before y’all write another fic about Ilya straight up insulting other characters or squaring up to anything that moves, you need to read the books again.
Ilya Rozanov rarely gets into fights.
sure, he gets physical. he checks players hard. he runs his mouth just enough to throw his opponent off their game. but he is primarily a rage-baiter. he tricks people into penalties, he is not throwing punches.
this is crucial to understand because it makes the times when Ilya actually fights that much more impactful.
(minor spoiler for The Long Game below)
in the show, Ilya is willing to just stand there and take the hatred and abuse from his brother. but once Alexei speaks a word against Svetlana, unhinged fury is unleashed. Ilya is shaking with rage, and even Alexei looks shocked. I think Ilya very well could have killed his brother if Sveta wasn’t there to stop him.
the first time we see Ilya throw a punch in the books is in The Long Game. Ilya is annoying because he is chirpy and provocative while maintaining his idgaf composure. Kent is a misogynistic, homophobic piece of shit who spews hatred. when Kent attacks Troy—but most of all, when Kent attacks Shane—Ilya sees red. it’s jarring to Troy because it’s so out of character for Ilya to be so reactive.
the only thing that moves Ilya to fight is when someone hurts the people he loves.
if you think Ilya has no self control, watch him with his bio family again. baby was abused and traumatized into rigid decorum where every breath and blink was controlled. a strong, emotional loss of control would be exploited as weakness and punished mercilessly.
and honestly, if someone is going to pop off with violent rage, it’s Shane The Golden Boy Hollander.
ilya sees this old trend where someone holds out a hand to their partner to see what their partner would give them so he comes over to try it with shane who’s on the sofa. he holds out his hand and shane gives him the remote. he tosses the remote aside. shane looks a bit confused. he gives ilya his phone. ilya tosses that aside. he gives ilya a pillow. ilya tosses that aside. he gives ilya his hand. ilya shakes it out. his face squints in confusion before coming up with an idea and rests his chin on ilya’s hand. and okay, well, the challenge is just to annoy your partner, but holy fuck shane looks so fucking cute with his big brown eyes looking up at ilya waiting for his approval so ilya just really has to smile and kisses him about it.
Someone asking Luca after Shane's first season as AC on the Centaurs: "So, is it difficult with basically three captains, especially if two of them are married that must be hard to get used to.
And Luca and the other rookies being like, oh you mean the Dad-Trifecta? it's the best thing that has ever happened to us.
You loose your skates or you need help with paperwork or you're just feeling kinda sad and need a dad hug - you go Bood. he will grill you some chicken and go speak to Coach for you. You call him or Cassie if you're sick and they will pick you up and deposit you on the floor with Milo and you are their baby now. I'm 23 years old but that's my dad tho
If you're having trouble with other players, or if you're in like, a crisis? Mama Bear Ilya, will 100% get arrested for any of us and/or pick you up from the middle of nowhere any time of night. You wanna ragebait other players? He has the perception of a God and can tell from one look when a players second wife will leave him. He can also tell when you're feeling like shit mentally and he will pick you up take you to Harris farm and make you dog walk with him while throwing sweets at you. Holmberg got high sticked the other week Ilya spent like, 2 hours going through the guys Instagram with us while wine drunk and ripping his entire life to pieces with us.
and Shane? He will come early to practice for you, he will tell me things wrong with my playing I didn't know EXISTED. Boyle was in a slump Hollander turned up at our house with a fucking smoothie get your ass out of bed we're going to the rink and he will completely pull apart your playing style with such precision that's it's beautiful to watch and I'm not even mad about it. Roz will be giving a fucking captains speech about how we can do better next week and he'll fucking pipe up in the corner going, well we will if Lapointe improves his footwork Coach, we're gonna be staying late on Saturday and Wiebe is like, sounds good Hollander like COACH you can't Agree For Me and he'll just go, Shane Hollander is giving you a private lesson I don't care what you're doing cancel it
The night has barely begun and already Ilya wants to—well, not go home, because his big empty house is just as exhausting to be in right now as this club; but he doesn't want to be here. Yes, there are dozens of beautiful women. Yes, there is alcohol. Yes, Boston won earlier, beating New Jersey easily, 4-1.
There's a thick wall of glass, separating Ilya from all of it, muffling everything. Everything feels heavy, and shit, and Ilya is sick of himself.
Restless, he swipes his messages open again, thumb tapping on Jane automatically, even though there's no new notifications. He wishes there was, even though that's stupid. But Hollander is fun to talk to, fun to tease, and Ilya wants—that. Wants to feel lighter again.
