Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike's Children

Additional Tags:

Hockey, Secret Relationship, Dumb Hockey Boys, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Babysitting, Soft Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Movie Night, They have it bad for each other, Fuck AI, author just loves em-dashes, English Is Not the Author's First Language

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of Hockey and Melodrama

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-25 Words: 13,009 Chapters: 1/1

Shane's cousin George

Summary

‘What is the song about, uncle George?’

Shane listens, transfixed, as Rozanov on the other side of the speaker explains to the yawning twins that the song he was singing was his mother’s favourite. He deflects when they ask what the song is about and if they can learn it. There is something in the way he says it that tugs at Shane’s heart.

‘I can maybe teach you something else, da? Is like a poem, something I learned when I was small like you?’ he offers another suggestion and the girls sound delighted. Shane doesn’t have the heart to complain that they should be sleeping, not learning poems and that it’s long past midnight already.

OR

When a night destined to be a hookup turns to an unexpected babysitting emergency, Shane gets to know his rival in ways he wasn’t really ready for. So does Ilya.

Notes

I read the cutest single dad Shane au story and ever since I wanted to write Hollanov around children, showing their softer sides to each other. I really couldn't get it out of my mind. So this is it.
______

This story takes place right before the tuna meltdown; it’s mostly TV show cannon for the timeline and omission of the sex building (not really a place to babysit your best friends kids, is it?), although there might be a bit more book than TV Shane in it.
The story is also set in more or less present time when it comes to the technology. Food delivery apps exist. I’m lazy. I’m not sorry.

If anyone is interested, in my mind the song that Ilya sings to the kids in the end is Голос твій by Okean Elzy (I know they are Ukrainian not Russian but I love the song so please bear with me)

• Inspired by We can be brave by happyeverafter72

As excited as Shane is about the night’s plans, he does appreciate Rozanov taking his sweet time. It allows the anticipation to build, filling his stomach like a ballon one blow of air away from exploding.

He’s got at least another thirty minutes before Rozanov shows up, and he takes his time in the shower, thoroughly lathering his body with soap, allowing himself to imagine a different set of fingers working his muscles.

His mind keep wandering to Rozanov, imagining him as he stares impatiently into his phone, pretending to enjoy the obligatory drinks with his team.

Some days, he manages to get out of them when they play Montreal. But not today. Not when his team stumbled out of the arena with their tails between their legs, a 1-5 defeat at hands of the Metros looming over them.

Shane might want Rozanov to himself tonight. But the Raiders need him. They need their captain to help them lick their wounds, tell them he still loves them and they are still going to win some games.

They are. Just not against the Metros. Not if Shane has anything to say about that.

He almost, almost wishes it wasn’t so bad, that Rozanov didn’t have to be there, wiping his rookies’ tears and patting his almost-retirees’ shoulders. That he was, instead, already waiting for Shane in his bed.

Almost.

Much more, he wishes that Andropov managed not to let their lead get to his head and kept his stick to himself, sparing his team the embarrassing last minute penalty that resulted in the Raiders’ only goal. They were so close to 5-0.

Still, 5-1 felt fucking good. And Rozanov looked fucking pissed, which was almost as good. When Shane saw him in front of the journalists, his brows were pushed so low they almost covered his eyes, his jaw was locked so stiff it looked painful.

Shane watched him leave the press area and had to go through a set of breathing exercises before he joined his team in the showers.

He knew that face, that buzzing anger, and he knew Rozanov was going to take it all out on him when he later arrives.

So Shane rushed home, and spent the next thirty minutes in the shower, getting ready for the best fuck of his life.

He knows he will feel it during the next practice; he’s not sure he’ll be able to walk straight, or explain the bruises.

He has to wait patiently. He has to turn the shower temperature to cold to do so.

His phone is ringing out of its mind, and Shane lets it. Hayden’s name flashes on the screen, over and over again, but there is no space in Shane’s mind for worrying about his drunk teammates tonight. Whatever the rookies got themselves into, it can wait. It will wait. Dealing with Shane right now would be worse.

He is just out of the shower, a towel snugly wrapped around his waist, when the doorbell rings. It startles him.

Rozanov usually texts. He’s got the code for the door downstairs, but he still texts, checking that the air is clean. And so that Shane can wait for him at the door to his flat and he doesn’t have to linger in the corridor for too long.

There is no message from Lily on his phone, just the endless log of missed calls from Hayden. That makes it even worse.

Fuck. If Rozanov is too drunk to remember their system, he is too drunk to fuck him properly and then Shane is going to kill him.

Shane leaves the phone behind in the bathroom as he rushes for the door. He wishes he could at least throw some clothes on, but the ringing is relentless.

The moment the door opens, Shane is assaulted by a high-pitched screaming of two excited four-year-olds, and before he can ask what is happening, the Pike twins are already past him, running for his living room and Hayden is pushing two pink backpacks into his hands.

‘I’m sorry buddy, I called and called and called!’

Shane nods, thinking that yes, that is correct, he did call, as he accepts the backpacks, too stunned to think about what he’s doing. Or why is Hayden there. Or, just generally, why anything.

‘Jackie’s gone into labour, and it’s way too fucking soon!’ Hayden panics and Shane finds himself muttering swear jar automatically, like his mind can’t process the meaning of the sentence, but gets stuck on the one thing that is familiar.

‘…her mother isn’t here yet and we have to go and the twins…’

Shane catches bits and pieces that he hopes will form into something coherent eventually, when his mind won’t be stuck between the kids screaming in the background, Hayden panicking in front of him, and Rozanov, who is probably on his way already, somewhere in the city.

‘… the bed time, and don’t forget Ruby’s allergic to…’

Shane nods through the instruction, still wearing nothing but a towel and beginning to shiver. And then Hayden is running down the stairs and he is alone with two children, two my little pony backpacks, and an unopened bottle of lube in the nightstand in his bedroom that will remain unopened for another three months now.

He should get dressed. He should text Rozanov not to come. In reverse order, probably.

But then there is a crash in the living room, the sound of a child wailing, and Rozanov will have to wait.

‘Ruby, are you okay?’ he rushes to the child on the floor, about seventy percent sure he called out the right name, but Ruby loves green and Jade likes purple and the girl crying is wearing green butterflies in her hair.

‘She pushed me!’ the girl wails, pointing at her sister and doesn’t correct him so Shane probably got the name right.

‘I didn’t!’ comes the expected reply.

And Shane’s seen a lot of fights, he plays hockey for a living after all. And he’s had a lot of men look him in the eye the way Jade is looking now and swear they did not trip anyone, they weren’t the first to drop gloves, even as he watched them do it.

His teammates are terrible liars. But four-year-olds are worse and Jade is squirming and looking guilty and she is also scared and Shane knows she probably — hopefully — didn’t mean to and that kids do stupid things sometimes.

‘Sometimes, when we play, accidents happen, right?’ he tries to calm Jade down, beckoning her to come down from the couch. He can barely handle one weeping child.

‘Where does it hurt, Ruby?’ he turns to the girl in his arms, checking her for any injuries. She points at various parts of her body, and Shane nods seriously.

‘I see. I think I know what will help.’ He tries to sound serious, hoping to convince the girls that there really is nothing to worry about.

He is definitely not panicking, not at all, having an injury on his hands two minutes into babysitting, and if he is, the kids mustn't know it.

‘Will you take her to hospital?’ Jade asks, equally serious.

‘Where daddy took mommy?’ Ruby supplies.

Shane looks from one to another, then rests his eyes on Ruby, staring at him with big eyes and dry cheeks.

It takes him a moment to realise he just got played by two toddlers. Or whatever kids that age are called anyway.

‘How about instead,’ he suggests, still painfully aware of the towel around his hips, wet, sticking to his legs, growing cold and completely inappropriate for babysitting, ‘I show you my room now? You could watch cartoons in bed for a bit?’

And Shane could, hopefully, finally, get dressed?

‘With ice cream?’ Ruby asks, eyes sparkling, ready to trade her scheme to get to their parents for a dessert.

‘I-uh-I don’t have ice cream,’ Shane admits, trying to think quickly about an alternative as the twins’ faces sink. ‘But you could watch one cartoon and then we can look for something sweet together?’

There isn’t anything, Shane knows that, unless Hayden packed something into their overnight bags. But maybe the kids will forget until then?

