Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Fluff and Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hopeful Ending, POV Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-03 Words: 4,627 Chapters: 1/1

miss you so much i shiver and i shake

Summary

This is worse, somehow, than every other goodbye from the past eight years.

Worse, to have all of Ilya now and not be able to touch him.

It’s been two hours since they last kissed and weeks until they’ll get to again and there aren’t enough ‘I love you’s in the world to make this hurt less.

Ilya is just looking at him, glassy-eyed and a little desperate, and Shane’s hands creak on the steering wheel.

“You need to get out of the car before I do something stupid,” he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears he can already feel welling up.

“Like what?” Ilya asks, voice scratchy and morose.

“Like turn around and drive you back to Montreal with me.” He opens his eyes again, finding Ilya’s gaze across the console. “Or kiss you.”

*

In which saying goodbye after the cottage is a lot harder than either of them anticipated.

Notes

I feel like it's a very rare occurrence that I take the fluff of canon and make it angsty askdjf but it's also me so of course I had to fix it with cuddling lmao. I still need to reply to comments on my other fics and I do have some fun ideas lined up but I had to get this out of my system first :')

Title: Shiver and Shake - Ryan Adams

Enjoy 🩷

Ilya’s entire body blankets his own, a comforting weight Shane’s not sure how he’s supposed to live without now that he’s had it for an extended period of time.

He drags a hand through Ilya’s hair, down his spine and then back up again to wrap around his shoulders like he can somehow gather him closer than he already is. Ilya’s mouth presses against his neck in response - not quite a kiss, just resting against his pulse point.

They have to leave for the airport in three hours.

Shane never paid all that much attention in high school English class but he remembers enough to know the rain pattering against the windows right now must be a direct result of his mood. Pathetic fallacy, he thinks it’s called.

“I love you,” he sighs, the words smudged against the edge of Ilya’s temple.

They’ve said it so many times since they entered this house. In this bed. In the kitchen. On the couch. On the patio. Just a week ago, Shane mumbled it into the spot where Ilya’s shoulder met his neck as Ilya changed his flight – extending his trip by a week through wordless agreement.

Two weeks wasn’t enough.

Three weeks isn’t either but they’ve run out of time now. They both have commitments. Both need to get back to pre-season practice. It’s been both the longest and shortest three weeks of Shane’s life.

“I love you,” Ilya replies, pressing the phrase into Shane’s throat. It does nothing to conceal the quiver in his voice.

Shane closes his eyes, hugging him impossibly closer.

He has no fucking idea how they’re going to say goodbye later.

“Are you hungry?” he asks. They haven’t gotten out of bed yet. In fact, he’s pretty sure all they’ve done is fall right back into it over and over again since somewhere around 7pm last night.

“No.” Ilya shakes his head against his neck, burrowing deep into the juncture of his shoulder.

Shane remembers a different conversation, not dissimilar to this one, the first time he agreed to stay at Ilya’s place. He wishes he could go back to that version of himself and tell him to take every single thing Ilya had clumsily tried to offer him that day.

Even though they probably needed it to get them to where are they are now.

He still can’t help imagining it – where they’d be now if they’d both been a little braver.

Probably in this exact same positon, honestly.

“You should eat before we leave for the airport,” he tries again. Airport food is shit and Ilya will just feel worse if he doesn’t eat before then and-

“Shane.” Ilya picks his head up to meet his eyes, effectively quieting the anxiety in Shane’s head.

His eyes flicker all over Shane’s face and he already looks like he’s mourning this. “Later,” he says finally, inching forward to brush their lips together. “Okay?”

Shane stares at him for a moment but he nods, agreeing. “Later.” 

Threading his fingers back through Ilya’s curls, he drags him in again.

They stand at the front door, one of Shane’s hands braced on the handle.

This is it.

As soon as they step outside this’ll be over. It feels ridiculous, having to kiss goodbye now when they’ll still be spending another two hours together in the car. But this is their last chance – at privacy, at holding each other the way they want to.

