1541 – 1560 of 1,917 Works in Teen And Up Audiences
- Teen And Up Audiences ×
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I hate accidents (except when we went from rivals to this) by blonndiec
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
Summer at the cottage was supposed to be relaxing. It turns into everything but—when Ilya drops “I could marry Svetlana” for an american visa like it’s a grocery list item. Shane’s face says over my dead body while Ilya, delighted, teases him for looking ready to commit “murder-suicide.” (He’s not wrong.) Shane Hollander has one big problem: he can’t let Ilya Rozanov marry anyone else. Not now. Not ever. So he does the unthinkable and proposes the most boring solution imaginable almost by accident. / Canon-Divergence /
- Part 1 of I'd Marry You With Paper Rings
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,308
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76583081
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ilyarozanovofficial ✓ on Instagram
[a slideshow post of Ilya and Shane’s time in the Bahamas, complete with scenic sunset pictures, coconuts by the beach, and a shot of Shane from the back showing only his forearm and his hand linked with Ilya’s, leading him forward]
getaway
1.4m likes, 3,683 commentsCOMMENTS:
S_Hollander24
You look very nice in that swimsuit
4 likesilyarozanovofficial
@S_Hollander24 sorry, i have a boyfriend
2,384 likesThe only thing the media knows about famous model Ilya Rozanov's secret boyfriend is that he exists. Shane is happy to keep their relationship private, until he isn't.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,601
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76643491
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10 moments in the long process of Shane learning Russian.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,000
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76645726
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Love in the Light by literally_my_luck
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
5 times Shane and Ilya displayed affection in front of the centaurs and 1 time they displayed affection in front of the whole world. This is set in the season after The Long Game, following Shane and Ilya playing together and learning how to be a couple and teammates.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,394
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76679016
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hiraeth (hee-ryth): a profound, nostalgic longing or homesickness for a home, place, or time that may never have existed or is lost forever “Do– Do you miss it?” Shane asked him carefully, tilting his head up so he could look Ilya in the eye. “Russia.” He wanted to brush the question off. To assure his husband that he didn’t miss the country in the slightest – because knowing Shane, if Ilya confessed that he did, he’d spiral into a guilt trip faster than Ilya could blink. Shane would probably believe him too. But he didn’t want to lie to his husband, or hide his feelings from him. They’d done that for so long, and Ilya was tired of it. “Mm, I don’t miss Russia,” he said slowly, searching his brain for the exact words he wanted to say. It was hard enough communicating his feelings as it was, but the fact that he had to do so in English made it even harder. Finding the words he wanted to say always seemed so exhausting. “But… I miss how it was when I was little. With my mother.” Home to Shane Hollander is a very different concept than it is for Ilya. To Shane Hollander, home was a cozy, inviting house just outside of Ottawa, a place where he’d been raised with nothing but love and care by two people who loved him more than anything in the world. To him, home was the place where nothing in the world could go wrong, where he was safe and protected. To Ilya, home was a far more difficult concept to grasp. The only true home he’d ever known, the only real love and care he’d had growing up, had died with his mother. It vanished with her, lost forever, never to be recovered. The cold, looming manor he’d grown up in was not the sort of place one would describe as a home. It had silence, where the Hollander house always had laughter. Cold, unyielding marble floors instead of soft rugs, ones that protected little knees learning how to walk and made the perfect place to sprawl on for a family movie night, rather than the marble that only ever left Ilya’s knees bleeding when he fell. It was the type of place where arguments were ended by a harsh, forceful hit instead of a hug. For years, whenever Ilya talked about home, he simply meant Russia. Moscow was where he’d grown up. It was more home than Boston was. The fierce, cold winters, the strolls along the Moskva, the familiar flow of Russian out of everyone’s mouths, that was what made it home. Familiarity. There was nothing wrong with Boston. Not really. It had just never felt like home. At first, Ilya had blamed it on the language barrier. His English had been good enough when he arrived, or so he thought, but soon he’d realized that trying to carry conversations all day, every day, in his second language was downright exhausting. And no matter how much he talked, no matter how many words came out of his mouth, he never felt like he was saying