201 – 220 of 294 Works in Smut
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“Well?” Shane’s voice catches, teeth gritting as his fingers clench into unforgiving porcelain. Ilya breathes out. “I can smell you from all the way down the hall.” Shane swallows, rolling his eyes as his head drops. “Fuck off.” Ilya pushes himself off from the wall, the heels of his shoes clicking against the tile. Shane doesn’t even fight it when Ilya takes his chin between his fingers, blissfully suffocated by the alpha’s proximity. Or, a Las Vegas heat fic.
- Part 1 of Nettles (Hollanov Fics)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 9,511
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76639791
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“Shane,” Ilya mocked, copying his lover’s tone. “I do not need my shoulder to fuck.” he said. “It’ll still be better not to put any strain on it.” Shane insisted, guiding him to walk backwards until the back of Ilya’s knees met their couch, and he was made to sit. There was a blush colouring his cheeks, but his eyes were dark and filled with desire as he stared Ilya down. “Just- just sit there, I’ll claim my reward myself.” Oh. Oh fuck. Or Ilya is injured, but that wasn’t going to stop Shane from getting rewarded for their win.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,214
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76772016
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Of Mornings and Forevers by Juleswritesstuff
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-31
Ilya never imagined himself waking up beside anyone for the rest of his life. Never imagined wanting to, longing for it so much and so hard it felt like he was either dying or going crazy. Never imagined he would share a forever with somebody. Not until that fateful 23rd of December 2008 in freezing Saskatchewan. Not until a thing as trivial and simple as freckles dusted on cold-kissed skin made time stop and the world start spinning. Not until this borning, and short, and pretty, and perfect and outstanding Canadian boy who everyone deemed some new hockey God extended his hand to him and stole his fragile heart. Not until Shane Hollander.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,271
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76774701
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Shane Hollander is Really, Really Sexy by jeepeerscreepers
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-31
After Shane Hollander collabs with Calvin Klein for a sexy shoot, he’s the next big thing. Ilya, his secret lover, is not happy about this. After all, Ilya’s never been much of a sharer. OR Ilya owns tf out of Shane!
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,439
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76759141
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Seeing Shane Hollander in the crowd at an NHL game was cool. Seeing him in the crowd at a Boston Bears game in Boston was bizarre. But seeing Shane Hollander in the stands wearing an Ilya Rozanov Jersey, the bold number 81 plastered across his broad back? That, was ludicrous. A few of the American guys on the team had decided to start a Fantasy Football league that fall, and Shane had joined wanting to be an involved and fun captain. He barely knew anything about American football, and he had finished dead last as of last Monday. So now, this was his punishment.
- Part 2 of hollanov fluff + smut one shots
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,714
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76764281
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Who Am I (to be loved by you) by llewellynprince
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-31
The last thing Ilya remembers is being five, back home with Svetlana and his mother, the only two people who ever loved him there. But this freckled boy in front of him is someone Ilya would know even with no memory or sense.
- Part 3 of Song of Achilles
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,317
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76605191
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Being on opposing teams meant a certain level of competitive spirit between Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. Naturally, whatever happened on the ice would extend into the bedroom.
