Some parts of Sabrina Carpenter’s Sharpest Tool reminded me of how Shane and Ilya can’t communicate well with each other about anything they’re feeling.
We know that they clearly aren’t just fucking eachother anymore but they both veer in different directions and say things that can be misleading/misunderstood easily especially within the framework of - we aren’t supposed to catch feelings - we’re “nothing”. They’re both second guessing the context of their “relationship” and it’s years of lying to themselves and each other about what they have between them. It’s years of knowing it’s not casual, but feeling like an idiot for wanting/expecting more.
It’s of Shane’s perspective of when Ilya pulls back and leaves him hanging without a word, because Ilya IS confused and it clearly upsets Shane. Ilya keeps giving mixed signals whether they’re moving forward or taking steps backwards. He invites Shane to stay, cuddles, cooks, and gives him his favourite ginger ale. Ilya then talks about the girls he likes/has available to him and how he doesn’t really like Shane’s “boring” personality; but he does love to fuck him.
Shane clearly wants to comfort him after the phone call with his Dad and he does it through sex because “they don’t talk about it” and when Ilya calls him Shane, he realizes it’s not casual. It’s explicitly no longer casual for either of them after he says Ilya’s name and with all the mixed signals he’s stuck panicking (as an already anxious guy, it’s kinda understandable). But, they never talk about it and it goes back to silence that suffocates them and traps the other at the forefront of their mind, no matter how hard they try to think of other things or people.
the scene of them saying i love you for the first time to each other☹️ the way ilya whispers it over and over again in russian and then finally says it in english while teary eyed . ohmygoddd sedate me.
could i perhaps ask for more of your take on hollanov? your two posts kept making me want to rewatch the newest ep 🙏
aaaa i'm so glad you liked them 💖 yes you may... i am nervous but i wanted to do this so for you i tried writing them for the first time... i hope you enjoy 🫶 kinda nsfw it's not about sex tho just a silly little scene that happens to take place while they are trying to fuck :P
-
“You are such a fucking asshole.”
They were the last words Shane spoke before Ilya pushed on his shoulders and flattened him against the mattress. Shane’s legs opened without a conscious thought in his mind, sweatpants pulling at his thighs as he laced his fingers around Ilya’s neck and dragged him down into a kiss.
Ilya’s hands grasped Shane’s ribs for a brief second before he glided his palms up Shane’s stomach and squeezed his chest, his tongue savoring every centimeter of Shane’s mouth. He broke their kiss just long enough to pull Shane’s shirt over his head and toss it on the floor, then dove back in twice as passionately as before.
It wasn’t long at all before Ilya’s hands snaked back downward, before Shane’s pants were discarded wherever Ilya had thrown his shirt. In the back of Shane’s mind, he had the feeling like he should be mad, upset that they’d lost and that Ilya had taunted him for it. In the forefront of his mind, all he wanted was for Ilya to pin him down and taunt him again.
“Fuck, Rozanov,” Shane breathed a few minutes later, mouth right beside Ilya’s ear. Ilya pushed his slick fingers deeper into Shane’s ass, his lips busy sucking the living hell out of Shane’s shoulder. The waistband of his sweatpants tickled Shane’s thighs as he moved, reminding him that there was still another prize to get to. “Rozanov, please—”
He was half a second from asking Ilya to fuck him when a knock on the door of the hotel room stopped them both. At least for a second. Shane was still stiff when Ilya rolled his eyes and bit down lightly on at the crook of his neck, fingers carefully curling toward his prostate. Before Shane could enjoy it, a second knock pounded on the door.
Shane breathed heavily, a light gasp falling from his lips when he asked, “Are you gonna answer that?”
“Nope,” was all Ilya said before he pressed down on Shane’s prostate and licked up to his ear to make a point.
If he didn’t have such an intense fear of being caught, Shane might have found Ilya’s refusal to be hot. And he did, to some degree, but mostly it was just a tightness in his chest that hurt more and more when the knocking didn’t fucking stop. After a few more seconds and the declaration from the knocker that they “knew he was in there,” Ilya muttered something in Russian—a curse, based on context from where Shane had heard it before—and stood up.
Ilya grabbed a t-shirt off the dresser (Had he taken that off before Shane got there?) and pulled it over his head, tugging it down as far as it would go to hide what his sweatpants couldn’t alone. He gestured to Shane in a way that wasn’t entirely clear and, not sure what to do, Shane made himself flat, dragged a spare blanket over himself, and pulled it up to his nose. His cock was still stupidly hard but with the way his knees were bent, it looked like just a crease in the fabric.
“What?” asked Ilya when he cracked the door, not one shred of patience in his tone. He only opened it as wide as the chain lock would allow, his body blocking the direction of Shane.
“Damn, dude, thought you died in there!” Shane couldn’t discern from the distance who was speaking but given the Boston accent, it was definitely someone from Ilya’s team. “Coach wants to talk to you, get an update on your ankle.”
Ilya glanced down at the ankle in question. “It is fine.”
“You sure? Looked like you twisted it pretty—”
“See how I am standing on it?” Shane stuck his first knuckle between his lips to stifle his soft laughter, unable to contain himself at how utterly done Ilya looked with the brief interaction. “That means is fine.”
