Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Car Sex, Sex in a Car, POV Ilya Rozanov, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Semi-Public Sex, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Between Seasons/Series, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Smut, Fluff and Smut

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-08 Words: 4,458 Chapters: 1/1

pour us a road, we'll both drink and drive

Summary

“Sex, Hollander,” Ilya says because he’s suddenly not in the mood to do anything except spell it out. “I am talking about sex in the Porsche.”

“Oh,” Shane says as Ilya starts to suck at skin covering taught muscles. “You’ve thought about that before, I take it.” 

Ilya groans against him. “You have no idea.”

There’s a good chance Shane will shut him down. It’s reckless afterall, and even he can recognize that. But he also knows that there’s a part of Shane that loves to do things he shouldn’t. It’s the whole fucking reason they started this thing in the first place. There’s a part of him that beats at the cage of his control. A part that only Ilya seems to be able to release. 

He really hopes that part wins out. 

“That sounds like a really terrible idea,” Shane says, his voice strained between breathy pants, and Ilya’s fine with it. Really. He’s sure they’ll have tons of other opportunities to do stupid sexy shit one day. But then– “But I think I’m just tipsy enough to let it happen.” 

___

Or, on Ilya's last night in Boston, he and Shane take his car for one final ride.

Notes

For my tumblr anon who so wisely pointed out there's no way Car Guy Ilya Rozanov would go ten years without having sex with Shane in one of his cars.

I know that realistically, this wouldn't work. They're huge professional athletes and sports cars are notoriously small. But if we can suspend reality enough to believe two NHL arch rivals manage to fall in love, we can pretend they will fit in the back of a sports car for sex one time.

It’s Ilya’s last night in Boston before he moves to Ottawa. 

There’s a part of him that mourns it. The city he’s called home for nearly eight years has been good to him. Given him so many opportunities he never dreamed he could have. 

But there’s a much larger part of him that’s ready to go. He’s ready to start the rest of his life with Shane, and the first step in their years-long plan begins with Ilya leaving Boston.

He never in his entire life dreamed that he’d happily uproot his life for a man. He never dreamed he’d fall in love with anyone, really. So, the fact that he’s madly in love with Shane Hollander of all people, that he’s working toward a future with him still leaves him feeling, well, a lot of things. 

Shane slides up next to him, a half-empty glass of wine in his hand. He’d come to help Ilya pack up the rest of his penthouse, but it’s mostly just an excuse to spend time together, because Ilya doesn’t have that much stuff, and it had only taken them half a day to put everything in boxes. 

So, tonight, they’re relaxing with one last dinner from Ilya’s favorite restaurant before the movers come in the morning. Ilya loves nights when he can convince Shane to have some wine, because, as controlled as Shane is, it doesn’t take much to loosen him up, to turn him into an uninhibited, horny, cuddly mess. 

It’s one of Ilya’s favorite versions of him.

Shane looks out at the Boston skyline. The sunset casts the prettiest pink and orange hues across his flawless, freckled skin. “It’s a really nice view.”

“It is,” Ilya says, except he’s not looking at the city. 

Shane seems to sense that Ilya’s looking at him, because his head turns, and when he sees the expression on Ilya’s face, the prettiest blush forms there. 

“God, you’re embarrassing,” he says, knocking his upper body into Ilya’s in a gentle push that brings a grin to Ilya’s face. “What will the world do when they find out how fucking soft you are?”

Ilya knows he’s teasing, but the only response he has is so genuine, it makes him ache. “I cannot wait for the world to know how soft I am for you.”

He doesn’t say earnest things like that very often, but he’s gotten better about it when it comes to Shane. They’ve been together officially for a year now, and it still feels strange that he wants to say them, but he’s trying to lean into these new experiences with the person he trusts with his deepest secrets. 

Of course, it also helps when the person is your deepest secret. 

Shane’s free hand takes Ilya’s, and he threads their fingers together. “This is the first step, right?”

Ilya nods. He lifts their joined hands to his lips and places a kiss on the back of Shane’s hand. “Having you two hours away is going to feel like a dream.” 

Going from only seeing each other a handful of times over the course of nine months to being able to physically be together nearly every week is something Ilya thinks he would give up his entire career for. He’s come to realize he needs Shane, and with the acceptance of that realization comes the knowledge that he’ll do anything to keep him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to have a future with Shane.

Shane beams at him, his face unmasked with the help of the fermented grapes in his system. “I can’t wait.”

Ilya’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out to see a reminder from the moving company that they’ll be arriving at eleven the next day. 

He tells Shane this, and Shane nods. “I’ll leave around seven in the morning. Mom and Dad are going to meet me at your house, and we’ll start getting your big furniture put together.” 

