hollanov

 

DISCLAIMER:  

The following work is a piece of fan fiction based on the Game Changers series by Rachel Reid. * Characters & Setting: This story features Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. All recognizable characters, team names (Boston Raiders), and established lore are the property of the original author. Content Warning: This narrative contains explicit erotic content, strong language, and adult themes. It is intended for mature audiences only (18+). Plot Note: This draft explores an Alternate Universe (AU) scenario involving public scandals, external interference from family members, and emotional conflict. Disclaimer of Ownership: I do not own the rights to Heated Rivalry or any associated properties. No copyright infringement is intended; this is a transformative work created for entertainment and the love of the characters. 

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"...In other news, the infamous Boston Raiders captain is embroiled in serious baby mama drama. Yulia Ochenski is making rounds on Vine as a struggling single mother living in destitute Russia while her baby's father, Ilya Rozanov, is partying it up as a millionaire playboy stateside. Sheesh, Rozanov, can’t you afford to spare some coin for your own child? I promise it won’t make a dent in your multimillion-dollar contract. But I'm sure Shane Hollander is thrilled. His weak backhand might finally get a shot now that Rozanov is distracted by the familial malfunction. With that, we are out. Thank you for watching Puck That with Chase Pierceman." 

This is Shane’s reality now: 24/7 coverage of this ridiculous scandal. He came out to his parents two weeks ago with Ilya as his OTP, and of course, this happened. Any momentum in his sails is gone now. Whispers on the street are that Ilya has a secret family in Russia, which is why he insists on going home every year. The very first guy Shane fell for—so naturally, he has to have an entire backup family in Russia? Complete with kids and everything? After all these years? Shane felt like a cliché now, falling for this kind of thing. 

Naturally, Chase Pierceman, the pundit who never fails to draw Shane’s ire, is on top of this story. Shane swears this guy is out for blood against him, because his smart mouth never fails to have something for the "special Shane Hollander shivving hour." This time it was unknowingly, but it still cut the deepest. Shane swore if he could get five minutes with this douche-cannon... 

**** Ding **** 

His mother texted: "Have you seen this?" 

Another Vine clip? Alexei? It had to be about him. Should Shane put this on? Shane’s stomach sinks, as this might be the video that confirms an answer he has been dreading. Should he? .... Screw it, gotta face the music. Worst-case scenario, Shane gets to learn a valuable lesson about choosing his men. But deep in his heart, Shane prays for the best as he presses play with shaking fingers. 

"Hello, this is Alexei Rozanov, and it is true. My brother, Ilya, has been neglecting his wife and child for the last two years. I tried to help but can only do so much, as my own family needed care, da. This year, Ilya did not even bother to come back to see the kid. If you see this, Ilya, please... your family needs you. Come back. Don’t abandon us, please." 

Another piece of confirming evidence for the dossier. Great. Moments like this, Shane wished he could have gone back in time, to when things between him and Ilya were perfect—right before Camelot came burning down. Shane remembers that afternoon vividly, as if it were yesterday: 

It was four days after he came out to his parents, when there was nothing but euphoric highs between them. The windowpane was glistening with cold rainwater dripping down, but Shane was kept warm by Ilya’s body towering over him. The aroma of tobacco seeped into his pores as Ilya breathed into his ear: "Squeeze it. Tighter." 

Compliantly, Shane squeezed his velvet chute, hugging Ilya’s manhood deeper into the sinking sand of fleshy pleasures. Slowly, in an almost subliminal rhythm, Shane gyrated his body in an alluring cadence that steadily transitioned into a manic, back-arching dance. Something about the lingering tobacco scent on Ilya’s breath brought out the Salome hidden within Shane. 

Shane used to hate the smell of tobacco. It permeated everywhere, which completely dings property values. Shane had made his point about cigarettes; he asked Ilya point-blank to stop smoking when they saw each other over the years. Unsurprisingly, being the bad boy that he is, Ilya never listened. The faint tobacco smell continuously filled the room whenever they celebrated their union. 

