Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Blow Jobs, Power Dynamics, Light Dom/sub, but not explicitly bc its hollanov, ragebaiting as flirting, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, POV Shane Hollander, Texting, Mildly Dubious Consent, 3+1, Strong Shane Hollander, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dom Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Series:

Part 11 of all dwk heated rivalry fics, Part 4 of heated rivalry social media fics

Collections:

Heated Rivalry Kinkmeme

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-16 Words: 2,981 Chapters: 1/1

Short Fucking Hockey Player

Summary

The first time Ilya does it, Shane’s kind of distracted.

Ilya has a look on his face that’s far too solemn for the words he says. “There’s this short fucking hockey player…”

Shane’s not fucking short, and they both know that. But then Ilya is dissing his weak backhand, and they’re also having a serious conversation about feelings and marriage. It’s not important to point out the obvious error in what he said. So Shane, pretty generously he thinks, lets it go.

--

Ilya and Shane are the same size. Ilya starts calling Shane short. Shane Reacts.

Notes

Prompt:

One thing I absolutely love about the show is that Shane and Ilya are both as big as each other, which I think is a really great change from the books. SAYING THAT, I wanna see Ilya start acting like Shane is smaller. For ragebait/kink reasons.

Essentially: Ilya razzes Shane --> Shane gets ragebaited and proves that he is big and strong (in and out of bed) --> ???? --> Profit

--

I wrote this in a few hours, it's not beta read. I don't know but I hope you enjoy it, prompter!! please let me know if I'm missing any tags, thank youuuu

The first time Ilya does it, Shane’s kind of distracted.

Ilya has a look on his face that’s far too solemn for the words he says. “There’s this short fucking hockey player…”

Shane’s not fucking short, and they both know that. But then Ilya is dissing his weak backhand, and they’re also having a serious conversation about feelings and marriage. It’s not important to point out the obvious error in what he said. So Shane, pretty generously he thinks, lets it go.

The next time, they’re in bed. It’s one of their last days in the cottage before they have to go back to the real world, and with that clock ticking down, Shane doesn’t want to waste any time.

He wants to try everything with Ilya, wants to experience as much loving, romantic sex as they can have before they go back to only seeing each other four times a year. He’s not asking too much, he thinks. So when Ilya asks to do something, he does it, and he asks back.

“Do you want to try, like, doing it at the same time?” He gestures down to Ilya’s dick, which is laying half-hard and still a little sticky over his stomach.

Ilya’s eyes light up, clearly understanding, but he still pretends to be confused. “Try what at the same time?”

Shane’s getting better at saying what he wants. He swallows and says, “Sucking each other off.”

Pulling Shane on top of him, Ilya grins. He’s so goddamn smug, and Shane loves him so much.

“Oh, you know this position? You have tried it before?”

“What? No, I haven’t. You know that, asshole. I just thought… it might be fun. But if you don’t want to, you can just say that.”

“Nooo,” Ilya whines, holding tight so Shane can’t even try to wriggle off of him. Not that he’s trying very hard. “I do want to, moya lyubov. But….”

When he trails off, Shane gets a little nervous. Does he actually have a problem with doing it? He’s the one with more experience, maybe it’s not as fun as it looked in the porn video Shane saw it in. There’s a concern about choking lingering in Shane’s mind, but that’s why he was planning on being on top, so that he could control his throat and hips easier.

“But?”

Ilya gives him a truly innocent look. His bottom lip pouts out, just a bit. He says, “But are you tall enough to reach?”

Shane blinks at him. “What.”

“We can try, of course, moya lyubov. But you are so short, I don’t know if it will work.”

“I’m not fucking short, you dickhead.” This time, Shane does seriously try to get away. Their skin rubs together as he pushes himself up, and it should feel good, but he’s too annoyed for it to work. “What the fuck are you talking about, seriously. You don’t have to tease me—“

Ilya follows when he sits up, though he doesn’t let go of Shane.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, like an asshole. Rubbing Shane’s side, he makes sympathetic noises. “You do not have to be—not embarrassed, what is the word—“

Shane wants to blow the cottage up with both of hem still in it. At least if they were dead, he wouldn’t have to deal with his boyfriend being like this. “I’m not fucking ashamed of my height.”

“Good, good, my Shane should never be ashamed of anything.”

Shane stares at him, the rage in his chest suddenly being joined by the fondness he’s felt for years. Of course when Ilya is trying to make him mad, he’ll say sweet things like my Shane, just so that Shane can’t actually stay angry with him.

“We should try this sixty-nine position. Lay down, I will show you.”

“No, you lay down,” Shane says back, and doesn’t give in and move until Ilya is happily laid back on their pillows, his dick fully hard now. As he gets into position above him, his hips by Ilya’s head and his face up against Ilya’s thigh, Shane thinks, I’ll fucking show you short.

Then Ilya does a post-game interview, and Shane—who watches all of Ilya’s games and all of his promotional videos and even all of the stupid videos he sends him—finds that he is now on strike three.

