lyintome



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    “Mr. Hollander, can we go dance? Please?”

    Shane sucks on his tongue, pretending to consider the request. He wonders if he’ll get a glimpse of the storied partyboy Ilya Rozanov and his prowess for picking up girls during nights out.

    He won’t actually be doing any of that, of course, as long as he’s within eyesight of Shane.

    Ilya and Mr. Hollander take on Berlin.

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    26 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane is pissed. This is not how he wanted to end the week of home games before heading on the road for four games. He wanted to go out and celebrate with his team until he could play the old man card and get out early. Meet a cocky Russian alpha on his porch and brag about the win until the alpha fucked him into the sheets.

    Now, his plans have to change. And he hates when things disrupt his plans.

     

    or, ilya gets a hat trick against the metros and shane wants his own hat trick

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    25 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Forty-one year old Shane has never bottomed before. Ilya offers to change that.

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    25 Jun 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Still, he’s felt like absolute shit for weeks, and the idea of sitting in his hotel room, where he would probably masturbate, cry, and have another night of fitful sleep, did not make him feel any better. Getting to be skin to skin with Ilya Rozanov did. And surely Rozanov wouldn’t be demanding Shane make a nest in his damn bed if he didn’t fully intend on actually kissing him in it and keeping him there until morning, right?

    Maybe that would be enough to pick Shane up out of this drop, keep it from happening again.

    OR

    After not sending the "we didn't kiss" text, Shane's omega hormones go into distress mode. Despite trying to hide his symptoms and play through the misery, when Ilya Rozanov finds out what's going on, the alpha Shane's body wants most is determined to fix it.

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    19 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “It’s okay. I don’t need anything.” 

    “I am not going to eat in front of you while you have nothing, Hollander,” Ilya scoffs. He plucks a can of cold ginger ale from the top shelf as casually as he can manage and slides it over the island, interrupting Hollander’s fidgeting thumbs. “You must be hungry, yes? It’s been hours since you left hotel. I can make something. Easy.” 

    “Make… what?” he asks warily.  

    Ilya rolls his eyes and tosses a look over his shoulder. “Do not worry. I will find something that works for your special hockey diet,” he teases. He reaches back into the fridge. “Tuna melt okay?” 

    “No,” Hollander says primly. “And it’s a disease. Not a diet.” 

    He pulls his hands out of the cold and turns, blinks. “What?” 

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    12 Jun 2026