His mother would find this development absolutely otherworldly, but somehow, the tobacco smell had become a turn-on for Shane. Perhaps because the daily life of Shane Hollander is so devoid of tobacco that a whiff of it reminded him of Ilya. Such novelty was especially useful on lonesome nights, when the empty bed felt especially, well, empty. This meant Shane's only cure for loneliness was a sniff of Ilya’s boxers (which he secretly lifted from the Russian’s drawer) enchanted with tobacco-flavored cologne. Shane would never admit it, but a taste of tobacco lingering on Ilya would flip all the right switches in Shane. 

Quietly, Ilya knew this. The moment Shane switched his cologne to Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, Ilya knew he got Shane’s number. It was not unintentional that Ilya liked to guarantee the tobacco-filled air hit Shane at the right time. His Shane performed better when the smoky scent kicked things into high gear. Like right at this moment, Shane’s hips were bucking wild on Ilya’s man-rod as if he were a bronco in heat. Ilya could feel it. His fleshy spear was jousting at all the familiar knobs—which he could see as Shane held back moans of excruciating ecstasy. 

It wasn’t always like this, but Ilya took the effort to feel where Shane’s sensitive triggers were over the trysts they shared. He saw how painful it was for Shane during the first few penetrations, but Shane grinned and bore it. Being not a completely selfish dick, Ilya wanted it to be pleasurable for Shane, too. It was a goal for Ilya to hit. Attentively, Ilya took time to study even minute muscle twitches on Shane’s perfect body, cluing him into where the nooks and crannies were on his lover. It was as if he were driving a new Maserati; he had to learn where all the knobs that got the engine going were. 

With dedication, Ilya’s manspear could reliably hit all the right marks in Shane’s hindquarters. Ilya was slamming in and out of Shane with increasing ferocity as he saw how much Shane enjoyed their time together. Ilya kissed the nape of Shane’s neck with reckless abandon, savoring the taste of tobacco-vanille cologne layered on Shane’s body. The familiar fragrance note was a friendly reminder that Shane was his; thus, he was Shane’s. A secret love note between them to tell the world who Shane had it on for. 

Ilya’s hand then moved to squeeze Shane’s juicy left pec. Ilya liked to tease Shane’s nipples a little bit. Shane’s nipples had always been sensitive, so he hated to admit liking Ilya revving it up this way. Shane was embarrassed that he took joy in it a tad too far. Shane didn’t wish to come off as a pervy sex pest indulging in carnal pleasure with fecklessness—especially to Ilya, the boy who never failed to tease him endlessly. 

Nevertheless, Ilya had never found a button that he wasn’t supposed to push, particularly the forbidden ones. He worked away at Shane’s nipples with the innocence of a child on a newfound obsession, moving his lips to sensationalize Shane’s left nipple as he mobilized Shane’s arm over his shoulder for better access. 

"I know you like it, Hollander. Moan it out loud. This cottage time is about being honest, yes? Be honest that I put you into overdrive." 

Shane quietly suffered the hits of euphoria Ilya was jolting to his sensitive nodes. Yes, he told him they should be truthful, but he meant their vulnerabilities or some other sacred emotions, not this. Besides, seeing Ilya’s cocky face bearing that "oh-so-familiar" smirk, Shane was determined to keep mum regarding what Cloud 9 he was on at the moment of skillful lovemaking. The years of hockey rivalry had sort of leaked into this bedtime activity; Shane was not about to let him gloat over another win. The ever-growing pleasure of Ilya rubbing his joy-buzzer back there was breaking his mind, but he would stay strong. 

Shane wasn’t sure why he was being this stubborn about verbalizing his pleasure today. Possibly... because that devilish smirk Ilya had was the same infuriating one Ilya sported when he slid past Shane for that decisive hat trick in Montreal a couple of months back. Either way, Shane’s competitive spirit was up; he was not going to—— 

"Ilya, Ilya! Please, Ilya, I'm going... ARRRGH!" 

The rush of erotic joy flushed over Shane’s body as his ampoule of love emptied into the satin sheets. A heat-rush snuck up on him, causing a blushing wave, reddening Shane’s freckled visage. Ilya could see it on Shane: the embarrassment. Shane was determined not to give in to the flood of sensual impulses, but he failed. Ilya is a master craftsman of sexual awakening. He knew how to fondle Shane’s triggers well—too well, in fact. Every piece of Shane surrendered to the erotic impulses Ilya delivered. 

