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  1. “You want a sandwich? I make really good tuna melts.” “I haven’t had one in ages,” Shane admits and then grimaces. “I’m on this diet actually, it’s macro-biotic, so… you know.” Rozanov stares at him, frowns. “Hollander, what? Macro… What are these words?” Shane laughs. “It’s for performance.” “‘It’s for performance,’” Rozanov singsongs back. “No, too boring. Shane Hollander, I will not accept you can be defeated by bread.”

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  2. Ilya grasps Hollander’s chin and turns his head so he can bite a bit cruelly at his jaw and scrape his teeth down his neck. “Guess you’ve caught up with me,” he can’t help but tease Hollander as he shudders under Ilya’s mouth. “Stanley Cup win, League MVP. Copy cat.” “Oh fuck you,” Hollander says with that boyish grin, and his hands grip Ilya’s shoulders, map down his arms. Ilya flexes and feels Hollander’s appreciative squeeze at his strength. “Don’t be a sore loser.” It's the 2015-2016 season NHL Awards. A few things need to be taken care of before the season's truly over for the summer.

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  3. “If I didn’t know better,” Ilya had drawled, mostly teasing, as Shane pressed adoring, apologetic kisses into his shoulder, after a hard night out a few months back. “I’d think you were embarrassed to be with me. A first for me. I will try not to let it wound my pride.” “You’re pride is fine,” Shane griped out of habit and then had nuzzled closer, held Ilya tighter because he hated that he could make Ilya feel that way. “I’m sorry. I know I do it. It’s hard for me after so long. I love you so much, it scares me shitless sometimes.” Shane's working on letting go of the control that's kept him and Ilya safe for the past ten years. The fact that he's Shane Hollander means that he's got a plan. The fact that he's with Ilya Rozanov means that plan involves fucking him stupid. And for once, Shane's kind of ready to be the one who drives Ilya out of his mind.

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    They’re getting into a rhythm now, though, and Shane can see it. He can see this team winning the Cup this year. He tries not to get ahead of himself, tries to stay focused and go game by game, reminds himself that building up a team takes time and several seasons, but god. He wants this legacy: for himself, for Ottawa, for Ilya. For both of them and everyone else.Which is why, goddamnit, now is not the time to crash out over fantasies of Ilya working his whole hand down to the wrist into Shane’s ass and fucking him on his fist. And yet. Shane should know by now that timing and “good ideas” are rarely factors in whether or not he gets obsessed with something.OR:It starts, as a surprising number of things actually do, with a text from Rose.
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