Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Episode: s01e05 I'll Believe in Anything (Heated Rivalry), Missing Scene, Room 1217, Smut, Romance, Internal Conflict, post-angst, Metaphors, Canon Compliant, Swooning, One Shot, Falling In Love

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Hollanov, 2017

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-07 Words: 7,337 Chapters: 1/1

Glitter Bomb

Summary

Tampa, Florida. Room 1217.

In between fade out and fade in, Ilya Rozanov lets the fire burn and Shane Hollander lets the storm surge.

A few hours in a hotel room can change you.

Notes

*I'm only working with TV canon. It's my comfort zone. My wheelhouse.
*Please accept my humble offering to this beloved topic
*Thanks to everyone who read my first fic, you helped encourage me to keep going even though it's scary
*Thanks to everyone who reads this one
*HR has really inspired me to write again for the first time in years and I am forever grateful

Shane Hollander was holding Ilya Rozanov like no one had since his mother. Ilya couldn’t remember the last time, exactly, but the memory that sprung to mind was her rushing into his bedroom after he’d had a nightmare. He’d been in a ship that was sinking and none of the adults were helping him. Ilya remembered not wanting his father to know he’d had a bad dream. She'd held him until he fell back asleep.

That was a long time ago. All of Ilya’s skin cells had turned over hundreds of times since then. His hair and nails had been grown and cut, grown and cut, grown and cut. Was there still any part of him left that knew, that had literally actually felt, his mother’s touch? 

If not, then no part of him had ever been held like this before.  

All those parts of himself, the pieces that are present and accounted for today, in room 1217, were being held together by Shane Hollander’s embrace.  

Shane was in his lap and kissing his lips and wiping his tears, and Ilya was overwhelmed. Now that it was happening, Ilya was forced to admit the fact that the last few months had been some of the hardest of his life, which felt like a cosmic joke. Now that Shane was here, and back, and different somehow, Ilya had to fess up to himself, had to give up the ghost — what he’d been dealing with was heartbreak. 

Shane Hollander broke his fucking heart.  

Planning for this weekend had been impossible. Too many variables. Shane with Rose and sickeningly in love? (Fuck). Shane with Rose but flirting with Ilya? (Hollander would not do this). Shane alone but not interested? (Motherfuck). Shane alone and…Ilya tried not to consider it.  

With so many unknowns, Ilya had to default to controlling the one thing he knew he could: himself. His plan was the same no matter what — be un-fucking bothered, watch Shane Hollander like a fucking hawk, and always, always take the temperature of every interaction. 

Luckily, the Shane Thermometer reached maximum heat by the time he got up from that barstool on Day 1. Ilya just didn’t know what it meant. Shane Hollander seemed confident in a way that was new. He told Ilya he was pulling off his stupid Hawaiian shirt and luckily they were interrupted or Ilya Rozanov would have kissed him on the mouth he’d been staring at since Shane sat down. Ilya wanted to say, "I missed you," but wouldn’t. He still felt too fragile and unsure of the situation. But by not letting the thought out, it repeated in his head like a song you couldn’t shake. I missed you I missed you I missed you I missed you. 

Ilya wanted to put his hands in Shane’s hair. He wanted to graze Shane’s cheeks. He wanted to call Shane “Shane.” I missed you. 

Instead, he fidgeted. Instead, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Instead, he allowed himself the pleasure of flirting with Shane Hollander in public. I missed you. At the bar. I missed you. At the pool. I missed you. At a team party where every time he looked up, Shane was already looking at him. I missed you. I missed you. He looked up the word “compatible.” I missed you. He built the emotional case against his logical brain flirt by flirt, glance by glance, but the logic of his — of their — situation still had a tenuous grip. 

…Until Ilya Rozanov saw stars and rainbows and unicorns and hearts on the ice at the All-Star Game. They were trailing behind Shane Hollander like a jet stream. A firework exploded in his mind as his lips met Shane’s helmet. When Shane held his gaze afterwards, for far too long, he was done for. I fucking missed you. 

Ilya Rozanov felt googly-eyed.  

His googly-eyes carried him to the beach, to a stolen touch in public with the downing sun on their faces. Which led to Shane Hollander being wrapped around him while he cried about his dead mother and sick father, and Ilya Rozanov was scared.  

The thing is, Ilya believed Shane. Ilya believed that Shane liked him “a little too much” and the fact of that belief is what was terrifying. Because Ilya did. Feel it too. And he didn’t want to think about if he wanted to be something, because they couldn’t be.  

But none of his attempts at deflecting or excusing changed the fact that Ilya Rozanov’s heart was on fire. 

Ilya finally loosened his grip on Shane so he could look the arsonist in the face. 

I fucking missed you.

 “Hollander,” he started. But Shane’s face captivated him. In Ilya’s eyes, Shane Hollander was sparkling. Shane’s freckles, his eyelashes, his irises all seemed to be flecked with gold and Ilya Rozanov couldn’t tear his eyes away. His breath caught.

