Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Shane Hollander Has a Big Dick, 5+1 Things, Humor, Body Image, Top/ Bottom Discourse, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Crack Treated Seriously, Homophobic Language, Homophobia, Racism

Language:

English

Series:

Part 11 of Hollanov fics

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-04 Words: 3,889 Chapters: 1/1

Five times Shane Hollander was embarrassed about having a big dick and one time he wasn't

Summary

In juniors they took one look at him naked and said ‘Fucking Christ Hollander’ and ‘what’s the point in measuring when we all know we’re gonna lose?’

Because Shane had hit a growth spurt and, while he never gained the height he’d prayed for (he wasn’t short anywhere but in the NHL), he’d grown a lot in other areas.

A lot… more than the other boys.

Notes

This fic owes everything to my discord through which I got the inspiration to write this fic and who were excited to add ways Shane Hollander would be embarrassed by having a big dick.

It also owes its publication to wreck who sent me a tumblr ask that inspired me to finish the fic. (You too could force me to write via tumblr ask).

Content notes:

Homophobia: the 'f' word is used as a homophobic slur
A conversation about top/bottom discourse is held in which one character suggests that it's more gay to bottom than to top

Racism: several comments are made about the stereotype that Asian men have smaller dicks, at a few points explicitly.

Body image: Shane is embarrassed by the size of his penis

1. Juniors

Shane had never spent a huge amount of time thinking about his dick, which was unusual, as far as he could tell. His teammates all seemed to be obsessed with dicks. Their dicks, each other’s dicks, dick jokes, that stupid game where they grabbed each other’s dicks randomly and then ran away (Shane wasn’t usually included in that game because the one time a kid had tried he’d reflexively punched him in the face).

The locker room was the worst. They were always sizing each other up. It started when they were all still growing, comparing who was getting pubic hair and who could get an erection. One team he was on the kids measured their dicks, like they stole a ruler from school and they actually measured and they all kept measuring, fighting about if you could pull on it to make it longer.

Shane wasn’t included in any of it, first by dint of being years younger than the other kids on his teams (with veiled hints that he was smaller and more hairless because of his ancestry not because he was literally prepubescent) then later when he got into juniors, the same age as the other kids there despite his mom’s efforts to convince the league to admit him younger. In juniors they took one look at him naked and said ‘Fucking Christ Hollander’ and ‘what’s the point in measuring when we all know we’re gonna lose?’

Because Shane had hit a growth spurt and, while he never gained the height he’d prayed for (he wasn’t short anywhere but in the NHL), he’d grown a lot in other areas.

A lot… more than the other boys.

Shane tried not to look at the other boys showering as a general rule. He had a lot of confusing feelings about the other boys. There was one boy on his team, Drum, who was tall and had a long golden flow. Looking back he’d been kind of gross; the hair was actually a mullet and he definitely hadn’t washed it often enough, and Drum had been really pimply, but, probably most importantly, he’d been nice. He’d been on the team two years already and had shown Shane around and explained the weird team rituals and sat on the bus and let Shane play with his Gameboy and helped him with his math homework.

Shane liked sitting next to him and liked it when Drum flashed him with his big smile, beautiful despite missing two teeth. He liked it the most when Drum would fall asleep on long bus trips and lean on Shane, resting his head on the top of Shane’s.

Sometimes Shane jerked off to it. He wouldn’t mean to. He’d just be jerking it and trying to picture big boobs or something and then he’d suddenly remember when Drum had leaned over to tell him how to beat a level in the game he was playing and his breath would be hot on Shane’s ear and then Shane would come.

Drum didn’t have feelings like that about Shane. He had a girlfriend, a pretty girl with brown ringlets and big blue eyes a year younger than him who’d come to home games and hold up signs she’d hand-made with glitter pens. Drum would brag about having sex with her sometimes, about how she’d let him try anal and it turned out she really loved it, how she did this thing with her tounge when she was going down on him.

Drum, despite being nice to Shane, was like the other guys in the locker room, unashamed to flop his dick around. Shane was afraid to look at it, afraid he’d start lusting after it. He was afraid to look at any of the dicks, that his curiousity about them would show.

