Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike

Additional Tags:

Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, 5+1 Things, Ilya Rozanov is a Little Shit, failed bonding activities, they're all idiots (but we love them), Ilya Rozanov is Good With Children

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-22 Words: 3,986 Chapters: 1/1

Common Ground

Summary

“Okay,” Shane said. “Let’s just keep it friendly, yeah?”

Ilya gifted him a smile. “For you, always fun.” Then he added, “Also, Pike, you play this very badly. Like hockey.”

Hayden launched himself to his feet. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this coming from the guy who flops like a dying fish every time someone skates near him?”

Shane has a problem: his boyfriend and his best friend hate each other. His solution is forced bonding through board games, charity work, cooking classes, movie nights, and a double date.

Or: Five times Shane tried to make Ilya and Hayden bond, and one time they accidentally did.

Notes

1

Shane had given this a lot of thought: if he could just assemble the perfect combination of setting, activity, and mood, then maybe his boyfriend and his best friend could occupy the same ten square feet without spontaneously arguing.

It had been a few weeks since Hayden found out about him and Ilya. To his credit, Hayden had been… supportive, if a bit shouty about it. But that was just Hayden being Hayden. The real issue was that Ilya Rozanov and Hayden Pike appeared to have been created by the universe for the sole purpose of driving each other insane. 

It was exhausting.

Hence: board games.

It seemed like a safe activity. Shane had lingered in the board game aisle for a solid ten minutes. He’d finally selected Settlers of Catan. 

This, as it turned out, was his first mistake.

Ilya was looking far too pleased with himself for someone who had very obviously swiped at least two resource cards. Shane had seen it happen from the corner of his eye.

Shane cleared his throat. “Ilya, we’re supposed to keep the cards face down, remember?”

Ilya was too busy rearranging his settlements. “Relax. Is only game.”

Across the table, Hayden’s eyebrows were knitted together. It was the same one Hayden wore right before he dropped his gloves on the ice.

“You just took two bricks,” Hayden said. “You only rolled a six.”

Ilya finally looked up. “Maybe for me, six is a different number.”

“Okay,” Shane said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Let’s - let’s just keep it friendly, yeah? This is supposed to be fun.”

Ilya gifted him a charming smile that was 100% manufactured. “For you, always fun.” Then he turned back to the board and added, “Also, Pike, you play this very badly. Like hockey.”

Shane’s stomach plunged. “Ilya, please don’t - ”

“You chase resources with no plan,” Ilya continued. “On ice, same thing. All effort, no thought.”

Hayden launched himself to his feet. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this coming from the guy who flops like a dying fish every time someone skates near him?”

Ilya laughed. “You hit like old man.”

Hayden leaned over the table. “You play like a coward.”

Shane stood up so fast his chair shrieked in protest against the floor. “We’re not doing personal attacks. This is not - ”

Ilya tilted his head. “Is okay, Pike. Some people are sheep. They follow road. They collect little cards. They think they are winning.”

Hayden stared at him, then he flipped the entire table.

The board went flying, cards fluttered through the air like confetti, and tiny plastic sheep went bouncing off the wall.

Shane just stood there, gazing at the ruins of his carefully researched peace plan.

Hayden whipped around to face him, chest heaving. “Shane, why is your boyfriend like this?!”

Ilya, for his part, looked thrilled. “I think I was winning.”

2

Shane was confident about this one. Charity hockey camps seemed like a foolproof plan. Kids were wholesome. Ilya had a surprisingly soft spot for kids. Hayden, of course, loved kids. He had several, produced them at an alarming rate, clearly knew what to do with small humans on skates. 

On one half of the ice, Hayden had organized a militaristic line of kids. "Shoulder to shoulder, not elbow. Control your weight. You don't want a penalty out there."

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the rink, Ilya was surrounded by a rapt circle of children who gazed up at him as if he were dispensing ancient wisdom.

"Okay," Ilya said. "Repeat after me. 'Nice try.'"

The kids parroted it back.