He drains the rest of his vodka—not particularly good, конечно—and pushes off the bar, shouldering his way through the crowd of tipsy, sweaty bodies.
The crisp air outside hits him like a welcome slap to the face, bracing, invigorating. There are other people out here, of course, smoking and laughing loud, but it's still quieter than inside the club. Ilya thinks about bumming a cigarette—he hasn't got any on him tonight, trying to be good, like an idiot—but he doesn't want to talk to anyone.
He walks a little further away, instead, and unlocks his phone again. The same week-old messages stare back at him, before he taps Jane again.
His thumb hovers over the little phone icon.
They don't do this. Ilya knows that. Knows Hollander will probably be weird about it, too.
He presses call.
The sound of the dial tone makes his stomach clench. He's holding his breath. Maybe Hollander won't even pick up. Maybe he'll see a missed call later, and—
"Hello?"
Ilya leans back against the building, closing his eyes. Something fills up his throat, briefly, and he has to swallow down.
"Hello?" Hollander says again, sounding tenser, like maybe he thinks this is a prank.
"Hi," Ilya says, and has no idea how to continue. They don't do this.
"What are you—is something wrong? Did something—fuck. Did something leak?"
Ilya knows it's a bit fucked up, but he can't help smiling at the sharpening edge of panic in Hollander's voice. He knows it wouldn't make sense, if he had to say this out loud to any other person on earth, but Hollander's predictability is oddly comforting. Relaxing. Ilya knows how to handle it.
"No, no, sorry," Ilya says, body loosening, warming up. "It was—uh, how you say. Pocket dial."
"Oh," Hollander says, voice looser and warmer, too, in Ilya's ear. It makes his scalp crawl pleasantly. "Okay. Um. Well, I can—let you go. I guess."
"Is okay. You are saving me from boring celebrations." Ilya pushes off the wall, starts walking back towards the hotel. Maybe, just maybe, he can keep Hollander on the phone long enough to jerk off together. "Gets old fast, when you are the best. I know you don't know this, as second best."
Hollander scoffs. "Fuck you."
"Mm. In three weeks, yes?" He thinks he hears Shane's breath catch a little.
"Yeah. Three weeks." There's a pause. Ilya wonders what Shane is doing, if he's in the kitchen, or curled up on his sofa, or in bed. Probably reading a boring hockey book or watching boring hockey tapes. Just the thought of it makes fondness surge up inside him. "You won't have to worry about celebrating then, when we beat your ass."
Ilya laughs, stride lengthening now the hotel is in view. "Shane Hollander, my hero."
"Mm. I'm very selfless, you know."
"Oh I know so. Very generous. Always so good for me."
Now the catch in Shane's breath is obvious. "Fuck. Shut up."
"Mmmm, no." Ilya's getting hard in his jeans. He walks past the reception, to the elevators. The doors ding as they close.
"What are you doing? Where are you?"
Ilya presses the button for his floor, impatient now, buzzing. "Back at hotel. I have whole room to myself." He lets that speak for itself, and grins at the sound of Shane's breath growing heavier in his ear. "And I will be so terribly lonely and bored, Hollander… and my cock is so hard…"
hollanov fic: sleepy cuddly morning sex + quiet dirty talk
it's cold outside their blankets. ilya lies flush against shane's back. his arms hug him close. their legs lay tangled together in the duvet. shane woke first but allowed himself the lie-in. they don't have practice today, and shane doesn't have any commitments with friends.
ilya woke a few minutes ago, making it known by rubbing shane's stomach, but neither of them have said a word. content to exist in the knowledge of each other's soft attention. ilya's hand continues to move across shane's skin, palm flat and circling his bellybutton. shane's cock is thickening against his thigh. ilya's mouth, which has been releasing warm breaths over the nape of shane's neck, purses into a kiss against the soft hair there.
"malysh," he mumbles, so quietly. shane hums. "are you going out today?"
his words have soft edges, drowsy. "no," shane replies, just as quiet.
ilya's turn to hum. the movement of his hand doesn't cease. he shifts closer and nestles his clothed erection between shane's cheeks, making shane inhale and push back against him. ilya hasn't moved his hand down shane's body.
"are you hard?" ilya asks, without urgency.
they both still have their eyes closed. they're nowhere but here. shane says, "yeah."
quiet noise of acknowledgment from ilya. "do you want my hand?"
shane breathes, "yeah."
