Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is Whipped, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Autistic Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander is a Little Shit, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Player Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Player Shane Hollander, Implied Sexual Content, Texting, Ilya Rozanov is exactly where he wants to be

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of HR 5 + 1

Collections:

ILuxuryCruiseThatsfanficcollection, how dare you make me feel emotions (/pos), made in japan, TDH Game Changers / Heated Rivalry

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-30 Words: 2,391 Chapters: 1/1

walk

Summary

5 times Shane Hollander privately walks Ilya Rozanov like and dog, and 1 time he does it publicly.

Notes

#3 is from my The Real Housewives of Ottawa fic

One.

“I want to play a game.”

Shane looks up from the book he is reading to see Ilya standing at the foot of the bed. He is in just a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Shane can see the delicate ‘24’ tattooed along the left side of the Adonis Belt on his lower abdomen. Laying his book against his chest, Shane slowly drags his eyes back up to his husband's face. Which is holding a very smug smirk on his lips.

“A game?” Shane asks slowly.

Ilya is suddenly climbing up the bed, up the length of Shane, until he is holding himself up and hovering over Shane's face with his necklace swaying in the space between them. Their eyes meet in a steady, unblinking gaze. Eye contact has always been hard for Shane for as long as he could remember. But something about Ilya always made it easy.

Licking his lips, Ilya nods.

“The first person who blinks loses and has to get the other person off.”

Shane snorts back a laugh as he rolls his eyes. He makes a move to get up from the bed but when Ilya doesn't get off of him, he looks back to see that his husband is staring intently down at him. He's being serious. Sighing softly, Shane settles back against his pillow and stares up at Ilya with slightly raised brows.

If Ilya wants a game, Shane will give him one.

A lewd, challenging grin spreads across Ilya’s lips. Shane knows that look, he has often reaped the benefits of that look. He simply smiles serenely up at his husband. There is a flicker of something in Ilya's eyes, almost as if he suddenly realizes that he's challenged his incredibly competitive husband to a game with stakes.

“You look very good today,” Ilya says in a low voice, eyes tracking across Shane's cheeks and glasses. “Very pretty.”

Shane nods once, “Thank you.”

The silence settles in again.

Ilya hates the silence.

Ilya knows this. Shane knows this. Ilya knows that Shane knows this. Shane knows that Ilya knows that Shane knows this.

Alternatively, Shane can handle the silence, and prefers it a lot of the time. He can see the way Ilya squirms and Shane could practically preen at the effect this stupid little game is having on its game maker. Ilya's lips push together and his whole mouth moves from side to side like he is struggling to keep still and quiet.

Shane tilts his head centimeters to the side, and raises his brows in a silent challenge.

The look says, ’you can end this’. It says, ’you're punishing yourself’.

It says, ’why are you acting like you don't want to suck my dick?’

Ilya huffs, and makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Okay, fine,” he says with a heavy sigh. He makes a show of deliberately blinking his eyes. “Oh, no. I lost. I guess I'll just go down here…” his voice trails off as he slides down the length of Shane's body.

“Good boy,” Shane chuckles, reaching down to thread his fingers into Ilya's curls.

Two.

ILYA: Shanya

SHANE: Yes?

ILYA: Я люблю тебя всей душой

ILYA: Ты - моя любовь на всю жизнь

SHANE: Ilyusha…

ILYA: Ты - лучше всех на свете

SHANE: Stop trying to butter me up. What is going on?

ILYA: Why would I put butter on you? You are not toast or bagel??

SHANE: You have been speaking English for almost half of your life, Ilyusha. You understand basic English colloquium.

ILYA: Maybe. But I do not know this word ‘colloquium’.

SHANE: If only you had access to the internet in the palm of your hand 🙄

SHANE: Why are you suddenly flattering me in Russian?

ILYA: Can a man not appreciate his husband in his native tongue?

SHANE: I might let you appreciate me WITH your tongue if you tell me why you're being so weird.

ILYA: Sveta sent me a picture of new car she is getting in for her job and it is so pretty and so nice and you would look so fucking hot in the front seat 🙏

SHANE: We don't have space in the garage for a new sportscar, Ilyusha

ILYA: Then I buy separate garage!

