41 – 60 of 74 Works in Porn With Plot
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Before Shane loses his nerve, he goes to give the water back to Rozanov. This time, when Rozanov intentionally puts his fingers over Shane's own, his senses come alive. It heats him up from the inside. This overwhelming urge to touch, to kiss, to be touched. He wanted Rozanov to touch him. Or: the one where Shane is tired of being boring.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,455
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77466631
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“I can have anything?” he asks. And Shane, in his wisdom, hesitates, but only for a second. He strokes Ilya’s cheek, palm scratching against the stubble there, and says, “If it’s something within my ability, yes.” “Okay.” Ilya puts his chin on Shane’s chest. “It is an easy wish. I want to fuck you in my car.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 13,108
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77499776
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all I can breathe is your life by tangledsynapse
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-10
“Shane takes a deep breath and flexes his fingers in the fabric of the hoodie as he tries to find the words, tries to be brave to ask for what he wants. He’s pretty sure Ilya would try to give him the world, would give him the last breath out of his lungs if he asked. And honestly? He’s not sure whether that makes this any easier. He’s used to struggling in silence—they both are—and he’s had to learn how to ask, how to make his wants and needs known. And, today, what Shane wants is to be taken out of his head for a little bit.” Shane’s been having a stressful season. Ilya knows just how to get Shane feeling better.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,167
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77458601
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I'm in Love with a Criminal by loutos
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-09
Officer Shane Hollander was a very proud worker. He did a lot for the Ottawa Police Service. There was only one thing he couldn't do. He couldn't catch notorious Russian's mafia boss Ilya Rozanov. It was worse. Shane Hollander was in love with that stupid man.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,535
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77352581
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Drastic Measures (go back to standing in the corner, Hollander) by JulianHartley
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-07
“What are you doing?” Hollander asks, even though he is well aware that he has caused an avalanche. “I'm going to show you what can happen to boys like you when they forget their underwear.” OR: Shane comes home drunk and says he was at a bar with a man who repeatedly hit on him. Ilya resorts to drastic measures. It is a late December evening. It is already completely dark outside, and the snow-covered road leading to the cottage seems to disappear into the darkness, unlit by any of the motion- activated lamps. The temperature outside has dropped by a good dozen degrees compared to what it felt like in the morning, and Ilya feel that his home is not any warmer. He is terribly cold, his numb hands are shaking uncontrollably, and his legs, wrapped in a blanket, seem to be shaking as he nervously looks out the window. For a Russian, he does not tolerate the Canadian winter very well and has already fallen ill in the second week, which has ruled him out of training and matches until he finishes his course of antibiotics. This is hopeless, because he feels fine, is not contagious, has not had a fever for several days, and yet he will have to stay at home for another four days. He tried to calm his nerves in various ways: he prepared lunch boxes for Shane, watched a replay of the match, played a silly game about hockey, on the cover of which he once accidentally found himself, tried to finish reading a book, but it didn't help. He was still distracted and, above all, terrified. It's almost midnight, Shane finished playing the home game, which he lost about four hours ago, but he still hasn't come back. Ilya had sent several threatening text messages and even more messages saying, where the fuck are you, hollander, finally ending with a desperate sweetheart, im worried, and had called dozens of times, but Shane still wasn't answering. Ilya wasn't the type of boyfriend to panic and call as soon as his beloved was late. He probably wouldn't have considered the delay to be anything terrible, had it not been for the events of the past: that nightmarish night when he found his mother, that one terrible match during which he stood paralysed on the ice, watching as the semi-conscious Hollander was carried away on a stretcher. In addition, Shane was never the party type who would go to a bar after a match, whether they won or lost. He only celebrated