"Good. Now," he continued, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "add little smile. Like you know secret they do not."

One kid shot their hand into the air. "Can we say it louder?"

Ilya beamed with paternal pride. "Yes."

The kids were now skating in a feral pack, bumping into each other with reckless abandon.

"Nice try!"

"Learn to skate!"

"My grandma's faster than you!"

One of them, a tiny defenseman, looked Shane dead in the eye as they passed and yelled, "CAPTAIN CAN'T EVEN DEFEND THE BLUE LINE!"

Across the rink, Ilya laughed openly. "They learn fast!"

Hayden, watching a different kid execute a surprisingly textbook check, nodded his approval. "They're naturals."

Shane skated over to them. "Let's dial it back a bit. This is a charity camp. For children."

Ilya waved a dismissive glove. "Is fine. Builds character."

Hayden smirked. "Teaches 'em how the game really works."

Before Shane could muster a counter-argument, Ilya's gaze slid over to Hayden. "You are very good with children," he observed, his tone dripping with fake sincerity.

Hayden puffed up slightly, preening. "Yeah? Well, it comes with experience, I guess."

Ilya's smile turned razor-sharp. "Yes. You keep knocking your wife up. Is much practice."

Hayden stared. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Ilya shrugged. "You just want to be called 'Daddy,' yes?"

"ROZANOV."

Ilya was not finished. "Maybe you get snipped. Stop balls from working. Save society."

Hayden's stick clattered to the ice. "Say that again and I will put you through the glass."

Ilya was unbothered. "You cannot. Too many witnesses." He gestured grandly to their audience. 

The kids, sensing the seismic shift in drama, had gathered around them in a wide-eyed semicircle.

One of them whispered loudly enough to be heard in the bleachers, "Are they gonna fight?"

Another shouted, "DO IT!"

"Everyone - water break," Shane announced. "Now. Go. Hydrate."

The kids scattered, though not before a few of them could be heard muttering "Nice try!" and "My grandma's faster!" under their breath.

Ilya watched them go. "Good instincts," he remarked.

Hayden crossed his arms, glowering. "You're an asshole."

"Yes," Ilya agreed.

3

Shane had been aiming for patience. A cooking class had seemed like the safest possible bet.

Reader, it was not safe.

The kitchen was a nightmare of bright white tiles and gleaming stainless steel. Every participant had their own identical, impeccably organized workstation. 

Shane sense of impending doom crystallized the moment he saw Ilya pick up the bottle of olive oil.

“Wait,” Shane said. “You’re supposed to measure that first.”

Ilya paid him no mind. He simply tilted the bottle and began free-pouring oil into the saute pan. It splashed over the sides.

“Chill solnyshko,” Ilya said, not looking up from his culinary crime scene. 

Shane stared at the oil slick creeping toward the stovetop’s edge. “The recipe calls for one tablespoon - ”

From the other side of the counter, Hayden upended an unmeasured handful of red seasoning directly into his mixing bowl. “Measuring’s for bakers and people who are afraid of flavor.”

“You just put paprika into the chicken marinade,” Shane said. “And we’re making lemon herb chicken.”

Hayden shrugged. “Flavor’s flavor, man.”

Shane pressed his lips into a thin line and silently counted to five in French. He was pretty sure he messed up after trois.

The perky instructor glanced at Ilya’s pan, now shimmering with enough oil to deep-fry a small turkey, and hesitated. “That’s… quite a generous amount of oil you have there.”

Ilya gifted her a pleasant smile. “Is Russian style.”

She nodded slowly and wisely continued down the line without another word.

Shane turned back just in time to witness Hayden place a raw, slippery chicken breast directly onto the cutting board Shane had verbally designated as the VEGETABLE-ONLY SURFACE.

“Hayden,” Shane said. “That board is for vegetables.”

Hayden looked up, puzzled. “I wiped it off.”

“With what?”

Hayden gestured vaguely with the hand not currently covered in raw poultry juice. “My sleeve?”

“I can get salmonella.”

“Yeah, Shane,” Hayden said, rolling his eyes. “It’s chicken.”