SHANE: It's your money

ILYA: You are saying no

SHANE: I'm not saying anything

ILYA: I will tell Sveta no

SHANE: If that's what you want

SHANE: Can you stop at the Hatoya on the way home? I need more tonkatsu and I'm running low on tea.

ILYA: Can I still appreciate you with my tongue when I get home?

SHANE: If you hurry

ILYA: 🏃‍♂️💨

Three.

The air on the main floor of the house is strange. It's the first thing that Shane notices when he pads barefoot down the stairs fresh from his post work out shower. He doesn't hear Ilya puttering around anywhere. There is no music, no video game sounds, no soft muttered Russian. He doesn't even hear Anya's little fit pitter-pattering around the floor, or any of her toys being played with.

If Ilya were going to go somewhere he usually popped his head into whatever room Shane was in to let him know.

Strange.

“Ilyusha?” Shane calls, shuffling through the living room.

The living room, Shane notes, looks more put together than it had when he passed by after his work out. The blanket from their movie night the day before has been folded and tucked away. Anya's toys are stowed in her basket beneath the end table. The coffee mug Ilya had set on the mantle after breakfast is gone.

Interesting.

Shane stops abruptly, heart jumping into his throat, at the sight of his husband sitting quietly at the kitchen island.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me,” Shane admonishes, gently swatting at Ilya's shoulder. “What are you doing sitting here like a weirdo?”

In lieu of answering, Ilya simple beams at him and gestures over to the sink. Shane turns his head and lets out a playfully annoyed sigh. There are dishes in the sink from breakfast, and a pair of powder blue latex dish washing gloves sitting on the counter. Shane slowly twists to look back at Ilya who is the picture of the cat who got the cream.

“How long have you been sitting here?” Shane asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ilya shrugs and grins, “I'd wait forever for you, mоя тарелка.”

Shane narrows his eyes, but the tiny snort of amusement softens the look. “Plate? Really?” he chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“Shanya,” Ilya huffs impatiently, “I picked up the living room. I took out the trash from kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. I walked Anya. I put all the dishes in the sink, just the way that you like. I deserve my treat, yes?”

Shane doesn't answer.

He unfurls his arms and quickly pulls his shirt up over his head. Ilya makes a truly delighted sound as Shane folds the garment and sets it on the island. He does the same for his sweatpants and briefs. Ilya looks positively giddy as he leans forward on his elbows, hands cradling his own chin.

Shane turns away from him to face the sink, pulling in the gloves that Ilya picked out because even though Shane had made the deal that if the dishes were in sink, he would do them naked while Ilya watches, Ilya knows that Shane would rather die than let wet food touch his bare skin.

“You are best husband I've ever had,” Ilya sighs dreamily as Shane turns on the water.

Four.

Shane has been doing brand deals and photoshoots since before he was drafted. Yuna Hollander worked hard to make sure that no matter what happened in his career, Shane would be alright. And he was thankful, beyond thankful. Especially considering the pay cut he had taken after leaving Montreal to sign to Ottawa. He wasn't being paid for a three time Stanley Cup winning center should be being paid, but he didn't really mind.

His husband was being paid well, and his brand deals more than made up the discrepancy.

He just wished that he had a little more agency when it came to photoshoots. There were so many people touching him, often without asking, and lights, and sounds, and smells. It was overwhelming at times.

When Shane returns home from another photoshoot for some ad campaign he has already forgotten, he finds his husband on the couch. Ilya is playing some video game that Shane doesn't recognize and he can hear several voices of their teammates from the speaker of Ilya's phone where it is laying across his chest.

There is a fizzling energy beneath Shane's skin and he needs it gone.

Now.

When Ilya sees Shane enter the living room, his face lights up but he pauses at the thunderous expression on Shane's face. He silently raises questioning eyebrows while LaPointe and Young yell about something on the line. Shane reaches for the small box on the mantel and pulls out a few packets of lube that Ilya stowed in there.

He wordlessly tosses them toward the couch and pulls his shirt up over his head.

Ilya gapes at him for a few seconds before he shakes his head, seemingly getting with the program. He sits up straight and grabs his phone. His voice is strained as he speaks over the squabbling men. “I must go. Have fun, don't kill each other,” he says in a rush before hanging up and tossing the phone aside.