And for that rainy afternoon, Ilya was the victor in bedding Shane Hollander. The rush of victory elated Ilya, making him gyrate harder into Shane. Harder... harder... harder... HARDER! 

"Oh, Shane, this is... this is it... IT! I'm going to COME!" 

Ilya loved Shane’s body; it always squeezed harder at the right moment. This is why Ilya found joy in bedding a disciplined partner. Their bodies learned the rhythm well after a few twirls on the love carousel. Ilya collapsed on top of Shane, hugging him tight, keeping Shane warm regardless of how the cold rain air argued otherwise. Ilya enjoyed being the big spoon. Keeping his Shane’s snug and safe was a priority. Shane lowered his eyelids while drunk on the security of Ilya’s loving arms. The rosy freckles turned even more pronounced as Ilya’s radiant heat entered him—a marvel for Ilya to gawk at. 

The esteemed art critics have waxed in purple prose on the legend of the statue of David, but it could never compare to Shane in Ilya’s view. That stupid statue could never blush in the same way Shane did at Ilya’s touch. It could never pop in pretty dots of freckles that get drowned in the rouge of afterglow delight. Shane Hollander was the personal David of Ilya. A legendary masterpiece that whispered reassurance of affection whenever Ilya dared to profess the loving thoughts he once buried deep. Ilya could lay here in this soft down-feather bed for an eternity to steal glances at his Shane, lost in a drowsy haze. That’s amore. 

Ding 

Shane slovenly rose to reach for his phone. 

"No, stay. Let them stay on read. It is a crime for people to dare to interrupt our snuggle time, no?" 

"Come on, Ilya, it is my mom. She could be coming over, and I don’t want her to see us... well, like this." 

"She’d knock. We’d have plenty of time to cover ourselves up with these sheets. We’ll say we are having a toga party, and she can stay for some Greek food, too. I make killer gyros." 

"Really? You do? You can cook more stuff than a tuna melt?" 

"Da, certainly. I can pretend to melt some cheese while you call for takeout. I saw a Greek joint on the way back that offers delivery. They used a very good Greek font, so trust." 

"Heh, Ilya, you can’t just..." Shane could not believe he had fallen for this corny-ass man. Of course, Shane tried but could not hold back his cackles, which would just incentivize Ilya. Oh well, it is screen-time for his phone now; let’s see what his mother has for him. 

"Shane, honey, don’t freak out, but this Vine is going viral. I'm coming over, no worries. Mama got you." 

"What is it?" pondered Ilya. 

"Something is going viral. My mom texted me to not freak out, so it’s bad?" 

"Let’s watch together, yes?" Ilya embraced Shane as he pressed play, not knowing a haunting scene was materializing, putting all manners of questions in them. 

The Vine showed a bubbly, auburn-haired girl beaming in a rundown Soviet apartment with sagging brick that hasn’t seen a paintbrush since Nixon took office. In the background, a four-year-old played with the faded floral pattern—the boy’s face beaming with joy with each playful tear of the wallpaper. Elle King’s "Ex's & Oh's" played in the background as dreadful text displayed on the screen: "Guess which Pro MHL player completely abandoned his family and his son in the destitute parts of Russia?" 

Shane instinctively backed away from Ilya’s embrace as he could sense his stomach drop. 

"Ilya Rozanov of the Boston Raiders." The next set of text appeared in a montage of paparazzi pics featuring Ilya "getting lit like a legend." This deafened any thoughts trying to run through his mind. The cold air had reached Shane. He suddenly felt the pain of a growing void, even though Shane was not in the room alone. 

"What the hell, Ilya? Is that why you go back to Russia every year? To see a secret family back there?" 

"Shane, Shane, I never got married to that girl. Did sleep with her a couple of nights, yes. But nothing like that." 

"So, you did sleep with her? That could be your child?" 

Before Ilya could answer, the doorbell rang. Yuna was already there, eagerly banging on the door in her "mama bear" mode. "SHANE, Shane, honey, I'm here. Open the door." 