- Part 2 of Fuck Buddy Chronicles
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,912
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76814281
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“Hollander,” Ilya’s accent is thick, voice low. It makes Shane a little weak in the knees. “Did you dress up for me?” --- OR: Shane wears the suit to their first hookup. Ilya is very pleased (and amused) by it.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,179
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 3 versions
- AO3:
- #76786051
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a blanket of freckles by Acinonyx1
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2025-12-30
Ilya Rozanov is a 42 year old hockey player on the cusp of retirement. Shane Hollander is the fresh faced rookie he's fucking.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,597
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76737576
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i'm your biggest fan, mr. hollander by orphan_account
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
Shane blinked away the easy haziness settling over his mind and turned, his mouth going dry and his heart stuttering to a stop in his chest as he pieced together what was happening. One of Shane’s extra jerseys – one used almost exclusively for photos – was pulled across Ilya’s body, clinging to his chest and shoulders and loosening around his waist where his body tapered in. “Oh my God,” Shane exhaled, fairly certain that he might be dying and this was the first glimpse of heaven he was going to get. Ilya turned slowly, grinning, and showed off the HOLLANDER spreading across his back and Shane’s number branding him. “You played so well, Mr. Hollander. I’m such a fan of you.” or, hollanov roleplay with ilya in shane's jersey
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,840
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76686331
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Give Me Your Skin (I Need Your Warmth) by RighteousPunk
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
Lily: Wanna do actual bet? Maybe it was Shane’s competitiveness being struck like a match at the mere thought, maybe it was because their one and only bet, six months before in Las Vegas, had resulted in Shane touching himself for Rozanov. The result was the same: Shane did not consider what kind of terrible idea Rozanov could come up with before replying. Jane: What kind? Lily: Accuracy shooting competition Jane: Ha I always beat you there Lily: Not this year This year I win And you wear my jersey Or: Shane loses a bet and has to wear Ilya's jersey.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,999
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76706831
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Ilya has a surprise for Shane. ---- “But I want to see you,” Shane whined. “Just long enough to get surprise,” Ilya murmured. The silk scarf slid snug behind Shane’s head, darkness making Shane breathe faster. Shane swallowed hard as the world narrowed to touch and sound, every nerve straining for proof that Ilya was still there. He tilted his head just a fraction, just enough to catch the ghost of movement. Fingers. Long, confident. He tugged uselessly at the scarf binding his wrists to the headboard. “Ilya,” he breathed. “You said you wouldn’t tease.” “But I want to see you,” Shane whined. “Just long enough to get surprise,” Ilya murmured. The silk scarf slid snug behind Shane’s head, darkness making Shane breathe faster. Shane swallowed hard as the world narrowed to touch and sound, every nerve straining for proof that Ilya was still there. He tilted his head just a fraction, just enough to catch the ghost of movement. Fingers. Long, confident. Drifting down his chest towards his aching cock. Shane’s excitement burned fast and bright, tightening low in his stomach until it felt less like arousal and more like need. The longer Ilya made him wait, the worse it got. Every second without him another reminder of how badly Shane wanted him. He tugged uselessly at the scarf binding his wrists to the headboard. “Ilya,” he breathed. “You said you wouldn’t tease.” A low chuckle answered him. “Did I?” Rough fingers caught his ankle and pulled his leg straight. “Hold still, baby.” Shane forced his body to be still, barely breathing as every bone in his body begged for the Russian’s touch. Ilya lifted his leg and pressed his foot against solid muscle. His thigh. The realization sent a shiver through him. Something soft wrapped around his ankle, tightening fast. A cuff. “Baby,” Shane gasped, the word tearing out of him. “Mmhmm?” Lips brushed just above the leather - unhurried, possessive - before his leg was lowered and the other lifted. The second cuff clicked closed. “You good, moya dusha?” “Yeah,” Shane panted, rolling his ankles. The leather was absurdly soft. “Let me see you.” “Almost.” Ilya told him, earning a groan of frustration. His rich laugh vibrated over Shane’s skin. “Patience.” “I’ve been fucking patient.” Ilya just laughed again, and his body weight left the bed. Shane strained without thinking, chest lifting off the mattress, chasing heat that was already gone. Don’t leave. Don’t- “Baby-” Shane hardly recognized his own voice. “I’m still here.” Ilya’s voice was suddenly close. Warm lips brushed Shane’s mouth. Just enough. “Fuck,” Ilya murmured. “Y ou’re beautiful.” “Rozanov, please.” “I love when you sound like that.” Then he was gone again. Something heavy landed at the foot of the bed. Shane frowned beneath the scarf, confusion threading through the lust. His right foot was lifted, leg straightened. Metal tapped metal. What is that? Hands tightened around the cuff. Then his other ankle was lifted. The cuffs were attached to something, he felt it before he understood it. The bed shifted. Shane was tugged downward just enough to stretch his arms fully overhead. “Fuck!” “Know what it is?” Weight settled over him before he could answer. Thighs framing his chest. The scarf was stripped away. Light rushed back in and there was Ilya, looming above him, his curls a halo around his face, eyes sharp, cock hard and leaking. “Ilya…” Shane’s tongue flicked out without thinking, brushing the flushed head of Ilya’s cock. A sound tore from Ilya’s chest. “So pretty.” he muttered, shifting his cock out of Shane’s reach. He cupped Shane’s cheek, tipped his head back. Shane sucked his thumb into his mouth, eyes locked on Ilya’s face. On the tight jaw, the way his curls brushed his forehead when his brow furrowed. “Fuck,” Ilya groaned. “Look at you.” Shane hollowed his cheeks around the digit, sucking hard. Fingers tangled in his hair, jerking his head back just enough to steal his breath. “Do you want to be my slut tonight?” Ilya whispered, stroking Shane’s cock once, then twice, then letting it slap back against his stomach. “Forever,” Shane moaned. God, forever. “Want to be good for you. Let me be good for you.” “Open your mouth.”