In a moment of desperation, Shane turned to his last hope. “Ilya,” he pleaded, “tell him that cross-contamination is a serious and dangerous practice.”

Ilya leaned casually over the divide, peering at Hayden’s bio-hazard station with clinical interest. “You are not good at cooking,” he mused. “But also - ” he added, “on ice - you are only good at whining.”

Hayden’s hands went still. “Excuse me?”

“You complain to refs like small child,” Ilya continued, undeterred. “‘Oh, he tripped me! Oh, my feelings!’”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Hayden snapped. “Coming from the guy whose diet is ninety percent cigars and spite.”

“I eat,” Ilya stated plainly.

“Yeah? What? Smoke?”

SLAM.

Shane brought both hands down on the stainless steel counter. “Okay!” he barked. “We are not insulting each other’s diets or - lung capacity - or - ” He waved a hand between them. “Any of this!”

In the ringing silence that followed, Ilya calmly reached for the oil bottle and added another glug.

Hayden, with a defiant glare, picked up his knife and began hacking at the chicken breast with a ferocity usually reserved for splitting firewood.

“Just… follow the recipe,” Shane said, his voice dropping to a defeated whisper. “For me.”

They both looked at him. For a fleeting second, something like contrition flickered across their faces.

Ilya’s expression softened. “You worry too much, solnyshko.”

Hayden gave a gruff, conceding nod. “We’ll be fine. Stop stressing.”

As if on cue, a thin wisp of smoke curled up from Ilya’s oil lake. A second later, an ear-splitting shriek erupted from the ceiling.

BEEEEEEEEEP - 

The smoke alarm had spoken.

4

Shane had vetoed horror movies, but Hayden had insisted that he was not afraid, and Ilya had suspiciously agreed that this was an excellent idea, which in hindsight was the biggest red flag.

And so, against his better judgment, Shane found himself watching IT.

The couch was too small for three grown athletes. Shane was wedged squarely in the middle like a human shock absorber. The movie had been playing for seven minutes, and Shane was already drafting his resignation from the role of Relationship Mediator.

Hayden was rigid. 

"You okay?" Shane whispered.

"I'm fine," Hayden shot back, too fast. "Why wouldn't I be fine?"

On screen, a single red balloon drifted lazily past a storm drain.

Hayden sucked in a sharp breath.

Shane felt the exact moment Ilya's attention pivoted, that dangerous spark of interest igniting. 

"You are very tense," Ilya observed.

"I'm watching the movie," Hayden snapped, not tearing his eyes away.

The sewer scene began.

Hayden flinched so violently his knee slammed into Shane's.

"You scream like little goat," Ilya announced, brimming with joy.

"TURN IT OFF," Hayden barked.

Shane groaned. "Okay, we don't have to finish - "

Then the jump scare hit.

A metallic bang echoed from the speakers. Hayden yelped - and immediately tried to disguise it as a cough.

Ilya lost all composure.

"Oh my god," he laughed, clapping his hands together once. "Again! Do it again!"

"I swear to God, Rozanov," Hayden seethed. "I will end you."

Ilya leaned across Shane, invading Hayden's personal space. "Is only movie."

Then, in the next moment of whisper-quiet tension on screen, Ilya reached out and grabbed Hayden's forearm.

Hayden screamed. 

The movie continued, blissfully unaware of the living room meltdown.

"ILYA," Shane ordered, his voice strained. "No jump scares. That is not funny."

Ilya wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. "It is little funny."

Hayden scrambled away, which, given the confined space, meant he essentially tried to climb into Shane's lap. "Do not touch me," he demanded. "Do not even look at me."

Ilya leaned back against the cushions, waited a half-second, and then whispered, right next to Hayden's ear, "Boo."

Hayden hurled a couch pillow directly at Ilya's head.

Shane lunged for the remote and mashed the pause button. The screen froze on an unsettling, close-up shot of a painted smile.

"That's it," Shane declared, his own heart hammering against his ribs. "Everyone just... breathe."

