not really. Punishable by fines just means something is allowed for rich people, and Ilya Rozanov is very, very rich.

He also has a very, very beautiful husband. One that he spent an entire decade pretending not to love, and even longer hiding, and now…now he doesn’t have to do that anymore. So there’s not a single thing on this earth that could stop him from touching, or kissing, or loving on his husband.

Especially because he knows just how much Shane loves it.

That had been one of the biggest surprises about coming out, honestly. Even though they no longer had to hide, Ilya had expected Shane to remain very reserved when it came to their relationship. He’d always been a private person, after all, even about things that didn’t involve Ilya.

What he hadn’t expected was for Shane to be as obsessed with physical touch as Ilya.

But now he always wants to hold Ilya’s hand, or sit on his lap, or leave hickeys on his neck (just in case Shane is separated from him and someone tries to hit on Ilya). Shane kisses his cheek whenever he feels like it, or the soft underside of his wrist, or the furrow of his brow when Ilya is frustrated or confused. He rests a hand on his thigh while they’re on the bench during games, and he hugs him just a bit tighter than everyone else during cellys. And he does it all without caring who is watching.

So, why would Ilya ever want to stop that, when it’s something he thought he would never be allowed to have?

To him, Shane is priceless. If the fine was $1000, he would still be willing to pay it in order to see that sweet smile on his face every time Ilya touches him.

“There’s already $340 in the jar, Roz,” Wyatt says, shaking his head in disappointment.

“So?”

“We’ve had it less than two weeks.”

“That’s seventeen infractions,” Troy explains. What is he, a calculator?

Ilya huffs. “My husband is irresistible, I already know this. What is your point?”

Shane rolls his eyes, but the expression on his face is impossibly fond as he laces his fingers with Ilya’s and tugs hard on his hand. And Ilya, not ever wanting to refuse Shane a single thing, goes along willingly.

A dog on a leash, Pike had once called him. And, well, Ilya finds he doesn’t mind that at all as long as Shane is the one holding it.

“Let’s go,” Shane orders.

“Yes, sir,” Ilya teases with a hungry grin.

He glances over his shoulder to flip off Bood and Barrett, then follows his husband home.

“Feels a little - what is word, unethical? Paying to touch my husband?” Ilya asks as he stuffs $80 into the PDA jar.

They’d just beaten then Voyageurs 5-1 on home ice, and Shane had bagged himself a hatty. Of course Ilya couldn’t keep his goddamn hands to himself.

Shane is fucking electric like this. Buzzing with an overflow of ecstatic energy, his eyes bright and shining, his smile wide and easy and free. He looks larger than life, like he could swallow the world whole - like he could make the entire universe bend to his whims. Or, at the very least, like he could make Ilya bend to his every whim.

He keeps sending him secretive little smiles even now, after Ilya has ruffled his hair, and hugged him, and kissed his head and his cheek. $80 worth of affection for his husband.

He’d have paid $8000.

“It’s supposed to a deterrent, Rozanov!” Wyatt says, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Yeah, you’re not supposed to keep doing it and just paying the fines,” Dykstra tells him with a laugh.

Ilya shrugs his shoulders. “Why not? I have money. I am very rich.”

“Ilya,” Shane sighs in warning, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean it.

Shane leans into his shoulder, pressing his forehead to Ilya’s cheek for a moment before kissing it softly. Slowly. Letting it linger just because he wants to. Just to prove a point.

Before anyone else can saying anything, Shane says, “Yeah, yeah. Jar. I know.”

“Hollander! Jar!”

“Oh, you’re fucking-“

“Language!”

“It’s not a fucking swear jar now, is it?”

“Nope,” Barrett says with a grin.

“Still a Cap and Hollzy can’t keep their hands to themselves jar.”

“I was sorting out his chin strap! We were hardly fucking in the middle of the ice.”

“But we can, if you-“

“Ilya.”

The next time Ilya and Shane are fined is because, in the middle of the ice - with the Stanley Cup in their hands - they kiss like no one else in the world exists. They’re surrounded by teammates, and cameras, and tens of thousands of fans, but for a brief moment it feels like they’re entirely alone.

It feels like every single moment of their career has led to this one: lifting the cup together.

“I love you,” Ilya says, delirious with joy, and fulfilment, and so much fucking love. “I would ask you to marry me right now if we weren’t already married.”

Shane throws his head back and laughs. It’s a more beautiful sight than the cup in their hands.

“I’d still say yes,” Shane tells him. “I love you too, baby. We did it.”

“We fucking did it.”

When he pays the fine, he stuffs $500 into the Stanley Cup. It’s all going to the Irina Foundation anyway.