Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Mail Order Brides, Insecure Shane Hollander, Misunderstandings

Language:

English

Series:

Part 25 of Retro Writing - May 2026 Challenge

Collections:

Retro Writing Month (2026)

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-25 Words: 1,627 Chapters: 1/1

I now pronounce you...

Summary

The advert he’d seen online the month before had seemed too good to be true; between his parents and his teammates asking when he’d settle down, Shane was tired. Tired of the constant match making, even as well intended as it was and tired of feeling like even this private aspect of his life was something performative; like there was nothing to his existence that was just for him.

He’d wanted an easy out, and Google had had the answers.

Utmost discretion. Blonde. Green eyes. Passable English.

After hours of research vetting the agency he’d selected, Shane had wired over the funds and crossed his fingers before immediately stress cleaning his already pristine house.

Notes

Prompt fill for day twenty five of the Retro Writing May 2026 Challenge: Rags to riches!

Pacing nervously through his living room to give it one last look over before his guest arrives, Shane hopes, for the hundredth time, that he hasn’t just been scammed out of a lot of good money.

Not that he was hurting for it; and honestly, it had cost a lot less than he’d thought it would.

The advert he’d seen online the month before had seemed too good to be true; between his parents and his teammates asking when he’d settle down, Shane was tired. Tired of the constant match making, even as well intended as it was and tired of feeling like even this private aspect of his life was something performative; like there was nothing to his existence that was just for him.

He’d wanted an easy out, and Google had had the answers.

Utmost discretion. Blonde. Green eyes. Passable English.

After hours of research vetting the agency he’d selected, Shane had wired over the funds and crossed his fingers before immediately stress cleaning his already pristine house.

His phone buzzes with a security alert; motion caught on the front door camera.

A moment later, the doorbell rings.

Steeling himself with the same breathing exercises he uses for faceoffs on the ice, Shane opens the door-

And stares.

“Shane Hollander?” the stranger on the porch asks.

Ilya.

This is- his name must be Ilya Rozanov.

His.

“You’re a man.” Shane says weakly, still standing in the doorway.

“Am glad you noticed.” the man smirks. It’s an unfairly charming little smirk.

And he is blond. With green eyes. His voice is deep, and his accent lilts in a way that’s ridiculously pleasing to Shane’s ears, but his English is more than passable.

Ilya shifts his weight from one foot to the other; this activates some sort of sleeper cell Canadian Manners Protocol, and Shane hurriedly ushers Ilya into the house.

“I’m sorry, please, come in.” he frets. He’s about to ask Ilya to please remove his shoes when he sees that his Russian houseguest is already doing so.

“Ah, sorry.” Ilya says sheepishly. “Did not pack house slippers.”

“Did you pack anything?” Shane asks, curious as he realizes that Ilya’s not even toting an overnight bag.

“No, agency says you will er- give?”

“Provide.” Shane corrects absently, tugging open the hall closet and pulling out a pair of Dad’s slides. “Here. These should fit for now.”

Ilya slides them on, looking around the living room with blatant curiosity.

This is actually excellent, because it gives Shane time to panic.

They’re already legally married. 

He’d completed the forms online, printed and had them notarized. It’s the first time he’s ever been dismayed by the Civil Marriage Act; with gay marriage being legal for so long, of course no one had raised a stink over Shane’s ‘mail order bride’ being a groom.

He realizes he’s hyperventilating a moment before large hands grip at his forearms. He’s leaning against the back of the couch, head hung between his shoulders; Ilya is kneeling on the couch cushions on the other side. The touch should feel cloying, a complete stranger invading his personal space; instead, it feels grounding.

“Shh. Is okay.” Ilya says softly, dipping his head to try and meet Shane’s eyes.

Eye contact is hard enough on a good day, and right now, Shane Hollander is not having a good day.

Shaking his head in the negative, Shane nonetheless remains stuck in place. How could he have been so stupid? A new wife was supposed to fix his problems, not make them worse. 

He’s got the next two months off; at least from hockey. Brand deals and some family trips he’s been putting off were one thing, but he’d hoped to use this time to get to know the person he’d asked to move across the ocean to be the missing piece that everyone thought he needed so desperately.

“You know, I am relief?” Ilya says quietly, squeezing at Shane’s arms. “Deal seems too good to be true, yes? Man with money in Canada wants spouse. Form says, gender unselected, and I am thinking, hm. How can they mean this? But maybe is different here, and that kind of looking is okay.”

He says okay like okie and it makes Shane almost feel like smiling.

“Then I get here. Long flight. Shit food. No leg room.”

Shane does crack a smile at that. He’s been in too many planes that were built for people who didn’t have legs, apparently. 