Shane ran a hand through Ilya’s hair before gripping onto the back of his curls. “Rozanov?” he said with a bit of a coy smirk.  

Ilya finally reached up and brushed his thumb over the shimmer dancing across Shane’s face. He was touching something precious. Porcelain that wouldn’t break. A garment perfectly tailored to Ilya’s measurements so the fit was unparalleled and only he could ever wear it.  

Shane Hollander was a luxury item. 

Shane Hollander was bespoke. 

When their lips met, Ilya’s mouth filled with rubies that he would rather choke on than lose again. I missed you I missed you I missed you I missed you I missed you I missed you I missed you.

Shane Hollander tasted expensive and hard-earned. Ilya inhaled him. 

Ilya Rozanov couldn’t bring himself to tell Shane he missed him. And he couldn’t tell him he felt what Shane felt. But Ilya could show him, could communicate through the language they’d been speaking since they were 19 years old. 

They had gotten so good at undressing each other, after years of practice, that Shane pulled off Ilya’s shirt and barely lost track of his lips, landing on them before the fabric had fully cleared the path. Ilya worked Shane’s buttons as Shane pulled him deeper into the kiss. When his shirt was off, Ilya ran one hand up Shane’s back and into his hair, silk between his fingers. The other hand rested gently on the front of Shane’s throat. Ilya could feel him swallow. Their noses nuzzled and nestled. I missed you.

Shane made a noise and the sound vibrated under Ilya’s hand. It made his dick throb. He was so hungry for Shane Hollander, it hurt. I missed you.

He let his hand trail from Shane’s throat down. Ilya was still taking the temperature and wanted to make sure they were on the same page after their different, but not unrelated, confessions. 

Shane was just as hard as he was. Ilya rubbed the head of Shane’s dick through his shorts. 

It felt greedy, but Ilya wondered if Shane prepared for this. Ending up here now felt inevitable, but he’d spent the last few weeks living in a giant question mark. He needed to know what he could do to Shane Hollander. He let Shane lick his upper lip, and asked, “Can I have you?”

Shane broke the kiss and rubbed his face all over Ilya’s, burrowing into his neck and panting, “You can have me however you want.”

The knowledge that Shane had anticipated this, planned for it, wanted it, caused the fire in Ilya’s heart to spread. He thought if Shane looked into his eyes hard enough, he’d see smoke. 

Ilya grabbed Shane’s face with one hand.  “You got ready for me?”

He nodded. “I've been ready since the night we got here. Fuck me up, Rozanov.”

Ilya Rozanov was burning alive. 

***

Shane Hollander was exactly where he wanted to be, which was being thrown onto a bed by Ilya Rozanov. Shane put in a lot of work to get here, not just on Ilya, though that too — but on himself. 

Shane Hollander was operating with a freedom and clarity he’d never had in his entire life and he felt fucking great. He had, of course, been nervous to come to Tampa and see Ilya, and more nervous still coming to this room to talk to Ilya, but that’s all it was, was nerves. He never wavered in his intention, which was to say out loud one of the two most important things he’d learned about himself because of Rose Landry — that he was gay. It was true, and he needed to tell someone.

The other thing he would keep to himself, but could now think it as freely as he pleased: I’m in love with Ilya Rozanov. 

Thinking it was thrilling. Thinking it made him smile. He loved when his mom, or Hayden, caught him and asked what he was thinking about, because it was always Ilya. It was a secret that made him feel warm and full now, instead of scared and defensive. It’s not that the thought never hurt — it often hurt plenty. Having these realizations after walking out on Ilya and dating someone else filled him with grief and worry that he’d damaged this…thing, this situation with Ilya, beyond repair. But more than anything, there was a relief to it, a relief to the knowing and understanding. Like the anxiety of waiting for medical test results — when the call comes, even if it’s bad news, at least you know.

At least Shane knew. 

And it allowed him to smile now at the Russian menace pulling off his underwear and think, I am so in love with you. 

The thought was constant over the last few days. The look on Ilya's face when Shane told him he hired a stylist? I’m in love with you. Watching Ilya climb out of the pool? I’m so in love with you, and also are you serious? At one team party, Shane watched Ilya from across the room. He watched Ilya sip his drink, and tell an animated story, and laugh, and ruffle the hair of one of his Boston teammates. Watching that beauty exist felt voyeuristic. God, I’m in love with you.

He couldn’t tear his eyes off Ilya Rozanov, and no longer cared that Ilya caught him staring every time. It just meant Ilya was looking at him too. Shane wanted Ilya to look at him. 

