Chapter Text
January 2018
nina @mrsrozanova
ilya rozanov lover boy confirmed ????
nina @mrsrozanova
Replying to @mrsrozanova
been thirsting after him for years and now i’m daydreaming about taking him on a cute picnic date in boston commons …
nina @mrsrozanova
Replying to @mrsrozanova
still want him to **** ** ** **** *** ***** **** don’t worry
red line enthusiast @raiddeeznuts
what the fresh hell is oomf talking about
Medical Melpractice @MelKing
Replying to @raiddeeznuts
Have you seen this? reddit.com/r/hockey/comments/81rzh2…
r/hockey
u/MontrealMetrosFTW
Are Ilya Rozanov’s playboy days over?
Listen I hate this guy as much as the next (sane) hockey fan but for the good of the community, consider this a public service announcement for all the rozanov groupies
***
Jane: Can you do something for me?
moya lyubov, i would move heaven and earth for you
Jane: Maybe start with moving your socks from the floor to the hamper.
***
it is very cold in montreal?
Jane: Not much colder than usual. I’m pretty used to it by now. Why?
[This attachment has been deleted.]
so red
moy pomidor
Jane: Ilya! Delete that!!
if you need warmer coat i will buy for you. am very rich and famous hockey player you know
maybe russian fur coat. brown like your pretty eyes
with big collar to keep ur face warm
Jane: If you buy me a fucking fur coat
Jane: I won’t touch your dick ever again.
lies
Jane: You sure you want to test that theory? Ok then.
noooooooo baby come back
***
your food came here
did you put wrong address?
Jane: It’s for you. You should eat healthier when you’re sick
i am russian we do not get sick
Jane: You are the least subtle man on the planet
Jane: I could hear you sniffling through the phone
did you send me witch potion???
i thought you loved me
instead you try to poison me
Jane: I know they have soup in Russia, don’t even try with me.
why is it green
Jane: It’s lentil soup
Jane: The internet said it’s rich in nutrients and immunity-boosting
Jane: Did you try it? Is it helping?
yes
thank you lyubimiy
[Jane loved a message]
***
[Image attachment: Bouquet of stargazer lilies]
Jane: The card says Happy Anniversary?
yes, is today
Jane: What no, our anniversary is in July
Jane: Two weeks at the cottage? Meeting my parents? Any of this ringing a bell?
not that one
our first anniversary
polite canadian with beautiful freckles tells me i cannot smoke and shakes my hand twice. very important date to remember
day that changed my life
Jane: Ilya
are you blushing moy pomidorchik?
Jane: Shut up
Jane: Ya tebya lyublyu
ya tozhe tebya lyublyu
***
need help
Jane: ?
send stupid canadian wolf bird sound
Jane: Fuck off I’m busy
very urgent send now
Jane: I can’t just make loon calls at work what is wrong with you
(((
Jane: Oh my god fine
[Audio message saved]
cliff also thought was wolf
told you
Jane: Are you fucking kidding me
Jane: Of course he did, you city boys wouldn’t know the difference between a swan and a goose.
not true
there are many swans in boston. they do not howl at night and scare innocent humans
Jane: Really?
we will go see them next time you are here
i will take your picture in tulip gardens like silly teenage couples and kiss you under crying tree
Jane: Weeping willow?
yes
Jane: I’d like that. One day
one day
zuko nation @yaoionice
tell me why the rozanov leaks have me sobbing into my pillow … god i see what you have done for others
oh captain my captain @jimothykirk
Replying to @yaoionice
RIGHT like i think love might be real
dani @danisqueerbar
Replying to @jimothykirk
we found love in a hopeless place (rozanov’s dms)
ily(a) rozanov @ouimacherie
Ok but who is this diva Jane and how does she have THE ilya rozanov wrapped around her finger
howl 🏰 @hollzystick
Replying to @ouimacherie
idc about rozanov I just wanna queen out with her
quinn h. 🏒 @rozalicious
what we know about ilya rozanov’s secret girlfriend
- name is Jane
- has brown eyes and freckles
- canadian (specifically montreal 🤮)
- can do a loon call???
