Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Prostate Massage, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Big divergence, Masseur!Ilya, Massage, Massage Therapist Ilja Rozanov, Happy Ending, lol see what I did there, Rimming

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-19 Completed: 2026-02-27 Words: 9,043 Chapters: 2/2

High Tension

Summary

In a world where Ilya Rozanov disappeared right before the draft he reappears in Shane's life a few years later very unexpectedly when he's hired by the Voyagers as their newest massage therapist.

or, Hot massage therapist Ilya gives Shane a very thorough rub down and Shane has never enjoyed a massage so much.

Notes

So, I too succumbed to this wonderful book/show and am entirely obsessed with these two beautiful boys.
It's been about a millennia since I've written porn, I'm very rusty, but it's a whole lot of fun to throw my hat into this amazing fandom and add to the mountains of fics growing every day

Don't expect much of a plot at all, there is none here. it's just an excuse to have Ilya gratuitously finger Shane. I'm not even ashamed lol the boys deserve a treat

Hope you enjoy it! Second part out soon

Chapter 1

The corridor that leads to the administrative wing of the rink was a mix of glossy promotional material and tired office aesthetics that always smelt vaguely musty.

Taking the first corridor after the reception Shane followed the familiar route past the medical offices, to the very end of the corridor where the massage/physical therapy room was.

Rapping his knuckled sharply on the door, he waited for the muffled permission to enter.

The masseur's back was turned when Shane pushed into the room, and he was greeted with wide shoulders tapering down to a small waist making the uniform blue polo look unfairly stylish.

Shane averted his gaze and took in the changes to the room since the old masseur left.

It had never been a particularly nice room, still wasn’t really, there was only so much you can do with the utilitarian cinder block bowels of the arena, but the new masseur had changed the lighting from the usual hard white fluorescents, and the whiff of chlorine Shane had come to expect of the room was replaced by a faint woodsy scent that didn’t overpower or make his head hurt. He was pleasantly surprised.

Shane was a professional athlete and took his training and conditioning more seriously than some of his teammates, as a result he was used to being poked and prodded by trainers and staff, but that didn’t mean some small part of him didn’t recoil every single time he was forced to endure it. The small changes to the room which meant he wouldn’t have to endure the usual uncomfortable rub down in a sensory hell-hole allowed a small amount of the usual discomfort to lessen.

“Shane Hollander.” A low voice curled around his name, foreign and lilting with what might be amusement.

Shane’s eyes snapped to the other man and he blinked in sudden recognition. Even without the accent he would have recognised him, a few years older, somehow broader, and looking at him with the same assessing stare he’d seen opposite him on the ice and in the bleak cold behind a Saskatchewan rink.  

“Ilya Rozanov.”

The man bowed his head in a performative way like he was graciously accepting an award.

“What happened?” Shane blurted, the questions piling up in his mouth in a rush, “You vanished right before the draft, no one knew where you went.”

“Ah,” Rozanov said, rubbing his hands with a towel and nodding. “I was injured right before the draft, wasn’t fit enough to come back,” he shrugged his broad shoulders in a practiced, causal gesture, “then it was too late.”

“Fuck.” Shane breathed, staring at the other man who had lived his literal nightmare. “So you retrained?”

“Da.” A crooked smirk crept across his face, “A shame, I would have enjoyed beating you for number one draft pick.”

A startled laugh burst out of Shane’s mouth, “Fuck you, you wish.”

Rozanov shrugged theatrically, hands out wide in a what can I say gesture before he tossed the towel across the room into a hamper.  

“Take off your clothes.”

Shane spluttered, “What?”

“Your clothes, take them off. Your shoulder is tight, I can see.”

Like a splash of cold water Shane remembered why he was here.

“Right.” He muttered, his hands lifting automatically for his compression top. They hesitated there, feeling self-conscious in a way he hasn’t felt since he entered the major leagues.

Rozanov’s eyes trailed over him slowly before reaching his face. He didn’t say anything, just watched with a small smirk as Shane processed and shook the sudden nerves away, feeling stupid and childish. He stripped on and off whenever and wherever was needed, it was a part of the life of an athlete, their bodies belonged to the league that paid for it.

He stripped mechanically, folding the clothes and ignoring the huff of laughter from the other side of the massage table. He stopped at his briefs and turned back.

“All.” The Russian ordered, eyes flicking down to the black briefs in question. When Shane paused, Rozanov picked up a towel from the table behind him without taking his eyes off Shane and tossed it to him.

Turning his back, Shane wrapped the towel around his back and shimmied his briefs off and onto the pile of his clothes before crossing the room determinedly and manoeuvred himself onto the table.

Rozanov made a low noise and then there was a gentle touch at Shane’s hips, over the towel.

“Up.” He ordered, and Shane kept his mind blank as he lifted into enough of a plank for the other man to pull the ends of the towel out from underneath him in a practiced flick, leaving his ass covered. “Good boy.” 

A hot flush erupted on his cheeks and he gaped as his plank wobbled and he sunk down onto the table.

Rozanov had already turned away, busying himself with his lotions before Shane could figure out what to say to articulate his outrage. He bit his tongue and settled more comfortably onto the table.

“Any new strains or injuries not in your file?” Rozanov asked, tone professional as he lifted one bottle before replacing it and selecting another. Shane was pretty sure the last masseur hadn’t had that many bottles to choose from.

“No.” Shane said into the face hole.

There was the slick sound of lotion being worked into skin before Rozanov’s hands came to rest on his back. His hands were hot enough to make Shane jump and he rolled his eyes when he heard a stifled laugh from the other man before he began.