Apparently, Shane’s attempt to muffle himself wasn’t good enough because the next words out of the other guy’s mouth were, “Dude, are you alone?”
“Yes. Obviously. Goodnight.”
Ilya slammed the door so fast when his teammate tried to peek in that Shane worried the guy might have gotten his nose pinched off. The second Ilya turned around, Shane lost it. A grin took over his face as he shook his head, the absurdity of their predicament hitting him fast.
The tiniest semblance of a smile tugged at the edge of Ilya’s lips as he pulled his shirt back over his head and walked back toward Shane. “What are you laughing at? And why are you covered up?”
“Because I didn’t think you wanted anyone to see you had a naked man in your bed,” said Shane without skipping a beat.
“Eh.” Ilya shrugged. “I did not undress you for you to hide. Blanket off.”
Shane flipped the blanket off himself, revealing everything Ilya had left behind. Within seconds, Ilya was back between his legs, tongue plunging into Shane’s mouth, fingers reaching for wherever he’d left the bottle of lube earlier. Shane’s hands wandered to Ilya’s waistband, gently tugging at the fabric, only to be stopped by Ilya’s hands landing on his.
“Not yet,” mumbled Ilya, pushing Shane’s hands back before he slicked his hand with the lube. He kissed his lips again, nose pressed against Shane’s as he breathed, “I wasn’t done playing with you.”
And, no matter how badly he wanted to, Shane couldn’t argue when Ilya’s hand was between his thighs.
Some parts of Sabrina Carpenter’s Sharpest Tool reminded me of how Shane and Ilya can’t communicate well with each other about anything they’re feeling.
We know that they clearly aren’t just fucking eachother anymore but they both veer in different directions and say things that can be misleading/misunderstood easily especially within the framework of - we aren’t supposed to catch feelings - we’re “nothing”. They’re both second guessing the context of their “relationship” and it’s years of lying to themselves and each other about what they have between them. It’s years of knowing it’s not casual, but feeling like an idiot for wanting/expecting more.
It’s of Shane’s perspective of when Ilya pulls back and leaves him hanging without a word, because Ilya IS confused and it clearly upsets Shane. Ilya keeps giving mixed signals whether they’re moving forward or taking steps backwards. He invites Shane to stay, cuddles, cooks, and gives him his favourite ginger ale. Ilya then talks about the girls he likes/has available to him and how he doesn’t really like Shane’s “boring” personality; but he does love to fuck him.
Shane clearly wants to comfort him after the phone call with his Dad and he does it through sex because “they don’t talk about it” and when Ilya calls him Shane, he realizes it’s not casual. It’s explicitly no longer casual for either of them after he says Ilya’s name and with all the mixed signals he’s stuck panicking (as an already anxious guy, it’s kinda understandable). But, they never talk about it and it goes back to silence that suffocates them and traps the other at the forefront of their mind, no matter how hard they try to think of other things or people.
I know lots of heated rivalry fans aren’t NHL fans so here’s a little fact about on ice injuries.
The NHL and the NHLPA (Players Association) have a rule that in order for a game to be played there MUST be a fully equipped ambulance AT the arena already in case of major injury. The EMTs will take the patient straight to the nearest hospital or the hospital best equipped to deal with whatever trauma.
There is no wait for an ambulance to get to the arena, HOWEVER, they must wait for a new ambulance to arrive before they are allowed to restart the game. If it is just a minor injury there are training staff and doctors on site to help the players immediately and follow to the hospital after if required.
This has also happened in the NHL where the ambulance is needed for a a fan and the game has to stop until a new ambulance returns to the arena.
So yeah, no wait time for an ambulance to transport the person to hospital but a wait time for a return ambulance!
Shane frowns, head cocked to the side slightly as he studies the tree.
The lights glow warmly. The ribbon strewn through the branches is nice. And the ornaments in their muted colours are working nicely together.
Except something feels off.
His eyes flicker around the tree as he chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out what needs to change.
And then he spots it.
Shane steps forward, plucking the gold orb with a matte finish off of the branch it was dangling from and moves it down a few branches and curved around to the right. Satisfied, he steps back and does another sweep of the tree.
That looks much better.
Arms wrap around him from behind, and Shane leans back instinctively, settling against the firm chest pressed to his back.
"You done being funny about the tree?" Ilya asks, a low rumble in Shane's ear.
"I'm not being funny." Shane replies, "I had to balance it out. There was too much gold there."
"It looked fine to me." Ilya hums, pressing a kiss to the spot under Shane's ear. It makes him squirm.. "I saw no problem."
"Oh."
"This one of your little quirks?"
Shane feels his cheeks grow warm. He's glad that Ilya is at his back, unable to see this, unable to tease Shane. "No."
"Liar." Ilya nips at Shane's earlobe. "It is."
"Fine," Shane goes to pull away from Ilya, but his boyfriend tightens his hold, "Let me go, Rozanov. I'm going to put the ornament back where it was!"
"No." Ilya stays firm, arms wrapped around Shane, "Then it will bother you. You will never relax."