Shane grew older and Drum got drafted and new kids joined the team. One of them, Rodg, ended up being Shane’s right wing and they bunked together on roadtrips. Rodg was quieter than a lot of the other kids and didn’t brag about girls and drinking. He took his schoolwork seriously, which Shane could appreciate because Shane’s mother would kill him if he ever got bad grades. They spent a lot of time on the bus together doing their homework or listening to Rodg’s ipod.

Shane grew older and the locker room talk remained the same. What the guys had done with/to/were planning on doing with/to girls. Who had the biggest balls. Who was a cocksucking fag. Who was whipped by their girlfriend/mother. The one thing they never discussed was who had the biggest dick because, even without measuring, everyone knew it was Shane.

“How long is your dick, actually?” Wheels demanded of Shane one day, when the topic was brought up.

“I don’t know,” Shane said, flushing.

“What?” Salmon demanded. “You never measured it?”

“No,” Shane said, turning to grab his clothes.

Someone caught him and slung their arms around his shoulder. “Holls,” he said and Shane realized it was Wethy, one of the defensemen and biggest assholes on the team. “You gotta know how big your dick is!”

Shane shrugged him off. “Why?”

“So you can brag about it!” Salmon exclaimed, laughing.

“So you can ask girls if they want all 10 inches,” Wheels added, grabbing his own dick, as if for emphasis.

“Fuck you, that’s four inches at most,” Brando threw in, laughing.

“Not hard,” Wheels said with a leer.

Shane pulled away and grabbed his boxers. “I’m not measuring it,” he said. “Fuck off.”

“But is it like eight inches?” Salmon demanded. “Nine? I can’t believe Holls has the biggest cock.”

“Why?” Shane demanded, whirling around.

“Because it’s wasted on you!” Wheels exclaimed. “You’re not even fucking anyone with it! All that meat going to waste.”

“Maybe I am fucking people with it,” Shane said, lamely. “Maybe I just don’t kiss and tell like you asswipes.”

They all laughed. Not particularly maliciously, but Shane could tell when he was being laughed at. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, pulled on his jeans even though his skin was still damp.

“Fuck you guys,” he said and grabbed his bag and hurried out.

.

“I’m not comfortable with it either,” Rodg said, later, lying on the bed next to Shane’s. Shane looked up where he’d been puzzling over his chemistry homework.

“What?”

“All that dick measuring,” Rodg said. “Bragging about girls. Them always talking about your big… you know.”

“They’re just being boys,” Shane said.

“Sometimes boys are stupid.”

Shane looked over at Rodg and smiled. Rodg didn’t make his heart thump the way Drum had, but Shane liked him better somehow, in a different way. Like he could trust Rodg in a way he’d never felt he could trust Drum.

.

Somehow he and Rodg started jerking off together. Later he’d never be able to pinpoint how it started. They didn’t watch porn together the way some guys did; neither he or Rodg were the watching porn types, not really, at least not back then. Maybe one of them had been jerking it in thinking the other was asleep and then the other just joined in.

However it started it ended up with them giving each other handjobs (‘just bros lending each other a hand!’) in their shared motel room and sometimes in Rodg’s billet room. (Never Shane’s bedroom because Shane’s mom had no concept of privacy.) Once they did it, idiotically, in the back of the bus, giggling and jumping at every noise.

And then Shane started dating Jessica. Or, well, Jessica decided she was going to date Shane and Shane just went along with it. Jessica was pretty and smart and the most popular girl in school and Shane wasn’t sure he wanted to date her but didn’t know how to turn her down, especially not with the chirping he got from the guys on the team about how lucky he was to get that ass and how she must just be in it for his giant hog.

“Guess we shouldn’t do this anymore,” Rodg said the week after Shane took Jessica out on their first date. Rodg’s dick was pink and curved a little to one side and silky soft and Shane liked how hard it got in his hand.

They probably shouldn’t do it anymore, Shane agreed, even though if it had just been bros helping each other out it really couldn’t be considered cheating could it?

Rodg went off to university and Shane got drafted and broke up with Jessica the day after he spent ten minutes staring at Ilya Rozanov’s wet lips.