He’d never been particularly fond on massages, they were as much a part of his health regime as anything else, but there was something about it that rankled more than a doctor’s disinterested prodding or a physiotherapists controlling grips.

The last masseur has always smelled vaguely of hair gel and cigarette smoke poorly masked by spearmint gum. He’d talk the whole way through and had a habit of never quite easing the muscle tension completely.

Ilya Rozanov in contrast came out of the gate with a firm, precise sweep of his hands along the length of Shane’s back, somehow seeming to identify the tender spots in one pass.

The sharp, refreshing smell of lemongrass wafted to Shane’s nose, not strong enough to agitate him, but more like a refreshing whiff of outside air. Shane let himself relax more against the table. This was already one of his more pleasant experiences on this table.

Rozanov worked quietly, his large hands seemed to be everywhere at once, hot and firm, taking ownership of Shane’s body like it was his to control. He pressed firmer than the last guy, the weight of his hands digging so deep Shane felt tension he didn’t know he had being pushed out.

His eyes had closed somewhere along the way and he floated just on the edge of relaxed as the massage moved from a general one across his back to a more focused, exploratory one around his shoulder which was still stiff from a hit against the boards during his last game.

A thumb pressed against a knot buried deep below his shoulder blade. It stilled on it as the pain rose like a wave under his touch.

“Ow! Shit, Rozanov.” Shane hissed.

He laughed. “Call me Ilya, am not your rival any more,” he said, holding his thumb there for what felt like an eternity before releasing it. A startling bloom of relief flowed through Shane from the spot and he felt the tension in the muscle ease.

Shane let out a low noise at the relief. A gentle hand rubbed the spot as though in apology before he turned ruthless again.

His body was being beaten into mush, he was tender putty under the controlling grip of the large, strong hands that seemed to have pinpoint accuracy for every bit of tension his back has every experienced.

He couldn’t hold back the soft noises forced out of his lungs and just had to hope they were muffled by the face hole and the slick sound of the oil or lotion being worked into his skin.

When Ilya shifted to his arms it was a small relief from the tidal wave of sensation from his back. Shane almost felt woozy, his blood rushing through his body like Ilya had created whole new pathways for it to travel.

Ilya released his arm and moved down the body. Shane heard the wet sound of more lotion being applied and then he felt Ilya grasp his foot. His hands pressed and moved his feet, one after the other, checking his range of movement and the flex and shift of his muscles. His hold was strong and commanding as he moved Shane like a doll, and Shane felt a bit dizzy at how easily he manipulated his body.

An undignified sound tore out of his throat at a particularly firm touch dug into the arch of his foot and Shane blushed as it seemed to echo through the room.

As Ilya worked his way methodically up his leg, Shane became aware through the pleasant haze which had overtaken his brain, that he was feeling something besides relief.

Heat was slowly building in his groin. It was a low fire that was fed by the firm grip on his leg, moving it with confidence, holding him where Ilya wanted him, as large hands traced lines in his skin, pressing pleasure/pain into the meat of his calf and up towards his thighs.

His mind raced, thinking of stats and the smell of the locker room after a game, Hayden’s farts in their shared hotel room on roadies. Anything to snuff out the slow flame of arousal slowly becoming a problem underneath him.

Ilya focused on his thigh, pressing and kneading his muscle, slipping from the back of his knee upwards, just nudging under his towel.

The stats and remembered macros of his breakfast drifted from his mind, impossible to keep in focus as he fixated on the line of his towel resting just under his ass, painfully aware each time Ilya’s fingers danced along that edge.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he released him and moved back down to start at his ankle on his other leg.

Shane knew he was attracted to men. This wasn’t new information to him. This was, however, the closest he’d ever gotten to a man touching him how he wanted one to. He was painfully aware of how big and warm Ilya’s hands were, of the controlling, firm way he touched Shane.

Beyond one exhilarating and terrifying solo visit to a gay bar in New York where Shane had stood in a corner panicking the entire time before leaving soon after he arrived, Shane had never been brave enough to do more than catch a second glance at an attractive man in the supermarket or in a restaurant.

The thought of being publicly outed as gay was literally the stuff of his nightmares. Being publicly outed as an awkward, fumbling gay virgin was somehow even worse. So, he watched porn and jerked off and focused on hockey. At least he was good at hockey.

It also probably was the reason he was in this predicament, growing equally hard and panicked as an attractive man touched him.

The talented hands slipped to the sides of his legs and moved authoritatively up the outside of his body, slipping under the towel to work the muscles along the side of his hips and glutes with a punishing pressure that made all the hair on Shane’s body stand on end and his brain short circuit.

He didn’t breathe until the hands released him. The first breath he sucked in made him dizzy along with the relief as the hands lifted from his body.

 “On your back.”

Shane’s eyes snapped open, staring down at the grey flooring with horror as the blood left not in his dick rushed to his cheeks. He’d known it was coming, he’d had more massages than most people had in a lifetime, but until Ilya gave the order he hadn’t thought about the reality of that.

He remained still too long because the other man clicked his tongue and he felt the towel draped over his ass being lifted in the practiced, discrete way all masseurs did it.

Sucking in one shuddering breath and sending a silent prayer up to whoever could be listening Shane turned onto his back and felt the weight of the towel settle back across his hips.

Glancing down, he saw the cartoonish bulge of his dick distorting the line of the towel. Heat rushed to his face and he squeezed his eyes shut in mortification, his hands clenched into fists to stop himself from lifting them to shield his groin or his face.

Five agonising seconds of the blessed dark behind his eyes was as long as he allowed himself before he forced himself to open them, staring up at the ceiling, jaw set against the shame building in his throat. Wishing his dick would take notice of the shame and do him the favour of chilling the fuck out.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the crooked smirk spreading across Ilya’s face.

