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, Original Hockey Players

Additional Tags:

Urban Fantasy, Hockey, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Kink, Mild Smut, Unreliable Narrator, Vampire Ilya Rozanov, Fae Shane Hollander, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy

Language:

English

Series:

Part 25 of here a fic there a fic everywhere a fic-fic

Stats:

Published: 2026-10-25 Words: 5,723 Chapters: 1/1

wanderin' free, wish I could be

Summary

"We consider ourselves a modern team, inclusive, you know. So we're excited to have someone with Shane's … background," the General Manager of the Montreal Midnighters is saying to his mother, hand clamped uncomfortably on Shane's shoulder.

Rozanov is watching him. His lips are tight, his eyes serious.

Shane looks away.

He's pissed he wasn't first, of course, but he can't be surprised that Boston wanted to go with a more traditional option. Vampires as forwards and wings, weres as defense and goalies. Faes for nothing.

Notes

Hysterically Part of Your World from the original Little Mermaid soundtrack was playing when I needed a title. So there we are.

Word of the day is Coast.

We are so close to the end of fic a day month! I asked my fellow wigglers for any suggestions for today and VeryRach wanted some HR with vampires or something, so this is a gift to her. I had some of it already written but had stalled out and she managed to unstall me.

I wanna be real clear that the bits that are social media (blog posts, tumblr) in between are actively meant to not be entirely correct, sometimes they get bits right! sometimes they don't! take the whole thing with some heaping spoonfuls of salt please.

Also I consider the smut mild but like, idk anymore.

Still keeping with the creepy theme! Hopefully y'all enjoy.

There is some hate speech directed at our boys, specifically Shane, so know that going in too.

"We consider ourselves a modern team, inclusive, you know. So we're excited to have someone with Shane's … background," the General Manager of the Montreal Midnighters is saying to his mother, hand clamped uncomfortably on Shane's shoulder.

His mother smiles, always better at showing those positive masks than he is. He mostly tries for just blank because his attempt at a smile is closer to a grimace. There are eyes on him, he's always aware of that. He lets his own eyes look around the room and for a moment he can't find them and then he glances up and —

Rozanov is watching him. His lips are tight, his eyes serious.

Shane looks away.

He's pissed he wasn't first, of course, but he can't be surprised that Boston wanted to go with a more traditional option. Vampires as forwards and wings, weres as defense and goalies. Faes for nothing.

Honestly, he should probably be surprised that Montreal was willing to go for him. But he is the fucking best.

Except Boston thinks Rozanov is better than him.

He'll be happier in Montreal though. He knows he will be.

He turns back and tries to smile when his mom prompts him.

---

guys can we stop with spreading false information about vampires? they're just like us for real, just different allergies and dietary restrictions and people keep like fetishizing them and it's gross. i promise you the vampire in your lit class does not want to bite you because you just smell SOOOO good, he wants you to stop wearing eight gallons of perfume. vampires do not get fixated on specific peoples blood that's such romance novel bullshit my god shut up! shut up! shut up!

---

It is an adjustment to be playing on MLH ice.

He had never been so well fed.

In the KHL it was standard practice to leave the vampire players a little hungry because it made them play better. And, having played with many different players over his years coming up in the Russian leagues, Ilya couldn't exactly disagree with this for everyone.

It did make some play better. As long as by better you mean rougher.

When the goal is to get a taste of your opponents blood more than to make the smartest play. But it was fine since they all played that way.

You have werewolves on defense because they will be able to take the most damage, lose the most blood, before something bad happens. The weres are more resistant to sway. The vampires were never supposed to be so hungry that they would be trying to sway, but one never knew.

Here he is fed often and well. There are bottles filled with blood on the bench. His teammates bitch that they rotate through types, so no one is ever happy because this player likes A neg and this player likes B pos and neither is happy with the A pos that has been provided.

Ilya finds that he has to be careful not to glut himself, not to make himself so full that he cannot skate for sleepy contentment.