Jennifer @HockeyMom
Replying to @rozalicious
I don’t think Jane deserves him. Obviously she doesn’t appreciate him at all, since she’s so rude and always swearing at him
marly roz sandwich 🙏 @marleausbunny
Replying to @HockeyMom
and isn’t it kind of bold to assume Jane is his girlfriend? he’s never mentioned a long-term relationship before and lowkey he’s kind of famous for being papped with a different girl every other day
trinity @dr_allonsy
Replying to @marleausbunny
me when i’m jared, 19
quinn h. 🏒 @rozalicious
Replying to @dr_allonsy
frrrr like are we reading the same messages rn????
red line enthusiast @raiddeeznuts
listen i’m happy for @Rozanov81 and all but did he have to pick someone from ❌ montreal ❌
www.thehockeywriters.com
Latest NHL Rumors
NHL Rumors: Twitter Leaks Expose Messages between Raiders’ Ilya Rozanov and Secret Girlfriend “Jane”
NHL Rumors: Mohn Injury Fallout, Hayes to Centaurs & Kent Controversy after Fan Interaction at CVS
Shane wakes up searching for Ilya’s body heat amidst his cool sheets, before the pleasant vestiges of his dream fade and he remembers that Ilya is back in Boston for a home game. On mornings without scheduled practice, Shane has started indulging in morning runs at 9 am rather than 7 — he tells himself it has nothing to do with the extra time afforded before bed, for phone calls or anything else. So, with half a REM cycle still left before his alarm, Shane locates the culprit: his phone lies inches from his face, screen lit up and buzzing.
He rubs his eyes and scrolls through the notifications. At the top, a message from Hayden reads, “Maybe stay off twitter today buddy.” Ominous enough on its own, a text from his mother joins it: “Have you seen this?” with a link to a Reddit post. And to cement the dread pooling in the pit of Shane’s stomach, a new notification from his Google alert for Ilya’s name pops up every few seconds, almost too fast to read.
Shane presses the phone face down on his bed and sucks in shallow breaths until the vibrations against his palm grow so distracting that he flips on Do Not Disturb. Then, guilt already creeping in on the panic, he turns it back off.
His finger slips against the screen and clicks on the alert for an article with “Ilya Rozanov” and “Jane” in the title. The words blur as Shane flicks through it, too frantic to even reach for his reading glasses, fixated on finding one damning name in the pages and pages of breathless speculation on Rozanov’s newest paramour. When he reaches the end, Shane scrolls back to the top to read the article properly.
Only a few paragraphs in, he’s already bristling at the picture it paints of Ilya — arrogant and sex-obsessed, not a romantic bone in his body, incapable of these obviously fake messages — when his phone buzzes with an incoming call. Shane accepts without thinking.
“Shane?” Ilya’s voice is low and echoes a little through the receiver. Shane imagines him hunched over on a bench in the Raiders’ locker room, hand cupped protectively around his mouth. “Shane, I didn’t know. How did this happen, I can’t —”
“Ilya…” It rushes out of Shane on an exhale. He takes a deep breath, then another, pulling in and holding for several seconds. On the other end of line, Ilya echoes him.
“I was reading the article from The Hockey Writers,” Shane starts, interrupted by Ilya’s derisive scoff. “Yeah, I know. But I didn’t see my name anywhere. Or on Twitter, or in the Google alerts. Just … Jane.”
Ilya makes a soft questioning noise. “Is good, yes? They believe I am texting anonymous woman because their tiny minds do not imagine I am in love with Shane Hollander, second best hockey player in the world.”
“Fuck you,” Shane chokes out a laugh. “I’m not second best.” He wishes he could see Ilya right now, wishes he could press his thumb into the small furrow between his brows and watch the rest of him melt under Shane’s touch. The urge never goes away, doesn’t even dim after days spent in only each other’s company. It beats like a second pulse under his skin. “Don’t read the articles. They’re saying horrible things about you.”