2. NHL

In retrospect, Shane shouldn’t have been surprised that there were rumors. Hockey players gossiped, after all, and Shane had played on enough teams with enough players: juniors, world juniors, and now the Voyageurs, with all the tryout players during training camp, minors call-ups, and players being traded.

Still, he was shocked when he undressed in the locker room at the All-Star game and someone shouted. “Fucking shit, Hollzy, it's true?”

Shane turned, surprised, to see Brady Bourne of the Florida Cougars staring openly at his dick.

“Fuck off,” he said, and pulled on his underwear, carefully tucking himself inside, then grabbed his cup.

“I mean I heard Captain Canada had a captain-sized dick, but—” Bourne was cut off suddenly and Shane turned again to see Andrew Shaw of the Seattle Squid standing beside him with an air of innocence, Bourne rubbing his side and glaring at Shawsy, the other players around him looking a little amused.

“But, I mean,” Bourne slurred that evening, when they were celebrating their victory over the home team, “are you a grower or a shower? Because if you’re a grower, damn, you must make all the ladies cry.”

Emerson Buck, Bourne’s teammate on the Cougars, who’d somehow snuck into their party, smacked Bourne on the back of his head.

“Ow,” Bourne complained. “What was that for?”

“Don’t talk about the cap’s dick,” Buck ordered.

“He’s not even your captain!” Bourne protested. “You’re on the home team!”

“He’s Captain Canada,” Buck said.

.

That wasn’t the end of it, of course. He heard the same conversation over and over, with new trades or call-ups (“Holy fuck, it’s true” “shut the fuck up”), at Worlds and the Olympics (“What are you staring at? Oh, you never saw Hollzy’s dick before? Yeah, he could be a porn star, right?”), at any time a group of hockey players who didn’t share a locker room with him every fucking day were gathered. (“Ever notice Hollzy never brings a date to these things?” “With the dick he’s got he’s probably fucking his way across North America- not surprising he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”)

And of course, there were those idiots who felt the need to bring his ethnicity into it. Shane had to grit his teeth and clench his fists the fourth time a clueless rookie said “I always thought Asian guys had small dicks,” but it would get him a lecture if he started a fight in the locker room, and it was a bad look on a captain anyway. Fortunately, he’d trained Hayden up enough by that point for him to pull the kid aside for a heart-to-heart about keeping his racist thoughts to himself.

That wasn’t the stupidest one he heard though. That prize went to the to the guy (Josh Cooper of the Denver Summit— another All-Star Game) who’d said “I guess you get it from your dad, huh?”

Shane had taken a deep breath and looked the guy in the eye and replied, as calmly as he could: “are you asking if my mom has a dick?” in a way which made the whole room go quiet and then break out into hooting laughter. Josh Cooper went bright red and shut the fuck up and if Shane went a little harder on the Summit the next time they met on the ice, well.

3. Journalists

“Now Hollander’s been repping CCM since before his rookie year.”

“Of course— who could forget the ad he made with Rozanov? Brilliant stuff.”

“He’s the kind of guy who decides he likes something and then is real resistant to change. We’ve all seen his falling apart pads in the locker room—”

“—I really feel for Caddy Ross, his equipment manager trying to keep those together—”

“— butI'd noticed that his glove split during that fight with Denver, so I asked him what he was going to do, considering CCM had discontinued the line of M15 Ultra gloves he’d been wearing.”

“Oh, good question. It’s really hard— really throws you off to switch up gloves, especially if you’re really attached to your equipment like Hollander is.”

“That’s what I was thinking. But he smirked a little at me and admitted that the moment he heard they were being discontinued he called up his CCM rep and asked them to send him every pair of the gloves left in his size. ‘I’ve got an unusual hand size’ he told me, ‘so they had enough gloves left in stock to last the rest of my career.’”

“Unusual hand size? Seriously?”

“That’s what he said. Of course we’ve all heard the rumors about Hollander’s… uh… glove size.”

“Yeah, some guys really have a hard time finding gloves that fit them. But gloves are really important for safety. You’ve got to wrap it up tight, folks.”

