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 & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Organized Crime, Russian Mafia, Crimes & Criminals, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Anxious Shane Hollander, Blood and Injury, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Hiding, Star-crossed, Forbidden Love, Alternate Universe

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-06 Words: 3,484 Chapters: 1/1

Generational Sin

Summary

“Who did this to you?” he seethes, barely recognizing his own voice as blood pounds in his ears. 

Shane doesn’t answer. Just shakes his head as he stumbles forward, crashing into Ilya with what little strength he has left. 

Ilya’s arms come up immediately to hold him, to cradle him in the circle of his arms. But the question remains on his lips, and he repeats it, the words still laced with venom. “Who did this to you?” 

“I don’t want to tell you,” he says. “You’ll kill him.”

“You are fucking right, I will kill him,” Ilya says, his hand coming up to wipe a bead of blood from Shane’s face. 

“I’m not worth that,” Shane responds, and Ilya immediately wants to counter that he’s worth all of that and more. There’s nothing that even remotely compares. And anyone who dares to do so much as lay a finger on Shane Hollander will have to answer to him and the wrath of everything he has at his disposal.

“Shane,” he says, softer this time, hoping maybe a shift in tone will lead him to what he needs. “Who did this?”

Shane pulls back slightly, his face devastated as he says, “Your brother.” 

____

A mafia AU

Notes

For my anon who prompted with a Hollanov, "Who did this to you?"

It’s well past midnight when a knock comes to Ilya’s door, which isn’t unusual at all, but he still checks to make sure his gun is at his hip and that he can feel the cool steel blade against his calf. His entire life has been lived in shadow. Being second in command in a major crime syndicate doesn’t tend to lend itself to much else.

He’s in a mood and hopes whatever this is doesn’t take long, but considering the calibre of people they’ve had working for them as of late, he’s sure it’s probably another mess he’ll have to clean up. 

And Ilya is so fucking tired of cleaning up messes. 

He whips open the door, reprimands and barbs loaded on his tongue, but what he finds instead stops him cold. 

Shane Hollander stands at his doorstep. Bloodied and beaten, and Ilya feels like every nightmare he’s ever had has come to life before hime. 

He grabs Shane’s arm and pulls him inside, closing the door gently so as to not cause too much noise before he turns back to Shane. 

Murderous rage and bone-chilling terror flow through Ilya in equal measure. “Who did this to you?” he seethes, barely recognizing his own voice as blood pounds in his ears. 

Shane doesn’t answer. Just shakes his head as he stumbles forward, crashing into Ilya with what little strength he has left. 

Ilya’s arms come up immediately to hold him, to cradle him in the circle of his arms. But the question remains on his lips, and he repeats it, the words still laced with venom. “Who did this to you?” 

Labored breaths land against Ilya’s throat, and he feels Shane’s mouth open. “I don’t want to tell you,” he says. “You’ll kill him.”

“You are fucking right, I’ll kill him,” Ilya says, his hand coming up to wipe a bead of blood from Shane’s face. 

“I’m not worth that,” Shane responds, and Ilya immediately wants to counter that he’s worth all of that and more. There’s nothing that even remotely compares. And anyone who dares to do so much as lay a finger on Shane Hollander will have to answer to him and the wrath of everything he has at his disposal.

“Shane,” he says, softer this time, hoping maybe a shift in tone will lead him to what he needs. “Who did this?”

Shane pulls back slightly, his face devastated as he says, “Your brother.” 

Ilya’s breath catches, and he closes his eyes against the sudden spinning of the room. 

Andrei went after Shane. Andrei went after Shane. Had he somehow found out about them? Have they been compromised? But aside from Shane showing up tonight, they’ve always been so fucking careful. There’s no way he could—

“He said he wanted to send a message to my mother,” Shane says as he settles his head back on Ilya’s shoulder, as if the effort to keep it raised is too much. 

Thank god Ilya thinks but doesn’t voice, not wanting to risk sending Shane into a panic about the path of his thoughts when he’s already injured and in pain.

“Come,” he says, “lets get you patched up.”

He leads Shane slowly to the bed, taking stock of the limp in his right leg, and motions for him to sit. Shane hesitates and Ilya raises a brow at him.

“I’ll get blood all over your sheets,” he says, and Ilya doesn’t know whether to be charmed or annoyed. 

“Does it look like I give a fuck about my sheets, Hollander? Sit.”

Shane does with a huff, and Ilya starts to gather his supplies. He runs down the list in his head, hoping it’ll calm the shake of his hands. Alcohol, bandages, a needle and thread, scissors, tape. He needs to be steady if he’s going to help. His rage towards his brother will have to wait. 