big wins, usually for an hour or two, sipping ginger ale, already planning his escape to his quiet home in the back of his mind. Ilya tries to rationalise that there was no accident during the match and that the situation with Irina Rozanov is not something that could happen again with Shane. At least, that is what he hopes. Despite everything, the fear remains, and that voice is louder than the rational part of Rozanov's mind. He could have had a car accident on the ice- and snow-covered streets. The man is about to call Yuna, or even the police, when the door opens and a flushed, laughing Shane bursts through the door. His cheeks are red from the cold, and his eyes are shining with joy, and although the weight lifts from Ilya's heart, he immediately notices that Shane is drunk as a skunk. "Ilyaaaa!" he shouts from the doorway, throwing himself into his arms. "I missed you!" The man returns the hug and all the fervent kisses that Shane begins to shower him with after a moment, but he knows that in the situation they find themselves in, he has to talk to the man. "You've been drinking." Ilya states rather than asks, looking at his red cheeks and glassy eyes, his distracted smile and exposed neck. "It's fucking December, where's your scarf?" Shane's enthusiasm wanes a little when he sees Ilya's reaction. "Are you angry?" he asks, lowering his head like a scolded child. "I'm angry that you didn't text me to say you'd be late. I was worried," he says, letting Shane hug him again, while trying to warm his numb hands and shoulders. "I swear, I was only at the bar with Wilson for a moment, I didn't drink much, you didn't need to worry," Shane assures him, as if alcohol was the cause of Ilya's concern. And although Rozanov had been more worried than angry until now, the name hit him like a slap in the face. The man had repeatedly tried to flirt with Shane, indiscreetly suggesting a meeting at his place, ignoring Ilya's existence, and once brazenly tried to kiss Shane in Ilya's presence, so, well, the man had a right to feel jealous. "With who, excuse me?" Ilya asks angrily. "With Wilson, you know, the hockey player from..." "I know who Wilson is. Did it ever occur to you for a single fucking second that he was trying to get you drunk in the hope that you would become easy?" Shane is still standing between the hallway and the sofa, his eyes wide open, now bewildered by the man's anger. He can't remember the last time, if ever, Ilya was so jealous and angry during their relationship.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,193
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77257941
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Shane had always known how much Ilya liked to fuss over him at the tiniest of inconveniences. He might be an asshole about it, he might tease more than help, but he always tried to make the best of it when Shane was hurt even the tiniest bit. His concerned husband always tried to make everything better like the secret teddy bear he was (Shane would never say that out loud). OR 3 times Ilya took care of Shane’s bruises and 1 time he caused them
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,282
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77206626
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Ilya knots Shane’s mouth. It’s unbearably intimate. Also, Shane’s heat is approaching, and Ilya’s softest, comfiest clothes have gone missing. Shane doesn’t nest, but he may have built a large, incredibly comforting pseudo-nest in his bed. Made entirely of Ilya’s clothes. Ilya🤍: How is throat feeling today? 😈 Shane: 🖕
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,647
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77188781
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Shane Hollander finally gets the perfect job at Rozanov Enterprises as a personal assistant. What he didn’t account for, is becoming his boss’s—-Ilya Rozanov—-prey.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 26,387
- Chapters:
- 13/13
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75906381
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matter of fact, i caught you lookin' back by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-05
“No,” he says, smiling gently, like he doesn't know how irritating he's being. “Is my room first, da? You should speak with front desk.”
Hollander stares at him.
And then he starts to laugh.
“You ask the front desk,” he shoots back, in between his odd wheezes. Ilya's heart starts to pound in double time, because this is not—this cannot be Shane Hollander playing bed chicken with him. Their competitiveness is fierce, to be certain, but surely, Hollander would be the bigger person, no? “This is my fucking room, Rozanov. Wild horses couldn't drag me away.”
OR: Ilya's apartment is under construction. Shane's in town for a game. It'd be a shame if they somehow had the same hotel room.
[or, or: we need some more goddamn 'there was only one bed' out here.]