"You said it looked fine!" Shane huffs, wiggling to get out of the hold once more. He's not successful. "So I'm making it fine!"
Ilya mutters some Russian that Shane doesn't catch (he doesn't catch most Russian but he is trying), before he's spinning Shane around, forcing the two face to face. "It was fine, yes, but now it is perfect. Because it is to your liking."
Shane ducks his head, "I should have left it."
"No." Ilya's hooked finger tips Shane's head up by his chin, "You should not have left it. Because it bothered you."
"You mean because of my little quirks." Shane spits out.
He doesn't mind, most of the time, that he's a little...particular. It had taken him many, many years to accept it. Shane knows that he's different than most. And he's fine with it. Really.
But once in a while, the casual reminder of it, even from someone who loves him so wholey like Ilya, it cuts into him.
"I upset you." Ilya states, eyes jumping between Shane's. "That was not my intended."
"Intention." Shane mutters in a soft correction. "And I know. You didn't."
"I did." Ilya grips Shane's chin now, "Why did it upset you?"
"I don't know." Shane grumbles, wiggling until he gets one of his arms between them, resting his hand on Ilya's chest, fiddling with the golden cross that hangs there. "I...it's weird. Isn't it?"
"What is weird?"
"That I had to..." He bites his lip, staring at the cross. Ilya's thumb stretches up, tugging Shane's lip out from between his teeth.
"What, sweetheart?"
"We didn't get tinsel, because I can't handle it." Shane whispers the confession. "Like how we had to get a fake tree so I didn't have to deal with pine needles all over the floor every day. And...and the ornaments. You wanted those sparkly ones. But we have muted ones. And...and..." He hates that there's tears in his eyes. "And then I had to fucking arrange it a specific way so I don't hate how our tree looks."
He drops his face down into Ilya's neck, hiding as the tears spill over, trickling down his cheeks.
"Oh, moya lyubov..." Ilya murmurs, one hand cradling Shane's head as the other moves gently up and down his spine. "That is not weird."
"It is."
"No." One of Ilya's favourite English words, Shane thinks. No. "Tinsel was tacky and ugly. Ribbon much nicer." He presses a kiss to the side of Shane's head. "Fake tree makes sense. We are gone too often to take care of real one. It dry up like old woman's face." Shane's lips twitch into a smile. "And our cleaner would quit if we left needles for her to clean up. I like Heidi. Nice lady." Shane hums an agreement at that; it had taken them some time to find a cleaner that worked for them. Mostly because of Shane's 'quirks'. But Ilya had been patient as they cycled through different people until Shane felt good about one. "And I want whatever ornaments you want. You smile so big when you saw these. Beautiful. I just pick first ones I saw."
Shane remembers that. They'd gone to the store to get decorations, both realizing they had none of their own. Ilya had actually been excited. It had been cute. But he had simply selected the first ornaments he saw, thinking they'd be okay. Except he'd noticed the slight wrinkle in Shane's nose and had immediately placed them back on the shelf, telling Shane to pick.
And Shane had tried. He really did. He even told Ilya that it would be okay to get those. But he had clearly looked wrong at the glitter covered baubles because Ilya had vetoed them.
Shane found the ones they'd gone with, muted shades of red, green, and gold that were both shiny and matte in finish. He thought they would look nice throughout the tree. And they do.
"You were right, too." Ilya continues, and Shane realizes they're swaying side to side now. "There was too much gold in that spot."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better." His arms wind around Ilya, settling more comfortably against the warm body.
"So what if I am?" Ilya shrugs, "You needed to fix. So you fix." He kisses the top of Shane's head, "I love you and your little quirks. I fell in love with those quirks. Thought it was so cute, how you folded pants the first time we had sex."
Fine Line
Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Explicit
3.6k words
set after the All-Star game in Florida
a/n: is it ever going to be not scary, writing for the first time for a new fandom?! is there a way how to avoid Heated Rivalry these days??
This fic is an entusiastic try to get these two out of my system, hopefully.
Shane was not particularly used to this kind of behaviour with Rozanov. And definitely not this kind of contact. Usually, it was a lot of pulling and pushing, quick movements to get rid of clothes or put the other into a position, Rozanov manhandling Shane - confident and sure.
This was nothing like that.
It's the other way around, aka Ilya bottoms this one time.
“Is everything okay?” Shane asked. He was not oblivious, or stupid. Maybe he didn’t understand Russian, but he heard Rozanov’s agitated voice on the phone calls. And his phone would ring more often now than ever.
Rozanov dropped back on the bed next to Shane. “Yes,” he said tersely, although the tension in his whole body said otherwise.
“I can go, give you space--” Shane started offering, not wanting to impose now when Rozanov had been clearly going through some rough times, most probably family stuff.
But the other man cut him off with a firm “no.”
“Okay,” Shane nodded and watched as Rozanov moved closer to him - unexpectedly, slowly - leaning in until his forehead touched Shane’s shoulder, simply resting there.
Shane was not particularly used to this kind of behaviour with Rozanov. And definitely not this kind of contact. Usually, it was a lot of pulling and pushing, quick movements to get rid of clothes or put the other into a position, Rozanov manhandling Shane - confident and sure.