"I was breathing," Hayden snapped. "Until he started his torture campaign."

Ilya shrugged, unrepentant. "You are scaredy cat. You screamed."

"I was startled."

"You climbed on Shane like tree."

Before Hayden could snap back, Ilya added mildly, “Also - do not climb on my boyfriend’s lap. That is mine. Only I do that.”

Shane made a distressed noise. “Ilya - ”

“Only I sit there,” Ilya continued, decisive. “Sometimes he sits on me.”

Hayden recoiled like he’d been physically struck. “I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR SEX LIFE.”

Shane raised a weary hand. “Please don’t use me as a unit of measurement for your terror or - whatever that was.”

A thick silence fell over the room. On the frozen television, Pennywise's smile seemed to widen.

Hayden swallowed audibly. "We could... maybe watch something else."

Ilya tilted his head. "Like documentary?"

"Yes."

"About clowns?"

"No."

Shane turned the TV off entirely. He sat there in the aftermath, a man sandwiched between his two favorite human-shaped hurricanes, and wondered if the entire concept of "bonding" was wildly overrated.

5

Shane had thought that adding Jackie to the mix would finally stabilize things. Jackie was the definition of calm. She also had toddlers, which meant she possessed a kind of patience forged in the unrelenting fires of parenthood. If anyone could keep Hayden’s protective-big-brother intensity in check, it was his wife. If anyone could neutralize Ilya’s worst impulses, surely it would be a woman who had survived childbirth multiple times.

Shane arrived at their house feeling a blooming hope.

Ilya took Jackie’s hand when she opened the door, kissed her cheek with effortless European flair.

“Wow,” Ilya said, his voice warm with appreciation. “You are even more beautiful than Pike describes.”

Jackie laughed, a little flustered. “Oh, he never says things like that.”

Ilya shot a glance at Hayden, who was glowering in the hallway. “Tragic.”

Before Shane could steer the conversation toward safer ground, Amber wobbled into view, arms outstretched, fingers coated in what appeared to be applesauce. Ilya dropped into a crouch instantly, his entire focus shifting.

“Hello,” he said, his voice softening. “You are very small.”

Amber grinned, revealing a gap-toothed smile, and used Ilya’s knee as a step stool to climb into his arms.

Jackie gasped. “Oh my god, she never does that with strangers.”

Ilya shrugged, effortlessly shifting the child onto his hip. “Children like me.”

Hayden stared, baffled. “Why do my kids like you?”

Dinner had not even started.

At the table, Shane found himself positioned between Jackie and Hayden, while Ilya sat directly across, still balancing Arthur on his knee and making surprisingly convincing airplane noises with a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

“I didn’t know you were so good with kids,” Jackie said.

Ilya smiled. “I am good with many things.”

Hayden leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Okay,” he said, his voice taking on the tone of a cross-examination. “Let’s establish something.”

Jackie sighed. “Hayden, don’t - ”

“No,” Hayden continued, pointing a finger at Ilya. “Where are you from again?”

“Russia.”

“How long have you known Shane?”

“Long enough.”

“What do you do when you’re not ruining his life?”

Shane choked on his sip of water. “Hayden.”

Ilya didn’t even blink. “Mostly hockey. Sometimes emotional devastation. Is nice balance.”

Jackie kicked Hayden under the table. “Eat your food.”

Halfway through dinner, Ilya complimented the roast, complimented Jackie’s cooking again, and casually reached over with a napkin to wipe a stray smear of sauce from Amber's cheek.

Hayden snapped. “Why are you touching my kid?”

“I am cleaning,” Ilya replied smoothly. “You should try sometime.”

Jackie snorted a laugh, then tried to hide it behind her napkin. “Okay, that was actually funny.”

Hayden looked betrayed. “You’re on his side now?”

Shane stared intently at his plate of food. He felt less like a participant and more like an audience member at his own very awkward play.

“So,” Hayden said suddenly. “You think you’re good enough for him?”

The table went quiet. The only sound was Jade banging a spoon.