"mmm."
ilya doesn't give him his hand. he drags it up shane instead, resting it on one of his pecs. gently squeezes the muscle—once, twice, slow. shane grunts and arches into it. ilya kisses his neck again. then he uses just his first two fingers to begin circling shane's nipple. shane moans, quietly. his cock gives a hard throb. one more.
ilya lifts his fingers to shane's lips, murmuring, "suck."
shane does. ilya's fingers are salty. and warm. he pushes them in and out of shane's mouth, along his tongue, in a slow fuck. when he withdraws, a string of spit extends from the tips of his fingers to shane's bottom lip. ilya either doesn't notice or doesn't care. just moves his hand back down, draping the spit over shane's chin as he does, and starts gently massaging shane's nipple with his wet fingers. shane moans again. longer now. ilya rubs his cock leisurely into the cleft of shane's ass, humming deep in his chest.
"you like that, kotik?" he rumbles. shane nods into his pillow, reaching back to tangle his fingers in ilya's hair. ilya's face nuzzles into his neck. "love touching your tits," he says into shane's skin. "your nipples. they are so hard for me. like your cock, mmm?" shane makes a quiet, plaintive noise. ilya pinches him. "you get so hard for me everywhere."
"yeah," shane breathes.
"yeah?" ilya echoes, and shane lifts his jaw to invite ilya to kiss along his neck. ilya obliges him. shane sighs.
"yeah."
they lapse into a brief semi-silence; shane breathing through ilya's attention to his nipples, ilya moaning low as he works himself up against shane's ass. when his hand finally leaves shane's chest, skating back down along his abdomen, shane finds himself holding his breath. his cock is wet inside his boxer briefs. and aching. ilya whispers into his ear, "breathe, moy lyubov" and shane takes some air in just as ilya pushes his hand beneath the fabric of his briefs and holds his cock, firmly.
shane lets out a sound like it's been shocked from him. his body curls inwards, around the point where ilya is holding him, and ilya laughs softly. presses his wrist into shane's pelvic bone, urging his hips back against his cock. "come back, malysh," he teases. his hand starts working over shane under his briefs, and shane starts moaning in earnest. ilya exhales roughly in his ear. "you are so eager," he murmurs, drawing out the "so". "so horny for me in the morning, hm? just woke up and already need to get fucked? my needy boy... fuck, you are getting me all wet, shane."
and shane whimpers because he can feel it. the way ilya's fist is becoming slick with his precum, easing his movements into an obscene glide. up, down. up, down. ilya draws his hand out of shane's briefs for a moment and tugs the waistband down, tucking it behind shane's balls before reaching back up for his cock. heat rises in shane's cheeks at the sounds ilya's hand makes around his newly freed cock—distinct, wet fwips that cause shane's arousal to spike so hard his body lurches towards the edge. ilya moans loudly, presumably just as affected by it. his hand speeds up.
"mmm, fuck," ilya says. smearing open-mouthed kisses over shane's ear. "does it feel good, kotik? hmm?" shane nods, beyond words. ilya bites his earlobe and shane whimpers. "you are... fuck, moy lyubimyy, you are like a dream. like I am still asleep and fucking you, and when you come for me I will just wake up."
shane rolls his head against his pillow in vague dissent. "no," he slurs. "'m yours, ilya. your—fuck. oh. oh, ilya. oh m'god—"
"shane. are you gonna come, sweetheart?" shane inhales raggedly, nods minutely. frantically. "good. good boy. come for me, baby." ilya's fingers pull quickly beneath shane's cockhead. "yes. shane. come for me now, sweetheart—ah—fuck..."
shane is releasing into ilya's hand. twitching against him. moaning desperately. ilya holds him, kisses him, murmurs a litany of praise and encouragement in his ear. that's it, moy lyubimyy. you are so good. let me have it. good boy, shane.
after, shane relaxes into ilya's arms. spent, panting. ilya kisses over whatever he can reach of shane's face. shane, eyes closed, smiles faintly. he shifted away from ilya in those final moments—now he moves back. finds ilya hard, still.
"are y'gonna fuck me now?" shane mumbles. he hears, and feels, ilya huff a laugh against his cheek.
"oh, if you insist," ilya says, and shane laughs, rolling over onto him.
thanks for reading!! reblogs are super appreciated ❤️
i am convinced that ilya is into doing old people shit with shane, especially after they’re out.
there’s a tulip festival in ottawa that shane has never even heard of despite living there for a major part of his life, and ilya’s like “please let’s go to the tulip festival” and shane’s like ???????? why???? tulips?????? wtf?? but of course he goes and he Doesn’t Get It but ilya’s having fun, he’s full on turning his megawatt super smile on shane and taking a million photos of shane among the many colourful tulips and holding his hand and kissing his cheek and talking to random old ladies who tell them (well, mostly ilya because shane doesn't compute information about flowers) about tulips and stuff, and shane stands next to him and holds his hand while ilya animatedly talks and gestures with their hands linked and shane watches him, so enamoured, so besotted, because this isn’t about tulips, it’s just spending time together somewhere outside of hockey, where they're not shane hollander and ilya rozanov but just two guys among people, and shane is happy to continue standing next to his husband and nearly letting him smack Shane's own hand in his face from waving their joined hands around so much.
