1 – 4 of 4 Works in AC91
- AC91 ×
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Shane makes some changes to protect his privacy. People notice. *5+1 of Shane establishing his boundaries. AU where Shane and Ilya were never caught at the cottage. Hayden Hayden frowned as the door beeped angrily at him and flashed red. 1919, he was sure of it. He’d typed in that code hundreds of times since Shane’s first official year as a Metro when he’d bought the condo and had him over to watch hockey and chirp at the television with him. He knew the code to Shane’ s place like the back of his hand. He must have typed it in too fast, too lazily. It wouldn’t be the first time. Hayden typed it in again, frowning when it beeped and flashed at him again. Hayden knocked on the door instead, waiting for Shane to answer. He relaxed a little when Shane answered, his damp from a recent shower, dressed in baggy sweatpants and black hoodie that looked fleecy and warm. “Hey Hayd,” he greeted, stepping aside to let Hayden pass. Hayden returned the greeting and took off his shoes before he passed the kale chips he brought to Shane. “For you. All dressed for me,” Hayden smiled. “Did you change your code?” Shane led the way into the kitchen, humming. “Yeah, sorry, remind me to text you the new one.” Hayden watched as Shane tipped the bags into two separate bowls, letting him grab the drinks and meet him on the couch. They switched cans and bowls and sat and watched the teams warm up for the Florida vs Toronto game. “Barrett’s a fucking mess,” Hayden said, watching him skate laps. “Tell me about it,” Shane agreed, cracking his can of ginger ale. “Did you see that hit he took from Bennett last week?” “Fuck, yeah,” Hayden remembered. Bennett had cleared across the rink in about three seconds flat to smash Barrett into the boards. Even through the television, Hayden had been able to see the glass shake and Barrett’s head bobble in shock. “I bet it’s his shoulder,” Shane said. Hayden turned to ask him how he knew, but Shane was looking down at his phone and smiling. Hayden knew that smile. “How’s Boston Lily?” he asked. Shane locked his phone and tucked it under his thigh as he reached for his kale chips. “Fine.” “Are you guys..” Hayden trailed off. Shane looked at him with a raised eyebrow, his face blank. “Are we..?” “Like, exclusive? It’s been ages,” Hayden tried. Shane just looked at he television. Hayden could see him twitch, and realised he could hear the repeat buzzing of his phone, sandwiched between his leg and the couch cushion. “Is she sending you like thirty text in a row? Jackie does that,” Hayden laughed. Shane loosened up just a little and nodded. “Yeah. I don’t get why she doesn’t just send one long one.” “I know!” Hayden smiled, thrilled that Shane was sharing something about his mystery girl. “It’s like she has to narrate every thought as she has it.” “Yeah,” Shane agreed. “I’ll still be replying to the first message and ten more come through. And by then, she’s already moved on from the first thing.” “Women,” Hayden lamented. Shane's posture tightened just a little, and Hayden kicked himself. He had been doing so well – Shane had shared something, even if it was the most stereotypical thing about an annoying girlfriend that every man could have said. For Shane, it was huge. Hayden looked at Shane, and for the first time in a while, he was struck by how young he looked. Sure, at twenty six, Hayden already had the twins and one on the way, but Shane had always seem sort of delayed in having a personal life to make room for hockey. It was nice to see him splayed out on his sofa, chips in his hand, talking about a girl as he chewed on the string of his hoodie. “So you guys talk about, like, regular things?” Hayden asked, doing his best to sound nonchalant and like he didn’t care. Shane shifted on the couch a little next to him. “Yeah. I mean, we’re friends, so. We talk.” Hayden nodded to himself. Friends. He could work with that. “That’s cool,” Hayden said, grabbing more chips for himself. “I mean, Jackie’s my best friend, so, I get it.” It might have been too much, but when Hayden snuck a look at Shane out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Shane was doing his best not to smile. Hayden was happy he had Lily, he really was. He wasn’t even a little bit heartbroken that Shane talked to her more than he talked to him.