Shane froze, a piece of broccoli hovering halfway to his mouth.

Ilya looked at Shane - then back at Hayden. “No.”

Shane’s heart performed an unpleasant nosedive toward his stomach.

“But I try very hard,” Ilya continued. “Every day.”

Jackie’s expression softened instantly. “Oh, that’s actually very sweet.”

Hayden squinted, suspicious. “That wasn’t the question.”

By the time dessert was served, Shane realized he had spoken exactly three times in the last half hour, and all three utterances had been variations of “sorry.”

Hayden was conducting a hostile takeover of the conversation. Amber was now chanting “Ee-ya! Ee-ya!” like a sticky fan club. Shane was, without a doubt, third-wheeling in his own relationship introduction.

As they were gathering their things to leave, Hayden pulled Shane aside by the sleeve.

“I still don’t like him,” Hayden muttered.

Ilya, leaning casually in the doorway, gave a cheerful wave. “I know!”

Jackie hugged Shane tightly. “You’re always welcome back. Both of you.” She paused, glanced over at Ilya, who was now letting Jade try on his sunglasses, and added, “Mostly.”

+1

The WAG meetup had wound down. Ilya didn’t mind these gatherings at all, a fact some found perplexing. He found them oddly relaxing. There was gossip that was far more strategic than any playbook, and there were feral children who accepted him without question. He was currently on the floor, serving as a living playground for two of Hayden’s toddlers. Arthur was using his chest as a drum; Ruby was meticulously trying to braid a section of his hair.

“This is very aggressive affection,” Ilya informed them. Ruby just giggled and tugged harder.

Across the room, Jackie was ushering the last of the wives and girlfriends toward the door, her voice a warm murmur of apologies for the late hour and promises to text. 

Ilya liked this part. The calm after the social storm.

The front door opened again.

Hayden walked in, shrugging off his jacket. He froze mid-step, his eyes landing on Ilya sprawled on his living room floor, being used as a human jungle gym.

“Oh,” Hayden said, his voice flat. “It’s you.”

Ilya smiled up at him, unbothered. “Hello, Pike.”

Hayden’s jaw tightened. “Why are you still here?”

“I am babysitting,” Ilya said. “It is poorly supervised.”

Arthur waved a sticky hand. “Uncle Ilya said I’m fast!”

Hayden sighed. “Great.” He dropped onto the couch anyway.

A familiar backdrop of arena boards filled the television screen. Then, there he was. Shane, in a crisp suit, his hair perfectly in place. A live interview.

Hayden straightened up immediately. “Is that - ”

“Yes,” Ilya said. 

They fell into a watchful silence.

Shane sat under the studio lights. The chyron at the bottom of the screen read: SHANE HOLLANDER - TEAM CAPTAIN.

The interviewer leaned forward. “So, Shane, you’ve been wearing the ‘C’ for a while now. There’s been a lot of conversation this season about leadership styles in the league.”

Ilya felt Amber on his chest wriggle. He placed a stilling hand on the small back, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“Some people,” the interviewer continued, her tone sugared, “have said your approach is a little… restrained.”

Hayden let out a disgusted scoff. “Oh, here we go.”

On screen, Shane nodded, the picture of diplomacy. “I think leadership looks different for everyone. For me, it’s about consistency and - ”

“ - accountability?” the interviewer cut in smoothly. “Because critics are saying the team hasn’t always looked cohesive under pressure.”

Ilya’s phone buzzed against the floor. He didn’t need to look. He already knew.

Shane inhaled. “I think pressure situations are where preparation matters most. I trust my teammates.”

Another smile from the interviewer. “There are some former players who’ve suggested you might be better suited to a supporting role rather than the focal point. How do you respond to that?”

Hayden’s hands curled into tight fists on his knees. “That’s bullshit.”

Shane answered anyway. “I’m always open to improving. I take the responsibility seriously.”

Ilya finally glanced at his phone, lighting up with notifications from the sports accounts his PR manager insisted he follow. The hot takes were already rolling in.