Looking for any escape from a chaotic mix of hurt and betrayal, Shane went to see his mom at the door. He was sort of glad she had already made her presence known; a guiding hand was exactly what was needed to steer the ship in unfamiliar seas. 

"Mom..." Yuna rushed in to hug her baby boy before Shane could finish. She gently patted him on his shoulder. 

"It's okay. I got you, kiddo. I was in shock and hurt, too. It is unbelievable how fast this thing is spreading. Like dragon-fire." 

Despite his complicated state of feelings, Shane looked back at his mother’s new choice of word: "Dragonfire?" 

"Oh, I saw you watch Game of Thrones like a maniac, so I thought I would put in some lingo, y’know, to soften the blow. But who cares? How are you holding up?" 

"Mrs. Hollander..." Ilya was slowly approaching his boyfriend, silently cursing his luck because, of course, Yuna was there at the worst time. 

"You stay away from him! I knew you were trouble when you crawled into our home from... whatever bear cave you dwell in." 

Yuna then lowered her voice to stress the sarcasm: "Most strays know to sit outside, but not you. Bravo..." Yuna paused to give three courteous, phony claps. "But the show is over," Yuna stated as she stared daggers into Ilya’s dangerously wintry eyes. 

"Mom, that is a little harsh," Shane replied with a tad of disbelief. 

She then turned to Shane, reaching out to him sweetly to caress his cheek. 

"...And Shane, my sweet Shane, I am trying to protect you. Can you really blame me after the month I have had? Riley, my high school sweetheart, basically camped out in my guest room after he got dropped by his shady Siberian husband the moment that Russkie got his papers. It’s been three months, and he is still projectile-vomiting his grief at the sight of Vlad. It would have helped if he stopped scrolling Facebook at pics of his ex, but I was too busy changing barf bags to tell him that. The point is, Shane, I have seen enough of the misery these people can bring. And because you're my kid, I will make sure you never have to go through that, kiddo." 

"Mrs. Hollander, yes, I did sleep with her, but..." 

"Hush now. We don’t need more stories. Shane is a nice boy, so you found it easy to take advantage of him. I have never heard of you coming clean about this girl before; who knows what else is tucked away from us? Real love does not hide things, Mr. Rozanov. It is open and transparent, not excuses that sound like broken records. I’m sorry, Ilya, but we need to protect my son from your broken cupid arrows." 

That line kind of stung. Ilya snapped back with a smirk: "Broken? Mm-hmm... really. I'm trying to explain, yet you are doing nothing but howling at my face. You are utterly unbelievable now. You want facts? I had a one-night stand with her. That's it. Not a full-blown family situation like she made it out to be." 

Looking back, it might have been better if Ilya hadn’t smirked like that, because that was the same smirk Ilya wore on his stupid face every time he got one over on Shane on the ice. Shane had had enough of it. 

"You know what, Ilya? It is increasingly hard to tell what is fact and what isn't at this point. I think it is better if you leave. I'll help you pack, but I think enough words have been said, and we shouldn’t talk until something concrete is out." 

"Excellent, Shane. I shall help you pack, too. I already booked you lodging in town, Mr. Rozanov. That cab outside will take you there when you're ready." 

With that, the night was over. Ilya’s "cottage time" of bliss had been dramatically trimmed. There was nothing but deadly silence as they all got Ilya ready. Any attempts to communicate were deftly diverted by Yuna, who made sure to be there, playing interference between the lost lovebirds. If it had to be done efficiently, then you can bet no one knew how to play it as efficiently as Yuna. In a New York minute, Ilya was all packed up as they waved goodbye to the cab. 

Shane kept quiet with Yuna after seeing his love gone. The rain dripped down on top of him, leaving him soaked in the incarnate sorrows flooding down from the heavens. Drip, drip, drip—the raindrops flowed endlessly down his visage, preventing him from telling where the trail of his tears ended and where the rain began. It was oddly comforting knowing even the clouds were commiserating with his misery. Shane could have stood there for hours, and he did. Yuna begged him to high heaven to stop, but not a single word escaped from his lips. The only good thing Yuna could do was grab a pair of raincoats for the both of them to soak in the precipitation. Yuna simply put her arm around her boy, then let her head rest on his shoulder; she didn’t know what else to do except let her child bathe in the comfort of the silencing rainfall. Yuna supposed Shane needed space for such a newfound scandal. 