“Hm, nothing new,” Ilya says. “Twitter is being very funny. They think I am like Mr. Darcy. I should tell them, no, obviously I am Mr. Rochester. Corrupting my sweet Jane.”
“Please do not start shit on Twitter.” He sits up straight, a realization crashing over him like ice water. “Oh my god, do you have to make a statement? What will you say?”
After a long pause, which Shane spends twisting the sheets around his fingers and biting his tongue into stillness, Ilya says, “What would you have me say?”
“Ilya, it’s your statement —”
“No, is our statement. Whoever did this, maybe they have even more. Messages about you, Shane Hollander, about your games, your team. If one day, they decide to post…”
The same fears had already percolated into his temporary calm. He’s been texting Ilya as Jane for their entire careers in the NHL, seven years’ worth of poorly veiled flirting and sexual tension and now this tenderness, even more damning than the rest of it. Shane knows better — has known better this whole time — but he just can’t help it. Not when it comes to Ilya.
They should deny it. His mother, his agent, his coach, they would all tell Ilya to call the leaks fake; then the world could go back to admiring and censuring, in equal measure, the NHL’s resident playboy. Cocky, yes, and he probably deserves to be, but also cold-hearted. Loveless. The thought makes Shane’s stomach churn, almost as much as it would hurt to read a statement where Ilya refutes the evidence of his love.
Shane wants to hide under his covers. He wants to put his head down and play hockey and pretend nothing else exists. But Ilya would tell him to be brave.
“Don’t deny it,” he blurts out. He hears Ilya’s sharp intake of breath, but barrels on. “You don’t have to make an official statement, I doubt Boston will make you. But if anyone asks… don’t deny it.” He considers what this would mean, for the plans he had laid out in the middle of the night, sketching the shape of their future. “And maybe we start working on Canadian citizenship a little sooner?”
Ilya makes a low noise, clears his throat. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick and wet sounding. Shane smiles to himself. “Ok, moy solnyshko. We will do that.”
national hoe league @samira_gretzky
lowkey still can’t believe this is the real timeline. i figured roz was the type to sext absolute filth just pure freak shit 24/7 but NOPE it’s the kind of sweetness they warn u abt at the dentist
all eyes on admirals @puckpuckgo
Replying to @samira_gretzky
I mean… how do we know these are even real? tbh those texts don’t sound like him at ALL
national hoe league @samira_gretzky
Replying to @puckpuckgo
ah yes, twitter user puckpuckgo, known authority on ilya rozanov’s inner life 🙄
steve @killing_steve
Replying to @samira_gretzky
Hate to say it but they might have a point. For all we know OP faked the “leaks” to slander rozanov. We should just ignore them and stop speculating until he makes a statement
national hoe league @samira_gretzky
Replying to @killing_steve
respectfully i will Not be doing that
ASG 2017 cheek kiss @hollanover
ok but why is nobody talking about how roz uses the masculine form of lyubimiy… ilya rozanov bi confirmed methinks
will @good_hunting
Replying to @hollanover
maybe it's just hard to transliterate? I mean her name is literally Jane lol
ASG 2017 cheek kiss @hollanover
Replying to @good_hunting
hear me out. “Jane” is a codename for his boyfriend. like anonymous Jane Doe! plus all the secrecy and vagueness on roz’s side… i’m connecting the dots!
will @good_hunting
Replying to @hollanover
dude you aren’t connecting shit
nina @mrsrozanova
NOOOOO THE REDDIT POST GOT DELETED 😭😭 NOT THE ORIGINAL TEXTS
reputation era tour ! @shaydenation
Replying to @mrsrozanova
it’s giving the leaks were fake and we should respect hockey players’ privacy
nina @mrsrozanova
Replying to @shaydenation
u literally ship sh*yden
Ilya blinks as another camera flash goes off inches from his face. He can feel every drop of sweat sliding down his face, the matted curls sticking to his skin. A bruise purples on his bare ribs, where he caught an elbow from one of the Admirals’ second-rate defensemen. He desperately wants to shower off this shitshow of a game and reward himself for the win by reading whatever live commentary Shane sent him, but alas. The press.