It is somewhat harder to be his own control, but also better. He does leave himself a little hungry, but so much less hungry than he used to play.

That is, unless they are playing Montreal, and then he has to fill himself fit to bursting or, well.

Hollander smells so good. His fangs itch like an adolescent every time he catches so much as a whiff. It seems to be getting worse too, not better.

During the Prospect Cup it had drawn him in but it didn't hold his attention, now if Hollander is around Ilya is practically unable to tear his eyes away.

"Can't believe they're letting a fairy play with the big leagues," Wayzoki next to him on the bench says, drinking his Gatorade and smelling, always, of wet dog. "I'm surprised no one's knocked him so hard his fuckin' glitter falls off and he dies."

Ilya tightens his grip around his stick so that he doesn't try to gut Wayzoki since it would be difficult to do through his pads and also they are in the middle of a game and they are on the same team. Ilya does not point out that even though it looks like Boston will win this game, Hollander is currently leading the point race between the two of them, and has had a hand in all of Montreal's goals tonight.

Obviously Ilya will win the points race eventually, but still.

Wayzoki is trailing fucking everyone in points, minus the goalies, and should keep his fucking mouth shut.

"I don't think that's how fairy shit works man," Connors says from Wayzoki's other side. "You've been watching too many kids movies, your wife still on the bonding shit?"

And Wayzoki starts to bitch about his wife wanting him to spend time with his kids. Ilya will need to make sure to buy Connors a shot later, probably.

---

As a host it can be fraught to try to invite a non human guest to your home, so here are some rules to make sure you're keeping yourself safe and also making them feel welcome!

It's fine to emphasize that they shouldn't bring anything, even if they haven't asked, if you're inviting a fae over. You wouldn't be able to accept a gift from them and it's far better to nip this in the bud early to keep it from being awkward when they try to give you a hostess gift. They are not trying to entrap you, they have likely been told that they need to do so for politeness, so save both of you the trouble and just make it clear when you issue the invitation that they shouldn't bring something.

If you want to be welcoming to a vampire, it's a good idea to ask them out to a meal instead of inviting them into your house! That way you don't have to deal with them having permission to go into your house whenever they want. Obviously having this permission granted would be totally fine for almost every vampire, but you may still want to be careful. If you know them well and feel comfortable than by all means, invite them in! But if this is a very new acquaintance, invite them out instead.

Most of us use something to make our house smell nice, and that's fine, but if you're going to invite a werewolf over make sure you haven't burnt any fragrant candles, used any plug in air fresheners, or used fabreeze or anything like that in at least forty-eight hours. If you have pets you will want to mention that to the werewolf when you issue the invitation to make sure they don't have any allergies. It can be a good idea to lock smaller pets in a spare room for the duration of the visit, but it will depend on how stressed they get about large predators being in their space! You can also get your vet to give you some anti-anxieties for your pets for just such occasions!

So go forth and be good, safe hosts!

---

Shane is well aware of the bullshit that people think about fae the same way he's well aware of the bullshit people think about Asian people, specifically in hockey. The number of times teammates have asked him why they can't see his wings, usually while he's naked, or remarking that he's bigger than they thought he would be (also while naked) is — well the number is fucking high, alright?

So he knows how much of it is bullshit.

He also knows that some of it is true.

When he opened the door to his room after the CCM photo-shoot and invited Rozanov in, he felt the gossamer threads of magic that gave him power for Rozanov accepting the invitation. And he felt the gossamer threads of magic that gave Rozanov power for being invited in.

And something in him settled because, well, they were even, weren't they? And sure, that's probably more binding to his rival than he should've, but it's fine. Neither of them can use it to actually fuck with the other, so it's fine.

He does tell himself that probably he shouldn't invite Rozanov anywhere again though, since the bindings could get thicker, so it is a relief that Rozanov invites him to his room instead.

Except then Rozanov says "I want to fuck you," and Shane wants it so much it feels like electricity under his skin, but he knows that teammates will sometimes talk about smelling when someone has had sex and he doesn't know how to make that not happen and — it's just not smart. They shouldn't bind themselves more. Probably there are ways to make sure no one can smell that they've had sex, but he'll have to research that, test things. He needs more time for that.

