1 – 6 of 6 Works in devoted first husbands of hockey

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  1. It makes sense that he's been ensnared by the perfection of the Hollander-Rozanov's. They're a dream both on and off the ice; of course, it's completely, unfortunately, understandable that he's always sort of losing his mind around them, and having brief moments of insanity where instead of listening to them talk, he's besieged by imagining them ruining his life.

    It's just one of those things he slowly has to work through; figuring out how to manage the seething heat of arousal, the glittering hunger that sits in his chest, the sly looks he would, and probably will still, steal, all under the banner of drawing inspiration, if anyone were to ask.

    Which, thank god, no one has.

    OR: Luca knows that this secret of his is going to be his downfall. One day he's going to call Ilya Rozanov Daddy, and he's never going to be the same.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    12,036
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Files:
    1
    AO3:
    #92948231
  2. Shane's mouth is hot and wet against Ilya’s throat, as Ilya catches sight of the Metros spilling into their VIP section, the Friday evening after their first week of Montreal’s hockey camp, his teeth a dull, warm pressure, one hand curled across the nape of his neck, his fingers sunk into Ilya's curls.

    Ilya, because at his heart he's an absolute bastard, smirks as soon as Pike clocks the two of them, watching a bevy of emotions spike across his face before they dissolve into something a little more resigned, a little bit hungry.

    OR: Shane gets to be a slut in public, snap at the Comeau, and get lovingly fucked out of his mind. Ilya's pretty sure it's one of the best night they've ever had.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    7,022
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Files:
    1
    AO3:
    #92659231
  3. “The thing is,” Ilya says, conversationally, as if he doesn't have fucking Shane Hollander grinding into his touch, as if he doesn't have a hand on his—Luca's sure of it—perfect fucking cock, “you have not been subtle, Haasy.”

    It takes Luca a moment to understand just what the hell Ilya's talking about, before he moans, low in his throat, humiliation sweeping across his body. It's not that he thought he had been actually subtle, but he hadn't expected this, of all places, to be where they confronted him. Not with Ilya's hand worming its way into Shane's pants, the soft blue of his briefs a flash color amongst the pale glow of his skin and the dark drape of his clothes.

    OR: The Cens have won the Stanley Cup. Luca's been voted Hollanov's MVP.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    17,614
    Chapters:
    2/2
    Files:
    1
    AO3:
    #82400621
  4. Ilya grins, a slow, filthy unraveling of lust spilling across his face. “Moya shlyukha, I would not be able to keep my hands off of you,” he rasps, palming his dick, grinning at the faint squelch, the wet drag of his fingers. Shane bucks into his hand, his jaw dropping open, slack with need. Ilya's whole heart aches as he watches his husband sink into pleasure, hitching whimpers escaping from his throat. “You would be the star of the room, no? Every eye would be on you, thorns in their heart for all they cannot have.”

    “You do,” Shane reminds him, as if it's needed, as if Ilya cannot feel it in each clench of his thighs, each wandering drag of his fingers, in the way his hips roll across Ilya's, involuntary, strangled whines rising from his mouth. “You always have.”

    OR: Sometimes, simply being married to Shane isn't enough. Sometimes, Ilya wants him in ways he can't explain; caught and collared and safe beneath his hand.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    8,634
    Chapters:
    1/2
    Files:
    1
    AO3:
    #80656701
  5. Shane doesn't even have to look up to know that Ilya is grinning, a feral, vicious thing as he knots his fingers in Shane's hair and tugs, just hard enough for Shane to let out a whine. The dull ache reverberates down his nerves, as he opens his mouth and pants, sucking down lungful after lungful of Ilya's sweat and musk, salt straight from his skin as he noses at the hem of his shirt.

    “Is good, we won,” Ilya murmurs, stroking his hand through Shane's hair. “Have been wanting to show—have been wanting to give prize.” He pauses, and Shane knows his next words are going to be a cruel gift, a dagger of lust straight between his ribs. “And Hollander has been eager to show off, yes? Three goals,”—he whistles, low and mocking as Shane shifts at his feet, his ears burning as Ilya cups the back of his head, scratching blunt nails over his scalp—“is like he needed to prove how bad he wants.”

    OR: Ottawa wins the Stanley Cup. Everyone gets a reward.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    7,147
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Files:
    1
    AO3:
    #75447656
  6. Ilya, golden-haired and laughing on the ice. Ilya, his eyes glinting with smoldering, amorous desire. Ilya, fast asleep, curled up next to him, his mouth open, drooling on the pillow. Even when they fight, Shane will occasionally have to bite back that knee-jerk reaction of want, that sharp pang of need that rises when Ilya gets so annoyed he slips into Russian, when he throws his head back, his curls rustling, and gestures at Shane like, can you believe this shit? Shane doesn't think he'll ever get tired of looking at him, of soaking him in. What a relief it is to be able to. OR: Shane & Ilya are deeply, desperately in love.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    4,325
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Files:
    2 versions
    AO3:
    #75505531