“Rozanov, how are you feeling about the Raiders’ chances to make the playoffs again this year, and are there any other teams you’re keeping an eye on to make the playoffs as well?”
Stupid question, he thinks. Ask me instead how I wrangle a team of monkeys with their hockey sticks up their asses into beating last year’s cup champions. After a miserable first two periods and a rousing captain’s speech on getting their minds off whatever the internet is saying and onto the fucking rink, they managed to pull one goal ahead of the Admirals in the last four minutes of regulation. Disappointing, maybe, but still a win. He’s making those fuckers bag skate until their feet fall off tomorrow.
“Not the Admirals. Obviously,” he says instead, cocking a single eyebrow. He knows Shane hates that expression, that it pisses him off, gets him so hot. “We are done here?”
From the back of the swarm of reporters, a woman’s voice calls out, “Just one more, Mr. Rozanov!” He can’t make out her face or the outlet she represents, but he nods curtly anyway.
“With all the rumors and speculation online, people want to know, are the leaked messages real? Who is Jane? Are you finally settling down?”
A dozen more flashes, capturing the pure incredulity as it spreads across Ilya’s face. “Now? You ask me this, now? After I hand the Admirals’ asses to them on their home ice?” Exaggeration, maybe.
But Ilya has been waiting for this question. His coach, his teammates, his agent — an old friend of the family whose interest in Ilya’s career died along with his father — none of them had asked quite so directly, either chirping him or avoiding the topic altogether. But the truth burns like a small sun in his chest, light bursting out from the spaces between his ribs. He wonders how the whole world hasn’t seen it written across his face, since that morning after the photos leaked, when Shane gave him a gift Ilya hadn’t even known how to ask for.
Every moment feels like a thrilling escape, suffused with the childlike glee of getting away with something, of getting to keep it. Ilya can’t believe he’s allowed this; part of him still expects Shane to change his mind. He carries this half-terror, half-hope around his neck, nestled beside his mother’s cross.
The reporters grow restless in his silence, shifting feet and low whispers. They don’t deserve the truth, not even a crumb of it, but Ilya can be magnanimous. On occasion.
“I don’t know of any leaks, I am too busy winning at hockey.” He shrugs as a wave of laughter ripples through the crowd. A pack of hyenas, mouths frothing for the juiciest bite. He stares directly at what he hopes is a camera, drops it a wink and his very best smirk. “But sounds like Jane is very lucky, no?”
poulin x stacey @mesvictoires
guys is it just me or was that not a denial
marci @francisforever24
Replying to @mesvictoires
it’s ilya motherfucking rozanov when has he ever taken the media seriously
i'll dunk ur donuts @loveisloveislove
in light of roz’s last post-game interview can we put this back on the tl? i haven’t moved on i’m still here
***
am bored
entertain me
Jane: You came to the wrong place to escape boredom.
bzzzzzzt wrong answer
send pics
Jane: I’m reading in bed, I don’t look particularly hot right now
Jane: And I’m not sending nudes if you’re in public.
you are wearing glasses?
Jane: Yeah
send pics
now
i want to see sexy glasses
[Image attachment: a pair of glasses perched on an open book]
brat
what is that? boring hockey book?
Jane: Fuck you it’s not boring!
