81 – 100 of 138 Works in Hand Jobs
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Let's pretend that Shane and Ilya's sunset beach scene took place the night before the All-Star game, and Shane's gay confession is slightly overshadowed by Ilya's reaction to an injury on the ice. As the 2017 All-Star game draws to a close, you have to admire Shane Hollander’s leadership on the ice tonight. With the chemistry we are seeing from his team, you would think these players have been training together all season. Notably, this includes long-time rival Ilya Rozanov—and while it may come as a surprise, it’s clear that Hollander and Rozanov’s competitive history is not getting in the way of them working seamlessly together on the ice. It’s also clear that captain Aaron Eriksson is not going to be able to squeeze out a win against this powerful duo tonight. Rozanov with the puck now, with a beautiful pass to Hollander as they move to further solidify their victory, and ouch—Hollander just took a hard hit from Eriksson. That did not look good. There’s Scott Hunter helping Hollander to his feet now. Hollander’s waving away the medics, but you can tell he’s hurt. Looks like a possible broken rib. Who knows what this could mean for Montreal’s remaining season, but It’s safe to say that Hollander will not be finishing this All-Star game on the ice. And here comes Ilya Rozanov— boy, he is not happy. He’s confronting Eriksson now. This looks like it could get ugly. There go the gloves... And ouch, that is a powerful right hook from Rozanov. With three minutes left in the period, Hollander’s injury won’t prevent his team from clinching the victory, but it looks like Rozanov is going to be watching the remainder of this game from the penalty box. Later, when Ilya knocked on his hotel room door, Shane pulled him inside looking furious. “That was so fucking stupid, Rozanov, what were you thinking?” he hissed. Ilya just smirked. “Was thinking Eriksson would look pretty with less teeth.” In his deep voice it almost sounded sensual. “You can’t—that was so obvious, people are going to talk—” Shane said, eyes wild and anxious. Ilya looked at him like he was an idiot. “And they say what? I hit him, so this means you and I are fucking?” He rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his expression that never failed to make Shane feel breathless. “I need your permission to throw punch, now?” “It was reckless,” Shane argued. “Eriksson had it coming. I would have done same thing if he came after any teammate.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. “Only asshole would play dirty in stupid All-Star game.” “It was a clean hit.” “Was not. His elbow—” “I watched it back, Rozanov, it was clean,” Shane interrupted him, voice firm. “And so what?” Ilya sounded exasperated. “Is hockey. Sometimes people get punched. You never play before?” “Fuck you.” A smile was tugging at Shane’s lips despite himself. Ilya smiled back at him for a moment, but then his eyebrows drew together in concern. “How are your ribs?” “They’re fine—that’s not what I’m worried about right now.” “Is what I worry about. Show me,” he demanded. As always, Shane’s first instinct was to obey his order without question. He managed to keep himself from immediately raising his shirt, because Ilya couldn’t have everything he wanted from him all the fucking time. “Ilya.” “Shane,” Ilya said mockingly, and he stepped forward, crowding Shane against the bed until he was forced to sit down on the edge of the mattress. “Show.” With a heavy sigh, Shane lifted the hem of his t-shirt to expose the purple bruises starting to bloom over the right side of his ribcage. Ilya reached down to trace his fingers along the mottled skin, and Shane hissed at the sensation. “Is not so bad,” Ilya said appraisingly. You will recover before playoffs.” “I know that, you asshole. Which is why it was fucking stupid of you to deck Eriksson over nothing.” Shane felt a tiny bit of satisfaction from being right. But mostly he still felt mad at Ilya for risking everything because of his stupid temper. “It looked worse on the ice.” “I don’t care!” Shane snapped. “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me, Rozanov.” Ilya stared at him, looking deeply unimpressed. “Ah, so you were going to punch him, then?” he said pointedly. “It was a clean hit—” “So you say.” “Do you want me to pull up the clip and show you?” Shane said, tugging his phone out of his pocket, ready to do just that. “No, no, no. I do not want to watch you get hurt again.” There was something tender in Ilya’s expression, but it quickly shifted back to the cocky arrogance Shane was used to. “But you would like to see my punch again, da?” he teased. “Definitely not.” Another lie. Ilya was grinning now, and it was almost terrifying how much Shane wanted to kiss him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,027
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77391531
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Ring the Bells That Still Can Ring by toomuchplor
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-07
It wasn't any easier the second time Shane got his bell rung. It was actually quite a lot worse.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,825
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77271711
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Drastic Measures (go back to standing in the corner, Hollander) by JulianHartley
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-07