Ilya can only nod, unable to properly articulate just what that image means to him. To have all the Hollanders in his new home together sounds like heaven on earth.

“And what time are they picking up the Porsche tomorrow?” Shane asks as he leans against Ilya’s shoulder.

“Nine,” Ilya says. It’s the first of his cars he’s managed to unload. The rest are staying in Boston with his dealer until they can be sold off. But honestly, the Porsche is the one he’ll probably miss the most. The way it purrs. The feel of the leather under his fingertips. The absolute luxury he feels when he drives it. For so long, it has been his definition of success. A physical manifestation of everything he’s worked for. 

But he’s more than willing to part with nearly all of his collection if it means having so much to immediately put into the foundation once it’s started. Plus, Shane is selling his weird sex condo to have his own influx of cash to put in, so it’s the least Ilya can do, really. 

And honestly, what the fuck is he going to do with ten luxury European sports cars in Ottawa?

But he’s not in Ottawa yet. And until the morning, he’s still the lawful owner of said Porsche 911, and as he watches Shane’s plush lips touch his wine glass, his throat bobbing with the last of his drink, Ilya’s reminded of a fantasy he’s long held, but never dared to speak out loud. 

“You know, the Porsche has a back seat,” he says, his thumb tracing in slow circles over the back of Shane’s hand. 

“Isn’t it for like, little kids and luggage basically?” Shane says with a raised eyebrow. 

Ilya shrugs. “Technically, yes, but I’m sure if we were very close, there is room for…other things.”

Shane still looks confused, and Ilya fights the urge to bite his still flushed cheeks. “What other things? Why would either of us need to be in the back seat?”

Ilya rolls his eyes fondly at his oblivious boyfriend. He takes Shane’s glass from his hand and places it on the kitchen island. Then, with the hand he’s holding, he tugs Shane into him. 

He feels Shane suck in a breath at their sudden closeness, his head tilting on instinct in invitation. Ilya takes the opportunity to nuzzle into his exposed neck, breathing in his clean scent before he leaves the barest of kisses against Shane’s now racing pulse. 

“Sex, Hollander,” Ilya says because he’s suddenly not in the mood to do anything except spell it out. “I am talking about sex in the Porsche.”

“Oh,” Shane says as Ilya starts to suck at skin covering taught muscles. “You’ve thought about that before, I take it.” 

Sometimes, it takes Shane a moment to catch hints, but once he does, he follows Ilya’s train of thought so seamlessly. 

Ilya groans against him. “You have no idea.”

He continues to claim at Shane’s neck, alternating between nipping bites and soothing licks of his tongue while he waits for whatever comes next, allowing himself to just enjoy the gasps and whimpers Shane makes as he works.

There’s a good chance Shane will shut him down. It’s reckless afterall, and even he can recognize that. But he also knows that there’s a part of Shane that loves to do things he shouldn’t. It’s the whole fucking reason they started this thing in the first place. There’s a part of him that beats at the cage of his control. A part that only Ilya seems to be able to release. 

He really hopes that part wins out. 

“That sounds like a really terrible idea,” Shane says, his voice strained between breathy pants, and Ilya’s fine with it. Really. He’s sure they’ll have tons of other opportunities to do stupid sexy shit one day. But then– “But I think I’m just tipsy enough to let it happen.” 

Ilya’s mouth stills and twists into something devilish. He silently thanks the universe for allowing him to love this man, and whatever ancient genius accidentally discovered alcohol. “My keys are by the door. Go down to the garage, and I will be right behind you in two minutes.” 

Shane nods once and walks in long, shaky strides to the front door. Ilya watches as he fumbles to put on his shoes, slipping them on hastily instead of taking the time to untie them and put them on properly. 

His grin grows, knowing Shane is just as into this as he is, and a deep feeling of possession spreads in his lungs as he sees Shane grab one of his Boston caps and smash it down on his head before he practically sprints out the door. 

Ilya waits, counting slowly in his head, still not really believing this is going to happen. In all of his years of hookups, Ilya’s never had sex in a car before, which seems improbable considering who he is and the sheer number of people he’s shared a bed with, but that kind of closeness, the proximity that’s required for such a thing, only ever really happened when he was with Shane. 

He hangs on to the heady feeling in his veins as he rides the elevator to the garage. It feels like it takes years, especially when Ilya knows what’s waiting for him once the doors slide open. 

He doesn’t say a word when he enters the car, his eyes trailing down from Shane’s bitten lip, past his heaving chest, and down to the obvious strain against his shorts. God, they’ve barely even done anything, and Shane already looks like he’s dying to be fucked. 