- Part 1 of Stolen Moments
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,146
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76698621
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The Ford is a rusted-out red bucket, the tent is a mess of orange nylon, and the Norwegian woods are a lot steeper than they looked on the map. The wilderness doesn't care about NHL standings, and right now, it’s winning. For six years, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov have lived in the quiet of hotel rooms and the heat of the game. But here, far away from the cameras and the crowds, their guard is finally starting to drop. Between charred sausages, a ruined pair of sneakers, and a leaking tent, they are running out of ways to hide from the truth. As the summer ends, they have to decide if they are brave enough to stop being rivals and start being something else entirely. The morning is quiet. The grass is grey with dew as they pull out of the driveway, the air cool enough to make Shane shiver. He’d insisted on renting this red Ford—a rusted-out bucket that he called "the authentic experience"—and it coughs as Ilya hits the street. Ilya looks at the dashboard like it’s a personal insult. Shane knows he’s thinking about his Ferrari. Shane watches Ilya’s profile in the dim light. He listens to the engine’s uneven beat and almost hopes the car just stops. A stall would freeze the world right here. It would keep them trapped in the smell of old upholstery and cold air, holding the moment still before the real world starts calling them back. A bottle of bug spray rattles in the door, breaking the silence. Shane reaches out to steady it and glances at the mess in the back seat. Tents, sleeping bags, and groceries are piled to the roof. It’s a disaster, honestly. They leave the city behind, passing quiet streets where only a few windows are lit. Shane leans his head against the glass. For six years, this is all they’ve had: fast, desperate nights in hotel rooms in cities like Detroit or Columbus. Quick sex after games where they spent an hour trying to smash each other into the boards. Even then, Ilya always made a point of pinning Shane down. Shane can still feel it if he closes his eyes: the silver cross Ilya wears dangling cold against his skin, and the sound of Ilya’s ragged breath in his ear. He loves it—the feeling of being held there by someone who actually can. Shane smiles at his reflection. He definitely has a thing for being pinned down. Lately, though, it’s been different. The hotel rooms turned into tuna melts in Ilya’s Boston apartment and long nights on his massive sofa. And Shane, being Shane, freaked out. He remembers storming out of Ilya’s place, stammering some lie about an early practice while trying not to see the hurt in Ilya’s eyes. Maybe Ilya can feel him starting to spiral again, because he suddenly reaches across the gearbox and takes Shane’s hand. The shift happened so slowly Shane didn't even notice. Ilya Rozanov—the arrogant Russian superstar who can score fifty goals or bruise Shane’s hips with the same ease—has become something else. Shane doesn’t have a name for it yet. He just knows he somehow ended up asking Ilya to come to Norway. He blames the drugs they gave him in the hospital after his last concussion. They were good drugs. He still remembers Ilya visiting him in that white, sterile room, his large hand brushing Shane's cheek. It was the only thing that felt real. Now, though, he’s stone-cold sober and terrified. Coming out has never felt like an option. Not in their world. The locker room is still a place where "faggot" is a punchline and any sign of being "soft" is a target. Even with guys like Scott Hunter leading the way, the fear is still there, eating at him. Every time he thinks about the flight back, a knot tightens in his chest. The new season is waiting for them, and the questions won't stop looping: What if Ilya decides this is too much work? What if the distance and the risk aren't worth it? Or worse—what if he stays, and ends up in a grey interrogation room back home because he’s been "corrupted" by a Canadian? It sounds like a bad Cold War parody, but the fear is real. Shane is most definitely freaking out. Again. Ilya strokes the back of Shane’s hand with his thumb. He meets Shane’s gaze, and his eyes are uncharacteristically kind. Fuck. Maybe it will be easier in the woods, away from the slurs and the cameras. He hopes so. Because when this car eventually turns back toward the airport, summer is over. The world will expect them to be rivals again. Just the thought of it makes it hard to breathe. *** “We should’ve bought the one that expands,” Ilya says. “Like fucking Transformer.” He sounds just as pissed off as he does after a missed