dream a little dream of me

Close,” Ilya says, pushing a cutting board and six Roma towards him. “I need these chopped. Recipe calls for tomatoes crushed.”

Hollander blinks down at the board and then up at Ilya, eyebrows furrowing. “Wait, but if the recipe calls for them crushed…?”

“I have seen how you chop tomatoes, Hollander,” Ilya says, flashing him a smirk before he focuses back on his own pile of shallots. “Is close enough to crushed for my recipe.”

Hollander blinks again. “Asshole,” he says, but he relaxes a little bit. He rolls up his sleeves anyway and starts chopping Ilya’s Roma tomatoes.

But they share a house now. Things are different between them. And Ilya—Ilya wants.

“Okay,” Hollander says, quietly, like maybe he wants just as much as Ilya does. He fidgets by his cutting board of tomatoes. “Yeah, okay. Um. Is there anything I can help with then? For dinner?”

“No,” Ilya replies quickly, snatching the board of tomatoes away from Hollander and turning to place it on the counter behind him just so Hollander can’t see the relief spreading across his face. Shane is going to stay.

This is going to be the best penne alla vodka Ilya has ever fucking made in his life.

“Just sit there,” he says when he turns back around and picks up his knife, gesturing to the barstool. “Look pretty. Tell me about your day.”

When it is time to go back to Boston after the MLH gets its shit together, and he has to unlock his house and turn on the lights and no one is there to greet him and no one is there to smile at him and mangle his tomatoes and make faces when he pours them a generous taste of the liquor he bought for the pasta sauce and the only company he has will be the music he plays too loudly—it will be enough to have had this before and still have the memory of it.

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I tried to get good quality vodka. The store said this was Russian vodka. Later when I Googled it seemed like it was Russian, although no longer produced in Russia but in Latvia!!! Oh no Russia lost to Latvia at the Sochi Olympics in the Heated Rivalry universe! Get behind me Ilya, I'll protect you from Papa Grigory 😡. You know good vodka is hard to find here. I hope you approve! 😭

I'd Share A Life (And You'd Share A Life) by noedovenest

34,154 words | Mature

“Olesya.” “Oh-lee-syah,” Shane repeated slowly, making sure he pronounced it right. “What… what are you going to do?” “I don’t know,” Ilya said, resting his head in his hand. “I don’t fucking know.” Shane’s voice was steady. “What can I do?” How long had it been since someone offered to help Ilya? He took care of his family, carried his brother’s financial burdens, tended his own injuries, paid his way through life without aid. The question, softly spoken and rich with genuine intent, was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Could he really trust it? Could he ask someone for help? For once, he wanted to try. OR: Ilya is left with sudden custody of Alexei's daughter and calls Shane to help. (Set just before the cottage.)

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lucky bastard by ghosttotheparty

10,495 words | Mature “I like it,” he says weakly. “I like it, I like you holding me like this.” “Like what?” “Like you own me.” --- or; They're falling in love. They can't have it, even if they can have each other, just for a little while.

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miss you so much i shiver and i shake by allyasavedtheday

4,627 words | Mature

This is worse, somehow, than every other goodbye from the past eight years. Worse, to have all of Ilya now and not be able to touch him. It’s been two hours since they last kissed and weeks until they’ll get to again and there aren’t enough ‘I love you’s in the world to make this hurt less. Ilya is just looking at him, glassy-eyed and a little desperate, and Shane’s hands creak on the steering wheel. “You need to get out of the car before I do something stupid,” he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears he can already feel welling up. “Like what?” Ilya asks, voice scratchy and morose. “Like turn around and drive you back to Montreal with me.” He opens his eyes again, finding Ilya’s gaze across the console. “Or kiss you.” * In which saying goodbye after the cottage is a lot harder than either of them anticipated.

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i've never needed a reason for keeping secrets from myself by blongblong

9,738 words | Mature

Shane’s immediate reaction is to say that he doesn't know when it started. He doesn’t know who his soulmate is. This is what he’s been telling himself for years, because if he stops for more than a second to think about how long he's been collecting little pieces of Ilya Rozanov, he thinks he'll spiral out of control. He'll hit the deck like a firecracker dropped unceremoniously onto the sidewalk, burning wildly and spiralling haphazardly, until he's fizzled out with nothing left to show for himself but smoke, ashes, and the knowledge that his soul is bound to Rozanov's. or: shane hollander spends twenty-five years not thinking about his soulmate. the drawer in his apartment filled with cigarettes, toothpaste, and awful t-shirts says elsewise.