Ilya somehow manages to get his key into the ignition, and when the car roars to life, he feels like it’s some stupid metaphor for how Shane makes him feel. Strong and powerful. Bold. And really fucking sexy. 

He pulls out of the garage, his hand clutching at the gearshift so hard his knuckles are white. He forces himself to take deep breaths so he can focus on driving them out of the heart of the city. It’s blessedly Saturday, so the traffic isn’t as bad as it could be, but Shane doesn’t let him off easy. 

He keeps his head bowed a bit and his hat pulled low just in case someone happens to look over at them, but it doesn’t stop his hand from coming to rest high on Ilya’s thigh. And the contact burns. 

Ilya looks over at him and can see his pupils are wide even in the ever-growing darkness. Shane’s breathing is still labored, and he palms at his erection through the thin fabric of his shorts while he holds Ilya’s gaze steadily at a red light.   

Ilya has no idea how he managed to be so lucky as to be the one to get to ruin this man, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t spend the rest of his life making the most of it. And the rest of his life starts right now.

Shane’s hand works its way down, his fingers brushing over Ilya’s inner thigh before they make their way up through the loose opening of his own shorts. “Fuck, Hollander,” he whispers, as Shane works him through his boxers, his thumb finding his tip and brushing against him in a way that makes Ilya want to start shamelessly thrusting into Shane’s hand. 

He’s not sure how he manages to keep driving, especially when Ilya sees Shane’s head tip back against the headrest, his mouth falling open from the touch of his own hand. Watching Shane pleasure himself is one of Ilya’s favorite things in the world, and if he weren’t so incredibly ready to make Shane come on his own cock, he would order him to finish and then work him up to another earth-shattering orgasm.

But he doesn’t have the patience for that. Not today. Not when Shane looks like literal sex on legs sitting next to him. 

Streets go by in a blur of fluorescent beams, and Ilya doesn’t remember most of it. He’s only had one glass of wine, so he’s not even remotely affected, but having Shane touch him like this in such a brazen way makes him feel like he’s downed an entire bottle of his favorite vodka. It’s intoxicating. Addicting. Inevitable. 

When he finally pulls into an empty lot of an industrial building, Shane wastes no time in unbuckling his seatbelt and clambering awkwardly into the back seat. It would have been hilarious under any other circumstance, seeing such a large man desperate to get into the back seat of a sports car, limbs flailing in all directions. But as it stands, Ilya just appreciates his enthusiasm and the fuel it adds to his already combustible blood. 

He undoes his own seatbelt and quickly flings open his car door, leaning down to push the driver’s seat as far up as he can before he climbs into the back seat himself and closes the door back, wiggling to try and squeeze himself into a seat that’s clearly not meant to hold a professional athlete. 

He starts counting in his head and only gets to three before Shane is on top of him, his mouth claiming Ilya’s in a filthy kiss that has Ilya opening his lips with a groan. 

There’s truly nothing in the world like kissing Shane Hollander. He’s known this since the very first time their mouths touched in that hotel room all those years ago. It’s not even one thing he can pinpoint about it, either. It’s a combination of everything from the fullness of his lips to the warmth of his mouth to the lingering taste of wine on his tongue. 

Ilya reaches up and knocks his ballcap off of Shane, desperate to get his fingers buried deep in that silky, black hair, gently pushing Shane’s head to the side so he can gain better access and rake his tongue across the bottom of Shane’s teeth. 

He’s left the car running, the air conditioning blasting in the front, but it does little to keep away the muggy heat of a Boston summer, especially with Shane writhing in his lap, and Ilya’s legs quickly grow slick with sweat against the leather.

“Have you ever done this before?” Shane murmurs against Ilya’s mouth. 

“No,” Ilya says with a sharp shake of his head. There are so many firsts he’ll never get to have with Shane, and he’s not ashamed of it, because all of those experiences have only served to make him better for Shane. But he’s glad to have this. This perfect, unmarred moment of something only the two of them will ever share. “Only ever wanted to do this with you.”

It seems to light a spark in Shane. Flint striking steel as the engine hums, and Shane pulls back from Ilya to work his shorts down to his knees, letting his cock spring free and leaving his ass bare. 

Ilya’s hands come up to knead at the fatty flesh, loving how Shane’s skin spills out and over the sides, too much to contain even in Ilya’s large grip. 

He rocks against Ilya, his cock rubbing into Ilya’s stomach as beads of precome leak out and threaten to stain Ilya’s shirt, but Ilya can’t let it go to waste. He swipes his thumb over Shane, lets it dip into his slit, invigorated by the way it comes back soaked. He fucking loves how wet Shane gets, and he shows his appreciation by bringing his thumb up to his mouth and sucking on his finger until the bitterness fades on his tongue. 