He knows there are probably some rules about how much screen time kids should get. He also knows nothing else about how to keep them busy, so screen time it is, even if they’ll have to spend the whole evening watching cartoons. He already knows the stupid voices and repetitive songs will stay stuck in his head for ages after. It still sounds marginally better than the idea of two unhappy, screaming kids.

Mentally, he reminds himself to put a pair of earplugs into his pocket when he gets dressed. Just in case.

Luckily, the girls let themselves be talked into the cartoons, bickering immediately about what show to watch.

Shane hesitates. How good are kids at taking stairs at this age? Can they do it by themselves? Does he need to hold their hands? Carry them?

It’s the kind of question a person doesn’t think to ask before the situation presents itself. Jackie and Hayden usually carry them upstairs — but that is because it is bed time or nap time and the girls are half asleep at that point, clutching their chubby hands to their parents shirts like baby koalas.

But what if it’s during the day? Has he ever seen them walk stairs? He can’t recall.

Aware that he’s overthinking it, Shane picks both the girls up, clutching one child under each arm and the girl’s giggles are all the approval he needs to drag them up the stairs into his bedroom. He adds a couple of bounces for the good measure and all the previous drama seems to be forgotten, the lack of ice cream forgiven for now.

Shane drops them on the bed, quick enough to make them laugh again, gently enough not to hurt them. At least he hopes. But the girls are laughing and asking him to do it again, so it’s probably fine.

‘I’ll get my phone so you can watch Bluey, okay?’ he promises, choosing one of the shows they mentioned before they start fighting again. He hopes he’ll be able to find it online.

The girls promise to wait while he runs to the bathroom for his phone. He checks it quickly, listening for any sounds of trouble or crying, but the girls seem to be good.

There are no new messages, that is at least a relief. He’d feel like an extra asshole if he had to turn away Rozanov if he was already on the way.

He quickly types up a message to let him know he’s dealing with a family emergency and their meetup is off. He makes sure to put his phone on do not disturb, the last thing the girls need to see are thirst texts jumping over their cartoon.

They probably can’t read yet, he doesn’t think, but still, he really doesn’t feel like explaining to them compilations of fruit emojis Rozanov likes to send.

The cartoon, luckily, earns him enough time to get dressed properly. And start worrying about dinner.

What does one feed children? Shane knows what they eat at home of course, but there are no chicken nuggets in his freezer, no sandwich bread in his pantry, no pasta…

He can put together some fruit and vegetables, probably, but that is a snack, not a dinner. Kids are growing. They need protein, right? Something more substantial?

He would part with some of his packaged, nutritionist approved dinners, but even his adult friends turn their lips at those. There isn’t enough ketchup in the world to make them appealing to children — not that Shane has any ketchup in his kitchen anyway.

He’s babysat before, of course. But there was notice. List of preapproved activities, snacks and dinner ready and labelled in the fridge, Pikes’ own baby-proofed house filled with toys at their disposal.

‘Uncle Shane?’ the curious voice drags him out of his head, forcing him to poke his head out of the closet.

‘What’s wrong, kiddo?’ Shane has no idea which one was calling, but neither girl seems to be in any distress.

‘Can we do something else now?’ Ruby whines and before Shane can ask what is it they want to do, he has two kids rushing for the stairs on his hands.

It’s been fifteen minutes. How do the Pikes do this all day, every day? And want more?

Shane catches up to them at the top of the stairway.

‘No running! Especially on the stairs!’ That is one thing about kids he knows he’s got right. Hell, adults should listen to that too. No one should be running around stairs.

‘Can you wait for me?’ Shane asks the kids, gently pulling them away from the top of the stairs. ‘I need to get my phone, it will be one second, okay? Just in case your dad calls.’

He knows it was a mistake, immediately. He just got them to stop asking about their parents. But he was thinking, he needs to check his phone to see if Rozanov texted, but of course he couldn’t tell them that he was waiting for a text from his hookup, and waiting for Hayden’s call seemed like the next best thing. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t still far from actually good.

‘Where is daddy? Is he coming soon? Is he still at the hospital? And mummy? I miss mummy! Can we go see mummy?’ The flood of questions doesn’t feel any less scary coming in high-pitched voices that have trouble pronouncing their s’s and r’s.

But at least the kids are following him now, if only to pester him, and getting further away from the top of the stairs.

‘Your dad and mum are together, at the hospital.’ Shane makes sure his voice is steady. He doesn’t want to freak them out. But the word hospital itself is scary, or at least to most adults it is.

Do four-year-olds have the same associations, between hospital and sickness and death? Do they know what death is? He really needs to buy a book about kids, especially now that he’s supposed to be a god father.

‘When are they coming back?’ Jade is relentless.

‘I don’t know, sweetie, but your dad will call us as soon as he knows, okay?’ Shane promises and reaches for his phone. He scrolls quickly past texts from Rozanov, he should check if he got his message but he doesn’t dare, not with two kids climbing on his bed to try to peek over his shoulder.

They still aren’t tall enough, he doesn’t think, but he doesn’t risk it either, the last thing he needs to see now are sexts or a dick pick, trying to entice him into changing his mind.

Below the still growing cluster of texts, there is one message from Hayden. It’s brief. They will be spending the night in the hospital, Jackie’s sister will pick up the girls in the morning.

Shane has no idea what to tell the kids, and they are staring at him with their massive eyes, still trying to see what he’s doing, what he’s seeing.

They want to know when their parents are coming, and he doesn’t know. He wants to tell them they’re okay, but Hayden doesn’t say.

So he settles for, ‘Mommy and daddy say hi, and that they miss you very much.’ And, because he doesn’t know what else is there to say, he asks, ‘so who wants to show me what toys you packed for tonight?’

Jade hesitates, clearly not done asking about their parents. But Ruby bolts for her backpack, and of course Jade can’t let her sister beat her, and they are rushing for the stairs again, Shane behind them like an unfunny déjà-vu, but at least this time his phone is in his pocket and he can grab their arms, guiding them safely downstairs.

‘Why don’t you unpack everything on the couch so we can pick something to play with together?’ Shane suggests. The girls seem okay with it and safely occupied, they allow Shane to retreat into the kitchen.

There must be something in there that he could feed to the kids. Maybe there are some snacks left behind from the last team gathering. Maybe his parents dropped off something the last time they stopped by.

His dad in particular likes leaving snacks that Shane used to enjoy as a kid in his cupboard anytime he stops by to check on the place when Shane is on the road. Shane knows he means well, even if he told his dad they are not part of his diet. He insists on bringing them anyway and Shane keeps secretly dropping them off at Hayden’s.

God, let there be some left.

But he scans the cupboard, even the freezer, and there is nothing. He wonders if he could talk the kids into a milkshake for dinner — he’d put in all the fruit in his freezer and the last of the Greek yogurt and some honey and maybe if it’s sweet and pink enough, it might just go down with them — when he’s drawn back to the living room by a sound of shattering glass.

‘Nobody move!’ he shouts, not sure where that came from only that he does not want to spend the night in an emergency room, holding the twins’ hands as someone digs glass out of their tiny feet.

He’d seen and experienced himself much worse injuries on ice, but this he couldn’t stomach.

Nothing but silence comes from the living room. Which is absolutely terrifying, almost worse than crying. But there is no sound of crunching glass either, so hopefully, the girls are listening.

‘I’m coming to you, stay where you are, okay?’ Shane calls again and this time, he’s met with two very quiet yes uncle Shane’s.

‘It will be okay, I promise I’m not mad, I just don’t want you getting hurt, okay?’

He’s quick to find slippers and a broom, and the girls look guilty but unharmed, and it is not the coffee table or the TV laying spread around the room, thank God, but what used to be a rather ugly vase the designer picked for the side table.

‘Nobody is hurt?’ Shane checks with the kids before scooping them up, on by one, and depositing them on the couch.

The girls shake their heads, but remain quiet and Shane curses and forgets the broom and sits between them.

‘I’m sorry I shouted,’ he says as he drags the girls into an awkward hug, pressing their little faces into his chest. ‘I was just worried about you, I didn’t want you stepping on the sharp glass and hurting yourselves.’

The girls don’t let go, Jade sniffles a little into his shirt. Fuck. He didn’t mean to scare them.

