Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Romance, Fluff and Smut, Canon Rewrite, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Worship, Falling In Love, Ilya battles feelings of love and divinity, Internal Monologue, crossing the line between nothing and something, overly romantic ilya rozanov, Romantic Ilya Rozanov, One Shot, Short One Shot

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-05 Words: 1,849 Chapters: 1/1

don't ask me questions (and don't wonder)

Summary

Don’t ask me questions, he’d say to him, and don’t wonder. For wondering what Ilya was thinking about when he was staring up at Shane’s freckled face was the same as wondering why he needed to breathe - a pointless wonder with an obvious answer: without it he’d die.

The missing intimacy scene in between Ilya's breakdown in Shane's arms and Shane's eventual departure.

Notes

I hope you enjoy this one shot as much as I enjoyed writing it :) I love romantic Ilya

fic title inspired by tolstoy's love poem of the same name, i think it describes hollanov quite perfectly

Ilya wasn’t sure how long he and Shane had sat on the edge of his hotel room bed in each other’s arms. For all he knew it could’ve been seconds, minutes, hours, but it didn’t matter. The last several weeks had been debilitating. Every waking moment was filled with a suffocating feeling in his chest that ached when he breathed and burned when he cried - grown from the stubborn roots that Shane had buried into him over years of stolen nights and hollow, lonely mornings. He’d spent almost all his time going over every choice and word he said in agonizing detail, pinpointing the exact moments where he felt shifts in Shane’s energy which resulted in him running away and collapsing, exhausted into the arms of another. Ilya knew he had been a fool. The domestic bliss of sleeping with his arms around Shane’s warm body and sharing a lazy afternoon on his couch had clouded all his senses and awakened the insecurities he’d kept hidden from view for so long. They poked and prodded through Ilya’s soft intentions, stirring up thoughts of inadequacy and the fear of scaring Shane away for good. They turned kind confessions into shallow jokes, friendly conversation into interrogation, and just when the cracks became too big to ignore, everything he’d built came crumbling down around him. How strange it was to look back with a new perspective and take in the irony of it all. Shane had a way of breaking down his defenses and peeling back the hardened exterior he’d been trained to wear his whole life. Sitting with him in his lap as he wept was the perfect example of this ability - no one else would be able to comfort him through such a vulnerable moment. Only Shane. Sweet, boring Shane. It was terrifying.

As their bodies stilled from the soothing rocking motion meant to cushion Ilya’s breakdown, he pulled back and looked up into Shane’s eyes. His dark lashes fluttered, slightly damp with tears he refused to let fall - his way of hiding from his own emotions as Ilya had come to learn through the hours they’d spent drowning in each other’s wake. They had much more in common than he was willing to admit. 

“Do you want me to go?” Shane asked quietly. His voice was kind and earnest, full of concern for Ilya’s wellbeing. 

“No,” Ilya pulled him closer, “of course not.” He slid an arm up Shane’s spine and rested his hand on the back of his neck, giving it a reassuring squeeze before closing the distance with a tender kiss. Everything since their reunion had been tender like this moment. Warm glances across cold ice, Shane brushing against him at the bar, their thumbs circling one another upon the soft Florida sand before a hushed exchange brought them back here where they had left off. Shane in his lap with his lips on his, wanting.

Their kiss grew more passionate, with Shane cupping Ilya’s face and slowly moving his hands down his waist, gripping onto his shirt. Their lips found each other again and again, pressure building and tongues meeting as the moment intensified. Ilya had missed this, Shane’s mouth. The way he occasionally whimpered when Ilya pulled back to plant a trail of kisses from his jaw down his neck, thinking he had held it in well enough that Ilya wouldn’t notice - but he did. He always did. Ilya tugged on Shane’s shirt, a plea for him to remove it. He obliged, and it fell to the floor, their desperation for each other after such a difficult time apart overriding Shane’s usual habit of folding his clothing with care. Ilya splayed his hands across Shane’s torso, dragging them over his chest and stomach. Shane’s breath quickened.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” He checked in.

“Yes,” Ilya breathed heavily, “I want you.” Using all his strength, Ilya flipped the pair of them over onto the bed and worked his way down to Shane’s hips. Swiftly, Ilya removed his own clothing before discarding Shane’s shorts and boxers, carefully draping them on the chair by the dresser so they’d be unwrinkled when he slid them back on later. He paused, taking a moment to study Shane’s body in the soft light emanating from the bedside table. The shadows that fell across his face were near cinematic, his deep brown eyes staring up at him with a fondness Ilya had only read about in Russian poetry. When Ilya had first seen Shane all those years ago, he had hoped the initial feelings of overwhelming affection would wear off as time went on. Instead, every fleeting look and mention of his name on someone else’s lips pulled him further into a tragic story of constantly needing that which he could not have. It couldn’t be love. Ilya was sure of it. Love was supposed to be cause for celebration, not small pockets of joy surrounded by the tides of mourning. Not a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach every day he woke to a cold and empty bed, hating the thought of being home because being on the road meant he’d get to have him for a few stolen hours. Or perhaps that was exactly what love was, Ilya thought. Not a life, just an existence. One devoid of all meaning while spent apart. 