For the first time in their relationship (another word Shane was no longer afraid of, because relationships can take all forms and textures, and what they had together definitely had a form and a texture), Shane seemed to be the less anxious one. At the bar, Ilya had been fidgety and fluttery and hard to pin down. It took Shane way too long to realize Ilya was nervous. That he, Shane Hollander, was making Ilya Rozanov nervous. It made Shane feel powerful in a way he never had before. Because along with the “I’m gay” acceptance and the “I’m in love” epiphany, came another — Ilya Rozanov was so fucking hot and so fucking cool and Shane could not believe he had the absolute privilege of getting fucked by him for the last seven years. Living in denial almost made him miss appreciating it and Ilya Rozanov deserved to be appreciated.

He also couldn't believe he was capable of causing the face Ilya was making right now, looking down at Shane naked on the bed, propped up on his elbows. Ilya's eyes were blazing, and he seemed to be made out of jawline. And Shane was the reason for it. 

Shane Hollander had been keeping the world’s biggest secret for years and so he never once worried about blurting out “I love you” to Ilya Rozanov, even when he was thinking it right to his face. 

Except.

When Ilya kissed his helmet at the All-Star Game, Shane almost lost all sense of reason. It was like the noise fell away and everything around them went dark. Thousands of people disappeared and it was just Shane and Ilya, on the ice, having fun. Shane had been having more fun with Ilya than he’d maybe had in years. They made eyes at each other, and “I love you” almost slipped out of Shane’s mouth as naturally as anything. 

Shane watched Ilya pull down and step out of his own pants and underwear, and now a naked Ilya Rozanov was staring at him. He was a work of art. Shane had a moment of painful regret that he ever walked away from this, but there was no use in dwelling on it. Ilya was here, in front of him. Shane took it all in and made no secret of looking him up and down. The curve where Ilya’s neck met his shoulder; the way his massive chest tapered down and narrowed to a defined V above his hard cock; thighs so thick and strong, Shane often longed to be crushed between them. 

Ilya hadn’t touched him yet, and Shane was about to reach out himself when Ilya suddenly pivoted, walked over to his suitcase and started shuffling things around. He heard zippers opening and closing. Ilya Rozanov never unpacked his suitcase; Shane Hollander always did. 

Ilya returned and threw condoms and lube onto the bed before maintaining his standing position in front of Shane. 

“You came prepared for me, too,” Shane said and smiled.

Ilya pulled at his nose and sniffed, looking away. “I came prepared to hook up. Not necessarily with you.”

Shane Hollander refused to take the bait. He was not ready to tell Ilya Rozanov he was in love with him — he wasn’t ready to say it, and he certainly didn’t think Ilya was ready to hear it. But he was determined to start pushing back on Ilya’s shit. Because he was 99.9% sure it was all posturing and denial. Shane would know. 

Ilya Rozanov had consistently moved their relationship forward, sometimes inch by inch while dragging Shane in handcuffs, heels dug in. Now it was Shane’s turn. Shane could be the brave one. He would be. For Ilya.

So once again, Shane Hollander said, “Bullshit.” He placed a foot on Ilya’s inner thigh and started moving it up. Ilya still hadn’t touched him. 

“Is not bullshit. I’m responsible. I come prepared. And I always hook up. So.” He pulled at his nose again. A tell.

“I think it was, necessarily, for me. I think you hoped just like I hoped. I know I packed, and planned, and prepped for you. Not for anyone else.” Shane placed the flat sole of his foot against Ilya’s dick and pressed his hard-on into his abs. 

Ilya closed his eyes and placed both his hands over Shane’s foot. He muttered a low “Fuck,” and his breathing picked up before saying, “Fine, Hollander. You win. You’re right. I missed….” Shane began rubbing with his foot. “...this. I missed seeing you naked in my bed. I missed fucking you.” 

“And I fucking missed you.”

Ilya’s eyes opened. They looked at each other.

The line between “I missed fucking you” and “I fucking missed you” was razor thin and they both fucking knew it.

Ilya lifted Shane’s foot off his dick and took it in his hands, one hand cupping the heel, the other stroking the top. He held it like it was a delicate thing. “Oh, so you didn’t miss fucking me?” He looked devilish. His eyes were doing that thing where they danced around, seeking something about or inside Shane. It drove him wild. 

“That’s not what I said. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Shane felt like he was talking too slow. He couldn’t look away from Ilya’s gaze, and felt like maybe he’d been hypnotized by it.

“I can put something else in your mouth.”

“Promise?”

Shane Hollander made Ilya Rozanov blush. Thrilling. I fucking love you.

Ilya was still rubbing the top of Shane’s foot lightly. They seemed to be locked in a staring contest. “Mmmm, maybe. But maybe if you tell me what you did miss, maybe I will do that instead.”

Over the years, Shane had attempted to not think about Ilya Rozanov too much between encounters. It was less about pretending it wasn’t all happening, and more about stuffing down the feelings that were brewing like a storm in his heart. It would not have been productive or helpful for Shane to pine. Much.