“What are you doing?” Hollander asks, even though he is well aware that he has caused an avalanche. “I'm going to show you what can happen to boys like you when they forget their underwear.” OR: Shane comes home drunk and says he was at a bar with a man who repeatedly hit on him. Ilya resorts to drastic measures. It is a late December evening. It is already completely dark outside, and the snow-covered road leading to the cottage seems to disappear into the darkness, unlit by any of the motion- activated lamps. The temperature outside has dropped by a good dozen degrees compared to what it felt like in the morning, and Ilya feel that his home is not any warmer. He is terribly cold, his numb hands are shaking uncontrollably, and his legs, wrapped in a blanket, seem to be shaking as he nervously looks out the window. For a Russian, he does not tolerate the Canadian winter very well and has already fallen ill in the second week, which has ruled him out of training and matches until he finishes his course of antibiotics. This is hopeless, because he feels fine, is not contagious, has not had a fever for several days, and yet he will have to stay at home for another four days. He tried to calm his nerves in various ways: he prepared lunch boxes for Shane, watched a replay of the match, played a silly game about hockey, on the cover of which he once accidentally found himself, tried to finish reading a book, but it didn't help. He was still distracted and, above all, terrified. It's almost midnight, Shane finished playing the home game, which he lost about four hours ago, but he still hasn't come back. Ilya had sent several threatening text messages and even more messages saying, where the fuck are you, hollander, finally ending with a desperate sweetheart, im worried, and had called dozens of times, but Shane still wasn't answering. Ilya wasn't the type of boyfriend to panic and call as soon as his beloved was late. He probably wouldn't have considered the delay to be anything terrible, had it not been for the events of the past: that nightmarish night when he found his mother, that one terrible match during which he stood paralysed on the ice, watching as the semi-conscious Hollander was carried away on a stretcher. In addition, Shane was never the party type who would go to a bar after a match, whether they won or lost. He only celebrated big wins, usually for an hour or two, sipping ginger ale, already planning his escape to his quiet home in the back of his mind. Ilya tries to rationalise that there was no accident during the match and that the situation with Irina Rozanov is not something that could happen again with Shane. At least, that is what he hopes. Despite everything, the fear remains, and that voice is louder than the rational part of Rozanov's mind. He could have had a car accident on the ice- and snow-covered streets. The man is about to call Yuna, or even the police, when the door opens and a flushed, laughing Shane bursts through the door. His cheeks are red from the cold, and his eyes are shining with joy, and although the weight lifts from Ilya's heart, he immediately notices that Shane is drunk as a skunk. "Ilyaaaa!" he shouts from the doorway, throwing himself into his arms. "I missed you!" The man returns the hug and all the fervent kisses that Shane begins to shower him with after a moment, but he knows that in the situation they find themselves in, he has to talk to the man. "You've been drinking." Ilya states rather than asks, looking at his red cheeks and glassy eyes, his distracted smile and exposed neck. "It's fucking December, where's your scarf?" Shane's enthusiasm wanes a little when he sees Ilya's reaction. "Are you angry?" he asks, lowering his head like a scolded child. "I'm angry that you didn't text me to say you'd be late. I was worried," he says, letting Shane hug him again, while trying to warm his numb hands and shoulders. "I swear, I was only at the bar with Wilson for a moment, I didn't drink much, you didn't need to worry," Shane assures him, as if alcohol was the cause of Ilya's concern. And although Rozanov had been more worried than angry until now, the name hit him like a slap in the face. The man had repeatedly tried to flirt with Shane, indiscreetly suggesting a meeting at his place, ignoring Ilya's existence, and once brazenly tried to kiss Shane in Ilya's presence, so, well, the man had a right to feel jealous. "With who, excuse me?" Ilya asks angrily. "With Wilson, you know, the hockey player from..." "I know who Wilson is. Did it ever occur to you for a single fucking second that he was trying to get you drunk in the hope that you would become easy?" Shane is still standing between the hallway and the sofa, his eyes wide open, now bewildered by the man's anger. He can't remember the last time, if ever, Ilya was so jealous and angry during their relationship.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,193
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77257941
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when i look at you by cosmicloving
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-06
There is no universe in which Ilya Rozanov can say no to Shane Hollander. Even when he asks him to write his wedding vows. So, he turns to Yuna Hollander for help.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,865
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77186306
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Ilya stresses Shane out, but it's nothing a nice massage and some TLC can't fix.