now that im seeing this again, im realizing im not done.
they go to an art museum that david recommended because there's a new exhibition and ilya, again, wants to go and shane is looking at him like ??? you know nothing about art, and ilya nods and says, that's why we should go. learn. broaden our horizons, and shane sighs and books them a guided tour.
they get to a painting, you know, one of these things that's just a blob of single colour, and shane thinks he could’ve done that. shane doesn't get it. it's just a blob of colour. and not even a pretty colour, just some weird muddy shade that looks like vomit, maybe. and the guide is talking about it and next to him, ilya is oooooohhh-ing and aaaahhhh-ing and nodding along and saying “of course” and “yes, i thought so” and shane is staring at him as if he's seeing him for the first time, because. what. and they move along and he feels so stupid because nothing of what the guide said about this “painting” made any sense to him.
ilya notices how pinched shane’s expression is and kisses the back of his hand, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. shane chews on the inside of his cheek and finally, whispered, asks how ilya knows all this stuff about this painting, and ilya shrugs and says, i don’t, and, it’s just a fucking a circle with colour that looks like puke, and shane is so relieved. they look at each other and snicker like teenagers about how stupid and pretentious it is and then duck out of the tour to go gossip about terrible art but end up finding pieces that they both actually like and stand side by side admiring and finding new little things to point out to the other.
as they take another turn around the exhibition, they pass a couple looking at and discussing the puke blob very seriously, they look at each other and snort, and then walk away very quickly when they receive glares, laughing the whole way.
When Shane joins the centaurs, Ilya arranges it that he gets the locker next to his. He's not passing up the chance to flirt with his half-dressed husband before and after games. Being captain comes with perks.
"You're lucky to get this locker," he tells Shane before their first practice. "Everyone in this room is always fighting to get it."
"Why, because it's the one next to yours?" says Shane, tugging a curl at the back of Ilya's head just hard enough to pull his head back playfully.
"Well, yes," laughs Ilya. "But this is also the magic locker."
Shane has that look on his face that Ilya knows means he's not sure if he wants to laugh or roll his eyes.
"The magic locker?" he says with a skeptical eyebrow and a fond smile. "I'm scared to ask what that means."
"You'll see. Is very mysterious. Science cannot explain it. You will soon see its power for yourself."
And Shane's laughing now.
"How about you get dressed so that you're not late for practice, Cap? The only power I want to see right now is your ass on the ice."
And Ilya has this stupid grin the whole way through practice that only gets wider when Shane gets back to his locker to find his favourite post-practice protein bar and an ice-cold can of ginger ale. There's a small post-it stuck to the protein bar that says "Welcome to the team, Hollander. Love, the magic locker elves. xx" It's unmistakably Ilya's handwriting.
"See?" says Ilya, delighted at how much Shane is smiling. "Mysterious."
"Super mysterious," he says, pressing a small kiss to Ilya's cheek. "Tell the elves I say thank you."
And every practice or game after that, there's always something small waiting in the locker for Shane. Because his locker is magic.
MyShane is uncomfortable showing physical affection in public after years of being so deep in the closet he didn't even let himself recognise his own sexuality. However, that is so dramatically overshadowed by how possessive he is over Ilya. All Ilya has to do is smile at a pretty waitress and Shane is in his lap with his tongue so far down his throat it makes intubation look non-invasive in comparison.
Shane is fucking strong, physically and mentally, and Ilya loves that so much about Shane.
Ilya loves how Shane's tighs could crush his skull when Ilya's eating him out. Ilya loves how Shane is his solid rock, his lighthouse, his guardian angel whenever he has to make it through bad days. Ilya loves how easily Shane carries Ilyas bags for him. Ilya loves how admirably Shane faces his problems and his own fears, undeterred and with his head held high. Ilya loves that Shane can shove him around, can push him against a wall, slam him into the boards, can easily leave his marks on Ilya. Ilya loves how strongly Shane wants him, choses Ilya time and time again, how much Shane loves him and how he steadfastly shows this to Ilya and the world. Ilya loves that they can play and roughhouse together without fearing to actually hurt each other. Ilya loves how heavy and solid and comfortable Shane's weight feels against his. Ilya loves that Shane can make a stanley cup winning team out of the Centaurs by pure determination and ambition. lya loves that he can trust Shane's body being able to take him, that he can fuck Shane with reckless abandon, throw him around, crush into him with animal instinct, collaps on top of Shane with his entire weight. Ilya loves how fiercely protective Shane is of him, on and off the ice. Ilya loves that he has to actually fight against a struggling Shane to pin him down. Ilya loves his strong husband, his Shane, who lets himself only surrender to Ilya.