Shane opens his mouth to say…something, he doesn’t know what, but then Ilya is crowding him against the door.

He noses along Shane’s jaw and Shane tips his head back, closing his eyes. Ilya’s fingers catch around his jaw, guiding him until their mouths are slotting together, and Shane will never have enough of this. Ilya could kiss him every day for the rest of his life and it wouldn’t be enough.

He sighs, clutching the back of Ilya’s t-shirt and rolling their foreheads together to deepen the kiss. Ilya makes a noise in the back of his throat, pressing their bodies together until they’re touching everywhere and, fuck, they don’t have time for this but Shane can’t make himself push Ilya away either.

“We need to leave,” he mumbles half-heartedly when Ilya’s mouth migrates to his neck.

“Five minutes,” Ilya pleads, palming Shane through his shorts and dragging up his t-shirt with his free hand.

Shane’s resolve breaks as soon as Ilya drops to his knees.

Not that he had any to begin with.

In the end, four minutes is plenty.

They drive to the airport mostly in silence. It’s impossible to pretend to make small talk and everything else feels too big to say right now.

Shane keeps his eyes on the road and one hand locked around Ilya’s.

They’re halfway there when he hears Ilya sniffle and a quick glance out of the corner of his eye shows him looking out the passenger window and away from Shane.

“You can’t cry,” he warns, tightening his fingers around Ilya’s and swallowing the lump in his throat. “If you cry, I’ll cry and then I’ll end up crashing the car.”

“Good,” Ilya mutters. “We can go to hospital together. Get matching casts. Spend the season recovering at your cottage.”

Shane snorts, smiling despite himself.

Fuck, he loves Ilya so much he feels stupid with it.

He pulls their joined hands over the console, pressing a kiss to the back of Ilya’s hand. “I’d rather not risk it.”

He can feel Ilya watching him and he chances a look away from the road to meet his gaze. It hurts but in a way that makes Shane feel achingly loved.

Ilya frees his hand, reaching up to squeeze the back of Shane’s neck, fingers scratching at the hair at his nape. “I won’t make you crash the car,” he says but it sounds like a love confession coming from his mouth. “But you need to distract me. Talk to me.”

Shane reaches across to put his hand on Ilya’s thigh, a pathetic excuse for what he wishes he could do right now. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything,” Ilya says, letting go of Shane’s neck to fold their fingers back together. “Tell me about building the cottage.”

Shane already knows Ilya watched the documentary segment about it, knows that on any other day Ilya would be calling this conversation topic boring, but he thinks they might both need the distraction right now.

So he talks and Ilya runs his thumb over the back of Shane’s hand and they both pretend they have more time.

He pulls up to the set down area at the airport and feels a little like he’s driving to his own execution. Which is stupid and over-dramatic but it doesn’t make it feel any less true.

This is worse, somehow, than every other goodbye from the past eight years.

Worse, to have all of Ilya now and not be able to touch him.

It’s been two hours since they last kissed and weeks until they’ll get to again and there aren’t enough ‘I love you’s in the world to make this hurt less.

Ilya is just looking at him, glassy-eyed and a little desperate, and Shane’s hands creak on the steering wheel.

“You need to get out of the car before I do something stupid,” he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears he can already feel welling up.

“Like what?” Ilya asks, voice scratchy and morose.

“Like turn around and drive you back to Montreal with me.” He opens his eyes again, finding Ilya’s gaze across the console. “Or kiss you.”

Ilya looks away from him, out the window as he sniffs, and every other time this has happened Shane has wiped his tears away. Has gently directed Ilya’s face back towards his own and kissed him until they both felt better.

He can’t do that now.

He can’t even hug him.

They can’t risk it with so many people around.

Ilya moves quickly then, pulling Shane’s hand off the steering wheel and darting down out of sight to kiss his knuckles three times in quick succession. Shane squeezes back as hard as he can.

“I love you,” Ilya says when he straightens. He says it seriously, like nothing matters more than Shane hearing him.

“I love you too,” he whispers back, reluctantly pulling his hand back so Ilya can slip on his sunglasses.

