From the desk of Cbradley

OFF COURSE a Heated Rivalry mushing AU

rivals to lovers • forced proximity • hurt/comfort • one sleeping bag • 31k • explicit

Written for @hollanov-reverse-bang art by @marinapaintsfanart

Rival dog-sled mushers Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are competing in the dangerous Yukon Quest race when Ilya loses control and crashes off the trail. Shane happens upon him and saves his life, but a blizzard has moved in, and they must seek shelter together. Ilya is injured, and Shane must care for him while keeping them both alive.

OR: Shane and Ilya get trapped in a blizzard and “kiss” in a cave.

“Why don’t you leave me?” Ilya asks, breaking the silence in the tent. He’s on his good side, facing the back of the tent. “We’ve been over this. I couldn't leave someone who was hurt.” “No, not yesterday. Now. You can travel in these conditions; it won’t be fast, but I’m sure you’ve raced in worse. You could leave me here with some food and water, along with my dogs, and head to town. It’ll take you less than a day to get there, and they can send a rescue for me once you arrive. So why stay?” Shane heaves out a heavy sigh, as if the question itself has weight. “I’m not sure. You’re right that it would probably be faster, but I just can’t leave you here.” “Because of the bears?” Ilya jokes, his voice lighter than it was a moment before. “No, not because of the bears,” Shane answers back. “I just…I don't want to leave you out here. It might take longer, but I’d rather we stay together,” he admits, his voice so much softer than it’s been. “Okay,” Ilya agrees, his voice matching Shane’s. “Besides,” Shane continues, “how would I get the full credit for saving you if I can’t show up with you strapped to my sled”

“Rozanov, shut up,” Shane said bluntly, trying to avoid appearing like they were fighting.

“No, I’m not going to shut up, Hollander, you’re being ridiculous and acting as if I don’t know how important this is,” Ilya said, voice still low and angry.

“Stop talking,” Shane begged quietly. He’d tell him to calm down, but Shane had a feeling that Ilya would not take that well.

Ilya did not stop talking; he continued on his rant, but Shane tuned him out, watching Roger make his way across the floor. He’d be within earshot in 5,4,3,2… Shane acted purely on impulse and desperation as he threw his arms around Ilya's neck and brought their mouths together.

Ilya froze momentarily, a statue in marble, all hard lines and angles. Then he softened into Shane’s touch, his hands moving to band around Shane’s waist, pulling their bodies together. It was a fake kiss, and it should have felt exactly as they’d rehearsed.

It did not.

On the couch, their bodies hadn’t pressed together, and Ilya’s tongue hadn’t been in his mouth. He immediately lost himself in the kiss, all thoughts of Roger gone and replaced with the smoky scent of Ilya’s cologne and the taste of wine on his lips. His hand moved without his permission, clinging to the hair at Ilya’s nape.

Shane had never been a big drinker and had only done drugs a single time when he smoked weed and immediately became so paranoid that he had to go to sleep. But he had to imagine that kissing Ilya Rozanov was far better than any high. He could already feel himself getting addicted to the way Ilya’s mouth moved against his, the feeling of Ilya’s hands against him.

Ilya’s mouth pulled from Shane’s, kissing over his jaw and then moving to his ear, where he stopped and whispered: “Not that I object, Hollander, but is there any particular reason that we’re making out right now?”

Shane pulled back, his breath coming in pants. “Roger was walking over, and I didn’t want him to see us yelling at each other,” he said in a whisper, glancing around, but not seeing Roger anywhere in the vicinity.

I’m so excited to finally share the banner with everyone tomorrow and the full fic on August 11th. @marinapaintsfanart has done such a beautiful job with the art and prompt and I’m so excited for you all to read my version of her vision.

Prologue

Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see; (Service 14-15)

Ilya

There are different types of cold. It’s something you learn after years of enduring it. There’s the cold most people experience, the kind that turns your nose red and flushes your cheeks—the kind where Ilya could wear a T-shirt. Then there’s a level below that. A kind of chill that makes you pull your jacket around you like a cocoon, wind finding any bare skin like a personal attack. This kind of cold might require Ilya to don long sleeves, but nothing beyond that. There’s a cold below that, one that only people close to the poles experience. A numb cold that gets into your bones and stays for hours later. The kind that stings when you enter a warm room, like you’re burning alive.

That’s the line for most people—the three types of cold they experience. There are outliers, of course. Mountain climbers, Dene Nation, and dogsled mushers. Types that work on a different scale have tolerances for icy chill that differ greatly from those of the average person.

This is Ilya’s first time experiencing a fourth type of cold. A step below the numbness that subzero temperatures bring. This is a cold he’s not meant to experience, a deadly type. He should be in pain; he knows that. He can see the odd angle of his knee, feel the slick trickle of blood down the side of his face, and taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. But he doesn’t feel any of his, just a bone-deep cold that steals his senses.

There’s a wet nose against his face. It takes an absurd amount of effort to turn his head and stare into Anya’s ice-blue eyes. It takes even more effort to raise his arm and touch her snout.

“Go, get help,” he whispers to her, praying the message gets through.

She darts off through the snow, her paws quick and soundless in the soft cushion of white.

As she retreats into the distance, her form begins to distort and blur, until she is lost amidst the white surroundings. His vision stays blurry, little dots fading in and out of existence with each blink. He tries to clear them away with a few rapid blinks, but it only seems to make the problem worse.

No, I’m being super casual and not making a mood board for every fic I write/have written. Why do you ask?

Honor Code Violations

https://archiveofourown.org/works/78495921

Shane’s honor society mountain retreat and Ilya’s frat council getaway get double-booked. Rooms are limited, beds are fewer, and somehow Shane and Ilya are stuck sharing one.

OR: Frat Boy Ilya and Nerdy Shane get double booked at a cabin, play a bunch of drinking games with their friends, and kiss (and more).

The Bear Prince and the Silent Gods

https://archiveofourown.org/works/84742071

Prince Shane Hollander was said to be blessed by the gods, but that doesn't stop two arrows from piercing his chest and striking him down.

Afterward, the gods are silent, and Prince Ilya Rozanov knows it is on his shoulders alone to bring Shane back.

OR: In the present, Ilya fights to bring Shane back to the land of the living; in the past, he remembers all the moments that led them here.

Off Course:

Showing in a AO3 tab near you on August 11th

Rival dog-sled mushers Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are competing in the dangerous Yukon Quest race when Ilya loses control and crashes off the trail. Shane happens upon him and saves his life, but a blizzard has moved in, and they must seek shelter together. Ilya is injured, and Shane must care for him while keeping them both alive.

OR: Shane and Ilya get trapped in a blizzard and “kiss” in a cave.

A Study in Marriage

https://archiveofourown.org/works/83257021

Shane Hollander needs housing.

Ilya Rozanov needs to improve his reputation.

A fake engagement solves both problems.