“Are we still talking about hockey right now?”

4. Sponsors

Shane wasn’t sure what to think when he entered the hotel conference room. The brand reps from Speedo had come all the way to Ottawa to talk to him, which he assumed was flattering.

The truth was that he wasn’t eager to be sponsored by Speedo. He wasn’t really that interested in doing any sponsorships any more. When he’d first started getting sponsorships, his last year in juniors, it had been novel and exciting; getting free gear and seeing himself in magazines. Then it had just come to seem like another job. He could see how it made sense, back then, to make as much money as he could when he could; you never knew when a career-ending injury would happen.

But now he had more money than he’d ever be able to spend, enough that he could give half of it away and still comfortably live off the interest of the remainder for the rest of his life. Getting new sponsorships seemed almost frivolous.

But it was something his mother enjoyed doing, so he just agreed and showed up and smiled and strutted around or whatever they needed from him.

Speedo though— Shane hated doing underwear ads and those at least covered his ass. He was pretty sure Speedo was going to try to get him in the tiniest bottoms they made.

The reps were a man and a woman, both of them white, mid-thirties maybe, dressed in business casual, the kind of people who said ‘Shane— may I call you Shane?’ and then proceeded to blather about the values and brand identity of whatever company they represented.

What he wasn’t expecting:

“We were particularly interested in getting you onboard with this, Shane,” the male rep said, grinning like a shark.

“I’m surprised,” Shane said. “I don’t have much of a reputation for swimming. I know lots of players who are known to do swimming as part of their cross training or who spend a lot of time in Miami or California— I’d think they’d be a better fit.”

“Shane!” Shane’s mother hissed and then smiled at the reps. “He is so modest.”

“Yes, I agree, those players might seem like more a natural fit,” the male rep continued, “but there are certain… assets… we’re looking for in a spokesperson at this time. We’re launching a new line of swimwear for men who’ve found the standard sizing lacking in… well, coverage. For certain areas.” He gave Shane a knowing look.

Shane felt his face growing hot. “I do need my pants tailored,” he managed. “But with swimsuits I usually just need a larger size, not… It’s not that much of a problem, usually.”

“Sorry,” the female rep cut in. “Michael wasn’t referring to the size of your…” she paused as if trying to find the most appropriate word. “… derriere.”

Shane looked between the two of them, confused. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said. “What were you referring to?”

“The new line is built for men who have a need for additional space and comfort in the front of their suit,” she elaborated, completely unflustered. “And you have a reputation as belonging to that demographic.

“Oh my god,” Shane managed. His mother was sitting right there.

“It’s the perfect fit,” the male rep exclaimed. “If you pardon the pun. And I’m sure you’ll find them an excellent addition to your own wardrobe. We’ve bought a few pairs for you to take home and try out.”

“Well,” Shane’s mother said, sounding pleased. “It does seem like an excellent opportunity. Can we review the details of the offer?”

.

“Mom,” Shane said, when they got into his mother’s car. “How could you… I… Did you know I had that reputation?”

“I changed your diapers, dear,” she said, matter-of-factly. “And I monitor social media chatter about you. It’s an open secret.”

“An open secret!” Shane exclaimed feeling more than a little panicky about his mom reading about rumors about his…

“You didn’t know?” she asked. “I know you try to stay away from social media, but…”

“I know that all the guys in the NHL apparently talk about it,” Shane said, embarrassed. “But I was kind of hoping they kept it in the room.”

His mom patted his arm where it was resting on the center console. “There are worse things they could be saying about you,” she said.

“Next you’re going to tell me it’s good representation.” He rolled his eyes.

His mom smirked a little. “Well, it is defying stereotypes.”

5. Speculation

What Shane wasn’t expecting when he was outed was all the top/ bottom discourse. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised that the people who seemed to have the biggest problem with his gay relationship were also the most interested in the details of who did what with their dicks

“But it’s not gay, if like, you’re on the top, right?” one of the Voyageurs fans sitting near the bench asked. “That’s just putting your dick into things.”