They stay in bed for as long as possible, even though both of their stomachs are growling with hunger.
There are clouds blowing past the big windows, a reminder that time doesn’t stand still.
Shane clings to him under the covers. Neither of them speak, as if silence could stop the clouds from moving.
Ilya feels an anxious finger tapping against his chest. He brings the restless hand up to his mouth and kisses it before intertwining with his own.
There’s a weird sort of empty feeling when Ilya closes his bag. He thinks this might have been the best two weeks of his life. No, he’s sure of it, has never been so sure about anything.
“Made some sandwiches,” Shane says, voice low. “For the road.”
Ilya nods. He’s not hungry.
His ribs don't hurt anymore, but Shane still insists on carrying his bag to the car, and Ilya wants nothing more than to steal it from him and put it back in the bedroom.
He doesn’t. Instead he opens the door to the passenger seat and gets in.
They sit in silence for a while, the engine doesn’t start and Ilya is about to say something when Shane speaks.
“We won’t be able to, you know… say goodbye…at the airport.”
Ilya looks at him confused for a second before he understands what Shane actually means.
They can’t kiss goodbye.
Ilya’s hand comes to rest against Shane’s cheek, thumb stroking over his freckles. Shane closes his eyes and Ilya leans in and kisses him. Once, twice, lets the third one linger.
“Thank you for inviting me,” he says as they pull apart.
“You said that already.”
“I wanted to say it again.”
They have to start driving if they want to make it to Ilya’s afternoon flight.
“I love you,” Shane says, and his eyes look so sincere.
I do think the threat of divorce is a daily occurrence in the Hollander-Rozanov household. Ilya presses his cold feet against Shane's shins and Shane is shrieking and trying to get away, telling Ilya to stop and Ilya puts on his best hurt face, pouts and tells him, "if you want a divorce you can just say that." They're playing Montreal and right before they head onto the ice Shane tells him, "if you don't score at least twice, I'm filing for divorce." Shane places one of his gross morning smoothies in front of Ilya, who's barely awake and he just says, "no, divorce."
Did you guys know what right now hollanov are cuddled up on the couch and Shane is curled into Ilya’s chest, back to the TV (he’d fallen asleep an hour into the movie), his socked feet pushed into the ankle of Ilya’s sweats. Shane fusses a little when the movie Ilya is watching has some loud explosions and he’s quickly grabbing the remote and turning it down.
His hand is smoothing down over the back of Shane’s head and he’s mumbling “shh sleep” as he’s leaning down to kiss kiss kisss the top of his head, rub his nose in a bit to smell Shane, lingering since Shane isn’t awake to swat him away. Ilya feels Shane’s hand fist into his tshirt where his hand was laying on his chest, and his thigh pushes in closer between Ilya’s before his boy is drawing in a big huge sigh and falling back to sleep. Ilya is smiling into Shane’s soft hair with his eyes sleepily watching the tv
once the centaurs see shane get rage baited by ilya enough times they decide they also want a reaction™️ but they just get a monotone (warning esque) “wyatt” but oh lord ilya skates up to shane at practice with a tiny smile and “i swear to fucKING GOD ILYA” and shoves him with his whole body. “man didn’t do nothing” “shut up you’ll be next”
I saw a post about Shane and Ilya being sad that they can't thank each other in their acceptance speeches like other can with their spouses and it got me thinking:
Ilya wins his first awards and hes got nobody he really wants to thank after his team and coach cause he he hates his family but he knows his speech is too short so on impulse he goes "And I want to thank Shane Hollander for being slightly worse than me this season". Everyone knows it was going to one of those two, so everyone thinks hes an asshole to say that but whats new so it works for him. But from then on it then becomes a bit for both of them to thank each other in their speeches in a snide way as a reason they won.
Shane winning the Art Ross Trophy (Awarded to the player who leads the league in total points at the end of the regular season). and going "special thanks to Rozanov for missing at least 5 shots this season, he was a huge help"
Ilya winning the Conn Smythe Trophy (Awarded to the most valuable player for his team in the playoffs.) "Just want to give a quick shout out to Hollander for getting knocked out in the second round this season. Must hate to see me up here."
They find a way to mention the other in their speeches every time all the time.
