Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Hayden Pike, Yuna Hollander, Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Good Friend Rose Landry, Protective Yuna Hollander, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Awkwardness, Bruises, Top Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Sub Shane Hollander, Dom Ilya Rozanov, Face-Fucking, I need you people to know I wrote this in class, Shoutout ANTH for being boring af, There is smut but that is NOT the point, just go with it, and it's minimal because I wrote it in class, Ilya Rozanov Being an Asshole, But only to Hayden, who honestly maybe deserved it, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Choking Kink, Long-Suffering Hayden Pike, Sexual Free Use

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-01 Words: 3,031 Chapters: 1/1

3 times people worry about Shane (+1 time they really don't have to)

Summary

“I thought you were okay with this. With us. I know…” Shane trails off
“Of course I’m not okay with this - he’s fucking hurting you Shane.” Yuna takes the opportunity to finally say it outright. She doesn’t hide the vitriol in her tone.
“Wha-” Shane’s eyes get wide. Something like comprehension crosses his face. His eyes dart down to the bruise on his wrist. “Oh.” If possible, his face gets redder still. Yuna frowns. “No, mom, he’s not- uh- hurting me. Like that.”
What? “Did somebody else give you that bruise then?” Yuna feels a bit hysterical. Has Rozanov Stockholm Syndromed her son?
“No,” Shane grits out, “it was, uh, Ilya. It was just. You know. Like. Um.”
And suddenly Yuna understands. She understands all too well. She understands more than she had ever wanted to about her son.
"Oh."

Notes

Listen. Listen. Did I say I was going to stop writing so I could lock in for finals? Yes. But like. It's important to have hobbies. Or something. So. Here we are. With whatever this is.

1: Yuna

Yuna walks up to Shane’s cottage for dinner at 5pm sharp. She hasn’t quite formed an opinion on this new version of Rozanov, but is hopeful that this dinner, being planned, will help. On one hand, she can see that clearly he and Shane do like each other, but on the other hand, it's hard to forget a decade of hating the guy. When Shane answers the door, he has changed. He’s wearing a Metros hoodie now. Ilya wears a flannel that Yuna is pretty sure belongs to Shane as well.

Everything is going well, all things considered, and they’re having a pleasant enough conversation at the dinner table. Then Shane reaches across the table and his sleeve rides up, and Yuna feels the world fall out from under her. She catches sight of a bruise. Shane hasn’t been on the ice in weeks. It was only a glimpse but Yuna caught the distinct shape - like fingers had been wrapped around it. This isn’t something she’s ever considered. Shane is a hockey player. He’s a strong guy. But compared to Rozanov-

As happy as Shane looks, he’s always been good at concealing his emotions. And this is Ilya Rozanov, known womanizer playboy. Asshole. Her son’s rival. Her mind provides an unhelpful highlight reel of every nasty, barely-legal hit Shane’s taken from Rozanov throughout the years. Does Shane even want this relationship? Does he feel trapped?

Yuna is never not pragmatic. She keeps her voice measured.

“Shane, could we talk outside for a minute?” she asks. Shane and Ilya exchange a glance. Ilya squeezes the back of Shane’s neck. Possessive. Yuna tries not to glare. She needs to get her son away from this man as soon as possible. Shane nods, standing, and follows her out.

They walk down the grass to the dock in silence. Yuna wonders if Shane knows what this is about. They stand on the wooden boards and look out at the lake for a moment.

“What did you want to talk about?” Shane asks eventually. Yuna doesn’t know how to start. She abruptly grabs his arm and pushes up his sleeve. His wrist is clearly bruised, all purple and red. Clearly recent. 

“Mom” Shane looks uncomfortable. His tone is wary.

“Shane,” Yuna breathes, and her eyes are wet. She grazes a finger across the bruise. Shane yanks his hand away. “Shane, I can help you. This isn’t- I know you must be scared but I can help keep him away from you” she stops talking because what do you even say when you find out that your child is, what, being abused? In an abusive relationship? Fuck.

“What?” Shane still looks uncomfortable and his face is bright red but now he also looks confused. “Keep who away from me?”

Isn’t it obvious? “Rozanov.”

At that, Shane becomes guarded. Fuck. Yuna is messing this up. “I thought you were okay with this. With us. I know…” Shane trails off

“Of course I’m not okay with this - he’s fucking hurting you Shane.” Yuna takes the opportunity to finally say it outright. She doesn’t hide the vitriol in her tone.