Mostly, Shane felt bad for cutting Ilya off in such a manner; he felt he should have given more leeway to his Russian bear. Shane knew he makes the worst decisions when overwhelmed by new experiences; he could have kept it shut when things were going at this neck-breaking speed. Things might have been different, because now there's nothing but the rain to remember his last moment with Ilya. 

The blinding afternoon sun pierces into Shane’s eyes, illuminating Shane’s hazel irises into the golden brown of Ilya’s locks, shocking him back into the present. It no longer rains. The world has moved on to a happy, dazzling, sunny time. Shane kind of wished it still did, just because an entire atmospheric river was still gathering clouds inside of him. The scandalous situation with Ilya still dragged on, after all. Shane kind of hated that everyone got their happy twirl in the solar rays while he was here, stuck inside with the wet blanket. 

Additionally, of course, his mother was coming soon to check up on him, so he couldn’t hide under this wet blanket forever. She had texted him about this two days ago, but he was not ready. The dishes had filled up in the sink, the cottage was nowhere ready for a parental visit, and even his shirt was drenched in questionable green food stains. With the energy of a sloth, Shane rose to change into something with a modicum of a presentable facade. 

**** Ding Ding Ding ***** 

The doorbell rung. It was his mother at the door, chirping with a picnic basket full of care items and cleaning supplies. With a heavy heart, Shane came to the door in a quick shirt change, quietly hoping that she wouldn’t judge the deteriorated state he had surrounded himself with. 

"Oh, hi, Shane. How are you, kid? You look..." Yuna’s smile dimmed down to battery-saving mode. She had clocked Shane’s greasy mane draping over the unkempt facial hair he had managed to grow over days of abandoned personal grooming. "...Never mind. May I come in?" 

"Yes, mom. I'll get you some Oolong," Shane sheepishly replied with a tinge of reservation in his voice. 

Yuna stepped in as she barely concealed her gasps after scanning the cottage for signs of life. Her baby boy was nowhere near ready for the season at this rate; it was time to roll up their sleeves. 

"Well, Shane, honey... dear, I am glad I brought this basket of care supplies with me, because we are shaping up this place together. Then, we’ll get you in shape for the season. We are not losing the cup this year again. Would you help me with the dishes, please? As we wait for the Oolong?" 

"Yes, mom," Shane stated as he got a teapot going, then grabbed a dish towel while Yuna swiftly sidled next to him already, engaged in tidying up the sink with rubber gloves already slipped onto her hands. 

"Y’know, my high school sweetheart, Uncle Riley? He is doing a lot better now. I thought he would never recover from Vlad, but he is back and on the attack, with an aggressive business expansion plan. Isn’t that great? This will be his year for sure; I can already see a record earnings report for him," Yuna said with a pep in her step as she scrubbed off the driest pizza sauce stuck on the favorite ornate china plate she had gifted him on Boxing Day. 

"Why, mom, that sounds great. He was mopey for quite a bit there when Vlad dumped him. I am sure glad you worked your miracle." Shane gave it a good go, talking to his mom, hoping she wouldn’t chide him about sullying pizza sauce on the fine china’s gold finish. She normally freaked out if Shane dared to afford such callousness toward fine china—and also for him eating sloppy food like gas station pizza. This was so not top-tier athlete behavior; Shane knew that, while praying Yuna would be too distracted to address that hairy conversation. 

"Thank you, honey. You see, I can work miracles—especially on you, too, kiddo. I am an expert on helping men dumped by Russian brutes. You surely recall Jack or Uncle Logan? They are thriving now that they have Pasha and Yevgeny way in their rearview mirror. We’ll get through this, kid," Yuna chirped on, steadily handing the plates off for Shane to dry. 

"Uh... sure, mom, but we don’t know the facts with Ilya yet. Maybe it will work out." 