- Part 9 of heated rivalry masterlist
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 19,326
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 3 versions
- AO3:
- #76941361
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Schastlivogo Rozhdestva by SophieGray
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-04
Since rookie season, Shane had spent December 23rd flying home to Ottawa to be with his parents. He had been looking forward to the one weekend of the year when he could indulge on all the Christmas cookies he wanted. However, the East Coast weather, ever fickle, seemed to have other plans. Somewhere in the background, an announcement declared that everyone should check their emails to rebook flights. But in the forefront of Shane’s mind was a penthouse in Brookline, a boisterous Russian who had just beat him in a last-second goal attempt, and the present in his bag that Shane hadn’t had a chance to give him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,239
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77039696
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Ilya’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you hurt?” He asked, halfway across the kitchen already. Shane shook his head, getting up and away from Ilya before he could touch him. “I’m fine, just overstretched yesterday.” It was a big fat lie, and both of them knew it. Ilya, obviously, caught on to it. “You don’t overstretch.” He was following Shane to the fridge. The panic inside of Shane rose until his whole body felt like a live wire. New tactic. Think. Think. Think… “It was a new yoga position,” he blurted out. He knew how much Ilya liked to watch him do yoga, that would most likely distract him enough for Shane to leave. He had a plan, damn it. OR Shane gets a tattoo and doesn't want to show Ilya (yet).
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,394
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76997416
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A strong arm caught him easily, guiding him back against the shelves. The force was inhuman but controlled and gentle. The vampire leaned in, close enough that Shane could feel the chill radiating from him. “I did not come here to frighten you,” he said softly, forehead nearly brushing Shane’s. “I came to ask you on a date.” The library had settled into its late-hour stillness. Most of the overhead lights had been extinguished, leaving only a handful of brass-shaded lamps burning overhead, their yellow glow casting long shadows across the reading tables and towering shelves. Dust hung faintly in the air, visible when Shane shifted beneath the light. The place smelled of old paper, leather bindings, and furniture polish. Shane sat alone at one of the long oak tables, collar loosened, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He scratched absently at the back of his neck as his eyes dragged over the same line of text for what felt like the hundredth time. The words refused to stick. His head throbbed faintly, and the wire frames of his spectacles pinched at his temples. The clock mounted high on the wall ticked loudly in the quiet. He let out a muted groan and dropped his forehead against the tabletop, careful not to knock his books over. “Now then,” came a voice from the aisle, firm but not unkind. “You know better than that, young man. No sleeping in the reading room.” Shane lifted his head and found the librarian approaching, a stern woman in sensible shoes pushing a cart stacked neatly with returned volumes. Her hair was pinned tight at the nape of her neck, her eyes sharp behind round lenses. “Sorry, ma’am,” Shane murmured, rubbing his face with both hands. There was no arguing it. He snapped his book shut, slid it into his satchel along with his notes, and cinched the strap tight. His studies could wait until morning. Tonight, his mind was finished. He shrugged into his dusty brown leather jacket, smoothing it down out of habit, then slung the satchel over his shoulder and made his way toward the heavy front doors. Outside, the cold greeted him sharply. Winter had settled in earnest, the air biting and dry as it rushed over his face. His nose stung immediately, cheeks flushing red as he exhaled into his cupped hands. The street was quiet, save for the distant hum of an automobile somewhere far off. He lingered beneath the stone archway, shifting on his feet to keep warm, before stepping out onto the path. A cloud of smoke drifted across his vision. He coughed softly and turned his head, squinting into the gloom. For a moment, he thought it was just shadow pooled against the building. Then he saw the ember. A bright orange glow flared briefly, illuminating a cigarette between pale fingers. Shane blinked and did a double take, turning fully now as the rest of the figure resolved itself under the lamplight. The man stood half-hidden near the wall, tall and broad-shouldered, coat collar turned up against the cold. Curly, light-colored hair fell loosely across his forehead. Even in the dim light, his skin appeared unnaturally pale. Shane felt suddenly aware of himself. Of the emptiness of the street. Of the late hour. The man was…handsome. A shiver ran down Shane’s spine. He gestured awkwardly toward the cigarette. “I don’t think you’re meant to smoke here,” he said, voice hesitant despite knowing full well he was right. “Oh?” The reply was smooth, accented, foreign in a way that made Shane’s shoulders tense. “There’s a notice,” Shane added, pointing toward the sign affixed near the entrance. He nodded once, lips pressed thin, and quickly walked off without waiting for a response. The following night arrived without ceremony. Shane found himself once again leaving the library late, satchel heavier this time with completed work. The path ahead was lit by tall streetlamps, their bulbs flickering softly as he walked beneath them. The cold crept through his coat, sharp and persistent. But it wasn’t the cold that made him uneasy. It was the feeling. That unmistakable prickle along his spine, the sense of being watched. Of footsteps that weren’t quite there. He told himself it was foolish, just nerves and imagination, but he didn’t turn around. Then a voice spoke from behind him. “Are you going to ignore me forever?" The words were smooth, carrying a thick Russian drawl that slid down his spine like ice. The sound of it echoed faintly in the open street. Shane yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin as he spun around, bag slipping off his shoulder. “What the fuck—?!” he shouted.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,944
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76932081
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Shane and Ilya attends a Japanese wedding ceremony. Ilya wears a traditional kimono. Shane proceeds to froth at the mouth.