- Part 2 of penalties
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,390
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77200606
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“Did you… Did you get a whole roll of wrapping paper for it?” “Yes. And ribbon.” “You’re cute.” “Shut up.” // shane’s birthday is next week. ilya has gifts for him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,129
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77170466
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The bus was just a run of the mill charter bus. Nothing special. No obnoxious Greek letters to indicate that- Well, fuck. “Mom,” Shane hissed suddenly, getting closer as she waved to bus full of frat boys. “You cannot be serious.” (Professor/college student AU with a side of frat boy Ilya)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 13,528
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77078556
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Shane Hollander is the lead guitarist for rising band The Metros and deals with the trials/tribulations of having a rival band with a very annoying drummer.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,934
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77083671
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“You are sure, Hollander?” Ilya grins with a glimmer of sympathy in his light blue eyes. Flashes of scenarios pass through Shane’s mind, not understanding where the rope will go, but Shane never backs down from a challenge. He puts on a fake smile, “Why not, Rozanov?” “Hello.” “Hi, Hollander.” Shane runs his hand through his freshly washed, jet black hair, trying to appear confident. But he can’t help how fast his eyes fall to Ilya’s bare chest, unable to match his gaze. Ilya, always endeared by Shane’s antisocial nature, speaks gently, “You look pretty. Just for me, huh?” “No.” Shane cheeks flush, aware of how he’s being analyzed. “I had to take a shower after the game.” “Ah,“ Ilya takes a step, closing the space between them, “I see.” His own appearance reflects the late hour. Shirtless in low hanging sweats, as his messy blond curls round his head like a halo. Shane’s eyes remain down, crossing his arms over his chest. Ilya pauses, always able to sense Shane’s caution when they’re together. He inhales, upset with his own strong and stubborn nature. He can’t afford to lose Shane. Now inches away, Ilya's nose fills with Shane’s familiar clean, floral scent, seemingly perfect to him. They don’t speak anymore. Instead, Ilya raises his right arm, caressing Shane’s soft cheek with his callused fingers. The stale hotel air becomes lighter knowing what comes next. Ilya’s rough fingertips trace along Shane’s pouty lips, instinctively relaxing his jaw and allowing Ilya’s thumb to enter his warm mouth. He sucks it, taking his rival as he so often does. Intoxicated by the heaviness of Ilya's finger lying on top of his tongue. He pulls him in until his smooth lips wrap around his bony knuckle, then pulls back, closing his eyes in complete bliss. Shane hums, hollowing his cheeks, completely fixated on the soothing feel in his mouth. Ilya’s own lips part in a trance, mumbling approval in his native Russian. He admires how peaceful Shane looks with closed eyes. His long, dark lashes lying above his lightly freckled skin, like a doll. Ilya leans in, replacing his thumb with his plump lips. They share a sloppy kiss, spit collecting at the corner of their mouths. Tongues cross over top of one another, shamelessly moaning as they unite. Ilya eagerly digs under Shane’s shirt, pulling the fabric over his head. They can’t stay away for more than a few seconds, like magnets, their lips crash together once again. Ilya’s top lip overtakes Shane’s shallow mouth, shoving his tongue deep inside, relishing in his submission. Ilya speaks into Shane's open mouth, “I have something.” Shane tilts his head back, “Yeah?” “Yes. Something for us to try.” “Okay,” Shane hesitates, dread filling his chest, hating surprises. Ilya turns away and picks up a paper bag that’s been tucked behind a chair. He opens it and pulls out a meter of rope that could have been purchased at any hardware store. Shane's eyebrows come together, confused, “For you?” Ilya’s face grows wide, showing off all his crooked teeth. He laughs in Shane’s face, “Ha- no, no, no.” He walks towards him holding the rope between their bare torsos, “For you.” Shane gulps, intrigued but uneasy, “Um, okay yeah.” He hates how nervous he sounds. He’s not as experienced as his partner, still slightly fearful of Ilya’s unpredictable dominance. “You are sure, Hollander?” Ilya grins with a glimmer of sympathy in his light blue eyes. Flashes of scenarios pass through Shane’s mind, not understanding where the rope will go, but Shane never backs down from a challenge. He puts on a fake smile, “Why not, Rozanov?” Shane’s suddenly being pushed backwards, landing fiercely onto the hard mattress. Ilya commands in his deep voice, “Arms up.” Shane obeys, revealing the dark hair in his pits beneath his sculpted triceps. Ilya sits on his chest, running the rough rope through his hands, stinging his palms. He grips Shane’s wrists together with one hand, keeping them in place. Shane whines from the sensitivity quickly finding its place around his thin skin. He watches Ilya’s face contort with concentration as he works above him. His chest rapidly rising and falling from