‘Hey, Jade, it’s okay, everything is okay, I promise. Nobody is hurt and the vase was ugly anyway. We’re fine, I just have to clean this up and we can play again, okay?’

The sniffs come in a slower pattern, even if Jade still doesn’t speak, so Shane continues talking in the same voice, trying to soothe her.

He comments on all the toys he sees spread on the coffee table, suggesting games they could play and that finally draws a reaction, when the girls once more can’t decide on what to do, struggling between colouring and playing restaurant.

‘We can do both,’ Shan promises, slowly peeling the girls from his chest. ‘How about we colour one picture each, then play restaurant? Here, pick a picture while I clean this up, okay?’

The girls accept the colouring books, but still take a couple of moments to finally let go of Shane’s shirt.

He tries really hard not to think about the tears and snot and something vaguely orange on his chest as he gets off the couch. He desperately wants to change, but getting away from the girls seems impossible now.

‘I’m right here,’ he assures them as they watch him move around the room, making sure no piece of glass remains.

He should still probably vacuum too, just to be extra sure. He won’t forgive himself if he misses a piece and one of the kids steps on it.

He’s about to put the vacuum cleaner away when the doorbell rings again. It shouldn’t. Shane’s parents are in Ottawa. Pikes are still at the hospital. And it is too late for a delivery.

The twins perk up at the couch, dropping their colouring books. Shane sits them down before they get their hopes up.

‘It’s probably the neighbours checking if we’re okay, we’ve made a bit of noise, didn’t we?’

In truth , he doesn’t think his walls are that thin. But he needs to say something before they start asking about their parents and that is the first thing on his mind.

The doorbell rings again in a pattern of short impatient presses.

‘Just stay here, okay? Colour something for me, I’ll be right back,’ he addresses the kids and by the time he does, the doorbell rings three more time.

‘What?’ he opens the door and doesn’t care how irritated he sounds.

Except his anger evaporates, transforms into shock then resurfaces again the moment he sees Rozanov’s face, equally pissed and he’s being pushed inside, the door shutting behind Rozanov with a bang.

‘What the fuck, Hollander?’ Rozanov throws his hands into the air before the palm of his hand connects with Shane’s chest, pushing his back towards the wall separating the entry from the kitchen.

‘You can’t say that!’ comes a serious-sounding chastising from the living room.

‘Fuck is a bad word!’ second child’s voice adds.

‘Very good girls!’ Shane calls back because what the fuck is he supposed to say? ‘Please stay on the couch and work on your pictures, okay? I’ll be right there!’

By a miracle, they do. Maybe Rozanov’s shouting scared them. Shane should get rid of him immediately and check in on them.

‘Forget to tell me something, Hollander?’ Rozanov stares between Shane and the hallway leading to the living room, as if he really thought Shane might be a father to some kids he forgot to mention.

‘I’m babysitting Hayden’s kids. It’s an emergency, they’re about to have their third. I texted you not to come!’ Shane whisper-shouts, dragging Rozanov into the kitchen for some privacy.

‘Eh, no you didn’t.’ Rozanov pushes his phone into Shane’s face and it takes him a second to process what he’s looking at before reading the conversation between them.

At least he’s done shouting, his face stone and refusing to show any emotions. That’s how Shane knows he’s not angry anymore. Rozanov doesn’t hide his anger. His disappointment, maybe?

Shane turns towards the message thread on Rozanov’s phone. There is the time. The door code. And then — nothing. Where Shane’s text cancelling should be, there is only Rozanov’s side of conversation, letting him know he’s on the way, he’s in front of his building, then in front of his door and why isn’t he opening, wtf Hollander why aren’t you opening, I’m standing here like a fucking idiot—.

‘I texted you!’ Shane insists even though the evidence is against him.

‘You want me to leave?’ Rozanov asks.

And fuck that disappointed look on his face making him feel guilty, it’s not like Shane wasn’t looking forward to tonight. But that is clearly out of the window now.

‘You can wait in the kitchen for your cab,’ Shane offers, only because the last thing he needs is for anyone to spot Rozanov loitering around his building.

But of course that is the moment when Ruby lets her curiosity win over the fear a pops her head into the kitchen.

‘Uncle Shane?’ she trills, her eyes massive and focused only on Rozanov. Jade appears behind her a moment later, encouraged by her sister’s bravery.

‘What is it, Ruby?’ Shane tries to get between them and Rozanov and usher the twins out of the room, but they clearly aren’t done with the entertainment, finding a way to peek around his legs.

‘Who is that big man, uncle Shane?’ Jade asks, still half-hidden behind the doorway.

Before Shane could come up with an excuse, Rozanov probably decides he would look less threatening if he weren’t so big, and sits down on the kitchen floor, waiving at the kids.

‘Hello! I am your uncle’s friend,’ he introduces himself, and maybe it is the sitting down, or the massive smile, but the girls, encouraged by him, are now smiling back at him.

‘What is your name?’ Jade asks, her shy smile slowly catching up to her sister’s wide display of teeth.

‘I’m—’

‘His name is George,’ Shane speaks quickly, in case Rozanov has the bright idea to tell them who he really is. He could almost see the conversation with Hayden, no, I swear, that was a different Ilya coming to my flat after the Boston game, completely unrelated.

Fuck.

‘George, he, uh, he is my cousin.’ Shane really hopes kids can’t tell that he is lying, because he knows he isn’t doing a good job out of it. But they are four so maybe it won’t matter.

‘He just, uh, forgot his phone here and came to pick it up. He will go home now, okay?’ That sentence is clearly for Rozanov and Shane hopes he communicates it with his look well enough.

‘Yes, kids, I have to go home.’ Rozanov smiles at the girls and he is much better liar than Shane ever was, because he almost looks sad.

‘Go play with your uncle,’ he tells the girls, and when they don’t move, he sends them off with a gesture that is both waving and shooing them away.

The twins seem still hesitant, clearly fascinated by the intruder, so Shane gently manoeuvres them back to the living room.

‘Will you show me what you drew now?’ Shane asks them, trying to get their attention away from the kitchen, but even if they are walking towards the couch, their minds are clearly still with Rozanov.

Shane tries his best anyway. He comments on the pictures, asking about the animals in the colouring book and receiving two horrified responses when he claims he doesn’t know who Peppa the Pig is, repeatedly pointing at a wrong character.

It works, for a while, the girls giggle as they correct him when he points out a puppy or a rabbit. But his luck — or his preparedness — runs out shortly after that.

He is not ready for the chorus of I’m hungry! I’m thirsty!, especially as water doesn’t seem to be a satisfying option, and Shane definitely doesn’t have juice, or even tea he could offer, because he doesn’t drink fruit tea — which, really, should even be called a tea but a brew — and there is definitely no space for any sugary drinks in his kitchen.

He doesn’t get any further with food either — the kids don’t want eggs, they don’t want a milkshake or a yogurt, and Shane is racking his brain, not really wanting to check the kitchen because he knows the only thing he’d find there are his pre-planned meals and —

‘Hollander, you’re so boring, just order pizza!’ Rozanov’s voice from the kitchen brings him back from the spiralling, but he isn’t sure the irritation he’s feeling now is better. He really doesn’t want to get angry around the kids.

It is far too late for that. Because now he had two little monsters at his hands, shouting pi-zza, pi-zza as they jump up and down around him.

‘Well thanks for that!’ Shane shouts back into the kitchen. Irritated that Rozanov suggested a completely unhealthy option and there is no talking the kids down now. Even more so that it didn’t occur to him first to just order food.

‘Fine,’ he sighs, searching for his phone. He will order a pizza. It is one night, it’s not like Hayden or Jackie would care, with what they have going on in the meantime,

‘What do you like on your pizza?’ he asks and while the kids agree single-mindedly on CHEEEESE — it is the first thing they seem to agree during the night — a different voice from the kitchen calls the most unhinged list of ingredients.

‘You’re supposed to be leaving, George!’ Shane shouts at the self-invited dinner guest, ‘And there’s no way I’m ordering a pizza with all that crap! And pineapple? You don’t put pineapple on pizza!’

He knows before he hears it what is the response coming.

‘Boring!’

And Shane can’t even reply back because there is no answer he can say out loud in front of the children.