“Wha-” Shane’s eyes get wide. Something like comprehension crosses his face. His eyes dart down to the bruise on his wrist. “Oh.” If possible, his face gets redder still. Yuna frowns. “No, mom, he’s not- uh- hurting me. Like that.”

What? “Did somebody else give you that bruise then?” Yuna feels a bit hysterical. Has Rozanov Stockholm Syndromed her son?

“No,” Shane grits out, “it was, uh, Ilya. It was just. You know. Like. Um.”

And suddenly Yuna understands. She understands all too well. She understands more than she had ever wanted to about her son. 

“Oh,” She says, hating how strangled she must sound but unable to do anything about it.

“Yeah. So.” Shane shuffles his feet awkwardly, looking like he wants to jump into the lake and never come up for air.

They walk back up to the cottage in silence and vow to never talk about this ever again.

2: Hayden

Hayden has been working really hard to be chill about the whole Shane-dating-Ilya-fucking-Rozanov thing. Shane being gay is good. Chill. Such a non-issue Hayden can’t even express how much it doesn’t bother him. But in the two weeks since Hayden’s found out about Rozanov, he’s kind of been losing his shit. 

It just doesn’t make sense. Rozanov is brash and aggressive and an asshole and Shane is just. Like. A guy. A normal, anxious, easily flustered guy. The two of them just don’t fit. Granted, Hayden hasn’t actually seen them interact either. But still. 

The Metros had a rare long weekend off, and Shane had disappeared for all three of them, even skipping an optional practice. He had disappeared to visit Rozanov. In Ottawa. Fucking crazy.

Now, Shane is back, but something is wrong. He’s moving stiffly, wincing when he gets slammed into the boards, even lightly. The guys notice, and after mild chirping, Shane claims to have pushed himself a bit too hard on a workout. Hayden doesn’t buy it. He resolves to wait in the locker room, and force his best friend to hang out with him afterwards.

Shane is the last guy to use the shower. He’s been doing that since he came out to the team. Hayden wishes he didn’t feel like he had to. Shane exits the shower with just a towel around his waist and Hayden tries not to feel like he’s lurking from the corner he has tucked himself into to wait. He’s about to announce his presence when he sees Shane’s back.

Lines and lines of scratches cross each other. What looks like a fucking bite mark on his shoulder. Hayden tries not to stare but Shane’s ass is bruised. Handprints stand out on his hips in deep purple shades.

And the thing is, Hayden isn’t stupid. He knows that if he confronts Shane about this, Shane will shut down. Hayden will never get an answer. He doesn’t need one anyways. It’s clear what this is. Ilya Rozanov, dickwad extraordinaire, did this to Shane. And Hayden knows his friend. He knows that there is no way Shane is into that sort of thing - hell, the guy can’t even bear to hear their teammates talk about getting blowjobs. 

In his shock, he forgot to say anything, and Shane walks out of the locker room without noticing Hayden at all.

There’s only one thing to do. Hayden texts JJ for Wyatt Hayes’ number. Those guys are friends, for whatever reason. He texts Hayes for Rozanov’s address. Says it's about the camps.  Everyone buys it. Nobody questions why Hayden wouldn’t just ask Shane.

 Four hours later Hayden is pulling up to Rozanov’s house in Ottawa and, ready to break the guy’s fucking nose. Or worse. He’ll make sure the Russian never bothers Shane again. And yeah, Shane will probably be mad at first, but once time passes he will realize that Hayden did a good thing here.

Hayden knocks on the door and a shirtless Ilya Rozanov opens it. Rozanov looks surprised and confused and maybe a little concerned.

“Pike, what-” Hayden shuts him up by punching him in the face. Ilya reels back, clutching his nose. Blood flows. “What the fuck, Pike?” he yells.

“That’s what you get for fucking with my best fucking friend, asshole.”

“I do not know what you’re talking about Pike. Fuck.” Rozanov grabs tissues from a nearby box and presses them to his face with a wince.

“Yes you fucking do - those marks? Don’t think you can get away with that shit just because nobody knows about you guys. Shane deserves fucking better.”

“Wait” Rozanov says, and suddenly he looks smug, almost. “You think that Shane is, what, unhappy? That I don’t treat him how he needs?”

“I don’t think anyone needs to be treated like that Rozanov. Fucking hell. He was limping at practice.”

Rozanov smirks. Motherfucker. Hayden wants to punch him again. He fucking enjoys knowing that Shane is hurting.

“Did he complain?”

“No. Of course not. You know he wouldn’t.”

