Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Harris Drover

Additional Tags:

High Shane Hollander, High Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, shane gets high on purpose this time, as does ilya, boyfriends of all time, Fluff, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Implied Sexual Content, technically a fade to black but rating explicit just in case, Shane Hollander's Cottage, Soft Shane Hollander, Aphrodisiacs

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of high on loving you

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-23 Words: 9,091 Chapters: 1/1

u and me at home

Summary

There is no version of Shane that would ever have felt safe and comfortable enough to try recreational drugs before Ilya came along. This is perhaps not the pinnacle of romance to most, but for Shane, it’s a sure sign that he’s a total fucking lost cause. 

Or:

Shane gets high again, but this time it's on purpose, at the cottage and with Ilya. aka HIGH!SHANE THE SEQUEL!

Notes

OH HELLO FANCY SEEING YOU ALL HERE!!! ok first of all, i was absolutely BLOWN away by the reception of as high as i might 😭😭😭 thank you so so much to everyone who read and kudos-d and commented. i wrote that with no intention of writing a sequel BUT. back by popular demand is high!shane joined by high!ilya this time. i had an absolute blast revisiting these guys and hopefully u will be able to tell, because this fic is so fucking silly.

if you are new here, this is a sequel to my previous fic, as high as i might (i can't get that high). you don't HAVE to read that one first, but it will give you so context, so i highly (hehe) recommend doing that and THEN coming back to this one. :)

a couple of disclaimers!!!!!!!: i am not canadian, nor french, nor russian. i am a meager american citizen trying her best. if there is anything in here that is not accurate, pls forgive meee and pls suspend ur disbelief !! but feel free to (nicely) let me know in the comments. ALSO idek what the timeline of this fic is anymore. in my mind, ilya is playing for the centaurs, shane is still playing for montreal and they are still hiding their relationship. other than that i got no clue, so just pretend it makes sense.

the title of this fic comes from the song 'u and me at home' by wetleg!!! if u haven't heard this song, pls go listen. it is so hollanov living their best life together at the cotage!!

update: russian translation available here! << Перевод на русский язык

“...Are you feeling anything yet?” 

“Hollander.” 

‘Well, are you?” 

“Hollander. Shut up.” 

“Because I don’t think I am, but I can’t really tell.” 

Ilya groans loudly, the sound echoing off of the tall pines that decorate the backyard of the cottage, just barely concealing the sparkling patches of the water beyond. The sun is sitting high overhead, warming Shane’s skin and reminding him just how perfect of a summer day this is. It needed to be perfect, of course, if Shane was going to let loose a bit and do something so wildly out of character like get high with his boyfriend on purpose. For fun. So yeah, everything else had to be going exactly as planned for him to relinquish his tight-fisted control on life for an afternoon. Even he can admit, however, that today of all days is so far proving to be the best time to do so. Sunny, warm, blissfully empty of everyone else but them. The cottage is always a place that reflects Shane’s perceived reality of the world— the one in which there’s him and Ilya and no one else. 

“Hollander, you need to fucking relax,” Ilya tells him, seemingly much farther along in the relaxation process than Shane is. His long, toned legs are stretched out on the deck chair before him and his head is leaned back, face tilted up to take in the sunshine. The black Ray-Bans perched on his nose make him look so stupidly, effortlessly cool and Shane would be annoyed if he didn’t also find it hot as hell. 

“I am relaxed!” Shane says defensively. “This is me, completely relaxed.” 

Ilya lifts his head and turns to Shane, pulling down his sunglasses to give him a once-over. From what Shane can tell from his expression, he’s deeply unimpressed. Asshole. 

“Well, maybe try to feel some other emotion then, because I don’t think you are doing it right. Why don’t you try being horny?” Ilya suggests, coy. “That always seems to loosen you up, no?” 

Shane glowers at him. “You’re making that pretty hard right now.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say, and Shane realizes a moment too late when Ilya claps his hands together with a cackle. “That is what he said! HA!” 

“Oh my god,” Shane moans. 

“That was a good one! Very good set up, thank you, Hollander.” 

“I wish Marlow had never taught you that joke. He doesn’t even realize the damage he’s done.” 

Ilya just chuckles, all too pleased with himself as he settles back into his chair, and Shane is struck for a moment by how absolutely perfect he looks here at the cottage. So at peace, so natural and at home, as if he had come with the house as an add on component and simply stuck around, incorporating himself effortlessly into Shane’s innermost life. He so obviously belongs here, with Shane, and it never, ever gets old realizing it, realizing just how lucky Shane is to have gotten everything he ever wanted. More, even. 

There is no version of Shane that would ever have felt safe and comfortable enough to try recreational drugs before Ilya came along. This is perhaps not the pinnacle of romance to most, but to Shane, it’s a sure sign that he’s a total fucking lost cause. 

“You must let the high come to you,” Ilya explains sagely, “not the other way around. Just close your eyes, take some deep breaths. Be like me, yes? Chill.” 

Shane rolls his eyes. “Ok, Weed Yoda. How many times have you done this before?” 

“Many,” Ilya says. “Someone was always smoking at parties when I played for Raiders, which was very nice. Never had to go far to find it and never had to buy myself. With the Centaurs, it’s less often, but every now and then still.” 

“And you’ve always smoked? Or have you taken edibles before too?” 

“Was mostly joints, but yes, the edible kind as well sometimes. This brand is very good, Hollander, do not worry. Harris gave them to me and he is very reliable. I would trust him with my life.” 

And mine, apparently, Shane almost says, then decides that’s a bit too dramatic. He’s trying to relax, after all, but it takes a lot of effort and concentration. He’s aware that’s counterintuitive. Whatever. Everyone fucking knows that relaxing isn’t his strong suit.

He tries, really, really tries, to stop himself there. Ilya isn’t looking for an interrogation right now and Shane doesn’t want to put him through one. He should just shake off whatever anxious tick is poking at the back of his skull and making him ask all these questions, sit back in his chair, and, as Ilya instructed, let the high come to him. 

He lasts for maybe thirty seconds. 

