Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Original Male Character(s)

Characters:

Original Male Character(s), Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

POV Outsider, nobody is having a good time whoops, Crack

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-31 Words: 2,537 Chapters: 1/1

Is it Casual Now?

Summary

My own personal fever dream about what TV-show Shane might encounter if he brought the energy of his Ilya hookups to any one-night-stands...

OR:

Aaron is, to his own surprise, really enjoying his brother’s bachelor party. It’s not like they’re going to gay bars, but hey — no harm in looking. That’s what he tells himself as he eyes a particularly tall-and-ripped group on night two, right up until one of them (beautiful, freckled, unfortunately wearing a shirt but evocatively wide in the shoulders) looks over and catches Aaron at it. Then, he has a moment of concern. This flavor of hetero-jock seems like the type who might not take kindly to being eyed up by another dude.

But then, completely unexpectedly, the man’s gaze does something very familiar: an evaluating dip down before returning with steady, half-lidded interest.

Aaron knows that look, and he’s nothing if not an opportunist. He lets his gaze linger in return, eyebrows up, and then casually tips his head, pivots, and heads to the bathrooms. No expectations, just seeing if the evening might go even better than he’d dared dream.

Notes

Look. Is this “plausibly extrapolated from canon,” or “even a glancingly accurate representation of gay hookup culture”? Not particularly, no! Is it very funny, to me personally? Yes, unfortunately it is. Pure crack; enjoy.

 

Thank you to SarahJeanne and Periwinkle Plum for helping me out with more sets of eyes on this one!

Aaron is, to his own surprise, really enjoying his brother’s bachelor party. Yes, he’s in Mexico with a bunch of straight guys he barely knows, but hey! It’s a break from work, an excuse to drink tropical cocktails and eat fish tacos, the weather is idyllic, and to top it all off there are lots of hot guys to ogle who aren’t his little brother’s dumb friends. Most of them are forgoing shirts, no less! It’s not like they’re going to gay bars, but hey — no harm in looking.

That’s what he tells himself as he eyes a particularly tall-and-ripped group on night two, right up until one of them (beautiful, freckled, unfortunately wearing a shirt but evocatively wide in the shoulders) looks over and catches Aaron at it. Then, he has a moment of concern. This flavor of hetero-jock seems like the type who might not take kindly to being eyed up by another dude. 

But then, completely unexpectedly, the man’s gaze does something very familiar: an evaluating dip down before returning with steady, half-lidded interest.

Aaron knows that look, and he’s nothing if not an opportunist. He lets his gaze linger in return, eyebrows up, and then casually tips his head, pivots, and heads to the bathrooms. No expectations, just seeing if the evening might go even better than he’d dared dream.

Aaron is aware that he’s good looking. He’s fit, if not a fucking Olympian like Potential Hookup Guy and his friends. Everyone tells him he’s got a nice mouth, and all the ocean salt and sunbathing has only given his sandy-blond curls definition and highlights. He’s pleased but not shocked when the other guy joins him in the Men’s room. Aaron grins, already at half-mast. “So, you wanna…?”

“Sure,” the guy says, clipped and businesslike. “Room 408 at the Montage, across the way. Give me 20 or so.” Then he’s gone.

Aaron blinks. He’d actually meant they might exchange blowjobs or handies right here, but okay. There’s something to be said for a private room and a bed. It’s true that Hookup Guy had maybe 50 pounds of muscle on him and could bend him in half without sweating. Or with a bit of sweating, maybe rip an arm off. Still! Wandering off alone with a stranger in a foreign country surely won’t result in him getting murdered. Probably.

Anyways, the fact is that this man is very, very hot, and Aaron would really like to have sex with him. The Montage is a nice hotel, right? They surely have cleaning staff who report screaming, or bloodstains.                   

Aaron knocks on the door of room 408 not quite thirty minutes later, pent up with horny anticipation. The door swings open to reveal a fucking sweet room, the kind you see in movies: a huge open-plan expanse boasting a sea view through sliding glass doors, and pristine modern furnishing in elegant finishes. Hookup Guy must have real money, and standing in the middle of the room all six-foot-and-250-pounds-of-muscle, he completes the movie-perfect image. Hookup Guy could model, or act, or like, do porn. He surpasses even his own image burnished by Aaron’s imagination. 

Unfortunately, Aaron senses that his dumbstruck admiration isn’t mutual. 

In fact, Hookup Guy looks less like he’s about to have some steamy casual sex in a swanky hotel, and more like he’s lost a bet and is gearing up to run 50 laps in penance. Maybe that’s just his face? He did invite Aaron over, after all, and he hasn’t asked him to leave yet. Aaron opens his mouth to joke around a bit, try to cut the tension.

And then they’re kissing. Like, full-on soul-baring, tongue first, sailor who just got back from the war kissing; Aaron’s back being pressed back against the door with one hot line of body-to-body contact searing down his front, from chin to chest to dick to thighs, feet tangled together. Breathless, urgent, devouring kissing; hands in Aaron’s hair and gentle thumbs on his cheekbones kissing.