Shane watches him, brown eyes blown black while he licks his lips. But then he suddenly stills, and Ilya sees a panicked look in his eyes. “Fuck. Lube,” he says. “We didn’t bring any lube.” 

Ilya smirks. 

As if he isn’t always prepared when Shane Hollander is his and available to fuck. “Check my wallet,” he says, and Shane squeezes his arm between the leather of the seat and Ilya’s body, desperate fingers reaching into Ilya’s back pocket to pull out his prize. 

He wastes no time in ripping the packet open and covering his fingers, reaching back into what little space they have to begin to open himself up. One finger, followed by another, pushes in past his knuckles as he starts to bounce as much as he can. 

Ilya can hardly believe he’s privileged enough to witness this. Shane fucking Hollander straddling his lap and fingering himself in the back seat of Ilya’s car like his life depends on it. It’s indescribable, and Ilya knows the image alone will be enough to get him off when they’re separated for years to come. 

It’s like Shane’s brought to life in his arms, and Ilya thinks he’d gladly sneak around for the rest of his life if it means having even a fraction of this. Whatever it takes. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep this. To keep Shane. 

He runs a hand under Shane’s t-shirt, needing to touch him, to feel his skin, and enjoying how his muscles clench under Ilya’s touch.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Ilya moans, lifting himself up just enough to pull his shorts down, unable to stand another minute without some kind of contact, some friction, against his aching cock. 

“Canada,” Shane grunts, and Ilya tries to laugh, but it turns into a choking sound as he watches Shane add a third finger. All Ilya can do is start to stroke himself and marvel at the overwhelming eagerness of his boyfriend. 

He keeps trying to lean down to kiss Ilya, but can only hold on for a few seconds at a time before he’s forced to move back and gasp or moan, lost in the rhythm of his hips and fingers. 

It pushes Ilya to the brink far more quickly than he’d like, but he’s helpless and so fucking ready, so he gets a second packet of lube and spreads it over himself, stopping to squeeze at the base of his cock in hopes that it will help calm the rush of everything that he can’t escape. 

Shane removes his fingers, and Ilya reaches for a condom that’s also stored in his wallet, but Shane bats it out of his hand, and Ilya looks at him, surprised. 

“Don’t want it,” he hisses. “Need to feel you.” And he positions himself over Ilya, ready to sink down until Ilya painfully grips at his hips to stop him. 

“Are you sure about this?” Ilya asks, searching Shane’s face for any sign of hesitation. They could stop right then, go back to their seats, and drive home to finish this there. Ilya would be totally fine with it, already receiving more from this night than he ever dreamed he could have. 

But Shane’s response doesn’t come in words. Instead, he lowers himself, taking Ilya inside of him in one fluid movement that has them both crying out. He grips the headrest behind Ilya’s head, his forehead coming to push almost painfully against Ilya’s as he starts to move, his hips gliding over Ilya’s lap in practiced strokes that have Ilya seeing stars. 

It’s not often that Shane rides him like this. Ilya’s usually the one in complete control, but on the occasion Shane climbs on top of him, his hips moving like waves, Ilya can’t help but let himself get lost in the tide, his hand gripping bruises into pale skin. 

He’s not sure if Shane’s ability to ride him comes from innate skill or years of hockey stretches, but holy fuck, this is the way he wants to die. With his cock buried so far in Shane’s ass that it’s impossible to tell where he ends and Shane begins. 

“So full,” Shane whines. He lowers his head to Ilya’s shoulder as he starts to lose his pace, and Ilya pushes and pulls at him, helping Shane move against him. He moans every time Ilya pulls him back in as his cock brushes against the soft fabric of Ilya’s black shirt and the stiffness of his abdominal muscles. 

Ilya considers wrapping a hand around Shane, letting him fuck into his hand until he comes and stains Ilya’s shirt white, but he’s also very skilled at making Shane come without using his touch, and from the way Shane looks, the way he pants against Ilya’s neck like there’s not enough air in the world to fill his lungs, Ilya decides to let him chase the edge without his help. 

But it’s not as if there’s nothing he can do to help, and suddenly, Ilya is filled with the need to fuck. He grips the handlebar above his head with one hand and stills Shane’s movements with the other as he plants his feet against the floorboard and starts to thrust up into Shane. 

His legs dig painfully into the driver’s seat, and he has no choice but to stay deep inside. There’s no room for anything else, but it leaves him primed to ram into Shane’s prostate again and again and again, and Shane holds on, crushing Ilya’s head into the cotton that covers his chest while he mumbles an incoherent mess of words.

