Mira_sol_49



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    “Just-” Ilya starts, intending to tease, the offer of a massage more about getting Hollander back in a more relaxed headspace than anything else, but then the wire-tight tension in the muscles under his fingers registers, and he frowns, pressing testingly before making a noise of disapproval. “Fuck, Hollander, you are secretly doing crime or what?”

    “What?” Hollander asks, confused, starting to lift his head before Ilya pushes it back down absently, focused now on feeling out the knots Hollander seems to be completely made of. He’s felt tension in Hollander’s shoulders before, usually during coaxing little squeezes while coaching him through learning how to deep throat, but he’s always written it off as nerves from learning something new.

    Now he wonders if Hollander is just nerves, period.

    (the "ilya massages shane" fic inspired by hudson saying that playing shane made him sore because he was so tense all the time)

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    07 Jul 2026

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    Finally, something dawns on him, a way to handle two goals simultaneously. He’d seen Hollander’s mother flipping through papers rapidly when they first got here, seeming calm and in control and more than a little frightening in a way that made Ilya mildly glad he wasn’t one of the people responsible for a clipboard. If anyone can tell him if the long list of “Prohibited Items” he’d been sent in his email a few days ago is just standard practice for big shoots, it would be Yuna Hollander.

    Or, hopefully, her son.

    “Crazy we cannot even have peanut butter, eh?” He asks. “You also got giant list?”

    Hollander stiffens, almost imperceptibly, and Ilya tilts his head, just slightly, confused, wondering if he’s stumbled somewhere unexpected.

    (how ilya learns about shane's allergies) (and shane's sexual awakening tragically hits a speedbump in the process 😔)

    (chapters can standalone but will be updated as inspiration strikes)

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    06 Jul 2026

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    It’s strange. He went down hard, but nothing hurts. That might be very bad, if he can’t feel anything at all. But it’s not that. He can feel things, but they just don’t feel right. Maybe they already have him up on the stretcher, because he’s lying on something soft, not the cold ice he’d crumpled onto when he fell. He’s never felt a stretcher quite like this before, though.

    “Ilya!”

    There it is again. But now it’s louder. Almost unmistakably Shane.

    Blinking against sunlight, Ilya opens his eyes, and stares up at the brilliant blue sky.

    --

    After a bad hit during a game in 2016, Ilya wakes up at Shane Hollander's cottage in 2023. Finding out he has a dog, plays for Ottawa, and is married to Shane in quick succession, confronting the existence of time travel becomes the least of his worries.

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    25 Jun 2026

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    He slowly disentangles himself from Ilya’s grip, never being more thankful that his husband’s the world’s heaviest sleeper. His fingers tingle as he sits up, feeling as though he’d slept on his hands all night. He pads slowly over to the bathroom, raising a shaking hand to close the door gently, wincing as it makes contact with the door frame. The bathroom isn’t large, but he instinctively heads for the corner furthest away from the door, jamming himself between the bath and the wall, pressing his spine as far into the corner as he can as his breaths begin to cycle quicker.

    Shane has a panic attack in the middle of the night. Ilya loves him through it.

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    21 Jun 2026

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    At first, he thinks he’s hallucinating Rozanov. The lethal half-cut of his gaze, the open collar of his shirt, the span of his hands moving up someone else’s waist. Shane’s always been a glutton for punishment.

    But he blinks, or the lights keep blinking for him, won't fucking quit, and Rozanov is still there. Looking. An anchor. Shane stares back, can’t make himself stop.

    The glass he’s holding slips out of his hand and shatters as he jolts forward. He's drowning in this sea of people but he thinks, maybe, Ilya is the only one that manages to hear.

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    12 Jun 2026