He walks back to Shane and places the things he’s gathered on his night stand. Then he kneels so their eyes are level. “I am going to take your clothes off so I can see everything he did. I do not want to miss anything. Is that okay?”

Shane nods without hesitation, trust plain on his face even amongst the immense pain.

Ilya strips him carefully, apologies plentiful on his lips as Shane hisses each time fabric comes into contact with a wound. 

“How many times have I told you, you should be armed at all times, idiot,” Ilya admonishes when he sees no sign of a weapon anywhere on Shane’s body.

Shane glares at him, and Ilya’s glad to see it. There’s fight in this man he loves. Just not for this. Not for the violence and bloodshed that’s marred every part of their existence. An unfortunate side effect of being born into the families they have. 

“I was just walking in from my fucking car.”

“It does not matter,” Ilya says. “You have a target on your back.”

“Put there by your family,” Shane snaps, and Ilya can’t keep the hurt from his face.

They were raised to hate each other. Shane’s mother being the head of one of the most prolific crime families in the country and Ilya’s father at the helm of another. 

And hate they did. For so long and so many years. Until one fateful night when Ilya had hovered over Shane with a knife to his throat. 

Shane had smiled, and Ilya’s grip on him loosened in surprise. “I never realized how beautiful you are. I’m glad I got to see it before I die.”

And Ilya belonged to Shane Hollander ever since. 

“Sorry,” Shane mutters after Ilya’s silence stretches to fill the small space between them. “I know it’s not your fault. I know you’d change it if you could.”

He would if it were possible, but it’s not and it haunts Ilya until the bags are so deep under his eyes that he collapses from exhaustion trying to fight it away. 

When he’s done with Shane’s clothes, Ilya checks him over. There’s a few cuts from a knife here and there, but nothing is deep enough to be dangerous. He has a split lip, a bruise blooming on his cheek, and a dislocated shouler. Ilya’s grateful to see his stomach appears untouched. He doesn’t look too bad all things considered. 

Considering what Andrei is capable of.

“You need a few stitches and you will be sore for a few days, but he went easy on you, thankfully,” Ilya says, reaching up to take Shane’s arm into his hand. “But you should not have come here.”

“I know, I just—“ Shane stops to cry out when his shoulder pops back into place. He takes in haggard breaths through his nose for a few seconds, before he’s able to go on. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You should not have come,” Ilya repeats. “But I am glad you did.” 

Shane’s mouth twitches into an almost smile, and Ilya begins to work on stitching up the deeper cuts. His work is crude and will most certainly scar, but he hopes Shane will remember the loving touch that went into trying to heal him and not the brutal force that wounded him to begin with. 

“How mad do you think your mother will be?” Ilya asks, already knowing the answer. Yuna Hollander is a formidable presence. She’s ruthless and cunning and has held onto power for many years despite those who try to take it from her at every turn. 

Ilya would respect her greatly if it weren’t for the fact he’s forced to hate her. Though he finds it hard to hate the woman responsible for raising Shane. He thinks there must be some loving being in her somewhere to have brought up such a kind and gentle son. 

“I’m hoping she never finds out,” Shane says as he watches Ilya’s fingers lace up his last cut. He looks up to Ilya, his face concerned. “And what about your brother? What will you do to him?”

Ilya looks away to cut the thread on Shane’s arm. “You wish me to do nothing?” 

“That’s my wish every time,” Shane says with a conviction Ilya’s heard so many times before. “No one deserves to die because of the shit we do.”

Ilya just hums in response. Shane’s right afterall. He hates that part of it, too and knows he isn’t any better, and quite possibly worse, than most of the people he’s killed. 

Shane is better though. There’s nothing he could ever do that would make Ilya think less of him. 

He walks to the bathroom and lets a cloth run under warm water, returning to gently brush it over Shane’s body, wiping the last traces of carnage from his skin. 

Shane’s eyes flutter closed, and the sigh that leaves him is the sweetest sound Ilya’s ever heard. The trust and love he displays, the openness as he lays back and lets Ilya take care of him, cracks Ilya in two and pieces him back together all at once. 

When Ilya reaches his face, Shane looks at him, expression pleading. “Make me forget all this,” he says as Ilya wipes the blood away from his lip. 

“I do not want to hurt you,” Ilya replies. 

“You could never hurt me,” Shane says and leans up on his elbows to capture Ilya’s mouth. 

They both know it’s not true, but Ilya’s helpless to do anything but pretend it is. 