He still looks like he’s been crying.

“Text me before you get on the plane?” Shane says, a sudden needy anxiousness knotting his stomach. He wonders how he ever said goodbye before without knowing when the next time they’d talk to each other would be. Now he feels like he’ll barely make it half an hour.

“I will,” Ilya promises.

With one last look and one last squeeze of his hand over Shane’s knee, he climbs out of the car.

Shane just about makes it out of the airport before he’s pulling onto the hard shoulder, eyes too blurry with tears to see in front of him.

It’s at least ten minutes before he makes himself take off again.

He’s not sure how long he’s been driving when his phone rings. He doesn’t bother looking at screen to check who it is, scrubbing a hand roughly over his face and clearing his throat as he presses the button on the steering wheel to accept the call.

“Hello?”

“I am through security,” Ilya’s voice comes through the speaker in the car, tinny and soft. “Keep me company until I need to board?”

Shane smiles only to feel his face crumple a few seconds later. He lets out a shuddery breath, willing the tears to stay put. “Of course,” he murmurs. “Keep me company on the drive home?”

“Of course.”

He drives to Montreal instead of the cottage, having packed up his own stuff along with Ilya’s this morning.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to step foot in there without him now.

He thought it would be easier to go home. Sure, Ilya’s been to his apartment plenty of times but it’s not- it’s not like Shane sees him in every corner of the room.

He’s maybe indulged himself some nights, rolling over and curling up with the pillow Ilya had been laying on before he inevitably left but mostly-

Mostly he can exist in his apartment without missing him.

He thinks.

As soon as he steps through the door, he realises it doesn’t really matter anymore if he could before.

He goes straight for his bedroom, uncaring of the fact that he hasn’t eaten since they left the cottage this morning. He doesn’t think he could stomach any food anyway.

He stares at his bed, at the throw pillows Ilya likes to make fun of him for, and feels his chest constrict.

God, what the fuck is wrong with him?

He’s crying over throw pillows now?

He shakes his head, trying to shove down the feeling, and crawls into bed. He feebly pushes pillows aside until he reaches the one he sleeps on and, once he’s bundled up under the covers, he retrieves his phone from his hoodie pocket.

Ilya is still in the air so Shane knows better than to expect a text from him. It doesn’t stop him from re-opening their thread and reading their last messages.

Lily: Boarding now, will let you know when I land ❤️

Jane: Have a safe flight! Love you ❤️

Lily: Love you ❤️

Shane rolls onto his back, letting his phone fall onto his chest and closing his eyes.

How are they supposed to go back to normal now? To what- seeing each other every few weeks if they’re lucky?  He knows it’ll be different now; they’ll be strategic with their time off, visit each other when they can. But they’ve played enough seasons at this point in their careers that Shane knows the odds of their days off lining up are probably slim to none.

He covers his face with his hands, willing himself to sleep. He just needs to turn his brain off for a while. He doesn’t need to think about this right now.

Unsurprisingly, sleep doesn’t come.

It means he’s still wide awake when Ilya texts a while later to say his plane has landed.

Shane: Call me when you get home?

Lily: ❤️

After that he waits, feeling sorry for himself and replaying every single second of the past three weeks in his head, until his phone finally starts buzzing almost an hour later.

It’s a FaceTime and he sits up to answer it.

“Hey,” he breathes before Ilya’s face has even loaded on the screen.

When it does, he looks to be in a similar position to Shane except-

“Is that my sweatshirt?” he blurts out, staring at the tiny white Metros logo he can see stitched into Ilya’s navy sweatshirt. He wasn’t wearing it in the car and Shane was almost positive he put it in his own suitcase when they were both packing last night.

Ilya shrugs shamelessly. “Smells like you.”

Shane bites back a smile, resisting the urge to touch the screen as if it’s a good enough substitute for the real thing. “Thought you’d have to be held at gunpoint to ever wear Metros merch.”

Ilya shrugs again, slouching further down his bed. “It smells like you,” he says again.