This however lasts only a moment or two, because Aaron isn’t really holding up his end of things so much as he’s just kind of standing there with his mouth hanging open, trying to get his bearings.

“Are you okay?” Hookup Guy asks, pulling away. His tone is bland, and his expression kind of bitchy. As if Aaron is the psycho in the room right now. The effect is only mildly undercut by his wet, swollen mouth.

Aaron shakes his head clear. “Uh, yeah. Just, I don’t usually… kiss… when I hook up.”

The guy makes a face like Aaron’s admitted that he doesn’t use salt in his cooking. “Why?”

“I mean, it’s kind of intimate?” The way you fucking do it, Aaron adds mentally, because he’s actually not opposed to a bit of frenching in the right situation. Just, a casual hookup isn’t really the time to critique a person’s kissing style. Even if said style is “intense to the point of concern.”

“Oh.” The guy still seems confused, but he’s gamely working with the feedback. “Sorry, that’s always… that’s a big part of it for me.”

“Right. You, uh, do a lot of casual hooking up?” Aaron is starting to think that Hookup Guy must be coming out of a very long relationship, and has forgotten the way no-strings sex goes. It could also explain his getting-a-cavity-filled vibe, if he’s trying the old getting under to get over method before he’s actually ready.

“I exclusively do casual hookups,” the guy answers flatly. An answer that honestly invites many more questions. Like, where? And, with who? And, are you fucking with me right now?

However, Aaron is not here to delve into Strange Hookup Guy’s psychology. He’s here to get his dick sucked. He tries again. “Uh, I can blow you, if you want. Or if you wanna….”

“Yeah, I wanna,” the other guy says, easy as pie. He drops to his knees - God, he’s pretty! - and gets Aaron’s dick out to expertly stroke it to full hardness. Then, Jesus fucking Christ, he takes it all the way back into his throat in one long glide, as if Aaron was not on the longer side of typical. Wow. Aaron looks down, expecting to see, who knows, probably an expression of intense focus on not gagging? And definitely his own dick sliding in and out of that fucking mouth, which will probably make it to permanent spank-bank rotation. 

Instead what he sees is two wet brown eyes making deep contact with his own. They’re needy, searching, open wide. Pleading, almost. Heated, definitely. An intensity behind the gaze that demands intensity in return.

“Erm,” Aaron says, redirecting his attention to the window, then the coffee maker, or maybe the ceiling will be interesting? No, he can still sense the eyes boring into him. He’s probably started to blush.

The guy pulls off, maybe because Aaron’s erection is faltering under the unexpectedly searing attention. “Uh, am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” Aaron says quickly. Honestly, the guy’s technique is perfect, he could teach a graduate level course on fellatio. It’s just… the eye contact is super intense, especially after the kissing, and it’s not like the vibe is otherwise romantic. Or even particularly warm. It’s weirding Aaron out.

But he really truly cannot tell this greek statue of a man that he’s doing the wrong thing with his eyeballs right after telling him his kissing is bad; especially when he’s doing so much right with his tongue. “I mean, it’s great, keep going.”

“Sorry, I’m usually more… familiar with the equipment, I guess.”

Familiar? That’s the opposite of casual hookups that the guy claims he’s exclusively having. His deep-throating style doesn’t exactly say virgin with unrealistically romantic conceptions, either; nor does his generally cool attitude towards Aaron. So, yeah, Aaron is curious — in a rubbernecking type of way where he maybe actually doesn’t want to know. He should probably just leave.

It’s a virtuous thought that survives about two seconds, until the guy gamely gets right back to blowing him; nobody can say that Strange Hookup Guy is a quitter, or bad at giving head. Aaron just… preemptively keeps his eyes closed. This is why he misses the guy’s hands creeping from Aaron’s abs and balls (normal) to gently grasp Aaron’s hand — fingers threaded through fingers, a soft stroke of a finger tracing against his pulse point (not fucking normal).

Aaron wrenches free with a shudder. “OK, look, stop.”

The guy gets to his feet, tense as a clenched fist. “Sorry, I thought I kinda had a handle on this part, at least. Is it…?”

“No, you’re good, no complaints on technique! It’s just that… you don’t seem to like me very much, or even actually want me here? But then you keep doing this really intense, intimate stuff. The contrast is kinda weirding me out, dude.”

“Intimate?”

“Yeah. Like, holding my hand?”

“That’s not intimate,” the guy scoffs. “You weren’t cradling my face or running your hands through my hair or anything, so what else are we supposed to be doing with our hands?”

Aaron blinks. OK, curiosity is going to kill this cat, fingers crossed on the quality of satisfaction to possibly bring it back. “Right. No face cradling, my bad. Is there anything else about our hookup that seems off to you?”

“Well, you haven’t even said anything to me,” the guy admits. 

“Like, dirty talk?”

“Yeah.”

Aaron knows dirty talk is normal enough, but he has a hunch he should dig a level deeper. “What kind of things might you expect me to say?”