Rozanov hums. Raises an eyebrow. 

“Do not worry so much, Pike. Shane is a grown man, big scary hockey player. He can, what is the saying? Give as good as he gets?” Rozanov turns around to reenter his house. “Is good you came, though. Shane forgot his sweater here. You can bring it back for him. Come.”

Somehow, Hayden finds himself following Rozanov deeper into the man’s house. He notices, then, for the first time, Rozanov has his own fair share of marks. Scratches on his back that mirror Shane’s. Two twin bruises on his shoulders. Handprints. And like. Just so many hickies and bite marks. Way more than anyone can actually possibly find pleasant. 

Oh.

Hayden gets back to his car as fast as he possibly can. Shane’s hoodie is folded neatly on the passenger seat. Maybe, he reflects, he doesn’t know his friend as well as he thought. And maybe he doesn’t need to, at least in this respect.

3: Rose

Rose always appreciates when she can take a few days out of her busy schedule to hang out with Shane. After his wedding to Ilya Rozanov (which, for the record, holy shit), she had seized the opportunity to spend a few extra days at Shane’s cottage. It’s been nice to see Shane like this - relaxed. 

Except. Well. He doesn’t seem as relaxed as she would expect. Shane keeps checking his phone and frowning and it’s concerning, to say the least. When Shane gets up to grab them drinks, Rose takes a moment to be a horrible friend. She snoops on his texts.

Ilya: One hour

Shane: Ilya. No.

Ilya: Ilya yes, you mean

Shane: I’m hanging out with Rose!!!

Ilya: Invite her

Shane: Fuck you

Ilya: We both know you prefer the other way around

Ilya: And we both know that in 45 minutes you will be on your knees for me

Shane: I won’t be

Ilya: Home in thirty minutes.

Shane: Rose is still here Ilya. You’re not doing this.

Shane: Ilya.

Ilya: Ten minutes. Might want to start prepping for me. I won’t have the patience to do it when I get there.

Shane: Ilya please. Just wait until Rose goes home, at least.

Ilya: No. 

Ilya: Five minutes.

Ilya: I hope you’re ready for me.

The sound of keys in a lock startles Rose, and she jumps, quickly putting the phone back where she found it. Shane comes back at that moment, passing her a cup of tea. Rose accepts it with a tight smile, but the expression falls as Ilya walks into the room.

Ilya, who’s been pressuring Shane into sex that he clearly doesn’t want. Married or not, that isn’t something Rose will stand by and let happen.

“Shane,” Ilya greets him, kissing his cheek. He nods politely to Rose with a charming smile. Rose refuses to let it work on her. “My love,” Ilya continues, “can you help me with something quickly? It’s just in my car.”

“In your car?” Shane clearly blanches, face turning red. 

“Yes,” Ilya replies with a wolfish grin. He looks so fucking smug, and Rose is going to say something. She is going to call Ilya out for this fucking atrocious behavoir. She is going to tell Shane that he doesn’t have to put up with this. She is going to slap Rozanov across the face and say that no means no, actually. In case he forgot. 

But then Shane’s blush deepens and his mouth breaks out into a cheeky grin of his own.

“And you can’t possibly do it on your own?” he asks, and what the fuck because is Shane Hollander flirting? He seems to be. Not that she would know. He never flirted with her. Not well enough for her to notice, at least. But this? With that smile and those eyes and the way he’s practically salivating? 

“No,” says Ilya, “is very, uh, hard task.”

“Well then, uh,” Shane turns to Rose “I’m just going to help Ilya, um, really quick. Be right back.” He flashes her a tight grin and Rose nods in what she hopes is an innocent matter. She can feel her eye twitching. What the actual fuck? Thirty seconds later she hears a crash followed by a shout that could very well be a moan, and promptly decides that this is a great time to listen to some music. She grabs her airpods and plays literally anything as loud as she can.

Good for Shane, she thinks. Good for Ilya, too. 

 

+1: Shane

Shane walks into the house the night after scoring his first hattrick as an Ottawa Centaur, and he’s unsure if Ilya will have beaten him home or not. They had driven to the rink together, but it was an afternoon game, and afterwards Ilya had a meeting with Wiebe and Shane had an appointment with Farah across the city. Shane had taken the car, and Ilya would uber. He doesn’t notice any particular indicators of Ilya’s presence, and so he heads to the home gym. He’s exhausted after the marathon of a day, but some yoga would be good for his aching muscles. 