breakaway in the third period. They’re parked at the base of a trail that goes straight up the mountain. The plan was simple: pitch the tent, look like they know what they’re doing, and start hiking before lunch. Instead, it’s a total disaster. This tent—bought during a rush of "we’re going to be outdoorsmen" energy in Oslo—is more complicated than any play Shane has ever seen on a whiteboard. Shane leans against the rusted Ford and just watches him. He can’t help but smirk. Ilya Rozanov, who can deke out the world’s best defenders, is currently losing a fight to a pile of orange nylon. His hair is a mess, and he’s somehow managed to tangle a cord around his ankle like a trap. For a guy who spent the whole flight acting like a mountain was just another challenge to beat, Ilya looks exactly like what he is: a prince from Moscow who grew up in five-star hotels. He knows as much about the woods as Shane knows about Russian opera. In the NHL, someone else handles everything. Someone else books the flights, carries the bags, and makes sure the towels are warm. Out here, there’s no PR team to make their incompetence look like "grit." “The box said it’s a four-man tent,” Shane says, holding the manual. It’s written entirely in Norwegian. “Only if those four men are very small,” Ilya mutters, “and have no personal boundaries at all.” He gives the fabric a shove and looks up at the grey peaks and the endless trees. “Seriously, Hollander. You bring me to the edge of the world just to prove we are both idiots?” “I think we bought a garden ornament,” Ilya adds, kicking a pole. “Not a shelter.” “Maybe it’s a test,” Shane says. It’s the kind of empty encouragement he usually uses in the locker room when they’re down by three. “If we survive the tent, we might survive the trip.” That arrogant grin flickers across Ilya’s face—the one that’s way too charming to ignore. It makes it hard for Shane to keep his guard up.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,610
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76725426
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Shane, who has been in the process of unmasking his autism after his very late diagnosis post- retirement, comes across a fun new problem: verbal shutdowns in bed. Ilya helps him calm down and navigate newly discovered terrain.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,510
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76730191
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Ferrari's Shane Hollander and Red Bull's Ilya Rozanov are fated to be rivals. After a horrible crash between the two, Shane devises a plan for revenge. Except it doesn't goes as planned when he finds himself waking up in Ilya Rozanov's bed.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 11,898
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76274826
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“You know, we don’t have to have sex or whatever if you don’t want to.” Shane’s words stopped Ilya in his tracks. He leaned back slightly holding on to Shane’s neck. “You didn’t come for sex?” Shane laughed at Ilya’s sultry expression. “No, I mean yes. I did, obviously. I just—I understand if you don’t want to.” Ilya pulsated his hips upwards giving Shane a little bounce on his lap. “I want to.” —————— Ilya and Shane's reconciliation sex scene in Season One Episode Five- I'll Believe in Anything.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,080
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76636196
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Las Vegas 2.0 by WhoSpnLockAvengersx
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
Ilya and Shane were back in Las Vegas for a game, they talk about the “we didn’t even kiss” the last time they were here Basically I read Ilya’s pov on Rachel’s website and I wrote them talking about it and then it devolved from there
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,209
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76644981
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Hidden in Plain Sight by Ineffableoutpost
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
5 times Ilya teases and flirts with Shane in public without getting caught, and 1 time they do get caught.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 13,977
- Chapters:
- 6/6
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #74964736
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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
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A shameless smut ficlet. No thoughts, just vibes and Russian endearments.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,309
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76653261