Jane: It’s literally your job. You might actually like reading about it
why would i read when you will tell me anyway
sounds better in your voice. like sexy podcast
Jane: You listen to podcasts?
yes helps with english
ok am home now
Jane: Wait what, did you leave early? I thought the team was out celebrating
wanted to see you
i call now
Jane: Yeah. Yes please
***
🧛🍁 @bellahollander
Replying to @loveisloveislove
Never knew I needed to hear rozanov say brat until now. New kink unlocked I fear
stan lee cup @skip_kiss_cam
wait does this mean Jane is a hockey fan? one of us, even?? 😳
(hockey) stick season @shaneaday
Replying to @skip_kiss_cam
nah no way. if I was Jane I’d be shouting that shit from the rooftops
roz pr manager @luca_draws
not Jane becoming the internet’s favorite WAG and we don’t even know what she looks like
~*~ freckles ~*~ @hollandersgf
Replying to @luca_draws
The people’s princess frfr
bri @strikerpiker
Replying to @luca_draws
put some respect on my queen jackie’s name!!
roz pr manager @luca_draws
Replying to @strikerpiker
why tf is there a pike stan in my mentions
Liked by Ilya Rozanov
tea @teaonrice
out of the club and straight into her dms, man is so whipped
When he finally catches his breath, cum drying in sticky streaks on his stomach and Ilya curled around his back, Shane finds himself saying, “Jane is trending on Twitter.”
Ilya grumbles into Shane’s neck before propping himself up on an elbow to face him; the movement shifts the angle of Ilya’s cock, half-soft and still buried deep inside of him, making Shane twitch with oversensitivity. A smug little smirk curls at Ilya’s lips as he slides his hand up to squeeze Shane’s pec. “Oh, really?”
“I know you’ve been liking the tweets, asshole.” Shane rolls his eyes, even as he presses back into the cradle of Ilya’s hips. “Some of the guys were talking about it in the locker room.”
“Hm, yes, I am very popular, of course my mysterious girlfriend will be also.”
Shane frowns. “You don’t have a mysterious girlfriend.”
Ilya rolls his hips hard, shocking a gasp out of Shane’s throat and wiping away every trace of worry for a moment. Of course, he ruins it two seconds later, leering down at Shane.
“Marly has not stopped chirping about how I soft-launched my Montreal Girl.” Shane can hear the capitalization in the way he says it. “Keeps asking for her number to add to Raiders WAG group chat.”
“If you give Marleau my phone number, I’m blocking both of you.”
Shane feels as though something sharp has lodged itself in his chest, piercing his lungs with every breath. He wishes he never mentioned the whole thing, can’t even remember why he did in the first place. Ilya has always been able to fuck him into incoherency, take Shane up to the edge of the cliff only to knock him cleanly off; and in the plummet, his mind goes finally, blissfully silent. But today, apparently, the words were simply hiding under his tongue, lying in wait for the moment Shane loses hold of himself.
Tears prickle at his eyes. Shane squeezes them shut, flushed hot with shame, his whole body tense with the effort of fighting its own stupid reactions. Ilya notices, of course.
“Shane? What’s wrong?” Ilya’s palm comes up to rest on Shane’s throat, long fingers curling around his neck, a hint of pressure. The familiar gesture, the heat of his skin — Shane doesn’t know how to earn any of it. “You are upset.”
It’s not a question, but Shane shakes his head back and forth in silent denial, eyes still closed. Ilya squeezes tighter in warning. “Tell me.”
He doesn’t want to, but the words spill out anyway. “This whole Jane thing. It got so much bigger than I expected. Everyone knows, or thinks they know and I — I hate it.”
The pressure on his throat eases; Shane’s body arches up to follow it. His eyes blink open at last, and through blurry vision he watches as Ilya’s whole face shutters. He pulls free from the clutch of Shane’s body, straightening up and out of reach. Worse, he looks away from Shane, eyes fixed on the bare wall, his jaw working.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Is not too late. I can still deny everything. They will believe me, I think.”
His voice is flat. Affectless, like his blank stare, as though he’s gone somewhere Shane can’t follow. Panic alarms sound off in Shane’s brain, drowning out everything else, and his hands reach out without his telling them to, scrabbling for purchase on Ilya’s upper arms.
“No, wait, hold on, that’s not — I didn’t —”
Shane cuts himself off, frustrated, sucks in a noisy, shallow breath, but at least Ilya turns back towards him. A small furrow appears between his brows as he looks down at Shane. Almost subconsciously, his thumb strokes along Shane’s collarbone.