"Not here," he says, which is not the no it should be but at least it's not the yes please he was half afraid would come out if he opened his mouth. "Hunter is right next door."

And then Rozanov says, "I want to bite you," and for some reason that also feels like electricity under his skin and he's nodding before he can second guess himself.

"Not my neck," he says, some sense of self preservation returning.

"Hm," Rozanov says and rolls him over. Everyone seems to forget that fae are just as strong as the other things that go bump in the night and maybe if they do this again then Shane will have to show Rozanov what that looks like.

But right now he feels like he's filled with lightning, and he doesn't resist being moved. He definitely doesn't like it though, no matter that he's pretty sure his cock got harder when it happened, that's just stupid biology stuff.

"Maybe here," Rozanov says, capturing one hand and kissing his wrist. He licks it and hums and then kisses up to his elbow. "You would look like you saw doctor, maybe, if I did it here. But not right, I don't think." He licks again and that tickles, and he moves on.

"Here? No," he says, nibbling around Shane's nipple and Shane arches, he's still so fucking hard and Rozanov is teasing and if he doesn't bite him or suck him soon then Shane will take matters into his own hands.

"Ah," Rozanov says finally, after kissing and licking his way down most of Shane, lips pressing against the inside of his thigh, fingers tight and holding his leg there. "This, I think, will do."

He looks up at Shane and smiles, and his fangs seem sharper than normal, glinting in the light. "Do you think you will come from me biting you? I am told it can feel very good. You still want, yes?"

"Gonna die of old age before you do anything, for fucks sake Rozanov," Shane manages, mostly coherently. But Rozanov is still looking at him and — fuck. "Please," Shane says, going for as dry as he can, "enjoy my blood."

This, he realizes, is a mistake as the magic twists and — feeding people is one of the classic ways that a fae can entrap someone, of course. But before he can caution Rozanov that maybe he shouldn't, he's biting down and —

And if he thought there was lightning before he was wrong. Because this is — everything narrows down to the feeling of Rozanov in him, the lap of his tongue and the heat of his mouth and Shane had thought that Rozanov was kidding but god, he might actually come from this, by the pulsing suck of his mouth that feels like it's on his cock and in his cock and on his nipples and in his chest and it's in his blood and — and the magic winds tighter, because a vampire taking blood, of course, gives them some measure of control as well. And knowing that they're even again, that it's the same —

Shane arches and he comes and comes and the pulsing waves of it continue to shudder through him even as Rozanov pulls away and laps at the wound and then, because he's a dick, licks at Shane's cock and the mess he's made on his chest before leaning up and kissing Shane's slack mouth and feeding him his own come and — Shane is belatedly aware of the fact that Rozanov is jerking off over him, and then he's covered in come again and —

"Gross dude," he says, once he can speak again. Rozanov smiles and there's a bit of blood below his bottom lip and Shane pulls him down and kisses him and licks it away.

---

why is no one talking about the real problem with rooming with a werewolf? people are always talking about not being able to get pets — which is bullshit you've just gotta make sure your pet and the werewolf get along which is totally possible. or about keeping track of the full moon and making sure not to eat a werewolfs stake or whatever. but no, the real problem is the vacuuming. he's not even a wolf most of the time why the fuck does he shed so much thsi is such bullshit. werewolves were produced by big suck to sell more vacuums and yo ucan't convince me otherwise

---

Ilya had hoped that having a taste of Hollander would make it easier to resist him.

It is, unfortunately, rather the opposite.

If he thought that Hollander smelled good, it's nothing to how he tastes. He tastes like sunlight and honey cake and laughter and sparking wine and joy.

He thinks he can tell when the blood has finally worked its way out of his system because everything starts to feel more gray and under saturated. It would be so easy to be addicted to such a thing.

And his family is prone to addiction.