“What strength did you say these gummies are again? Because I read that the recommended dosage is 10 to 15 milligrams, and—“ 

Ilya rises with a put upon huff, then takes one massive step, now straddling Shane’s chair and Shane himself. He leans down, so close Shane can smell the wintergreen gum in his mouth. So close Shane wants to taste it too. 

With that uncanny ability he has to read Shane’s mind, Ilya closes the space between them, grabbing Shane’s chin as he presses their lips together. The kiss is deep and searing enough to make him glad he’s sitting down. 

“Shane,” Ilya breathes, pulling back and cradling Shane’s face in his hands. “My love. Light of my life. Only man in the world for me. Father of our future children. I am maybe going to kill you if you ask me one more question. It will make me very upset, but it will be out of my hands.” 

And Shane would like to be annoyed, but it’s kind of hard to be with an introduction like that. He rolls his eyes, but can’t keep the grin from tilting his lips up at the corners. 

“Asshole. Sorry I’m nervous. This is kind of new territory for me, you know.”

Ilya does smile at that and leans in to kiss him again, this time chastely. “I know. You are being very brave.”

Shane scoffs. “I’m not brave for getting high, Ilya. Bravery is for serious people who, like, go to war or whatever.” 

Ilya shrugs. “Maybe, but doing new things is not easy for you. ” He un-straddles himself from Shane’s deck chair and finds his own again. “Is okay to be nervous. But you should try to ease into it. Will be much more enjoyable that way, I promise.” 

“Hm,” Shane hums, unconvinced. The last time he was high (which had been a complete and total accident) he had zero anticipation for it and therefore zero nerves to battle. This time is obviously a bit different. 

“Why don’t you tell me about what you want to do today?” Ilya asks him. “What is Shane Hollander’s perfect stoned afternoon?” 

“Oh, because I’ve had so many of them?” he replies, voice thick with sarcasm. 

Shane feels rather than sees Ilya’s eye roll. “Humor me, Hollander.” 

And really, what else does he have to do right now besides sit here and worry about nothing? So he considers it. 

“Well… well, I would want to be here. At the cottage.” 

It seems redundant as soon as he says it. Fucking obviously. That’s literally why they were doing this here right now. But Ilya tilts his head, acknowledging it. “Done. What else?” 

“Um. I don’t know. I guess I just want to… chill. Cook something, maybe. Lay on the couch. Be lazy, for once.” 

“Woah!” Ilya mock gasps. “This is crazy talk, Hollander. A whole afternoon and no high intensity interval training? Your impressive muscles will disappear, and then what will you have going for you?” 

“Three Stanley Cups and a Rolex sponsorship, for starters.” 

“And a very sexy boyfriend,” Ilya inserts, flashing him a crooked grin and wagging his brows a bit. “How could I forget?” 

Shane laughs despite himself. “You’re such a dick, Rozanov.”

Ilya just reaches into the space between them, grabbing Shane’s hand and lacing their fingers together in that soft, gentle way so few people know he’s even capable of. His thumb slides easily over Shane’s knuckle and the rough, calloused feel of his skin contradicts the sweetness of the gesture. Shane closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling. Ilya’s touch, so capable and assertive, often takes him far out of his body, out of his mind, but just as often it’s the very thing that grounds him, helping him settle into himself more comfortably. Their hands swing between them and they sit in silence for a bit, soaking up the sounds of summer playing out around them. 

“So is your sexy boyfriend there with you in this wild fantasy afternoon?” Ilya asks. “You didn’t say.” 

Ilya is fishing for compliments, of course. He already knows there’s exactly one person on earth Shane would be vulnerable enough to do this with. 

“Mmm,” Shane pretends to think, “nah. I was thinking I’d spend it with Hayden or something, actually—”

“Fucking Pike?” Ilya promptly drops his hand, deeply affronted. “Is a nightmare you are describing now, not a dream. Christ. Cannot imagine anyone worse to get high with. What does he even do for fun besides play terrible hockey and get his wife pregnant?” 

Having heard this rant about a million times by now, Shane feels relatively unphased. “You two are ridiculous, you know that right?” 

“Us two?” Ilya demands. “Oh, so what is Pike saying about me behind my back to my boyfriend? He has no fucking shame? Tell me right now.” 

Shane shakes his head, smiling. “I’m not doing this with you. With either of you.” 

At this, Ilya throws up his hands. “My own boyfriend, letting his lousy best friend slander me. He does nothing to defend my honor. I am scorned.” 

“You’re a drama queen, is what you are.” 

And then Shane laughs a bit. Because Ilya so fucking is. So dramatic. All the fucking time. He should have a crown. And a castle. Rule over some kind of territory, probably. 

He glances over to find Ilya already watching him, a small smile playing at his lips. Shane stifles another laugh and shakes his head at nothing. 

“Something funny, Hollander?” Ilya asks lightly. 

“Nope,” Shane replies, biting down on a smile. “Nope, nope, nope.” 

“Well,” Ilya sighs. “That did not take long.” 

***

Ilya should have known it would go this way: Shane getting high within twenty minutes of ingesting the edible and Ilya feeling absolutely nothing. 

Although Shane has already insisted, approximately nine times since getting high, that he is most definitely not high. At all. He’s being normal. Completely normal. Laughing at nothing, smiling at everything, but other than that, completely fucking normal. High Shane really shouldn’t be so endearing, but of course he is. And this time around, Ilya really wanted to join him in the fun. 

He sighs. Maybe his was just taking longer to kick in. He has a higher tolerance than Shane, after all. Or maybe he’d swallowed a dud, which can happen on occasion. He would have preferred to smoke, but there was a higher chance of the sun exploding than there was getting Shane Hollander to inhale smoke into his pristine, pink lungs, so Ilya made it work. 

The bag of edibles was sitting open on the island in the kitchen, just visible through the sliding glass door. Ilya considers it for a moment, then rises and makes his way inside, telling Shane he’ll be right back. 

Harris, the Centaurs’ social media manager and now a good friend of Ilya’s, had given him this bag as a post-season gift, which was very sweet. A few months ago at an after party Harris had confided, much to Ilya’s delight, that he indulged in edibles from time to time and had plenty of wisdom and recommendations to share in that area. At the time, Ilya hadn’t been thinking of them with Shane in mind, but after Shane brought up getting high again, this time on purpose and with Ilya, he’d figured this was the smoothest avenue to make that happen. 

