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    He should just forget about Rozanov. Forget about Rozanov coming all over his own stomach as Shane watched, transfixed; forget about Rozanov’s hand curving possessively around Shane’s jaw to pull him in for a kiss. Forget about the dizzying, red-hot bolt of shame and anticipation and fear and arousal that had shot through him when Rozanov stroked two fingers down between his ass cheeks and pressed there—a question, an offer. A promise.

    (In which Shane responds to Ilya’s texts between 2011 and 2013.)
     



    “Stop saying dick pic,” Shane hissed. “This is harassment.” He glared at the bulge in his pants. “You are harassing me.”

    “I do not know what this word means.”

    “How fucking convenient for you.”

    “Aw, Hollander,” Rozanov said, but he sounded a little contrite. After a beat, he asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

    “Don’t you dare stop,” Shane said through clenched teeth, surreptitiously palming himself to take the edge off. It didn’t help.

    “So do you want my dick or not?” Rozanov asked after another beat.

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    07 Jul 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    The universe had decided Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were perfect for each other, so it sent them an unmistakable sign. Unfortunately, the two of them have a lot of practice in mistaking things. So the universe tries again, and again.

    Or: how many soulmate tropes does it take to get two oblivious hockey boys together?

    “Dude, did you get a tattoo?”
    Shane looked over. Shelly, who had the stall next to his at the CN Sports Complex locker room, was staring at Shane’s left arm.
    “Uh, no?”
    “What the fuck is it, then? Looks gnarly as hell.”
    Shane looked down at the dark squiggly shape on his delt, an irregular blob slightly bigger than a loonie. Its edges were a series of indentations and protrusions, kind of like a jigsaw puzzle piece. If he’d seen this on anyone else, he would’ve assumed it was a tattoo, too. A shitty one that should be lasered off ASAP.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “It kinda showed up out of nowhere, like, last night.”

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    29 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane’s brain cycled rapidly through a half-dozen celebrities, porn actors, Grindr profiles, every attractive bartender who’d ever served him a beer, trying to find a comparison for this level of outrageously concentrated beauty in one person, but he was drawing a blank.

    The man—Ilya Rozanov, Facilities Attendant, his badge read—gestured around the supply closet. “I help you find something?”

    --
    Canon-divergent AU set during the 2017-18 MLH season. Shane Hollander doesn’t have a single Cup to his name when he meets a very hot and very annoying janitor who works at the Metros stadium.

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    26 Jun 2026

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    when shane gets the injury that would come to end his career, in the moment he’s just thankful he didn’t break his jaw.

    or: shane knew, in the abstract, that one day he would play his last professional nhl game. it never occurred to him that hockey would choose that day for him.

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    23 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “Look, I know Ilya’s a lot.” He said it sympathetically, but his eyes were cold.

    Luca froze. Did Shane know? Had he seen?

    “I know he doesn’t mean it, and he knows he doesn’t mean it, and I hope you know he doesn’t mean it,” Shane continued with the cutting precision of a knife. “But I know it’s a lot to have that focused on you.”

     

    Or: Luca has a crush. Shane gets territorial.

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    22 Jun 2026