Gennyyl



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    “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.”

    Years into their messy situationship, it takes sleeping with another man for Shane to figure out that he's gay. Ilya finds this out later.

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    28 Jun 2026

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    Shrugging one shoulder far more casually than he possibly feels, Ilya says, “I like both. Is secret, okay?”

    “Okay,” Hollander says, voice cracking.

    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.

    A year after mysteriously dropping out of the 2009 draft, Shane Hollander is signed by the Boston Raiders, right behind Ilya Rozanov. Having the two biggest stars in the league on the same line is great for Boston — but playing alongside their worst rival was never exactly in Shane or Ilya's plans. Especially not when staying away from each other starts to feel just as impossible as getting along.

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    28 Jun 2026

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    The first time they’d done this, in Ilya’s bed, Shane had been mystified at Rozanov’s insistence that he not enter the nest without Shane’s permission. Now, Shane feels something akin to smugness flexing its claws in his chest. A primal satisfaction at the rightness that he is the one with the power - at present, if not for much longer - alpha just outside the nest and at his mercy.

    Like Shane will only yield for someone who has earned it. He can draw out Ilya’s suffering just a little longer, make him earn it.

    Shane rakes his gaze over the delicious chest and bicep muscles bunching above the edge of the nest. “Waiting for something, Rozanov?”

    “Are you going to let me into your nest, omega?” His pronunciation of the endearment is more Russian than English, accent thickening around the syllables.

    “Depends. You gonna give me your knot?”

    “Hm, does not sound like begging yet to me.”

    Some months after Shane recovers from rejection sickness in Ilya's bed, they share their heat/rut together at the cottage, both clinging to the delusion it's still casual.

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    17 Jun 2026

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    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.

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    28 May 2026

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    Ilya’s hand wraps around his bare wrist and squeezes. Shane barely stops himself from collapsing to his knees.

    The pressure lights up every receptor of his touch-starved nervous system, wrenching a small, pained noise from the back of his throat. Every muted sensation comes flooding back so intensely that it almost hurts. He needs Ilya to hold him down until there’s nothing inside him but quiet. He wants to sink into him and disappear.

    It takes Shane an entire beat to remember where they are. Fighting against the fog in his mind, he manages to drag his gaze up to meet Ilya’s.

    There’s a slow-dawning horror and understanding on Ilya’s face.

    *

    Or: Shane is in subdrop after their encounter in Vegas. Ilya fixes it.

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    27 May 2026