He exits the game, dropping the controller to the floor.

“I am not complaining, but what is this?” Ilya asks, gesturing to Shane who is pushing his pants down to the floor.

Shane shakes his head, “You are going to finger me until I can only feel your hands and hear your voice. And after I come, you're going to fuck me until my brain shuts off.”

Ilya scrambles over to grab the lube that Shane threw in his direction. He happily pats his thigh, beckoning Shane over. “Yes, good. Absolutely. Wonderful. Let me take care of you, Shanya.”

Five.

Shane looks down at his phone, rereading the exasperated message that Harris had just sent to him. With a heavy sigh, Shane pushes the blankets off of his body and swings his legs off the side of the bed. He did not want to be dealing with this when he should be winding down to rest before their game the following day.

He leaves his phone on the bed and huffs softly before shuffling out of the bedroom.

Down in the living room, Ilya is on the couch and the Vancouver game is playing on TV. Anya is curled up asleep on her bed. Ilya is grinning down at his phone like a maniac.

Shane moves quietly across the floor, slipping into his husband's lap. Ilya jolts in surprise at Shane's sudden appearance.

“Ты меня напугал,” Ilya laughs breathlessly.

“Let me see your phone,” Shane says bluntly.

Ilya hands it over without a question. They both are quick to give their phones over if the other asks for it. Never to go snooping, not that they had anything to hide anyway. Shane looks at the screen to see Twitter open, and the slew of posts Ilya has made throughout the game. Shane knows his husband, knows that these are all chirps for the sake of chirps. Fun and nothing serious.

But when Harris Drover messages after ten at night to lament about the responses to Ilya’s good time, it's Shane's unfortunate responsibility to shut it down.

Shane moves quickly, deleting the more egregious posts before opening the settings to change Ilya’s password and log him out of his account completely. When he's done he hands the device back and slips out of Ilya’s lap.

“Wait. What? What was that for? Get back here,” Ilya whines, reaching for Shane's hand.

Shaking his head, Shane takes a step backwards, “I am going back to bed.”

Ilya looks at his phone, groaning loudly, “Give me the password.”

“No. When you are so ridiculous that Harris has to beg me to reign you in, you lose Twitter privileges. Maybe I'll log you back in tomorrow if you're good. Goodnight, Ilya.”

He turns to head back to bed without another word or glance in Ilya’s direction.

+1.

Shane's ribs ache. Every breath that he takes is tinged with the chill of ice and a throbbing pain in his ribcage. The hit from Comeau wasn't dirty but it certainly hurt like hell. Pushing his way back up to his feet, Shane skates towards the bench. He sees Ilya already on his feet, ready to take his place.

From behind him, Shane hears Comeau laugh, “Oui, retourne vite auprès de ton petit mari. J'adorerais lui flanquer une raclée, à lui aussi!”

Off the ice, Shane whistles once. The sound is sharp and piercing through the roar of the crowd around them. The Ottawa fans are frothing at the mouth to see the shift change between husbands following such a rough play by Montreal. “Rozanov!” he shouts, turning to lean against the boards.

Ilya skates back quickly, “Da?”

Shane's eyes focus just over Ilya's shoulder at the Voyager players further in on the ice. If Comeau wants Shane's husband, he can have him. Slowly, Shane pulls his eyes back to Ilya’s eagerly waiting face.

“Get him.”

Ilya's eyebrows shoot up, disappearing beneath his helmet as his smile widens into something dangerous and sharp. “Yeah?” he breathes excitedly, like a dog being presented with a juicy bone.

Shane smirks, shoots one last look to Comeau and Koch where they are standing, and nods.

Before leaving, Ilya leans his head forward to tap his helmet against Shane's. He pushes off of the wall, skating backwards without taking his eyes off of his husband. “Oh, Comeau,” he practically sings gleefully on his way to the line.

Shaking his head, Shane takes his seat on the bench between Haas and Dillon. Feeling eyes on him, Shane glances over to see Luca watching him with an awe-inspired expression on his face. “You told him to go after Comeau?” the younger player asks almost breathlessly.

Shane shrugs, reaching for his water bottle.

“He needs to get some energy out.”