exactly what he wanted to. The message always ended up blurring along the way. But that feeling of not being at home didn’t ease once his English improved. After that, he blamed the food. He’d replaced the borscht and pelmeni he’d eaten his entire life with burgers and pasta - not exactly the most American food in the world but Boston’s North End meant Italian food was practically unavoidable in the city. He’d started cooking on his own more, trying to recreate the recipes his mother had made during his childhood. They were never quite the same as he remembered though, always leaving an odd taste in his mouth afterward. Eventually, he’d resigned himself to simply never feeling at home outside of Russia. After all, it was where he was born and where he’d been raised. Surely, every immigrant felt like this. Out of place, adrift, longing for a way back home. It wasn’t until he and Hollander had finally started become something more that Ilya finally realized just how fucked his definition of home was. How wrong it was that to him, home was a city, rather than a house filled with a family. “I wouldn’t be able to go home again,” he explained, knowing exactly how poorly things would turn for him if the people of Russia found out he was in love with a man. “Ever. Do you get that?” From the immediate look of confusion on Shane’s face, he could tell he didn’t. Shane’s fears about coming out revolved around hockey. The impact it would have on his dreams, on his goals, on winning another Cup. For Ilya, his fears were far more terrifying. “Because of your family?” he asked, and Ilya sighed in frustration. He wasn’t really annoyed with Shane. How could he be? It’d be like being mad at a cute, little puppy that didn’t know what it’d done wrong. Especially when the man had turned those stupidly soft, brown eyes on him, looking at Ilya like he was about to break apart at any moment. It was simply the reality of their situation. Ilya’s only home, or the only one he had left, was a place defined by mere borders on a map, and nothing more. Hollander’s was his family. When Ilya had said home, Shane hadn’t immediately thought about Russia. No, he was assuming Ilya couldn’t go home because his family wouldn’t approve. As though the problem was that Ilya would be kicked out onto the streets. And while that was partially the problem, it certainly wasn’t what Ilya had meant. His father’s house hadn’t been home in a long time. To Hollander, that was the worst possible scenario about coming out. Losing his family, even if that was a highly unlikely scenario. But that was how Canada was. For Ilya, the worst case scenario in Russia – and a highly likely one at that – was death. “Because Russia!” Ilya explained loudly, his temper boiling over. But his anger wasn’t at Shane. No, it was at the unfairness of the situation he’d found himself in. “I would not be able to go back to Russia!” Shane went quiet for a moment before hesitantly asking his next question, as though he didn’t want to know the answer. “What would happen to you?” The mere thought of being outed while in Russia was enough to nearly make him sick. He couldn’t say for certain what would happen. Had he been asked years ago, he would’ve said his father would kill him. Now, the man was so far gone he didn’t even remember who Ilya was. Perhaps Alexei would be the one to do it. Ilya wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to do it himself though. His brother had always been a coward. No, he’d probably turn Ilya over to whatever angry mob appeared first, and then that’d be it for him. Death, either by a hanging, or being dragged through the streets, or some other awful way to go out. “I don’t want to find out,” he confessed, swallowing heavily against the nausea waging a war in his stomach. The thought of losing Russia shouldn’t have terrified him so much.
- Part 4 of heated rivalry fics
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,917
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76620251
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so give me your eyes (i need sunshine) by GatheringBlue
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
Shane had known for a while now that he was in love with Ilya Rozanov. But it was seeing the sweet, gentle, caring side of him that leaked out more and more after they finally admitted their feelings for one another that clinched the deal. “We’re good here,” Ilya promised him, voice softer than Shane is used to hearing it as he gently ran a lar ge hand gently over his shoulders. “Your family is here. Your boyfriend is here. You’re good here, okay?” “My boyfriend?” Shane asked, slightly surprised at the other man’s use of the word. And it was when he looked up, staring into Ilya’s soft blue eyes as he casually confirmed his words, as though there was no doubt in Ilya’s mind that they were anything but, that Shane knew. He could love this man for the rest of his life. He could love him for all of their days, and it wouldn’t even be hard. Loving Ilya was easier than breathing. It was natural, instinctual, and impossible to live without. ________________________________________________________ During their visit to Shane's parents' house, he reflects on just how much he loves Ilya Rozanov It wasn’t until Shane saw Ilya at his parents’ house, a setting completely unlike any other