Ilya pours a few gummies into his hand. He’d taken two almost thirty minutes ago and still felt nothing. One more was probably fine. 

He pops it into his mouth. 

“Hey, Ilya?” he hears behind him. 

Smiling, he turns. “Yes, Shane?” 

Shane is standing just inside, his thumbs in his pockets, apparently having decided that spending a whole minute by himself was unbearable. 

“Ilya, do you remember, um. Remember the last time this happened?” 

“The last time you got high?” Ilya asks, brows raised. “Yes, I think I remember that.” 

“And I got really mad at you for ordering McDonald’s?” 

Ilya rolls his eyes. He’d need at least three more concussions to forget a Shane crash out of that magnitude. Over a cheeseburger. 

Those things are full of fucking preservatives, Rozanov! Not to mention the saturated fats and added sugars! Shane had cried. 

One cheeseburger will not kill you, Ilya told him. And then when Shane began to protest, he added, Actually, you ate two, so nevermind. I take it back. Start planning the funeral. 

“Oh, yes,” Ilya assures him. “You were very loud about it. And mean.” Shane had refused to sleep with him that night out of pettiness and then had the audacity to go on a road trip for the following two weeks, leaving Ilya alone and very sexually frustrated. “I learned my lesson, Hollander, don’t worry.” 

“Right.” Shane nods a bit, before saying, “And you know how sometimes I tell you things and then you don’t listen to me and do what you want anyway?” 

Ilya pulls his lips into his mouth. “Perhaps.” 

Shane’s eyes are huge and pleading. “Is this… maybe one of those times?” 

Good god, High Shane was going to get him killed. And he was kind of fucking thrilled about it. 

“Get in here, Hollander,” he sighs, amused. “Close the door behind you. I have something you will like.” 

Shane’s whole face lights up in that carefree, unguarded way that makes Ilya feel a bit dizzy. His normal smile is enough to put Ilya on his ass, but this one especially makes him want to stick his face into a pillow and scream like a fucking teenager. That’s perhaps the benefit of falling in love with someone you met at the tender age of seventeen; the love he shares with Shane will always make him feel young— like he’s doing all of this for the very first time, even all these years in. 

He shuffles over to the pantry, digging around a bit to find the forbidden box of brownies he’d hidden earlier this week, knowing at the very least Shane would disapprove, if not dispose of it instantly if he saw. When he uncovers it at last, he reemerges to find Shane staring at something in his hands, a confused look on his face. 

“What is that?” Ilya asks, sidling up beside him. 

“A note or something. Saw it on the floor.” 

Ilya takes it from him with a frown before he recognizes it as the sticky note Harris had left on the bag. The side facing him reads, “From Harris, To Ilya. Have a great summer!” but with the light coming in from the windows, he can now see there’s writing on the underside he’d missed before. He flips it over, reading the message. 

Have fun doing drugs! Also, I forgot to mention: DO NOT TAKE MORE THAN TWO AT ONE TIME. I have made this mistake more than once because it was taking a while to kick in, and I thought they just weren’t working. TRUST ME, they are. Just give it time. :) 

Ilya blinks at this message. Well. That maybe would have been nice to know five minutes ago. 

There is no point in stressing about it now. It will probably be fine… Harris is much smaller than Ilya anyway. They likely have completely different tolerances. Yes, this would be okay. No big deal. Thank god he’d been cautious and only given one to Shane, so nothing to worry about there. 

“Ilya?” Shane asks, calling him back to the present. 

“Put your apron on, Hollander,” he says, tossing the box on the counter. “We are making some fucking brownies.” 

***

A few minutes later, Ilya learns something new about Shane, which is that he absolutely cannot cook when he’s high. Shane Hollander, (tied for) best center in the league, generational playmaker and scorer of over 500 points alone, is an unmitigated disaster in the kitchen while stoned. For one thing, he seems to have forgotten the location of every baking tool he owns, despite this being his literal house. Cracking eggs is an absolute nonstarter as well— for a guy with such dextrous hands, he cannot for the life of him figure it out. Ilya quickly takes over to avoid shells getting mixed in. 

After Shane measures out the wrong amount of vegetable oil for the third time in a row, Ilya decides to put his foot down. 

“Oh my god, Hollander, you are so bad at this. There are only three fucking steps on the box!” 

Shane finds all of this hilarious. “I’m trying,” he insists through a giggle. 

Ilya would find it a lot funnier if he weren’t actually looking forward to having some decent brownies when his high finally kicks in. 

“Enough,” Ilya says, confiscating the oil and measuring cup from his incompetent boyfriend. “No. No more chances. You are banned from the kitchen for not taking this seriously.” 

At this, Shane absolutely loses it, doubling over from laughing so hard. It’s impossible for Ilya not to smile at the sight of it, any half-hearted annoyance he was harboring wiped away in an instant. 

“Sorry,” he wheezes after a moment, standing up and wiping his eyes. “Sorry, I just don’t think anyone has ever accused me of not taking something seriously. Like, ever. In my life.” 

Ilya laughs. “Yes, well there is a first time for everything. Add ‘baking while high’ to the teeny tiny list of things you cannot do. Along with riding a bike.” 

“I can ride a bike, Ilya!” Shane laughs, and Ilya knows he’s high, because a comment like that normally would have spiraled into a twenty minute debate where Shane defends his bike-riding abilities with his life. Still. Ilya knows what he saw, the one time they’d ridden together on a trail near the cottage. 

“Barely,” Ilya counters. “Go. Sit down on the couch and pick a movie while I put these in the oven.” 

“Yes, chef,” Shane murmurs, coming up behind Ilya to nuzzle his nose into his neck. “Love it when you boss me around.” 

Shane’s breath sends chills down his spine, the good kind, making him shiver. Without even really trying, Shane sometimes makes it so hard for Ilya to play things cool. A very fucking annoying habit of his, actually. Ilya has a reputation to maintain, after all. 