Shane struggles to keep his face neutral and, if the twitch of Ilya’s eyebrow is anything to go by, he doesn’t succeed. “Well, now I feel cheated. How come I don’t get anything of yours?”

“I put t-shirt in your suitcase when you weren’t looking,” Ilya tells him with a small smile and, Jesus fucking Christ, Shane is in love with him.

“Is it embarrassing to say I already miss you?”

“Yes,” Ilya says. “But I miss you too so is okay.”

Shane lets himself smile now, quiet and a little heartbroken, but it’s an easier heartbreak to stomach than the times before. “I don’t know how I’m gonna fall asleep alone tonight.”

“We don’t have to hang up.” Ilya shifts, coming back into focus a second later and it’s clear he’s lying down now. “We can keep our cameras on, pretend it’s the same.”

Shane rolls onto his side, propping his phone against one of the other pillows and trying to convince himself it’s as good as having Ilya lying next to him.

“Things must be bad,” he says then. “We’ve been talking on the phone in bed for five minutes and you haven’t asked me to take my clothes off yet.”

Ilya laughs – his first real one all day probably – and Shane is aching to touch him.

He looks sleep-soft and rumpled and beautiful and his finger touches the screen after a second like he’s forgotten they’re not actually lying side by side – or like he doesn’t care regardless – and his voice is filled to the brim with affection when he says, “Take off your clothes, Shane.”

Going back to pre-season practice is almost a relief.

At least Shane can block everything else out when he’s playing. He throws himself into drills, stays longer on the ice than he needs to, and does whatever he can to keep his mind from wandering to golden curls and sure hands.

It only sort of works.

The days are fine. He knows how to compartmentalise it but he still goes home every night and lies awake in bed for hours on end, usually only finally falling asleep when his body has all but given up on him somewhere around 3am.

Part of him is afraid he’ll never be able to fall asleep alone again and it makes him panic. Sleep is one of the most important things that can impact his performance on the ice. He can’t afford to be off his game like that.

By the fourth day, he feels like a zombie walking into the locker room.

Hayden and JJ notice and ask if he’s sick. Shane mumbles something about needing a new mattress and that mostly satisfies them.

It doesn’t stop him from looking up flights to Boston as soon as he gets home though.

He has the weekend off and, sure, it’s barely been a week but he just…

He needs to sleep.

And he’s pretty sure the only way he’ll do that is in Ilya’s bed. Impulsively, he books a flight for Friday night and another to get home Sunday.

He considers keeping it a secret from Ilya – half as a surprise and half to shield his own embarrassment – but after a second he screenshots the booking confirmation and sends it to Ilya before he can overthink it.

Ilya texts back in seconds.

Lily: Thank fuck

Shane huffs a laugh, glad to know he’s not the only one feeling a little pathetic about the distance.

He’s changing out after practice the next day on auto-pilot, counting down the minutes until he can get to the airport, when Hayden interrupts his thoughts.

“Hey man, you wanna swing by for dinner tonight?”

Shane drops the shirt he’d been holding. He shakes himself, hastily swiping it back up off the bench and flashing Hayden an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I, uh, I can’t. I’ve got plans.”

Hayden, more so than anyone, is acutely aware that Shane’s plans usually involve his parents or Hayden himself so Shane should probably expect the sceptical eyebrow raise.

“Okay..” he says slowly. “What about tomorrow night? Jackie is dying to see you and you still need to meet baby Amber.”

Fuck, Shane is the worst friend ever.

Sorry, buddy, I gotta fly to Boston for a day and a half because I’m so pathetic I apparently can’t live a full week without Ilya Rozanov anymore.

“Sorry, this weekend really isn’t great for me. But we’ll- we could do something after practice some night next week? I wanna see Jackie and the kids.”

Hayden eyes him, something appraising in his gaze. Eventually, he asks, “Is everything okay? You’ve been kind of off this week…”

Fuck it.

“Yeah, no, I’m good. I-” He hesitates, looking around, but no one else is paying attention to them. He lowers his voice anyway. “I’m going to Boston for the weekend. Visiting, um, Lily.”