“Shut up.” He snapped, not moving his eyes away from the ceiling.

Ilya huffed a laugh, “Is okay, Hollander, happens to lots of men.”

Shane darted a look at the other man, horrified to feel a prickle behind his eyes he tried to blink back.

“Really?” he asked, hating that his voice came out watery. The other man’s smile softened.

“Yes.”

Some of the dread eased away and he could resettle his head into place and relax from the full-body clench he’d tensed into. At least his dick had finally taken the hint and softened slightly from the humiliation.

Ilya moved around the table, reapplying lotion and gave him a warning tap on his shin before returning to work on his legs.

His joints were moved and tested again, strong hands controlling his movement, testing his body and Shane let out a breath at the return to the familiar. 

He wasn’t expecting it when Ilya moved his hands in a firm, steady glide up the length of his entire leg, thumb pressing firmly from ankle up into the meat of his inner thigh.

Maybe there was a nerve or something there because Shane’s whole leg twitched and shook as a jolt of electricity followed in his wake pulling a high, breathy ‘Ah!’ from his mouth followed by a shuddery inhale.

Ilya's head was bowed as he worked, but Shane still saw him lick his lips as he held back a smile.

The second time he did it, Shane bit back the noise, but he couldn’t stop his leg from twitching and the instinctual way his thighs parted as his stomach and ass convulsed around the electric sensation. The other man’s hands crept slightly higher this time, dipping under the high fold of his towel, thrillingly close to his groin.

Shane sucked in a shuddery breath and both wished for this to end and for his hands to reach higher, to keep going and giving some actual pressure for his dick to press against.

There was an exhilarating anticipation singing in Shane’s veins when Ilya moved to the other leg and repeated the process.

It felt good in a way entirely different to a normal massage, it didn’t have any of the usual invasive and clinical detachment that coloured most of the physical contact Shane experienced, and it wasn’t pushy and clingy like the girls in the club who grabbed at him and made him feel like he was a piece of meat. This was intimate. It was demanding but for Shane’s pleasure, not the other person’s.

On the second pass, Shane’s eyes fluttered shut and he felt his mouth go slack, but he managed to hold in the breathy noise that wanted to escape as he rode out the now almost familiar electric wave that coursed through his body at the touch.

He was almost disappointed when the hands lifted from his body and he watched Ilya move around the table again to come and stand at his head.

The other man slicked his hands again and leaned over his head, a gold necklace slipped from the open collar of his polo and Shane’s eyes followed the swing of the pendant hypnotically. Saliva pooled in his mouth as the unexpected though of sucking it into his mouth popped into his head.

Ilya shot him a wink, like he could read the thought on his face, and began carefully massaging down his arms and working the joints.

When his hands drifted back up his arms and moved to press and kneed the tight muscle of his pecs, following the line of his collarbones, before moving up to massage his neck, Shane closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling.

He let out a groan when it shifted into a head massage, the strong, firm hands cupping his head and rubbing out the spots of tension between firm tugs of his hair that made his eyes roll back under the safety of his closed lids.

The last masseur had never done this. It felt incredible. So good that he wasn’t even panicking about the way his dick was definitely plumping back up with enthusiasm.

When Ilya released him, Shane felt spacey and good, like all the hard edges of the world had been filed down and all the light was soft and warm.

He watched hazily as Ilya slicked up his hands again and gave him a long look before he returned his hands to his chest.

Ilya's hands moved confidently down his pecs, following the line of the muscle with a firm, commanding touch, curving around under his pec to cup the muscle before repeating the process in a smooth, hard glide. Then again, friction warming the skin despite the lotion.

His muscles felt beat and tender, his skin hot, and Shane knew that was partly the blush that was making his cheeks burn.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Shane’s body tingled with anticipation for the next pass. He’d never paid much attention to his pecs before, hadn’t expected this attention to his chest to thrill him as much as it did. The motion came again and Shane held his breath as the large hands hesitated, cupping his pecs.

In the dark behind his eyes the tentative touch of a thumb lightly grazing his nipple felt electric, and like the boldest touch he’s ever experienced.

Shane gasped.

“Yes?” Ilya asked softly.

“Please, yes.”

Ilya let out a low noise of hunger before he repeated the motion again. This time at the bottom of the downward stroke, each hand grabbed at the meat of his pecs in a way that shot down Shane’s body straight to his dick.

The hold was possessive, firm, commanding. It took ownership of his body in a way even Shane didn’t entirely feel entitled to outside of training or hockey.

Two strong fingers pulled and twisted his right nipple. Electricity shot through his body and he gasped. He was letting out noises, low, soft grunts and gasps as Ilya played with his chest. He’d never known it could feel so good, like his nipples were hardwired to his dick.

Ilya released his hands temporarily as he shifted to stand at the side of the table. Shane watched through a haze as his head bowed over Shane’s chest as one hand returned to plucking at a nipple and his mouth closed around the other.

Shane gasped, back arching and a hand rising without thought to tangle in Ilya’s soft curls. Impulse begged him to simultaneously pull him away and tug him closer. Closer won, and Ilya took the direction enthusiastically, sucking and gnawing at his nipple before pressing a soothing tongue against it as though to press the sharp edges of oversensitivity back.

The hand that had been teasing his other nipple trailed down Shane’s stomach slowly. When it reached the edge of the towel — barely staying in place over the hard outline of his cock — Ilya lifted his head so the both of them could stare as his fingertips slipped under the fold of the towel.

“Yes? You want?” he asked, voice rough.