Captaincy experiment failing.

Great player, not a leader.

Beside him, Hayden’s phone buzzed. He glanced down, his jaw working. “They’re already posting clips.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, his voice low. “They are very fast when they smell blood.”

On screen, the interviewer delivered the final, carefully crafted blow. “One last question. Do you ever worry that trying to be everything for everyone might hold you back as a captain?”

“No,” Shane said, his voice steady but with a rawness at the edges only Ilya would hear. “I worry more about letting people down if I don’t try.”

Hayden swore under his breath.

The interview ended seconds later. Shane smiled, thanked her, and the feed cut back to two commentators already beginning their dissection.

A charged silence filled the living room.

Ilya’s phone buzzed again. He opened the app.

Hayden did the same beside him.

They looked at each other over the tops of their phones. 

Ilya would have liked nothing more than to burn the studio down through his phone.

He stared at the scrolling takes, thumb hovering over the keyboard. It would be so easy. One post. One perfectly aimed sentence from his verified account. He could dismantle the interviewer’s tone, the framing, the lazy narrative. He could publicly say that Shane Hollander was his, that he knew exactly how hard Shane worked, how much he carried, how carefully he chose every word because he cared too much to be careless.

He didn’t.

Because Shane wouldn’t like it. Because you didn’t drop something like that without talking first, no matter how badly you wanted to watch the internet implode - especially with the way Shane’s Instagram comments were already a war zone of thirst and bad opinions.

Ilya exhaled through his nose and locked his phone.

Beside him, Hayden did the opposite.

“Oh, I’m not letting that slide,” Hayden said, already typing. 

Ilya watched him with interest as Hayden’s thumbs moved fast and angry, the way they did right before a fight. Hayden hit post with a decisive jab.

“There,” Hayden said, smug already. “Let’s see them chew on that.”

Ilya peeked.

Anyone questioning Shane Hollander’s leadership has never been in a locker room with him. Or on the ice. Or in reality. Try harder.

Hayden leaned back, satisfied, arms crossed like he’d just won a battle. “Well,” he added, glancing sideways, “look who’s on the front foot now.”

Ilya snorted despite himself. “You are very proud.”

“As I should be,” Hayden said. “Whole world knows I’m his best friend. What about you, huh?”

Ilya smiled.

“Do not worry,” he said. “I have… resources.”

Hayden squinted. “What kind of resources?”

Ilya unlocked his phone again. His screen lit up - not one account, but many. He scrolled casually.

Hayden stared. “Why do you have several burner accounts?”

“Many reasons.”

Hayden leaned closer. “Why do they all follow Shane?”

Ilya tilted the phone away. “Is not important.”

“You stalk him?”

“Observe,” Ilya corrected. “Also report.”

He began typing, switching between accounts with alarming speed. Report. Reply. Mute. Block. Another reply. Someone’s comment disappeared.

Hayden watched, horrified and impressed. “Dude,” he said slowly. “You’re insane.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “But effective.”

Hayden’s phone buzzed again. Notifications piling up. His tweet was spreading. Fans were arguing. Defending. Quote-tweeting with screenshots and caps lock.

Ilya looked at Hayden. “Do you remember the miso-glazed eggplant grain bowls?”

Hayden frowned. “The… from the cooking class?”

“Yes.”

“The one where you almost burned the place down and gave us all salmonella?”

“Details are unimportant.”

Hayden hesitated, then shrugged. “Yeah. Kinda. Why?”

Ilya stood, brushing toddler lint from his shirt. “We should make them.”

Hayden blinked. “Now?”

“For Shane,” Ilya said. “And the ginger ale soda. He likes it when he is stressed.”

Hayden stared at him for a long moment.

Then he pushed himself off the couch. “Fine,” he grunted. “But if we poison him, Jackie will literally murder us both.”

Ilya’s mouth quirked. “Then we must be very careful not to poison him.”

They moved into the kitchen together as two men with a shared purpose, armed with knives, a questionable recipe, and a furious devotion.

For Shane.