Ilya’s eyes burned again as he pushed his tears away and took Shane in his mouth. He needed to feel him again, writhing under his touch in a way Ilya knew he only did when he was with him. Shane tasted lightly of salt and smelled like mint and lavender, a mixture that Ilya had come to recognize as the scent of pleasure. Everything about Shane was perfect. He licked, sucked, and wrapped his hand around the base of Shane’s cock, never taking his eyes off of his blushing face. Using his tongue, Ilya began the process of prepping him, then slowly inserted  his fingers inside, which elicited a whimper so beautiful it would have brought the gods to their knees. He would’ve stayed there pleasing him for hours if Shane hadn’t pushed him off to take him in kind. He always knew exactly how to bring Ilya’s body, mind, and soul to the brink before pulling off to join them together. Shane’s wet eyes stared up at him as he hummed and bobbed his head, his hands grabbing at Ilya’s strong chest and torso. 

He moaned and pulled Shane’s body against his, their lips crashing together once more. Ilya felt as if he might lose himself in Shane and never return. He wanted desperately to have him back in his lap, skin to skin as close as they could be, the ability to bury his face in Shane’s neck and bite down on his shoulders. There was still a lingering fear within Ilya that the level of intimacy he longed for would scare Shane away yet again. It was a risk he was much too frightened to take - but as he paused, it seemed that Shane understood where his hesitation stemmed from. He sat up straighter, allowing Ilya to move himself back against the plush pillows and headboard. Shane lingered there, his face just far enough away from Ilya’s to take in the sight of him. Ilya watched as his soft eyes wandered, dancing across his face. Shane brought his hands up and placed them on Ilya’s jaw, a thumb lightly swiped over his bottom lip. Shane was staring at him as if he was a work of art to behold, not a broken man who’d just spent the evening crying in his arms. A man who knew what he wanted but questioned it all the same. It was a primary reason why Ilya had often pushed Shane away, his questions. He hoped that one day he would be given the courage to tell him that they weren’t necessary. Don’t ask me questions, he’d say to him, and don’t wonder. For wondering what Ilya was thinking about when he was staring up at Shane’s freckled face was the same as wondering why he needed to breathe - a pointless wonder with an obvious answer: without it he’d die. Shane took it upon himself to ready Ilya, sourcing a condom and lube from the bedside table and readying him at his entrance. As Shane sank down, he stayed focused on Ilya, their eyes never leaving each other’s through the first wave of pleasure. Ilya moved his hips in time with Shane’s, their foreheads pressed against one another, lips touching briefly before separating to pant and whisper.

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya spoke softly.

“No,” Shane kissed him, “say my name.” Ilya’s heart flipped. Of course, darling Shane would be the one between the two of them to reopen the door that he’d so abruptly closed thanks to Ilya’s foolishness. 

“Shane…” Ilya drawled, planting a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Ilya, oh, Ilya,” Shane whined. Hearing his name on Shane’s lips like a prayer was almost enough to make his heart stop. A beautiful man unravelled before him, who wanted no one else but him. How anyone had let them fall together like this must have been a foolish mistake, or a cruel plan made from the twisted mind of Aphrodite. Ilya promised himself he’d do everything in his power to keep his name slipping out of Shane’s lips forever. It was nothing short of a miracle that they’d even ended up here together. Perhaps it was fate, or some sort of divine intervention that brought someone as perfect as Shane to someone as damaged as he was, Ilya thought. 

“Beautiful, Shane. You’re so perfect,” Ilya sighed.

“I’m close.” Shane replied. Ilya kept thrusting through Shane’s climax as he shook and cried out, milt dripping onto Ilya’s abdomen. The way Shane’s brow furrowed and his heavy eyelids were half closed, quivering with overstimulation sent Ilya over the edge, spilling into him while long strings of Russian affection slipped from his mouth. Quickly, Ilya cleaned them off, hoping for a brief moment he’d have the opportunity to hold Shane before he had to go. Still in the sticky Florida heat, they lay on top of the covers, a tangle of limbs dappled with sweat and small bruises from needy fingertips.

“Yes,” Ilya said, holding Shane against him.

“Yes?” Shane questioned.

“You asked me if we could be something, if it was possible. Would I want to be?” Ilya’s heart raced. “The answer is yes.”

Shane turned to face him, a smile spreading across his soft, pink lips. In the light of Shane’s smile, Ilya felt as though the heavens had opened for him, a mere mortal allowed to bask in his brilliance for a short while. The time for talk about love would come later - if at all. For now, Ilya chose to stay suspended in Shane’s warmth until the dreadful cold of night forced him to depart, and the looming threat of dawn woke them both with the harsh realities of questions and wonders neither had the answers to.