“Go,” he says, half-laughing, hoping Shane can’t hear the strain in his voice. “I have brownies to salvage.” 

“Ooh, salvage,” Shane repeats dreamily. “Was that in your crossword puzzle this week?” 

“Fuck you,” Ilya returns. Then adds, begrudgingly, “But yes. Is a good word.” 

He feels Shane’s lips press into the knob of his spine directly between his shoulder blades, feels the gentle scrape of his teeth before he moves away and out of the kitchen entirely, presumably going to do exactly as Ilya instructed. He smiles to himself, satisfied. 

Now that he’s alone, he does a private inventory of how he’s feeling. So far so good. Nothing crazy seems to be happening— nothing at all seems to be happening, but perhaps Harris was right and it simply takes time to kick in. He’s hoping Harris is perhaps not right about that other thing he’d said, but the warning is still ringing in Ilya’s ears.

He reaches for his phone, pulling up the social media manager’s contact and typing out a quick message. 

Ilya

Harris! I am doing the drugs you gave me. 

Seconds later, a response from Harris appears.  

Harris

Ilya! Hell yeah, man! Love to hear it. You deserve to kick back and relax a little. 

Ilya

Wanted to ask. 

I did not see your note until too late.  

I have taken three gummies.  

Will I die? :( 

Harris

Oooooh boy. Okay. How you feeling? 

Ilya

I feel nothing yet. Is why I took more. 

Harris: 

Rookie mistake, Roz. Sorry, I should have written my warning directly on the bag or something.

Look, good news is, you will NOT die! You’re just going to get pretty darn high, if my experience is anything to go by. 

Ilya

That is the point, yes? 

Harris

Sure, but there’s levels to it. And everyone is different, so this could be a nonissue! 

Ilya

What is worst that can happen? 

Harris

Well, I tend to go nonverbal at a certain point. That’s pretty common at any level though. 

Ilya

WHAT!?!! Has never happened to me before!!! 

Harris

😬😬😬😬

Ilya

No! Am too funny to be silenced this way!

Harris

Hahaha, sorry Roz. Again, it totally might not happen, that’s just what I’ve experienced.

But if you’re alone, no one will be around to miss your charming banter anyway! 

Ilya pauses, considering the consequences of his words before he types back. 

Ilya 

Am not alone. But my company will probably enjoy the silence. They are so boring and so mean to me 😫

Harris 

LMAO 

Ilya

What else? 

Harris

Well… not to stick my head into the gutter…

Ilya

Oooooh I like where this is going, Harris 😈

Harris

I’ll just say they don’t call these aphrodisiacs for nothing, okay! 😅

Ilya 

…. Am waiting for you to fix your typo…

Harris

Not a typo, bud. Guessing you haven’t heard about this before?  

Ilya closes out of his texts and pulls up google, typing in the strange word. His brows skyrocket at the results. Well, shit. He knows that weed sometimes has this effect on him, but didn’t know there was a word for it. 

Ilya

Thank you for teaching me this word, Harris. Will be very useful. 

Harris

Not to assume anything, but… maybe your company can help out in that department if necessary? 😉

Ilya

 😉

***

Since Shane has evacuated the scene and Harris has assured him he won’t die (but might explode from horniness?), Ilya moves a bit more quickly, putting the appropriate amount of ingredients into the bowl and getting a good looking batter going. 

He swipes one finger along the edge of the bowl and sticks it into his mouth. Yep. Fucking delicious. 

It’s still looking kind of lumpy, though. He stirs it a bit longer and thinks about Shane in the next room. If what Harris said is true, and Ilya feels this high more intensely than he ever has before… well, this day could get very interesting. Ilya has never gotten high with Shane before, obviously, but he’s also never been high around Shane which he’s realizing now might be a sort of hazard for his health. Shane’s presence is often intoxicating, so this combination will probably have the effect of an atomic bomb exploding in Ilya’s system. 

“Almost done?” Shane calls, his voice muffled. 

Ilya almost jumps. Incomprehensively, he’s suddenly worried he might lose control of himself and pounce on Shane like some kind of wild animal (not that Shane would be complaining, considering how last time went down). But then he shakes his head. He’s still barely feeling anything. Shane is safe. 

For now. 

“Yes. Coming!” he says, stirring the batter with a little more vigor. 

He can’t stop thinking about Shane, though, which he knows could very well be the title of his biography one day. Right now, he’s thinking about how insane it is that he can still smell Shane’s cologne lingering in the air, tickling his nose, teasing his senses. He should be smelling the chocolate-y batter sitting directly before him on the counter, but instead all he’s picking up on is the sandalwood and pine scent that characterizes all of Shane’s clothes and has embedded itself into their bedsheets. Ilya’s very attuned to it by now.

God, before Shane, he’s not sure he ever fixated so much on anyone’s smell. He’s been with a lot of women in his lifetime, many of whom sported fancy, expensive perfumes, but all the sugary, vanilla scents were pretty much indistinguishable to him. And yet he would find, after hooking up with Shane whenever the opportunity presented itself, that he couldn’t stop sniffing his clothes after their encounters, somehow picking up on the tiniest remnants of that telltale scent from wherever their clothes had met, however briefly— earthy and irresistible. Evidence of their secret, the faintest traces left behind on every surface. 

He needs his nose buried in Shane’s neck as soon as possible, he decides. It was ridiculous of him to send Shane away when he could be here, close enough so that Ilya wouldn’t have to long for him from exactly one room over. 

Ilya actually forgets sometimes that he doesn’t have to yearn for Shane anymore. The painfully acute emotion that once took up such a wide, yawning space in his chest can now be filled with the assurance that his love is returned. That he won. They both did. 

It’s at this moment that Ilya realizes he’s been stirring the batter and staring at nothing for probably several minutes. He pauses. Blinks a few times. Shakes his head and feels it move in slow motion, his brain rattling a bit between his ears. 

Yeah. Okay. The edibles are kicking in, alright. 

He then moves, ever so carefully, dumping the batter into the sprayed pan, feeling all the while like his limbs are moving through molasses. 

Fuck. Harris wasn’t fucking kidding. 