Shane’s throat clicked as he tried to swallow. He jerked his head in a nod and managed to get a strangled “I want,” out of his throat.

They both watched Ilya’s hand slip under the fabric and wrap around his dick.

The shape of his cock and Ilya’s hand looked obscene under the towel as it shifted with his hand. A slow, luxurious stroke from base to tip pulled a shuddering groan out of Shane.

Ilya licked his lips and watched his hand. His eyes were heavy-lidded and there was something hungry and intent about his face.

The muscles in his arm bulged distractingly, skin glowing golden in the new lighting. Shane’s eyes fixed on his arm, on the play of muscles under his skin, strong and gorgeous. He wanted to bite the flex of tendon on his wrist, mouth at the slop of muscle on his bicep, trace the line of a vein with his tongue and suck the sweat from his arm hair.

Shane’s fingers clenched in the other man’s curls when Ilya leaned down again and took his nipple between his lips. When Ilya ran his thumb over the head of his dick as he ran his teeth over his nipple Shane pulled at his hair tightly and the both of them groaned.

Using the hold on his hair, Shane pulled Ilya up towards his mouth, gasping against his lips before Ilya took his mouth in a wet, hungry kiss. 

It devolved quickly. Shane couldn’t bite back the helpless noises he was making and pushing them into Ilya’s mouth only seemed to spur him on.

Shane’s hips twitched and shifted, trying to chase the contact but desire made his movements sloppy and uncoordinated.

Ilya was gasping into his mouth, sucking on his lips and tongue before retreating to peck kisses around his mouth and chin, nosing at him, seemingly lost in the simple pleasure of kissing him, even as his hand sped up, masterfully jerking Shane off with a brutal, relentless pressure.

His orgasm was building in his balls quickly, Shane could feel it bubbling up and his hips twitched more violently, torn between moving away to prolong this and jerking into the firm hand.

“’M gonna—” Shane gasped, “’m gonna—”

“Yes.” Ilya growled, crushing their mouths together as his hand sped up, faster and harder than Shane ever managed himself.

Shane gasped into Ilya’s mouth, it trailed off into a groan as his orgasm raced through him, seemingly being pulled forcibly from his dick. He felt a few spurts of cum land on his stomach but mostly his mind was taken up with the waves of pleasure that seemed to fill his whole body.

He let out a weak, shuddery noise of complaint when his dick became oversensitive and Ilya licked it out of his mouth, giving him one more firm stroke before releasing him, pulling away from the kiss at the same time.

They both looked down at the mess of cum on Ilya’s hand and Shane’s stomach. His cock fully exposed at some point when the towel slipped off. 

It looked obscene. It was so hot Shane wanted to imprint it on the back of his eyelids. He thought dizzily of licking up the cum from the other man’s fingers, of sucking them into his mouth and choking himself on them.

His dick gave a tentative twitch he thought was entirely too optimistic.

Ilya retrieved the lost towel and wiped his hand off, sparing a corner to give Shane’s stomach a once-over.

“Fuck.” Shane said, voice caught somewhere between a laugh and gasp as his breathing tried to steady.

Ilya chuckled, corners of his eyes crinkling with humour when Shane joined in.

“Can I…” Shane’s eyes drifted down the tapered torso in front of him and he licked his lips, his hand twitched as though to lift when his gaze latched onto the prominent bulge distorting his slacks.

“Ah,” Ilya said, grinning, “I would love, but we should clean up before my next appointment.” He glanced up at the clock as he said it.

It was like being doused in cold water. The warm, happy feelings coursing through his body vanished and Shane scrambled to sit up, horror rising quick in his throat.

He’d forgotten where they were. He’d forgotten who he was. 

“Fuck,” Shane said, this time biting it out as he ran frantic fingers through his hair.

“Hey, hey,” Ilya said, stepping closer, “is okay.” He didn’t crowd him but managed to make his large presence a comforting shield between him and the door, him and reality. “Nothing to freak out about, no one knows. No one will know. Our secret.”

Shane concentrated on his breathing, sucking in deep lungfuls of warm, scented air. It was one of his more pleasant freak outs, that’s for sure.

Eventually he’d calmed down enough that he could breathe and look at the other man.

Ilya held up a towel. “Can I unoil you?”

Shane choked out a laugh and nodded, even smiling as Ilya rubbed him relatively clean with a brisk, professional touch before backing away and handing him another towel to cover himself with.

Shane stood slowly on shaky legs, watching Ilya move around, starting the cleaning up phase. His throat clicked when he tried to swallow, clutching the towel around his waist as he tried to find the right words to settle this.

“You can’t tell anyone about that.”

Ilya gave him a droll look. “Obviously.”

“I’m serious! You can’t—“

“Don’t be stupid Hollander,” he cut him off, “obviously I’m not going to tell anyone! I could lose my license, or get fucking arrested. Lose my visa and get sent back to Russia. I have more to lose than you. If I get caught jerking off the NHL superstar under my care I’ll lose more than my job.”

It seemed selfish to be relieved to hear that, to realise he wasn’t the only one who’d be fucked if it got out. Which left the question…

“So why did you…” he made a vague gesture.

“Too pretty to resist,” Ilya purred, drifting closer. “And you got so hard for me.”

Shane crossed his arms over his chest as heat rose to his cheeks. “You said it happens to a lot of guys.”

“It does.” Ilya smiled, “to the gay ones.” 

Shane recoiled, throwing a glance at the door even though no one could have heard him and he suspected he’d made a lot louder noises than that moments ago.

“Jesus, man. Shut up.” He hissed.

Ilya threw his head back and laughed.