Shane unrolls a mat and assumes his first pose, breathing deeply. He gets lost in the headspace. Meditation has always been good for him on busy days like this. He doesn’t notice Ilya until the man’s hands are around his waist, his chin hooked on Shane’s shoulder.

“You scored a hattrick today,” Ilya growls in Shane’s ear. “I did not tell you earlier, but it was very hot.”

“Oh yeah?” Shane asks, already breathless. It would be annoying how easily Ilya can get him turned on, but he loves it too much.

“Yes.” Ilya says, and then without preamble he bites into Shane’s shoulder hard enough to bleed. “Been wanting to do that since the second period.”

“Fuck-” Shane gasps out. Ilya’s tongue circles the area, lapping away the blood. He presses kisses over the spot, slowly making his way up Shane’s neck and to his jaw.

“I’m going to destroy you Hollander,” Ilya promises, voice low with arousal, “just like how you destroyed Seattle.”

“I mean,” Shane tries to quip despite the growing haze that is overtaking his thoughts, “I hope not just like how I destroyed Seattle.”

Ilya hums, a breathy chuckle, “You are right. I don’t think Seattle came even once.”

With that, Ilya spins him around so that Shane is pressed with his chest to the wall and his back to Ilya. He shoves four finders in Shane’s mouth, and Shane smiles around them. Relishing in the stretch. This is good. This is what he fucking needs. It’s a thousand times better than yoga and meditation.

Ilya’s other hand comes up to Shane’s throat, squeezing softly. Shane groans, pushing into the hand. He needs more. He needs so much more. Ilya presses his bulge up against Shane’s ass, grinding hard. 

“Fuck,” Ilya gasps, “you fucking love this, don’t you?”

Shane nods desperately. Ilya yanks the hand out of his mouth, quickly pushing his shorts down below the cleft of his ass and smacking it hard, squeezing Shane’s throat as he does so.

“Ilya, please,” Shane begs.

“Please what?” Ilya taunts him, and Shane hates how good it is.

“Please. Anything. Whatever you want.” It’s always like this. Shane begging Ilya to take away the burden of choice. To let him check out, for a moment. 

Ilya’s eyes darken. “Get on your knees, Shane.”

Shane drops so fast he surprises himself, even after all these years. 

Ilya takes off his pants and winds his fingers in Shane’s hair, looking down at him.  “I’m going to fuck your face, yes?”

Shane feels tears in his eyes with how much he wants it. Opens his mouth and leans forwards, but Ilya holds him back.

“Words, my love.” he demands.

“Yes, Ilya, please.”

And then Ilya’s cock is in his mouth and Shane’s mind goes quiet in that simple delicious way. The world is a beautiful place. He moves his tongue and sucks on muscle memory. He breathes when Ilya lets him. Everything that matters is reduced to Ilya’s hands in his hair moving his head up and down, and Ilya’s cock in his mouth. Somewhere above Shane, Ilya is cursing out praise in two different languages, but it floats over his head. He feels the muscles in his throat stretching to accommodate Ilya, and allows Ilya to use his mouth at a rough, breakneck pace.

He loves this. Loves having his mouth and throat full. He loves it so much he doesn’t even feel self-conscious when he begins to cry. Ilya takes a hand out of his hair to brush away the tears, and Shane leans into the warm touch. A moment later Ilya slaps him across the cheek, and it pushes Shane over the edge. He hadn’t even realized he was hard, but now he’s coming untouched in his shorts.

“Fuck, Shane, you’re so good. So good for me. Taking it so well.” Ilya says, and half a second later Shane is swallowing him down, grinning. This is his favourite part. When he can taste the proof that he did a good job for Ilya. 

Ilya pulls out, and sinks to Shane’s level. Shane’s jaw aches in the way that makes him think he’ll feel it in the morning. His eyes are glassy and he feels nothing but peace. Ilya kisses him, and it is nothing like the rough treatment from moments before. It’s soft and sweet. It’s perfect.

“I love you,” Ilya whispers.

Shane smiles wetly. “I love you too, Ilya. So much. Fuck.”

Ilya has a hand on his chin, thumb hovering over Shane’s swollen lower lip. “Was good? Not too much?”

Shane shakes his head. “It was good. Really good. Thank you.”

Ilya laughs. “I should thank you. My beautiful husband scores three goals today and when I come home he begs to suck my dick… I am a very lucky man, I think.”

“Yeah, well,” Shane smiles, kissing the side of Ilya’s mouth, “we both are.”