anticipation. Shane wonders when Ilya learned how to do this, and how many other people have been below him, just waiting. Once his wrists are carefully tied together, Ilya extends the rope behind a rod of the bed’s headboard, trapping his arms above his head. Ilya mumbles under his breath, “Beautiful,” while moving off Shane's hard body. Shane automatically tries pulling his arms down, already uncomfortable in his position. The rope only rubs further against his wrists, a soreness quickly developing, keeping him motionless. He understands now, he’s stuck in a room with a feral animal, exposed and vulnerable to whatever it wants to do with him. Shane can only strain his neck forward to watch Ilya wander around the bed. The low light of the hotel room casts a deep shadow over Ilya's brow bone, blocking his eyes, only adding to Shane’s apprehension.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,849
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76489256
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midnight kisses and new year's wishes by KJBee81
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-02
“I wasn’t waiting for you!” Shane says, irritated. “No? You answered the door like you were standing on the other side of it when I knocked.” “Well, you did text. You told me you were coming,” Shane huffs. He steps back from Rozanov to glare at him. “I didn’t want you waking up my neighbours. It’s late.” Rozanov looks amused. “Hmm, if you say. But I do not think you have to worry about that tonight.” “Why?” Shane asks. Rozanov raises a brow. “Did you not know that tonight is New Year’s Eve?” “Oh. I guess I forgot.” OR Ilya visits Shane in his hotel room on New Year's Eve, set during their hookup years.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,106
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76900986
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A strong arm caught him easily, guiding him back against the shelves. The force was inhuman but controlled and gentle. The vampire leaned in, close enough that Shane could feel the chill radiating from him. “I did not come here to frighten you,” he said softly, forehead nearly brushing Shane’s. “I came to ask you on a date.” The library had settled into its late-hour stillness. Most of the overhead lights had been extinguished, leaving only a handful of brass-shaded lamps burning overhead, their yellow glow casting long shadows across the reading tables and towering shelves. Dust hung faintly in the air, visible when Shane shifted beneath the light. The place smelled of old paper, leather bindings, and furniture polish. Shane sat alone at one of the long oak tables, collar loosened, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He scratched absently at the back of his neck as his eyes dragged over the same line of text for what felt like the hundredth time. The words refused to stick. His head throbbed faintly, and the wire frames of his spectacles pinched at his temples. The clock mounted high on the wall ticked loudly in the quiet. He let out a muted groan and dropped his forehead against the tabletop, careful not to knock his books over. “Now then,” came a voice from the aisle, firm but not unkind. “You know better than that, young man. No sleeping in the reading room.” Shane lifted his head and found the librarian approaching, a stern woman in sensible shoes pushing a cart stacked neatly with returned volumes. Her hair was pinned tight at the nape of her neck, her eyes sharp behind round lenses. “Sorry, ma’am,” Shane murmured, rubbing his face with both hands. There was no arguing it. He snapped his book shut, slid it into his satchel along with his notes, and cinched the strap tight. His studies could wait until morning. Tonight, his mind was finished. He shrugged into his dusty brown leather jacket, smoothing it down out of habit, then slung the satchel over his shoulder and made his way toward the heavy front doors. Outside, the cold greeted him sharply. Winter had settled in earnest, the air biting and dry as it rushed over his face. His nose stung immediately, cheeks flushing red as he exhaled into his cupped hands. The street was quiet, save for the distant hum of an automobile somewhere far off. He lingered beneath the stone archway, shifting on his feet to keep warm, before stepping out onto the path. A cloud of smoke drifted across his vision. He coughed softly and turned his head, squinting into the gloom. For a moment, he thought it was just shadow pooled against the building. Then he saw the ember. A bright orange glow flared briefly, illuminating a cigarette between pale fingers. Shane blinked and did a double take, turning fully now as the rest of the figure resolved itself under the lamplight. The man stood half-hidden near the wall, tall and broad-shouldered, coat collar turned up against the cold. Curly, light-colored hair fell loosely across his forehead. Even in the dim light, his skin appeared unnaturally pale. Shane felt suddenly aware of himself. Of the emptiness of the street. Of the late hour. The man was…handsome. A shiver ran down Shane’s spine. He gestured awkwardly toward the cigarette. “I don’t think you’re meant to smoke here,” he said, voice hesitant despite knowing full well he was right. “Oh?” The reply was smooth, accented, foreign in a way that made Shane’s shoulders tense. “There’s a notice,” Shane added, pointing toward the sign affixed near the entrance. He