441 – 460 of 565 Works in Bottom Shane Hollander
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Shane’s cheeks burned red and he turned away from him, “sorry that I'm so boring all the time,” “Mmh, not all the time,” Ilya smiled deviously, “sometimes you are very fun,” The shorter raised an eyebrow at him, “yeah? And what are those times?” “When we fuck,”
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- AO3:
- #76726856
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Ferrari's Shane Hollander and Red Bull's Ilya Rozanov are fated to be rivals. After a horrible crash between the two, Shane devises a plan for revenge. Except it doesn't goes as planned when he finds himself waking up in Ilya Rozanov's bed.
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- AO3:
- #76274826
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Lucky Draw by thatadrenalinejunkie
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
With a sudden growl of frustration—only half-fake— Ilya sweeps the cards off the couch in one dramatic motion. Before Shane can even protest, Ilya’s crawling across the cushions, pushing Shane onto his back and settling over him. Shane yelps, laughing. “Hey—!” But the sound cuts off with a soft gasp when Ilya dips down and starts kissing along his neck, slow and thorough. One of Ilya’s hands braces next to Shane’s head, the other slides under his Henley, palm against the soft skin of Shane’s stomach. Shane drops the remaining cards instantly, his hands flying to Ilya’s waist. His breath stutters as Ilya noses along the curve of his neck, lips brushing just beneath his ear. “You’re such a sore loser,” Shane breathes, but he tilts his head anyway, baring more skin, welcoming him in. Ilya grins against him, victorious. -- Or, the one where Ilya and Shane get to ring in the New Year together for the first time.
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- AO3:
- #76740141
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Rozanov was fucking him carelessly, roughly and with both hands gripping his pelvis. Shane tried his best to meet the movements, take each burning sensation washing over him but it was too much and too little, leaving him whining hopelessly. ”Shut up, pet. I’m watching the game”, Rozanov groaned and Shane felt the palm pressing the back of his head. He couldn’t see the tv, what was happening there but was nearly euphoric under the dominant touch. Or: Shane had nothing in common with the hockey player, he just drifted there, under him
- Part 1 of hollanov x anger
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- AO3:
- #76730216
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me and my wild boy, and all of this wild joy by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
All in all, it could have been worse.
It’s not like you can measure the full length of Shane’s dick, or see the exact moment that Ilya swallows down the mess of spit and his own cum from Shane’s mouth after he sucked the life out of him.
It’s just, well, everything else.
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- AO3:
- #76704901
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“What is this ‘ball and chain’?” Ilya frowned. Ilya's teammate grinned. “Wife. Girlfriend. Nagging you. Controlling. No fun allowed.”
- Part 1 of cobblestone (hollanov fics)
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- AO3:
- #76712676
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all the things he did by blankjournals
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
4 times Shane was strict with Ilya and the 1 time he wasn't ft Ilya having an emotional crisis over it. OR: inspired by the tweet: ilya actually love having a strict boyfriend. like no his bitch do not let him have friends NO he not allowed to be out past 11 and NO U CANNOT SIT HERE!!! Translation in Russian available, here and here.
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- AO3:
- #76680321
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“You know, we don’t have to have sex or whatever if you don’t want to.” Shane’s words stopped Ilya in his tracks. He leaned back slightly holding on to Shane’s neck. “You didn’t come for sex?” Shane laughed at Ilya’s sultry expression. “No, I mean yes. I did, obviously. I just—I understand if you don’t want to.” Ilya pulsated his hips upwards giving Shane a little bounce on his lap. “I want to.” —————— Ilya and Shane's reconciliation sex scene in Season One Episode Five- I'll Believe in Anything.
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- AO3:
- #76636196
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Hidden in Plain Sight by Ineffableoutpost
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
5 times Ilya teases and flirts with Shane in public without getting caught, and 1 time they do get caught.
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- AO3:
- #74964736
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so hot you’re hurting my feelings by dreamkillaz
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
"That's— that's not what I'm insinuating, Ilya…" he started, sighing disappointingly down the line, making it obvious that he was pinching the bridge of his nose to calm down his nerves, "It's just—" "It's just what, lyubimiy?" Ilya interjected, and if Shane didn't know any better, he'd think that Ilya was being condescending, but he did know better, and that it was simply just the Russian in him. God, if Shane didn't know that he had regretted learning russian, he would've right now. "You can tell me if you don't want me to do it, no problem." Or… Ilya gets signed to campaign for Calvin Klein, and Shane hates it. Until he doesn’t.