Hayden’s eyes widen but, to his credit, he keeps his reaction contained besides that. He knows Shane wouldn’t want that kind of information broadcast and that’s exactly why he’s Shane’s best friend.

“Wow.” He whistles lowly. “Weekend visits outside of game days? Sounds like things are getting serious.”

Shane ducks his head to stare at his gearbag, trying and failing not to smile. “Something like that,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’m happy for you, man.” Hayden’s hand lands on his shoulder, jostling him once. “But this means I’ve gotta meet her soon, okay? Convince her to visit Montreal. We can have you over for dinner.”

Shane imagines Hayden’s face if he showed up at his doorstep with a bottle of wine and Ilya in tow and snorts out a laugh.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll try.”

It’s late by the time he touches down in Boston.

He’d texted Ilya when he was leaving the airport but he doesn’t know if he’s still up. The first week back at practice is always exhausting and if Ilya’s sleep schedule has been as bad as Shane’s this week he might’ve crashed as soon as he got home.

Shane decides to put in the code for the front door instead of knocking just in case.

He’s just slipping through the threshold when he hears hurried footfalls. As he’s pressing the door closed behind him, he looks up to see Ilya appear from the kitchen.

“Hi,” Shane greets quietly, dropping his bag with a careful hand.

Neither of them moves right away, staring at each other across the entryway for a beat too long, until Ilya swears under his breath and barrels forward. Shane has barely managed to move when Ilya is sweeping him into his arms with enough force that his feet momentarily lift off the ground.

“Fuck,” Ilya says again, his face shoved against Shane’s neck. He presses a kiss there, clinging so hard it feels like he might rip Shane’s hoodie in half.

Shane holds onto him in return and it- it’s sort of like the first real breath he’s taken all week.

He kisses Ilya’s shoulder and his jaw and his cheek and his temple and then Ilya’s hands are cupping his cheeks and their mouths finally find each other.

“I missed you.” Shane sighs the words into Ilya’s mouth, follows them up with a desperate kiss that has them stumbling back against the front door. “Fuck, I missed you.”

Ilya nods against him, as if he can’t bear to separate his lips from Shane’s for even a second.

His arms are still wrapped around Shane, half a hug and half something more, and Shane’s got his own hands under Ilya’s t-shirt, pressing against warm skin.

And normally, things would move a lot faster from here.

They’re frantic, usually – running on borrowed time and doing everything they can not to waste it after weeks apart.

And now…Ilya’s thigh is still pressing insistently between his legs and Shane is still half-hard in his sweatpants and he knows they’ll lose their clothes somewhere between here and the bedroom but he makes himself pause for a second.

He lets their mouths separate with a dragging kiss and presses their foreheads together as Ilya releases a ragged breath in the space between them. And he lets himself feel this.

“Hi,” Ilya mumbles then, like he just realised he never said it earlier.

It makes a laugh bubble out of Shane’s throat and he hooks an arm around Ilya’s neck to reel him in for another bruising hug. Ilya’s arms tighten around him and they breathe together for a moment, relishing in the fact that, while they might not have all the time in the world, it’s more than they’ve afforded themselves before.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Ilya says into his shoulder. The same thing Shane said to him in the car a month ago – before either of them could ever dare to hope they’d become this.

Shane leans back, letting his head thump against the door so he can see Ilya’s face. He reaches up, touching his thumb and forefinger to Ilya’s cheek, and tries not to grin when Ilya leans into it.

“Me too.”

Ilya’s eyes drift to his mouth then, hands sliding downwards to squeeze Shane’s hips before he starts tugging him away from the door.

And this part is familiar – the glint in Ilya’s eyes, the way Shane’s legs turn to jelly almost immediately, the anticipation fizzing in his gut.

He didn’t think it could feel better than it was before. But as he follows Ilya down the hall between messy kisses, he thinks nineteen-year-old him never could’ve dreamed of this.