nodded once, lips pressed thin, and quickly walked off without waiting for a response. The following night arrived without ceremony. Shane found himself once again leaving the library late, satchel heavier this time with completed work. The path ahead was lit by tall streetlamps, their bulbs flickering softly as he walked beneath them. The cold crept through his coat, sharp and persistent. But it wasn’t the cold that made him uneasy. It was the feeling. That unmistakable prickle along his spine, the sense of being watched. Of footsteps that weren’t quite there. He told himself it was foolish, just nerves and imagination, but he didn’t turn around. Then a voice spoke from behind him. “Are you going to ignore me forever?" The words were smooth, carrying a thick Russian drawl that slid down his spine like ice. The sound of it echoed faintly in the open street. Shane yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin as he spun around, bag slipping off his shoulder. “What the fuck—?!” he shouted.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,944
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76932081
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When Ilya gets hit in the face with a puck and consequently knocked out, Shane panics and ends up driving 5 hours just to see Ilya, and make sure he's okay.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,480
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76941951
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say the magic words by thesleepyskipper
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-02
“Come here.” It was impossible for Shane to deny a single one of Ilya’s commands. “Get on the bed.” Ilya edges Shane within an inch of his life and Shane has an accidental slip of the tongue as a result (in the best possible way).
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,090
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76952971
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Shane does a photoshoot for an athletic magazine. Ilya is not in fact okay about it.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,533
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76312196
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Feels So Good When You're In It (My Heart's On Fire) by Chaoticity
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-02
This is exactly what Ilya needed. He couldn’t help himself, really. His boyfriend’s lithe, soft body was so malleable in his hands. The feeling of control surged through his core, but at the same time, a spark of something blinding white and beautiful raced through him even faster: reverence. OR: a somno Hollanov fic (everyone cheered)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,056
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76911086
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"Can I tell you stuff that *is* fun?”
"Sure," Kip invites. "Like what?"
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Kip and Scott get to know what makes each other tick.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,274
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76934116
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It was too much. Way too much. Ilya hitting his prostate with such force it felt like Shane was burning inside, as if the praise was helping anything. Shane’s eyes began to water as he hid his face in the crook of Ilya’s neck, back arching as he sobbed into his neck. “Fuhh—fuckin’—nngh…” Ilya huffed a laugh, more so a breath than anything and reached a hand down to Shane’s cock and started stroking it with every thrust. Shane quite literally screamed almost as tears slipped out and dug his nails into Ilya’s sides. Shane was making so many fucked out noises now, mixes of squeals like a girl would make and screams echoing off the walls. “Cmon baby, come for me, be a good boy I know you can.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,596
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76843956
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“What do you say?” Ilya asks, halting his movement to kiss Shane. Shane’s eyes widen and his heart rate picks up. “Please.” “Good.” Ilya holds either side of Shane’s face and brings him into an almost violent kiss. Teeth clash against teeth, noses smash together, and neither of them care if it hurts.
- Part 2 of
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,253
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76810926
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can’t keep my hands to myself I mean I could, but why would I want to? Ilya indulges himself by paying proper attention to one of his favorite parts of Shane’s body.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,866
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76797741
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break me down (then put me back together) by subbyjeongguk
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
shane and ilya try bdsm for the first time after their cottage getaway, and it doesn’t exactly go as shane had thought it would. (google didn't tell him he would sub-drop on their first try). canon universe hollanov, post-cottage and episode 6, subdrop!shane, dom!ilya
- Part 1 of shane & ilya vs bdsm!
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,645
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76743466