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- AO3:
- #76649866
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The bellboy scene was glazed over way too quickly. What if we held space for that? check tags pls
- Part 1 of HR Porn (with a little plot)
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- AO3:
- #76644291
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what are you willing to do? (kiss it better, baby) by subbyjeongguk
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
shane knew two things: he'd never kissed anyone before, and he really could not stand ilya rozanov. (college!au with hockey rivals hollanov and virgin shane with forced proximity)
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- AO3:
- #76635986
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A shameless smut ficlet. No thoughts, just vibes and Russian endearments.
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- AO3:
- #76653261
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Ilya annoys Shane by smoking after one of their late night hotel meet-ups (before The Cottage), and Shane finds out that he actually doesn’t hate smoking as much.
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- AO3:
- #76679321
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Shane stilled and his hand gripped the phone in it so tight his knuckles turned white. It didn't hurt. Not even a little, but Shane still felt it. More than he should have. His body quickly heated up and a feeling in his stomach bubbled up too fast he almost felt nauseous. His thoughts however made him feel even more sick. He wanted Ilya to do it again. or Shane finds out he liked it a little too much when Ilya slapped him on the phone call.
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- AO3:
- #76565431
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Ilya is watching the sun rise over the lake at the cottage when Shane joins him and makes a little request. “So, I was wondering…next time we fuck…would you like to, uh, skip the condom? Because I’ve been thinking about feeling you skin-to-skin inside me for a while now, and it’s been driving me—” Shane did not get a chance to complete his sentence because Ilya had hauled him over and was giving him a kiss, fierce and biting and ravenous. After many glorious moments of kissing, the sun warm on their cheeks, Ilya pulled back. Shane licked his lips and gave Ilya a darting glance before looking away. “Anyway, yeah, it’s been driving me insane,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Well now that you said it, it makes me insane too,” Ilya replied. “Come.” He stood and hauled Shane up along with him. “Chop chop, Hollander. No time to waste.”
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- AO3:
- #76555961
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think back to what you said and I turn red, I'm turning red Or: Ilya makes a request of Shane, and by fulfilling it, he learns something new about himself.
- Part 1 of guilty pleasure
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The Blue Pillow by masterroadtripper
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-28
When they pulled into the garage of their house in Ottawa, Ilya gently prodded Shane to, “shower, get yourself ready.” Of course, that could mean just about anything, and that was why Ilya phrased it that way. If Shane wanted quiet, wanted to cuddle in the quiet, he could pull on his most ridiculous flannel pajamas and curl in close. But if Shane wanted him, wanted the one language that never failed between them anymore, then Shane knew what he had to do. And Ilya had a sense that he already knew what Shane would choose. They had no match that day, just training with the Centaurs, but Ilya knew Shane had woken on the wrong side of the bed. One of those mornings where the light coming between the cracks in their window blinds felt abrasive. Where none of his clothes were right. Where he’d shower before leaving for the rink and then again once he got there, the first not having counted because he’d already ruined it by existing in the world. Lunch would be an ordeal that Ilya watched for the sole purpose of ensuring that Shane ate something. Anything too warm or too textured would be left untouched, until he inevitably defaulted to a bowl of chickpeas and spinach because at least those two foods behaved predictably and did exactly what Shane expected them to do. The buzzer made him flinch every time it went off when they got ready for some drills in the afternoon, sharp and unavoidable, and on the drive home Shane picked at the skin around his fingernails until it lifted in long, thin pieces. Ilya had learned the signs long before he understood them. Back when they’d first started this, so many years ago now, he’d thought Shane was perhaps slightly difficult. Different. That was what everyone said. They were never cruel enough to say anything more than that then, though Ilya would later learn how quickly that restraint would wear thin once winning stopped making up for inconvenience. When he was particular to the point of peculiarity, or quiet to the point of unease, Ilya would watch those big brown eyes tracking everything and everyone on the ice. There were times when Shane didn’t speak at all. Not out of sulking or stubbornness, not as some calculated refusal, but because the words simply never arrived. His mouth would open and close again, the thought intact but unreachable, and he’d turn his head slightly away from Ilya, his gaze fixing on something neutral like a lamp or a building out the window. Ilya knew now that Shane could and would go nonverbal, though at the time he didn’t have the English for it, didn’t have any language beyond the uneasy certainty that pushing would only make it worse. What Shane did have language for were