- Language:
- English
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- 7,875
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #86121781
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Yuna has everybody’s security cameras on a family plan. She never really checks them; they’re just there for insurance. Until she sees Ilya Rozanov at Shane’s front door. “Thanks so much, Mrs Hollander .” Yuna smiled at Becky as she grabbed her laptop. “No, it’s fine.” “I’ve never had any issues parking on the street until now ,” Becky said. “Lucky we have the cameras,” Y una smiled, navigating to the website and clicking the login button. "Thanks so much for doing this,” Becky said. “I’m definitely gonna install cameras too after this.” Yuna grimaced as she looked outside, seeing the entirety of Becky’s car scratched up. David had been right to put cameras up a few years ago for insurance purposes, even if they’d never had to use them before. “It’s no trouble. Hopefully they caught something, I’m not sure if you’re out of range.” She clicked the autofill for the password log in and waited as it loaded, frowning when the live footage wasn’ t of her entryway . Shane's condo, Yuna realised. She was staring at his door , the camera pointed down to the staircase to the security door. She moved to the log out button, for getting that she’d set up the cameras for him in the first place and kept the login saved because he would definitely forget about it when someone walked up to Shane’ s front door. Yuna froze, going cold when she recognised the face. Ilya Rozanov. How does he know where Shane lives? Yuna grabbed her phone, ready to call Shane to warn him that Rozanov was at his house, either to break in or prank him, when the door opened. She caught the big smile on Rozanov’ s face as Shane grabbed his arm and pulled him into the condo. Yuna blinked. Are they friends? That didn’ t make any sense. Shane would have told her . “Honey, can you leave your email address and I’ll send over whatever we caught?” Y una said blankly, handing Becky a pen and a notepad from her purse. Becky wrote down her email, thanking Yuna profusely and showing herself out. Rude, Yuna admonished herself. You don’ t make guests show themselves out. She went back through the footage, watching again as Rozanov knocked on the door and smiled brightly when it opened. She'd never seen Rozanov smile like that. Y una had watched all his games and interviews over the years; she’d seen him smirk and smile cockily and flirt. But she’d never seen every single tooth he owned, or seen his eyes light up like that. So Shane and Rozanov were...friends. Secret friends, apparently . Yuna supposed it made sense, in a way. If she really tried to wrap her mind around it. Their rivalry was still the biggest ticket seller in the MLH. If there was no rivalry, people may not be as interested in the games. She wasn’ t proud, but she sat there for hours, waiting for more movement. Y una wasn’ t sure what she was looking for, but she just wanted to see Rozanov leave. She made herself dinner and ate in front of her laptop, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Yuna got her wish nearly seven hours after Rozanov had arrived. It was nearly two in the morning when the door opened again. Yuna startled at the noise, sitting forward and watching intently. Rozanov was laughing as he stepped out onto the landing, holding his shoes. He looked like he'd just run a marathon; he was red and sweaty , his hair was sticking up every which way . They must have used Shane’s home gym. Training together made sense, weirdly enough. Y una was sure there was no one better to push Shane than the only person who was almost on his level. Shane followed as Rozanov leaned against the door jamb and put his shoes on. They looked so...friendly. It was shocking, seeing them smile together. Yuna had never seen Shane so relaxed; there was no tension in his shoulders. He looked loose, like he’d just had a two hour full body massage. She'd certainly never seen the smile Rozanov had now; in interviews, in videos of him at clubs, his smile was much different. Tighter. “Made me miss curfew,” Rozanov was saying. “Sorry,” Shane said, not sounding sorry at all. “No you’re not,” Rozanov scof fed. “Now I'm gonna have to sneak into the fucking hotel.” Yuna watched, fascinated, as they smiled at each other . Her breath caught as Rozanov stepped into Shane’s space, grabbing his hips and walking him back into the wall. Shane made a soft noise as Rozanov pressed himself against Shane, and – They were kissing. It was intense. Yuna knew she shouldn’ t be watching, but she couldn’ t tear her eyes away from the way they grabbed each other, trying to pull each other closer, hands desperately touching each other everywhere. It went on for too long. It was too familiar, too needy, too romantic. They were too familiar . Shane's hands were tucked into Rozanov’s pants, and Rozanov’s hands were rucking up Shane’s shirt, caressing his stomach, his hips, reaching up to grope his chest.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,484
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #82224851