But over the last few months, Shane let the storm surge. He retraced every touch and sound and position and kiss. He planted a whole forest of pines and got lost in it. He built a mental Rolodex that he went over daily and felt he could recall with perfect clarity every sticky moment he’d spent with Ilya Rozanov. He flipped through it now to its most thumbed and dog-eared entries. 

A smile flitted across Shane’s face when he found the one. “The feel of your hand. On my head. Holding me down while you fuck me. That’s what I missed the most. Can you do that for me, Rozanov?”

“Eventually.” Then Ilya lifted Shane’s foot up to his face and pressed a reverent kiss to the bottom of Shane’s toes.

***

Shane Hollander missed me. 

Ilya Rozanov had never, ever been compelled to kiss someone’s feet before and once he started he couldn’t stop. He wanted to kiss every inch of Shane Hollander, wanted to smear red lipstick on so he could tell no whisper of glowing skin had gone untouched. And Shane would look burned from the fire raging inside of him. 

***

It thundered in Shane’s heart. A clap for every time Ilya’s lips touched a new part of him. The arch of his foot. 

Boom.

The inside of his ankle.

Boom.

The bottom of his shin, on top of a small scar he got as a kid from walking through a rose bush with especially sharp thorns. 

Boom.

Shane didn’t know which was better, being fucked by Ilya Rozanov or being adored by him. At least now he could appreciate he was lucky enough to get both.

***

Ilya kissed Shane’s knee and raised his eyes up. Shane was still propped up on his elbows, watching him. He saw storm clouds in Shane’s eyes. Shane’s cock was throbbing and leaking. It made Ilya’s mouth water.

***

Shane Hollander inhaled through his teeth as Ilya Rozanov clamped down on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and started sucking. Shane laid back because he could finally get his fingers in Ilya’s hair. He wrapped them up there while Ilya leeched off of him, pulling the bad blood from Shane’s body and balancing his humors. This was more than a love bite. This was a bloodletting.

***

Ilya kissed the mark he left on Shane and then ran a thumb over it. It looked like glitter. It would be there for days, sparkling inside Shane's pants, and Ilya knew he would think about it constantly. “I want a picture of this, Hollander. Every day. Until it’s gone.”

***

An invitation. A demand. 

Even at their hottest and heaviest, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov did not text every day. 

They were doing something new. 

Shane felt Ilya’s hand slide up, cupping Shane’s balls before wrapping around his dick. He had barely been touched and thought he was about to explode.

“Wait, wait,” he said. Ilya immediately stopped what he was doing. Shane let go of Ilya’s hair to prop himself up again. “Fuck.” 

The beautiful, naked man sprawled over his right leg said, “Okey? Hey? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong exactly but you’re so fucking hot and I’m about to come all over you if you keep doing that.”

Ilya blushed again. “Is not problem for me.”

“Is problem for me. I wanna come while you’re inside me.”

“Mm. Well. I’m not ready to fuck you yet. I’m only halfway through what I was doing and I don’t think you’re going to make it.” Ilya kissed his thigh again. “Do you think you can come twice for me?”

Shane Hollander wanted to come as many times as Ilya Rozanov could make him. “Yes. I think so. Maybe. Probably. But I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“No,” Ilya said, kissing Shane’s hip bone. “If you don’t, I will have disappointed you. Please stay like that so I can watch you. I won’t be able to see your face next time.” 

***

Ilya Rozanov took Shane in his hand and watched as his mouth fell open and his chin jutted toward the heavens. Ilya studied the rise and fall of the planes of Shane’s chest. A sea of smooth, unkissed skin. Ilya changed the angle of his hand. Shane’s chest rose faster; he was panting. His nose crinkled. His voice was a combination of breath and moan as he said, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come so fucking fast.”

Ilya had never derived so much pleasure from giving pleasure to a person before Shane. He’d never been so content to stew in his own arousal, to draw it out, to watch. Making Shane Hollander come induced euphoria.

***

Shane erupted in Ilya’s hand. He struggled to stay upright (but needed to for Ilya). His back arched. 

***

Ilya Rozanov watched a treasure chest spill out across Shane Hollander’s stomach and chest and neck. He was covered in glistening gems and they were all for Ilya. It was an embarrassment of riches. 

***

Ilya released his grip. Shane could feel him readjusting his position but couldn’t open his eyes just yet. There were stars behind his eyelids. They spelled out I love you I love you I love you.

Ilya was now between Shane’s legs, and Shane could feel Ilya’s hands fluttering across his hip bones. He swooned. His hips were his favorite place for Ilya to touch, to grab. To Shane, it seemed deeply intimate. He blindly reached out a hand to find Ilya’s hair, just as he was lowering himself to kiss Shane in the sensitive corner where his leg met his torso. It felt like a butterfly. Shane smiled.

Ilya moved and kissed the same spot on the other side. 