This was nothing like that.
Unsure what to make of the quiet moment, Shane sat still, witnessing Rozanov taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, silently. The air hit the side of Shane’s neck, sudden and shocking - causing his skin to break into goosebumps all over his body. The familiar trace of cigarettes hit his nose, but mingled with Rozanov’s scent, Shane surprisingly didn’t mind. He liked it.
Shane swallowed, unsure what to do in this uncommon situation. His hands hovered awkwardly, suspended in the air as if any wrong angle might make Rozanov jolt back into the version of himself Shane knew better - sharp edges, barked orders, a shove between the shoulder blades when things got too close.
Lifting one hand up hesitantly, Shane slowly settled it on Rozanov’s upper back. The cotton of his black shirt was warm, stretched over muscle pulled tight with tension.
Then the screen of the phone in Rozanov’s hand lit up, and Shane could see a string of messages coming up, all of them in Cyrillic.
In answer, Rozanov groaned and swore under his breath in Russian, flinging the phone behind himself, somewhere on the bed, and Shane could feel the way his back instantly tightened up again, to the point of a slight tremor running through his body.
“You’re shaking,” Shane noted out loud before he could stop himself, surprised and almost worried by Rozanov’s strong reaction to the messages.
Rozanov’s breath hitched - not quite a flinch, not quite an admission. He moved his face so his lips were pressed against Shane’s neck.
“It will pass,” he replied, voice muffled against Shane’s skin.
Shane wasn’t convinced. And he didn’t think Rozanov was either. He was also pretty sure Rozanov was trying to distract him, as he started to mouth against the sensitive skin of the side of his throat, placing open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach without moving too much.
He found himself leaning in just slightly, a slow, instinctive tilt toward warmth. “You need to relax,” he said, baring his neck to Rozanov.
Rozanov just hummed, the low sound a vibration against Shane’s skin.
“Your back is so tense,” he murmured, digging his fingers into the hard muscle. “I saw you hit the barrier last week.”
And he did, watching the game in his hotel room, eyes trained on Rozanov (as always), witnessing him getting thrown against the dasher board. The impact shook his whole body, his lower back taking most of the impact.
Rozanov stopped kissing him. “Oh, you saw?” he said mockingly, but his voice didn’t sound all that composed. There was something in the tone that Shane recognized from the afternoon in Rozanov’s house. The last time they’d been together.
“Maybe a massage would help?” Shane looked at Rozanov, trying to catch his eyes. They all had non-stop access to the team physiotherapists and massage therapists, but knowing Rozanov, Shane doubted that he’d taken advantage of that.
Rozanov didn’t answer right away, and that in itself was telling. “Are you offering?” he asked slowly after a pause.
“Yeah, why not?” Shane shrugged. All players underwent seminars on how to work out the most common kinks and knots from playing and practising.
“Mr Masseur,” Rozanov teased.
Shane huffed a laugh. “I’m serious. You’re hurting.”
That earned him a small scoff, nothing but air and pride. Rozanov pushed up just enough to look at him, hair falling over his forehead, eyes narrowed - not in anger, but in calculation. Like he was trying to figure out what angle Shane was playing at.
But there was no angle. That was the part Rozanov didn’t know how to handle. And honestly? Shane was kinda getting tired of his attitude. He knew that two could play the game, especially after their last encounter. It had been painfully obvious that Rozanov had let his guard slip down, and the roles had swapped momentarily.
If Shane was invested in their whatever it was, so was Rozanov.
“Get on the bed, c’mon,” Shane stood up, motioning to the bed. He surprised even himself with how decisively he sounded.
Rozanov looked at him with raised eyebrows but didn't say anything. He turned around and started lowering himself on his stomach when Shane stopped him:
“Take your T-shirt off.”
“You only want to get me naked.”
“Obviously. How else can I do the massage?” Shane deadpanned.
Rozanov opened his mouth, probably to say something filthy, but the exhaustion in his eyes betrayed him. The fight had gone out of him long before Shane walked into his house.
Getting on his knees, Rozanov got rid of his top in one quick move, then lowered himself down onto the duvet with a short exhale, shoulders still bunched tight like he expected to be interrogated at any moment.
Shane moved to straddle his hips while avoiding sitting right at his ass, palms warm against the rigid line of Rozanov’s spine. He wondered briefly why they still had to play this tug of war, when they obviously not only both needed this, they also wanted it.
Shane let his palms settle fully against Rozanov’s back, feeling the heat of him, the tension coiled so tightly beneath his skin it was a wonder he hadn’t snapped in half days ago. His thumbs traced the grooves along either side of Rozanov’s spine, admiring the sight in front of him before pressing down gently, testing.
Rozanov jolted - not away, just in surprise.
“You okay?” Shane asked softly.
Rozanov muttered something sounding like “okay” into the comforter.
“You should’ve let the physio look at this,” Shane murmured as he dug his thumbs gently into the palpable knots.
Rozanov made a sound. “Physio will tell coach,” he said into the pillow. “Coach will bench me. I do not need that.”