After he somehow manages to get the brownies into the oven, he places his palms on the counter and leans over them, as if he’s just finished a race and desperately needs to catch his breath. 

He needs quite a few things right now, actually. All of them start and end with Shane. Getting to him however might be a little bit of an issue since the floor and the wall have now swapped places on him and he’s having a hard time remembering the way to the living room now. Shit.

He blinks rapidly, trying to focus. His thoughts have rapidly transformed into sludge. 

Need to find Shane. Just take a step in that direction. One step. Good. Now— fucking shit, okay, do not fall over. There is no getting up. One more step. Grab the floor for balance. Tilting. The world is tilting. Keep fucking going. Shane is… Shane is somewhere. Couch? Got to find couch. Fuck. Damn. Maybe try to call for Shane? Forgot how. Have I even moved? Need a map. Map would help, maybe. Shane Hollander where the fuck did you go??? 

***

Shane is having a fucking blast, thank you very much. He likes this feeling. A lot. More so than the last time, because the last time was actually quite hard for him to recall, and his retroactive worrying about his behavior sort of clouded any memories of euphoria. 

But this time around? 

Holy fucking shit. This can’t be how people without anxiety actually feel all the time. If so he’d like to return his whole fucking life, please, anyone in the universe who is listening, and no, before you ask, he doesn’t have the receipt. 

Ilya asked him to turn something on the TV, but the ceiling fan above his head was putting on quite the show, and he’d tossed the remote away in favor of staring up at it. 

Shane thinks he might be smiling— might have never stopped smiling since he started feeling this way— but his cheeks don’t feel tired like they usually do when he’s forcing it. This smile (if there even is one, it’s not like he can see his face??) feels natural and easy. Painless. 

Because really, what is there to be worried about? It’s a sexy summer day and his sexy boyfriend is in the kitchen making them sexy brownies that they’re going to eat on their sexy couch. Genuine leather, by the way. Great quality. 

He can’t wait for Ilya to get in here. Can’t wait to tell Ilya how happy he is when he gets in here. Hell, when Ilya gets in here, his happiness levels will probably triple. 

God, he loves him. He’ll tell him that too. 

Shane tilts his head to the right to find Ilya sitting next to him already. Euphoric doesn’t begin to cover it. 

“Ilya! When did you—” 

He doesn’t get to finish that thought, but that’s okay, because yes, he would rather have Ilya’s tongue in his mouth instead. He moans as Ilya takes his chin in one hand, titling Shane’s head back to get a better angle. 

Ilya is so fucking good with his mouth. Always has been. The man was simply born to kiss— Shane lives his life trying to forget that he’s only one of probably hundreds of people who have had the privilege of kissing Ilya Rozanov. Then again, he also has the satisfaction of knowing that his lips are a final stop destination for Ilya’s. All his, forever. Thank god. 

Ilya isn’t letting up, his mouth hot and panting, his tongue stroking a ruthless rhythm against Shane’s, and Shane would be happy to never breathe again, actually, just slowly turn blue, let the lack of oxygen shut off his brain and fade out peacefully. Unfortunately, Ilya doesn’t seem to be on the same wavelength. He pulls back with a gasp, breathing hard. 

Luckily, he doesn’t go far, his nose pressing into Shane’s cheek, lips barely brushing the skin beside his mouth, wet and slick with spit.  

“Miss me?” Shane asks breathlessly. Time is passing so strangely for him right now. He wonders if Ilya feels the same. If the likely very short period of time they spent in separate rooms felt like an eternity for him, too. 

Ilya hums and buries his face in Shane’s shoulder, inhaling so deeply, it tickles. Shane pushes him away, but only long enough to change his position on the couch, moving from Ilya’s side to straddle his lap instead, sinking down onto his sizable thighs. This seems perfectly suitable to Ilya as well, who is looking up at him now with those fucking irresistable hazel eyes that have likely lured many, many unassuming people into his bed. Shane included. Shane the most included, actually. Way more included than anyone else. 

His pupils are bigger than Shane has ever seen them, black and wide and stealing space from the lovely greens and browns that usually make them glitter. His eyelids are lower than usual as well, giving him a glazed, sexy look that normally means Shane has about five seconds to find a room with a lock on the door before Ilya decides he doesn’t fucking care if anyone walks in on them or not. 

He looks horny. He looks hungry. Shane feels an answering pulse of pure desire shoot up his spine, making him shiver. 

Holy shit. Holy shit. Is Shane’s boyfriend the hottest person on the planet? 

His eyes flick down as Ilya bites his lip, an unconscious, nearly imperceptible movement. 

Shane gulps. Yeah. Confirmed. Signed, sealed, delivered. There is not a single person in the entire world hotter than Ilya Rozanov. Except for Ilya Rozanov wearing a backwards hat. Or Ilya Rozanov wearing nothing at all, which is a sight Shane knows he will be blessed with momentarily. 

Ilya's hands have already drifted to the waistline of his shorts, the long fingers dipping inside, teasing. Shane’s rest on Ilya’s shoulders, and he grips them tighter, enjoying the thick chords of muscle beneath his hands.

“Need you,” Ilya breathes. He’s speaking slowly, as if talking is taking more effort than he can give. As if the only language he can manage right now is of the body. And from Shane’s current position, perched on his lap, Ilya’s body is telling him everything he needs to know. “Need you, Shane.” 

“You have me,” Shane murmurs with a smile, rolling his hips slowly, savoring the moan it draws out of Ilya’s open mouth. “Always.” 

Ilya’s eyes flutter closed, the long lashes brushing against his cheeks. Nods, knowing Shane will understand everything he can’t say. 

***

Shane. Shane. Need you. Fuck, need you so bad. Never wanted you like this. Like air. Need to breathe you in. Need to bite you. Need to draw blood and lick it off you. Never want to stop kissing you. Don’t let go of me. I will fall off the face of the planet. Hold me harder. Leave a mark, leave bruises everywhere, need everyone to see how good you love me. How hard. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can’t think around this. Can’t think of anything else. Need you everywhere. I love you. I love you. Love you, love you, love you, love you. Let me fuck you. Let me worship you like you deserve. Let me show you how much I love you. No one has ever made me feel this much. No one has ever made me feel like you do. Will I die from loving you so much? Will my heart burst from it? 