- Part 2 of
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,425
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76937416
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Ilya is fairly certain that you don’t accidentally walk in on your roommate half naked this often. Shane, for his part, seems completely uninterested in correcting that assumption. The semester has only just started and Rozanov has lost count of how many times hes walked in on Hollander getting dressed in their dorm room. Its becoming a bit of a problem. "Stop making this habit, Hollander," he groans and raises his hand to his eyes. But he allows himself a small gap between his fingers to get a look without his roommate noticing. Across the room, Hollander stands in a white towel and is frantically pushing clothes around on his bed to presumably find something to wear. He shifts and leans awkwardly, his towel opening to reveal a long stretch of muscled leg and the curve of Hollanders ass. "I swear, Im not," he says defensively. "You just have terrible timing." "Change in washroom. Like others," Rozanov mumbles. And he peeks again despite himself but immediately regrets it and snaps his fingers closed when he catches a quick glimpse of the dark hair between Hollander's thighs and the length of his soft cock. Feeling like being an asshole, and also maybe hoping to see more, Rozanov drops his hand and gives Hollander a once over. Hes blushing now and piling a shirt and pair of trousers into his arms. "You could just knock, like a normal person." "Is my room too, Hollander," he says, temper rising at the notion. "I know that, but still. Ease up, eh?" "Easel up, eh?" Rozanov mocks his accent back and makes his way over to his side of the room. Hollander just huffs and with a final survey of his bed, he finds a white pair of socks and makes a beeline for their shared washroom. "I'm going to get dressed in the washroom, now." “Good job, Hollander,” Rozanov calls after him. “Here is gold star for you.” When the sound of water starts in the bathroom, probably Hollander brushing his teeth or shaving his non existent facial hair, Ilya takes off his own hoodie. His fingers dig into the dark green material and he pulls it over his head and tosses it down onto the floor beside his bed. Next he tugs off his shirt, a simple t-shirt, white and featuring a Canadian band he liked as a kid, Billy Talent. Something he listened to a lot on his walkman, enjoying the way the English rolled around in his mind. He rubs his rough hands down the center of his torso, up and down the planes of skin and then he thinks... Maybe, perhaps, Hollander could do with a taste of his own medicine. Rozanov would be lying if he claimed he hadn’t imagined it before. Hollander flustered and pink, probably caught off guard. Hollander looking at him like that. The sight of him in a towel alone is enough to wind something tight and aching in Rozanov’s gut. If Hollander pushed--if he teased-- Preferably beneath him. The bathroom door opens. Hollander steps back into the room, fully dressed now, hair neatly combed. He stops short when he sees Rozanov shirtless on his bed. “Why are you undressed?” Hollander asks. “You just gave me shit about that. Like, two minutes ago.” He smells like mint and coconut and Rozanov hates that he knows that. Rozanov pulls his hand from his abdomen which has by now trailed far lower than he intended, "Is nothing. Leave me alone, Hollander." Brown eyes fall to where Ilyas hips sit in his jeans and he catches onto Hollanders eyes to let him know hes been caught. "Okay," is all he says, and settles into his bed. The next evening, Rozanov waits in their room. He knows that Hollander is supposed to be back from an extra hockey practise shortly. And he also knows that he'll be filled with adrenaline, his hair and skin damp with sweat. Thinking about it has him half hard in his trousers already. Eagerly, he shimmies out of them until theyre pooled around his ankles and he unbuttons his shirt with trembling fingers. The shirt finds its way to the floor. In only his white boxers and socks, he sits up on the edge of his bed. From his nightstand, he takes out a magazine he keeps burried under a pile of nonsense school work.