With a small exasperated sigh, Shane kept going, hands moving with more certainty now, palm gliding over skin as he pressed, rolled, coaxed each knot into loosening. Beneath him, Rozanov started to melt. Not fully, not completely, but enough that the rigid set of his shoulders began to give.
There was more to the tension Rozanov held than the light injury. It was the weight of intense stress and worries.
Shane let his hands drift lower again, fingers brushing the tension banded along Rozanov’s lower back - the exact spot that hit the boards. At the touch, Rozanov’s breath caught sharply, like before.
“That’s it,” Shane said quietly, leaning down until his lips brushed Rozanov’s ear. “Breathe deep,” he commanded.
The thing was, Shane knew he liked when Rozanov ordered and pushed him around a bit. He liked giving up his inhibitions. He was unsure if Rozanov wanted the same now. But if he did, Shane was more than willing to oblige, taking pleasure in doing this for Ilya. For Rozanov.
“You should’ve had this checked,” Shane said, voice gentler without meaning to be. “You act like pain is a personal failing.”
“It is weakness,” Rozanov muttered.
“No,” Shane countered, hands still moving. “It’s human.” Softening his touch, Shane switched to broad, warm strokes meant more for comfort than repair.
He couldn’t stop looking at the path his hands were making on Rozanov’s broad back - the pale skin reddening where Shane pressed harder - giving in, stretching and relaxing. It was always Rozanov who held Shane’s current position on the top, and Shane couldn’t suppress the swell of heat low in his belly now when their roles had been switched unexpectedly.
Shane dragged his palms up Rozanov’s spine again, thumbs sweeping over skin in a less therapeutic and more admiring manner. He felt the man shiver -just slightly, barely a tremor, but enough to confirm what Shane already knew.
Rozanov wasn’t just relaxing. He was giving in.
“You don’t have to be invincible all the time,” Shane murmured, almost under his breath, unsure if the words were meant for Rozanov or himself.
Rozanov exhaled sharply, the sound halfway between annoyance and something far more raw. “Invincible is easier,” he said into the pillow.
“For who?” Shane asked.
“There are people back home who expect this from me.”
Shane would be probably more disturbed by the answer if he didn’t choose that exact moment to pull the waistband of Rozanov’s sweats down a few inches to get even lower on his back - just to be met with a faint outline of a bruise, the ugly bloom of purple and red that had been hidden under fabric and pride.
“What the fuck?!” Shane exclaimed, straightening up and shuffling a bit lower on Rozanov’s midsection to pull the pants down until half of the most perfect ass was peeking out. There was nothing surprising about the fact that Rozanov had no underwear on, as Shane was aware that he never wore them when at home.
Rozanov lifted his head a fraction at Shane’s outburst, but he didn’t look back, just went still.
“It looks worse than it is,” Rozanov replied, the default deflection rolling out of him on autopilot.
“Bullshit.” Shane traced the edge of the bruise with his thumb, careful not to press. It wasn’t small, not superficial, but the kind that spread under the skin like spilled ink, ugly and swollen and still blooming. “Jesus Christ, Rozanov.”
Shane exhaled through his nose, steadying himself before sliding his hands - tenderly now - across Rozanov’s hips, brushing the unbruised skin. The contrast between the soft give of muscle and the stark violence of the purple mark made his chest twist.
“Does it hurt to walk? To sit?”
A beat. Then: “…Sometimes.”
Shane was happy, more than ever, that he was on another team. Because if one of his teammates withheld information about an injury like this - trivial or not -he would punch them in the face.
He was in no position to judge or question in this case. Shane let his head fall forward, resting for a moment between Rozanov’s shoulder blades, the frustration simmering hot under his skin.
After a moment of silence, he moved his fingers back up, working into the muscles along the shoulder blades - a safe area. Rozanov’s entire body seemed to loosen centimeter by centimeter, his face half-buried in the duvet, lips parted, breathing uneven in a way Shane hadn’t seen before, not even during the roughest, messiest moments between them.
Even the smallest hint of surrender from Rozanov was enough to send heat curling low in Shane’s stomach. Because he could feel it, not just in the relaxed muscles or steady breathing, but in the quiet, unquestioning way Rozanov stayed beneath him.
“Feels good?” Shane asked, voice low, unable to keep the edge of heat out of it.
Rozanov hummed a deep, warm rumble that Shane felt more than heard.
“Yes,” he said without teasing.
Shane leaned forward, minding the injured area, until his lips brushed Rozanov’s shoulder.
But he didn’t stop there. He let his lips trail down the wing of the shoulder blade, the curve of bone under skin, moving lower in soft, deliberate presses of his mouth.
Rozanov didn’t speak. He only breathed, heavy and uneven. Shane’s hand slid down Rozanov’s side, thumb gliding along the ridge of his ribs, and he watched Rozanov’s fingers curl into fists where they’d been resting by his head.
“Just relax,” Shane whispered against warm skin, his breath fanning over the sensitive place where Rozanov’s back curved into his waist, where the bruise spread.
“Doing… my best,” he muttered, voice deeper now, thick with something Shane recognized from every time they’d crossed lines they swore they wouldn’t.
“Yeah,” Shane murmured, lips brushing the spot just above the swell of Rozanov’s ass. “I can tell.”