He sinks into the kiss, trying to be mindful of the cut that splits Shane’s lip, but Shane opens his mouth and swipes his tongue against the flesh of Ilya’s bottom lip, and all sensible thought flies out the window.

He angles his head for better access, lost in the familiar taste of Shane. He’s warm and wet and everything good, and Ilya’s struck not for the first time about how this is the one place in the world he can let go. Not the apartment or the bed, but Shane. 

Shane groans into his mouth as their tongues slide together, and Ilya can already feel hardness pressing against his thigh. Suddenly, the fact that he’s still fully clothed feels like the worst crime he’s ever committed. 

He breaks away, grinning at Shane’s pout at the loss of contact. His own cock swells as he sees Shane’s chest rise and fall in pants and his skin flushed with need. Need for him. 

Ilya fumbles to rid himself of all the fabric that separates them, only just able to have enough sense of mind to carefully place his gun and knife down gently while he grabs lube from the side table drawer.

He coats his fingers, and teases his thumb against Shane’s hole, loving the way Shane’s back arches off the bed at the slightest contact. It’s been weeks since they’ve seen each other, and as much as Ilya wants to take his time, he’s not sure he’s going to be able to. And from the look of him, Shane isn’t going to either. 

Shane’s moans soon fill the room as Ilya slips in one finger and then another, teasing him just inside until he’s practically begging. It’s so addicting, watching Shane fall apart, and Ilya hopes he never gets used to the feeling that he’s the only person who gets to experience Shane like this. 

He works his fingers in up to his knuckle, hooking them slightly to tease at Shane’s prostate, watching as he grinds down on Ilya’s hand, unable to keep still even if his life depended on it. 

It’s one of the things Ilya loves most about him. That with everyone else, Shane is quiet and private, the picture of control, but here, with Ilya, he’s loud and needy, unabashed in letting Ilya know exactly what he wants and unafraid to take it. 

Ilya pumps his fingers a few more times, leaning down to lick at the precome that’s leaking out of Shane’s cock. He barely manages to keep himself from swallowing him down, remembering just how good the weight of him is inside his mouth. But the need to be inside him when Shane comes wins out, and Ilya peppers soft kisses across Shane’s chest as he withdraws, careful not to touch anything that might cause him pain. 

Shane’s sprawled on his back and he opens his legs wide to accommodate Ilya’s large body. He raises his ass slightly off the bed and Ilya smiles at his impatience, while he lathers oil over his cock. He pumps himself once, then twice, enjoying the feel of his own hand, while knowing it pales in comparison to what it will feel like when he’s inside Shane. 

He leans down to kiss Shane as he slips inside, the head of his cock catching slightly before he starts to gently thrust the tip inside, taking pride in the way Shane’s mouth falls open as he struggles to keep up with the rush of feelings that mirror Ilya’s own. 

Lust. Love. Complete and utter devotion. 

It doesn’t take him long to gasp out a strangled, “More,” and Ilya is all too happy to oblige as he hooks Shane’s legs over his arms and sinks in so deeply, it’s impossible to tell where Shane ends and he begins. 

He moves, every nerve ending in his body lighting up because he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. It was never like this with anyone else. Shane has ruined him for the rest of time, laid waste to the possibility that Ilya could ever be whole outside of him, and Ilya is all to happy to let it happen. 

Ilya leans down to kiss across his face, stopping only when Shane catches his mouth in a messy kiss that only lasts as long as it takes for Ilya to grind into him, causing Shane to break away with a gasp. 

Nipping at the taught muscles in Shane’s neck, Ilya murmurs to him in Russian. I love you. You’re everything. You feel so good. I love how you come alive when I fuck you. Please never leave. 

“Touch yourself,” he commands into Shane’s skin, and Shane obeys. He holds his hand from his good arm to Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya spits onto his palm, a surge of heat rushing through him that Shane is using him in every way he can. 

Shane takes himself into his hand and Ilya can tell from the speed of his strokes that he’s not going to last long. Ilya focuses on the catch of his breath, the roll of his hips to match Ilya’s thrusts, the plaster of his hair on his forehead from the sheen of sweat on his skin. 

Ilya has long known he’s powerful. But the power he wields outside these walls is false. Born only from weapons he carries and history that he can’t escape. But with Shane, the power is entirely his.

Spurts of white coat Shane’s skin, and Ilya marvels at his unguarded face while the pleasure fully consumes him. He cries out Ilya’s name, saying it over and over again like some kind of reverent prayer. He’s so breathtakingly beautiful, perfect even as cuts and bruises marr his skin. 