“Hollander.”

“Mm?”

“Scootch.”

“What?”

“Scootch back. To the headboard. To the pillows. I want you to sit up. Now it’s your turn to watch.”

Shane didn’t know what he was watching, but he couldn’t wait to find out. He propelled himself backwards. Ilya, on his knees, crawled with him, still holding Shane’s hips. 

***

Ilya Rozanov helped Shane sit up and get comfortable on a pile of pillows before laying between his legs again. He wished Shane could always be resting on pillows, underneath Ilya and in life. Shane Hollander deserved a gentle landing. 

Ilya lowered his head and kissed Shane’s hips again, from the outside in. He scraped the bone with his teeth. He felt Shane’s fingers in his hair. Shane’s fingers were always in his hair. I fucking missed you.

He kissed a millimeter north. And another millimeter after that. 

Then Ilya Rozanov used his tongue to lap at the sterling silver and pearl that he coaxed out of Shane’s body. He wanted Shane Hollander coating his tongue and running down his throat. He needed Shane to know. He needed Shane to see what he did to him, what he’d do for him. I missed you.

***

Shane Hollander now understood how love could drive someone mad. Watching Ilya Rozanov lick up his come made him feel completely unhinged — he almost felt a giddy laugh bubble up because a few days ago, he was worried he’d lost Ilya forever. Now Shane felt like he was being worshipped by him. He was unsure what to say in the face of abject devotion other than, “Thank you.” I love you. He cradled Ilya’s head with one hand and rubbed his back with the other. “Please keep going.” I love you. 

***

A drip broke free and rolled towards Shane’s side. Ilya chased it with his tongue. He followed its path back, sucked up the pool in Shane’s belly button and started snaking his way up. Ilya’s plate was made of the finest china and he was licking it clean. 

***

Shane felt like his skin was alive and on fire. He could hear every nerve screaming and wondered if Ilya could hear it too. Every hair was standing on end as Ilya worked his way up, grazing a nipple with his teeth, kissing the center of his chest and putting a hand on the back of Shane’s neck. He could still feel stickiness on his throat and now, already, trusted that Ilya would want it. Shane cocked his head to the side, exposing his arteries like Ilya was a vampire and Shane was offering himself willingly.

***

When Ilya finally sunk into Shane’s neck, he felt Shane nuzzle against his head, a gesture so sweet it made Ilya’s teeth ache. I missed you so fucking much. He fantasized that one day, maybe, he could leave a mark here, instead. He wanted to paint Shane’s throat with glitter, and he wanted everyone to know it was Ilya that did it. 

***

When Ilya’s mouth finally found his again, Shane Hollander tasted himself. He grabbed Ilya’s face and sucked on his tongue. He wanted back whatever remained. He wanted to taste what Ilya tasted.

***

Ilya was being pushed, Shane’s hands pressing against his chest. He rolled and Shane rolled with him. Now Ilya was sitting up against the pillows and Shane was straddling him, face to face. Here, again. They were here an hour ago, when Shane climbed into his lap. And they were here months ago, when Shane walked out on him. Ilya felt himself reflexively tense up. 

But then Shane Hollander was everywhere. 

***

Shane kissed Ilya’s cheekbones and forehead. Shane grabbed Ilya’s biceps. Shane felt Ilya’s chest and ran his thumbs over Ilya’s nipples and relished Ilya’s sigh. He tried to wrap his arms around Ilya and pull Ilya’s hair and trace each muscle on Ilya’s stomach all at once. The storm turned into a tornado. He felt overcome with the need to touch Ilya everywhere, to appreciate every single part of him so maybe Ilya would know that Shane loved him. Maybe if he tried hard enough, Ilya could tell. Ilya Ilya Ilya I love you I love you I love you.

***

Ilya was looking at Shane’s freckles up close. Shane was wrapped around him, lips on his, perfect nose brushing his cheek. And Ilya opened his eyes. The freckles still seemed to glint gold, and Ilya held Shane’s face, watching the sparkle disappear under his thumb. Shane was so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at him this cl–

“God, you’re so beautiful.” 

Ilya froze, and wondered if he’d said that out loud. But no, it was Shane, talking into his mouth. “What?”

Shane pressed his forehead to Ilya’s. “I said you’re beautiful. And I can’t believe I get to…” He trailed off.

Ilya sat up straighter and pulled Shane closer, chest to chest. Shane Hollander called him beautiful. Shane Hollander called him beautiful. Shane Hollander called him beautiful.  “Get to what?” He bumped Shane’s nose with his own as encouragement.

Shane sighed lightly into Ilya’s face. For some reason it made Ilya think of being a kid — of holding a dandelion that had turned to fluff against his cheek before blowing on it.  I fucking missed you. “Get to what?” he asked again.

“Fuck you. I can’t believe I get to fuck you. I missed fucking you, Ilya.”