It was - without a doubt - a very impressive ass, and being face to face with it now, Shane didn’t want anything else than to set his teeth into the supple, round flesh.
So he did.
The reaction was instant. Rozanov’s whole body jerked, fingers fisting tighter in the sheets. His hips twitched under Shane, not away - never away - but in a startled, involuntary give that shot straight through Shane’s chest.
“Hollander--” Rozanov’s voice cracked on his name, half-warning, half-want, fucking careful not to call him by his first name.
Shane’s tongue soothed the spot he’d bitten, slow, deliberate, a quiet promise. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“You already are,” Rozanov said, but it came out strangled, breathless, absolutely not a complaint. They were teetering on another boundary here.
Shane’s hands slid up Rozanov’s hips, gripping them firmly, thumbs stroking slow circles into his skin. The position - Rozanov on his stomach, bruised and breathing hard, letting Shane touch him wherever he wanted—did something devastating to him.
“Have you ever--” Shane considered his words as he tucked his fingers into the hem of Rozanov’s pants, half covering his butt, and pulled it fully down under the swell of it. “--bottomed?”
Rozanov made a low, rough noise. It could’ve been a chuckle. “When I was a teenager. Years ago. There was an older man, he liked it that way.”
Shane faltered. “Did you like it that way?”
“Yes. Sometimes… it is good.”
It was Shane’s turn to take a deep breath. He had to close his eyes for a second, breathing through the rush of heat that hit him at the blunt, startling honesty. When he opened them again, Rozanov was still under him, still giving him that quiet, unthinking trust.
So he leaned down again, kissing the imprint his teeth had left, then dragging his mouth slowly across the curve of Rozanov’s ass before parting the cheeks.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
When no answer came, Shane let his hands ease over Rozanov’s ass, palms wide and sure as he held him open, exposing his hole.
He dipped forward, letting his breath ghost over skin that had no business being this soft. Rozanov shivered, a full-body tremor he tried - and failed - to hide.
“Jesus,” Shane whispered, not sure if it was meant for Rozanov or himself.
Rozanov turned his head slightly against the pillow, enough that Shane could see half of his profile: flushed cheek, parted lips, eyes hooded but not closed. Then he shifted slightly, putting more weight on his forearms, lifting up his pelvis just so.
Shane’s eyes fell back on Rozanov’s ass, thumb slowly brushing the rim, then he leaned back down to kiss against it. He continued down the crack until he reached Rozanov’s balls and mouthed at them too.
“Tell me,” Shane murmured against warm skin, voice steady even though he wasn’t. “Tell me what you want from me.”
Rozanov swallowed hard, breath hitching, shoulders tightening like he was fighting something in himself.
When he spoke, it was barely a whisper.
“You.”
It was all Shane needed at that moment. He knew that Rozanov kept the lube in his bedside table, so he reached for the bottle, grabbing a condom too - maybe too forward.
His hands shook as he coated his fingers with a generous amount of the clear gel. Meanwhile, Rozanov moved, slow and deliberate, propping a pillow beneath his hips and adjusting his leg without a hint of hesitation to give Shane better access.
Shane had no experience in this field - only what he’d seen in porn and how Rozanov usually prepped him. Which was carefully, thoroughly, and with a care that’d surprised Shane at the beginning.
Not wasting any more time, Shane shuffled between Rozanov’s legs, reaching down to put the first finger in. He was definitely nervous, as he carefully slid it in and out, listening closely to any indications of discomfort from Rozanov.
Shane moved with a concentration he didn’t know he was capable of, watching the way Rozanov’s breath stuttered, how his shoulders tightened, then eased. Every small reaction drew Shane in deeper into this fucked up dynamic, messing with his head, messing up everything he’d known about the other man until this day.
His free hand splayed warm across Rozanov’s hip, watching intently where his finger disappeared, then he added another one.
Rozanov let out a low sound at that - small, raw, not quite vulnerable, but close. It went straight to Shane’s chest, settling under his ribs. He couldn’t believe Rozanov let him do this. His whole face was on fire with the intensity of the act of Rozanov’s unexpected surrender, and the need to not fuck this up, not to disappoint.
“It is enough,” Rozanov grumbled after a particularly precise jab that had him groaning.
“I just… don’t want to hurt you,” Shane said.
“Get in me.”
“I am in you.”
Rozanov glared at him over his shoulder, slowly rising on both of his knees. “Get your dick in me.”
Shane took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” as he drizzled more lube directly over Rozanov’s hole.
“You trying to drown me, Hollander?” Rozanov questioned, and Shane’s reply was a quiet, absentminded “fuck you,” which was more accurate now than ever.
He put on a condom, a bit clumsily, while Rozanov waited, somewhat patiently.
Shane swallowed, breath catching in his throat as he lined himself up. Rozanov didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense.
If anything, he leaned back the tiniest bit, an unspoken, impatient come on that hit Shane like a punch.
The feeling of Rozanov around him was absolutely mind-blowing, and he had to really talk himself into not coming right away. Instead, he focused on getting this right, on being good for Rozanov, making it good for him. The need to match the ultimate pleasure he would receive from him during their sporadic but intense encounters was what drove him.