- Part 7 of heated rivalry: explicit collection
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,589
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76965581
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Once outside, he leaned forward and put his hand against the cold stone wall. His phone was still to his ear, the message still recording. “Ilya. Please. Please. I can’t do this. I don’t know what to do. Please. You can’t be dead.” His voice broke on the word. “I love you. I love you so much. More than anything. I need to hear your voice. I need you to…I need you…I need you…fuck. Please Ilya, please.” Shane took the phone away from his ear and held it between both hands as though he were praying. He realized he was on the floor and didn’t know how he got there. He was crying. He was fairly certain he was hyperventilating. His brain was desperately trying to grab at anything. Any thread of logic. Any idea of what to do next. I have to see him. Yes. That made sense. Shane needed to get to Tampa. Now. He would go there. He would find Ilya. Ilya would be fine. They would be together. He would see him. Tell him how much he loved him. He had to go. He had to go now. *** OR: What if Ilya lost his phone during the emergency landing, Shane couldn't reach him, he panicked, and chartered a plane to Tampa to find him instead...
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 12,838
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76841241
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“Well,” Ilya said eventually, voice low and thoughtful. “Your mother did not murder me. I think this is success.” Shane huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. “High bar.” -or- Shane’s coming-out goes wrong but he and Ilya survive. Later, they argue over who fell in love first. Spoiler: things get a little heated.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,785
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76819051
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cause that's the love that i attract by REDRAGEOUSED
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-31
It’s maple-something. Sugar, shaped like leaves and it makes him smile a little. Shane would hate it, tease him about his lack of a “performance diet” like that means anything, and he would lick the taste off of Ilya's lips, which really, is all that’s needed to cement the fact that he needs this candy. It is also so painfully Canadian. Russia at least does bear. They are cooler, objectively. Maple leaves are boring. 5+1 where Ilya rather likes Canadian gas stations. Shane only likes the coffee.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,576
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76784911
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Shane Hollander is gay and at this point the whole world knows this – his husband most of all. This fact was confirmed millenia ago… and yet, the mere mention of that woman causes indescribable jealousy to flare up inside Ilya Rozanov. It literally has nothing to do with Rose Landry, she is a great friend to Shane and, at this point, she is a great friend to him as well. He loves her as much as Shane loves her. Why then is the green-eyed monster ever present when they joke about their past relationship? Perhaps he needs to discuss his jealousy issues and possessiveness with his therapist… or he could simply remind his husband who he belongs to. Ilya prefers the latter, especially when he has things to prove wrong.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,685
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76701576
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Rozanov was fucking him carelessly, roughly and with both hands gripping his pelvis. Shane tried his best to meet the movements, take each burning sensation washing over him but it was too much and too little, leaving him whining hopelessly. ”Shut up, pet. I’m watching the game”, Rozanov groaned and Shane felt the palm pressing the back of his head. He couldn’t see the tv, what was happening there but was nearly euphoric under the dominant touch. Or: Shane had nothing in common with the hockey player, he just drifted there, under him
- Part 1 of hollanov x anger
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,607
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76730216
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Russian Science Wins by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-24
“Russians don’t blush, starshine.”
“And guys don’t squirt, Ilya.”
A snowboarding trip turns into a filthy, intimate challenge when Ilya decides to prove a point—repeatedly—in the most overwhelming ways possible.
- Part 4 of Cross-Checked & Kissed (smut oneshots)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 9,027
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #75355001
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