More comfortable than he normally is with people, Shane didn’t hesitate to swat at him and roll his eyes, feeling a smile tug in reply to the crooked grin Ilya levelled him with.

“Do you…” he darted a look at the massage table as though what happened would be drawn onto the crumpled sheet, “With them?” his voice was quiet.

Ilya scoffed. “I do not give ‘happy ending’ massages, Shane.”

“Mine was pretty happy.” Shane muttered, not sure if he wanted Ilya to hear or not. The boyish grin that spread across Ilya’s face and the sparkle in his bright eyes made warmth settle in Shane’s stomach.

“Only pretty, boring, superstar players.”

Shane ducked his head to hide the pleased smile and blush he couldn’t hold back.

His breath caught when Ilya reached a large, warm hand out and grasped his chin, gently guiding it so they were looking at each other.

Ilya's eyes lingered on his lips before meeting his gaze, he searched Shane’s face for permission before giving his chin a firm tug to meet him in a kiss.

Shane closed his eyes with a sigh and let the other man lead him into a sensual, searching kiss that made him feel dizzy. It was different to the hungry kisses they’d shared before, this one lingered and left Shane feeling hazy and warm when they eventually pulled apart.

“Hm,” Ilya hummed, licking his lips thoughtfully as his hand, which had migrated from his chin to be tangled in his hair, gave a firm tug, pulling Shane’s eyes up from where they’d been stuck on Ilya’s plump, glistening lips.

“I enjoyed massaging you very much, Shane Hollander.” He licked his lips. “I look forward to the next one.”

Shane just nodded dumbly.

“Now get dressed and fuck off, I have to…” he glanced down at himself, “not be hard. And you are making that difficult.”

A giddy burst of laughter escaped Shane as he did what he was told.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

The whole next week Shane tried to put his looming massage appointment to the back of his mind where he could ignore it. 

He wasn’t entirely successful. Every ache of well-used muscles reminded him of the pleasant worked feeling of his limbs he’d left his first session with. At night his mind strayed to the hungry press of Ilya’s mouth and the slick, wet sound of his hands on Shane’s skin, the firm, possessive feel of the other man, the way he’d drawn pleasure out of him in a way nobody had ever managed before. 

He felt weird jerking off to memories of the encounter, but a week was a long time to go without and he relented more than he’d like to admit, his mind rehashing the details like he would watching tapes or dissecting a play after the game. 

It left him feeling vaguely horny and anxious afterwards and that feeling shadowed him the whole week leading up to his next appointment. 

Hayden walked with him to where their paths diverged, chatting away as he recounted a story about Ruby attempting to get her preschool class to stage a coup earlier in the week. He continued on a couple of steps  before realising he’d lost his audience and spun around to find Shane.  

“I’ve got a massage,” Shane said, gesturing towards the administrative wing and the massage room beyond, hoping he looked casual and not like his skin was buzzing and his dick was threatening to chub up at the very thought. 

“Oh man!” Hayden said, grinning, “the new guy is ruthless, it’s like getting beat up, isn’t it?” 

Shane chose not to disagree. His few scuffles on the ice had been absolutely nothing like his last encounter with Ilya. 

“Ah, yeah.” He mumbled, “did wonders on my shoulder.”

“Great! I have another one on Friday, Jackie is so jealous but I tried to tell her that guy would snap her like a twig!” He laughed and turned towards the exit with a wave.

Shane watched him go, his palms sweating as he forced his mind away from any thoughts of the masseur waiting for him. 

Letting out a calming breath, Shane made his way to the room in the back of the medical corridor and rapped his knuckles sharply on the door, waiting for the command from within to enter. 
Ilya was leaning against a table on the far side of the room, arms crossed in a way that made the biceps Shane had been studiously ignoring on his walk here, bulge dramatically. 

 “Hi,” Shane greeted lamely, rolling his eyes when Ilya grinned, looking predatory and pleased. 

“I thought you’d be too chicken to come back.”

“I’m not a chicken.” Shane grumbled, dumping his bag by the door. Ilya made a noise Shane chose to ignore as he closed the door behind him and entered the room properly.

They stared at each other for a beat, the air felt electric against Shane’s skin and he wiped his palms against his thighs as Ilya looked him over, slow and pointed. When he reached Shane’s face he flashed him a challenging smile.

“Strip.” 

“Do I get a towel?”

“Do you need one?”

“I’m modest.” Shane said dryly and was rewarded with a sharp bark of laughter and Ilya lifting a folded towel from the table beside him. 

He circled around the massage table to hand it to Shane before turning pointedly towards his tray of bottles and started picking through them.

Shane stripped quickly, wrapping the towel around his waist in record time and drifted towards the table. 

Leveraged himself up, Shane pointedly ignored the other man as he put himself into position, very aware of every inch of bare skin and the blush spreading from his cheeks down to his chest.

There was an awkward shuffle as he tried to situate his towel without shoving his ass up in what could only look like invitation after the last time, and Ilya clicked his tongue before his warm hands joined his and took over. 

Shane stared down at the ground through the hole, straining to hear anything from the other man.

“Your shoulder feels better?” Ilya asked, and there was the slick sound of lotion that had haunted Shane’s dreams and waking thoughts for a week now. 

“Ah, yeah. A lot. Full range of motion is back.”

“Good.”  

The hot, slick hands landed on his back.  

“No new injuries or strains?”

Shane shook his head and murmured a ‘no’ as Ilya’s strong hands went to work. They explored the length of his spine, kneading out the tension.