"My dear boy, come closer." 

Yuna put down the plates, took off her rubber gloves, then she approached to put her arm around Shane. 

"I know you've been taken with that Russian thing, but I have to tell you something: They are talking a whole lot about this, and the optics aren’t good. They are saying he has a secret family hidden away across the pond—a wife he’s ignored, a child he abandoned, a home he neglected. All this time, they thought he was free and devoted to the team stateside; yet, he was living a double life. Some even said he is a sleeper agent for Russia; the situation between the Kremlin and Washington is tense, after all! It's despicable, isn’t it? Men like him, from far-off places—they come here with their exotic accents and empty words, but they are just looking out for a passport, preying on soft boys like you. I only want what's best for you, dear. Think about your career, our hard work, our reputation—don't let someone deceitful tarnish it. Promise me you'll perish any hope in this shady brute." 

Shane remained expressionless, staring deep into space. 

"Shane, look at me." Shane half-heartedly looked at her, with his mind far away in Russia. 

"No, Shane, I mean really look at me. I want to see those hazels." His eyesight finally was face-to-face with hers, commanding better attention. Yuna softened her voice, reaching out her right hand to gently stroke Shane’s hair: 

"Better. Now, darling, I didn’t want to burden you with the details at first... but I have taken the liberty of getting a private investigator over there for some pictures." 

Yuna then pulled out her phone and got started on some pictures. "Now, dear, let’s look at the pics together." Shane now darted his eyes to her phone with complete focus, not so quietly giddy to see signs of life from his beloved. 

"Here he is, Shane, playing football gleefully with the child while his wife brings them hot cocoa. Look at them, so happy together at this dacha in Moscow. I cannot believe how calculated this man must be. To keep one family in Russia’s cold shadow while he plays the devoted lover here at the cottage, enjoying our pasta, your love, our trust?" 

"You had him followed? Just because he said it was a one-night stand? He texted me that..." 

Yuna interrupted gently, with a slight note of pity. 

"Oh, honey. Anything can be fabricated in this day and age, especially with a wallet as thick as his. Men like Ilya are masters of illusion—his name even rhymes with illusion! He probably has a stack of phones—one for you, one for her, one for some other stupid girl he’s running trains on. Have you noticed how he always turns his screen away when Russian calls come in? How he'd frequently disappear with vague explanations? That's not a coincidence, dear. That's a concerning pattern, kid." 

Yuna continued: "And think about the perception. Even if he was telling the truth, his name is already tarnished on socials. Twitter has decided to cancel him as a deadbeat dad. The tabloids are blazing with his name; just look at how viral this business is. I've quietly reached out to the brands, and they don’t like any association with Ilya Rozanov in the near future. They want at least six degrees of separation. Starting a hockey camp with him would be literal poison to your good name. The brands might want to drop you in fear of being canceled by deranged Twitter mobs. You can walk away now with your head high before they cast you as a supporter of deadbeat dads. 

He never belonged to our world, Shane. He was only using it as a short-term moneymaker. Let him go back to the life he actually chose—the one with the wife, the children, the snow. You deserve someone proper. Someone from around here. Someone we can get to know on Picnic Sunday without mystery phone calls and forged commitments." 

Squeezing Shane in tighter, Yuna pressed on: 

"Your mom will handle everything. Just say the word; I’ll make sure he knows it is over. You won’t ever see his face again. Well... except on the day you actually play against each other." 

Finally, a chance to speak up, Shane perked up: "You know, mom, you brought up a lot of great points. I will need to consider it from all points of view for my career. I cannot believe it got this crazy. Can I get a couple of days before giving the go signal?" 

"Well, sure, kid. Just remember, it is like tearing off a bandage: the quicker, the better." 

"Okay, mom. I'm gonna go take out the trash. I’ll be right back." 

Shane quietly took the trash bag out, putting it in the bin outside his cottage. Once soundly alone, Shane pulled his phone out to text Ilya: 

"I'm sorry I took this long. I should have had more faith in you. I make the worst choices when overwhelmed. I have so much to say to you." 

"I love you and still have faith in you. Come back to me, Ilya. Come back to the cottage."