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The Sam standee is looking at Adrian (planet) from Project Hail Mary!

(made by @jupiterhead)

After he gets drafted and enters his club rat era, he’s wearing tight muscle tees that show off his frankly huge biceps and cling to his thick belly. That boy is wearing jeans so tight he has to jump a little bit to get them over his ass. His inner thigh seams are in a constant state of almost wearing out (it’s fine - he’s rich enough to buy new jeans whenever he wants them.) He carries the weight with so much fucking confidence. He’s hot shit and he absolutely knows it… 90% of the time.

Shane is fucking mesmerized by his body, which even more than in canon represents everything he is not supposed to want for himself, but desperately, desperately does. And the thing is, Ilya makes it look so much fun. He brushes off chirps about his weight with ease. He’s always sharper and wittier when he claps back. It’s something he becomes known for with the fans and his teammates - that and being a prolific ladies man. Opposing players say shit like “damn, I didn’t know so many chicks were into fat guys”, and Ilya’s there like, “Is true, your mother baked me a cake before I let her blow me”, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

Shane watches him and badly wants to feel superior about his intense, restrictive diet and the way it’s supposed to mean he’s more disciplined, like a pro athlete should be, but all he feels is envious that Ilya can get away with indulging, with letting himself HAVE the things he wants while still being the only person who can really match him on the ice (and off it.)

He’s also just very, very into Ilya’s weight on a purely lustful, physical level.

Shane tried to tell himself for a few years that it was just the confidence Ilya carried himself with that turned him on… and maybe his high cheekbones and big arms and sexy little smirk. And yeah, all that stuff does it for him too. But then he’d get to Ilya’s hotel room for a hookup and immediately be overcome with the desire to bury his face in Ilya’s thick, soft, furry belly and fondle his wide, thick love handles where they spilled out over his too-tight boxers.

Ilya totally clocks this from very early on and is wildly into the dynamic. He knows exactly how into his body Shane is… 90% of the time.

However, this is Ilya Rozanov, so that 10% where he’s less confident in himself and in Shane’s attraction to him is ROUGH for a while, especially before he’s really acknowledged or sought help for his depression.

Because yeah, he’s really confident most of the time NOW, but that started as a mask he put on to protect himself. It was still slipping a bit when he was 18 and his father told his new coach on draft day that he was lazy, always that word, his entire childhood. And he tried not to fucking notice the way that his father, his new coach, his new GM all looked his body up and down in the moment after, when he promised he would work very, very hard for them, but he did.

And the thing is… maybe Irina was always a little bigger, as well. Ilya thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. His father did too, sometimes. Other times, when he was angry, when he thought she was cheating on him or going to leave him, he called her other things. Ilya would see her sometimes afterwards, turning to the side in front of the mirror and sucking her stomach in tight, pulling her cheeks back with her fingers to sharpen her jawline. She got quite a lot skinner over a short period of time the year Ilya turned twelve, and then she was gone.

Then suddenly, coaches and scouts started to take a proper interest in Ilya and they wanted him to slim down, too. He never did - restricting made him feel weird and unmoored and miss his mama even more, for reasons he was too young to fully understand. So he decided if he couldn’t be smaller, he’d just be fucking better, and bigger, the biggest guy with the biggest personality and the biggest skill, and you know what, he DID it.

He’s an MLH star and a millionaire and thousands of miles away from his shitty home life and he did it all without changing himself! He has no reason to feel sad anymore, because he *did it* (so why does he still feel like this???)

As their relationship develops and they have their moment in the hotel room at All Stars and their moment by the fire pit at Shane’s cottage, Shane slowly realizes that Ilya’s self-confidence, while real, is not infallible. Learns about his mom and the way his father talked about her body, and Ilya’s. Remembers that time back when Ilya made him a tuna melt and called himself lazy, which Shane thought was odd at the time but now makes a lot of horrible sense.

From that point on, Shane is fucking body positivity CENTRAL where Ilya is concerned. It actually makes Ilya laugh a bit, because he truly didn’t give a shit when Shane teased him about his diet (and in certain contexts he actually kinda liked it when he did that…) but it’s just so fucking funny and endearing the way Shane is BATTLING his own impulses to make a snarky remark about Ilya’s second McGriddle of the day and instead just like frowning intently and saying “I actually read somewhere that they have, uh, quite a lot of protein.”

He’s also more wildly and openly appreciative of Ilya’s body than ever, and so VOCAL about it all the time now in a way which drives Ilya insane with lust but is also just really heartwarming in a way which is kind of a lot (in a good way) if Ilya lets himself think about it too long.