He was damn good at his job. Shane had spent the whole of the last week reliving his last massage over and over again in his head, trying to remember the exact weight and size of Ilya’s hands, but somehow in that time he’d forgotten just how good it felt to have tension forcibly removed from his body. 

If he ever saw the last team masseur, he’ll punch him in the throat for the two years of shit massages he’d been forced to endure. 

A strong glide of large, hot hands traced the path of his spine from his lower back and Shane felt a pleased rumble escape him.  

The path was traced again, this time ending with a hand gripped the back of his neck firmly. It was a commanding, possessive hold that made Shane’s breath catch in his chest. 

It felt nice. Even beyond the general pleasure of a good massage, there was something about the hold that sent a rush of relief through his body.

The touch shifted from a forceful grip into a gentle knead, teasing out knots and dipping up into his hair. 

Shane hummed a sigh and received a gentle tug to his hair that somehow felt fond and amused to Shane’s groggy mind. 

The hands moved on, continuing the careful journey across his shoulders, down his spine, taking time on each arm and lulling Shane into a foggy state of mind, occasionally breathing through sharp spikes of almost-pain when Ilya found a tender spot or a knot, but even they felt good.

When Ilya shifted down the table to start working on his legs, Shane slowly drifted back to awareness. 

There was something about the way Ilya lifted and moved his legs how he wanted them, the way his hands drifted up his thighs and dug into the muscles that made Shane acutely aware of the other man and how much he liked him touching him. 

When he felt Ilya’s fingertips creep under the edge of the towel Shane gulped, his body electrified and toes twisting with want for more. When they slipped away again he couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment that raced through him. 

Despite how much he tried to tell himself otherwise before and after his multiple sessions jerking off this week, Shane wanted Ilya to touch him again, wanted this to turn sexual, wanted the inappropriate behaviour to happen again. 

Ilya Rozanov was the hottest guy Shane had ever met, and he hadn’t had to fumble through pickup lines or navigate complex cues to ask if Ilya was interested or for what he wanted, Ilya had just given it to him, had known what he wanted and blown through any rule or social etiquette to do it. It had been hot. And he wanted it again. 

Ilya traced a long line from his ankles up to his thighs with both hands, he kneaded and pressed at the thick muscles there, curving his hands around to the front and back before lifting his hands completely.

The touch turned quickly delicate, dancing along the edge of the towel, lifting it just slightly. Shane was so focused on the sensation it felt far more dramatic and revealing than it probably was. 

“Yes?” Ilya asked, voice a soft rumble as he teased the edge of the towel.
Shane gulped. Every reason not to flashed through his mind, every reason this was absolutely a terrible idea, but honestly, at the promise of more he didn’t care right now. 

“Yes.” He rasped, staring down at the ground while every cell in his body went on high-alert waiting for the next move. 

He heard a pleased, low noise and then with a flourish, Ilya lifted the towel from Shane’s ass. 
The cool air of the room felt shocking against the now exposed skin of his cheeks and Shane let out a squawk of outrage and shock. 

Ilya chuckled. Shane braced his hands against the sides of the table to leverage himself up to say something, but Ilya’s firm hands landed on the top of his ass and spread up, over his lower back, pressing deep into the muscles either side of his spine in a way that felt wonderful. He moved all the way up his body and pushing him back down against the table. 

With a grunt, Shane let himself be lowered back down, but his hands remained gripped either side of him. 

“Relax, is massage.” Ilya said, repeating the motion but this time starting from the middle of his cheeks. “Glutes are big muscles, they deserve work too.”

Shane rolled his eyes, even though no one would see it. A blush was prickling his neck and he was hyper-aware of the large, strong hands kneading his ass. For some reason it felt more intimate than him jerking him off the week before, more difficult to wrap his head around. 

No one had touched his ass, it was totally unexplored by anyone but himself. Certainly none of his girlfriends had grabbed at the meat of it like Ilya was. It made him unable to stop thinking about more, about Ilya reaching further, touching lower, pressing in.  

A thumb traced down the line of his crack and Shane let out a small gasp. 

He repeated the touch before quickly moving his hands to massage the tender spot where upper thing met buttock, dipping between his thighs in a way that sent a shiver down his spine and made him agonisingly aware of that part of his body.

Ilya’s hands moved up and there was a second of anticipation before he gripped Shane’s cheeks and pulled them apart, letting room-temperature air rush in against the delicate, hidden skin of his crack and hole.

Shane choked on spit and blood rushed to his head dizzingly. He was gaping down at the floor, mind bouncing between shock, outrage and excitement 

An exploratory thumb pressed against the furl of his asshole and Shane’s breath caught in his throat. Excitement and embarrassment rushed through him. Was this really going to happen? Was he going to let this happen?

“Do you touch yourself here?” Ilya’s low voice was clear and curious, no hush of doing something forbidden, no shame in his questions. His thumb continued it’s relentless, agonizing circles against his hole, barely moving at all, but enough to capture all of Shane’s attention, narrowing down the world to that small spot of contact.

Shane buried his face deeper in the face hole and squeezed his eyes shut wishing he’d shut up.

“No?” Ilya continued when he didn’t get a response, his voice taking on a mocking lilt Shane just knew signalled a much more torturous exchange was coming.

“I have a thing.” Shane mumbled, hoping it was enough, and that the face hole obscured his words enough.

His thumb stilled it’s gentle circling motion and Shane wanted to scream.

“A thing?” Ilya asked, confusion cracking his cool confidence. 

Shane considered screaming. He thought about pushing his hips back against the thumb and demanding the touch return. He thought about jumping up and running from the room.

“A thing,” he snapped, before continuing, trying to force a degree of calm indifference he absolutely didn’t feel, “you know, a dildo.” 