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Ilya realises that Shane doesn’t just respond to his needs during sex. He's taking orders – and getting off on it. They both are. Get on your knees. That had been the first time Ilya had tested Hollander's boundaries directly. He had noticed during their first couple interactions that Hollander seemed to like the guidance that Ilya gave him. Ilya relished in it; Hollander was the first person who seemed to actually listen to him and do what he was told to do. It was thrilling. But Ilya didn’t realise the depth of Hollander’s submissive streak right away. The first time he had invited him to drink more water, that day in the hotel gym, Hollander had done it immediately. Ilya had figured that Hollander had just had permission to take more than what he thought he was allowed to and didn’t think anything of it. When Hollander had admitted that being with Ilya was his first time being with a man, Ilya assumed that he was shy and nervous, his brown eyes docile and timid. Ilya was determined to make it as easy as possible for Hollander to explore – whatever this was. He remembered being nervous with Sasha, and how Sasha had coached him patiently in how to fuck men. Ilya had been so focused on being good in bed that he hadn’t had too much time to be truly terrified, which was great for him, but Ilya could tell that wasn’t Hollander’s motivator. And that first night in Hollander’s hotel room had left Ilya with questions. The way Hollander had immediately dropped to his knees once Ilya had pressed his thumb into his mouth was...something. Like he’d been given some sort of unspoken permission to do something Ilya would have never told him he couldn’t do, and once he got it, he came alive. Ilya had never experienced someone become so dazed before, so lost inside sex that the outside world didn’t even seem to exist anymore. His eyes...it was like Hollander wasn’t truly in his body. The way Hollander hadn’t asked for reassurance, for guidance, the way he needed to know if what he was doing was good but refused to ask Ilya outright was surprising, but Ilya could feel that he needed it. He'd praised him, of course – Ilya had never come so quick in his life, and he was sure Hollander would have known from that alone that he was good at sex, despite his inexperience. Or maybe in spite of it. But when he stared into those big, sad brown eyes, surrounded by the prettiest freckles he’d ever seen, Ilya could tell that Hollander was less worried about the sex being good, and more worried about Ilya feeling good. It was an important distinction to someone like Ilya, who spent most of his free time bringing people to orgasm because watching the exact moment they fell apart because of him was better than any drink or drug he’d ever taken. Knowing that he was responsible for someone losing control like that, crying out his name, was powerful. He felt powerful in those moments. Useful. And somehow, none of those moments felt anywhere near as heady as when he had made Hollander cry out for him, his strong hands buried in his hair, desperately trying to yank him off his cock as he came, unable to push Ilya off of him because his body was completely at Ilya’s mercy. Nothing had ever felt as good as watching Hollander’s eyes become faraway, filled with unshed tears, red rimmed and desperate as he stared up at Ilya, waiting to take whatever he would give him. Because Hollander didn’t need him. He wanted him. Ilya could feel the difference. He needed more. And he was certain Hollander needed more, too. Ilya tested the boundary again the next time they hooked up. He gently requested Hollander get on his knees, just to see what he would do, and Hollander dropped to the floor so fast Ilya couldn’t believe it. He'd half expected Hollander to tell him to go fuck himself, or to get on his knees instead. But Hollander had hit the ground so hard Ilya had flinched at the sound of his knees hitting the floor, barely able to breathe as Hollander desperately pulled his sweatpants down and suckled at his cock so fast Ilya nearly came right then and there. So, he’d been curious. More than curious. Fixated. Obsessed. Unable to stop thinking about what Hollander would let him do to him. He found himself wishing the women he would meet in every city would somehow reveal themselves to have the same quirks so Ilya could indulge himself with them, and stop thinking about fucking Hollander. But he couldn’t. Ilya couldn’t stop thinking about Hollander, and god knows he’d tried not to think about him. Tried not to think about when he’d ordered Hollander onto his stomach, how he had flipped over immediately for him, despite being nervous. He'd tried not to think about how when Ilya had asked him if he’dbeen fucked before, Hollander had tensed, but when he pressed a finger against his hole, he’d relaxed completely under his touch. How when Ilya had tried to find out if Hollander was a virgin, he had offered up that he fucked himself with a dildo. How when Ilya had pressed two fingers inside him that night, Hollander had scoffed and said he could take more than that, but refused to tell Ilya how big his dildo was. How when Ilya fucked him, Hollander’s eyes would become wetter and more intense, how all he could do was stare at Ilya through heavy breaths and frantically touch every part of him, moaning his name. The more Ilya tried not to think about Hollander, the more he became consumed by him. Ilya needed to know what else he could instruct Hollander to do. Within reason, of course. Ilya just wanted to give Hollander everything he didn’t know he needed.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,471
