Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

All-Star Game, Ilya Rozanov Playing in the Water, Ilya Rozanov is Good With Children, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander is Obsessed With Ilya Rozanov, Exhibitionism, Eye Contact, Possessive Shane Hollander, Idiots in Love, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, attention seeker, Anal Fingering, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-06 Words: 3,473 Chapters: 2/2

Keep Your Eyes On Me

Summary

At the All-Star Game in Tampa Ilya finds he really likes Shane's eyes on him when he is in the pool. They explore this in the bedroom later that night.

Notes

The first chapter is non-explicit. Just the feeling of Shane's eyes tracking water droplets down Ilya's body and the feeling that invokes in him.

Chapter 1: Poolside

The conversation from the bar lingered as Shane rode the elevator up. He’d spent the last few hours circulating, smiling, playing his part, but all he really wanted was to find Ilya again. And when there was water nearby, there was only one place Ilya was likely to be.

The plan had been simple: grab his book, escape the noise, enjoy the view.

Out on the deck, the Tampa sun baked the concrete, but the pool area was cooler, heavy with chlorine. Shane settled into a lounge chair, out of the way, inconspicuous, but close enough.

Close enough to watch.

His book lay face-down and forgotten as Ilya burst from the water in a mock shark attack, sending children into delighted shrieks. Shane hadn’t accounted for this. For the way Ilya’s usual arrogance softened into something brighter, looser. Or the way he laughed when a little girl poked at his chest. He hadn’t planned for the pull of it, the way his attention snagged and refused to let go.

It felt like he was basking in more than just the sun.

Ilya moved through the water like a storm, not destructive but all-consuming, sweeping everyone into his orbit. Kids climbed over him like he was a jungle gym. A girl with pigtails perched on his shoulders, shrieking as he spun in slow circles, while twin boys tried, and failed, to knock him off balance.

“I win!” Ilya declared, lifting the girl and dropping her into the water with a splash. The twins immediately latched onto his arms, and he let them drag him under.

He surfaced sputtering, slicking his dark hair back. “You cheated,” he accused, pointing at them, but his eyes crinkled with laughter. The kids only laughed harder.

They chased each other in dizzying circles until everyone was breathless and flushed, their laughter echoing across the deck. Shane couldn’t look away. He tracked every movement, the play of muscle across Ilya’s back, the effortless power in the way he cut through the water, the way it slid off his skin when he rose again.

He’d seen Ilya angry on the ice, sharp in interviews, locked in during games.

He had never seen this.

Not in all the years of All-Star weekends, not once had he let himself notice this version. The one that was easy, warm, and devastatingly alive. Something unfamiliar and possessive stirred low in his chest, quiet but undeniable.

The game ended in a final, chaotic race. Ilya made a show of trying, then lost spectacularly, splashing to a stop just short of the finish.

“Lost!” one of the twins crowed.

“No, you cheated,” Ilya shot back, already heading for the ladder. “You distracted me. But I guess I owe you candy bars.”

The kids were already scattering. Ilya hauled himself out of the pool, water streaming from him, his swim trunks clinging to his thighs.

He pushed his soaked hair back, scanned the deck, and found Shane.

And smiled.

He crossed the hot concrete, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him. Up close, the details were overwhelming: water beading along the dark hair on his chest, tracing slow paths down the defined lines of his stomach.

He was still breathing a little hard when he stopped in front of Shane. “Give me wallet… for kids’ candy bars. I forgot mine upstairs.” His English slipped, rougher at the edges. “They are barbarians. They want sugar.”

He didn’t bother with a towel. Just stood there, dripping onto the concrete at Shane’s feet, sunlight catching on the water along his shoulders and breaking into tiny, shifting prisms.

Shane’s gaze followed a single drop as it slid from Ilya’s collarbone, slow and unhurried, tracing a path down to his navel.

Heat flared, sharp and immediate, mirroring that same descent. He dragged his eyes back up to meet Ilya’s.

And didn’t look away.

Ilya felt it instantly.

That electric awareness prickling across his skin. Warmth followed, slow and spreading, as if Shane’s gaze had weight. Direction.

Intention.

He’d known, of course. Known the moment Shane stepped onto the deck.

It wasn’t something he could explain. Just a shift in the air, a pull at the edges of his awareness, sharp and instinctive. The same instinct that let him read a play before it unfolded.

Predator sensing prey.

Except this time, he wasn’t sure which role he was playing.

He’d leaned into it without thinking. Made the game louder, bigger. Splashed higher, laughed harder. Every movement just a little more exaggerated than necessary. A performance, even if he hadn’t named it as one. Something in him had wanted Shane to stay.