Ilya's thumb pressed against Shane’s hole, not pushing in, just pressing with a firm, insistent pressure that made Shane’s head spin.

“What colour?” 

“What?” Shane squawked, his arms tensing as if to push him up and off the table. Ilya’s thumb pressed harder, nudging into Shane’s hole just the slightest bit as his other hand landed on the small of his back holding him in place. 

“Is big?” he asked, excitement colouring his words as he starting the gentle circles again. It felt obscene, just on the edge of pushing in.

Shane gasped, arousal hot in his guts. “Not enough.” He gasped. Whether he was talking about his dildo or the pressure on his hole, he wasn’t sure. Both maybe. 

Ilya pressed his thumb in, a smooth, slow slide in that seemed to push the air out of Shane’s lungs. 

“Not enough?” Ilya purred, voice going smooth and deep again, “you need more.” 

“God, yes.” Shane gasped, a shiver racing down his spine. 

He let out a whine when the thumb was removed entirely, but before he could draw breath Ilya’s large hands grasped his cheeks and spread him wide. There was a puff of hot air against the sensitive skin of his crack before the wet, nimble pressure of a tongue swiped over his hole leaving a cold rush as he retreated and air kissed where he had licked.

“Oh, god!” Shane gasped, staring down at the floor in shock. 

He’d barely processed the touch before it returned, insistent and shocking, circling his hole as he mouthed at him, making hungry, wet noises as he slurped along his crack, following spit down to his balls, lingering over his taint before returning to his hole.

Shane gasped and choked on his breaths as he clutched the sides of the table like he was drowning.

The sensation was so unlike anything he’d ever experienced, hot and wet, mingling with the hungry sounds Ilya was making that shot through him like electricity. 

His face felt hot and he realised belatedly he was making noises between his gasping breaths. He could feel drool forming on his lips and flushed even hotter when he gave his first, desperate thrust back against Ilya’s face, thrilling as Ilya’s grip on him shifted to help him rock his ass back against his face. 

Arousal flowed into him in waves and he lost himself in the hot, wet heat of Ilya’s mouth. When a finger eased in along with his tongue Shane choked on spit and his rhythm faltered at the hungry shock that crashed into him. 

Ilya made a pleased sounding rumble and thrust his finger in suddenly, forcing a choked moan out of him. His head was buzzing as the other man set a steady, insistent pace, his tongue dancing around his finger, flicking agilely around the digit as a thumb trailed down to press insistently against his perineum.

A distant part of Shane acknowledged that he’d be embarrassed later about how he rutted back desperately against Ilya’s face, and there was nothing dignified or attractive about the bright red flush of his face and the sounds he made, which warred with the slopped, wet noises of his ass being devoured. This whole thing was vaguely humiliating but he’d never been so hard before in his life.

He let out a high, reedy noise when Ilya slipped a second finger in, the stretch liberally lubricated by spit and the eager relaxed ring of his hole. 

Ilya’s fingers were bigger than his own and two felt dramatically larger than one, but it still wasn’t quite as big as his dildo, the largest thing that had ever entered his ass, and he felt light-headed and woozy thinking about something bigger, about taking more, of Ilya holding his hips in a bruising grip and forcing more into him. 

His legs were trembling and Ilya gave a loud, slurping suck before lifting his head to press kisses over the rise of his ass cheek. Shane let out a desperate, aggrieved noise that pulled a chuckle out of the other man when he pressed his teeth to his cheek as his fingers drilled into him ruthlessly. 
He build up a rhythm quickly, pistoning his long, thick fingers into him, knocking his breath out of his body. 

Shane clutched at the edge of the table over his head, gasping and sobbing, pressing his mouth against the edge of the face hole to mouth at it desperately as he tried to rock back into the thrusts.
Ilya curved his fingers on the next stroke in, brushing against his prostate suddenly, pulling a yelp from Shane’s slack mouth. He kept that angle, ruthlessly pressing on his prostate on every pass, and the sparks of sensation chased any thought out of his head. 

He knew he was making pathetic, desperate noises but he couldn’t spare a second to care when it felt so good. It never felt like this when he fingered himself, even when he fucked himself with his dildo, imagining some faceless man fucking him stupid. 
God, and this was just his fingers, clever, strong, thick fingers that seemed magnetised to that spot inside him.

A warm hand ran soothingly up the curve of his back as Ilya eased a third finger in on the next thrust. The stretch was a lot more, pulling a “Oh!” from Shane that sounded somewhere between surprise and relief. 

The next few thrusts were careful, testing the new limits.

“Fuck,” Ilya said, sounding reverent, rubbing his thumb against his taint inn a parody of a soothing caress. “Such pretty hole.” His accent curled around the words thickly, making them sound clumsy and thick and sending a shiver down Shane’s spine. 

The thrusting shifted slightly, growing longer and more forceful. Shane whimpered on the next withdrawal, clenching down around the fingers like he’d be able to trap them inside him. 
Ilya chuckled over him, leaning down to press a string of kisses across Shane’s shoulders.

“Shh, you will like.” He murmured.

Ilya nosed against the side of his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek before raising back up. Shane felt anticipation like static electricity, waiting for his next move. 

On the next push in Ilya’s fingers zeroed in on his prostate and rubbed firmly over it. The brief flashes of contact that he’d done previously had just been a warm up, getting him aware of the sensation. Now his body lit up like a firework, he made a strangled scream and his hips writhed against the table, unsure whether he was trying to push against the fingers or away from them.

Ilya let out a pleased noise that could have been a laugh, but Shane’s brain was too scrambled to properly register it. 

