Maars



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    Rush week confirms a lot of things. Ambitions, fears. Where do I fit? What if I don’t fit anywhere? Nervous freshman bitten-lip shit. Being an active, a senior, means having answers. Shane has no further questions.

    Or, Shane’s in a frat. Ilya rushes.

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    26 Jun 2026

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    “Mmm. You want it bad,” Ilya purrs, teeth grazing the column of his throat.

    “Yeah,” Shane whines, hating how petulant it sounds. A fresh flare of determination rises up in response. “Just give it to me. Ilya. I can—just go hard. Just make it fit.”

    Ilya laughs quietly, incredulously. It’s hot against Shane’s ear. “Make it fit."

    -

    Or: in the midst of a stressful season, Shane's a little... out of practice. He's not gonna let that stop him getting what he wants.

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    18 Jun 2026

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    “I think, at this point, we are friends, no?” Ilya asks, his back still to Shane.

    “Are we?” Shane asks, and Ilya’s lip quirks at the way he can hear the curiosity bleed through Shane’s tone, despite the way he’s clearly trying so hard to sound indifferent.

    “I consider you a friend, yes. We had food together. Hung out,” he explains.

    “Okay. Sure, yeah,” Shane agrees, meeting Ilya’s eyes as he turns around to face him. “Friends.”

    “Good. It is important you know this,” Ilya asks, stepping across the slightly echoey room, his hand going to tilt Shane’s jaw up. “It’s important for you to know I like you,” he says, watching with amusement as more confusion spreads across Shane’s pretty face.

    “Why?”

    “Because,” Ilya says softly, condescendingly as he leans down, his mouth close to Shane’s. Shane is so receptive to him, his lips already parting, expecting a kiss. “I am going to fuck you like I hate you,” he finishes, watching as Shane’s jaw drops a little, his breath hitching.

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    03 Jun 2026

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    “Holy shit, dude,” Hayden whispers, too loudly, as he pulls Shane away. “No way you were just talking to Ilya Rozanov.”

    “Uh, yeah. We just met. Wait, did he lie to me?” Shane asks, looking back over his shoulder where Ilya is now standing next to a short but very muscular woman with long black hair. “What does he play?”

    Hayden stops, so Shane does too.

    “You don’t know who that was?” 

    Shane makes a face that says ‘no shit’, and waits for an answer. 

    “Dude. You are so innocent. Ilya Rozanov, ‘Russia’s Greatest Love Machine’?” Hayden says, like it’s obvious. 

    Shane looks at him blankly, and then Hayden laughs. Not like, a chuckle. He full on cackles, bending over like he can’t even contain it. “Man, he’s like prolific.”

    “At what?” Shane snaps, because he’s getting really sick of not being in on the joke. 

    “He’s a porn star, man.” 

    “A-” Shane says, swallowing thickly. “What?” 

    ---

    Ilya is a porn star, Shane is a hockey player, and their paths cross.

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    31 May 2026

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    For Christmas, Shane asked for a new pack of the old compression socks he likes, an upgrade on the same brand of juicer they’ve had forever, and for Ilya to keep fucking him even when he cries and screams and begs him to stop. He expected Ilya to grin. At worst, to drag Shane up against his chest and sigh, my poor deprived husband, full access to the very best cock in Ottawa and still he wants more. He never thought Ilya would say no.

    or: Shane’s husband won’t give him what he doesn’t want. Maybe Scott Hunter will.

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    02 May 2026