The guy looks thoughtful. “Like, “Oh, Hollander, you’re so fucking perfect for me, love your fucking mouth, wow, oh my God.“ For whatever reason he affects a slight Russian accent. “Or like, “You’re killing me, Hollander, I could die like this, your hole was made for my cock, tell me it’s better than anyone else, tell me you were made for me,” and I say, like, “yeah, fuck, yeah, you’re better than anyone, I was made to take you.” Alien Hookup man, aka Hollander apparently, looks blandly for confirmation as if this is all very normal hookup banter.

“Okay, wow. Leaving, uh, the rest of all that aside,” Aaron says, “I don’t know your name.”

There’s a long pause. “But, I’m Shane Hollander,” Alien Hookup man says as if that’s supposed to mean something. When Aaron just raises his eyebrows, he attempts to clarify: “The Metros? I’m the captain. And the first line center?”

“Is that basketball?” Apparently not, because now Shane Hollander looks like he’s had a basketball bounced off his face: Frankly stunned and also quite pained. It would seem egotistical and shitty on anyone else, very “don’t you know who I am?” but in this case, Aaron buys that it’s not an ego thing. The guy looks to be in genuine disbelief at the idea that Aaron doesn’t follow… whatever the hell sport the Metros play.

“You don’t know anything about hockey?” Hollander’s tone is bewildered, nearly uncomprehending. Not unlike an evangelical who’s just been asked to explain the concept of Jesus Christ our Savior.

“Oh! No. Hockey is kinda… niche? I don’t even watch football,” Aaron offers apologetically. 

“Wait, this is perfect,” Hollander blurts, lighting up. “You actually have no idea who I am.”

“I mean… I do now, Mr. Shane Hollander. Captain of the Metros and first line center.” Aaron tries to point this out as gently as he can despite the confirmation that his hookup pretty much sees him as an NPC.

“Shit.” Hollander drops down on his hotel bed, his thousand-yard stare of disappointed bafflement matching Aaron’s own feelings. Aaron sits down beside Hollander, feeling a bit of kinship for the first time since he got to the hotel. This evening has gone completely off the rails, but at least now they’re both dumbfounded together.

“Look, I don’t want to like, question your lived experience. But my experience of hooking up is that it’s usually more… straightforwardly about getting off. How long have you been doing this with dudes?” Hockey seems like a pretty homophobic sport, considering Shane’s hopeful relief at the possibility of keeping this anonymous. Maybe, Aaron reasons, he usually hooks up with women. Who knows what that’s like.

“Maybe seven years? Just with the one guy, though.”

“You’ve been hooking up with one man for over half a decade?” Aaron blinks. “That’s kind of more of a fuck buddies thing than like, casual hooking up, isn’t it?” It’s also longer lasting and more monogamous than some of his friends’ marriages.

“We’re not buddies,” Hollander scoffs quickly. “Like, the sex is good. Obviously. And he’s funny, I guess. Nicer than people say, though believe me when I tell you that’s a low bar. I mean, he can also be a real asshole.” For the first time, a soft smile is illuminating the guy’s lovely face. Then it shutters back to “root canal” before you can say, actually, let’s give that blowjob thing another go! “Anyways, he hooks up with all sorts of people. It’s all very casual between us. For me, too.”

Well, that sounds like a real can of worms, if Hollander’s bitter insistence on not experiencing the feelings that he’s obviously experiencing is any clue. Aaron is aware that he’s not informed about all the context about this situationship he’s stumbled into as a third party, but he’s got some sense. It feels like a bit of perspective might be useful to his Failed Alien Hookup, and hey. Aaron’s feeling generous.

“Y’know, Shane Hollander, I’m gonna go out on a limb and suggest that if your dude has spent the last seven years routinely kissing you like that, holding your hand while initiating searing eye-contact, and swearing eternal fealty to your hole… maybe it’s not super casual?”

Hollander digests this information. “You’re saying, the way we do it isn’t normal?”

“None of that is casual hookup stuff, no.” It would be normal enough for a passionate and committed couple, Aaron doesn’t point out.

Hollander blinks to himself, forehead creased, gears moving behind his eyes for a few long moments. “Huh. I guess it wasn’t as much like this when we started. But I just assumed it was because of me, since I didn’t have much experience.” 

“Well, take it from a real slut,” Aaron offers, “that whatever deal the two of you have going on is not a typical casual hooking up kinda deal. Food for thought.“ Aaron gets up off the bed, zips his fly and slaps his hands on his thighs. “Y’know, I should probably get back to the bar. My brother’s bachelor thing, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. If you’re sure,” Hollander says, with a palpable relief that Aaron tries not to take personally. “Thanks for the… perspective, I guess? And sorry for, um, not following through.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Aaron says, and he means it. He’s not going to out Star-crossed Failed Hookup Guy, or anything, but free of identifying details? Yeah, this is going to be a very funny story back home, where he will be happy to get back to actually casual sex with normal hookups.