The pressure let up, his thick fingers retreated to tease around his entrance as Shane sucked in wet, panting breaths against the table. 

After a few seconds he plunged his fingers back in, curling precisely against his prostate and circling it in tight, firm, ruthless strokes that drew a sob out of Shane’s throat. 

His leg closest to Ilya pulled up like he was seeking purchase. Ilya’s free hand gripped it tightly, holding it in place as Shane sobbed and bucked, unsure how he wanted to move, his world narrowing down to the point of contact dancing over his prostate. 

His orgasm was building, ballooning rapidly in his groin, a dizzying sensation almost more like needing to piss than cum. 

When Ilya didn’t relent, Shane felt a shocked kind of panic that he was about to cum if he didn’t stop. He was about to shoot his load all over the massage table, dick completely untouched, three fingers of the hottest guy he’d ever met in his ass. 

His hands clutched around the edge of the table as he made an attempt to pull himself up, the vague thought that if he could kneel up and away from the pressure he’d save himself a few seconds more before he came like a fucking teenager. 

Before he could do more than shift his hips forward slightly, buying himself a millimeter of space from the pressure, Ilya’s hand shot up from his leg and clamped around his hip, pulling him firmly back against his fingers. 

Shane might have screamed, it could have been a howl, but he was too busy shooting his brains out to really care. 

His orgasm seemed to go on forever, shot after shot weeping out of his dick, encouraged out by Ilya’s clever fingers working his prostate until Shane was whining and shaking from oversensitivity. 
One last firm pass over the bundle of nerves strangled another weak shot of cum out of his twitching dick. 

Shane collapsed onto the table, gasping for breath like he’d done an hour of bag skates. 
There was a string of mumbled words in Russian that might have been a curse and Shane tilted his head enough to see Ilya pull the front of his pants down and grab his dick.

The fingers buried inside Shane eased back, lingering at his hole, stretching and pulling at his entrance and Ilya seemed to be focused on them as he jerked his dick once, twice, three times before he let out a harsh grunt and Shane felt the splatter of cum over his ass.

For some reason, that was what made Shane bite his lip as a furious flush of embarrassment rushed through him and he buried his face into his arm. 

He listened to their panting breaths slowly return to normal, pretending he wasn’t hyper-aware of the way Ilya’s fingers had slipped out of his ass and were tracing through the cum the other man had put there. 

“Fuck,” Ilya said, still sounding a little breathless, “you have a perfect ass.”
Shane huffed a laugh and tilted his head enough to see him staring down at the ass in question.
“Thanks?” he said, not totally sure how to respond to that. 

Ilya barked out a laugh and shook his head before giving his ass a sharp, playful slap. 

“Thank you!” he teased, shooting Shane a wink as he retrieved the towel from wherever it had got to and started wiping him off. 

When he turned to toss it into the hamper, Shane eased himself up carefully to sit up on the table and swung his legs over the side. 

Ilya stepped into him as he did so, ending up between Shane’s legs, too smooth to be anything other than impressive. Shane fumbled for a second, torn between clutching the other man and covering his junk. 

Ilya made the choice for him and brought a hand up to cradle his face, guiding him gently forward and into a kiss as his other hand moved Shane’s to his waist, where he clutched at his polo instinctively. 

Shane melted into it, letting the man in front of him hold him up as they kissed deeply, sighing into each other’s mouths. 

Moving a hand up, he ran his fingers through Ilya’s hair and hummed happily, tilting his head as Ilya’s kisses travelled from his mouth and towards his neck. 

He felt good, loose-limbed and satisfied. If he was on a bed he’d be drifting off to sleep as the larger man continued working his way over his throat, dusting the occasional kiss on his shoulders and collarbones. 

His groin was still warm and tender-feeling. Too early to get hard again but there was the spark of wanting more burning in his blood. 

Eventually, the kisses petered out and Ilya lifted his head to press their foreheads together. He pressed one more peck against his lips before leaning back, his hands on Shane’s hips. 

“I want to take you out.” His smile turned wicked, “then take you back home, do this properly.”

Shane felt his blissful smile drop and reality start to press back in. 

“I can’t be seen with a guy, people can’t know—”

“Is fine,” Ilya said, his hands squeezing his hips reassuringly. “I’m one of the team, just someone who works at the arena with the players and we happened to become friends.” He shrugged one shoulder, “Is not suspicious that you would make a friend.”

Shane quietly thought that it wasn’t totally normal for him to make a friend either, but kept that to himself. 

Ilya continued. “Besides, we are old rivals, we’ve known each other since we were in juniors.”

Shane considered it. Nobody cared when he was out and about with Hayden or JJ, nobody looked twice if they went out to eat or were walking along the street together. Ilya wasn’t a team mate, but even a quick look would show he worked for the Voyageurs. 

It wasn’t exactly common for the staff and players to hang out outside of when their jobs put them together, but if anyone thought too hard about it, it wasn’t beyond belief that two people who had once played against each other, who had been pitted as the next great rivalry, who had been neck-and-neck for first draft pick could become friends a few years later when they happened to end up working together. 

Shane smiled, a warm, giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach. 

“Yeah, you’re right” he said, biting his lip to hold in his excited smile “I’d like that.”

Ilya's smile was blinding and Shane pulled him into a kiss.

Chapter End Notes

And there is my first HR fic!! hope you enjoyed it, I had a blast writing it LOL.
I am working on another HR fic already, it'll be a longer, chaptered fic (with actual plot) where Shane accidentally hires Professional Dom Ilya and things develop, so if you think that sounds good, keep an eye out! (no set time frame yet, but it's in the works)

Thanks so much for reading!