1 – 2 of 2 Works in peachmintfizz
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Shane knows it’s technically against the law to throttle a client. Even if they’re really handsome and especially when they might be buying a four-million-dollar house from him. But twenty houses later, this was actually starting to become ridiculous. - Shane is a realtor. Ilya, funnily enough, finds something wrong with every house Shane shows him. It was all Shane’s fault really. He had thought this would be a quick, easy deal. When he first spoke to Mr. Rozanov over the phone, the guy seemed like he needed a house pretty urgently. He’s just relocated to Ottawa and his budget is extortionate. Nice, Shane thinks. Show him a few stylishly-staged properties, he’ll surely throw a ridiculous amount of money at the first decent one and Shane will make an easy five-figure commission and cruise through the rest of the quarter without stressing about hitting his target. Their first meeting is at a stunning four-bedroom, three-bathroom mansion in an affluent south-western suburb of Ottawa. Shane waits in the driveway and almost jumps out of his skin when there’s a sudden deafening roar and a sleek, silver Lamborghini comes swerving around the corner and pulls up in front of the house. The man who climbs out of the low-slung car looks like a fucking model. He’s wearing an expensive looking wool coat, dark sunglasses and has golden brown curls that the breeze is currently ruffling gently like it was paid to do so. Shane is standing next to his sensible Toyota wearing his sensible dark blue suit and feels like a dork. “Mr. Rozanov,” Shane starts, holding out a hand. “Shane Hollander. Thanks for coming by today.” Mr. Rozanov slowly removes his sunglasses and looks Shane up and down in a way that feels like he’s being undressed with his eyes as they shake hands. Shane tries not to flush under the attention and promptly fails. “Nice to meet you, Shane Hollander. Call me Ilya.” - “The property was built in 1985, but the last owners did a full refurbishment so all the fittings are mostly new. Miele kitchen appliances. All the cabinetry is Canadian maple.” Shane watches as Ilya walks around the central island, trailing his fingers over the countertop. He stops at the sink and peers through the kitchen windows at the yard, which is fringed with tall trees. “Hmm. It is a bit dark inside. I need more natural light.” Shane blinks. “Oh. Well, you could landscape the garden, get rid of some trees. It’ll let in more light.” Ilya doesn’t seem convinced. “Seems like a lot of work. Maybe this one is not the right fit.” “Would you like to see the upstairs, at least?” Ilya shrugs a shoulder casually, which Shane takes to mean yes. He leads him up the stairs and feels Ilya’s eyes on his back the whole time. In the primary bathroom, Ilya gestures to the singular sink. “No, I need two sinks.” “You want his-and-her sinks?” Shane asks. He smartly does not mention the fact that Ilya had clearly told him he would be living alone, and absolutely has no need for two sinks. “Yes. Two sinks.” “Okay,” Shane says. He pulls out his phone. “Why don’t you tell me your wishlist now, so I can get it right for the next properties I show you?” Natural light, Shane types into his Notes app as Ilya starts listing them off, rapid fire. His- and-her sinks. Ensuite bathroom. Floor to ceiling windows. Enough garage space for two cars. “Why is called his-and-her sinks?” Ilya asks later when they are back downstairs. “It is sexist, no? Maybe it is hers-and-hers. Or his-and-his.” He shoots Shane a wink before heading out the front door. Well, then. - The next property Shane shows Ilya is a modern three-bedroom, high rise condo which comes with two parking spaces. He didn’t specifically say he wanted a house, after all, just that he needs somewhere to live. The condo has floor to ceiling windows and a large balcony, there are his-and-her – sorry, two sinks - in the primary ensuite (Shane double checked), and is flooded with so much natural light you practically need sunglasses. Ilya meets him in the fancy lobby, and doesn’t really say anything as they ride up to the 18th floor. He looks like an off-duty model, in his dark leather jacket with his curls combed back. Shane tries not to stare and instead scrolls through his email notifications on the ride up. Just before the doors open, Shane glances up and sees that Ilya had been looking at him, on the mirrored doors of the elevator. They catch each other’s eye in the reflection and Shane’s stomach does something funny. Once they get into the unit, he points out the chef ’s kitchen, the steel appliances gleaming under all that natural light. He tells Ilya about the state of the art gym and heated indoor lap pool that comes as part of the amenities. Pointedly shows him the ensuite with its two sinks and rain shower. Ilya has a small smile on his face through the whole pitch, and looks endeared when Shane starts waxing lyrical about the Bardiglio marble as though he laid the fucking tile work himself.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,134
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77674911
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Two sides of the same coin by peachmintfizz
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-07