Watching Rozanov react to every movement, every thrust was overwhelming. Shane felt the power but also the responsibility, wanting Rozanov to remember this forever.
Usually, it was Shane who was louder when they were fucking. Rozanov wasn’t exactly quiet, but he definitely held back, in a way. He was generous with kisses, which Shane secretly loved, and now he couldn’t do it. It was difficult to gauge Rozanov’s reactions, because he couldn’t see his face.
So he concentrated on getting the angle right, to hit Rozanov’s prostate. He kept stroking his back, drawing invisible paths between the moles, squeezing the flesh of his sides.
“Harder,” Rozanov said at some point, voice low and strained.
Shane obliged, forcing his hips to thrust deeper, faster. This was not unlike any other physical exercise - he knew how to use his body - apart from the man underneath him.
Rozanov reached behind him blindly, fingers finding Shane’s thigh. He let out a sound. A quiet, broken thing that Shane felt all the way through him.
“Jesus,” Shane whispered, not sure if it was prayer or curse. Rozanov’s head dropped between his shoulders, breath shuddering, and Shane knew he found what he’d been looking for.
His forehead thudded against Rozanov’s upper back as he kept pushing in these long, searching thrusts, jostling Rozanov’s body.
Shane kissed the spot between Rozanov’s shoulder blades, then stayed there, forehead resting against warm skin as the moment stretched and tightened around them both. The room felt too small, the air too thick.
He reached with his hand where they were joined, lightly touching his fingers to Rozanov’s rim. Maybe it was weird, but he felt like he needed to do so to believe this was actually happening.
When Rozanov moaned, Shane moved his hand a bit higher, brushing against the blooming bruise, and then pressed down with his thumb. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it was not another sound from Rozanov - only this time, it was more of a surprised shout, hoarse and almost broken.
Shane could feel him clench, which almost made him come right then. He slowed then, easing into a steadier rhythm - something controlled, something he could hold onto.
He could hear Rozanov chant “yes, yes, yes” over the filthy noises they were making, and he didn’t hesitate the next time he pushed down on the bruise - harder - clearly causing Rozanov to lose it as he came loudly, sagging forward, his forehead dropping to the mattress as if his body had finally run out of ways to hold itself together.
Shane watched in awe as Rozanov crumbled, and it took only three more thrusts to make him come too, messy and breathless.
It was strange to come while being in Rozanov, the tight heat made his head spin. It was different than with a girl. Better, more intense, he thought briefly before quickly burying the idea away.
Facing Rozanov’s back, he was met with the evidence of his injury again, the dark splotch standing in stark contrast against the rest of the skin. Shane desperately hoped that the pain Rozanov had sought just moments ago had nothing to do with how he thought of himself, of what he deserved.
something i think is really interesting is like. it seems like ilya likes to be in charge in bed because it makes him feel strong and capable and powerful. but we saw in ep4 that shane will get on top and can be in charge and ilya doesn't necessarily seem to not be into that. and i think it's important to note that only happens when he's feeling vulnerable and intimate and wanting to open up (just even a crack) to shane.
obviously where we are NOW in the show, post (tuna) meltdown, ilya won't feel safe submitting to shane or being under shane in any ways. but i feel like their dynamic isn't static!!! ilya likes taking care of shane and shane likes going down for ilya, but when ilya is vulnerable he's perfectly happy for shane to get on top and boss him around a little.
i also think this is interesting because, broadly, shane has held the power in their dynamic because he's the one who keeps saying "no." for two years he said no, but kept engaging with ilya over text! and obviously ilya stonewalls, but that's not really the same thing as sexiliy withholding sex or getting ilya to break his own rules or whatever. like when shane begs for it, ilya cracks immediately and that is not the case vis versa.
anyways i'm very intrigued by the way the power dynamic in the bedroom are portrayed in the show, because i think sometimes in fic we tend to portray it as like. this guy is the Dom and the other guy is the Sub and that's The Way It Is. but the dynamic here seems softer and more interesting than that, and (as my current fave scholar on the topic) i wonder if you're seeing the same thing and if so what are your thoughts
yes i love this!!! i am often bored by capital D dom / capital S sub dynamics in fic because, like you said, it can quickly become soooo rigid and essentialist. like all humans are divided into two categories: those want to DOMINATE and those who long to SUBMIT. when of course desire is so much more fluid and context-dependent, and people can find something sexy in one situation or with one person or on one particular day and want something totally different under different circumstances. i think you are so right that for ilya, it's not like Being A Dom or Being The Top is like, the bedrock of his sexual identity or his personality outside the bedroom. their dynamic seems so much more playful and flexible than that! especially in those early sex scenes where they laugh quite a bit and seem to be so at ease with each other. to me, that the vegas scene is the only scene where ilya gets really rigid about "domming," ie arranging and directing the scene in a way that communicates to shane that there is a fixed power dynamic here, and that's BECAUSE he is feeling emotional pressure and is trying to put distance between them again. but even then he can't quite maintain it! because it doesn't come naturally to him to be that rigid! he goes from ordering shane around to teasing him about holding the cup to practically flinging himself across the room to shane the second shane says i need you.
