Shane in canon is constantly and painfully aware of the responsibilities he has as a public figure that is then multiplied by his responsibility as an Asian-Canadian public figure that is visibly not exclusively white. Shane Hollander is generous, hyper competent, competitive to an insane degree, and is willing to give everything of his to the sport. He is in a white dominated sport that is known for its rampant discrimination and toxic “locker room” culture.

From the moment he decided to pursue hockey professionally, Shane was very aware that everything he did from that point was a performance.

Forget about his queerness or his (definite but still not canonly stated) autism for a second but simply from a racial perspective he was entering the profession at a disadvantage. He had to be the best one on the ice at all time not only because of his insane competitiveness but because as one of the only minorities on the ice at any given moment and ESPECIALLY as one of the only Asian players on the ice at any given moment he had to constantly prove himself.

No matter how far he got in his career his racial identity was always a point of conversation and a matter of difference.

He was good in spite of his race to the hockey world.

And the NHL constantly made him aware of this by holding him to a higher standard than other players. Because of his hard work/skill/ talent - Shane was “graciously” rewarded by being recognized long after he should have been. He was the top prospect pick, second draft pick, dominated world juniors and won gold and silver respectively two consecutive years, was the MVP for his juniors league and won rookie of the year after being drafted.

Shane Hollander was not only exemplary but he was the standard to be held to.

Because he had to be.

“He hated how serious he was. How earnest. He was everything the league wanted from their stars.” ILYA ROZANOV.

Professional hockey especially in the early 2000s would not have accepted a minority man if he was not the cream of the fucking crop. Shane is the model minority because he was the literal fucking standard. He was polite in interviews (because every word he said was scrutinized and inspected) , he was a by the book player that only played clean,

( because if he gave anyone a reason to doubt his playing they might take hockey away)

(he could not give anyone an excuse to doubt his ability because if Shane was not so unquestionably good then his entire career could be over in an instant)

shane was never in any scandals or appeared anything that perfectly put together everywhere he went

(Because the same league that crowned him captain within the first two-three years of his career would absolutely take it away from him if he was not perfectly composed at all times)

and above it all, he was a consistently achieving player - he earned the NHL far more than anyone expected and because of that he was constantly expected to continue to achieve to higher and higher standards

He is the model minority because Shane Hollander has never been anything less than exceptional, polite, and marketable. He doesn’t do anything about the racism he experiences in the league and to them that means he can “take a joke”. By never voicing anything than the RIGHT answer or opinion, he became the exception- the proof that the league wasn’t racist because this one in a generation player was a half Japanese man. He was digestible because he was as spectacular as he was inoffensive.

And yet, he’s constantly dominating the hockey world, Shane Hollander has never once allowed himself to be shrunken down on the ice and will never

He dismantles the entire mold they consistently try to force him into - he’s not soft- this is a grown adult man in a contact high power sport and he’s not above reminding people of that.

Shane Hollander is the antithesis of what racist white sport bros use to justify the racist culture that surrounds professional sports. Because he is not only hyper competent and capable but he’s also very traditionally masculine.

And that makes people burn because what can they say to criticize him?

He’s talented? He’s a masc gym bro? He’s not visibly emotional or emotionally vulnerable? He’s too good at his fucking job?

Shane Hollander is what ever drooling dumbass hockey he-man fan wishes he could be but can’t and because of this - they hate him for his excellence but love him for his success.

face mushed into his groin, eyes closed, just focusing on breathing and the soothing motions of ilya playing with his hair,

shane, having a panic attack; I’m gonna kneel before my russian man and sniff his crotch to calm down

Shane is accidentally fuck drunk on the plane home with all the cens post a swing of away matches.

Like it’s not really Shane and Ilya’s fault. Not really. Ilya wakes up before Shane’s alarm, and Shane is sprawled on his tummy asleep underneath ilya, who is half laid over him, his arm around Shane’s waist and face smushed into Shane’s warm shoulder. They’d won last night and the two games before that and the heavy thrill of it was settling into Ilya’s veins, how right this year felt, how good it felt being on the same team as Shane, seeing this thing all start to work.

Anyway- blah blah blah, Ilya is kissing up over the back of Shane’s neck, his short hairline, over his ears and shoulders, lazy nuzzles of his nose because they have time. It’s just early light in the room and Shane’s alarm hasn’t gone off yet, meaning they have time. They’d fucked last night, frantic and hot against the door of the hotel, still half sweaty from rushed showers at the rink. Adrenaline thundering through the pair of them. It had been desperate and rushed, spit instead of lube and grabbing hands.

They’d showered after and curled up in bed and kissed sweet and slow and passed out hard. And now, now Ilya wants him again, needs him again, dizzy proud of Shane, dizzy happy of waking up to his pretty boy in his bed. His husband, his teammate. Fuck it makes Ilya feel crazy. Shane wakes up to the lube slick of Ilya’s fingers petting over his hole, sighing happily and rolling his hips back once, twice. “Mmm sore” Shane exhales and Ilya hums, presses his nose behind Shane’s ear, and Ilya’s fingers are soft and sweet and he’s making a sad little sound. “Sorry sweetheart” he exhales, knowing they’d been rough last night. “Let’s kiss is all better baby” Ilya had used his mouth on Shane’s dripping wet with saliva and slow, made him cum like that and then got him open on his fingers because Shane had softly whimpered and asked for “more please” then they’d snoozed Shane’s alarm a few times because then they’d both wanted Ilya’s cock inside him after that. They fucked deep, slow and heavy.

