Rating:

Explicit

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:

Established Relationship, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Blow Jobs, Facials, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Dirty Talk, Come Eating, Shane Hollander Has a Praise Kink

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-25 Words: 1,790 Chapters: 1/1

harder to breathe

Summary

With a grin, Ilya leans up and kisses Shane slowly, “Who knew laundry got Shane Hollander so hot and bothered?”

“I hate you,” Shane groans, shoving at Ilya’s chest.

Ilya catches Shane's wrist in his hand and presses a gentle kiss to the soft skin there. Shane's heart stutters and he wonders if Ilya can feel the change in his pulse against his lips.

“No, you don't,” Ilya grins, staring up at him with wide eyes.

—

Ilya spills wine and Shane offers to wash his shirt, but becomes distracted by obvious Ilya Rosanov related reason.

Notes

This is my first Heated Rivalry fic.

Uh... enjoy?

Shane can’t help but snort and smile to himself when he hears Ilya muttering under his breath in Russian from the couch. Ilya had arrived a few hours ago, a day ahead of their game scheduled for tomorrow night. The weather was looking bad so Boston decided to fly out a day early to avoid any weather related travel delays. Which just means more time for Shane and Ilya to spend together. It’s sort of nice spending time alone in his apartment with his boyfriend, it feels domestic and comfortable.

New. Different.

Familiar.

He wipes off his hands on a dish towel once he’s done drying off the dishes from the wonderful dinner that Ilya “made” while Shane was on a business call with Rolex. (Shane had seen the receipt sitting on top of the trash, but he appreciated the effort of arranging it all on plates and settingthetable.) and tosses the towel to the counter before making his way into the living area. The TV is on, but muted, and there are two glasses of wine on the coffee table; one glass is significantly more filled than the other.

“Oh, shit,” he hears Ilya mumble to himself where he’s sitting on the couch.

Shane steps closer, folds his arms over his chest, “What’s up?”

Ilya’s head shoots up and he clamps his hands over his stomach, looking up at Shane with wide eyes. “Nothing. I did not spill your fancy wine on shirt - if that's what you are thinking. I am a grown man, professional athlete. I do not spill,” he says quickly. Ilya's jaw clenches, the muscles flexing beneath the skin, before his expression shifts to something softer, self-deprecating in a way.

Shane bites his bottom lip and chuckles in the back of his throat to himself before making an upward sweeping motion with his hands and walks closer still. “Up, let me see,” he says with a grin.

With a grumble, Ilya stands up and drops his hands down to his sides. Humming softly, Shane reaches out and brushes his fingers over the deep burgundy spot on Ilya’s white shirt. He licks his lips and looks up at Ilya with a smile, clucking his tongue softly.

“If you want, you can take it off and I can pre-treat it and throw it in the wash for you so that it'll be clean before you leave tomorrow,” he says, shrugging slightly. There is a tingle of sadness to his voice as the prospect of Ilya leaving again.

Ilya smiles a little gratefully and swiftly pulls the shirt up over his head.

The movement itself is not entirely unfamiliar to Shane. He’s watched Ilya undress just as many times as he’s undressed Ilya himself. He has spent years learning every inch of this man's skin, every shift of his muscles. He is intimately familiar with the act of stripping Ilya bare, but something about the way he so nonchalantly pulls his shirt off in the middle of Shane’s living room, stuns Shane for a moment. Something about Ilya and Ilya’s body just lights a fire low in Shane’s belly that he can’t seem to control most of the time.

Not that he wants to anyway.

In almost an instant, Shane tosses Ilya’s shirt behind him and presses close to him, crushing their lips together, his hands grabbing at Ilya's sides. Ilya seems stunned for just half a second but quickly returns the kiss. One of his hands grips Shane’s chin, fingers digging into his jaw, as the other grabs at his neck. Shane shivers as Ilya licks his way into his mouth. He feels pinned down, claimed.

God, Shane loves that feeling. The heady rush of Ilya’s strong hands holding him still while he ravages Shane's mouth is otherworldly.

“Let me blow you,” Shane pants against Ilya’s lips, his hands trailing down Ilya’s chest, “Please, Ilya, I need to.”

And he does.

Something inside of Shane will surely die if he does not have Ilya’s cock in his mouth in the next several seconds.

Ilya moans, deep and low, and pulls away from the kiss to look back at Shane with wide, lust blown eyes. Shane watches the way his Adams’ apple bobs as he swallows hard and he can’t help but grin. There is always a little thrill when he is able to throw Ilya off, even just a little.

“Bed or…?” Ilya begins to ask, hand leaving Shane's neck to gesture toward the bedroom.

Shane shakes his head and places his hands on Ilya’s shoulders, turns him and pushes him down onto the sofa, the force behind it obviously startling Ilya judging by the look in his eyes, but Shane doesn’t care; he has the need growing inside of him and he needs it. Needs to do this, needs to have this.