one they’d ever been in together (for starters, there were actually other people around that knew their secret), that he began to realize all the things he hadn’t noticed about the other man before. The first thing he noticed was just how… polite Ilya was with his parents. Shane hadn’t ever realized that was something Ilya knew how to be. Charming, yes. An asshole, yes. But polite? Sure, he could be sweet and affectionate, a side of him that Shane was thankfully seeing more and more of, but even a sweet Ilya Rozanov was still a bit of an ass. Except in his parents’ home, Ilya was polite. Polite and… nervous? If there was one thing that Ilya Rozanov had always been defined by, it was confidence. He exuded it at every moment. Even before a championship game, you would never see anything but complete confidence in him. Shane had seen him uncomfortable before – in press interviews, when he couldn’t quite piece together what a reporter was asking him, during the Olympics because, well, Russia was Russia – but he’d never seen him nervous. At least not until Shane brought him home to meet his parents and watched as the cool, confident Ilya Rozanov turned into a shy, timid version of himself. He’d brushed it off, for the most part, too busy having a panic attack to really think much about it. It wasn’t like he could blame the man, after all. Shane was far more of a wreck than he was. Anyone in this situation would be nervous, he thought. Shane had known for a while now that he was in love with Ilya Rozanov. But it was seeing the sweet, gentle, caring side of him that leaked out more and more after they finally admitted their feelings for one another that clinched the deal. It was the way that, when Shane was struggling to get air into his lungs, too busy spiraling about what a complete and utter shit show his life was, Ilya was the first to comfort him, not his parents. “We’re good here,” Ilya promised him, voice softer than Shane is used to hearing it as he gently ran a lar ge hand gently over his shoulders. “Your family is here. Your boyfriend is here. You’re good here, okay?” “My boyfriend?” Shane asked, slightly surprised at the other man’s use of the word. And it was when he looked up, staring into Ilya’s soft blue eyes (the eyes that were his favorite color in the world, the ones he could stare at forever and never get tired of, eyes that saw every inch of Shane for who he was) as he casually confirmed his words, as though there was no doubt in Ilya’s mind that they were anything but, that Shane knew. He could love this man for the rest of his life. He could love him for all of their days, and it wouldn’t even be hard. Loving Ilya was easier than breathing. It was natural, instinctual, and impossible to live without. By the time they waved goodbye to his parents and pulled out of the driveway, Shane had never been more grateful for Ilya than in that moment. There was no way, he knew, that he would’ve made it through the afternoon if Ilya hadn’t come with him. He’d been perfect. Supportive, kind, gentle. All the things Shane had desperately needed that day. While lying in bed later that night, unable to sleep due to the last vestiges of anxiety clinging to his brain, he replayed the afternoon in his mind. It was then that he realized that even the things Ilya had done that, albeit in the moment had annoyed Shane, were really just more parts of Ilya that he found so endearing. His use of the word lover hadn’t been some sort of snarky remark. It’d been the language barrier, the fact that there were so many words that Ilya knew the definitions of but not the true context of them. The way he’d been the only one eating the meal Shane’s dad had made for them while the rest of them were talking hadn’t been rude or a lack of awareness of the situation. It’d been an attempt to be respectful to David, to show that at least one person was grateful he’d gone through the trouble of making them a meal. And, the more Shane thought about it, probably because it was the first home-cooked meal Ilya had been given in a long time. Maybe since his mother died. He rolled over in bed, watching Ilya sleep, the man looking more relaxed than he ever did awake. His curls, which had been sprung free of any gel the entire time Ilya had been at the cottage – much to Shane’s utter delight – were falling into his face and Shane reached forward, gently brushing them back. Ilya snuffled a bit in his sleep, adorably, in Shane’s opinion, although he could hear Ilya’s protests already. Russians are not adorable, Hollander. We have never been adorable. This is not something we are. And even though most of the world would probably say they were a horrible match for one another, even though the entire deck was stacked against them, even though they might not be able to publicly be together for another decade… Shane couldn’t help it. He loved him. He loved Ilya Rozanov with every fiber of his being. The same things he used to hate about him, the things that used to drive Shane crazy, were now the parts about him that Shane loved, the parts he couldn’t live without. Ilya was the first person Shane had ever loved, and he desperately wanted him to be the last. His beginning and his end. And while the logistics of their relationship wasn’t easy, being with Ilya, loving Ilya, well… That was the easiest thing in the world.
