rosecoloredjam



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    Shane Hollander is just trying to survive—NYU biochemistry, hockey practice, and the graveyard shift at a Manhattan 7-Eleven. He's too tired to notice that his new regular customer is clearly Russian mafia, or that Ilya's interest in him goes beyond terrible coffee.

    When Ilya gives him a $10k scarf and gloves, Shane sells them for rent money. Any normal person would be terrified. Ilya is fascinated.

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    24 Jan 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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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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    23 Jan 2026

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    "Rozy," Brian, the team doctor says, "talk to me, buddy. That puck clipped you pretty good, how’s the pain?"

    Ilya blinks. He clenches his jaw against a wave of nausea. He rests his cheek on the ice, and the cold helps a little.

    "Bad. Very bad." He swallows. "Is Shane here?"

    -

    or, in the final MTL/BOS game of the year, ilya takes a puck to the head.

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    23 Jan 2026

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    “Don’t apologize. Look at you.” Ilya began licking his inner thighs and Shane gasped, then moaned when he spread his labia apart. Shane was just more wet now, moaning as he felt his breath on him. Shane hadn’t been naked in front of anyone since starting testosterone, but he’d never had a partner spend this kind of time on him. Ilya was focusing on every detail of him with intensity that almost made him uncomfortable. Almost. He slid his tongue inside of him, lapping up what he could, then moved up again. “I’m going to suck your cock now, okay?”

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    23 Jan 2026

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    “Am I speaking with Ilya Grigorievich Rozanov?”

    Ilya went silent immediately. That was not his brother’s voice. Nor was it Katia’s, his sister-in-law’s. It was an aristocratic, cold voice. He went completely still.

    “Yes.”

    “I’m calling from the Child Services Department, Ilya Grigorievich,” the woman continued, and Ilya frowned deeply. “Your brother Alexei Rozanov and his wife died yesterday in a car accident.”

    Twice in his life, Ilya had felt like this. The ice around his heart melted just enough for the numbness to vanish and give way to a sharp, stinging pain. It lasted only two seconds before he managed to compose himself. He didn’t want to feel anything for Alexei, so even if Katia’s death carried a trace of sadness—she was a mess, but she always tried to smile at him and cook warm meals for him when he visited Russia—, he dismissed the feeling entirely.

    “So what?”

    “You are the only living family member of their daughter. Your brother named you as her legal guardian, Ilya Grigorievich.”

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    23 Jan 2026