justtokeeptrack



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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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    02 Jul 2026

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    The steady, persistent pressure of Rozanov’s thick cock sinking into him is unlike anything Shane has ever felt before. He feels impossibly full, impossibly exposed, but more than that, he feels good.

    Fuck, it’s good.

    It’s so good that he forgets to feel awkward as he begins to rock back into Rozanov’s thrusts. He forgets to feel ashamed as Rozanov draws sounds out of him he didn’t even know he was capable of making. As Rozanov drives him out of his mind and deep into his own body, holds him there, forces him to feel everything and think nothing at all—

    Shane forgets to feel anything but good.

    (In which Shane has a dirty fantasy, and Ilya runs with it.)
     



    “Ah,” Ilya says softly, brushing a finger along the column of Shane’s throat. “Is that what you want, Hollander? To be humiliated?”

    “Yes,” Shane says, the word a guttural moan. “No? I don’t know. Maybe. Fuck.”

    “To be put to good use? To be told what to do?”

    “Yes,” Shane gasps, relieved to be asked a simpler question. “That’s what I want.”

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    01 Jul 2026

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    I am in hell, Ilya thinks. He's awkwardly hard in his cup and layers of gear. He can't focus. How the fuck is Hollander functioning like this? Is he actually so gifted at hockey that he can play at this level and still have space to let the sex demon in his brain run rampant? Is this what he's like all the time? (Now with bonus ch 2!)

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    01 Jul 2026

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    Scent patches were mandatory for anyone participating in World Junior's, but a lot of the Russian guys Shane saw in the hotel or around the rink had them loosely attached to their necks or not quite centered over their scent gland. Shane had been on his way to his parents' car when the wind shifted, and he smelled that Rozanov, leaning against the wall and not-at-all-surreptitiously fishing a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, must have been one of them.

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    01 Jul 2026

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    In which Eames builds a nest and (accidentally) lures Arthur into it.

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    23 Jun 2026