kinda relatedly: the scene at ilya's house is really interesting to me because i think you see the push-pull of his need to feel in control vs. his more instinctive desire to be more relaxed/playful. he does all these things that send mixed messages! he shows up at the door shirtless while shane's clearly put some effort into his appearance (ilya communicating to shane that he doesn't make any special effort for him). but then they have really familiar, easy, relaxed sex with shane on top, which they both seem into (ilya conveying that he's comfortable with shane). then ilya asks shane to stay, shane says yes, ilya gets to do all the taking care of you things. then ilya seems to get a little freaked out and sits ten feet away from shane on the couch when that boy is radiating "i need you to hold me i feel so awkward right now" energy (ilya reasserting distance between them). THEN ilya tries to maybe sort of half-convey his feelings for shane, but does it in a way that accidentally on purpose conveys to shane that if shane rejects him this isn't THAT important to him (beautiful example of ilya trying to see if he can somehow have both emotional vulnerability AND being safe forever from rejection in the same moment lol). he's pulling shane in by admitting that he likes him and also pushing him away by reminding him of what a hot commodity ilya rozanov is and how many women would want him if shane doesn't (reinstating the power dynamic, putting himself back in control, etc etc). idk i know that's not strictly related to stuff they do in bed but it feels like that whole scene is ilya trying and failing to navigate like, how do i access the flexibility and ease i crave with this person, while still conveying clearly that i have the upper hand and am in charge and therefore nothing you say can hurt me? how do i make myself vulnerable to you without ceding any control?
i also loveeeee you pointing out that shane is the one who often actually does have the upper hand (whether he realizes it or not). i think that is so true, and i wonder if that also explains, in some part, why ilya unconsciously feels like he can do whatever he wants to shane in this relationship without it really hurting shane. he can tell shane to fuck off in sochi. he can ghost him for six months. he can remind shane that he's still actively sleeping with other people and imply that he generally prefers women. i don't think ilya means to HURT shane in those moments, i think he just has this strong, perhaps unconscious sense that shane will be fine, so it's ok for ilya to do whatever he needs to do to protect himself emotionally or achieve the distance that makes him feel safe. shane will be fine, because shane is normal and well-adjusted and has all these people who love him. idk i'd have to think through this further... but i do think that ilya has this internalized sense that things just roll right off of perfect shane hollander, when of course shane is just a person who is equally capable of getting his feelings hurt. i think the moment ilya is most visibly freaked out in the show is when shane's crying in the bathroom and ilya tries his whole casually indifferent "i want you to suck my dick" line and then shane's reaction immediately signals to ilya that his behavior from sochi onwards has actually really, deeply hurt shane's feelings, and there's a real chance that shane might walk away from this for good. and then of course he caves immediately and is like i'm going to kiss you now and i'm going to put absolutely everything i refuse to say out loud into it.
OKAY SORRY this ask started with dom/sub dynamics and i got sidetracked somehow but maybe there's something in this lol. the short version is i totally agree i love how playful and fun their dynamic is when they're not emotionally terrorizing each other. i've made this joke before but to me the whole "genetic" exchange in the bathroom scene ("when did your english get so good?" "i read new yorker now" "really?" "no. new yorker is boring" "my dad loves it" "ah, so being boring is genetic." "genetic, huh," delivered in THEEEEE tenderest and most loving voices imaginable) is when i was like oh so they're getting MARRIED married. like they're getting married married. everyone just has to endure a lot of suffering before they get there lol.
That moment when Shane and Ilya use each other’s first names? Easily a suspended-in-air moment. Everything goes quiet - the kind of silence where something big is about to crack open. And the show just lets us sit in it.
Because the second Shane’s guard drops, you see something bloom in Ilya. Not lust — soft affection, maybe the first flicker of something he can’t admit yet. And that kiss? He doesn’t go for the mouth. He goes for the cheek, rubs his nose, the kind of affection when you want closeness, not just heat.
The way he lifts his chin, leaning in, trying to get closer to Shane? That’s someone who is starving for affection and quietly asking for more.
And then it just… shatters
The recoil - you can see it hit Ilya like a cold wave the second Shane panics. Shane is spiralling into his own crisis, convinced things are getting too real. But from Ilya’s side? It feels like he opened his chest for one second… and scared Shane away.
The devastation on Ilya’s face when Shane lies about the “team meeting” is brutal. He knows it’s an excuse. Responsible, rule-following Hollander does not forget meetings. And the look he gives him - this tiny, incredulous really? — hurts more than the lie itself.
And then the worst part: he tries to slam his walls back up. Calling him “Hollander” twice like he’s desperately rewinding the moment, trying to pretend everything’s fine — we can go back to normal, right? His little head shake, the attempt to reassure both of them… but he’s gutted, and trying so hard not to show it.
It’s their first true emotional collision - two young guys, both terrified, both vulnerable in completely different ways. Shane overwhelmed and unsure; Ilya convinced that showing even a hint of affection pushed Shane away.
It’s heartbreaking. It’s beautifully acted. And it sets up their entire emotional arc so perfectly that I cannot stop thinking about it.