To watch.

And when Shane had chosen the chair near the pool instead of disappearing somewhere quieter, something tight had coiled in Ilya’s chest, sharp with satisfaction.

Because that meant he’d succeeded.

Now, standing in front of him, dripping and breathing hard, Ilya felt… exposed.

Not in a way that made him want to retreat. Not vulnerable. Not threatened.

Something else.

Like every part of him had been pulled into sharper focus. The sun felt brighter against his skin, each droplet catching and holding the light. The noise around them blurred, laughter and splashing fading into something distant.

He was being seen.

Not glanced at. Not admired in passing.

Seen.

The realization settled low and steady, and instead of discomfort, it sparked something bright and reckless in his chest. Exhilaration. A dangerous kind of satisfaction that made his pulse jump.

It felt like standing at center ice under arena lights, except sharper. More focused.

An audience of one.

And one was enough.

More than enough.

His breath caught, just slightly. A shiver chased across his skin despite the heat, his body reacting in ways he didn’t bother to hide. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that had nothing to do with exertion anymore.

He knew Shane was watching.

And he liked it.

More than liked it. He wanted it.

Ilya had always liked attention. That had never been a secret. He knew how to use it, shape it, turn it into something useful. On the ice, in interviews, in rooms full of people who expected him to be larger than life.

But this?

This was different.

This stripped everything else away and left something precise in its place. Focused. Intentional.

Personal.

It felt like being on display for one person only, every layer he usually wore simply… unnecessary.

And he didn’t want them back.

The usual rush of cameras and crowds felt distant in comparison. Hollow. None of it came close to this quiet, unwavering attention.

He could feel Shane’s gaze moving over him. Slow. Deliberate. Tracing.

Following.

Mapping.

Every drop of water seemed to guide it, and Ilya’s body responded as if it were something more than sight. As if it were touch.

His breath hitched again.

The world narrowed.

The pool, the kids, the noise, all of it faded to the edges, leaving only the space between them.

He became acutely aware of everything. The cling of wet fabric low on his hips. The slow paths of water down his skin. The subtle shift of his weight.

And then, without thinking, he leaned into it.

Just a fraction. A turn of his shoulders, a slight change in stance. Instinct taking over.

If Shane was going to look,

Ilya was going to give him something to see.

A sudden, piercing scream shattered it.

Bright with delight, not fear. The twins had already moved on, dragging their sister into a new game. The spell broke, but not entirely. The heat lingered under Ilya’s skin.

When he turned back, Shane was already moving.

Unhurried. Controlled.

Like he had all the time in the world.

He reached for his wallet first, then grabbed a towel from the nearby table. The gesture was simple, practical, but it landed softer than it should have.

Closer.

Ilya’s lips curved, slow and deliberate, mischief flickering in his eyes.

Without warning, he leaned forward and shook his head sharply, sending a spray of chlorinated water everywhere. Across Shane’s book. His chest. His face.

For a split second, there was silence.

Then they both broke.

Laughter came easily, loud and unrestrained, cutting through the tension. It unraveled something tight, shifting the moment into something lighter.

But it didn’t erase it.

Even as he laughed, Ilya could still feel it. The ghost of Shane’s gaze, lingering.

And it did something to him.

He’d liked every version of Shane he’d ever known.

The first time came back easily. The hotel gym. The locker room shower. Shane flushed and stumbling, want written all over him without knowing what to do with it.

There had been something intoxicating in that too. Something simple. Something easy to use.

Back then, it had been enough.

But this...

This Shane was different.

No hesitation. No uncertainty.

Just that steady, deliberate gaze, dragging over Ilya like he had every right to look.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

And Ilya.

Ilya wanted to answer it.

The impulse rose sharp and immediate. He wanted to lean in, to give Shane more, to hold his attention and shape it into something intentional.

He wanted to be watched.

And more than that, he trusted that Shane would understand what it meant.

The thought hit low and sudden, stealing his breath for a different reason this time.

And instead of pushing it away, he held onto it.

Chapter 2: Hotel Room

Chapter Summary

Ilya loved having Shane's eyes on him at the pool, so why wouldn't he love his eyes on him during sex after the emotional conversations in the hotel room.