The words, once he finds them, come out haltingly. Drawn up from the ugly depths of him, one bucketful at a time.
“The whole world — the whole internet or whatever — thinks it’s Jane you’re in love with. And yeah, I know. Jane is me. But to them she’s this, I don’t know, this mysterious woman who finally got you to settle down and they love her so much and they’re so happy for you, but the second they find out it’s me…” Shane’s voice falters. “Well, it wouldn’t be the same. Obviously. They would hate me. Us.”
Ilya stares at him for a minute, face hard and unreadable. Then his chin wobbles. The corner of his lip twitches. Shane realizes, half a second before it happens, and then Ilya bursts into laughter.
“Fuck you, asshole!” Shane swats him in the chest, eyes still wet, gets two good hits in before Ilya catches his wrist in a firm grip. When Shane tries to squirm away, Ilya’s other hand comes up to grab his chin, fingers digging into Shane’s cheeks and smushing his lips into a pout. He forces Shane to meet his eyes.
“You are jealous? Of Jane?” Ilya raises his eyebrows, incredulous, shoulders shaking with mirth. “Jealous of yourself, yes? Only you, Hollander.”
Shane glares up at him, even as his whole body relaxes under Ilya’s weight pressing him deeper into the mattress. “She’s not me.” It comes out muffled with the way Ilya’s holding his face, but it doesn’t matter anyway.
“Good,” Ilya says, and all the air rushes out of Shane’s lungs. Like a sudden drop in cabin pressure; the moment before the fall. “They don’t get to have you. Only me.”
He pushes Shane onto his front, one large hand splayed across the back of his neck, fingers digging into the sweaty hair at his nape. Shane tries to get his knees under him, but Ilya puts all his weight onto the hand wrapped tight around Shane’s hip, thighs locked tight around Shane’s legs, and he collapses back down, helpless. Pinned.
Little sounds escape Shane’s open mouth, the pillow growing damp beneath his face. Before he can start whining in earnest, Ilya lays flat on top of him, every inch of their skin pressed together. He grinds against Shane’s ass, the tip of his cock catching on Shane’s swollen rim. Then Ilya replaces the hand at Shane’s nape with his teeth, and bites down hard. Shane’s body jackknifes, caught, suspended in pleasure-pain, before going completely limp.
When Ilya finally slides in — a tight fit, at this angle, but Shane surrenders so willingly for him — Shane’s voice cracks around his long moan; speech has left him almost entirely, but for the noises punched out of him with each thrust and a steady stream of “Yours, yours, yours…”
dani @danisqueerbar
@Rozanov81 blink twice if you need help
***
Jane: I think the point of hockey is to get the puck INTO the net
Jane: Don’t tell me you missed Lehner favoring his right knee.
Jane: Nice shot!
Jane: Tell your second line to clean up their fucking act.
Jane: Ouch. That’s what you get for chirping Price for 90 minutes straight
Jane: Don’t forget to ice your ribs tonight. I’ll know if you don’t.
moy dushnila please
did you like my hat trick
i dedicated to you
Jane: I’d be more impressed if it wasn’t against Buffalo
touche
i will score u another one in montreal next week ))
Jane: Not a fucking chance
***
Liked by Ilya Rozanov
snei @stereks
Replying to @danisqueerbar
leave him alone he’s exactly where he wants to be
go penguins!! @crosbysgirl
the way Jane just ended the buffalos whole career omg who is She
poulin x stacey @mesvictoires
Replying to @crosbysgirl
and not their goalie’s injury getting outed by ilya rozanov relationship drama on twitter … did I go through the looking glass or something
fran @frannypack
ew. wouldn’t have pinned rozanov as the type to go for a puck bunny
roz pr manager @luca_draws
Replying to @frannypack
puck bunny???? if anything he’s dating his mfing COACH
yuzuru domination 2018 @skaterg1rl
ms. Jane whoever you are, if you ever live tweeted a game i would eat that shit up
Transcript excerpt from Rocky and Roman Talk Hockey Podcast @ 1:05:43
Rocky: And now for some other news in hockey…
Roman: C’mon dude, I thought we weren’t gonna do this bit. Off-ice player drama doesn’t count as stats, strats, or spats! AKA the big three!