The fire in Ilya’s heart detonated at the sound of his name. 

***

“And I fucking missed you, Shane.” 

A spark from the lightning in Shane's heart caught and went up. 

***

If their insides were outside, they'd be nothing but flame. 

***

Shane dug his fingernails into Ilya’s back. The kiss was an atomic bomb, the cloud not a mushroom but a heart. Ilya was bending him backwards at the waist. Shane could almost feel Ilya’s legs under his back. He could definitely feel Ilya’s dick pressed against his ass. Shane Hollander needed to fuck Ilya Rozanov urgently. 

The arm around Shane’s waist disappeared and Shane could feel Ilya patting the mattress, seeking the supplies he threw there earlier. The hand on the back of Shane’s neck pulled him upright again and disappeared too. Ilya was fiddling with things but Shane never stopped kissing and scratching and pulling. 

Ilya’s hand moved between them, underneath Shane, and started rubbing one slick finger against Shane’s asshole. He met the sensation with an open-mouthed moan. He tried to focus on Ilya, and there was lust pouring off of his face like a heat haze, all of it pointed directly at Shane Hollander. Ilya slipped the first finger in. “Ffff, yes, fuck, Ilya.” Shane slumped forward and rested his forehead on Ilya’s shoulder. Shane felt Ilya’s free hand on his head, petting him while he whimpered. He couldn’t believe the noises that came out of himself because of Ilya Rozanov. I love you.

***

“Tell me it feels good, Shane,” Ilya murmured into Shane’s ear while he stroked his hair. It was a command, yes, but it was also a secret wish. He needed to know if it felt even half as good for Shane as it did for Ilya. The inside of Shane Hollander was Ilya’s favorite place. 

Shane was all gasp and grasp as he said, “God, yes, it feels good. More, please. Ilya.”

Now that he was hearing his name come out of Shane’s mouth, Ilya Rozanov never wanted another name to cross Shane Hollander’s lips. He wanted to become all the words in Shane’s vocabulary. He wanted to be Shane’s entire alphabet.

Ilya gently shouldered Shane forward so he would sit up more. Ilya wanted to look at him as he pushed a second finger in. 

Everything about Shane turned Ilya on — but almost nothing drove him as crazy as the noises Shane made. Every breathy groan and pant and moan spiked Ilya’s heartrate. Shane’s lips were swollen, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked at Ilya. The sounds were pleading, and the desperation Shane seemed to have for Ilya made him feel feral. 

So when Shane started purring as he stretched open for Ilya, he wanted to capture the sound, record it, pop his headphones on and hit repeat. He wanted to listen to it while lifting weights surrounded by his teammates. He wanted to jerk off to it before he went to bed at night. He wanted to log this idea away for later. 

He wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist for support while Shane rode his fingers, knuckle deep; Shane was doing all the work — Ilya let himself drown in the sensation. 

***

Ilya’s skin looked dewy and glowing — angelic almost. His eyes were intense and piercing and Shane was being watched, studied as he got fingered. As he so often couldn’t help but do, Shane looked at Ilya’s mouth. 

The curve of Ilya’s upper lip reminded Shane of a violin. He used his tongue as the bow and Ilya groaned — music.

“Ilya?”

“Shane?”

“Why haven’t you fucked me yet?”

“I’m fucking you right now, did you not notice?”

Shane held onto Ilya’s neck with both hands and whispered, “Why haven’t you put your cock in me yet?”

Ilya’s face got quiet and he hesitated — Shane recognized the look. Ilya was debating something and it made Shane’s heart leap.

Ilya brushed his fingers across the small of Shane’s back.  “I am enjoying this. Watching you. Making you feel good.”

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. “I feel very fucking good, thank you. But I want you to feel good too.”

***

Ilya Rozanov did not tell Shane Hollander that in this moment, he felt the best he had in months. He spoke low and close and said, “I’m going to pull out of you, okay? Climb off me and rest your legs. Then get on your hands and knees when you’re ready. I’ll be right back.”

He gently removed himself from Shane and he shuffled off of Ilya’s lap, laying back and stretching. Ilya kissed Shane’s shoulder before getting up from the bed and going into the bathroom. 

As he washed his hands he studied himself in the mirror. Not only did he feel better than he had in months, he looked better. Everything about his face seemed brighter than usual — like maybe some of Shane’s sparkle rubbed off. He couldn’t stop smiling. He wondered if this is what…and didn’t allow himself to finish the thought. 

But he felt googly-eyed again. 

When he came out of the bathroom, Shane was resting on pillows. A gentle landing, Ilya thought. A few were stuffed between his legs, for support or friction, Ilya wasn’t sure and didn’t care, and his ass was up. His arms were crossed underneath the pillow his head was resting on, facing Ilya.

He looked adorable. 