Which means, of course, that if he were smart he would end it now. End it before they've fucked, before he's had a second taste.

But he's a hockey player and he's not smart and he wants.

So when Hollander tells him where to go with the heavy implication of fucking in his future? He goes.

"I am going to get staked in this dark alley and no one will know," he says when Hollander finally opens the door. "Won't you invite me in?" He has had teammates who would pretend to have invited him into places, when he was very young and they let the humans play with the monsters, without actually doing it and he would walk into the invisible barrier. He will not do that again.

But Hollander looks unsure, like he isn't the one who told Ilya to come here. "I think you should be able to come in without an invitation," he says, finally, carefully.

Ilya blinks because what kind of nonsense is that, but Hollander still isn't inviting him in and — he does not think Hollander is this kind of asshole. So he walks closer to the doorway and he holds out a hand and — there is no barrier.

Hollander's shoulders relax and then he's starting up the stairs and Ilya will win a race, so he goes after him and they shove and tussle and then they're falling through another doorway and Ilya forgets to ask how, caring more about getting inside Hollander now than getting inside the apartment.

Sometimes, when Hollander is naked and stretched out on a bed, lights catch on him just so and all his freckles turn to constellations. Ilya does not let himself count them, or he thinks he would never get anything else done.

Instead he tells Hollander to hold himself open and he feasts. The noises that Hollander makes as he opens him, carefully, with tongue and fingers and small bites that don't break skin, and then with lube, are going to stay with him for the rest of his life. This is the hottest thing that has ever happened to him, and as he pushes in, Hollander's one leg still up over his shoulder because he is beautifully flexible, he moans far louder than he ever has when fucking anyone else.

He would be embarrassed, but it's clear that Hollander is lost, head back and look on his face like he's seeing god.

Ilya kisses his ankle and starts to move and Hollander grabs at him wherever he can reach and makes little whimpering noises and says, "do it, fucking bite me too, drink my blood, I give it to you," and who is Ilya to deny a request like that. Later he will think what a terrible place it is, an ankle, there are nerves and no good veins but — but he has always been greedy.

So he turns his head and he bites him.

He's not sure which one of them comes first, he thinks it's Hollander, without a hand on his cock just with Ilya's cock in him and his fangs in him and — fuck it's hot.

And Hollander is glowing in the light, and sparkling a little, and Ilya could so easily get addicted to this and he shouldn't and he can't and —

He leaves.

---

As it becomes more normal to see supernatural entities interacting with us normal people, especially children and teens, it's important to remember some key rules! These will keep you safe and healthy. There's no problem if your kid wants to be friends with supernatural "people" but you want to make sure they're making good decisions!

For Vampires:

1. Never invite a vampire into your home.

2. Never let a vampire feed from you.

3. Never meet a vampires eyes.

For Fae:

1. Don't accept an invitation from a fae.

2. Don't accept food or drink from a fae.

3. Don't tell a fae your full name.

For Werewolves (and other weres!)

1. Weres are more aggressive before the full moon and sluggish afterwards, it's rude to comment on.

2. Weres are more sensitive about smells than people, try not to draw attention to this.

3. Weres are often not aware of their own strength, try not to rough house with them you will get hurt.

---

Russia is interesting.

Shane hasn't traveled much, or he has, but for hockey where he wasn't really seeing the places so much as nearly identical hotels and nearly identical rinks and nearly identical restaurants and nearly identical bars.

He's got more downtime in Sochi then he has pretty much anywhere else, and it's fascinating.

Ottawa is very Human Centric. Montreal is a little more balanced, although still very Human Focused, but it tries to cater to all the other species as well.

Sochi feels like it was made for vampires, with humans as the secondary consideration and no consideration for anyone else. Which isn't really what he would've expected for a coastal town, if anything he thought the place was known for selkies, but there's like nothing made for them that he can see.

Shane has read some of the biographies about famous Russian players, and he can only think of one of them who was a werewolf and not a vampire, so he maybe should've realized.

But it's still odd to experience.