- Part 3 of heated rivalry fics
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,079
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76630851
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the blade of father and son by rubyjean_jacket
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
David loves hockey, he does, he just doesn’t love it the way Yuna and Shane do, in that all- consuming, world-defining way of theirs that binds the two of them together tighter than just blood. Sometimes, David feels like he’s missing out. Mostly, though, he’s glad they have something to share, something that’s uniquely theirs. David loves hockey, he does, he just doesn’t love it the way Yuna and Shane do, in that all- consuming, world-defining way of theirs that binds the two of them together tighter than just blood. Sometimes, David feels like he’s missing out. Mostly, though, he’s glad they have something to share, something that’s uniquely theirs. David doesn’t have something like that with Shane. He loves Shane, he really does, loves him more than breathing, but… Shane knows that Yuna loves him because they speak hockey to each other and understand each other perfectly. David should be able to keep up with them —he played hockey at McGill—but he can’t, somehow, because his relationship with hockey is fundamentally different. For Yuna, hockey is as intrinsic to her as her Japanese heritage: something deep inside her, tied to ideas like belonging and identity. For Shane, it’s much the same. For David, hockey is a sport he was good enough at that he kept playing it until he couldn't play it anymore, and then he did something else. When Shane is three, Yuna buys him skates. “Isn’t it a little early?” David asks. Yuna shakes her head. “You’ve got to start them early,” she says, unlacing the skates, “so that skating is as natural as walking.” David wants to ask why any of that is necessary, but he doesn’t, because he knows why, even if he doesn’t understand it. Because Yuna loves hockey with her whole self. In those early days, David finds himself praying to a God he hasn’t believed in since childhood that Shane will love hockey like Yuna does, because David’s pretty sure it would break her heart if Shane saw hockey the same way David did, through unromantic eyes. His prayers are answered. Hockey is everything to Shane; he loves it with his whole self. He is a difficult kid, or maybe David and Yuna are just unpracticed parents. Shane is particular. He cries a lot, and he fusses over everything, and he doesn’t have any friends because he doesn’t like talking about anything but hockey, doesn’t like doing anything but hockey. And Yuna is happy to indulge him, and David is happy to indulge her. So Shane heads down the same path David was on, some twenty years before, only the world has changed a lot since then. Things are a lot less private. Strangers have opinions on Shane’s style of play and make predictions about where he’ll fall in the draft. Shane is a child. He should be playing Grounders with his friends, laughing and smiling until his face hurts. He should have friends. Instead, he has teammates and coaches and spectators and tag-alongs and rivals, and David doesn’t think any of it is very healthy at all, actually. Shane melts down all the time, over everything. He doesn’t want to eat dinner. He doesn’t want to have a bath. He doesn’t want practise to be over. He doesn’t want to miss a game. He doesn’t want new shin pads. He doesn’t want to go to school early. He doesn’t want to go to school at all. Surely, this behaviour isn’t normal. Surely, David and Yuna aren’t just failing at every turn. Surely there’s a reason why Shane is so… impossible. Why the world seems to stymie him. “I think Shane might be autistic,” one of Shane’s teachers says at Parent-Teacher night, and David doesn’t know what that is, but he’s filled with relief that there’s a word for what they are struggling with, that there are families like theirs out there, children like Shane; that they aren’t alone. Yuna doesn’t see it that way. David should’ve known she wouldn’t. “Don’t tell me what my son is,” she says, angry in the way that she never is. “There’s nothing wrong with him.” But there is something… maybe not wrong with Shane, but different. David tries to bring it up to Yuna, but she shuts it down every time. “How would you know?” she says, with that same anger. “You’re never here. Don’t tell me what my son is.” Yuna’s son. Like David is nothing to Shane, nothing to either of them, intruding on the two of them. Sometimes, at practises, other parents ask David which kid is his, and they are always surprised when the answer is Shane. He must take after his mother, they say, which is their way of saying that he doesn’t look white. “Our son is hurting!”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,157
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76634166
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the come up, the blow up by subcorax
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
Scott’s not really surprised to spot Ilya Rozanov backstage, getting lightly swarmed by a crowd of sound techs and hair and makeup crew. Even on the rare year that neither of them were getting any awards, the League always tried to get either him or Hollander, and preferably both, presenting something. And since Hollander was still out for the count and recovering up in Ottawa, that left Rozanov, standing awkwardly while a harried-looking woman straightened his bow-tie. Or: Scott Hunter's not really sure what's happening right now.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,911
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76635861
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“And this is Svetlana! You guys have a fun hockey connection. She’s BFFs with—ooh. What’s his name again, babe?”