“If you put your dick into another guy’s ass it’s gay,” another replied in a tired manner, as if he had to keep explaining this. “Or bisexual or whatever.”

“Say what you want about Rozanov, but the man’s got balls to let Holls anywhere near his ass,” a third commented.

“What do you mean?” the first one asked.

“Holls has, like, a porn star-sized dick.”

“What?!? How do you know that?”

“Uh, everyone knows it? It’s like common knowledge. Haven’t you see those Speedo commercials?”

“Dude I’m not watching those commercials! That’s so gay!”

One of them sighed.

“You really think Rozanov is the one, you know, taking it?”

“You think Holls bottoms? Really? The man’s like a brick house. And he’s fucking Hollander! Of course Rozanov bottoms.”

“But isn’t Rozanov taller? Isn’t the shorter one the bottom?”

“Rozanov is two inches taller, at most. I don’t think it makes a difference. Anyway, Holls has that massive dick— of course he’s the top.”

“You’re such idiots,” said the one who’d been exasperated before. “That isn’t how any of that fucking works.”

“How does it work then?”

“It works like if you like having a dick shoved up your ass you bottom and if you like shoving your dick up someone’s ass you top and if you like both you’re versatile. It’s got nothing to do with height or dick size or if someone’s built like a brick house.”

“But it’s still more gay to take it,” the first one said.

“Rozanov has got to be the bottom. He’s like totally a bottom.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

And one time he wasn't

“Hello,” Ilya cooed to Shane’s crotch. “Hi, Shane’s dick. Such a big fat dick. So good for me.”

“Please stop talking to my dick,” Shane said. It came out a little strangled because Ilya was licking a stripe up the side of the aforementioned dick.

“But he is so beautiful,” Ilya said with a little pout. “All for me. Such a delicious treat.”

“It’s too big,” Shane complained. “You can hardly get your mouth around it.”

“Nooooo,” Ilya said. “Don’t listen, kotyonek. Don’t let him fat-shame you. You are best dick I have ever seen. Good fill up my mouth so full, mmmm.” He licked the precum off the tip and Shane grabbed his hair.

“Stop fucking around,” he ordered.

“Am not fucking around,” Ilya said. “Only worship your dick like appropriate.”

“Appropriate?” Shane demanded.

“Yes; is the best dick. Why you think I should not love?”

Shane swallowed and let his head fall back on the pillow. “It’s too big,” he said.

“He not too big.” Ilya kissed the shaft gently. “He is perfect.”

“Everyone’s always talking about how big it is.” Shane hated the whine that filled his voice.

“Only jealous,” Ilya said. “Men think manly is big dick. They are jealous Shane Hollander is best hockey player and has biggest dick. They are idiots. Dick size is not important for manliness. It is toxic masculinity. Only thing important is how you feel about your body.”

“It doesn’t matter how you feel about my body?” Shane asked, wondering what exactly Ilya had been reading lately. Toxic masculinity?

“Nope,” Ilya said, resting his cheek on Shane’s thigh and looking up at him. “Love your dick. It is beautiful. Love size and color and everything. Love how it feel in my mouth, in my hand, when you rub on my stomach. But you have small dick, I love this too. You have no dick, still I love. It belong to you so I love it.

“Same thing with all your body. Love big hockey ass, big thighs, but you stop play hockey, maybe you lose big ass, it is okay; I will love small ass. I will love small thighs. Fat ass, skinny ass, I love everything. Maybe you will get beer gut, I will like to have a new pillow, yes? Maybe you will lose your hair— I will like to see you bald.”

Sometimes Shane felt like he was too small to hold all of the emotion he felt, most often when he was with Ilya. Times like this it felt like it would burst out of him at any moment, like one of those monsters in the Alien movies, or like something that should have been visible, like everyone should be able to see all of the— he couldn’t even name the emotion. Love and pride and joy and awe and disbelief. So much it made him want to hide under the covers.

Instead he ran a hand through Ilya’s hair. “I love all of you too,” he said, his voice choked. “I’ll always love you, even if you lose your hair and your hockey ass.”

Ilya laughed, low and happy, and then fit as much of Shane’s dick into his mouth as he could.