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77253946
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Shane never thought of himself as a jealous person. But Ilya Rozanov made him feel like he was losing his mind. Svetlana Vetrova. That was the name of the girl Ilya Rozanov was pictured with. The beautiful, statuesque, model like, stunning woman with the perfect skin and amazing hair and deep hazel eyes that Rozanov was hanging off of. Shane frowned at the television, watching the entertainment program break down the photos of Rozanov leaving a club in Boston, hand in hand with one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, his shirt unbuttoned too much to be decent, the muscles of his forearms so defined Shane had to resist reaching out to touch the screen. “Vetrova’s father is one of the most legendary goalies in Russian history, so it seems like Rozanov is in the company of hockey royalty,” the blonde woman on the television said. “They seem like very good friends,” the man standing next to her said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “They certainly look good together.” They do, Shane thought as the photo changed to one of them climbing into the backseat of a town car, Rozanov’s hand practically on Svetlana’s ass. He had no right to feel anything about this. Rozanov was just some guy he’d had sex with a few times. Shane was a free agent, too. He could go out and sleep with anyone else whenever he wanted, and Rozanov wouldn’t care. Shane had no claim to Rozanov. They’d had sex a few times, but it didn’t mean anything. It was convenient and Rozanov was hot and incredible at fucking him, but it wasn't anything more than that. At least, that was what he had tried to remind himself. This was nothing. He watched the television as it flicked to a photo of Rozanov sucking on a cigarette. Shane had begun to miss the taste of cigarettes. >>> He moaned into the pillow, his eyes screwed shut as Rozanov fucked him, his arm pressing down on his shoulders. Shane reached behind him, desperately trying to grab onto something to try and ground him as his body tensed, grateful when Rozanov grabbed his hand and bore down over him, his hips pinning him to the bed. Shane bit his lip as Rozanov moaned loudly into the back of his neck, his hips moving faster and harder – Shane cried out as he came, squeezing Rozanov’s hand as he fucked him, not slowing down as Rozanov chased his own orgasm. Shane loved being used like this; he loved when he was spent and exhausted and Rozanov kept fucking him, moaning his name, desperate to come too. Rozanov cried out Shane’s name as he came, his hips slowing down to a grind as he slid his hand into Shane’s hair, gripping him tightly as he finally stopped moving, slumping over him. Shane took a deep breath, doing his best to breathe normally again underneath Rozanov’s weight. He grimaced when he realised his cock was trapped between the sheets and his stomach, his come smeared everywhere. Rozanov seemed to realise Shane was trying to move, pulling out slowly and rolling off of him. “Fuck,” Shane mumbled, rolling onto his back and looking down at himself. Rozanov loved when he came untouched, making it his mission to make Shane come that way every single time. Rozanov turned towards him, slapping his hand over his chest. Shane flinched as Rozanov leaned over him and licked the come off of his stomach, laughing as he moved up to kiss him. Shane smiled as Rozanov’s hand rested over his neck, his tongue moving against his as he pressed closer to Shane. Shane pushed him gently off of him, sitting up and blinking. “We need to shower,” he said. Rozanov sighed, watching as Shane stood and crossed to the bathroom, doing his best not to make a face as the ache in his ass. “You are okay?” Rozanov asked. “Yes,” Shane answered honestly. He was always okay; he loved this feeling, like his whole body had been pushed beyond his limits and he could barely hold himself up. He flicked the shower on, flinching at the sight of himself in the mirror. His hair was a sweaty mess, his skin was flushed red, sweat had beaded down his chest, and come was drying in the hair beneath his bellybutton. Shane didn’t look anything like Svetlana, or the many women Rozanov was photographed with. Shane wasn’t tall and thin and beautiful. He was average height, broad shouldered and plain. He hated his flat hair and his ugly freckles and his boring brown eyes. Shane was so busy frowning at himself that he didn’t see Rozanov walk into the bathroom. He startled when Rozanov gripped his waist, kissing his neck snapping him out of his reverie. Shane watched in the mirror as Rozanov reached for his hand and pulled him towards the shower; for a brief moment, he thought about the photo he had seen of Rozanov with Svetlana. >>> “Not bad, Hollander,” Hayden said, clapping him on the back. “Not bad?” Shane asked. “A hat trick is better than not bad.” A hat trick against Boston, no less. Scoring against Rozanov was no easy feat. He shucked off his jersey, listening as JJ led the team in celebrations, loudly singing their team song.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,676
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76644891