Shane’s said four words since he woke up fifteen minutes ago. He’s sat at the counter, stool pulled up to it, hunched tiredly over a bowl of cereal. He’s in his scrub pants and no shirt, as usual for pre shift dinner to avoid any spills or smells on his top.

Ilya is leant in the doorway of Shane’s kitchen. He’d finished his short shift at three in the afternoon, been at Shane’s place by half past.

He’d let himself in quietly, (using the key Shane had given him two months ago now to come go and he pleased) very careful as he moved around the home, to stay quiet and not wake Shane from his pre night shift sleep as he changed into the sweats he bought with him.

Shane would be up at four thirty to stretch, shower, do his skincare change and then out in the kitchen by five. Ilya had folded and stacks Shane’s clothes from the dyer, and filled Shane’s waterbottle while he waited for his boy to wake up.

They’d have and hour and half before Shane would have to leave before shift, it wasn’t much, but Ilya hadn’t seen Shane outside of in passing at work in a few days and he’d missed him. The chance to kiss and cuddle and sit with his boy was worth it. Ilya was curled up on the couch when the door to Shane’s bedroom clicked open, and his Shane had shuffled out, in his scrub pants and socks, rubbing at his right eye with his fist.

Ilya had gotten so absorbed in real housewives that he’d not even realised the time, and his eyes darted to his phone. His stomach flipped a little at the 5:21 on the screen. Ilya’s eyes darted back to Shane, who had come to a stop at the end of the couch. He’d leant down and pressed his lips on Ilya’s head, mumbled “hi baby” and sniffled before shuffling onward to the kitchen before Ilya could reply.

Ilya watched the slump of his retreating boyfriends back. This was bad, late out of bed and no kiss on the lips. Ilya had managed to sit still for all of five minutes before he was climbing off the couch and following after Shane. He wanted to give him space, to wake up, to settle, to seek out Ilya when he was ready for him. But Ilya had missed him, and a Shane out of pattern was unpredictable.

It bought them to now, Ilya leant in the door with Shane bringing spoonfuls of cereal to his mouth, the soft clink of his spoon and the distant noise of the tv the only sound in the room.

“Sleep okay?” Ilya asked softly, and then went about making Shane’s pre shift coffee- half to do something with his hands and half because Shane was already late to get up, late to have his coffee in hand warm and fresh ti help wake him up.

“Mmhm” Shane hummed, nodded, muffled a yawn into his hand.

“Work ok?” Shane asked then, voice low and scratchy with sleep. Ilya turned to look at him as the coffee machine spluttered and spilled smooth coffee into Shane’s mug. Shane had a pillow crease down his cheek, his eyes were hazy with the edges of sleep, chest flushed with sleep warmth. Ilya wanted to bundled him up whole, maybe bite him a little. Maybe kiss and suck at the warm skin of his neck while he got him all cosy in his lap and touched him until that bunch of his shoulders dropped and the loosened into something softer, warmer, loose limbed.

Shane looked at him with expectant brows and Ilya bit down a smile as he turned the espresso shot into an iced long black. Of course Shane would check on him with the few words he managed to get out, those somehow worked past the tangle in his brain.

“Was good, not too busy” Ilya shrugged and crossed the kitchen to place the coffee in front of Shane, looked down at the grumbly shape of his boyfriend, he could feel his stewing radiating off him. Ilya placed a gentle hand on the back of Shane’s neck, rubbed the pads of his fingers up against Shane’s hairline. He dipped his head to kiss the top of Shane’s head.

“Thank you” Shane mumbles and its wobbly, and ha lingers, pets at Shane’s neck but Shane doesn’t lean back into him, doesn’t chat to him about last nights shift in slow hazy words, doesn’t catch Ilya’s hand to hold while he eats. Ilya hums, and pulls back.

Sometimes his Shane is quiet and sometimes his Shane needs space; especially on his last shift on a block of nights. Ilya is familiar with the way they untangle you, leave you spacey and backwards. Like you’re jet lagged or a toddler or a tiny bit drunk and hungover at the same time.

Ilya strolls out of the kitchen and goes to mute the tv, incase the sound is too much, and then goes to his bag for the three item he’d thrown in there for Shane this morning. He wordlessly makes his way back to the kitchen where Shane is rinsing his bowl, his backpack sitting unzipped on the bench, now containing his lunch bag.

Ilya places the small box of peppermint tea inside the bag (Shane said it helped with the bloating and nausea he sometimes got on nights and shane had texted Ilya with many sad faces that he was out of it last night) and well Ilya had stock for Shane at his place so it just made sense to bring some.

