Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Hurt/Comfort, Worried Ilya Rozanov, Protective Shane Hollander, sex injuries, Minor Injuries, literally so minor shane doesn't care, ilya does though so much, Panic Attacks, Good Significant Other Shane Hollander, Established Relationship

Language:

English

Series:

Part 5 of love-a-nov (hollanov one-shots)

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-20 Words: 1,912 Chapters: 1/1

what hurts the most (is never your fault)

Summary

Ilya swallows thickly and slowly drags his eyes up to meet Shane’s. “I hurt you. You are bleeding.”

Ilya’s body suddenly feels heavy. He knows it’s his fault. Nothing Shane says will convince him otherwise. Shane may have insisted that it was fine―that Ilya didn’t need to take the time opening him up like he usually did. He’d seemed eager for it too.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Shane says casually. “I’ll do laundry later. It’ll be okay.”

“I don’t care―” Ilya can’t help but say it harshly, “―about the fucking laundry. I care that I hurt you.”

Notes

Minor content warning: After a night of sex, Shane bleeds a little and Ilya freaks out. Both boys are alright; Ilya is just very worried about hurting Shane.

Just a quick explanation: bleeding can occur after anal sex if there isn’t enough lube or it’s rough. It isn’t always a concern or issue, and this is one of those times. It happens but it isn’t anything for concern.

Ilya wakes up warm and comfortably sore. He knows he slept well because his muscles feel stiff with sleep, and stretching every single one, from his toes to his fingers, is almost the best feeling in the world. The source of the true best feeling is still asleep with his back to Ilya’s chest. Shane’s breathing is even and quiet, and he’s just as naked as when they finally collapsed together for the night.

Ilya isn’t surprised Shane is still asleep. After an overtime game and a much-too-late night during which they took each other apart until they could no longer move, they’d both been too tired to shower. Even Shane had settled for using the sheet to wipe themselves off. He’d been asleep before Ilya had fully pulled the comforter over them.

So he isn’t surprised Shane is still asleep, but Ilya is surprised that he’s awake first. A quick glance at the clock tells him that isn’t as late as he thought―just past nine o’clock―and his bladder seems to take that as its cue. With a sigh, Ilya untangles himself from around Shane and shuffles hastily into the bathroom. Shane will wake up soon anyway―his internal clock won’t let him sleep much past nine no matter how late Ilya keeps him up―and Ilya wants to have his teeth brushed before then. If Ilya’s breath is clean, it’ll be much easier to coax Shane into starting their morning the same way they had ended last night. 

When Ilya steps out of the bathroom, Shane is awake. He blinks up to Ilya and smiles, and Ilya all but runs back to the bed. He throws back the comforter with a grin, already anticipating Shane’s whine of protest, but stops short of throwing himself onto the bed.

“Ilya,” Shane whines, reaching one hand toward Ilya and the other toward the comforter. “I’m cold. Come here.”

Ilya blinks once. Twice. It’s still there even as Shane continues trying to pull Ilya down on top of him.

“Ilya.” Shane huffs and sits up, shifting further up the bed. It doesn’t help. “What’s wrong?”

“You are bleeding.”

Ilya can’t stop staring at the little red spot. It’s hardly bigger than his thumbprint, but it’s unmistakable now that Shane has moved up the bed. Ilya has the burning need to move Shane from there as well to see if he’s still bleeding.

“Oh.” Shane frowns and then shrugs. “I’ll do laundry today.”

“No, you―” Ilya swallows thickly and slowly drags his eyes up to meet Shane’s. “I hurt you. You are bleeding.”

Ilya’s body suddenly feels heavy. He can’t move. His arms are leaden and his chest feels tight, and he can’t stop staring at the little dark red spot where Shane had been laying. 

He knows it’s his fault. Nothing Shane says will convince him otherwise. Shane may have insisted that it was fine―that Ilya didn’t need to take the time opening him up like he usually did. He’d seemed eager for it too.

Ilya should have argued more. He should have protested more; should have insisted he take his time anyway. If he had, Shane wouldn’t be hurt. Ilya wouldn’t have made him bleed.

“I liked it,” Shane says. He shrugs again and something pinches in Ilya’s chest. “It's alright.”

Ilya sucks in a sharp breath. 

Something painful courses through him. It starts in his heart and shoots down to his stomach, and it leaves a bitter, terrified taste in his mouth. Distantly, he thinks something might be wrong when his fingers start to tingle and Shane frowns up at him. He says something that Ilya doesn’t understand. The words are muddled, underwater, and Ilya’s heart pounds shakily in his ears as the realization hits him that Shane expected to be hurt. 

It's alright, Shane had said. He had shrugged. Been resigned. Had known that it would happen―that Ilya would hurt him.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Shane says again, just as casually. “I’ll do laundry later. It’ll be okay.”

“I don’t care―” Ilya can’t help but say it harshly, “―about the fucking laundry. I care that I hurt you.”

His voice cracks pitifully and Ilya hates himself for it. He should apologize. Promise to never do it again―to never hurt Shane again. The words get stuck in his throat.

Shane won’t believe him. Ilya can promise whatever he wants but he won’t―Shane won’t actually believe it’s true. Ilya never had. Besides, he had promised himself that he would never do it in the first place; that he would never become like his father and hurt the person he loved most. If not even that promise could come true, what good would a promise do now? Shane has already bled because of Ilya. What good will a promise do to stop it?