Later, after they had returned to the privacy of their room, the air still thick with the scent of chlorine and sun, the emotional upheaval of the past few weeks washed over them. Shane's confession, the quiet, tremulous words as he came out to Ilya, had been a seismic shift. Ilya had listened, his heart aching for the weight Shane had carried for so long, even though a part of him thought it should have been obvious, had been obvious to him for years. Then came Ilya's turn, the guarded secrets of Russia, the expectations of his family, the fear of disappointing them, the fear of losing everything he had worked for. He had laid himself bare, exposing the vulnerable underbelly of the arrogant persona he presented to the world. And through it all, Shane had seen him, truly seen him, and still wanted him. The knowledge was a balm, a revelation.

"Eyes on me." The command was a low vibration against Shane's thigh, Ilya's voice rough with restraint. He traced the words with his tongue against Shane's heated flesh, a teasing promise before he took him into his mouth. The wet heat was a shock, a wave of pleasure that made Shane's head fall back against the pillows, his lashes fluttering shut.

That earned him a sharp bite to his inner thigh, not enough to truly hurt, just enough to sting. Shane's eyes flew open, his breath catching. Ilya was watching him, his gaze dark and intense, his expression unreadable. The punishment for looking away was swift, a reminder of the rules of this game.

He didn't give Shane time to protest before he returned his attention to his task, his mouth working him with a slow, deliberate rhythm that had Shane's toes curling. At the same time, Ilya's fingers, slick and cool, circled his entrance, a gentle pressure that made him tense up in anticipation. He was stretched slowly, carefully, a deliberate invasion that had him gasping for air. It was too much, too good, and his eyelids began to droop again, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

This time, the withdrawal was slower, a deliberate tease. Ilya pulled his fingers back, leaving just the tips inside, a ghost of a touch that was somehow more frustrating than the absence had been before. His mouth stilled, his tongue pressed flat against the sensitive head of Shane's cock, a silent warning.

Shane's eyes locked with Ilya's, his own gaze wide and pleading. He was trapped, held captive by the intensity in Ilya's eyes, by the promise of pleasure and the threat of its absence. He was completely at Ilya's mercy, and the thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Only when he was sure Shane was paying attention, that his focus was entirely on him, did Ilya continue. He pushed his fingers in deeper, a slow, deliberate stretch that had Shane arching his back, a silent scream on his lips. Ilya's mouth moved again, a matching rhythm that was both a reward and a torture. He was driving Shane to the edge, holding him there, a puppet master pulling his strings.

"Don't you dare look away," Ilya murmured against him, his voice a low growl that was as much a promise as a threat. "I want you to only see me when you fall apart."

The vulnerability in Shane's eyes was intoxicating, a drug Ilya found himself rapidly becoming addicted to. 

He'd always known Shane had a hard time with eye contact, a quiet shyness that manifested in averted glances and fleeting looks, but tonight, it felt like Ilya had unlocked another layer of him, a new quirk he couldn't get enough of. It was as if he'd found a secret door in Shane's carefully constructed defenses and stepped through into a hidden room where Shane's truest self resided. 

When he finally entered Shane, starting off slow, their eyes remained locked, an unbroken connection that sent electricity arcing through both of them, a circuit completed. The intensity was almost too much, a supernova of emotion and sensation that threatened to burn them both to ash, but Ilya refused to give it up for a single moment. 

He wanted this beautiful boy, this gorgeous, complicated man, to not look anywhere but at him. He wanted to be the only thing Shane saw, the only thing he felt, the only thing he knew.

Ilya drove into him, each thrust a deliberate punctuation mark against Shane’s broken rhythm of breaths. The slick slap of skin on skin was a raw, visceral counterpoint to the desperate, hitching sounds tearing from Shane’s throat. Fingers clawed at the sheets, twisting the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“Please,” Shane gasped, the word a raw fragment scraped from his lungs. “Ilya… your hand.”

The plea hung in the air, a tremor of pure need, and Ilya’s rhythm faltered for a single, potent second. Instead of the touch Shane craved, a strong hand closed around one of his wrists, then the other, the motion fluid and unhesitating. Shane’s hands were drawn together, held fast against the pillow above his head, pinned by the weight of Ilya’s own grip. It wasn’t a rough restraint, but it was intentional, and order that didn’t need to be said and one Shane was happy to follow. Ilya felt Shane relax under his grip signally he would stay where he was put, Ilya leaned into it, his gaze a dark, possessive weight that held Shane more effectively than the hand on his wrists, demanding and receiving his undivided attention.