The second he’s alone, he pulls out his phone to text Ilya.

Ilya slips into Shane’s apartment with his bag over one shoulder and the key in his other hand. He doesn’t see Shane as he closes the door behind him and turns to face the apartment.

He does, however, see Shane when Shane slams him up against the wood.

“Hello to you too, Hollander,” Ilya says pleasantly, his eyes already going dark. He sinks into the door, and it makes Shane crazy to see how casual he is, like he doesn’t care that he just got ambushed. Tossing his keys, he drops his bag and reaches out to hold onto Shane’s hips, hands soft.

“Hi, baby,” Shane allows, but he’s got plans and they only have two days together. He’s not waiting any longer to deal with this joke Ilya’s playing on him. Pointedly, he says, “Wow, see how we’re looking into each other’s eyes right now? It’s almost like we’re the same height.”

Okay, so, not the smoothest. He really doesn’t care.

Ilya’s smile turns evil so quickly that Shane wants to smack, or kiss, it off of him. Whatever he’s getting out of riling Shane up, Shane doesn’t know, but he looks real goddamn pleased with himself about it.

Then, in a voice dripping with care, he sighs, “This again? Solnyshko—“

In the last week, Shane has thought of a thousand things he could do in this moment. Pick him up and carry him to the bed? Point out that if 182 cm is short, then 183 cm is also short? Argue about how Shane is big in all the ways that matter?

He hadn’t decided, exactly. He’d been between a few options and thought maybe it would be best to see how it played out, see which one would come naturally.

In the moment, seeing Ilya’s beloved assholery right in front of him, he knows what he wants to do.

“You want me to prove I’m not small?”

Ilya lets out a little laugh. “Is impossible, Shane. How can you prove—“

Shane puts his hands on Ilya’s shoulders and pushes him down. Ilya resists only for a second, so Shane pushes harder, not enough to hurt but enough to get the point across. He doesn’t get a choice—Shane is big and strong enough to make him go down.

Giving in, Ilya sinks to his knees, staring up at Shane the whole time. He’s wearing clothes that are so tight, Shane can see the way his dick is waking up, the way his chest is moving a little faster. His hair is fluffy, free of product, and when Shane touches it, Ilya’s eyes slip closed just briefly.

Ilya has been on his knees for Shane before, but never like this. They don’t do this. Shane is the one who obeys, who makes himself small because he likes to feel dominated, taken care of, forced. Pinned between the door and Shane’s body, it’s Ilya in that position now, and Shane—who’s hard in his jeans, his body buzzing—thinks maybe he likes it.

And then Ilya opens his eyes, and his mouth. “You think this proves anything?”

Shane exhales sharply. “Fuck off.”

“Okay, so you are taller than me now,” Ilya continues, because he lives to torment him. “You are still smaller than me. And do you know what that means, solnyshko?”

Shane doesn’t want to play along. Ilya’s interrupting his plan right now, dammit. Still, he says, “What.”

From below, Ilya’s grin looks too fucking easy. He leans his head back against the wood and says, casual as anything, “It means you are weaker than me, too.”

Shane sees red, maybe. Everything has to be a fucking competition. Well, he can show Ilya that he’s not weak, either, what the fuck.

Stepping forward, he crowds all the way into Ilya’s space, one foot between his legs and pressing up against his erection. Just as Ilya lets out a little gasp, reaching down to hold his leg closer, Shane pushes his hips forward and rubs his clothed cock against Ilya’s cheek.

“Not so little now, huh, Rozanov?”

Ilya laughs against Shane’s dick, tilting his head to mouth at the heavy line of it. His tongue dips out, wetting the fabric. The barest hint of his teeth flash, nipping at Shane until he’s jerking forward, knocking Ilya’s head back with the force.

He rolls his eyes up Shane’s body again, gazing at him as he takes it. Shane’s hand in his hair tightens, holding him steady. Ilya Rozanov is not a small man, not at all, but he fucking looks it like this, his shoulders down and his cheeks flushed, kneeling at Shane’s feet.

Heat suffuses through Shane’s body. Looming over his big hockey player boyfriend like this, he feels huge and powerful. So far from fucking short and weak.

“Stay still,” Shane tells him, letting go of Ilya and moving back just enough to start undoing his fly. His other hand holds him up against the door, the same position Ilya’s been in plenty of times.

But once he sees what he’s doing, Ilya takes over, kissing everywhere as he quickly unbuttons and unzips Shane’s jeans. He tugs them down just enough to reveal Shane’s underwear, his cock straining obviously behind the wet silk.

Hands curl around the backs of Shane’s thighs, and then he’s cock-to-cheek with Ilya again. His stubble prickles through the boxers, and Shane shouldn’t like the feeling, but for once it doesn’t bother him. He’s too focused on the visual below him. Ilya’s chin digs slightly into his balls, letting his cock lay hard and heavy over just the corner of Ilya’s plush mouth, over his cheek bone, the tip leaking steadily next to his eye.

Shane’s dick looks big. He thinks about holding Ilya down and shoving it down his throat, and has to take in a shaking breath.