Ilya had been laid over Shane’s body, pressed skin to shin, Ilya’s neck tucked into Shane’s neck, kissing and licking and nuzzling into the soft skin. Ilya’s arms had been wrapped around Shane, one around his chest the other under his head, Shane’s face in the crook of his elbow, panting wet and hot into the skin.

His fifth thrust inside Shane had whimpered, turned his face into Ilya’s bicep and kissed at the warm skin and sighed “can still feel you from last night, feels good. Feels, like a lot, you already feel big in the morning but it’s even more” he’d whispered, soft and true and Ilya had gripped his face and licked into his mouth, kissed him hot and needy and then told him him how fucking good he felt, how good he was, his boy. And it’s so dizzy good like that, in the dark quiet early morning of the hotel room, under thick soft hotel bedding, just the pair of them whispers and heavy touches, slick messy kisses. Then Shane’s sucking Ilya’s fingers and they are moving slow, sore from the night before, the pleasure is stretched out and lazy and hot and good good good.

Shane gets fuzzy, so fucking hard and so fucking open and full of Ilya and the sheets are so soft and feel so nice under his cheek, and Ilya is holding him so tight and is so big over him and the ache of his muscles from last night feels sore and good and he just kinda softly slips into another space, that warm lightheaded fuzz that Ilya can send him into. He’s sucking on Ilya’s tongue, his fingers, nuzzling into Ilya’s face and then he’s just he only exists in the hot aching place he and Ilya connect, he needs. He needs. They come with whimpering I love yous, Ilya’s hand gripping Shane’s jaw, face with such force it makes his cheeks smush and Shane’s lashes flutter at the force of his orgasm. Shane nuzzles and kisses and mouths at Ilya’s forearm as Ilya cums all over his back, his ass.

Ilya doesn’t realise till Shane is so far gone until he reached down to ease himself out and Shane whines, whines, reaches back and grips at Ilya’s body, “stay” he exhales, and Ilya is leaning back down over him, finding Shane’s face and his palm and tilting him up to his gaze and Shane’s eyes are half lidded and cheeks red and he’s leaning in to try and find Ilya’s mouth like it’s the only thing that exists.

“Ohhh bunny” Ilya cooes, and kisses over Shane’s flushed cheeks, knocks their noses other. “You are gone yes?” Ilya asks, low voice, and Shane just turns his face further into Ilya’s, like he’s trying to burrow into his skin.

“Was goooood” Shane exhales, and his and hand goes up into Ilya’s curls, tugging and fidgeting with them. Ilya can’t help but beam, and he’s kissing all over Shane’s face, arm warm around him to keep him close.

Ilya smooths his hand down to grip at Shane’s ass, cooing a low “always good, you’re always good” and then- then Ilya’s alarm goes off which fuck. Means they have like half an hour to be downstairs ready to go- and Shane just huffs and rubs his face into Ilya’s neck and says “turn it off” and Ilya lets out a low laugh and then ten seconds later he’s pulling back- “oh fuck Ilya. We’ve gotta go” he says, wide eyed and Ilya sucks his teeth and rubs his thumb over Shane’s cheek and she’s like “da bunny, we do, I’m sorry- we got. Hm carried away” Ilya says low, kisses Shane’s nose and chin and squeezes him to his chest with a firm cuddle.

“we need to go, but is okay” Ilya reassured him and it is. Ilya gets Shane into the shower and kisses him deep till Shane’s toes curl against the tiles and then he’s slipped out to let Shane finish in the shower while quickly packs them up- gets them clothes, raids the mini bar for an apple juice. He makes Shane sip at the juice and Ilya gets them dressed, loose sweats, a hoodie of Ilya’s that’s too big for either of them pulled onto Shane, hood up over his wet hair. He’s more himself by the time they get out of the room, but it’s rushed and not how Ilya likes, he likes to kiss Shane back to being warm eyed and snarky and calling Ilya an asshole. Likes to touch and hold him close, tease him and maybe make him cum again, make him squirm like it’s too much. Then bring him back with a bath and kisses and talking.

Shane looks spacey, likes he’s come off three hard shifts on the ice, cheeks still flushed and eyes so dark and long slow blinks. Loose limbed and unsteady.

Shane sinks into Ilya’s side in the lift, yawning heavily and he’s pressing his face to Ilya’s throat and his hand is shoving into Ilya’s pocket. Ilya puts a hand up under his sweatshirt and rubs at Shane’s warm hip, lower back.

They get to the lobby just as the coach is pulling up outside to take them to the airport. The boy don’t pay them much mind, soft mutters of “cap” “hollzy” “morning” early enough for most of the team to be half asleep or hungover still.