“Ilya Rozanov,” says Svetlana. Feeling virtuous about it, she offers her hand first. “Don’t tell him I said you have the best hands in the league.”
Shane’s face is rigid. “Um. I won’t?”
“Thank you,” she says gravely. “You have saved a life.” Rose laughs, stroking Shane’s arm, and he suddenly remembers Svetlana’s hand is hanging. He takes it limply and disposes of it quick. His eyes look a little wild.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,581
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76656326
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30 for 30: Heated Rivalry to Hidden Romance by BiblioLunatic
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-28
"...fans were interested in me and Ilya like they’re interested in a housefire. They weren’t drawn to the warmth, they were drawn to the destruction." Ten years after the scandal that shocked the hockey world, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov sit down for their first interviews since retirement. They’re finally going on the record for an account of the biggest rivalry in hockey and the unprecedented love that unfolded over the seasons. or: Shane and Ilya get to redo the documentary about their rivalry. This time they don't have to lie.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,835
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76592011
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During their time at the cottage, Shane and Ilya do a lot of things together, including a puzzle. Ilya isn't exactly the biggest fan but Shane still loves it. How the hell is Hayden involved?
- Part 1 of Puzzling Hollanov
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,343
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76602961
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Fangirling Too Close To The Sun by thingcalledlove
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-28
Becca @IsThisRealLife · 48m Forced to watch hockey with my dad and the only thing I can think is…when do they kiss? Josh @Josh1625 · 40m They don’t. This is a hockey draft? Becca @IsThisRealLife · 37m Have you SEEN these two??? They look like they want to kiss #NewShipAlert Trishaaaaa @NHLBarbie · 35m Babe. That is Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. They do NOT want to kiss
- Part 1 of Hollanov vs The Internet
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,696
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76562816
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What happens when Ilya goes down the infamous Boston Cop Slide, and how does Shane react? Shane was in Boston, and it was one of the rare occasions when they got there the night before a late afternoon game which meant that he was able to go to Ilya’s apartment and spend the night without worrying too much about missing practice or getting weird looks from his teammates. He gave Hayden his usual ‘Lily’ excuse and left. His best friend had come to expect his disappearances anytime they played in Boston, and had already set his bags on what was supposed to be Shane’s bed, so leaving wasn’t difficult. It didn’t take him long to get to Ilya’s by Uber. He had his own key, though his boyfriend usually greeted him at the door. Shane was surprised when the other man wasn’t there. “Ilya?” He called, voice ringing through the large entryway. “In here!” He heard Ilya say from the living room. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here already.” Shane walked through Ilya’s home like he owned it. He had spent enough time there that it almost felt like he did, although most of that time wasn’t exactly spent studying the architecture…. In the living room, he found his boyfriend laying on the couch with an icepack pressed against his side. “What the fuck?” He quickly ran to Ilya, maneuvering the pack away to reveal a large, blooming bruise on his ribs. “Is fine.” Ilya’s wince as Shane’s fingers ran down his torso said otherwise. “Just a bruise.” “Did you get hit yesterday?” Shane thought back to Ilya’s previous game against the Admirals, but couldn’t remember him getting struck or pushed any harder than a light shove or two. Nothing that could cause a mark like that. Ilya shook his head. “Not by Admiral, no.” “But you got hit?” “No.” “Then…” “Is embarrassing.” Shane looked at his boyfriend and the blush slowly growing across his cheeks. God, he was adorable when he was bashful. Since he knew he could take it, he pressed a finger into his bruise. Ilya grit his teeth and batted at Shane’s hand. “Stop!” “Tell me how you got the bruise.” “Is-” “Embarrassing, I know. Tell me anyway.” Ilya groaned as Shane continued pressing into the bruise. Neither man would admit how pornographic the sound was, nor how hard both of their dicks were becoming. Usually it was Shane who was the masochist in the relationship, but once in a while after a particularly rough injury Ilya could relish the pain.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,357
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76605121
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Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov WIRED Autocomplete Interview by billowyy
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-28
Autocomplete suggests the most common searches on the internet. ILYA Welcome! I am very excited. SHANE Our agent made me do this. ILYA Lies! So WIRED asked Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov some of the internet's burning questions.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,998
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76609946