He hasn't seen garlic in a single dish, although some of the menus don't seem to have everything translated to English so it's obviously possible they have a secret menu for that, and there are sunshades practically everywhere.

He wonders if it's hard for Rozanov to live somewhere without these things, because he's pretty sure Boston is pretty Human Centric. Most of America seems to be, with the exception of the midwest which seems to be mostly werewolves. They have their native populations with their specialties as well of course, but America has never been particularly good at dealing with them. (Canada is better, but in the way that breaking four toes and spraining the fifth is better than breaking five toes. And he thinks it might just be propaganda and the fifth toe is actually broken as well.)

He watches Russia play Latvia, and barely recognizes Rozanov for how he's playing. He's had to slow down because no one is even trying to keep up with him and he's being even more aggressive than normal. Russia scrapes a win, just barely, and because Latvia's goalie dives in the exactly wrong direction.

Which, well, obviously shit like that sometimes happens, but Kļava's in the MLH and Shane has played him and he's never seen him fuck up that specifically badly.

Rozanov looks sick during the interview after, when he should be smug, and Shane knows that something is wrong. And he's going to find out what.

---

vampires are scarier no werewolves are scarier no vampires no werewolves YOU'RE FOOLS YOU'RE ALL FOOLS

it's the fae who are the fucking scariest and i don't understand why people are okay with them just walking around like oh falala i'm gorgeous and if you thank me or tell me your name i can control you and i will make really good fucking baked goods but you can't eat them without me having power over you falala

fucking awful

---

Hollander needs to leave, right now. "Are you okay?" he's asking, "You look sick."

He can't — Ilya hadn't been aware of what was going on behind the scenes, not until just before the end of last period against Latvia, when he'd seen one of his wings say something to the goalie during a quick reset and seen Kļava go glassy eyed and confused, and then proceed to play like he was allergic to the puck.

But Ilya can't accuse anyone of anything, without consequences.

He doesn't even know the specifics, what could he say? And if he tells Hollander then he'll want to do something about it because Hollander is good and — and they can't do anything about it.

"It is fine Hollander," he snaps, finally, biting out each word, "go away."

"It's obviously not if —" Hollander stops when he's interrupted, turning politely to the new voice.

"Look who we have here," it's the wing who said something to the goalie, Bogdanov, and Ilya has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He's speaking Russian and his gaze hasn't left Hollander. He has another wing, Novikov, and one of the defenseman, Kuzmin, with him.

"Go away," Ilya says to him, trying for annoyed and unaffected but probably missing.

"Are you not going to introduce us, Captain?" he says, mocking. He had thought with his time in the KHL he should've been made captain instead of Ilya and has made that very obvious during every practice.

"Sorry," Hollander says, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling his media smile, the one that Ilya unkindly thinks makes him look a little like a frog. "I don't speak any Russian. You're uh, Bogdanov, right? Congrats on your game yesterday."

"Little fairy fag boy knows my name," Bogdanov says, "should I be flattered or worried he's going to try to fuck me?"

Kuzmin, a were, laughs. "I think he would want you to fuck him, not the other way around."

Hollander turns to Ilya with a question on his face, Ilya avoids looking at him, looking elsewhere in the hopes that someone will come and break this up because if what he thinks might happen does happen he will have to do something and all options are bad for him. They're tucked away on an upper floor and slightly too far away from the seating for anyone to easily see them, but someone could if they just looked. He's hoping that's enough to keep something from happening.

"Come here," Novikov finally speaks, his English is the best of the three. Ilya turns back sharply because there was compulsion in that tone and —

Hollander goes, of course he does, and tilts his head. "You're Novikov, yeah?" he asks.

"Why does he want to know?" Bogdanov asks, scoffing.

"I told you, he wants to get fucked, obviously wants the name so he can beg, the degenerate," Kuzmin says.

"I am Fyodor Tikhonovich Novikov," Novikov says, smug as always. His tone is friendly, even as he continues, "I do not fuck fag fairies but we will fuck your team and you can cry and curse my name if you have to."