He lays the jumper he has in his arms over the top of the bag. It was Ilya’s, a sweatshirt he’d had for years, worn in thin and comfortable, soft in that way that only came with time. Shane’s favoured jumper to take of Ilya’s when they were at his place. Shane could decide if he wanted it for work- but at least the offer was there.

Ilya takes himself back to the couch, sits down and clicks the volume up to a soft murmur. Tells himself that he’s doing well not to hover, even though he kind of needs a smile and a kiss from Shane before he leaves to feel confident that is boy is alright. But then again, maybe he’s simply too tired for that- or overstimulated by Ilya’s presence. And yes Ilya’s missed his boy, but even if his time with Shane, being in Shane’s orbit consisted of only this, that was okay- they knew, time together between shifts like this, in overlap, they were just whatever they could find energy to be together.

Two weeks ago Ilya had come home with such a migraine post work that date night with Shane had been a cool shower and then laying in the dark of Ilya’s room in silence with the fan on, not touching because Ilya’s skin felt throbby.

A week before that, both post a 12hr day they had drunk wine directly from one shared bottle, and ate Thai food on the floor in front of the tv as they ranted about their equally fucking cursed days. It would change, what they needed but, what they needed would always be from each other, to exist together.

Ilya is halfway through a text to Sveta, when he suddenly blinks and oh, that’s a lap full of Shane. He’s warm and heavy and no longer shirtless, in his scrub top and Ilya’s jumper and he’s shoving his face into Ilya’s neck, tucking his arms in between their chests and his thigh pressing to either side of Ilya.

Ilya lets out a soft breathless laugh, knocked out of him the the weight of Shane, but then, then he feels the ripple of Shane’s shoulders, hears his big drawing breath in the way it’s coming faster than usual. Oh. Oh Shane.

am i any different now

bonus fetal position grace:

Two separate thoughts

Shane will never tell anyone that half the reason he's certain he will keep this house forever is that he's a fucking pervert. It starts small, innocuous even, brushes when he enters a room. Then less innocent, hands groping his ass and chest, fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, hand sliding up his legs when he lays in bed at night. But the nail in the coffin so to speak, the proof in his own mind that Shane is a gay pervert is one day, about a month after he's moved in he standing in his kitchen shirtless peeling an orange after a run when a hand between his shoulder blades shoves him down against the countertop. He suddenly feels something down there, wet pressure like-- like his asshole is being fingered. His joggers are still on but they don't protect him from the assault. Embarrassingly he doesnt fight back or try to get away, just writhes and moans as he is fingerfucked by something in his kitchen. When he's come in his pants and the pressure holding him down disappears and he has to get up and go about his day he feels followed. As if there's something with him going from room to room, when he sits down there's pressure on the couch cushion next to him. Its comforting. That thought makes him feel almost more perverted than all his wet dreams about a dead hockey legend.

Second thought

I think that eventually Shane find the necklace and it just feels so warm and familiar in his hands. He knows it belonged to Rozanov because 1. He's watched all of the mans Montreal games and as much of Ilya’s USSR footage as he could find. He's Shane's favorite player to watch, alive or dead. 2. Ilya was never pictured without it, in all his promo material for Montreal. and 3. It's the cross necklace that sometimes bonks him in the head or shoulders when he's getting roughly fucked in his dreams every night.

If a person is highly allergic to nuts then there *is* a risk that if their sexual partner eats nuts then they could trigger an allergic reaction via their semen

I am just imagining hook up era texting

Shane: have you eaten any nuts in the past 48 hours?

Ilya: terrible joke about nuts

Shane: you’re awful. Answer the question

Ilya: I had peanut butter this morning??

Shane: so sad. Guess I’ll see you in 7 weeks when we play in MTL

Ilya: ???

Shane: yeahhh… last time I had to take Benadryl for like three days. Thought we’d be alright since we used condoms but probably better not to risk it

Ilya: ???

ilya: if they could just put their minds off where i put my dick and into where i put the puck, maybe they would notice that it is going into the goal

interviewer: shane hollander, do you have any comment on your husband and captain’s rather coarse language?

Not seeing Rozanov is not an option, so instead Shane picks out a few other cities to regularly go out by himself in. He'll go for a long walk, maybe sit down somewhere for a drink, and then catch a taxi back to the hotel an appropriate amount of time later. It's honestly pretty nice, unwinding by himself in this way, and now disappearing after games is not a thing specific to Boston! It's just another strange Hollander quirk!

Unfortunately, he fails to account for the guys on the team jumping on the most obvious explanation for all these disappearances, which is that Shane now has a girl in every port.

Word about this starts to spread quick, because it is so out of character for Shane, and pretty soon half the league is under the impression that he's some secret playboy.

@scunthotter