Shane lies with his head on Ilya’s chest, drawing shapeless patterns across the planes of his stomach. Ilya’s breathing is steady underneath his cheek and his thumb absently rubbing over the scar on Shane’s shoulder is almost enough to lull him to sleep.

He can’t sleep yet though.

“I didn’t think it’d be this hard,” he admits, closing his eyes and turning his face more firmly against Ilya’s chest.

Ilya hums in agreement. “It will be easier once the season starts. We’ll be busier, means we can’t think about it so much.”

“I think for the first time in my life hockey might not be a good enough distraction,” Shane huffs.

Ilya’s hand stills over his shoulder. “Woah. Have I beat hockey for first place in Shane Hollander’s brain? Am I the winner?”

Shane rolls his eyes, trying to sound exasperated but knowing it’s nothing but fond when he lets out a half-hearted, “Fuck off.”

“No, no.” Ilya reaches under Shane’s arms, dragging him upright so he can look at him. Shane lets one of his hands drop to the bed beside Ilya’s shoulder to keep himself propped up.

“I must see your face when you try to lie to me. Am I the winner now?” he asks again, gently poking Shane’s forehead with a mischievous grin. “Am I number one thing in Shane Hollander’s head?”

Shane stares down at him, feeling all the love and adoration inside of him rush to the surface. It must be written all over his face – it has to be – pouring out of him in waves. He gave up trying to hide what he felt for Ilya a long time ago.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “You’re the winner.”

Any intention Ilya had of mocking seems to evaporate alongside all of the air in the room. His mouth parts, breath hitching, and Shane doesn’t know what to do with having this kind of power over Ilya. He still can’t believe he can make him look like that.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya says after a beat, gripping the back of Shane’s neck to pull him down into a fervent kiss. “I love you,” he repeats, kissing the corner of Shane’s mouth before he releases him. “You are number one for me too.”

Shane looks at him, feels himself melt a little, and drops down to curl back up on Ilya’s chest. It’s self-preservation more than anything else. Looking at Ilya for too long in moments like this still feels a little like looking at the sun.

Ilya pulls the blanket up higher and wraps his arms around him and Shane never wants to move ever again.

“I know when the season starts we won’t have as much free time,” Shane says, picking back up the thread of the conversation. “But how do we- I mean, do we just go back to seeing each other whenever we play against each other like before?”

Shane stayed up for hours planning his and Ilya’s future. He thinks in looking so far ahead he might’ve forgotten about the immediate. This stalemate of a year where he’s still in Montreal and Ilya’s still in Boston and nothing has changed but everything has.

Ilya’s hand finds his hair, scratching over Shane’s scalp. “No. We can check our schedules when we get them. Figure out days off and weekends that overlap. Make spreadsheet.”

“A spreadsheet,” Shane says, incredulous.

“Mm. I bet you love them.”

“Fuck off.”

“Are you trying to say I’m wrong?” Ilya scoffs. “Shane. You know I have met your mother now.”

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Shane relents. “Fine. I like spreadsheets.”

“I thought so,” Ilya says and Shane can hear the delight in his voice. “So we make spreadsheet. And we never say goodbye without knowing when we’re going to see each other next. It will be okay.”

Shane nods, kissing the spot on Ilya’s chest right under his mouth by way of agreement.

“So…when are we seeing each other next?”

Ilya laughs, the sound rumbling under Shane’s ear.

“We are not saying goodbye yet,” he points out. “But I will come to Montreal next weekend.”

It’s ridiculous the way those words immediately settle something in him. An anxiety he hadn’t even realised had been stirring.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Ilya tugs on him again and he moves, lifting up enough that Ilya can shift onto his side and pull him in. Kisses are brushed over Shane’s forehead, his cheek, his jaw, his mouth and then he’s tucking his face under Ilya’s chin, hitching his leg over Ilya’s hip, melding them together in every way he can think of.

They’ll say goodbye on Sunday but they’ll see each other again next weekend. They’ll make a spreadsheet. They’ll see each other on game days. They’ll make it work.

They’ll be okay.