Blue2o2



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    “Hollander,” Ilya murmured gently. “Bath is ready.”

    Shane cracked his eyes open, staring dumbly at the burly Russian hovering over him where he was still laying in bed.

    “…bath?” He croaked, voice raspy with disuse.

    “Mm. I ran you a bath. It will make you feel better before you go to sleep tonight. Will help with your sore muscles.”

    Shane asks Ilya to fuck him gently during one of their regular hookups, badly bruised from their game. Ilya runs him a bath afterwards, and they fall secretly and desperately in love that way, through whispered confessions and late night conversations while Shane soaks, and Ilya quietly observes him.

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    24 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    If Ilya Rozanov was set to be branded for life in the space above his butt crack, he was damn well going to pay a premium for it.

    Booking with one of the most exclusive tattoo studios in North America was the easy bit.

    Having his brain melted into oblivion by Shane Hollander’s steady hands and even steadier voice was decidedly not part of the plan.

    Or, the one where tattoo artist Shane is very good at giving instructions.

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    23 Jun 2026

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    Shane is in a post-game interview when his world stops.

    He’s just answered a question about Montreal’s offensive strategy going into the game. Clean passes, avoid penalties, draw defenders wide. It had worked and the Voyagers had beat Colorado soundly, 4-1. Shane had scored two of the goals and assisted on a third.

    Usually, Shane would be eager to boast about the win to Ilya. But ever since their fight- since Ilya told Shane to leave- winning feels hollow. Losing feels better, somehow. As if Shane deserves to lose after being so selfish. Ilya gave up everything for him- his home, his team, and to some extent- his happiness. Hockey. Ilya gave up hockey- good hockey- for Shane.

    A ripple goes through the room of reporters. Shane swears he hears the word ‘Ottawa’ and ‘crash’. But no one is paying attention to him anymore.

    “What’s going on?” he asks into the microphone, feeling strange at the role reversal. Usually, he’s the one being asked questions.

    No one answers. And this time he knows that he hears the word ‘Ottawa’ and ‘Centaurs’.

    ------------------------------------------

    Shane rushes to Ilya after the almost plane crash. Their secret is no longer a secret.

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    20 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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    11 Jun 2026

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    “Fuck, that’s good. You feel so good,” Shane moans above him.

    He pulls him down again, and this time he holds him there, his hands firm on Ilya’s head. Instinctively, Ilya fights it, his throat spasming around the intrusion, and he tries to pull off, but Shane holds him there.

    “Ah, ah. No. That’s not how you say it’s too much. You tap my leg, remember?”

    ---

    Immediate sequel to 'I Keep Telling Myself, I'm not the Desperate Type'
    Stoner frat boy Ilya x cool, jock Shane

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    04 Jun 2026