FlyingJo



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    “My parents are coming before. For dinner.”

    “Is that an invite?” Ilya hummed, lips twitching with a smile. 

    Shane faltered. “I-”

    “Relax Hollander. Is just a joke.”

    Obviously. Of course it was a joke. The idea of Ilya sitting down for dinner with his parents was ridiculous. Impossible.

    When Montreal is hit by a bad storm on the night of their game, Ilya thinks Shane might let him stay the night. What neither of them knows is that Shane's parents, also caught in the storm, have had the same idea.

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    25 May 2026

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    Shane should be here right now, should be in Ilya’s house. Ilya should be teasing him about being picky while going through delivery options for food on his phone. Shane should be discovering that Ilya has ginger ale in the fridge and the protein bars Shane mentioned liking in an interview in his pantry. He should be making out with Shane on the couch, sneaking a hand into his pants, teasing him about whether they can beat the deliveryman and arrive before he does. Shane was supposed to spend the night tonight, the Montreal team not set to leave until tomorrow afternoon because of potential bad weather in the morning. Shane should be fed and showered and ready to curl up in bed with Ilya tonight.
    But Shane is in a hospital.

    And Ilya is here.

    He pulls up Jane in his phone again. He presses call.

    “Hey, you’ve reached Shane Hollander-”

    Ilya closes his eyes and lets Shane’s voice roll over him.

    (canon divergence in which shane getting injured happens during a game in boston) (...which means shane then gets to go home with ilya to recover)

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    26 Apr 2026

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    I wanted to find a way to get some high-Shane-post-concussion-hospital-magic in a story, and what better way to do that than a nice little wisdom tooth extraction.

    When the opportunity presents itself, Ilya ditches the MLH awards weekend in Vegas to fly out to Ottawa so he can help Shane through his dental surgery. Shane says too much, naturally, and the boys end up sharing a whirlwind twenty-four hours that will change their futures in the most wonderful way.

    Because of some chompers, tuna-meldown never needed to happen.

    "Ilya regretted not checking his carry-on—while totally unnecessary, it would have bought him an extra twenty minutes of staring at a spinning carousel before he had to face his impulsive offer to comfort the man he was used to pounding his dick into. Instead, he had about a fifteen minute walk to reconcile how after seven years of the same shit, he was about to become the man who could maybe offer more than just nine inches and an orgasm. He was sure to walk slowly, knowing damn well that the slower he walked, the quicker Shane’s mind would spiral. If he walked any slower, he’d miss the surgery altogether."

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    26 Apr 2026

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    “Is Boston even interested.”

    Ilya scoffs at him like Shane is an idiot.

    “Is sky blue? Is water wet? Is English stupid language? Yes, Hollander, of course we want best player in the league.” Ilya mutters more in disgruntled Russian and Shane gets up off the couch to Google Russian lessons on his ipad while continuing their conversation.

     

    Or, a Shane goes to Boston story.

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    14 Apr 2026

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    “The thing is,” Ilya says, conversationally, as if he doesn't have fucking Shane Hollander grinding into his touch, as if he doesn't have a hand on his—Luca's sure of it—perfect fucking cock, “you have not been subtle, Haasy.”

    It takes Luca a moment to understand just what the hell Ilya's talking about, before he moans, low in his throat, humiliation sweeping across his body. It's not that he thought he had been actually subtle, but he hadn't expected this, of all places, to be where they confronted him. Not with Ilya's hand worming its way into Shane's pants, the soft blue of his briefs a flash color amongst the pale glow of his skin and the dark drape of his clothes.

    OR: The Cens have won the Stanley Cup. Luca's been voted Hollanov's MVP.

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    11 Apr 2026