Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Shane Hollander

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, David Hollander, gri - Character

Additional Tags:

Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Shane Hollander's Cottage, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Fluff, More fluff? from me?, A little, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, but it's very small, Dead Grigori Rozanov, Grigori Rozanov Haunts the Narrative, Fishing

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Hollanov Microfic Prompt Fills

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-01 Words: 894 Chapters: 1/1

The Sacred Annual Hollander Men Fishing Trip

Summary

Ilya makes it eight minutes and nineteen seconds before he finally gives into the urge to speak.

“So…now we just wait?” he murmurs, staring down at the spot where his line meets the water, imagining what the feeling might be like when a fish actually bites on the worm at the bottom.

“Yes.” Shane bites out, laser-focused on his own rod.

Ilya sighs and looks around the calm lake, nothing but the sound of birds and the occasional lap of water against the side of their boat to fill his ears.

“Canada continues to amaze.”

 

For the Hollanov May Microfic prompt: Reel

Notes

Microfic prompt againnnn. The theme is film, but I saw the word reel and instantly an image of Shane and David and Ilya in a boat hit me like a train. I rolled an 894 in the RNG, so I couldn't do everything my big ol brain wanted, but I think this still turned out pretty nice!!

Ilya makes it eight minutes and nineteen seconds before he finally gives into the urge to speak. 

“So…now we just wait?” he murmurs, staring down at the spot where his line meets the water, imagining what the feeling might be like when a fish actually bites on the worm at the bottom. 

“Yes.” Shane bites out, laser-focused on his own rod. 

Ilya sighs and looks around the calm lake, nothing but the sound of birds and the occasional lap of water against the side of their boat to fill his ears. 

Boring. 

Initially the invite to go fishing had been exciting, the way all new things seem exciting. Launching the boat, paddling out shoulder to shoulder with Shane, getting to watch Shane’s shoulders ripple while they did the paddling, even spearing a worm on the end of the hook had been morbidly interesting. 

Now all that’s left is apparently waiting in placid, patient, neverending, silence. 

“Canada continues to amaze.” Ilya observes in a deadpan voice. 

“Shutup.” Shane hisses, reaching out to push Ilya who absorbs the blow and lets out a wounded noise. Ilya pushes back, nudging each other and jostling the boat.

“Shane, don’t scare away the fish.” Mr. Hollander says from the other side, startling Ilya into stillness.

It’s not that he forgot Mr. Hollander was with them…except he kind of actually did. 

Which is extra silly considering it’s Mr. Hollander’s fishing trip, his boat, and his rod in Ilya’s hand. 

When Ilya had decided to stay with Shane for longer, he knew that Shane’s time would be split. There would be brand deals, interviews, time with his parents, time with Pike. Ilya had accepted that with a pout and a promise for Shane to make it up to him. 

What he hadn’t expected was an invitation to come along to the Sacred Annual Hollander Men Fishing Trip. 

“Yeah Shane, don’t scare fish.” Ilya whispers, a tricky little grin sliding onto his face as he watches the blush rise up on Shane’s cheeks. It was easier to focus on his boyfriend and the cute things he did than the way Ilya’s mind wanted to twist and turn the implications of being brought along on some family tradition that seemed to matter quite a deal to Mr. Hollander. 

His boyfriend. 

Ilya’s boyfriend.

It was still a shock to be able to say that, even just in his own head. 

“Talking also scares the fish.” Ilya’s boyfriend grumbles, so cute that Ilya can’t help leaning over and pressing a big smacking kiss to his cheek. 

“That’s why we whisper.” Ilya says against his cheek, giving Shane yet another kiss. 

“You know that’s actually a myth.” Mr. Hollander points out, reeling in his rod and casting out once more, “The sound waves don’t travel that well.”

It’s the exact kind of fun fact Ilya would expect out of him. Probably something he read in the New Yorker. 

“Tell me more about fish and sound, Mr. Hollander.” Ilya asks, placing his rod down carefully and spinning to face the father, “Helps me win biggest fish today, and then your son will–”

“Ilya!” Shane barks, definitely too loud for the precious, delicate, fish. 

“Cook it! I was going to say cook!” Ilya protests, laughing at the disbelief in Shane’s eyes. He really hadn’t been planning to say anything dirty, not with Mr. Hollander in the boat with them, but the possibilities are starting to creep into his mind. 

Competitions for best fish, skinny dipping, even potential interesting uses for fishing line…

“This land is technically protected, so we won’t be keeping anything we catch.” Mr. Hollander says, cutting through Ilya’s daydreams, “And please, Ilya, I’ve told you. It’s just David.” 

And there it was, the tension back with a vengeance.

They had said it during that second dinner, and in every interaction after that. Ilya is to call them Yuna and David, not Mr. and Mrs. Hollander. It’s a kindness, a way to open the door and show Ilya that he is welcome with them, safe with them. It’s nice.

And it’s also so fucking uncomfortable. 

Ilya has always had protocol to carry him through conversations with his elders. Don’t speak unless spoken to. If spoken to keep it short and humble. 

And, above all, address everyone respectfully. 

Дядя and тётя for family. Patronymics for those who deserve your respect, Mr. and Mrs. for Westerners who deserve your respect. It’s the way it’s always been, the way that was drilled into him. 

And then, his own words come back. 

“You’re good here. We’re good here.” 

“David.” Ilya tries, the name feeling awkward in his mouth. 

The birds continue to chirp, the waves lap at the boat, the stillness hangs in the air. 

Shane leans into his shoulder, and Ilya turns automatically, burying his face in Shane’s hair. A peculiar relief is spreading through Ilya’s shoulders, a bone-deep exhaustion along with it, and Shane takes them both in stride. 

Without words, he understands, and Ilya loves him impossibly more for it. 

Ilya flips back around after the moment passes, sliding closer to Shane so their shoulders are pressed together, the sun baking them and bathing the moment in golden light. Ilya reels his line back in to cast it out again. 

The quiet is a comfort, not a bore. 

“...wait, we don't get to eat any?!”