Shane settles on his knees between Ilya’s legs. The soft crack of his kneecaps on the hard floor would be an issue for later Shane. Right now? All that matters is the quickly growing tent in Ilya’s pants. Shane hums softly and lays his hands on Ilya’s knees before pushing them slowly up his thighs; his fingers make quick work of the button and zip of Ilya’s jeans. He grins and leans in as he pushes the sides of the closure open and lowers his head to mouth wetly at the hard line of Ilya’s cock through his briefs.

Shane loves the feeling of hard flesh against his lips, and can't get enough of the pure masculine scent that fills his nostrils as he lavs his tongue over the covered head of Ilya’s cock.
Ilya lets out a slow breath and lets the fingers of his right hand slide into Shane’s hair to rest against the back of his head. “C’mon, kotik,” he encourages, lifting his hips from the sofa cushions in a way to get more friction. Shane lifts his head and blinks up at Ilya with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Hold still,” he reprimands with a grin.

Shane’s fingers tuck into the waist of Ilya’s pants and boxers and tug on them to get them down, Ilya easily lifting his hips to help. Shane unconsciously licks his lips as Ilya’s cock slaps against his stomach. Even after all these years, the sight of Ilya’s gorgeous fucking cock leaves Shane breathless.
Grinning to himself, Shane hums happily while leaning in and licking a stripe from the base of Ilya’s cock to the tip. He wraps a hand around the base of Ilya’s cock and circles his lips around the head; his tongue swirling lazily around the tip.

Above him, Ilya curses softly in Russian as he exhales heavily through his nose.

Shane moans in the back of his throat as the first taste of Ilya’s pre-come hits his tongue. His eyes flutter shut while he savors the smooth girth stretching his lips and holding his jaw open. He could practically feel the ache he longs for long after Ilya leaves his mouth. His lips tighten around Ilya’s cock as he slowly starts to bob his head up and down, taking more in with each down stroke. He hums around Ilya and lets his tongue trace patterns along the underside of Ilya’s dick, making Ilya tighten his hand in Shane’s hair as he starts to breathe harshly.

“Oh, god. Oh fuck. You’re so – ahh – fucking good, Shane,” Ilya babbles as he starts to help guide Shane’s head. He gasps loudly, feeling Shane’s tongue press into that spot just under the head of his cock; his hand tightens further in Shane’s hair and pulls him back until his lips leave Ilya’s cock with a lewd, wet popping sound.

Shane whines through red, swollen lips and tries desperately to get back to Ilya’s cock but Ilya simply makes a small tutting noise and shakes his head. Ilya wraps a hand around his own dick and starts to stoke himself slowly. “Do you want me to come on that pretty little face of yours, solnyshko?” he asks in a rough voice, his dark eyes locked on Shane’s. “Cover cute freckles in my come?”

Shane licks his lips impatiently but nods eagerly. “Please,” he whispers, his hands gripping tightly to Ilya’s knees.

Ilya grins and lets out a small breathless laugh.

“I bet you’d come from just that. Pretty little comeslut,” he murmurs. Shane's eyes, though trained on the way Ilya’s hand is stripping across his dick, catches how the muscles in his stomach tighten as his orgasm approaches rapidly.

Whimpering, Shane nods and scoots a little closer between Ilya’s spread legs. “Your comeslut, Ilya. All yours, only ever yours,” he breathes, his eyes never leaving Ilya’s hand on his cock. Ilya groans loudly into the room as he increases the speed of his hand. “Open your mouth for me, kotik. Stick out your tongue – just like that – you’re so good for me,” Ilya praises as his head drops back and his body suddenly goes taut as he starts to come.

Eyes wide open, head tilted slightly, tongue out – Shane feels most of Ilya’s come land on his tongue, some shooting off to hit high on his cheekbone or land on his upper lip. Shane drops a hand down from Ilya’s knee and presses his palm roughly over his own hard cock in his jeans a few times before he stills and comes with a silent cry.

Ilya lifts his head, blinks down at Shane and groans a little, taking in his red flushed face and shining patches of come on his skin. Ilya reaches out to wipe some off of Shane’s cheek with his thumb before pressing the thumb past Shane’s lips and into his mouth.

"Such a good boy," Ilya praises, voice husky and rough.

Shane hums happily, eyes drifting shut, as he wraps his tongue around the digit and sucks it clean.

Ilya removes his thumb and looks down at Shane with a small breathless laugh before hauling Shane from the floor with his hands under his armpits. Shane settles slowly in Ilya's lap, feeling the uncomfortable stickiness in his briefs already starting to dry.

With a grin, Ilya leans up and kisses Shane slowly, “Who knew laundry got Shane Hollander so hot and bothered?”

“I hate you,” Shane groans, shoving at Ilya’s chest.

Ilya catches Shane's wrist in his hand and presses a gentle kiss to the soft skin there. Shane's heart stutters and he wonders if Ilya can feel the change in his pulse against his lips.

“No, you don't,” Ilya grins, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Shane melts a little, leaning down to kiss the plush pout of Ilya's lips. He sighs and murmurs in agreement into their kiss, “No. I don't.”