‘You look like you need help, Hollander.’ Rozanov only shrugs as he makes his way into the room, done with being exiled to the kitchen.

‘His name is Shane!’ Ruby corrects him immediately and then Jade corrects her to uncle Shane.

‘His name is Shane Hollander. Do you not know this?’ Rozanov speaks to the girls, making the most outrageous confused face that has the girls giggling.

‘His name is uncle Shane!’ the girls keep their stance. And not even six-foot-tall MLH superstars are immune to the determined eyes. Just ask Shane.

‘Okay okay, I will call him uncle Shane too.’ He raises his hands in surrender.

Shane chuckles against his will; he would have never, in his seven years of knowing Rozanov, called him cute. Up until this moment. And he is going to tease him about it mercilessly at the next opportunity.

‘I am not your uncle,’ he still complains.

Rozanov looks at him with amusement that lifts his eyebrows and twists his lips.

‘And you are their uncle? Shane Pike?’

Shane shakes his head. Rozanov is being even more of an asshole than usual, now that Shane can’t call him out on it with the children present. The worst thing is the girls are eating it up, staring at him with open-mouthed adoration that Shane can’t see him doing anything to earn.

'Don’t call me uncle Shane,’ Shane sighs and it feel too much like asking for a favour the moment the words leave his mouth.

It is already weird that Rozanov is using his first name — even if it is for the girls’ sake. Adding uncle to it feels both too familiar and somehow dirty. Uncle is for the girls. It is sweet, it is personal, it means family. Having his hookup touch either of those things is wrong. And so is considering him to be anything more than that.

Which is why, having whatever this is in one room with his nieces, screams wrong all over the place. Shane wants him gone.

If it were anyone else, he would be grateful for the help. But there is no explaining Rozanov’s presence to anyone, if Hayden returned unexpectedly soon, if the girls realised who their babysitter really was…

‘Okay, done, pizza ordered,’ Rozanov announces, coming seemingly out of nowhere.

Shane’s eyes snap to him immediately, and once more he regrets that violence isn’t an answer he can employ in front of children. He couldn’t even count how many lines that crossed.

With patience a saint would be proud of, Shane doesn’t say a word as he sets pillows in front of the TV and puts on another episode of a kids show for the girls. He doesn’t say anything as he shoots his eyes at Rozanov and walks to a small office, expecting him to follow. He doesn’t say anything as he closes the door behind Rozanov. Nor as he digs his elbow into his chest, forcing him against the closed door.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ he finally hisses, inches from Rozanov’s face to keep the conversation in the room. The last thing he wants is to scare the girls any more.

‘I am helping, yes? You are overwhelmed.’

‘Because you are in my place! No one is supposed to know about this! How do you think that will go if you babysit Hayden’s kids?’

 ‘Ah, but I am not babysitting the little Pikes. Cousin George is, yes?’

Shane sighs. Yes, cousin George. One that he doesn’t have — which Hayden definitely knows — and is just accidentally 6’3, very hot, very memorable, with noticeable accent. Sure. The perfect cover.

Except, cousin George already met the girls. Bought them dinner. Was there anything left to save if Shane kicked him out now? Other than his sanity?

‘You could have at least ask me! Do you know what the girls are allergic to? Did you ask if I wanted anything?’

Not that Shane did. He really couldn’t afford to eat like that, not in the middle of the season. But it would have been nice if Rozanov at least asked. It would have been fucking polite, considering he invaded his fucking home.

‘I am sorry,’ Rozanov offered. The worst thing was, Shane believed him.

‘I should have asked. About the kids. Not you, I know what you eat.’

It was about as good apology as Shane was getting.

‘I ordered you bird food pizza. Found a place that makes wholegrain flour pizza. Vegetables and cheese only.’

Shane takes a step back, releasing Rozanov from the hold against the office door. He still doesn’t know how to feel about the boundaries that were crossed, which were, pretty much, all of them. But he also can’t ignore that Rozanov has clearly tried to do something nice. He really, really wish he could.

‘Well, thanks for the pizza. And for the records, Ruby is allergic to citruses, which I really hope no one puts on pizza, but still, you should have asked.’

‘Yes. I will ask next time. No pizza with citruses.’

‘There will be no next time,’ Shane sighs. But there is nothing more to say. Which leaves them standing in silence.

There are kids in the other room. The faint sound of the cartoon sneaks through the crack under the office door, just loud enough to remind Shane they are not alone.

Not loud enough to cover the sound Rozanov’s throat makes as he swallows.

‘This is a bad idea,’ Shane whispers, and his throat feels too tight around the words.

‘Very,’ Rozanov agrees. He takes a step forward anyway, raising two fingers under Shane’s chin, barely touching the skin with the tips. It’s enough to freeze him in place. It’s enough to manoeuvre his face up with a light push until their eyes meet.

‘What time the kids go to sleep?’ Rozanov asks.

It’s enough to make Shane take a step back.

‘You can’t be serious! With kids in the flat? We can’t!’

Honestly, Shane would die. Even the idea, that the kids might wake up, might walk into…

‘Relax, Hollander.’ Rozanov rolls his eyes. The command does nothing to make Shane relax, if anything the effect is exactly opposite.

‘You have only one bed?’ Rozanov teases.

‘Oh fuck off,’ Shane groans, ‘What if they wake up? Come looking for me? We can’t, we can’t do anything when the kids are here. You should go.’

Rozanov just smirks. He sets his arms against his chest and leans on the door, not going anywhere. Not letting Shane go anywhere either.

‘Hollander. You know where kids come from, yes?’

‘You want to get me pregnant, Rozanov?’ Shane teases, because honestly, what a stupid question that even is. Rozanov only rolls his eyes.

‘Hollander. Where do you think baby Pike number three comes from? People fuck. In house with kids. It’s called separate rooms.’

Shane swallows. It still sounds wrong. He know, in theory, everything Rozanov says makes sense. And, he wants to. Fuck. He really, really wants to. That is the problem. And the only thing he’s been able to think about since the office door closed, separating them from the world outside.

He should already be on his knees.

Which is why Shane pushes Rozanov out of the way, making his way back towards the twins before he does something stupid.

Rozanov follows. He doesn’t say anything stupid, thank god. Still, he follows. Shane didn’t expect him to, not when he made it clear that sex was not on the table. But they did order pizza, so. He is probably leaving after. That makes more sense, really.

The TV show ends and Rozanov turns to the kids. There is no time for them to ask for another episode. To complain. Anything. One moment they’re watching TV. Next, they are both in his arms giggling uncontrollably as Rozanov swings his arms, screaming and trashing and calling Shane to rescue him from two angry sharks that had set his teeth into him.

Shane laughs. He takes hold of Ruby and pretends to struggle to pull her off Rozanov, who, despite complaining, holds her tight to his hip as she digs her little claws into his shirt.

Ruby shows her teeth, aiming for Shane’s hand. He snatches it back with a dramatic yelp.

‘Help, this shark has very sharp teeth!’ he exclaims before moving onto the second predator, a Jade-shaped shark clutching Rozanov’s shin. He repeats the performance, failing to pry the kid before resolving to violence.

‘I guess I’ll have to check if the sharks are ticklish,’ he announces in all seriousness. He’s met with protests from two squealing sharks.

Jade tries to climb Rozanov in an attempt to get away from Shane and he picks her up with ease.

‘Please. Anything. Save me, Shane,’ Rozanov begs him, trying to look like he wants to shake the kids off while holding them both securely to his body.

Shane doesn’t consider what hearing his name in Rozanov’s voice does to his stomach. Instead, he allows himself to appreciate, just for a second, how good he looks.

The girls practically disappear against the mass of his chest and arms. And Rozanov laughs. Loudly, openly, with head falling back and the lines of his teeth revealed for Shane to see. He never heard the sound before. Loud. Unguarded.

For a moment, Shane watches the scene. And there is something, something about the way the kids giggle and bounce and Rozanov laughs with them, because something in Shane’s chest bounces with them.

He reaches for Ruby before he’s forced to examine the feeling. He gently pries her off Rozanov’s side, continuing to bounce her in rhythm with his bouncing of Jade.

 ‘Dance uncle Shane!’ Ruby shouts as he clutches her arms to his neck.

‘I thought you were a shark, Ruby?’ Shane teases her, but spins with her anyway. He’s rewarded with the cutest giggles.