"And Kuzmin, I think? Number seventy-three yeah?" Hollander continues, like they're all just friends. Hollander probably does think this is all friendly. He always thinks the best of people, which is probably why he gives Ilya the time of day but right now it's very bad.

Ilya is trying to use sway without a voice to convince Vaughn and Hunter to see where Hollander has gone and come to fetch him. It is not going well. They remain seated, talking to each other and watching the skating programs. They are useless.

"Well this is all fun," Ilya says, "but it is time to go. We have team meeting, yes?" And he tries to step between Hollander and the other three but Kuzmin grabs his arm and pulls him away and Bogdanov lunges forward and grabs Hollander's fuzzy white jacket and lunges for his flesh.

There is the bright smell of Hollander's blood spilled, and Bogdanov laughs and commands, "Obey me," and then Hollander has Bogdanov down on his knees with a hand around his throat.

There is a splash of bright red on his chest, like a maple leaf that wandered.

"You do not have permission to taste my blood," he says as Bogdanov scrabbles at his arm. "I want it back, Bogdanov." Novikov starts forward, and Hollander turns to him, and now, Ilya can see that his eyes are glowing like sunlight through autumn leaves. "Fyodor Tikhonovich Novikov," he says, "stop." And Novikov feezes like his batteries have been removed.

Kuzmin has started to growl, he's still clutching Ilya's arm, but he smells like fear.

There's another smell too, like burning, and Bogdanov starts to gag and Hollander finally lets him go and he falls down and gags and gags until blood starts to leak out of his mouth, and his face is ashen and —

"Is this how you won against Latvia?" Hollander asks, sounding more disapproving then upset. He looks at all of them and then meets Ilya's gaze and his own gaze softens somewhat. "That's fucked up. I can't lie, so you know that's true. Also, I'm absolutely going to tell the Olympic committee, so I hope you're ready for that. I'll catch you some other time Rozanov," and he turns to go, Novikov still not moving.

"What — what did you do to them?" Kuzmin gasps, finally.

Hollander glances back. "You're probably going to want to get Bogdanov some medical help. I've seen people have to vomit up everything they've eaten if they steal food from my grandma, but I don't know of anyone who's done it with blood." He considers, "He probably won't die."

Ilya who is absolutely the only one who understood of word of that just stares. Hollander nods, and then leaves. Presumably back to watch the figure skating with Hunter and Vaughn, or maybe he does go straight to tell someone what the Russian team just tried to do.

Either way, Russia is disqualified from competing in the rest of the hockey by the next day, and an investigation reveals several instances of sway and compulsion used to win other events.

Ilya is cleared, declared uninvolved, and heads back to America before anything else can happen.

On the GM's advice, he applies for residency when he gets back. The GM is no doubt just trying to cover his own ass so that his best player doesn't end up disqualified due to some Russian nonsense, but Ilya agrees, and signs.

He had seen Bogdanov in the hospital before he'd left, finally able to hold down blood again, and was still so shaken when he'd landed back in Boston that he probably would've signed anything he was told to. It's probably good it's just an application for residency and not something else.

He doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what to think. He has to talk to someone.

There's no one he can talk to.

He'll win the cup — he couldn't win shit at the Olympics, probably would've lost to Latvia if his team hadn't cheated, but that wasn't on him, because he is a good captain, but a good captain on a team that can't mesh can't do anything. So he'll win the cup and prove he's a good captain and he'll figure everything else out later.

That's all he can do.

---

we as a society need to talk about how fucked up the trope of stealing a selkie's skin is, like there's another stupid romantic comedy about someone accidentally taking the skin and then them falling in love and NO that's coersion and rape! why do people think this is romantic?!?!

---

Shane really isn't surprised when Rozanov doesn't reach out to him after Sochi. The media likes to show fae as soft fragile things, and he's mostly let Rozanov treat him like something he can move around and do with as he wants. Probably Rozanov isn't as interested now that he knows, for sure, what Shane is.