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what you want, what you need (has been killing me) by blongblong

14,756 words | Mature | Sequel to the previous one

Ilya’s soulmate seems to care a lot, about some very, very, specific things. Ilya tries to imagine what it’d be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of focus, that intensity. He thinks of Hollander staring him down during their last face-off. Hollander had looked like he wanted to rip Ilya’s stick from his hands and beat him with it. It was kind of hot, if Ilya’s being honest. It was even hotter when Hollander won the face-off. Christ. Ilya really needs to stop fucking thinking about Shane Hollander. or: ilya rozanov has been ready to meet his soulmate since he was ten. he thinks it'd be great if they also got the memo, because he’s running out of space to keep all their ginger ale.

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but when the sun came up by moonsock

21,714 words | Explicit

Shane finds a new family in Ottawa. It just takes him a bit.

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you'll be mine (and I'll be yours) by theprinceandagcd

6,238 words | Explicit

Ilya hums, playing the card he's been considering for this entire conversation. “We could make more interesting, yes? A bet.” “A bet,” Shane repeats, eyes flashing. “Like what?” The reporter cuts in. “What about wearing the other player’s jersey?” They both turn to her, and Shane says, “Like, the loser wears the winner’s jersey?” “Maybe at the next game in a couple of months?” “Is a good idea,” Ilya muses, nudging Shane’s elbow. “You will look better in my jersey than in Montreal jersey.” Shane makes a low noise, his eyes holding a bit of a spark when he looks back to Ilya. It’s what Ilya was hoping for—the tiniest crack in the mask. He can see a hint of exasperated affection around the corners of Shane’s eyes, a little bit of fire burning just beneath the surface. It sends a thrill down Ilya’s spine, and he wonders if Shane will be snarky when Ilya gets him naked tonight. “That’s not happening,” Shane replies, shaking his head. “Because you’re not winning.” --- Ilya should have known better.

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a boy is a gun by solarspunk

4,017 words | Explicit

“Hollander, what is this?” Shane had his arms over his eyes, the way he always did when he wanted to shut out all his sensation, leaving nothing but the feel of Rozanov’s mouth on every inch of his skin, intensifying the heat. He peeks out from beneath his arms, looking down at the man nuzzling below his waist. “What?” “This,” Rozanov looks up at him, “is this a fucking gun tattoo?” - Shane Hollander gets a gun tattoo.

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english as a second language by Idday

7,184 words | Explicit

Dialect (ˈdī-ə-ˌlekt). Noun: A variety of a language used by the members of a group.   ... Shane's been fucking Ilya Rozanov for a decade and yet somehow the more time they spend together the more he realizes how little he actually knows about Ilya, like, as a person. As a partner.  Again, he wishes he spoke Russian. That they had any shared native language besides sex and hockey.

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window by emotionsandphenomena

3,215 words | Teen

Ilya moves closer, inside Shane’s space. It’s not a big kitchen. Shane sat on this floor in diapers. He made protein shakes before practice on this counter, the one Ilya is backing him up into, pretty much every week of his teen years. He signed his first brand deal at the dining table. This brief, affectionate kiss felt more important than all of that, though. moments at the cottage.

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Tape to Tape by mcshrug

8,228 words | Explicit

Shane Hollander has chemistry with his new American linemate. Montreal fans are thrilled. Ilya Rozanov is not.

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call it what you want by moonsock

3,547 words | Teen

The internet reacts to #Hollanov

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Something New by Rizandace

4,183 words | Mature

“It was in 2013. The first time, we were in that stupid apartment of yours in Montreal. So many pillows, you hired someone to decorate. I knew it was your first time, like that, with anybody. I wanted to make it good for you so badly. I’d thought a lot about it. I’d planned for it, like I never would have for anybody else I’ve been with. I didn’t expect— I didn’t realize how right it would be. I wanted to stay, I wanted to stay in that bed forever just to hold you.” “Holy shit,” Shane says. Ilya sighs, glares at him. “You have got to stop saying that in response to my romantic declarations. Is bad for my nerves.”

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Twelve Years, Still Ours by leialoo7

7,587 words | Explicit

Twelve years after filming their first CCM ad together, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are asked to return for a follow-up campaign. The offer sparks reflection and conversation about privacy, visibility, and what it means to exist openly as a married couple in the NHL.

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The Night Shift by thecouchsofa

10,429 words | Explicit

Hollander is always a bit like that, in increments. He takes every loss personally – every missed shot, every empty netter, every failed pass. He could stand to get out of his head for a while. It would be good, Ilya thinks, for him to calm down. To sit and relax, maybe.