Rocky: Um, it does when the drama is Ilya fucking Rozanov getting hitched.
Roman: I’m pretty sure he didn’t get married.
Rocky: My darling baby brother —
Roman: We’re literally twins.
Rocky: — have you seen the screenshots? This is like DEFCON 2 for Raiders fans. Rozanov’s gone soft! What if this affects his play? His reputation on the ice? His commitment to the team? It’s our job to break this down for the listeners.
Roman: Well my professional opinion is that it’s not that big of a deal. Rozanov is aggressive and he’s always played aggressive. No way that “Jane” is gonna change that.
Rocky: Ok, first of all, you actually did read the leaks! Didn’t know you had it in you. And second, I’d argue this feels like a departure from Rozanov’s usual strategy, with respect to the media and his personal life. It’s like if Shane Hollander or Scott Hunter got caught in one of those typical “sex, money, drugs” scandals. It would make a lot of fans really nervous.
Roman: You just wanted to mention Shane Hollander.
Rocky: Can you blame me?
Roman: Speaking of Hollander, this all sounds familiar to those conversations last season, during his fling with Rose Landry. And Hollander’s game was still great, before, obviously, the injury. The Metros were projected to make the playoffs for a third year in a row!
Rocky: Sure, I hear you, but a Rose Landry situation makes sense for the NHL’s resident boy-next-door. Not for a player with Rozanov’s reputation. And, to call out the elephant in our recording booth, the Rozanov-Hollander rivalry is famous for a reason. They’re polar opposites!
Roman: I’m stopping you there, before we end up with another episode on the epic saga of Hollander vs Rozanov.
Rocky: Well, before I move on: if you’re listening, Jane — we’d love to have you on the show.
Roman: What he means is Jane, if you’re real, please come shit on Buffalo with us.
Liked by Ilya Rozanov
laila @blackcatgf
“please please please” yes girl, walk him like a dog
***
Jane: You left your hoodie here again
is for you
i know you like to wear my clothes, moy vorishka
Jane: I’m not a thief!
Jane: No way I’m wearing a fucking raiders hoodie
are you wearing it right now?
Jane: Fuck off
you are, aren’t you
send me a picture please please please
i bet you look so pretty in my colors
Jane: It smells nice. Just like you
lyubimiy you are killing me, i am dead
Jane: If you want to see me in it, guess you have to wait until next time you come over
ok i book tickets now
Jane: Ilya NO you have a game!
***
national hoe league @samira_gretzky
Replying to @blackcatgf
omg 😭 he liked this laila are you alive
laila @blackcatgf
Replying to @samira_gretzky
NO I AM NOT
stan lee cup @skip_kiss_cam
ilya rozanov liking every tweet that calls him a simp… either this is the funniest long con in NHL history or he’s actually down THAT bad
Mike @MikeHockeyFan
All these leaks and not one filthy sext? Rozanov is Jane even putting out bro
to boldly go @spocks_socks
Replying to @MikeHockeyFan
wow you’re a perv
zuko nation @yaoionice
Replying to @MikeHockeyFan
kinda gay to be so invested in roz’s sex life. bro
quinn h. 🏒 @rozalicious
ok can we all agree that rozanov liking Jane tweets is basically a confirmation?
pats to the superbowl ! @wlwahoo
Replying to @rozalicious
babe this is ilya rozanov you can’t trust him
quinn h. 🏒 @rozalicious
Replying to @wlwahoo
if this was a pr stunt surely he would be pushing the narrative instead of the famous person equivalent of vagueposting
~*~ freckles ~*~ @hollandersgf
Replying to @rozalicious
Tbh he’s prob just being a menace for the shits
In the locker room, surrounded by exuberant chatter and hollering after a 7-4 win against Metropolitan’s all-stars, Ilya’s eyes seek out Shane. Having already dumped the top half of his gear somewhere on the floor, he watches Shane methodically undress: his jersey first, folded neatly and placed in his bag, then the elbow and shoulder pads. He watches him sit on the nearest bench and unlace his left skate, roll down his left sock. Right skate. Right sock. Shane’s black compression shirt stretches tight across his shoulders and chest with each careful movement.