“You’re so good. Just like that. Fuck, Rozanov. I love you. I love you. Don’t stop. If swear to god if you stop, I’ll never forgive you.”  

He reaches into Ilya’s shirt, blunt fingernails leaving scratches that sting, and Ilya’s excited to feel them on his skin for days to come. If they can’t lay claim to each other publicly, Ilya will take any reminder that he belongs to Shane and Shane alone. 

He bites at Shane’s pec, hoping to leave his own mark even as his mouth is filled with the cotton of Shane’s shirt. He’s so tight around Ilya, so warm and hot that Ilya knows it’ll only take a few more thrusts before he’s finished. 

The sounds that fill the car are obscene. The slap of skin, the unevenness of breath, the squeaking of protesting leather. It’s so much and the air suddenly feels so thick, Ilya thinks he could bite it. 

Shane whines again and takes one of Ilya’s hands and presses it to his stomach. “I can feel you all the way in here,” Shane practically sobs, his eyes rolling back as Ilya continues to fuck up into him at a brutal pace. 

“Come,” he demands, angling his hips to go impossibly deeper. He’s rewarded with a strangled cry. “Now.”

Shane’s mouth falls open, and Ilya feels him start to flutter around him as Shane’s entire body shakes with release. It shocks Ilya’s own orgasm out of him with such ferocity that he has to grind his teeth to keep down a shout that would have been heard a mile away. 

It’s endless. Wave after wave of white-hot pleasure as he empties himself into Shane, and uncontrollable tremors leave him grasping for Shane to anchor him through it, as he pulls Shane into his chest.

“Holy shit,” Shane says as he allows himself to be maneuvered however Ilya sees fit.

Ilya’s arms continue to hold Shane in a vice grip, unbothered by the mess that lies between them or the uncomfortable heat of the air around them. He chuckles into Shane’s hair, soaking in the feel of it against his cheek. “Holy shit, indeed.”

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Shane breathes out with a laugh of his own. 

“Do you regret it?” Ilya can’t help but ask. He hates that he’s unsure of what Shane’s answer will be. Afraid that a moment that will live in Ilya’s brain forever might be something that Shane wishes hadn’t happened when all is said and done. 

Shane sits up and takes Ilya’s face into his hands. His own face is serious as he tells Ilya, “I could never regret anything when it comes to you.”

And oh, isn’t that just something? Ilya thinks as he kisses Shane softly, basking in the blissful waning of adrenaline and love. Safe, his mind supplies as the weight of Shane presses into him fully again, and their pulses slow, matching beat for beat as the seconds tick past and his fears fly away with them.

Predictably, Shane is eventually grossed out by the dampness that’s gathered at his stomach, and it only gets worse when Ilya finally pulls out of him, and a rush spills over Shane’s shorts and legs. 

Ilya pulls off his shirt and wipes him down as best he can, and Shane enjoys the touch until he realizes, “You’re just going to walk into your building shirtless?”

Ilya just smiles and shrugs. “Won’t be the first time. And besides, it is not like I have come all over my shorts.” And then he laughs as Shane slaps at his shoulder. 

When they’re finally back in the front seats, Shane looks at him with a nervous smile. 

“What is it?” he asks, and Shane takes his hand and brings it to rest gently in his lap. 

“I know that this is a lot,” he starts. “Moving teams, moving to Ottawa, selling your cars, being with me.”

“Shane–”

“But I can’t wait to start forever with you. One piece at a time,” Shane goes on, and Ilya feels like he could cry. “So, thank you. For everything.”

There’s so much he should say back, but the lump in his throat only allows, “I love you,” to escape, and from the way Shane’s eyes soften as he repeats it back, Ilya thinks it’s more than enough. 

oOo

He kisses Shane goodbye the next morning after they’ve loaded his Jeep with boxes, loving the fact that he’ll see Shane again that night, and the night after, and every day for the next few weeks until practice starts up again with his new team. 

Ilya walks through his apartment to check for anything they might have missed until his doorbell rings promptly at nine. 

He walks down to the garage with his dealer, who looks over the car to make sure everything is in working order. When he looks in the back seat, he pauses for a moment before he straightens and tells Ilya, “I’m gonna have to take five hundred off of the sale price.”

“What?” Ilya says, confused and a little insulted. He takes excellent care of his cars. “Why?”

“There’s something weird on the back seat, here,” he says, pointing to the seat he’d fucked Shane in less than twelve hours before. “I’m going to have to get this detailed before I drop it off with the new owner.”

It doesn’t take Ilya long to decide that’s more than fair.