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The missing conversation between Ilya and David where David shares some things and Ilya starts to think that there might just be a space in this family for him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,656
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76556606
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My Little Loon by arenasoundsystem (cutflowersounds)
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-28
“Mama,” he says, bringing the cigarette to his lips. “You have been worried about me. I know.” The smoke in his throat is so familiar. When he breathes out, it's already jagged. "I wanted to tell you that you don't have to be. Not anymore." (Or: after waking early one morning at the cottage, Ilya goes down to the water to talk to his mother.)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,957
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76543601
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our dreams assured by chemicalizes (obfuscates)
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-28
Ilya awakes first, on this particular morning.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,132
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76558121
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An alternate ending to episode two in which Shane actually sends the "we didn't even kiss" text. Or, Shane Hollander is down so bad for Ilya Rozanov and is big mad about it. Bye, Hollander. That was it, after everything. After good vodka, after the best view in the city, after quite literally opening himself up to him. And really, by now, he should be used to it. That this is how they operate, that it’s how they must operate. He should be used to the quick roll over in bed and the slam of the invisible door between them. No use crying over spilled milk. But the hole in Shane’s chest isn’t something to be sopped up with a paper towel. It’s alright, kid, they told him in the ballroom, you’ll get the cup next year. You should still eat, they told him in the dining room. Get big, strong, come back swinging next year. The gasp after downing three shots in a row next to Scott fucking Hunter misinterpreted as fervent excitement for the night when it was really just to remind him he’s still alive. Yes, he’d have liked to have won the cup. Of course he’d have liked to win MVP. But there’s something to be said about the way the gold had complimented Ilya’s hair when he held it up and the way his accent had thickened in excitement in the interview. None of that matters now in the dim lighting of the hotel hallway. He walks with a purpose towards the elevators, but not because he wants to. He’d have stood in front of Ilya’s door, jacket draped over his arm, bow tie hanging around his neck, looking for all the world like a scorned lover. But this reality doesn’t allow for that. This reality is going back to his room, too cold because he left the air conditioning running the whole time, and ordering greasy room service food to try to stop the hangover before it happens. This reality is his nose crinkling as he waits for the elevator because he can smell cigarette smoke on his clothes, in his hair, and feel the budding bruises on his hips in the shape of Ilya’s fingers. This reality is cold and cruel, Shane’s body nothing but a canvas for Ilya to paint on and discard for the evening. The elevator is too warm and smells of citrus cleaner, and the doors take too long to shut, and the whole time, Shane stares at the hallway in front of those doors and wonders if he’s making a mistake, if he’s been making mistakes. There’s a clear line in the sand; oh, yes, Ilya’s been very good at remaining on his side of it. But Shane has never much liked the beach, though he used to cheer when he was young and a wave would erase the pictures he drew in the sand with his father. The doors slide shut with a ding, and he presses his floor number. Then another, and another. Four floors are lit up before he stops what he’s doing. His hand trembles slightly as he pulls out his phone. Party invites, goodnights from his parents, an Amazon order notification. He swipes them all away and opens his conversation with Ilya. Lily. The name mocks him in cold, blue light that intensifies the headache beginning to make his eyes throb. The doors slide open behind him, making him jump, but no one joins. He has three more ghost stops before his actual floor. < Jane [draft]: We didn’t even kiss His thumb hovers over the send button. The elevator wobbles beneath his feet. He wonders what it would feel like to crash to the bottom floor in a matter of seconds, untethered. The doors open and close again. The chime is distractingly pleasant, momentarily snapping him out of his melodrama. He edits the message. First deletes ‘even,’ thinks it makes him sound desperate. But he is, isn’t he? That’s where the sick feeling low in his gut is coming from? Because his body knows that after something like that, you’re meant to fall asleep in the still warm bed, sit in a bath, have a drawn out glass of wine. Something, anything other than shoving shaking legs back into suit pants and buttoning up a shirt with fingers sore from being clenched around the sheets. < Jane: We didn’t even kiss “Fuck,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. He shoves his phone back into his pocket as the elevator doors finally open to reveal the identical hallway of his floor. He’s only two steps onto the carpet when his phone buzzes. It’s embarrassing how quickly it’s back in his hand. > Lily: Why type for so long for small message? Shane stops, standing stupidly in the elevator’s alcove. The implications of the message alone make his head spin. Someone’s TV in their room is much too loud nearby. The ice machine down the hall hums. < Jane: Are you serious?