‘Sharks can dance!’ Jade shouts. She slaps Rozanov’s chest and he clearly understands the command, giving her a spin too.

‘Hey, uncle Shane, can we play music?’ Rozanov asks without stoping the twirling.

Shane stops from where he was trying to mimic Rozanov’s moves with Ruby. It’s unfair how fluid his movements are. Even if he spends as much time clubbing as he does, it shouldn’t translate that easily to twirling little girls around Shane’s living room. It’s honestly insane. He shouldn’t be allowed to be good at everything.

‘Shane, music?’ Rozanov waves a hand in front oh his face and Shane nods. He secures Ruby to his side, releasing one hand to reach for the TV remove and turns it to a music channel.

It doesn’t even occur to him that maybe not everything on it would be appropriate for the kids. But he gets lucky. He spins Ruby again to the melody of some party song, with colourful lights flashing and she giggles, and behind him Jade and Rozanov laugh too and for a moment, the domesticity feels almost believable, like this is something Shane could have, one day.

He can. He will. He reminds himself. He will find a nice woman, end whatever this thing with Rozanov is. They’ll have kids. It will be just like this.

The thought doesn’t bring him comfort. The mysterious woman from his future dances with their future kids and her hips sway just like Rozanov’s do. She laughs and the corner of her mouth crinkles just like Rozanov’s. Her hair bounces as she dances, and it’s almost blond and full of curls.

Rozanov notices him staring. He opens his mouth, Shane can see it, even as turns away quickly as if it could take the staring back.

But Rozanov doesn’t get to speak. The intercom buzzes and Shane answers it to the background of three excited voices shouting pizza.

It is pizza. It is, also, a bag of groceries. Shane would worry it got delivered to the wrong address, if it clearly wasn’t meant for someone with kids. Ice cream. Juice. Four kinds of breakfast cereal. Milk.

It is too much. It is a kindness and a taunt. Of course he has nothing to feed to the kids in the morning. And of course Rozanov notices and takes care of it. Silently, just to taunt him. A problem he could solve and did. And Shane didn’t.

Shane sets the pizza on the coffee table. Pours the juice into cups. He even finds some straws and napkins from the last time he hosted his team at his place.

He offers Rozanov a beer. He surprises himself when he takes one for himself, but honestly, today is that kind of a day. There is no harm in one beer, and Rozanov clearly doesn’t think so either, accepting the drink as they open the pizza boxes.

‘Can we watch some TV?’ Jade asks with a mouth full of pizza and Shane knows she’s pushing it. They’ve already broke pretty much every babysitting rule Shane remembers Jackie making in the past, as he  pretty much tried to solved every problem with one more Bluey episode.

But Rozanov is already nodding happily like he’s one of the kids.

‘Pizza and cartoons in bed! Shane please!’

It’s a terrible idea. It makes Shane recoil, just the idea of grease and crumb on his bed sheets. He weathers the twins’ puppy eyes. He already knows all their tricks. He can resist.

What he doesn’t realise, it’s Rozanov’s puppy eyes he should have worried about. They are, objectively, no even half as cute as the girls’. But they’re honest. Vulnerable. The man in front of him is chewing too big bite of pizza and staring at him.

Shane knows Rozanov on ice, brash, cocky, loud. He knows Rozanov in the bedroom, passionate, hot and a different kind of loud.

This is a Rozanov he doesn’t know. One that dances with the Pike kids. Smiles with his cheeks stuffed with food. Asks to watch cartoons.

‘What do you want to watch?’ Shane hears himself ask. He packs the pizzas and ice cream as Rozanov collects their beers and girls’ cups. The girls are in charge of their pyjamas.

They settle on Frozen. Rozanov approves, which makes the whole thing completely surreal.

They settle into Shane’s bed. Kids in the middle. Laptop at their feet. Pizza and ice cream on the sheets.

Shane tries and fails to ignore the pizza. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. The sheets are getting washed either way. It’s not like, after surrendering the bed to the kids, he wasn’t going to change the sheets.

The evening continues to feel domestic. It doesn’t make it any less strange. They watch the film. Eat pizza. The kids are engrossed. They don’t see and they don’t care as Shane almost jumps off the bed as his fingers brush Rozanov’s when reaching for the napkins. They don’t turn around as Rozanov dabs the corner of Shane’s mouth because he retreated from the accidental touch in panic and without a napkin.

They don’t protest when their eyes begin to close and Shane puts the food away and pulls the sheets up. They didn’t even brush their teeth.

Rozanov pulls him away before he can second guess himself and wake them to remedy that. The kids are asleep. It’s a success. It is also an emergency. He can let it go, just this once.

He can’t let it go. They didn’t brush their teeth. They need to brush their teeth.

Rozanov kisses him in the corridor. He lets it go.

‘We can’t!’ Shane whispers as they break away. He doesn’t believe it himself. And neither does Rozanov. Not when he takes a step back, respecting Shane’s request, and Shane closes the gap between them the moment he does. No thinking. Just following the heat of Rozanov’s body.

It’s the exhaustion. It’s the frustration. It’s two kids sleeping in the bed that was waiting for Rozanov.

‘What if they wake up and look for us?’ Shane whispers when Rozanov lowers his eyes to his lips again. His brain needs to know, even as the rest of his body shouts at him to shut up and forget the kids and reach.

'Hollander, you are so boring,’ he rolls his eyes. ‘Give me your phone.’

Shane does just that and watches as Rozanov holds both their phones in his hands, calling him from his right hand and accepting in the left. He sets Shane’s phone on mute, returning it to him before he disappears into the master bedroom with his own.

Shane listens to the the sound of Rozanov’s steps on his phone. The soft click of setting the phone down. A shuffle as his steps retreat, and the sound of sheets being adjusted. The quietest, softest sweet dreams.

‘We will hear if they wake up, yes?’ Rozanov explains. He gives Shane a second to understand.

‘You have a guest room?’ he asks when Shane doesn’t move, staring at the phone in his hand.

‘You want to sleep in my guestroom?’ Shane asks in disbelief.

‘I want to fuck you in your guestroom,’ Rozanov clarifies.

‘We… we can’t!’

‘We can, you just have to be very, very quiet. Will be very hot. You will be good, quiet for me.’

‘I don’t know if I can do that,’ Shane swallows hard under the weight of Rozanov’s gaze. It’s one of those things Rozanov always tells him. How loud he is. How prettily he moans. He doesn’t think he can just turn it off.

‘You will be good boy for me tonight. I’ll fuck you nice and slow. You’ll make pretty sounds. Little ones. Just for me. Just into my ears.’

Shane swallows again. He doesn't know if he can manage that.

‘Or I will gag you.’ The alternative is simple. Also, hot. He likes the alternative. A lot.

When he doesn’t move anyway, Rozanov walks down the corridor, placing his hand on the knob of the door furthest from the master bedroom.

‘That — that is the gym,’ Shane stops him before he starts poking into rooms at random.

Rozanov moves to another door. Shane nods before he has to ask and Rozanov opens the door, stepping in first. Shane follows.

It’s a guest room. For guests. Rozanov is a guest. It makes sense.

It doesn’t make sense. This is the room his parents stay in when they’re in Montreal.

It is a guest room. But there aren’t many guests visiting and staying in Shane’s guest room. He tries hard not think about it as his parents’ room.

It doesn’t help that Rozanov is treating him differently. Yes, they need to be quiet. He can’t just slam him against the wall as he normally would, not in the quiet of the flat they’re sharing with two kids. Still, getting pushed against the wall would feel good now. Would feel right.

Not like their sneaking around his parents room. Which, they are not. It is a guest room. Shane’s guest room.

Rozanov breaks him out of his mind, placing his hands on Shane’s jaw, forcing eye contact. It is wrong. Eye contact is for during, when his mind is already slipping, not before. Never before.

Before, Shane closes his eyes. Or watches Rozanov’s lips. Maybe, maybe rises his eyes to Rozanov’s from his knees, to see his wrecked expression as he tastes him.

But not like this. Not standing across each other. Not acknowledging.

‘Hollander. We can be quiet, yes? Is just like a hotel room. Will be hot. We can pretend is like before.’

Shane nods. It sounds factually wrong and in every other way right. They didn’t actually fuck in hotel rooms. Not in the before.