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twin flame bruise by emotionsandphenomena

4,825 words | Explicit

They stayed there for a moment, looking at each other’s mottled and slightly swollen ribs. Ilya crouched so he could see better, so they were on eye level. The colors shifting over Shane’s skin as he breathed looked almost beautiful, like a painting. He skated one hand over the length just to hear him hiss. For some reason that sound was so sexy he had to surge forward and knock Shane back, covering his mouth and body with his own. He tried to be careful of the bruise, but not too hard. He wouldn’t mind hearing that sound again.

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real love makes your lungs black by Anonymous

16,676 words | Explicit

If Shane had had a good, close friend, a confidante, somebody he could talk to about whatever was happening between him and Ilya Rozanov, and that good close friend got it in their head that maybe Shane liked Ilya, had feelings for him, one of the first things Shane would say to refute it would be: but he smokes. Shane, Ilya, cigarettes - a love triangle for the ages.

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the language of us by SafelyCapricious

2,099 words | Teen

"So, do you think your soulmate is who you got all this hockey knowledge from?" Now, of course, he smiles the media smile that she is so proud of him for learning and says, "My parents taught me a lot, they both love hockey you know? And it's hard work, every day. But I do love it too and I love doing the work. I haven't met my soulmate yet, but hopefully someday when I meet them they'll love hockey like I do."

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coach, I'm threading needles by Anonymous

6,309 words | Explicit

Ilya fucks a girl in a Hollander jersey. Word gets back to Shane.

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Concussion Protocol by cjr2

49,003 words | Explicit

Instead of Shane, it is Ilya who suffers a concussion during the Boston-Montreal game in April 2017. Dazed and agitated, Ilya briefly starts speaking and responding only in Russian and the medics can’t calm him down. Luckily, Shane started studying Russian after Ilya spoke to him in Russian on the phone from Moscow. For no particular reason. Certainly not because he’s fallen in love with Ilya Rozanov. In Montreal with lingering concussion symptoms, Ilya is advised not to fly home for a few days, and the hospital won’t release him without assurances that he has someone to stay with him until his symptoms improve. Luckily, Shane conveniently has a condo in Montreal no one knows about and a few days before he has to travel again. But Ilya’s symptoms don’t resolve after a few days. Which is okay; Shane can handle it. He can take care of Ilya, study Russian, lead his team into the playoffs, and keep Ilya’s continued presence in Montreal a secret. He can do everything, no problem. He is Shane Hollander after all.

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Full Contact by cjr2

50,450 words | Explicit | Sequel to the previous one

Newly traded to the Ottawa Centaurs, Ilya Rozanov is so close to having everything he’d never thought he was allowed to want. He can see the man he loves more than four times a year, he’s surrounded by a team who supports him through his injury, and Shane’s parents have unhesitatingly accepted him as part of the family. Except his lingering concussion symptoms have kept him sidelined from hockey, his boyfriend is still two hours away, their schedules are a disaster, and Shane’s team is, well…it’s full of assholes. There must be a way to make this all work out.

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cut to the feeling by Charlotte_Stant

12,056 words | Mature

It had been a very weird day, but Shane wasn’t going to jerk off about it a second time.

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Mutually Assured Destruction by Spidaya

7,040 words | Explicit

Ilya’s laugh is loud and delighted and absolutely infuriating. He leans back on his hands, eyes lighting up like Shane just told him the funniest joke ever. “Oh my god,” he says, murmuring something in Russian that’s too quick for Shane’s mind to translate. “You want to have a not-sex competition.” Shane shrugs. “You said I couldn’t resist you so…” “Hollander,” Ilya says fondly, shaking his head, “You have finally lost it.” “Or,” Shane counters, stepping closer, “You’re just not used to losing.” Ilya’s grin widens. He looks Shane up and down, slow and obvious. Shane’s body has never been subtle where Ilya is concerned and he can’t help the heat that floods his cheeks with Ilya’s eyes on him so intensely. “Fine,” Ilya says easily. “We’ll see how long you last.” Shane doesn’t hesitate. “Longer than you will.”

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your love moves me forward by justhockey

5,849 words | Teen

“It’s not new,” Shane admits. “The gay part or the relationship part?” “Both?” Hayden’s jaw slowly drops until he’s wearing such a goofy expression that Shane can’t help but laugh again. (Or, Shane gets to come out on his own terms for once.)

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It’s Shane’s birthday (and he’ll cry if he wants to) by noedovenest

5,977 words | Mature

It’s Shane’s birthday and he’ll cry if he wants to. OR: Boston is knocked out of the playoffs, Shane is done being treated like a patient after his concussion, and he impulsively boards a flight to Ilya the day before he turns twenty-six.

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but daddy i love him by rachelrae

17,470 words | Teen