Hayden cannot believe what he’s seeing. This huge, intimidating Russian hockey player – who has rookies quaking in their skates with one glare, who never misses an opportunity for a fight on the ice, who Hayden had once overheard during a scrum let loose a volley of swear words so fucking filthy that Hayden was actually speechless – is staring at Shane with the softest, most lovesick look on his face that you’d think Shane had hung the moon in the sky himself. And Shane is staring right back like Rozanov is the sun. - Hayden and Cliff find out. Hayden has just hung up a call with Jackie, and he’s contemplating whether to maybe jerk off or watch the Friends re-run marathon that’s currently on TV when the door to the hotel room suddenly flies open and Shane comes in. Hayden scrambles to sit up in bed, flinging his phone away guiltily as though it was already playing porn. “Hey man, you’re back early.” Shane doesn’t answer at first, turning his back on Hayden to toe off his shoes at the doorway. “Yeah, just…wanted an early night.” Hayden’s brain registers for a second that Shane is wearing a completely different outfit than the one he'd left in- he’s pretty sure he had also been wearing a jacket earlier, but now it’s nowhere to be seen, instead replaced with a slightly oversized black t-shirt. But the thought immediately slips from his mind when he hears Shane’s voice- tight and quiet, and he’s known his best friend long enough to know that means Shane is either really upset or angry about something. But Shane keeps his head down and refuses to meet Hayden’s eyes. “You alright, buddy?” Hayden asks carefully, using the same voice he uses when one of his twins is on the verge of a volcanic meltdown. “Fine. Shower,” Shane bites out, then sidesteps into the bathroom and closes the door. Shane spends an inordinately long time in the shower- long enough that Hayden starts to worry he’s going to use up the hotel’s entire hot water supply. When he finally emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair is dripping and his eyes are red-rimmed. Whether it’s because he was crying in the shower, or because he was cooking himself in boiling hot water for the last hour, Hayden is not sure. Did she hurt him? Did she break up with him? He wants to ask so badly. He knows Shane went out to meet his secret hook-up. That’s all he knows, because Shane never talks about his love life with him. With anyone. It’s kind of an unspoken rule in their friendship. They’ll talk about anything else – Shane’s parents; hockey, obviously; his cottage; his plans for the summer – but whenever anything comes up about dating or relationships, Shane will change the subject, or skilfully evade the question. And after a while, Hayden stopped asking. If Shane ever wanted to tell him, he’ll tell him. On the other hand, Hayden talks to Shane about everything – when him and Jackie had that explosive fight which stupidly started because he didn’t pick up his dirty socks off the bathroom floor, or that time the twins both had chickenpox, and Arthur wasn’t sleeping through the night yet and Hayden was so fucking tired he thought he was actually going to die. And no matter what time Hayden calls to vent, Shane always picks up, always listens, calms him down, gives him advice. Because that’s just the kind of friend he is. And now Hayden can’t even return the favour. Hayden keeps his eyes trained on the TV- he’s watched three whole episodes of Friends in the time Shane was in the bathroom - and tries to keep his voice casual and upbeat while Shane rummages around in his suitcase for a change of clothes. “JJ texted if we wanted to grab dinner? There’s this place nearby that’s supposed to have amazing pizza.” “Um, I think I’ll pass,” Shane replies softly. “Headache. I’m gonna turn in early.” “You sure? I can stay in if you want some company-,” “No. You guys go. I really just want to sleep.” When Hayden leaves the hotel room, Shane is curled up in his bed, the only part of him visible is a shock of black hair poking out from under the covers. -- Cliff curses loudly, almost tripping over a box of old skates in the third dusty storage room he’d searched in the last half an hour. It’s bad enough the team physio made him come in extra early, three whole hours before the game against Montreal, but his shoulder was still a bit messed up from when they played Pittsburgh last month and they wanted to do some dry needling before the game so he doesn’t make the injury worse. On top of everything, no one told them there was some maintenance going on in the arena, so their usual physio room had been cleared out and the massage tables are nowhere to be found. And now Cliff has been sent on some fucking scavenger hunt to help locate them. Well, the tables clearly aren’t in here, so he gives up and heads back down to go yell at the physio. At this point, he’ll lie down naked on the fucking ice to get his needling. As Cliff goes down the hallway, he passes the away team’s change room, and he decides to poke his head in to see if the tables might be in there. The room is already set up for the Voyageurs for that afternoon’s game, but it’s otherwise deserted. The tables aren’t in there either, and Cliff about to head back out when Rozanov suddenly comes around the corner into the change room. He doesn’t see Cliff right away- and Cliff has half a mind to jump out from where he is and scare the fucker to death- some payback for Rozanov’s usual antics and chirps. Then he catches sight of Rozanov’s face- and well, he looks like absolute shit. His handsome face – and even Cliff can objectively admit the guy is good looking- is withdrawn and there are dark circles under his eyes, like he barely got any sleep. Cliff watches silently as Rozanov stops in front of a stall- Shane Hollander’s stall- Cliff realises with a start as he catches sight of the nameplate. He’s carrying a nondescript black paper bag, and Cliff watches curiously as Rozanov starts to put the bag in Hollander’s stall, hesitate for a moment, then reaches inside and pulls out something. A white T-shirt.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,825
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77276001