1 – 3 of 3 Works in SunsetMaiden

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  1. Shane basks in Ilya's decision to come to the cottage for all of thirty seconds before panic sets in... Excerpt: Yuna blinked at him. "You can't just go. You’re still recovering Shane. You’re in a sling for goodness sake.” “No, I know. I…” he cleared his throat. “I know. It’s just…” he trailed off, unable to come up with a single valid reason for the nonsense he was currently spouting. Well, nothing other than all the things he couldn’t say. Rozanov was coming! To Shane’s cottage. Everything on the precipice of changing when he didn’t have any vodka in the cabinet. In the freezer? The refrigerator? Where the hell was the vodka supposed to go? His dad sometimes drank vodka…why didn’t Shane ever pay attention to where it went? He should know this shit! His man was Russian!

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    AO3:
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  2. There are all kinds of theories about why Scott Hunter and Shane Hollander dropped gloves, but only one of them makes Ilya Rozanov livid... Excerpt: Ilya shrugged. "Who cares what ancient Scott Hunter says to make Shane Hollander mad?” Ilya. Ilya cared very much. Had sent a series of curious texts to Jane throughout the night that had all gone unanswered. Whatever. “Is no big deal. Hollander probably stole Hunter’s old man handkerchief to use as bib.” “Just don’t ask my wife. She has theories upon theories.” Ilya swung toward Jason Caine, the hulking defenseman Boston had acquired from Pittsburgh in a recent trade. Ilya was still figuring the quiet, stoic man out. “Theories?” “Yeah. I tell her she reads too much fanfic.” With a fond grin, he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Anyway, see you guys in the morning.” "Wait," Marleau cut in, turning to Jason. “Now you got me curious as hell. What’s your wife’s theory?” "Yes Caine. What is this theory?"

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    AO3:
    #77028251
  3. After not speaking for over four months, Ilya is perturbed by headlines that Shane has suddenly married an American pop star. Excerpt: Shane Hollander opened the door to find a 6’3 seething Russian in the hallway. “What…” he angled his head to peer around Ilya’s rigid, imposing figure. “What are you doing here?” Ilya shoved a magazine at him. “Annul it.” “No seriously. Where’d you even come from?” “Hollander.” Icy warning wrapped around each syllable. “Aren’t you presenting at the ESPYs tonight?” “Am home sick,” Ilya barked, pushing his way into Shane’s apartment. “Is true?” he gestured toward the magazine Shane had yet to acknowledge. “End it. Now.” “End what…” Shane looked down, frowning when he realized it was the fucking 'National Enquirer'. What the actual fuck? “Oh…” he breathed, the top box on the front page catching his eye. A picture of him and Mia Voegele taken in a dark club with the tag, ‘Secret Marriage?'

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    AO3:
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