He wonders if that is what this will be. Quick blowjobs and then Rozanov will leave. It would be authentic. It would be smart. It would fucking kill him.

‘I can leave the room and pretend it’s a hotel room,’ Rozanov suggests, smirking. ‘I might knock.’

Shane finds himself nodding before the words process. Holy shit. It’s so stupid. It’s so hot. It’s… it’s wrong, completely, terribly wrong, how turned on he is from their little role play.

He knows he needs to be quiet. That part is hot. He knows why. That part is very, very wrong.

There is a knock on his door. He opens it. He doesn’t need to play up the nerves of the teenage Shane.

‘I thought you might chicken out,’ Rozanov smirks as he pushes in. His shoulder brushes Shane’s. He closes the door gently behind him, turning the key in the lock.

Shane swallows hard. He is not the nineteen years old who never kissed a man before. Except he is.

Rozanov corners him against the door, slowly, letting him lean back soundlessly. Shane can’t tear his eyes from Rozanov’s lips. They’re wet. They’re slightly parted. The exhale that comes from them is warm on his face and carries a low sigh.

This time, Shane leans for the kiss first. It’s different than the first time, the taste of beer and pizza adding a layer of realism and familiarity that wasn’t there in the beginning. It’s different from every other time, slow, like they have all the time in the world. Like they haven’t been waiting for it for months.

It does something to him. It does something to Rozanov too, there is an accent to his breathing, the air coming out drags out an ah which usually come much later.

The reminiscing. The risk of getting caught. The pretence. Fuck. Shane’s hands find Rozanov’s hips, pulling them closer. They grind. They kiss. Shane wants to moves his mouth lower, wants to see more, touch more, taste more.

He doesn’t. He can feel the sounds collecting in his throat, begging to be let out. Rozanov swallows the ones Shane fails to contain, but he knows the moment his lips are free, there will be more.

It feels like a blasphemy when he forces Rozanov’s hips to still. When he pulls Rozanov’s lower lip into his mouth and just holds it there. He needs it to stop. It’s too much. He can’t do it.

It’s invasive how well Rozanov reads him. How he puts his hands on Shane’s cheeks, manoeuvring his thumb into his mouth, replacing his lip, before he drags his face where their eyes can meet.

‘Too much?’ he asks. It is a stupid question. They are kissing. They are grinding, fully clothed. Shane had his dick in his throat before. His tongue in his ass. They’ve been fucking for years. Fast. Dirty. He’s been used. Humiliated. Edged. Bruised.

Yes. This is too much.

‘You want to stop or you want me to help you keep quiet?’

Shane doesn’t want to stop. Neither of them does. It doesn’t make it any less of a terrible idea.

‘We go slow, yes? If it’s too much, you use your teeth. You use me.’

Shane doesn’t move his eyes from Rozanov’s face. He doesn’t tell him slow is the problem.

He’s searching for some hidden meaning behind his words. Slowly, he pushes Rozanov’s thumb from his mouth.

‘Are you… asking me to bite you?’ he asks for confirmation. Because yeah, they don’t do that. They don’t leave marks on each other bodies. Not that anyone would care, probably, it’s not a secret that Rozanov fucks. But having Shane’s mark means having something of Shane’s with him when he leaves.

‘Is like biting a pillow, Hollander. You fill your mouth, you keep quiet. Is okay. I don’t mind.’

Except Rozanov looks like he minds. Or, not minds. Wants. Shane nods. He doesn’t trust his mouth around more words.

Rozanov undresses them both, slowly. It’s smarter that way, no bumping around furniture, no rough touches that make Shane moan. Instead, there are fingers dragging against his stomach, trailing his chest right next to his right nipple, then a thumb brushes his neck and finally the shirt comes free over his head.

Shane’s breath comes out rushed, but he keeps quiet. He focuses on his breathing as Rozanov moves to his trousers, loosening the strings before pulling them down. He stays there, at Shane’s feet, holding the trousers as he pulls his feet free. His underwear follows. There is a moment of hesitation. Then Rozanov stands up. Shane’s socks stay on.

Rozanov’s clothes come off faster. It makes sense. There are no lingering touches to be had. Even if Shane wishes he lingered. Just a little. Just a moment longer to watch.

But after watching comes touching and touching is better even if it’s harder to keep quiet. They’re naked. Except for Shane’s socks. This is where rushing comes. This is where fucking happens.

Except not tonight. Not with kids two door down and needing to keep quiet quiet quiet.

Rozanov places a hand on Shane’s arm, tracing his bicep as if he were touching it for the first time. His hands moves up, mapping the muscles of his shoulder as they tense under the touch. Brushing across his collar bone, stopping when his thumb crosses onto the other side of his chest, with his fingers bracketing Shane’s neck.

His eyes are glued to Shane’s lips as the hand moves up again, pressing down without clutching. Shane opens his lips, just enough to release the air cumulating in his chest and the touch is gone.

‘Quiet now,’ Rozanov reminds him and Shane wants to protest, it was only a breath, there was no sound, he can put the hand back, he needs to put the hand back.

‘Shhhh,’ Rozanov’s voice is barely a whisper. His thumb finds Shane’s lips, pressing into them and locking his complaints inside. ‘You like it when I grab your throat, yes. You cry so pretty for me, don’t you? But not tonight, okay?’

Shane nods. He doesn’t like it. He wants the hand back but Rozanov is right. He’s mapping the spots that make Shane lose control just to avoid them and it’s a different kind of torture than when he finds them to tease.

At least Rozanov’s thumb remains. It brushes against Shane’s lips as he nods so Shane does it again. There is no other point of contact. No other friction. The thumb will do.

Rozanov doesn’t move it, doesn’t take it back as Shane’s lips brush against it, opening against the obstacle until his bottom lip is pouting out and the thumb is lodged against its wet inner side.

‘Fuck, Hollander, you like that, don’t you? Something to do with your mouth, something to wrap those pretty lips around?’

It would sound like teasing if his voice wasn’t so wretched when he says it.

Shane nods again. He’d agree to anything Rozanov asked of him at the moment, just to nod and drag his lips against the calloused pad of his thumb again.

Rozanov drags the thumb down, spreading wetness across the rough skin on the outside of Shane’s mouth. Not away, just centring on his bottom lip, so when he pushes, it doesn’t slip inside but instead Shane’s head is pushed back until it touches the door again.

‘I think you like it a little too much,’ Rozanov whispers, finally, finally leaning close enough that their chest touch when the mismatched rhythm of their inhales meet.

‘I need you to stay with me, Hollander. Talk to me, yes?’

Shane tries to nod again, but this time he’s not struggling just against the thumb on his lip, Rozanov’s other fingers lodge into his chin, keeping him in place.

‘Words, Hollander. I need to know you’re with me and remember to stay quiet.’

Shane tries to nod again. He doesn’t understand why Rozanov even cares, he should be the one worrying about staying quiet. He was the one thinking this was a bad idea and they needed to be careful. Now, he barely remembers why.

‘Okay?’ Rozanov prompts him again.

‘Okay,’ Shane forces out. It comes easier when Rozanov supplies the word for him, letting Shane repeat it without having to search for it.

‘I will let go of you now,’ Rozanov informs him. He sounds so collected that Shane could almost believe him unaffected, if the evidence to the opposite wasn’t pressing against his hip.

He takes a cautionary step back and Shane lets out a breath, but the whine riding it stays firmly locked behind his teeth. It would have been embarrassing on any occasion. It would have been down right pathetic after he just promised to stay quiet.

One more breath.

The distance between them takes only one step to close.

Shane closes it.

He sees the hesitation on Rozanov’s face and doesn’t care, pushing into his lips with the hunger of a person starving for their taste for months. Rozanov lifts his hands, hesitantly at first, then firmly grabbing Shane’s hips, guiding him to press against Rozanov’s body until their bodies meet, and he can guiding Shape hips against him in fluid movements. It’s grinding and it’s dancing and it’s sweaty and—

Shane rips the hands of his body. He pulls back from the kiss. He pushes Rozanov a step back.

‘On the bed, Rozanov,’ he orders. He’s not sure which of them is the first to move, surprised by the instructions coming from his side.