“And I come to big house in Uber. What the fuck kind of name is this? Oooober.” Ilya continues, one hand flailing along in a dramatic wave as he draws out the vowel sound. 

Shane misses his touch already, strangely enough.

“I come to door, and am rushing, of course. Not because I am late, but if I do not run at the door, I might stop. Think about it too hard, have to go home with tail between legs, yes?”

Shane nods, head jerking, belatedly realizing that Ilya’s expecting some kind of response. His rambling on is calming, the tension fading from Shane’s shoulders the longer he listens.

“The door opens, and I am thinking, here we go. Old man. Ugly woman. Could be anything.” Ilya’s hand returns, this time landing on Shane’s chin, tipping it upright. “But no. Is crazy beautiful man. Hockey player. Freckles.”

“How’d you know I play hockey?” Shane asks, blinking rapidly as he finally looks at Ilya’s face. 

“Maybe from wall of trophies.” Ilya snorts, tilting his head towards the entryway where Shane certainly doesn’t have a wall of trophies. Just, like. A few.

The rest are in his trophy room down the hall; this is just overflow.

“Maybe because you are the Shane fucking Hollander, and anyone who knows hockey knows this name.” Ilya says dryly.

“You know hockey?”

If he were a dog, Shane’s ears would be perking up.

“A little.” Ilya smirks. “I played in Russia until year before last.”

“Like a beer league?” Shane guesses.

“I do know what is this. But Tornados, we were good.”

Shane’s heart skips in his chest.

“You’re a professional hockey player?” he demands.

“Uh, no.” Ilya corrects. “Was. but not now.”

Shane realizes he’s leaning into Ilya’s personal space and tries to separate them; Ilya lets him pull away, but clambers over the back of the couch to stay close.

“What happened?” Shane asks, heading for the kitchen. Drinks. That was something polite people offered to their guests. Even if the guest was technically now their husband that they were meeting for the first time.

“Papa got sick.” Ilya replies, taking a seat on the island counter despite there being perfectly functional stools tucked beneath the waterfall edge of the countertop. “Money from KHL always went to medical bills anyway, but was not enough last year. I stay home to take care of him.”

“That’s-” Shane frowns. “That’s nice of you. Is he still sick? We can see about getting him care-”

But Ilya’s already shaking his head, though he accepts the ginger ale Shane offers him. “No. Papa is dead. Mama too. Brother-”

Ilya rocks his hand in place before cracking open the ginger ale and taking a swig. “Drugs. Parties. Have not seen him in two years.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ilya coughs.

“The fuck kind of beer is this?” he demands, spinning the can in his palm and reading the label.

“It’s not beer.” Shane hurries to explain. “It’s ginger ale. Soda.”

“Ah, okay.”

Ilya sets the can down and very pointedly does not drink a single sip more.

“I think I have some of Hayden’s beers here somewhere, if you need-”

“Ah, no. Thank you.” Ilya shakes his head. It makes his curls catch the afternoon sunlight, and Shane is momentarily dumbstruck at just how pretty Ilya is.

Ilya is staring back at him.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, and it catches Shane so off guard that he doesn’t think; just reaches out and puts his palms on Ilya’s knees, effectively trapping him on the counter.

“What? No.”

“Because I am thinking you did not mean, ‘gender unselected’. You wanted woman, yes?”

He says it casually, like he’s not facing banishment back to Russia if Shane changes his mind. A Russia that probably wouldn’t look too kindly on the fact that Ilya, temporarily, even by clerical error, had been married to a man. Ilya’s sudden inability to meet his eye reinforces this thought.

For all that he’s easily six feet of lean muscle, with calloused hands and a slight bend to his nose that speaks of it being broken at least once in his lifetime, Ilya looks… small. Vulnerable.

It makes something in Shane’s chest stand up; knocks the dust off of a feeling he didn’t know he could have, and lends strength to his voice when he says, “I thought I wanted a wife. I didn’t know a husband was even an option. But you’re mine now, and I’m going to take care of you.”

Ilya’s eyes snap to his, searching.

Shane is suddenly intensely aware of how close they are. He’s standing in the spread V of Ilya’s legs, gripping his thighs, mouths inches apart.

It would be so easy, too easy really, to lean in-

Ilya beats him to it.

Soft lips press against Shane’s own in a brief, but emotionally loaded kiss.

“Okay. Husband.”

Shane has a million and one things to think about, shifts in plans, changes in his future. The fallouts to come will be nothing short of cataclysmic. 

But for the very first time, he’ll have a partner to support him through it all.

Leaning in for another kiss, Shane’s lips tickle as he mouths the words against Ilya’s own.

“Okay, husband.”