You set my soul on fire. I am burning. I will never stop. 

Fuck, is Ilya even saying any of this out loud? He thinks he might have forgotten how to. 

***

Ilya is so far gone he’s murmuring in Russian between kisses, and Shane isn’t far behind him. He needs this in a way he never has before. He needs to have sex with the sexiest man alive. Right now. Every nerve ending feels as though it’s been set alight, sparks exploding behind his eyes. Ilya is not being gentle with him, and Shane doesn’t want him to be — he wants to feel himself torn apart by this desire. He wants to be wrecked by it. 

God. God, he’s sitting on Ilya Rozanov’s lap with his tongue halfway down his throat and his dick halfway out of his pants and there is simply no one alive more lucky than Shane in this moment. 

“Our room,” Shane huffs into Ilya’s mouth, when Ilya makes it clear he’s done being patient, one strong hand gripping Shane through the thin material of his shorts. “Need it,” he pants, “hard.” 

Ilya doesn’t hesitate, just stands with Shane still attached to him, his legs wrapping quickly around Ilya’s waist. It takes a while to get to their room, considering neither of them are very keen about pausing what they’re doing. It’s graceless and clumsy and probably very difficult on Ilya’s back, but by some miracle, they make it unscathed. 

Ilya all but tosses Shane onto the bed and towers over him for a moment. Looking. Assessing. Sizing up his meal. 

He moves to the nightstand while Shane lays back and pants, closing his eyes, nearly shaking with anticipation. He feels the bottle of lube land somewhere by his head, followed by something lightweight and small landing on his stomach. 

Shane opens his eyes, looks down and laughs. He shouldn’t be surprised. Ilya has been anything but secretive about how much Shane’s glasses turn him on. God, Ilya might come just from watching Shane put them on. 

He’s deliberately slow about it, unfolding the temples and sliding on the frames before staring up at Ilya with what he hopes are the world’s loudest fuck-me-eyes. 

But, on the off chance Ilya isn’t getting the message, he makes sure to verbalize this wish. Just to be safe. 

***

Turns out, there’s really nothing else to do after getting high and being railed within an inch of your life except immediately fall asleep. Shane doesn’t even remember when exactly he did so. The last thing he recalls is riding out the aftershocks of his climax, satisfaction settling deep in his bones. He felt like he was floating on top of a still pool of water, weightless and in absolutely no danger of drowning. Sleep must have come to him between one blink and the next. 

He blinks his eyes open slowly now. Ilya is snoring softly beside him, but he’s nothing more than a blurred shape. Shane squints, reaching up to rub his eyes and finding his glasses somehow still in place. He removes them with a frown before it hits him why exactly Ilya appeared so blurry. 

“Oh my god,” he says aloud, huffing out a laugh. “Jesus.” 

“Mm?” Ilya grumbles beside him. His eyes meet Shane’s and then drop to the glasses in his hands. A lazy, smug smile spreads across his face. “Oh, yes. Right in firing line, as you say.” 

“Yours?” Shane asks, raising a curious brow “Or mine?” 

“Does it matter? There’s cum on your glasses and you did not even reach for your little baby towel to clean them. You are still high then, yes?” 

Somewhere in the back of Shane’s mind, he’s aware that this is all very gross. It’s disgusting, actually. Neither of them showered after fucking and their bed is an utter mess and he normally would not be so composed about lying in it, much less sleeping in it, but. Ilya’s right. He’s definitely still high. Reality feels like a distant concept, entirely separate from him. 

“Probably,” Shane acquiesces. “You?” 

Ilya stretches, yawning obscenely. “Mmm. A little bit, maybe. Fuck, not so bad as before, though. I was…” he shakes his head, dumbfounded. 

“Insatiable,” Shane says, leaning over to playfully bite Ilya’s shoulder. “I’m gonna be sore for days. You were fucking possessed.” 

“Yes, it felt that way. Maybe it was just the weed, but… the sex—” 

“Was fucking amazing,” Shane finishes for him. “Yeah. Holy shit.” 

Ilya blows out a breath, flopping over to lay flat on his back. “Wow, Hollander. Wow, wow. Just remembering it, I am speechless. You have stolen all my words.” 

“You’re literally talking right now, Ilya,” he points out. 

“Bah. All my big, fancy crossword puzzle words, I mean. I am back to simple sentences, like when I was a teenager and all I knew to say was ‘hello’ and ‘no English, please’ and ‘motherfucker’.” 

Shane smirks. “Learned that one early, did you?” 

“Yes. Motherfucker, that was good,” he swears, then turns to face Shane, kissing him roughly. “I love you. That is an easy one as well.” 

A pleased smile takes over Shane’s face. “Still took you seven years to say it.” 

“Took you seven years and five seconds longer than me, I remind you.” 

“Always a competition,” Shane says with a laugh. 

Ilya lifts his hand to Shanes’ cheek, smiling softly while he takes a quick inventory, his eyes roaming Shane’s face. 

“How are you feeling? Still good?” 

Shane thinks about it before responding. “Yeah. Yeah I feel… chill, I guess. Not so loopy like I thought I would.”

Ilya nods. “Yes, is what happens when you take proper amount instead of chugging three weed drinks in a single hour. Who knew?” 

Shane groans at that, but can’t help but laugh. He’s laughing a lot more than usual, he knows, but can’t seem to stop and doesn’t feel very inclined to. He feels light and happy. At ease. 

“How long did we sleep for?” Shane asks. From what he can see out the windows, the sun has dropped significantly in the sky, perching just above the treeline now. 

Ilya props himself up on an elbow, craning his neck to read the time on the clock over Shane’s shoulder. “Shit. Three hours.” 

Shane can’t even find it in himself to be bothered by what would otherwise be considered a colossal waste of time. They were tired, so they slept. Simple. 

“Go shower,” Ilya instructs him. “I will change the sheets first, then join you.” 

“Mmk,” Shane hums, sliding out of bed and making his way to the bathroom. 

Ilya whistles appreciatively behind him. “Hate to see you leave but love to watch that ass when you go. Is the saying, no?” 