On the short ride to the hotel Shane falls asleep curled into Ilya’s side, hood still up, his hand under Ilya’s sweatshirt, resting on the low of his stomach, pink finger tucked into the waistband of Ilya’s sweats. Fabric covered the quiet needy affection. Ilya’s hand rubs up and down Shane’s back, squeezes the back of his neck when he fusses.

It’s only once they get to the airport that the guys realise Shane is off. “Hollzy you get hit last night” Bood asks, rubs the top of his head in passing as they settle into seats by the gate. Shane shakes his head, blinks heavy and says “oh um no. Just uh feel a bit” Shane shrugs and waves his hand and Bood nods, starts talking about his sister having the flu and these immunity supplements he thinks are “bomb”. Ilya pulls Shane’s leg over his once they are sat, tugs him to rest his head on his shoulder.

Troy offers Shane like six different snacks he keeps producing from his bag. Shane’s just all slow shakes of his head and he only accepts the coffee Ilya had asked bood to get for him. Shane smiles against the cup when it’s a Mocca, chocolate sweet and heavy and comforting on his tongues. Keeps one hand in Ilyas as they sit together, heavy and all yawns. Hass and Hayes both talk about how “cute” they look, cuddled up- far more than their usual affection. It’s sweet Ilya thinks, that the boys notice the change in Shane but Ilya feels like a frustrated guard dog, protective of this soft lovely Shane that is only his. Ilya aches to kiss him, to draw love hearts with his fingertips over Shane’s hips till he gets too shiver and shoves his hands away. To feed him grapes and oranges by hand and have a far too long shower and curl up in bed together again, maybe doze a while.

When they finally get on the plane, Ilya cant help himself, pushes up the arm between the seats as soon as he can and pulls Shane into his chest. Shane doesn’t even try to protest, shoves his face into the warm skin between Ilya’s shoulder and jaw, with a weighted exhale. “Baby” Shane whispers and Ilya nods, nods, tucks a hand to Shane’s cheek, under the fabric of his hoodie and his fingers find his earlobe to rub rub at it. “I know” Ilya mutters, squeezes Shane in a warm hard hug. “I know, you did good” he praises, honest, because Shane had done good, so good getting here. Ilya rubs his cheek against the top of Shane’s head. The fabric of the hood soft.

but then. okay, a few years ago, hayden had asked if shane wanted to go to pride with him and jackie. shane had said no. no big deal. shane says no to most invites to loud, sweaty, places where he might have to say hi to fan or eat processed food.

shane hollander is not homophobic.

then again. shane hollander never fights. he certainly doesn’t instigate. but he had. he had swung on scott hunter after the end of play. at the time, hayden had asked shane why he picked a fight with scott hunter of all people (a lot of people called shane boring & uptight. hayden had always thought this was really unfair because shane was secretly very funny. he just didn’t like strangers. as far as hayden could tell, hunter was actually boring & uptight, but he got away with it because his play was so inconsistent it gave the illusion of him being interesting).

so the fight was weird. what was weirder, is how shane bristled and mumbled something about the fight being “personal” and “the principle of the thing.” hayden chalked it all up to stress. until now, as he sits, listening to scott hunter accept his mvp award, as the first out gay NHL player.

And Every. Single. Poster was vandalised, it literally looks like some of the most beautiful art you have ever seen

#myilya is not retiring before shane, and #myshane would literally be nauseated if he did. like these boys are meant to be at the TOP toGETHER. they will play together until even the most dedicated hollander/rozanov stans are quietly asking if maybe it might be time for retirement. they are pushing each other to their physical limits every time they are on the ice together. they are playing deadly good hockey up until the last fucking moment of reason. they are winning cups, they are raising rookies, they are giving every last drop of blood sweat and tears to this game, but also to each other. because hockey is so intrinsically tied to their love for one another, they can’t be decoupled. they met each other because of hockey. they were forced together because of hockey. they proved that they can only rival each other because of hockey. they get to spend every second of every day together because. of. hockey.

like imagine (in this world of hollanov RPF) the bewilderment shane would feel at hearing that people imagine ilya domesticated and raising kids and dogs only a few years into their marriage. shane feels a little guilty about his gut reaction, but fuck, the first thing that made shane attracted to ilya other then his stunning fucking face in those russian clips was the way ilya played. before the two of them even met, shane knew ilya was the only player who could come close to his talent and drive. and before he knew that ilya’s accent could make his blood simmer, or that his body would make shane literally weak in the knees, or that the simplest touch from ilya would put shane in that pleasant floaty place, he knew he was turned on by ilya’s talent. so was it so unbelievable that shane thought, just maybe, he would lose a little bit of that spark with his husband if ilya wanted to quit so soon?

the guilt isn’t necessary, because when shane brings up the idea to ilya, his husband is also fucking offended. because why would ilya fucking rozanov—russian menace, second fastest skater in the league, three time award winner for best captain—quit? to what? stand in the fucking family box with shane’s name on his back? sit at home with dogs and kids while shane is on the road? give up this thing that freed him from the cold clutches of russia and all it meant to him, that gave him purpose, that gave him shane?