He also didn't know how to explain to Rozanov that he couldn't do that to him, couldn't pull his blood out, because he's always given Rozanov permission. And sure, the gift of it cancels out the power of blood, but the rudeness of thievery and harm weighs more that the power of blood, but how the fuck does he explain that without sounding like he's just trying to convince Rozanov?

Like he can't lie, but that doesn't mean he has to tell the truth.

He is lucky that the Olympic Committee kept his name as the whistle-blower out of the investigation, because otherwise he's sure he would've had a lot more shit to deal with. But probably if they had named him then the MLH wouldn't expect him to present the sportsmanship award with Rozanov.

Which is where he currently finds himself, waiting backstage for the vampire of the hour to show up. And it's almost a guarantee he'll be getting the MVP after getting the Conn Smith and the Cup and everything else, so tonight really does feel like the Rozanov show.

Shane hasn't even bothered to write an acceptance speech for the MVP because it seems so unlikely that he would get it.

He has written and practiced a speech to explain to Rozanov that while there is magic tying them together at this point it's an even spread and neither of them has more control than the other and he wouldn't be able to do the shit to him that he did to Bogdanov. He's not sure that Rozanov will believe him, but he doesn't want him looking at him with fear.

Not that he has been, but they've only seen each other across the faceoff circle and Rozanov mostly didn't chirp and mostly didn't engage, which is maybe what fear looks like on him. Or maybe he's just been focused after the bullshit of the Olympics, trying to prove that he can do it without compulsion and that's what Shane was seeing.

He doesn't know, and maybe it's over (fuck, he hopes it's not over), but maybe he can at least explain so they can go back to being normal or something.

Except that Rozanov hasn't shown up yet and they're going on in practically no time and — fuck, there he is.

The little dialogue is terrible, and if Shane is at least pleased that Rozanov isn't hesitating to touch him, well, he can't let that show. And then they're stepping back behind the curtains and he realizes he doesn't have a plan for getting Rozanov somewhere private where they can talk.

Except that as he walks away, towards the bathroom, Rozanov is stalking him and — it should scare him, maybe. Rozanov could be mad that Shane fucked up his chance at an Olympic medal, never mind that his teammates and coaches thinking that getting blood power was the way to win really fucked it up.

And then they're in the bathroom and Rozanov has locked the door and —

Rozanov has his hand wrapped around Shane's chin, and he's close and looking into his eyes. "I am the only one you let manhandle you like this, aren't I?"

"Yeah," Shane says, relaxing into the grip. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't," Rozanov says like he's saying something else, but Shane can't read what it is.

Shane looks at him, considers. "You could hurt me, maybe, but I could hurt you too. You'd never try to do shit to fuck up my hockey on purpose."

Rozanov rears back slightly but his grip, if anything, tightens, "Of course I fucking wouldn't."

"Okay then," Shane says, reaching out to grab the waist of Rozanov's well fitted tuxedo pants, tucking his fingers in until he can feel cool flesh, "so I trust you."

Rozanov looks at him and looks at him, and then they're kissing. Normally Rozanov is very careful with his teeth, and maybe he is now too and it's Shane who moves wrong, or maybe he isn't, but either way, Shane feels the bright burst of pain of his tongue being nicked and Rozanov keeps kissing him and kissing him and it is a struggle for Shane not to go down and suck him off like he wants to.

"The MVP award," Shane says, pulling back with a gasp, "gonna be announced soon, you have to go."

Rozanov goes in for one more kiss, licking deep, and then licking his lips once he pulls back like he's savoring Shane's taste. "You could maybe win it," he says.

Shane reaches out, touches the corner of his mouth, wipes a drop of his own blood away and then sticks his thumb in his mouth. Rozanov tracks the whole thing. "I'm not going to win," he says finally. "You are."

"Then you will be my prize later, yes?" Rozanov says, voice dark with promise.

Shane shivers, smiles, "Yeah," he agrees. He can't fucking wait for later, but he will. He has to.