***

Ilya Rozanov was kissing every notch of Shane’s spine. When he got to the base of Shane’s neck, Shane reached an arm back to get his hands in that hair again. Ilya’s mouth was close to his ear when he said, “Are you ready, Shane?”

Shane got goosebumps. “Yes, very.” Ilya reached for the condoms.

Shane Hollander could not wait to get fucked as this new version of himself, as someone who knew that this is what he wanted — that this is what he NEEDED — and that this is who he wanted and needed it with. 

He couldn’t wait to think I love you at the man pounding him into the mattress. He wondered if it would feel different.

At the first feel of Ilya’s cock pressing against his ass, Shane bunched the sheets up in his hands and held on. “Oh my god.”

Ilya held onto his hips and went further. “Fuck, Shane.”

God, he didn’t want Ilya to ever stop saying his name. How had he ever been afraid of it? Maybe he sensed that this would happen, that the sound of it, that Ilya’s tone and timbre and sibilance, would affix itself to Shane Hollander’s soul. I love you.

Shane bucked himself backwards, helping him slide all the way in. “Yesss, Ilya,” he moaned. “Fuck me.”

***

Ilya Rozanov was watching his dick go in and out of Shane Hollander and marveling at it. He stretched his thumbs and dipped them into Shane’s back dimples. It felt like a sacred act. 

This is mine, he thought before he could stop himself.

But, in truth, he didn’t think he deserved to have it. Ilya did not think he could offer nearly what Shane Hollander was worth, because Shane Hollander fit exactly in Ilya’s arms, as if they were a whole that had been halved. Their lips were puzzle pieces. Their noses, nesting dolls. Shane’s ass was a lock and Ilya Rozanov held the only key that would open it. Shane Hollander was priceless.

The word “bespoke” popped into his head again. 

Ilya placed a hand firmly on Shane’s upper back, holding him down. “Christ, Shane. Even after my fingers were in you so long, you’re still so tight. Fuck, I missed your tight little asshole.”

Shane was moaning into the pillow. Ilya thought he could make out syllables. He reached up and pulled Shane’s hair back. Shane got the hint. “I missed your cock in me. Go harder, please.”

Ilya moved his legs from in between Shane’s, to out on either side, squeezing Shane’s legs together with his thighs. He loomed over him and finally put a hand to Shane’s head for support, pushing him back into the pillow. 

He watched Shane clutch the sheets tighter with his giant hands. Ilya loved looking at Shane’s hands — they were one of the only things that made him feel small. Making them grasp and tremble felt like a reward.

Ilya Rozanov thrust hard into Shane for every day he missed him. Shane Hollander responded with a muffled “Yes” every time.

“Are you gonna come for me again, Shane? Are you gonna come for me on one of my pillows?”

Shane turned his head so Ilya could hear him clearly and said, “Yeah, I want you to sleep on it tonight.”

No one should be this cute and this filthy. 

Bespoke.

***

Now that Shane had gotten Ilya to pull back the curtain a bit, he wanted it flung open. He suspected he’d only just pierced the veil of pain Ilya Rozanov was living with, but Shane discovered something about himself beneath the gauze as well: he wished he could cut all that pain out with surgical precision. Shane Hollander had never looked upon someone's tears with lovesick eyes before. 

He wanted Ilya to channel all the hurt and anger and sadness and guilt and disappointment into this bed. Shane wanted Ilya to stretch and fill him with it. Shane wanted Ilya to fuck all the anguish into him so he could carry it himself. 

He wanted to take it all away. 

I love you.

He wanted to take it all.

I love you so much.

He wanted to take it. 

I am so in love with you.

Shane Hollander was taking it, but he was also being taken. 

Ilya was on top of him and holding him down and rearranging him from the inside out. Shane Hollander had been mounted and ravaged, he was just no longer sure by what. Everything Ilya Rozanov is, or had been, or could be all blurred together.

Was he a violin or a leech? A pine tree or a vampire? An angel or a devil? Sad or effortlessly cool? Angry or a sex god? Beautiful or flames? His archrival or the love of his life?

“You’re gonna make me come again, Ilya.”

Ilya Rozanov was everything and Shane Hollander was in love with every version of him.

And all those versions of Ilya Rozanov were about to make Shane Hollander scream. 

***

Shane’s muffled wail hit Ilya like heroin. His orgasm rose immediately. 

Ilya would never call Shane predictable, even after all these years, but Ilya had studied Shane because he’d never wanted to please anyone more. He knew when Shane was about to come, he sensed the shift in breathing pattern, the extension of moans. Ilya Rozanov was a Shane Hollander acoustician and was sure Shane had never been this loud before, even in the privacy of one of their homes. What changed?

No — he knew what changed. Shane had told him. He just didn’t know how it changed and Ilya discovered he was terrified to find out. A vague sense of jealousy rose to the surface, but without a direct target.

