QueenDespi



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    "Shane, do you have any comment on allegations that your on-ice performance declined after you started your affair with Rozanov? Have you seen the blogger who has been re-analyzing your stats and making that case?"

    Shane wrinkled his brow. "Don't call it an affair," he said, reflexively. "That makes it sound like we were cheating. And no, no comment."

    "I will comment," Ilya said. "It is ridiculous."

    "I'm sorry," Shane said, his brain just now catching up to the second half of the question. He really hated the word "affair." It had distracted him. Too much, apparently. "Did you say something about my stats?"

    ----

    Or: Shane had no intention of giving the press any information about when he and Ilya started hooking up. Ever. It was so thoroughly nobody's business.

    But what was he supposed to do, just let people be wrong about his stats?

    (Set post-Long Game, with vague Long Game spoilers.)

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    30 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 96

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    "Shane Hollander," he said. "We are lying in the very comfortable bed you bought for me to fuck you in, in the very weird condo you bought, also for me to fuck you in."

    "It's an investment," Shane grumbled.

    "And I have just fucked you, I think, very well," Rozanov continued. "At least I do not remember any complaints."

    He swung his body easily across the bed, pinning Shane in place.

    "No complaints," Shane huffed, almost a laugh. "No complaints here."

    "So why the fuck," Rozanov said into the soft skin beneath Shane's ear, "are you asking me about other men?"

    ------

    Or: Shane thinks what he needs to do is fuck another man. Just to see. Just to know. Just to test if it's only Rozanov who can make him feel this way.

    But he has no idea how to go about fucking a stranger without it immediately becoming a story in the tabloids.

    And he can think of only one person to ask for advice. So, in a post-coital haze, he makes the obvious move: he asks Ilya Rozanov, his extremely casual fuckbuddy, for advice on how to pick up other men.

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    29 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane was twelve when hockey scouts started showing up to his games. He was barely fifteen when a check went horribly wrong, fucked his knee to hell and gave him a grade III concussion. During rehab he found swimming, and he was seventeen when he went to the Olympics as an alternate for freestyle swim events.

    He’s 24 and working for his mom’s sports PR company when he meets Ilya Fucking Rozanov.

    May contain: Shane Hollander navigating what it means to be mostly normal when your whole childhood was about preparing you for greatness. Shane Hollander attempting to flirt. Possibly less than 100% accurate descriptions of what a sports PR agent does.

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    27 Jun 2026

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    Life feels so chaotic for Shane sometimes, with all the loud noises and the unwritten rules he’s expected to follow, even though no one ever taught them to him. It’s why the bookstore feels more like home to him than anywhere else in Boston. It doesn’t ask Shane to be anything other than himself. Doesn’t ask for any more than he can give.

    He can just exist here.

    Shane likes slow, likes taking his time. And Ilya - without saying or doing anything in particular - makes Shane feel like that’s okay. Like he isn’t doing anything wrong by standing still sometimes.

    (Or, Shane works in a bookstore, Ilya plays hockey, and they both go to the same college. They fall in love in every universe.)

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    26 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane is used to feeling fuzzy with Rozanov. Like he’s floating higher, higher, higher. But this - this isn’t that.

    Shane isn’t floating, he’s falling. Sinking down, down, down below, into darkness. It feels like there are waves crashing over his head, cold and sharp like needles against his skin, and when he does manage to breach the surface for a moment, he’s met with thick fog and a starless sky. It feels sort of like a concussion, but not. There’s no pain, just…haziness. Just a gaping, empty feeling, right in the centre of his chest.

    (Or, Vegas rewritten.)

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    26 Jun 2026