Torralisa



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    Ilya hums, playing the card he's been considering for this entire conversation. “We could make more interesting, yes? A bet.”

    “A bet,” Shane repeats, eyes flashing. “Like what?”

    The reporter cuts in. “What about wearing the other player’s jersey?”

    They both turn to her, and Shane says, “Like, the loser wears the winner’s jersey?”

    “Maybe at the next game in a couple of months?”

    “Is a good idea,” Ilya muses, nudging Shane’s elbow. “You will look better in my jersey than in Montreal jersey.”

    Shane makes a low noise, his eyes holding a bit of a spark when he looks back to Ilya. It’s what Ilya was hoping for—the tiniest crack in the mask. He can see a hint of exasperated affection around the corners of Shane’s eyes, a little bit of fire burning just beneath the surface. It sends a thrill down Ilya’s spine, and he wonders if Shane will be snarky when Ilya gets him naked tonight.

    “That’s not happening,” Shane replies, shaking his head. “Because you’re not winning.”

    ---
    Ilya should have known better.

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    23 Feb 2026

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    "Someone did this to me."

    Ilya can only nod, knowing that there's not much else to say. What comfort can he offer, when he can only imagine the turmoil that Shane must feel?

    "You're safe now," he offers, hoping that it can offer some measure of solace.

    Shane's eyes flit back to him, wide and swallowed up by a tangle of emotions.

    "I always was," he says, his voice hushed. "You were there."

    • • • • •

    Shane is drugged by heat inducers at the club, and Ilya is there to help him through it.

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    18 Feb 2026

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    Shane is still adjusting to being out. He’s trying, he really is. But he’s still very protective of what they have.

    (Or: 5 times Shane feels embarrassment when the Centaurs find out something about their sex life and the time he stops caring.)

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    13 Feb 2026

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    Shane pulls back, carefully cradling Ilya’s face. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

    “You don’t want to?” Ilya’s eyes are bottomless; swimming with grief. He says it like he really means, You don’t want me?

    “That isn’t what I mean,” Shane says gently, brushing his thumb over Ilya’s cheekbone. Ilya’s eyes flutter shut, as if being treated so tenderly causes him physical pain. Like he isn’t used to it. “You’re hurting. I don’t want you to regret it in the morning.” 

    Ilya’s eyes open. “I have never regretted a moment with you.”

    *

    Or: the missing hotel room scene in Florida after Shane comforts Ilya.

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    02 Feb 2026

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    Ilya’s hands stay planted firmly at the curve of Shane’s hips, thumbs pressing into the edges where the stretch marks rise like faint ridges under his skin. “So pretty, Hollander. Stretch marks, yes?”

    “Yeah, had them… for as long as I can remember,” Shane gasps as Ilya’s grip tightens, thumbs circling the stretch marks as he fucks into Shane over and over again.

    OR: Shane rides Ilya, and Ilya is obsessed with Shane’s stretch marks.

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    23 Jan 2026