“Not even close, but your heart’s in the right place.” 

***

They’re toweling off in the bathroom together when they hear a loud knock on the door. Ilya’s eyes meet Shane’s in the mirror, both of them sporting similarly surprised expressions. 

“You mother?” Ilya asks, since it very well could be. Although Shane’s parents were a little better about texting first instead of dropping in unannounced these days. 

Shane frowns. “No, they’re visiting some cousins this week, I thought.” 

Ilya is suddenly aware that they’re basically living in a glass house right now. If anyone besides Shane’s parents or Hayden fucking Pike is knocking on that door, they will likely be very, very surprised to see Ilya here at all. Surprised might be too mild of a word, actually. But the cottage is so far off the beaten path, it’s hard to imagine someone random just showing up here. 

Shane shuffles back into the bedroom to look for his phone, presumably to look at the Ring doorbell camera and solve this mystery. 

“Ohhhh. It’s the exterminator.” He turns his phone towards Ilya to show him the young man in a ball cap currently standing on their front porch, looking around himself with something like awe. 

“The exterminator?” Ilya echoes. 

“Yeah. They come by like once a summer, usually when I’m gone for pre-season training, but I forgot they switched the date on me. I swear I checked my personal calendar and my work calendar before we— oh, no wait. I forgot I made a separate house maintenance calendar. I didn’t check that one.”

Ilya stares at his boyfriend, dumbfounded. “How many calendars do you fucking have, Hollander?” 

Shane thinks for a moment. “Four. No! Five. There’s a setting where I can view them all at once, but I’m normally so busy it gets overwhelming and there’s only so much color coding I can do, so—” 

“Oh my god, you have to stop,” Ilya waves his hands. “You are nerding out on me.” 

Shane’s eyes crinkle adorably at the corners as he laughs. “Shut up. Okay, let me put some clothes on and go get the door.” 

Ilya observes him while he changes, trying his best to gauge Shane’s current state. 

“And you are fine talking to him?” While slightly high and hiding your arch rival/boyfriend who secretly lives here in the summer? he wants to add, but resists. Shane seems very calm about the situation, and Ilya doesn’t want to spook him if this is something he can handle. 

“Why not?” Shane shrugs. “It’ll be two seconds. He’s just spraying the outside for roaches I think.” 

“Where should I wait?” Ilya asks, because if someone is going to be walking in circles outside of their house that is 90% windows, he should probably stay put somewhere without any until this guy leaves. Like a closet. Or the pantry. He watches.

Shane’s brows furrow, a confused smile on his face. 

“Wherever you want. Be right back.” 

He’s gone before Ilya gets the chance to tell him he forgot a fucking shirt. Ilya is certain that Shane Hollander has absolutely never answered his door shirtless before. He certainly never has for Ilya, which is a shame. This is a day of firsts, it seems. 

The walls of the cottage are relatively thin and the front door is right off the master bedroom, so it’s fairly easy for Ilya to listen in on the conversation taking place between Shane and the exterminator. 

The second the door opens, he hears a nervous voice say, “Oh my god. Holy shit. You’re Shane Hollander.” 

Ilya rolls his eyes. Typical. But instead of the scripted, awkward answer Shane normally gives in response to that common observation, he hears Shane laugh easily. 

“What’s up, man?” 

Ilya makes an incredulous face. What’s up?

“I’m uh. I’m new, and I’m pretty sure the other guys were trying to haze me by sending me here. They didn’t say this was your house. Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m at Shane Hollander’s house. The Shane Hollander.” 

A fanboy, through and through it seems. Ilya was liking this guy less by the second. 

“All good, dude,” Shane replies easily, seemingly in no rush to get rid of this kid. 

“Sorry this is, like, super unprofessional, but can I maybe get an autograph or like a picture or something? I’m, like, your biggest fan.” 

No, Ilya thinks with a scowl. No way. He can get a door slammed in his face and a complaint sent to his boss for not fucking exterminating anything but Ilya’s good mood. 

But Shane says, “Yeah, sure! No problem.” 

Ilya’s jaw nearly hits the floor. Shane has said no to an autograph for a five year old child before, for god’s sake! Granted, the child had asked in a public bathroom and neither party had a pen at the time, but still. This was ridiculous. What was Shane going to do next, invite him inside for a cup of coffee? 

“You can come in for a minute while I grab a pen if you want,” Shane offers. 

Ilya buries his face in his hands. 

“Sweet!” he hears the guy say before the door shuts and two sets of footsteps sound in the foyer. “Wow, it’s an honor, man. This place is fucking awesome.” 

This place is Ilya’s home. He’d really like to not be hiding in the bathroom while some random guy gets a full tour from his high boyfriend. 

“Is it cool if I just sign a puck?” Shane asks. “I have a couple lying around.” 

They exchange pleasantries for longer than Ilya would prefer as the two of them go back and forth about last season and predictions for the upcoming one. The seconds tick by and Ilya feels himself well and truly losing his patience waiting for Logan (he’d given his name when Shane asked who he should make the autograph out to) to get the fuck out of here. 

Logan eventually comes to his senses and realizes he has a job that he gets paid to do and should probably get around to doing it. He and Shane are in the middle of discussing the scope of services when Ilya sits up on their bed with a start, a horrifying realization dawning. He grabs for his phone and opens his texts to Shane. 

Ilya

SHANE!!!!!

THE BROWNIES!!!!!

FUCK!!!!!

The cottage should have burned down to ashes by this point seeing as the brownies they forgot about have been in the oven for three fucking hours now. It’s slightly comforting that he can’t smell any smoke and Shane and Logan aren’t mentioning anything awry, but this was still a major cause for concern. 

“Oh, um, hold on one sec,” he hears Shane tell Logan, likely having just seen Ilya’s messages. 

Jane

Oh shit.

Ilya

I put them in the oven three hours ago!!!!!

Why are we not dead???

Jane

Calm down. Let me check. 

We’re good. Looks like the oven isn’t even turned on. 

Ilya frowns, typing back. 

Ilya

But I told you to preheat it….

Jane

Um I think I must have just turned the oven light on lol… Oops. 

