Qualyn

jin guangyao chibi with stars in his eyes, flowers in the background and a police 'caution' tape



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    Rozanov cocked his head. “You speak Russian? Or just the curse words?”

    “Yes, I speak Russian,” he snapped, defensive and angry. He knew that it had been a mistake to even try to be friendly with Rozanov. “Why? Do I not look Russian to you?” He scoffed.

    “No, not really,” Rozanov said. Some of his teammates laughed, although they mostly looked surprised that Shane was speaking to them at all. Rozanov didn’t laugh, though. “Are you Russian?”

    “Go fuck yourself.”

    +++

    Despite an inauspicious start, when Russia’s Ilya Rozanov learns that Canada’s Shane Hollander is fluent in Russian at their first World Junior Championships tournament, it changes everything and sets them on a different course. Instead of being branded as rivals from the very beginning, Ilya and Shane start off as friends.

    And, after all, a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone, did it?

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    13 Jan 2026

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    when shane gets the injury that would come to end his career, in the moment he’s just thankful he didn’t break his jaw.

    or: shane knew, in the abstract, that one day he would play his last professional nhl game. it never occurred to him that hockey would choose that day for him.

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    13 Jan 2026

  3. Public Bookmark 61

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    “You like these touched, don’t you?” His hand slid up, palm covering Shane’s left nipple, thumb circling, teasing. Shane’s eyes crossed, mouth opening on a ragged keen, body arching forward to offer more. “Do you play with them at home, hm?” Ilya taunted, pinching the tight bud. “Do you twist them under your sheets while you think of me? Does Mommy ever walk in on her sweet boy tugging his little tits and moaning?”

    A sob-half-laugh burst from Shane, mortifying and incandescent. “N-no, Father, oh God, n-no, she—ahhh—she’d—” His hole clenched around Ilya’s cock at the mention, involuntary, lust flaring hotter. The priest caught it, chuckled.

    “She’d be horrified to see her precious son like this,” Ilya murmured, nails scratching lightly over the right nipple now, making Shane shudder. “Socks on, slut naked, riding his priest’s cock right in the house of God.”

    In the house of God, Ilya found his most devout worshipper not in the pews, but bent over the altar, begging for absolution with every thrust.

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    12 Jan 2026

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    11 Jan 2026

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    “So,” Ilya says, dragging the word out. He’s swiping at non-existent crumbs on the counter, avoiding his eyes. “You have dinner at parents on Christmas, yes?” 

    “Yeah.” 

    Ilya nods. “I can house-sit while you are away. Make place pretty, if you have decorations. Make it less boring.” 

    Shane’s eyebrows fly up. “What? You don’t want to come with?” 

    Finally, Ilya looks up at him. Hesitantly, he asks, “You want me to come with?” 

    Frowning, Shane says, “I– yeah. Yeah, of course. You think I invited you here just so you could spend Christmas alone?” 

    Looking away, Ilya shrugs. “I am intruder here, Hollander. You have family. I do not. Makes situation… difficult, maybe. You forget the world thinks we are rivals.” 

    “Not difficult,” Shane says immediately. “You want to come, you’re coming.” 

    Or: Ilya's in Montreal alone during the week leading up to the Winter Classic. Shane doesn't let him spend Christmas alone.

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    02 Jan 2026