Esneas



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    Shane smiles shakily and Ilya lets go, watching him walk up and slot in between Haas and Wyatt. Bood leans forward, "Hollander okay?"

    Ilya smiles a little at the concern in his friend's voice, "He will be fine. We will all be fine, because," Ilya raises his voice, carrying over the line of hockey players, "we are winning tonight!"

    The ground shakes with the force of the team hitting their sticks against the rubber floors.

    Outside, the announcer begins announcing the Centaurs, and within the span of a minute, all of their skates are hitting the ice.

    OR

    Shane and Ilya play the Stanley Cup finals. And then they celebrate. A lot.

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    08 Mar 2026

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    It used to worry Shane. In the early days of their heated rivalry, where the line between fucking and frenemies had started to get shaky and blurred, he used to lie awake at night wondering what Ilya saw in him.

    If he used to lurk in the murky depths of online gossip columns to read about Boston Raiders Captain Ilya Rozanov’s latest speculated flings with supermodels and upcoming song writing prodigies; well, that information was between him and his internet cookies and that’s where it was going to stay.

    It was hard not to compare himself though. All of Ilya’s previous known partners (and there were many of them) were tall, razor thin and packing a stunning pair of perfectly round elevated breasts.

    Shane has none of these qualities. He’s not particularly tall - at least by the standards of ice hockey players - he’s stocky, and he is pretty positive that he does not possess a rack.

    And yet.

    And yet, Ilya cannot seem to keep his hands away from Shane’s chest.

    __

     
    Shane notices Ilya's obsession with his chest. He decides to go along for the ride.

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    07 Mar 2026

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    He needs to move, maybe get Rozanov’s attention before he loses his nerves.

    And then the room tilts. His vision narrows, red light smearing into pink and white streaks. Shane staggers. The beer slips from his fingers. It shatters, foam splashing his shoes, glass skittering away. His knees give out like someone kicked him, and his hands shoot forward to hold himself upright.

    His left palm lands in broken glass, though he doesn't feel it. What he notices is the certainty that everyone sees, that they can smell him—something sour and wrong. His scent, despite patches and care, has turned exposed.

    OR: What if we took the club scene from episode 4 and had Shane collapse from experiencing Omega Rejection Syndrome after seeing Ilya dancing with someone else?

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    21 Feb 2026

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    “I’m putting in a transfer request to Carleton this afternoon.”

    Ilya gets off his bike and wraps his sweaty arms around Shane’s sweaty shoulders, presses their sweaty heads together and holds him tight. “Nooo, Hollander, you cannot leave me. Who will put Barrett and Marly in time out when they fuck up too many shots in a row?”

    “I’m sure Bood will do it. He loves bossing people around.”

    Bood stands up straight and salutes his captains. “I take the title with great honor. Enjoy the Ravens, Hollander—your legacy of being a chaste Victorian debutante will be remembered fondly but not carried on.”

    This snaps that last thread of Shane’s refined patience. “I can pick up girls! I have no problem getting numbers and calling them and talking!”

    Hazy smirks. “Innocent until proven guilty.”

    “I can pick people up,” Shane says again, moving off his bike and out of Ilya’s sweaty embrace. “And I don’t have to do it by concocting schemes or stripping on top of the LAX bros’ coffee table.”

    Or, after some team chirping at Shane's expense, Ilya accidentally interrupts a few of his potential dating prospects and then keeps on doing it less than accidentally

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    07 Feb 2026

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    Every time a text came through about flight times, Shane thought that would be the last one. That Ilya would say, no, actually, but I cannot come to your home over the summer and fuck you in your bed for two weeks and kiss and play house like we are boyfriends, because we are hockey rivals and this has been a seven year long mistake. Also, I will be blocking your phone number and never want to see you again unless I am beating you on the ice.

    He had doubted every second until Ilya was finally in his car in the airport parking garage.

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    05 Feb 2026