systems. Rules. Things that behaved if you treated them correctly. Folding his clothes with precise, almost reverent care. Lacing his skates the same way every time. Eating the same meals, parking in the same spot, walking the same routes through the increasingly familiar away cities as if repetition might smooth out their edges. Ilya knew that people mistook Shane’s steadiness for control, for leadership even, and Ilya knew that Shane let them. That it was easier than admitting how much effort it took to appear normal to the world that wouldn’t see him that way. At the time, Ilya hadn’t known why the rituals mattered so much, why deviation hit Shane like a personal failure instead of a minor inconvenience. No one ever called it anything because the league loved men like Shane. Players who were disciplined, controlled, and relentlessly prepared. What Ilya had known, back then, was that sex was simpler, even if it was riskier. He had gambled. All those years ago, he’d noticed that the only time Shane ever truly came alive, ever seemed able to meet Ilya where he was, was on the ice. Skates carving into the rink, their shoulders colliding. Physicality seemed to give Shane something that his words never quite managed to do. It was the way through to him, Ilya had realized, a way out. So if Ilya wanted more, if he wanted anything, it would have to start there. It would have to be physical, Ilya knew almost right away. After that first, sharp “fuck off” chirp from Shane in the showers after the CCM commercial before their rookie year, even though Shane’s voice had been rough and startled, Ilya knew he was onto something. Not because Shane had said “not here” to him after he’d turned to face Shane front-on, but because he’d said anything at all. Because he’d stayed. Because he’d opened his hotel room door. Because as soon as Ilya had gotten his hands on him, had gotten his mouth on Shane’s, it was like Ilya had cracked the code and had found a way to get through to Shane like he’d only otherwise been able to on the ice. Shane might not have been able to speak it, might not have been able to admit it even to himself, but Ilya knew he’d found the way in much better than he had in the hotel gym. They didn’t have to talk. They never did. Sex, touch, pressure, heat, it all seemed to cut through that weird noise he could see crossing Shane’s features in a way that made Ilya realize that was more immediate to focus on than anything else. They were good at it. They always had been. And for a long time, Ilya mistook that relief for resolution, believing that whatever was breaking Shane down during the day could be burned off at night, leaving nothing behind that would ever need to be named. Eventually, Shane tried to explain. Not all at once, and not easily. He put a name to what he'd had been dealing with since he was a kid, and said it like it was something fragile, easily mishandled, as though he weren’t entirely sure Ilya would know the word, or what to do with it if he did. He did. David had mentioned it to him before. It had been the first time they’d talked properly, out at the cottage a few days after they’d accidentally outed themselves to Shane’s parents. David had taken Ilya aside, not unkindly, but with a careful seriousness that felt earned. He’d told him that Shane’s mother had been… less understanding. That as both his mother and his manager, she struggled with anything that might make Shane less than his best. Less marketable. Less predictable. Anything that threatened the version of him the league found easiest to celebrate. David hadn’t spoken badly of her, but instead, he’d just looked tired. He said that all he’d ever wanted for Shane was for him to be happy, and that only part of that happiness could be hockey, no matter how much it had come to define him. He wanted Shane to be loved, for who he was, not for what he could produce, and he wanted Ilya to be able to love him too. Regardless of hockey. Regardless of autism. Not in spite of it, but without fear of it. So when Shane finally said it himself - "I'm autistic, Ilya" - sitting beside him with his hands folded tight in his lap, eyes fixed somewhere just past the horizon, Ilya understood what it had cost him. This wasn’t new information, not exactly, but it was Shane offering up something that had so often been treated as liability, asking without quite asking to be held there without being diminished. Shane admitted that hockey was the first language he’d ever known, quite literally. Ever since the first game his father took him to when he was four, perched high in the stands with the cold seeping through his boots, the arena roaring loudly around him, Shane had chewed
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Ilya steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “Sorry I took long. I had hockey practice.” “I know. Don’t worry about it. Please, have a seat.” Shane allows himself a small, private smile as Ilya approaches and drops into the chair in front of him. His hair looks slightly damp as runs a hand through it, a blond curl falling back over his eyes. Shane crosses his legs beneath the desk and swallows.“So," he mumbles, suddenly unsure how to begin. This is already harder than he thought it would be. "How are things looking this season?” Ilya shrugs. "Good. We fuck now?" “Ilya!” Shane blurts, yanking his glasses off and dropping them onto the desk with a clatter. So much for a night of roleplay. -- or where shane wants to try being more dominant, and ilya lets him think he'll allow it
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Shane is just trying to figure out how to be social... and Ilya can tell he's nervous. So he offers a helping mouth - erm, hand. Hey, why not both.
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- AO3:
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