you can't take loved away

3k | missing scene from fsfoeo

“Perfect,” Shane repeats under his breath, like it’s a ridiculous word. He stretches his shoulders out a bit; broad, strong torso pushing into the wall behind his body. God, he looks good. Ilya’s gaze slides down to his bare feet on the wooden balcony, then back up the strong walk of his thighs.  “Yes, perfect. Too gay to fuck any women, but not so gay you bother to fuck any other men. Is my ideal situation.”

“Ilya Hollander,” he offered finally, casually even, as if he said it just to test how the words might sound out loud and not because they had forcibly fought their way out. He tried not to linger on the taste, sweet and hopeful. Shane’s back stilled very suddenly. Fuck. — In a tangle of bedsheets, Ilya poses a hypothetical.

today (and every day) is a beautiful day to read this fic. forced marriage but make it hockey, sex tapes, angst, did i mention sex... you could not ask for more...

In late 2014, celebrity photos start dropping. Ilya deletes his texts, his photos, a video he should never have taken. It isn't soon enough.

I love this fic, I love this Ilya, I love this Shane. Run don't walk:

There is a tense note in Hollander’s voice. This is not unusual, because Hollander is held together by latent panic

AND

Maybe Hollander feels like this all of the time, like his skin will crawl away without him if he does not hold himself still.

AND

Shane lifts one eyelid again to look at Rozanov. His eyes are red-rimmed. Like he’s been crying. “Why…why aren’t you in Boston?” Rozanov’s brow furrows. “Why would I be in Boston?” “You, you’re captain. Raiders. Boston.” The room is silent except for the beeping of monitors.

In 2023, Shane takes a bad hit on the ice. When he wakes up, the last thing he remembers is a tuna melt.

There’s a lot to get used to.

frequently, secretly fond of each other.

| the hollanov boston raiders teammates au | chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 16

Shrugging one shoulder far more casually than he possibly feels, Ilya says, “I like both. Is secret, okay?” “Okay,” Hollander says. He doesn’t say anything else. The air’s so heavy around them that it feels like being in the middle of a scrum, the weight and heat of all those bodies pressing down on you. Danger always feels like hockey; it’s the most dangerous thing Ilya knows, except for this. Everything dangerous in his life involves men’s bodies and just how close he can get to them. Closer than he probably should.