Archive of Our Own

At nineteen years old Shane was accustomed to the spotlight that came from the years of heavy media attention as the expected heir to the Canadian hockey throne, but the exposure to the best from around the world was new. And Shane knew he would be facing the infamous Ilya Rozanov in the international prospect cup this year. He had searched and studied everything he could about the brooding Russian player, but he had never anticipated how the lingering looks on the ice would follow him into his dreams.

If there was one thing he needed, it was to get Rozanov alone, and see if there was more to their parting glance than meets the eye.

He approached the taller man outside the rink door, their hair still wet from the post game showers, freezing slightly in the crisp February air, as he approached the Russian.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, conscious of his voice dropping a bit. He could feel the man’s eyes rake over him, and felt his face flush despite the chill in the air.

“And?” came the response in a thick Russian accent. “Did you like what you saw?”

Shane gulped. Surely this feeling wasn’t just him. He took a step forward until they were eye to eye. “I’d like to see more.”

Ilya’s eyes widened, and Shane saw a moment of hesitation pass over his face before the two of them crashed together, lips meeting between gasps and moans. Shane found his back pressed against the brick wall and felt his knees going weak. Ilya was pressing into him now, and Shane could feel all seven inches of excitement pressed against his thigh.

This was a bad idea. But it was one that he didn’t think he had the will to stop.

Chapter 2

Shane Hollander moaned as the professional hockey player took him into his mouth, trying to quiet the voices in the back of his head telling him how wrong this was. He had had a few trysts with fellow players in the past. It was meaningless escapism at its best - a quick endorphin release. But ever since that game two months ago in Boston, or rather, the experiences the evening after the game in Boston, his mind was flooded with images of Ilya Rozanov on his knees before him.

Which was ridiculous, because they were rivals. They barely even spoke, except the occasional disdainful chirp on the ice. How they had ended up tumbling into bed after bumping into each other at a local club was anyone's guess, but they hadn't exchanged numbers, and hadn't played since.

That night lived on in Hollander's dreams though. And while Scott Hunter was hot, and extremely talented with his tongue, Shane was fighting every instinct to just call it quits. Because nothing had lived up to that one clandestine night with Ilya.

Scott reached out, his hands brushing along his thighs, taking all of him in and Shane gave in to the moment and the pressure, closing his eyes, imagining it was Ilya there before him. Imagining the spark that burned so closely between heat and hate, between lust and disgust. His eyes closed tight, and he was transported until he felt that spark rise within his belly, until without warning he erupted, barely holding back as he almost cried out Ilya's name.

Shame roiled through him as he saw Scott's greedy eyes looking up at him, pupils blown out. Shane made quick work of returning the favor, but his heart wasn't in it. Luckily Scott had a hair trigger, and before long they were parting ways. The physical release over, but the the emotions of the evening still pent up inside him.

Hayden rolled onto his side, looking at the bed across the room from him where his teammate and captain slept, letting out small snores that pierced his heart. No one could know how he felt, but deep inside he was grateful that Montreal had inexplicably not moved to individual rooms for the players because he lived for the moments when he could be alone in the room with Shane.

He knew by now that he was in love. But he didn't know how to tell Shane. Perhaps in another lifetime he could have approached this differently, but for now he would take what he could get, even if it was just stolen moments in the dark. He knew Shane was asleep by now, and reached under the covers, his hand slipping below his waistband, and grasped himself, not even surprised by how hard he was just at the thought of sleeping in the same room as Shane once again.

He would need to stop this eventually, but for now he made quick work of his situation, gasping quietly in the dark, his sighs melting in with the snores from the bed across the room.

Maybe next time he would have the courage to say something.

Notes:
I saw an article with Hollander shopping with Rose Landry and it gave me this wonderful idea. No hate Shane and Rose truthers, but I just don't believe it. You know I think Shane and Ilya are end game. Eventually hate crosses over to love. Anyway, enjoy.

Shane followed Rose into the bedroom, determined that this time would be better. He tried to ignore that ache in his heart that knew that there was only one person for him. The one person he couldn't have.

There was no doubt that Rose was beautiful - and he had always been a fan - but he had only just begun to realize that being a fan was not the same thing as wanting to date. Her soft arms wrapped around him, but he already knew that it wasn't going to happen tonight, just like most nights they were together. He felt dejected at the lack of his bodies response, and instead kissed her and worked to make her feel good, but he knew this would never rank among the most satisfying of experiences for her either.

After they finished she offered to let him stay, but he excused himself. Early flight the next day, or something, and headed back to his hotel. His phone pinged, and he saw a google notification that he had set up for interviews and press. Comfortable in his hotel bed, he allowed the interview to play out on the screen, watching Ilya's flushed face and sweat soaked curls as he gave a post game interview and Shane's traitorous body now responded in a way it hadn't the entire evening.