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,820
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76566841
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Shane is the head chef with one Michelin star under his belt. Ilya is a 3-times James Beard award recipient. Shane does not like Ilya. But what happens when they are forced to work together? one. Shane Hollander has been the executive chef at Constellation for exactly four years, two months, and sixteen days when Marcus tells him about Ilya Rozanov. "It's just for six weeks," Marcus says, like that makes it better. Like six weeks isn't an eternity when you're talking about sharing a kitchen with someone who has very publicly called your cooking "technically perfect but soulless." Shane's hands are steady as he continues breaking down the duck—breast, legs, wings—with the precision that's earned him a Michelin star and the kind of reputation that has servers whispering when he enters the dining room. "No." "Shane—" "No." He sets down his knife with controlled care. "You're telling me that Ilya Rozanov, who spent an entire episode of Chef's Table explaining why classical French technique is 'the death of innovation,' is going to come into my kitchen—" "Our kitchen," Marcus corrects, which is technically true since he owns the restaurant, but Shane's been running it since the doors opened. "—and what? Critique my mise en place? Reorganize my walk-in? Tell me that my sauce work is bourgeois?" Marcus has the grace to look uncomfortable. "The publicity would be incredible. Two of the most talked-about chefs under forty, working together for the first time. The Times would eat it up. We could finally get that second star." Shane's jaw tightens. He doesn't need Ilya Rozanov's chaos to get a second star. He needs consistency, precision, and a dining room full of people who appreciate the kind of cooking that makes grown men cry—not because it's weird or boundary-pushing, but because it's perfect. "He's opening his own place in the city next year," Marcus continues. "Some experimental concept. Farm-to-table meets molecular gastronomy meets—I don't know, interpretive dance probably. But he wants to spend time in different kitchens first. Learning, he says." "Learning," Shane repeats flatly. "Ilya Rozanov, winner of three James Beard awards before he turned thirty, wants to learn from me?" "He specifically requested you." That stops Shane cold. "What?" Marcus shifts his weight, suddenly very interested in the copper pots hanging from the rack above the prep station. "He said—and I quote—'Hollander's one of the few chefs in North America who actually respects his ingredients enough to let them speak.' Which, coming from him, is high praise." Shane feels heat crawl up his neck. He's read every interview Ilya's ever given, watched every episode of every show he's been on, even hate-read his cookbook cover to cover. Not because he's obsessed—he tells himself it's professional research. Know your compettition. Except Ilya isn't really his competition, not in any traditional sense. They operate in completely different spheres. Ilya's the kind of chef who serves deconstructed everything, who treats a plate like a canvas, who once made a dessert that was just three perfect berries, some edible flowers, and what he called "the memory of cream." It was pretentious as hell. Shane had thought about it for a week. "When?" Shane asks finally. "He arrives Sunday." Shane closes his eyes. "That's in three days." "I know." "We have the Marchand private dinner Saturday." "I know." "And you're just telling me now?" Marcus has the decency to look apologetic. "I was hoping to find the right moment." "There is no right moment for this." Shane returns to his duck, his cuts perhaps slightly more aggressive than necessary. "Fine. Six weeks. But he follows my rules. My kitchen, my systems, my standards." "Of course," Marcus says, already backing toward the door like he's afraid Shane might change his mind. "I'll send you his requirements." "Requirements?" But Marcus is already gone. Shane looks down at the perfectly butchered duck in front of him and has the distinct feeling he's just agreed to something that's going to change everything. The email arrives at 11:04 PM. Shane's in his apartment—a studio in Queens that's closer to the restaurant than anything in Manhattan would be, decorated with nothing but a mattress, a espresso machine, and about thirty cookbooks—when his phone buzzes.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,853
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76570456
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Shane loves his mother and his team but sometimes those photoshoots and commercials can be overwhelming. The constant lights, the people in his face. The make-up artists, the stylists, his mother nit-picking at things. The director wanting retakes. He was tired. Overstimulated. A certain Russian hockey player makes things...better.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,296
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76575481