Ilya

Oh my god Hollander

Well. At least they didn’t die. 

"Sorry about that. So should I show you the outside?” Shane asks and Ilya huffs, wishing he’d just show Logan the door and then close it firmly behind him. 

***

Later that evening, after Logan has (finally) vacated the premises and the brownies have been successfully cooked in a fully preheated oven, Shane and Ilya settle together on the couch on opposite ends, feet touching in the middle. 

“You want?” Ilya asks, offering Shane a gooey square from the plate he’d put them on. “I will give you the best middle piece I was saving for myself because I am such a good, selfless boyfriend.” 

Shane rolls his eyes and Ilya can already hear the No, thanks, about to come out of his mouth, but instead, he replies, “Yeah, I’ll take one. But I like the corner pieces best.” 

Ilya hides his shock with an exaggerated eye roll of his own “You would, wouldn’t you?” 

“Shut up and pass me one.” 

So Ilya does, happily watching Shane take a mindless bite while he scrolls on his phone. He glances up, then does a double take when he finds Ilya’s eyes trained on him. 

“What?” he asks, the question muffled by the large chunk of brownie in his mouth. Ilya doesn’t know if he’s ever been more attracted to him than in this moment. 

“Feeling back to normal?” Ilya asks curiously. His own high has long since faded, pretty much since he woke up from that nap, but Shane’s seems to have lingered for most of the day. 

“I think so,” he replies. “I still feel, like, relaxed, or whatever. But I always kind of feel like that here, so I don’t know.” 

Ilya hums. “Hm. Ok. Let’s test it. Hypothetical situation, say… an exterminator knocks on the front door right now— would you invite him inside your house to sign an autograph and take selfie? Or would you tell him to fuck off and go kill all the roaches like you are paying him to do?” 

Shane groans and plops his face into his hands. “Oh my god, I really did that, didn’t I? 

“You really did,” Ilya confirms. “All while I am sitting in the bedroom, listening to some fucker named Logan flirt with you for a whole hour. In my house!” 

“Okay, it wasn’t an hour, Ilya!” Shane protests, cheeks growing redder by the second. “And he was probably the straightest guy I’ve ever met. He was definitely not flirting with me.”

“No, no. He has already gone home and told his girlfriend that you are his gay hallpass, I am sure of this.” 

Shane launches a pillow at his head, but he’s laughing, so Ilya laughs with him. But when their laughter fades, Shane goes a little quiet. In his head about something, Ilya supposes. He gives it a moment, hoping Shane will come out and say what’s on his mind. 

“I almost forgot,” Shane says suddenly. “Earlier. When someone knocked on the door and you asked me where you should wait, I was, like, so confused. I forgot that you would need to hide. That this little private life we live here in the summers is a secret and not our reality.” 

Ilya feels his heart constrict in his chest at this admission. He knows the feeling. Has felt it hit him like a sledgehammer more than once, often when he’s least expecting it. And now, hearing Shane verbalize it makes him feel at once devastated and heartened. Neither of them are alone in this, but they are alone in it together. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Ilya murmurs. “I forget, too.” 

“Just sucks,” Shane says, clearing his throat and dropping his eyes to hide the sheen in them. “Because you are my life. The best part. And I don’t want to fucking hide it forever.” 

Ilya swallows and blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. “Is not forever,” he corrects, nudging his socked foot against Shane’s. “Just… for now.” 

“Yeah,” Shane nods. “Just for now.” 

If he thought it would help, Ilya would tell him that they could come out to the world today if Shane wanted. Ilya would do it in a heartbeat. To claim the man he loves publicly, openly, without fear or shame, to take the matter into his own hands, to stand in the light of day and declare Shane Hollander as his forever. He dreams about the moment when that will become true. When their version of reality and everyone else’s finally merge and coincide. That day is coming. But they aren’t quite there just yet. 

“Well. When we finally do tell the world that we are in love,” Ilya says finally, “Logan is going to have a very bad day. The love of his life is a taken man, after all.”

“Careful, Rozanov. You sound jealous.” 

“Oh, I am,” Ilya assures him. “Very jealous. Between me and Logan, only one of us has had the privilege of taking a selfie with shirtless Shane Hollander.” 

“Oh my god,” Shane winces. “He’s so going to tweet that, isn’t he?” 

“I would bet his signed puck on it, yes.” 

Shane sighs. “Whatever. I guess I’m just super generous when I’m high.” 

“Extremely generous,” Ilya agrees with a grin. “You certainly let me have my way with you. But I think I did most of the giving, if I can recall it right.” 

“You,” Shane points at him, “are a hazard. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that horny before, and that’s a very concerning statement.” 

“Was not my fault, Hollander!” Ilya cries, “Blame it on the aphrodisiacs!” 

“Okay, who the fuck taught you that word?”

***

Logan @h0llander240
*picture* Got a selfie with the best hockey player in the league today. Listen, they say never meet your heroes, but @ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer is the fucking coolest guy around. He’s NOT awkward or weird like people say— truly the GOAT 🙏🙏🙏

jessie @shollanderfanclub

oh… that’s not…

Shane Hollander Updates @shanesh0le

THEE SHANE HOLLANDER’S HOUSE??? HELLO???

🧚‍♀️ @puppyshane

this cannot possibly be the first shirtless picture of shane hollander crossing my desk and yet somehow it is. logan you don’t know what you’ve done for me…the history you’ve made today…

DeeDee 💌 @whothepuckcares

why is this the happiest we’ve ever seen him oh my god i love him so bad

sarah grace @hollzyloverrr

we used to pray for times like this (shirtless shane hollander on the tl)

ANDY @shaydenluvs

is no one going to address the insane backhanded compliment that is this tweet????? shane get behind me bb

Shane Charts @hollyjolly24

relax ur grip bro no one is taking him away from you

Logan @h0llander240

Guys, please stop retweeting this. Just found out I can get fired for posting clients.

𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 @omegashane

if your place of work cannot fathom the flex that is shirtless shane hollander that’s on them

gemma! @kisssscam sorry are we all just going to ignore the bag of cannabis gummies on the counter in the background or…