Only when Shane’s focus had narrowed to a single point, the burning intensity in Ilya’s eyes, the suffocating pressure on his wrists, did Ilya’s free hand finally move. It skimmed down the sweat-slick plane of Shane’s stomach, a slow, deliberate descent that made every muscle jump and tighten beneath the touch. Shane’s back bowed off the mattress, a silent, desperate offering. Finally, Ilya’s fingers curled around him, the contact searing and immediate. A choked sob ripped from Shane’s chest as Ilya’s hand began to move, setting a tempo that was both a punishment and a promise, perfectly and cruelly matched to the relentless rhythm of his hips. Shane’s world dissolved to that singular, overwhelming point of contact, his pleas dissolving into wordless cries and the repeated, broken utterance of Ilya’s name until his body seized and he shattered, his eyes never leaving Ilya’s.

With a measured withdrawal, Ilya slipped free, the condom removed with unhurried reverence. He waited, his weight braced on his elbows, watching the flutter of Shane's lashes as the tremors subsided. When Shane's eyes finally opened, they remained fixed on Ilya, unwavering. A slow, deliberate appraisal started at Ilya's jaw, tracing the line of his throat, pausing at the sweat-slicked hollow of his collarbone. That gaze continued its journey, a possessive sweep over the heave of his chest, the taut muscles of his stomach, down to where he fisted himself. It was the same hungry look from the poolside, but now it was deeper, more intimate, filled with the unspoken history of the last hour and the silent promise of the next.

All the while, Shane remained still. It was a deliberate stillness, a choice. 

Shane's hands, palms flat and fingers slightly curled, were not just pinned; they were placed, a testament to his willingness to be held, to be seen. Ilya felt a surge of power so intense it was almost painful, a heady rush that made his own breath catch. This was what he had wanted, what he had craved from the moment he'd felt Shane's eyes on him by the pool: to be the sole focus of Shane's world, to have his undivided attention not just in passion, but in this quiet aftermath.

He began to move his hand, a slow, deliberate rhythm that was almost reverent. His gaze flickered from the sight of his own fingers working over himself to Shane's face, to the unwavering intensity in his eyes. The connection was a tangible thing, a current that flowed between them, amplifying every sensation. He could see the moment Shane's focus shifted, the way his pupils dilated as he tracked the movement of Ilya's hand, the subtle parting of his lips as his breathing hitched. The air grew thick with the scent of their exertions, the mingled musk of sweat and sex and chlorine, a heady cocktail that made Ilya's head spin. He felt his own control slipping, the careful, deliberate rhythm of his hand faltering as the need for release became an overwhelming tide.

His strokes grew faster, more erratic, his hips bucking into his own grip. He was lost in the sensation, but he never broke eye contact, never looked away from the man watching him, the man who was watching him fall apart. He could feel the tightening in his balls, the familiar coil of pleasure in his gut, the promise of an orgasm so intense it would leave him shaking. And then he was there, his body arching, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he spilled over Shane's stomach, hot and thick, painting his skin with proof of his desire. He watched as his release mixed with Shane's, their essences merging, a physical manifestation of their connection, a messy, beautiful testament to the intensity of what they had shared.

The aftershocks rippled through him, leaving him breathless and trembling. He collapsed onto the bed beside Shane, his body boneless, his mind a hazy blur of pleasure and contentment. Shane's arm came around him, pulling him close, and he felt the soft press of lips against his forehead, a gesture so tender it made his heart clench. He nuzzled against Shane's chest, his fingers playing with the cooling mess on his stomach, tracing patterns in their combined release.

"You're disgusting," Shane mumbled, but there was no heat in his words, only a sleepy amusement. He squirmed, trying to pull away from Ilya's touch, but Ilya just laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest.

He leaned in, pressing a brief, salty kiss to Shane's lips before pushing himself up. "I'll get a towel," he said, his voice still rough with satisfaction. He padded to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a warm, damp cloth. He gently cleaned Shane up, his movements slow and careful, a stark contrast to the rough passion of their earlier encounter.

"That was different," Shane said, his voice quiet, his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Not that I'm complaining. But... different. You didn't flip me over."

Ilya paused, his hand stilling on Shane's stomach. He looked at Shane, really looked at him, and saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the unspoken question. He leaned down, capturing Shane's lips in a deep, languid kiss, a slow, deliberate exploration that was as much an answer as it was a question.

"I like you watching me," he murmured against Shane's lips, his voice a low whisper. "I could feel it the entire time at the pool. I like the way you look at me.", one that made Ilya’s hips jerk in response. And in that same moment, Shane saw the flicker of Ilya’s reaction, the subtle tightening of muscle, the barely-there stutter in his breath, and his gaze held a new light, one of quiet, glowing satisfaction at the effect he had on the man watching him.