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  1. Rec 79

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    “We have worked too fucking hard to lose to Vegas,” Roz snarls, slapping the C on his chest. He was probably aiming for the crest and not his letter, but he makes his point regardless. “You know what we were in September. Nobody believed we would make playoffs, not even with Hollander.”

    (Alternatively: Shane wins the cup he was always going to win in 2020, albeit wearing a different colored jersey.)

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    19 Jul 2026

  2. Rec *

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    Harris needs Shane Hollander to crush a watermelon with his thighs. For charity.
    OR
    "Is charity watermelon. Has rules."

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    19 Jul 2026

  3. Rec *

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    No one would believe it now, but Ilya Rozanov was a shy kid, prone to tears. Small for his age. An easy target.

    After his mother’s death, he threw himself into hockey. He hit a growth spurt. He started lifting weights, became big and strong. Not as big and strong as his older brother, but big enough to make Alexei and the other bullies think twice. Strong enough to fight back.

    (Or: Five times Ilya has to go home to Russia, and one time he chooses to go home to Shane.)
     



    This isn’t what Ilya had in mind when he figured they’d be spending most of their time at the cottage in bed.

    He throws his arm over his eyes and groans. “I am ruining our time together. I am ruining your time off.”

    “No you’re not,” Shane says. “Are you kidding me? I’ve basically been fantasizing about this.”

    Ilya lowers his arm. “About me puking all over your favorite place on earth?”

    “No, you asshole. About taking care of you.”

    Ilya stares at him.

    Shane says, defensively, “What?”

    “I fantasize about you fucking yourself on boring beige dildo,” Ilya says, voice cracking, “and you fantasize about me being sick at your cottage so you can take care of me?”

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    16 Jul 2026

  4. Rec *

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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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    16 Jul 2026

  5. Rec *

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    There are questions you simply don't ask Ilya Rozanov on live television.

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    15 Jul 2026