Mine, he thought again. Shane was still riding it out and moaning under Ilya’s hand and spasming around his dick. He roughly mussed Shane’s sweat-soaked hair and rasped, “See? You would never disappoint me, Shane. That was perfect. You're-”

As he came, all his mixed metaphors rushed together to form the stunning creature beneath him.

A treasure chest. A unicorn. A gemstone. A heart. A puzzle piece. A dandelion. A lightning storm. A lock. A star. A piece of fine china. A rainbow. 

Shane Hollander had become something new.

***

They spooned. Ilya was holding Shane and still inside of him. They couldn’t see each other’s faces but they were both grinning. 

***

Ilya kissed the back of Shane’s head and whispered, “I need to shower, okay? Please stay there. I will be right back.” 

Ilya pulled out, and Shane felt the absence. He would never disregard the request to stay ever again.

When he heard the shower start, Shane laughed at the ceiling. 

It definitely felt different.

***

In the shower, Ilya batted away a bunch of nonsense words that flitted through his head like gnats.

Madly. Hollander.

What was the point of letting them form? They couldn’t. They couldn’t be something. 

Shane. I’m. 

They could be this. They could be what they were tonight. 

***

Shane watched Ilya slip on a pair of shorts and climb back into bed with him. Ilya located the soiled pillow, turned it over, and laid his head on it. I love you so much.

Shane turned to face him and pulled Ilya close with his legs.

Ilya put a hand to Shane’s face. “So,” he said.

“So,” Shane said back. 

“So we are on first name basis now?” Ilya had a teasing tone, but there were nerves behind it. His eyes were dancing again. 

Yes. Forever. Only.  “Yes, Ilya. I think outside of professional obligations, first names are appropriate.”

“Oh, is this not professional?” Ilya waved a finger between the two of them. “I mean, we are coworkers.”

Shane felt his eyes get wide. “Ew. No.”

“What? Is true. We have same job at same company. We attend work events together. We’re on a work trip right now. We are coworkers.”

Shane laughed. “Fuck, so now you’re telling me I have to worry about an HR violation on top of everything else?”

“I am going to file a complaint. Dear Human Resources. Shane Hollander fucked my fingers so hard he’s going to be under my nails for days. Please give him warning.”

Shane turned red and covered his face for a minute. Then he made the shape of a phone with his hand and held it up to his ear. “Hi, Human Resources? Ilya Rozanov licked my come off my body and it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Can you send help?”

***

They laughed together. For the first time, they laughed together until they couldn’t breathe. They started kissing and kept laughing through it. It sounded like raindrops, and it made the fire in Ilya’s heart crackle and hiss.

“Okay, okay,” Ilya said. “Out there, I go back to calling you what I’ve always called you.”

“What?” Shane asked. “Boring?”

“Exactly. And you can call me ‘Asshole.’”

Shane kissed him again so lovingly that Ilya got butterflies. “Hey, Asshole,” he said in between. 

“Yes, Boring?”

“We play each other in a few weeks. Can I see you after?”

Ilya tried not to smile too hard. It wasn’t that Shane had never chased him before — he can think of plenty of times Shane expressed interest, but it always seemed cloaked in uncertainty. The Shane in his arms now was clear and direct. Ilya felt like he was being asked out on a date.

“Maybe. Will you remember to send me a picture tomorrow?”

Shane rolled his eyes in a playful way. “It is tomorrow, I think.”

“Fine, later. Will you send me a picture later?”

“Definitely.”

“Then I will definitely see you in a few weeks.”

Shane beamed at him. It was bright, and Ilya almost wanted to shield his eyes. Then the smile fell a bit. “I should go.” 

Shane Hollander was stealing all of Ilya Rozanov’s lines. 

Ilya nodded and kissed him again. It was all puzzle pieces and nesting dolls. 

Shane finally got up and started getting dressed. Ilya watched him and thought stop. He thought stay.

Shane was about to turn for the door but hesitated. “Hey, um. I’ll text you pictures every day. But if you ever want, or need, to talk…you should call me.”

All the words floating around in Ilya’s head manifested swiftly to finally form the sentence he’d been avoiding. 

This is love. I am madly in love with Shane Hollander.

The sudden forcefulness of it made him freeze. 

“What?” Shane asked.

Ilya’s face felt stung, like he’d been slapped. “Nothing. Goodnight, Shane.”

“Goodnight, Ilya.”

Ilya Rozanov’s smouldering heart walked out the door. He looked up at the ceiling. Fuck.

***

Later that morning, Shane Hollander sat by himself in the Tampa airport. I’m in love with you, he thought, as he hit send on a photo to Lily.

***

Ilya Rozanov, at the same airport but a concourse away, felt his phone buzz in his hand. I’m in love with you, he thought as he opened a text from Jane. 

Ilya boarded his flight picking glitter out of his teeth and shaking it from his hair. 

He left a trail of sparkle behind him. 

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