His hand falls back to Ilya’s head without his permission, slipping into the curls at the nape of his neck easily. Tugging, he pulls him forward until Ilya is as close as possible, his neck arching under Shane’s touch, his nose and mouth pressed into silk. Fuck, Ilya is so attractive that Shane’s cock twitches, blurting out more pre-cum.

“Ilya,” Shane pants out, his hips jerking in little rabbit thrusts. Ilya likes to say Shane doesn’t know how to fuck, how to build up a rhythm, because he’s too much of a bottom. Sometimes that pisses him off, but now it’s only funny—he’ll see what Shane can do.

Ilya’s head presses back into his hand, trying to put space between them. Shane doesn’t allow it for several long seconds, holding him down until he’s ready to let go.

The look in his eyes is wild when they meet. His hand comes up to cup Shane through his boxers, pressing his erection flat against his body. He opens his mouth and Shane imagines him saying, Okay, maybe you are not so small after all, but of course that’s not it.

Instead, Ilya says, “Is that it? Moya lyubov, you are not very convincing.”

He’s such a fucking asshole.

Even though Shane knows what Ilya’s doing, he still falls for it. “Fuck you.”

“You can try,” Ilya croons. He doesn’t even drop the act when Shane shoves his boxers down and takes his cock into hand and smacks him in the face with it. He just laughs, and opens his mouth.

Shane drops his forehead to the door, one hand holding his dick and the other dropping to Ilya’s jaw. He watches as he pushes inside, not all the way on the first thrust because he’s not a monster. But Ilya doesn’t need long to adjust, taking him into his throat easily. He’s a tight, wet heat around Shane, and no matter how many times they’ve done this, it always feels overwhelmingly hot.

Tangling his fingers in golden curls again, Shane holds his head back against the door, not allowing him to move at all. His neck is arching again, and he looks so gorgeous, forced into the shape Shane wants him in, with his mouth held wide open.

“Okay?” He asks in an undertone.

Ilya can’t say yes or no like a normal person. He rasps, “Are you going to prove it or not, Hollander?”

“Asshole,” Shane bites out, and starts fucking his throat in earnest.

They have a way to stop this—two leg smacks in a row—so he doesn’t worry about being gentle or sweet. His balls slap against Ilya’s chin, his body presses against Ilya’s nose. He widens his legs so he’s taking up even more space around his boyfriend, and fucks in, in, in, enjoying the sound of Ilya’s head bumping into the door with every movement.

Ilya’s tongue slides against the underside of his cock, driving him insane. Every time Shane pulls out, Ilya drags his tongue up, pointed against his frenulum or swirling around the head just how he likes.

Sounds escape him unbidden, little grunts that he can’t stop. It feels so fucking good he doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t think he can pace himself or slow down even if Ilya wanted him to.

“Jesus, Ilya,” he pants. “Fuck, you feel so good. I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come down your throat, okay?”

Ilya responds by trying to tilt his head, get a better angle, and Shane allows it because by now the point of all of this—proving Ilya wrong—is fading slightly and all he cares about is the pleasure rising and rising inside of him.

As his thrusts speed up, he goes unconsciously onto his tip-toes, looming even larger above him. He can’t take his eyes off of Ilya, who moans as much as he can around Shane’s dick and digs the heel of his palm into his own erection.

When he comes, it’s like heat exploding inside him, his hips pressing hard against Ilya’s face. Cum shoots down Ilya’s throat, and Shane groans like he’s dying as he feels Ilya swallow around him.

Shane—zones out, for a second. When he comes back to himself, he’s softening in Ilya’s mouth, half-way slipped out. Shane pulls all the way out, stepping back once to give his boyfriend a little bit of space.

At some point, he got his own cock out, and he’s jerking himself off so quickly that Shane knows he won’t last long. He looks absolutely wrecked, his eyes teary, drool and sweat glistening on his face, and he can’t look away from Shane’s body, gaze darting between his face and chest and groin.

“Hey, stop it,” Shane rasps, “we’re not done.”

“I’m almost there,” Ilya breathes out, laughing again. “You are so fucking hot, Jesus Christ, Shane.”

And he really does sound close, his voice getting to that deep register that he only ever gets in bed.

Shane doesn’t think it through. All he knows is that he’s not done yet, and if Ilya’s going to come, then Shane wants to be the one to make it happen. Leaning down, he fits his hands under Ilya’s thighs, and pulls him up into his arms.

Ilya gasps, tucking his head down against Shane’s shoulder so he can watch his hand move.

The door is sturdy and helps them not to immediately fall over, but really, Ilya’s not that heavy. Shane hitches him up higher, struggling a little as his pants start falling down and Ilya refusing to let go of his dick.

Turning around, Shane figures he can definitely carry Ilya to their room. Taking the first step, he warns, “If you come before we get to bed, I’m gonna be mad, Ilya.”

“You better hurry then,” Ilya pants, sounding absolutely delighted. “You know I love it when you get mad.”