Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

2017 MLH All-Star Weekend in Tampa Bay (Game Changers), Pining, Lamps, hotel room, Character Study, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is Whipped, Childhood Trauma, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Pre-Debbie The Lamp Era

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Lovely Lights

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-09 Words: 1,005 Chapters: 1/1

Crossing the Gap

Summary

Nobody has ever called Ilya Rozanov safe. Never called his arms home. Until a hotel room in Tampa where Shane falls asleep and Ilya realizes, maybe he can be someone’s safety after all. If he just lets himself have it.

Notes

Quick little one shot! Now that my work is out for the summer I can write again!
Please don’t input into AI or I will remove your cuticles with a chainsaw :)

There’s something about laying on a king sized bed in a hotel room in Tampa, miles of space between you and your hockey arch rival, that really makes you want to find an excuse to close that gap.

Ilya watches Shane sleep, soaking up every second he has of this. This quiet peace, this rhythm they’ve fallen into without ever speaking about it out loud. Even if it’s stolen time, taken between their obligations and careers with the same level of cunning as when you’re 11 and stealing your first pack of cigarettes from your mom’s purse, always shooting furtive glances behind your back.

Shane’s bangs have grown out over the season and fall lazily over his forehead, taunting Ilya with how soft they look. What he wouldn’t give to be able to reach out and carefully brush them away.

But this is still too new.

This thing they haven’t quite dared name but both agree they don’t want to let go, don’t want to risk. Ilya doesn’t know if gentle touches, ones that could even be construed as caring, are allowed.

The hazy golden glow of the three cheap lamps scattered about the overpriced hotel room dull all of Shane’s usually stern features. His eyebrows are relaxed, that little spot between them smooth for once. His eyelashes cast teeny shadows onto his cheeks, onto the dark circles that Ilya thinks might be partially his fault. Between making Shane overthink and overanalyze everything since the last time they saw each other in Boston and keeping his blood pumping when he should be sleeping, Shane doesn’t often rest with Ilya.

But neither have a game or practice tomorrow, so Shane let himself fall asleep here. Ilya tries not to read too much into it but how can he not? They rarely have slept beside each other, always needing to fuck and get out. Always needing to be spotted the next morning exiting their own room.

A tiny, heartsick little voice in the back of his head whispers he feels safe here, safe in this bed with you.

Which is perhaps the craziest idea to ever cross Ilya Rozanov’s mind.

Nobody, not since he was a child in his mother’s arms, has ever thought of him as synonymous with safety.

Svetlana calls him many things: reckless, ambitious, ruthless, the greatest hockey player Russia has ever produced… suicidal. She’s said he makes her feel fun, sexy, dangerous. She has never called him safe.

So seeing Shane like this? Vulnerable and soft and precious?

It makes something bright and hot flare to life within his chest. Makes him want to barricade the door and never let anyone interrupt this moment. Makes him think.

What if… this was something more?

Something permanent?

They’ve agreed to be exclusive, agreed to officially be unofficial.

But Ilya is greedy. Many people have accused him of being that and he will not deny it. Not when the thing he wants is Shane Hollander asleep so peacefully in his bed not just tonight, but every night. He wants so badly it aches in his chest like when he used to get rug burn on his knees after hook ups. Something that stings when you move, but feels so good when you remember why it does.

Shane mumbles something in his sleep, cracked lips moving slowly before he huffs and rolls over. Ilya stares at his back, breath held, waiting for him to wake up and leave.

He doesn’t.

Ilya sighs, closing his eyes and digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets with such force he literally sees rainbows like oil slick. When he opens them, he stares at the standing lamp in the corner of the room by the window.

It’s got a yellow cylindrical shade in a very United-States-circa-1970s shape, with a funky orange pole holding it up. There’s 3 plasticky square segments, each separated by a little silver ball. It’s arguably the tackiest lamp he has ever seen.

But for some absurd reason, it makes him start to cry.

Ilya looks at this lamp, something that means nothing to everyone who has ever seen it, and cries in a way he hasn’t in a very long time.

It’s gross, snot building up as he sniffles, his breath coming out in ugly gasps, but it sort of feels good.

Because Ilya feels a little like that lamp.

An uncountable number of people have seen him, have looked at his surface, and none have actually taken the time to notice his details. His ugly bits, his funky shape, his off-color marks or the curve of his spine.

But Shane has.

Shane has peeked into his very being, has categorized every single thing about him, and deemed him a safe person. As someone to trust.

And Ilya will fight to keep that. He thinks this lamp, in this hotel room, in Tampa of all places, will be his turning point.

He will not fuck this up again.

Shane is his, at least temporarily, and he will cling to that. Hockey be damned, if he needs to quit to keep Shane, he will. He’s made more than enough money to retire comfortably. Russia be damned too. He can get citizenship in America or Canada, or anywhere Shane wants him to. He’ll live in fucking Peru if that’s what Shane wants.

Anything to get to keep someone who thinks Ilya is a good man. To get to keep the man whose wink after a chirp makes Ilya lose a face-off. To get to keep the man who has seen every nasty thing Ilya has to offer and come back every time.

Resolve built, tears still trickling down his face, Ilya inhales a large, hopefully steadying, breath of air. He wipes his cheeks dry.

He lays back down.

He wraps an arm around Shane’s waist. Shane is warm against his palm.

He curls himself, slowly so as not to awaken him, around Shane’s body.

He tucks his head into Shane’s shoulder.

And he feels safe too.