“I’m sorry,” Ilya gasps. The red spot is still there. Shane is still frowning. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” Shane moves quickly. He kneels on the bed, his body blocking the dried blood stain, and his hands frame Ilya’s face as he says, “Hey, it’s okay. Ilya, breathe. I’m okay.”

“I hurt―”

“No, stop,” Shane interrupts firmly. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay. Look, see?” He forces Ilya’s eyes to meet his. “I’m okay. Baby, breathe, please.”

Ilya takes in a shuttering breath and realizes abruptly that his lungs are burning. When did he stop breathing? 

Shane presses a hand firm against Ilya’s nape and forces their foreheads together. His other hand holds Ilya’s against his chest that rises and falls pointedly. Ilya can’t help but follow along, too familiar with the motion from his own times helping Shane through his panic attacks. 

“Listen to me,” Shane says. His breath is warm across Ilya’s face. “I am okay. You did not hurt me. Yes, there is blood, but I promise you, Ilya, that I am not hurt.”

“But you were,” Ilya says. It feels pathetic to point out something in the past. It’s not as though Ilya can change it. “I was not gentle and you got hurt and you―” expected it, gets cut off.

“I asked you to.”

“That does not make it better.”

“Okay, okay,” Shane soothes. His thumb runs softly over the top of Ilya’s spine. “I’m sorry,” he says gently, surging forward to kiss Ilya’s cheek briefly. “We’ll never do it again, okay? I will never, ever ask you to do that again. Not if you don’t like it.”

The thing is, Ilya did like it. He’d been a little worried at the time, but when Shane had insisted, it hadn’t taken long for Ilya to get on board. It had been hot. So hot. Shane had moaned high and sweet and Ilya had been gone. It makes it worse.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispers. Somehow, his voice still cracks. Tears, hot and burning, sting his eyes and he squeezes them shut. “I cannot. Not when you are bleeding because of it. Me.”

“Okay, that’s okay,” Shane promises. He presses more kisses to Ilya’s cheeks. “We’ll never do it again,” he repeats. “Now, come here.”

He pulls Ilya into the tightest hug Ilya thinks he’s ever experienced. Ilya doesn’t resist. His fingers are still a little tingly, but Shane’s skin is warm under them and it soothes him more than he expects. 

Ilya doesn’t know how long they stay kneeling on the bed, Shane holding him tightly, but soon his tears stop and the cool bedroom air makes him shiver. Shane is quick to pull them both down onto the bed after the first shiver rakes Ilya's body. He pulls the comforter over them and tucks it under Ilya's chin, adjusting the blanket so it doesn’t cover his face. 

“You are sure you’re okay?” Ilya asks when his heart stops beating in his ears. 

“Yes.” Shane kisses the top of Ilya’s head. “I will always tell you if something doesn’t feel right. You know that, right?”

He does. Distantly. In his head, Ilya knows that Shane has always spoken up when something felt bad or wrong. They’ve always been good at that. But this feels different for some reason.

“I know,” Ilya says.

“And you… You would tell me the same, right?” Shane asks. He sounds hesitant.

“Yes.” Ilya swallows, struggling to get his next words out. “This―Is different. I liked it.” It hurts him to admit it. There’s an awful feeling in his chest as he admits to liking the thing that had made Shane bleed. “I do not like that I liked it when it hurt you. You were bleeding because of me. I do not want―I can’t be like him.”

Something like understanding paints itself across Shane’s face. Ilya hasn’t told him much about this part of his father, of his mother. He doesn’t like thinking about it. Thinking about it puts it at the front of his mind and Ilya knows it’s unreasonable, but he’s always been afraid that if the thought is at the front of his mind, it will make it more likely that Ilya follows the same path. By not thinking about it, he can at least pretend that he won’t become like his father.

“You could not be more unlike him,” Shane says softly. “You are so gentle, Ilya. You care. This was an accident―neither of us knew it was going to happen. Accidents don’t make you your father.”

“But what if,” Ilya whispers, “I hurt you again?”

“You won’t.” Shane sounds so sure, but Ilya still can’t stop his doubt. “But if you do,” Shane continues gently, “I will tell you and we’ll talk about it. Let me be clear―” Shane’s hand frames Ilya’s face in a way that prevents him from looking away, “―I am not worried about you hurting me, and I never have been. You make me feel safe. Someone who wanted to hurt me would not make me feel safe.”

Tears burn hot down Ilya’s cheeks once more, and Ilya doesn’t have to try too hard to get Shane to hug him tight again. He tugs once and Shane surrounds him a breath later. Kisses are pressed to the top of his head even as Ilya shakes with tears, but Shane doesn’t loosen his hold on Ilya’s shoulders.

It’s exhausting to cry again. Ilya is already so worn out from the first time, but he couldn’t stop the second round of tears if he tried. Shane doesn’t seem to mind. He holds Ilya through it all again and the room falls silent with the end of Ilya’s crying. By then, he truly is exhausted. He hasn’t been awake for even an hour and he’s ready to go back to sleep. Shane must sense it.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he whispers in Ilya’s ear. “Start this morning again. Different. I’ll be here.”

He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to fall back asleep, but when he wakes up hours later, he’s exactly where he was before: Tucked securely in Shane’s arms. They haven’t moved and he knows Shane’s arm must be numb, but his husband doesn’t ask him to move. Instead, he covers Ilya’s face with kisses the moment he realizes he’s awake, and although Ilya’s eyes catch once again on that little red spot, they do end up starting their new morning the way Ilya had hoped to start it before: Pressed close under the covers, skin on skin, and with nothing between them but love.