The power dynamic feels strange. It feels wrong. It makes Shane’s breath shake and lungs burn and heavy heat pool low in his belly.

But it’s also good. He’s in charge and thinking and it’s keeping him present. He doesn’t need Rozanov taking care of him. He wants it, but it’s not what he needs. It’s what lets him get loose in his own pleasure, following where Rozanov is leading and not thinking, not looking at the road.

He’s looking now.

He’s looking as Rozanov spreads on the bed. His lips quirk in amusement, but his eyes turn dark. Is it excitement? Challenge? Shane doesn’t know. Shane doesn't need to know.

He needs to put his mouth on him, he needs to get Rozanov inside of him, he needs, he needs, he needs. And frankly, Rozanov will get fucked in the process so it’s not like there is anything for him to complain about.

Shane doesn’t recognise this side of himself. But this side knows now is not the time to linger. So he digs into one of the storage boxes he keeps under the bed. Pulls out a bottle of lube and strip of condoms. He hesitates before ripping one off.

Rozanov stares at him, his smile growing as he drops both items onto the bed. He looks like he’s waiting for Shane to say something, but what is there to say?

So Shane does what he wants to, takes what he needs. He climbs between Rozanov’s legs and lowers his mouth to his right hip.

He can feel Rozanov’s eyes watching. He can see his chest rise a little higher when Shane’s fingers move somewhere unexpected. But he says nothing.

Nothing as Shane pushes his legs up by the back of his knees, planting Rozanov’s feet into the mattress. An especially shaky breath but still no words as Shane drags his thighs a little further apart. A quiet sound that is still not a word as he finally, finally touches his lips to his skin, dragging his tongue into the crease between Rozanov’s bent leg and his groin.

‘Quiet now, Rozanov,’ Shane chastises him. The effect is the opposite. The effect is another groan and Rozanov’s hands grabbing Shane’s shoulders and hauling him up to his lips before he had a proper taste.

‘What are you playing at, Hollander?’ he asks but he doesn’t wait for an answer, stopping any words Shane might come up with as his tongue fills his mouth.

Rozanov’s hands wander over Shane’s back, reaching his ass and grabbing and kneading and spreading. It’s aggressive. It’s possessive. It’s bossy and it’s trying to take back control and restore the dynamic Shane broke.

Shane lets him. He spreads his legs, straddling Rozanov’s lap, offering access.

‘Don’t get any ideas,’ Rozanov barks against his mouth. ‘I am in charge here. I fuck you and you beg for it. Like the good boy that you are. For me.’

One of those things is true.

Rozanov reaches for the lube, his other hand still gripping Shane’s ass like it might escape him if he relents. It will leave a mark. Shane does not care. He lets Rozanov find his way back there with slick fingers. He lets him reassure himself this part of their dynamic is not up for discussion.

Rozanov’s finger makes a contact. A touch. A caress. A stroke. A gentle breach.

That is the moment when Shane’s mouth is too empty. They’re eyes meet and Rozanov knows what he needs and nods once to assure him it’s still okay.

Shane lowers himself, latching his mouth to Rozanov’s neck, but doesn’t sink his teeth. Not yet.

It doesn’t feel right yet, not for the careful touches, not for the single finger massaging the entrance to his body.

‘There’s my good boy,’ Rozanov coos into his hair.

He might think it’s in retaliation to the compliment. He might think it’s a rebellion. But that is not what it is. It’s not why Shane reaches for Rozanov hand and pulls him out.

‘Did I—?’ Rozanov asks, concern pushing wrinkles onto his brow.

‘Sit up. Against the wall,’ Shane instructs him. He offers a kiss, pushing reassurance down Rozanov’s throat on his tongue.

Rozanov doesn’t understand. It’s clear in the pull of the corner of his mouth. In the narrowness of his eyes. Still, he obeys. He shuffles awkwardly back as Shane raises himself on his knees to give him space.

‘You still want—?’ he asks. And Shane nods as he returns into his lap, as he kisses him again, with the same vigour, as he drags his hands back to his ass.

‘I want you,’ he confirms with words. ‘I want you inside me.’

Rozanov doesn’t reply, too busy returning the kisses, but his fingers return, two of them and hungrier than before. Reclaiming control. Reclaiming Shane. They push and twist and Shane leans into them, finding the angle for Rozanov before he finishes exploring.

He spills the sound of approval into Rozanov’s mouth. He buckles his hips, not waiting for his fingers to find the spot again but driving them straight in. It vibrates through his throat again as he latches onto Rozanov’s lower lip to suppress the sound.

‘Fuck, Hollander,’ Rozanov’s voice rasps as if it’s been days since his last had a drink of water. He buckles his hips, seeking friction for his own hardness as Shane rides his fingers. He lets Shane chase the pleasure for a few more seconds before his other hand buries itself into the muscle of his thigh.

‘Fuck, Hollander,’ he repeats, ‘fuck let me do this. I want to fuck you.’ It’s almost a whine. It’s barely audible, but it fills the room. It fills Shane’s chest.

Shane kisses his throat, latching his lips again onto the muscle of his trapezoid and when Rozanov adds the third finger, he needs to bite down to keep himself contained.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t make a sound, not one that escapes his mouth filled with the hard ropes of Rozanov’s muscle.

But Rozanov makes one, just as Shane bites down. Not a yelp. A moan.

His fingers still. Shane lets his mouth dislodge. They both look at the phone on the nightstand, wait for any sound coming back. Nothing. They wait a little longer. Shane squirms, involuntarily, against the three fingers sitting inside him.

Again, it’s Rozanov that makes a sound. Not a loud one this time. But still a sound. Shane stares at him. He picks up the condom waiting patiently on the bed and waves it in front of Rozanov’s face.

‘I want to you inside me. Now. Can you be fucking quiet about it?’

Rozanov nods. His pupil are blown so wide there is barely any blue visible.

Shane drops the condom on Rozanov’s chest and eases himself off his fingers. He watches as Rozanov rolls it on. As he squirts more lube onto the surface. He positions himself above him and when Rozanov places hands on his hips, trying to guide him down, he slaps them away.

‘Keep them near your mouth,’ he orders, the words breathy but clear as he lets himself slowly down, filling the space left empty by Rozanov’s fingers inch by inch.

Rozanov stares at him, but doesn’t complain. And presses the back of his hand into his mouth as Shane’s ass descends onto his thighs and his chest rises so high his head rolls back, his eyes locking onto ceiling before he forces them shut.

If not the feeling of Rozanov inside him, filling and pushing and stretching in all the right places, the sigh of his face is a hand inside his stomach, grabbing and clenching and pushing at his lungs until he has to grab Rozanov’s other hand and suck his middle and index finger in to keep quiet.

The fingers taste of lube. Shane should be disgusted. Instead he sucks and licks and when there is nothing more to taste, he drags Rozanov’s other hand off his face and forces the taste into his mouth too.

The kiss turns to touching of lips to touching of temples and Shane braces his knees into the mattress, giving his hips the tiniest roll.

They still can’t keep quiet. It’s been too long. They’re both too needy.

The need to keep quiet is only making it harder, hotter, more desperate.

‘Hollander,’ Rozanov groans, but nothing follows. Just his name. It says everything anyway.

‘Rozanov. You need to shut up. Can you do that?’

Rozanov smirks. It’s barely there, barely makes it through the shaking of his lips and enormousness of his eyes.

Knowing when to shut up is not one of Rozanov’s virtues. Tonight, even the knowledge of how escapes him.

Shane locks eyes with him anyway. Watches his lips purse, his eyes close as he lift his hips up. Not the full length, not yet, just a test ride. Just a couple inches. Up. Then down. Dragging, slowly, until there is nowhere lower to go and his body melts on top of Rozanov’s thighs.

Rozanov opens his mouth, like the air coming through his nose is not enough and he needs to gulp down more. There is no sounds and Shane raises himself higher. Pushes down. And again. Establishing a leisure tempo.

His mouth too tries to betray them, but he swallows the sounds. Forms them into words instead. They give him something to do. They distract him. Not from the feeling building inside, not from the drag and pull and fullness and belonging.

But from the overflowing feelings somewhere higher, where they want to be known, want be heard, want to be shared.

‘So fucking good,’ he murmurs against Rozanov’s lips, forcing him to swallow it. ‘Fuck. I want to feel you. Tomorrow. I want to remember you, remember this. I want to be reminded how good you felt.’