The clench of his muscles brings Ilya to the edge, and he thrusts again and again. There’s no where else in the entire universe he’d rather be than buried to the hilt inside Shane Hollander. 

His own release comes like a wave chasing the shore. It ripples through him, starting from the top of his head, traveling down to the balls of his feet as he empties himself inside Shane, his hips still stuttering as he chases the last vestiges of pleasure. Unwilling to give up until he’s been milked completely dry

He has enough sense to collapse to the side of Shane after he gently sets his legs down to the bed. He spoons him from behind, pressing his cheek to Shane’s silky hair that’s matted against the pillow. 

“I love you,” he says, and Shane’s body goes still. It’s a rarity for them to say, even though they’ve both felt it down to their bones for years. But Ilya can’t imagine not saying it now. 

“I love you, too,” Shane whispers and . “I was terrified I would never see you again.”

Ilya shushes him with strokes against his chest. His touch is gentle but his voice is dark when he says, “No one is going to take you from me.”

He hopes that he helped Shane forget the world outside exists if only for a little while. Grateful that even if he can’t protect the person he loves most, he can at least provide him this.

Ilya holds him as long as Shane’s able to deal with the mess that coats his skin and ass, and when he starts to complain, Ilya grabs another rag and wipes him down as he starts to shiver in the cool of the apartment. 

Knowing he’ll complain about the sheets next, Ilya picks him up and carries him to a nearby chair, covering him with a blanket until he can deposit him back on the bed with clean sheets and provide his own skin for warmth. 

“Do you ever think about what we would be if our lives were different?” Shane asks when they’re finally settled again, his delicate fingers tracing the cross on Ilya’s chest. 

Ilya doesn’t. But not because he doesn’t want to. He just can’t allow himself to feel the devastation of hoping for something better. So, he hums and thinks of something so absurd it could never be true. 

“Yes,” he says, pushing back sweaty bangs from Shane’s forehead. “We are world’s most famous hockey players. We have a great rivalry, and fall madly in love in secret.” 

Shane laughs lightly next to him, wincing from the effort it takes. “We already have a great rivalry and are madly in love in secret.” 

“Yes, but there is much less guns and death in hockey,” Ilya replies, and Shane suddenly looks exhausted and sad. What little light is left leaves his deep brown eyes. 

“I don’t want to live like this anymore, Ilya,” he says. “I’m not cut out for this life.” 

It’s something Ilya’s recognized for years. Even before they began to fuck and then love. He’s always been able to see the hesitation in him. Shane isn’t weak. Far from it, but he’s too soft and good for the lives they’ve been given. Things Ilya thinks he could be if he were allowed. One luxury he truly can’t afford. 

“Then run,” he tells Shane, because no matter how badly it kills him to be separated, he wants Shane’s happiness more than he wants anything else in the world. “I will help you. I will find a place, give you everything you need to disappear–”

“I’m not leaving without you,” Shane interrupts him, and his face is so concentrated and determined that Ilya wants to kiss the wrinkles on his furrowed brow. “Come with me.” 

And god Ilya wishes he could. But generations of sin weigh him down like an anchor, sinking him into depths he can’t hope to breech. He doesn’t deserve to separate from this. Not after everything he’s done. 

“I am not brave enough,” he says, hating that it’s true. He hopes Shane will realize what he’s tied himself to. That he’ll come to his senses and see that he deserves so much more than the coward who chooses to stay tied to this awful life.

“Then I’ll stay until you realize you are,” Shane says, the softest smile on his face. 

Ilya’s eyes sting. “Even if it means you live in agony?” 

Shane brings Ilya’s hand to rest against his heart, and Ilya lets himself be comforted by the steady beat under his palm that reminds him Shane is alive. “There’s no agony here.”

He kisses Shane, then, slow and deep until he feels Shane start to drift off into sleep. Ilya holds him, spends his time in the dark watching over like a silent sentinel as he memorizes the splash of freckles across his nose. The heart shape of his lips. The smooth skin between his eyebrows. 

And as the black sky of night gives way to the sun, Ilya lets himself dream, if only for the briefest of moments as warm rays infiltrate his curtains. He closes his eyes. Sees the very same sun rising over a cottage near a lake, so far from civilization no one could ever find them. 

When he opens his eyes, he sees Shane looking back, and Ilya finds himself in awe of the man who makes him feel so much. Who makes him want to forsake everything he’s ever known for even a chance at something better. 

Maybe he thinks to himself as he kisses the tip of Shane’s nose. Someday.