The thrill of playing on a line with Hollander has yet to wear off; Ilya doesn’t expect it ever will. He’d netted a downright filthy goal — flicked the puck into the vee of space between the goalie’s left arm and torso — off a backhand assist from Hollander. Under about fifty layers of gear, Ilya’s cock starts to swell just from imagining how he’ll reward Shane tonight.
His line of sight is suddenly blocked by Carle, mediocre defensemen from Tampa sent up to replace an injured player. Ilya couldn’t remember a thing about him if he tried.
“Rozanov!” Carle bellows, thumping Ilya’s shoulder with a gloved hand. “Nice playin’!”
Ilya nods at him. The other man doesn’t fuck off, instead leaning in conspiratorially, though his voice doesn’t drop from maximum volume. “Hey, so, the only thing the rags talk about these days is your secret girlfriend. Care to share?”
“Whoa, really?” Ilya raises a single eyebrow. Over Carle’s shoulder, Shane stills, his head only just tilted in Ilya’s direction. He doesn’t look up from his shin guards, with all the appearance of being focused on his post-game routine; but Ilya sees right through him. The rest of the locker room is much less subtle about where their attention now lies.
Carle just laughs obnoxiously. “C’mon man! Your exploits are famous! A woman in every port, right?” He leers, showing off the gap in his incisors. “So this girl’s gotta be somethin’ crazy.”
“You cannot get your dick wet, Carle? No woman in Tampa wants to fuck you? So you must live, uh —”
“Vicariously,” Shane suggests, voice dry.
“Yes, thank you, Hollander. You must live vicariously through me?”
Half the other players laugh, the rest rolling their eyes at his audacity, while Carle splutters and finally takes his hand off Ilya’s shoulder. But with the dam now broken, another player approaches their corner of the locker room. Isak Hellerud, Detroit’s right winger, rookie of the year in 2017. Ilya takes a moment to worry if he’s turned into Shane, rattling off stats in his own head.
“I must ask, Rozanov, is Jane real?” A frown creases his round, serious face, voice dipping down to a doleful register. “Because no woman likes to be kept secret.”
Ilya doesn’t know if Hellerud says anything else. Halfway across the room, Shane catches Ilya’s gaze as his hand rises slowly to his own chest. He massages his left pec, as though working out the tension in a sore muscle — then his thumb presses down, hard, directly over the bruise Ilya left last night.
Blood roars in Ilya’s ears. He had tasted that skin, barely twelve hours ago, teeth sinking in deep while Shane had ridden him into the cushions; on the couch, because they hadn’t made it to the bed, Ilya’s pants still tangled around his ankles. A pretty flush rises to Shane’s cheeks before he finally lets up the pressure, and then his thumb digs in again. And again. And again.
Ilya’s dick pulses in time with Shane’s rhythm. His heart thuds: yours, yours, yours.
He must black out; when Ilya comes back to himself, the rest of his gear is shoved into the gym bag at his feet, his gym shorts and wrinkled tank clinging to his sweat-damp skin. Carle and Hellerud seem to have started arguing with each other, and they turn to Ilya simultaneously, faces expectant.
“Sorry you are both having girl troubles. Not my fault I can’t relate.”
Shane snorts under his breath as he passes them on his way to the door, and Ilya saunters out not even ten seconds after him.
July 2021
Ilya Rozanov @Rozanov81
summer with Jane 🛶 💍
[Image attachment: Ilya taking a selfie from the front of a canoe; behind him, Shane is wearing swim trunks and holding an oar, squinting at the camera.]