The words turn to noises, whispered syllables that are nothing more than want. And even Rozanov doesn’t have anything cocky to say. He doesn’t grab. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t take control. His hand lies on Shane’s knee, but doesn’t hold, doesn’t direct. The other is pressed against his cheek as if Rozanov was trying to take mould of it with his fingers.

But his eyes. Prophets didn’t stare at their revelations with such conviction.

Even his words — long lost then rediscovered again in Russian — sound like a prayer. Or maybe a long forgotten spell, because there is not rational explanation to what those words do to the insides of Shane’s chest.

The spell doesn’t break. It rises to a deafening crescendo, blinding and erasing line where one body ends and the other begins, stopping and rewriting time to let Shane float in the stratosphere for an infinity and crash back down into Rozanov’s already waiting arms at the same time.

The crash down is a return home. It is Shane opening his eyes and staring into vastness of blue and grey. It is feeling returning to his body and discovering warmth of arms wrapped around his back. It is more Russian spells, whispered into his hair.

Lyubimiy. Lyubimiy. Lyubimiy.

Shane tries to repeat the word, cast the spell back. It only feels right.

‘Almost,’ Rozanov chuckles at his pronunciation, breaking them out of the bubble.

‘I go shower now, okay?’ he asks. And even though the spell is broken, maybe some threads linger because the words still sound different. The fingers brushing hair out of Shane’s brow feel different. The lips kissing him as Rozanov dislodges him taste different.

Shane stretches on the empty bed. Normally, when Rozanov takes off into shower, he takes the warmth with him. But tonight, it lingers, making Shane understand why cats stretch in spots of sunshine.

The Rozanov returning from the shower and collecting his clothes from the floor remains different. Shane lets out a breath of relief. He doesn’t dare ask if he’d still be there when he returns from the shower after him.

That is how one breaks a spell. Maybe this way it could last a little longer.

The spell doesn’t last. Shane returns to an empty guest room. He tries not to think about it as he puts his clothes back on. Mercifully, they took them off fast enough, sparing them from the sweat and filth of the evening.

Shane stretches on the empty bed. It’s bigger than it was before. Maybe this too is the effect of the spell. The mixture of confusion and disappointment hits him like a tidal wave.

Tonight was different. Was wrong. Confusing. Dangerous.

Better.

A soft voice reaches him, filling the room from seemingly nowhere. Another spell, in soft, Russian voice. Sang, not whispered this time.

Shane sits on the bed as he listens. Because the sound is real. The quiet Russian song has to be coming from somewhere and he isn’t imagining it.

He looks around. His eyes fall on his phone, laying on the night stands, just as Jade’s sleepy voice breaks the spell.

‘What is the song about, uncle George?’

Shane listens, transfixed, as Rozanov on the other side of the speaker explains to the yawning twins that the song he was singing was his mother’s favourite. He deflects when they ask what the song is about and if they can learn it. There is something in the way he says it that tugs at Shane’s heart.

‘I can maybe teach you something else, da? Is like a poem, something I learned when I was small like you?’ he offers another suggestion and the girls sound delighted. Shane doesn’t have the heart to complain that they should be sleeping, not learning poems and that it’s long past midnight already.

‘What is it about?’ one of the girls asks and this time Shane cannot say which twin speaks.

‘It’s about a bunny. You like bunnies?’ Rozanov’s voice turns soft as he whispers, his n’s turn into a softer sounds Shane cannot repeat.

He tries anyway. His tongue rolls against the roof of his month and the sound is not quite right but it’s not quite English either and it feels like an intimate secret he shouldn’t be allowed to know.

‘What does the bunny do?’ another sleepy voice asks.

‘The bunny goes for a walk. And there is, ah, huntsman in the forest. But the bunny escapes. It is a good story, okay? I can teach you. If you want.’

The girls are eager in their agreement.

‘But then we sleep, okay? So, first, the poem starts with counting. Can you count to five?’

The girls proudly count to five for Rozanov.

Shane can hear the smile in his voice as he answers them.

‘Ah, but can you count to five in Russian?’ he teases and then he pronounces each sound for them.

Shane listens carefully. He founds himself repeating the sounds together with the girls.

Raz, dva, tri, chetyre, pyat’

‘Yes, very good. Now together, okay?’

They repeat the words, Shane with them on the other side of the phone.

‘Now repeat after me. Vyshel zaychik pogulyat’. This means, a bunny went for a walk.’

Shane repeats with the twins. He can hear their little voices fight yawning as they dutifully butcher the sounds.

It sounds too cute. Too cute to just listen to, so Shane sneaks as quietly as he can towards the master bedroom.

‘Okay, now together, from the beginning,’ he hears Rozanov say. They recite together, Shane underneath his breath as he pushes the door gently in to peek.

The girls are too occupied with repeating after him and keeping their eyes open. But Rozanov notices him, and he smiles, before turning back to the girls.

‘Okay, I think that is enough, we continue in the morning, okay?’

The girls protest, but their heavy lidded eyes betray them.

‘I will tell you the rest, just close your eyes, and I will tell you the whole story,’ he offers and the girls let themselves be tucked back under the sheets. One of them — Jade, Shane thinks, she is the cuddlier one — asks for a hug and Rozanov obliges. Then he switches to Ruby, offering her a cuddle too. She cuddles into his chest and doesn’t let go.

So Rozanov climbs into the bed with them. He lies at the very edge, holding Ruby and brushing Jade’s hair with his free hand.

‘Don’t worry, zayka, it was just a bad dream. I am here. Your uncle Shane is here. And we will be here if you have another one, yes?’

‘Will you stay with me?’ Ruby pleads and something melts inside Shane. They’ve known Rozanov for couple of hours, but there is adoration in Ruby’s eyes. And Shane bets, if he could see Rozanov’s face, his expression wouldn’t be far off.

He knows, oh he knows this is all too much. That it is an outlier, a crazy night that won’t happen again. But it is happening now. It is real, tonight. And he refuses to stay on the periphery of it.

‘Do you have room for one more?’ he asks as he steps into the room and the girls’ faces brighten. Jade makes grabby hands for him and Shane walks to her side of the bed, climbing under the sheets at the very edge, right next to her.

Jade pushes into his chest, leaving behind Rozanov’s hand and Shane grabs it before he can pull it back. He looks at him and hopes that when their eyes meet, Rozanov would see how grateful he is. For the girls. For the night.

He mouths thank you anyway. Rozanov nods. Then he turns to Ruby and as promised, resumes singing in low, soft Russian.

_______

Shane wakes up to the sound of his phone’s ringing on his nightstand. He grabs it, silencing it quickly before it wakes the twins, but they barely stir.

It doesn’t escape his notice that it’s just the three of them in the bed.

The phone keeps buzzing, silent but still vibrating, and Shane knows he should pick up. With Hayden’s name on the screen, he really, really should pick up.

He doesn’t. One minute won’t kill Hayden. One minute won’t change anything. It is selfish, Shane knows that. He’s been waiting for his call, his children were waiting for his call, all night.

But it’s also true.

He checks his messages first and sighs with relief at Lily’s name on top of the list. Getting ghosted once was hell. After last night, it would straight up kill him.

Didn’t want to wake the kids but had to make my flight.

It isn’t much. But they aren’t much.

But it’s not nothing either.

With his chest released from leaden clutches, he calls back Hayden. He dutifully celebrates his godson’s arrival, and wakes the girls so they can do the same for their new brother.

He serves them breakfast and swears them to secrecy about his cousin George.

He doesn’t really believe the secret will hold. But maybe, just maybe it might. Just long enough for Shane to come up with a story about who his mysterious cousin was. Something that would explain why he wasn’t in Shane’s life before without making him someone who should not have been in the same room with his best friend’s children.

______

Shane comes up with the perfect cover story. A cousin twice removed on his mother’s side. Disowned by Yuna’s family along with his parents for something they’ve done when he was just a kid. Keeping him innocent and no danger to the Pike children.

But it doesn’t matter. Because when said cousin does come up, months later, Hayden opens the conversation with,

‘Shane, buddy, why are my children pointing at Rozanov during the Boston-New York game and calling him your cousin George? And since when do they know how to count in Russian?’