Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Hayden Pike/Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike (background)

Characters:

Hayden Pike, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Not Canon Compliant, Post Tuna Melt, Bisexual Hayden Pike, POV Ilya Rozanov, First time with a man, Reddit Posts Gone Wrong, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Gay Panic, Sexuality Crisis, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Hayden Pike, Praise Kink, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Some Plot, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Role Play Adjacent, Dirty Talk, Hayden Pike Has A Mouth On Him, Who knew?, Mild Angst

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-15 Words: 7,959 Chapters: 1/1

since we’re here (might as well)

Summary

“So, you think you might be bisexual?” Again, it’s apparently the wrong thing to ask, because Pike huffs and sets both beer bottles on the counter before angrily knocking utensils out of his way in a drawer.

“What’s it to you?” Pike snaps as he uncaps the two beers and slides one a few inches in Ilya’s direction.

“I did just take a fifteen-minute cab to fuck you,” Ilya speaks slowly in case that’s what Pike needs to understand. “At your request. After admitting online that you think you might be–”

Or: Ilya, heartbroken and bored in a Montreal hotel room, comes across a post on Reddit. Responding to it is one of the dumbest, most exciting things he’s done in a long time.

Notes

for the life of me, i cannot remember what song i was listening to that made me do this. all i know is i sent one voice memo as a joke and here we are (absolutely no one should be surprised)
a special thank you for dyingisforlovers who dropped her saturday evening to read this and tell me the delusional ilya tag wasn't necessary

kick back, drink more water, and enjoy ;)

ps – my sincerest apologies for the feelings that somehow ended up smeared all over this fic. i wanted to write a hayden/ilya from ilya’s pov for once & our dear lover boy just can’t help himself

Ilya Rozanov has never been the kind of guy who doomscrolls Reddit on his phone in a hotel room when his team has a mid-morning flight the next day. Even in Montreal, one of the most boring cities he’s ever visited, he’s always managed to find something, or rather someone, to do. Tonight, though, it’s just him, his hand, and an algorithm that’s so fucked it’s blindly recommending him posts in an effort to get him to click something. 

Finally, just as Ilya is about to close out of the app and suffocate himself with his pillow, one post in particular catches his eye. 

r/queermontreal

First Time - Seeking Partner

It’s not the title itself that has Ilya clicking on the post, but the little bit of the body that he can see in preview. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, reading the opening sentence over and over until he has no choice but to see what else the post says. 

r/queermontreal

u/throwaway353535

First Time – Seeking Partner

Hi sorry if this isn’t the right place to ask this, but I’m (26M) in a long term committed relationship with a woman and thinking about proposing. The only problem is that I’ve suspected I might be bisexual for a while now, and I want to figure that out before I propose to her. It doesn’t seem fair to have these feelings and not act on them before I do something stupid, like realize in fifteen years that I might be gay. If you’re available tonight, please DM me. Thank you.

Edit: Serious inquiries only.

Edit 2: I’m not sending any photos.

Edit 3: Yes, my girlfriend knows. Yes, I’m still serious.

The post has been up for two hours now and has several comments, all of which led to the edits and the user getting downvoted to hell. Ilya has never been one for random internet hookups, but he’s trapped in a hotel room with nothing to do except look for distractions from the dull ache in his chest that turns sharp each time he breathes. Losing a game already sucks. Losing to your not-an-ex who refused to look you in the eyes? Rock fucking bottom. 

Besides, throwaway353535 seems earnest, and there’s little to no reason to expect that he would want a repeat. It’ll help take the edge off for tonight and give Ilya something else to reminisce about the next time he’s stuck in this god-awful city. 

He clicks on the user’s profile, heart racing when he sees the little green dot, and starts a chat.

boobzboozebozton: Any promising responses?

Three dots appear before he has a chance to second-guess himself. 

throwaway353535: What do you think?

boobzboozebozton: You could have just said no

throwaway353535: Sorry. I’m just stressed

throwaway353535: This is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done

boobzboozebozton: Not dumb. Unsafe and stupid, yes, but not dumb. 

boobzboozebozton: Why a Reddit post? Could you not ask someone you know? Or use an app?

Ilya sits up to rest his back against the headboard as the guy starts typing, stops, and then starts again. The cycle repeats several times over the course of three agonizing minutes while Ilya can do nothing but stare at the screen and will something to pop up. 

throwaway353535: I need this to be as anonymous as possible. I don’t want to discuss specifics, but no one can find out that I’m doing this. It felt like the best option

No matter how hard he tries, Ilya can’t imagine being that desperate to have sex with someone. He understands needing to be discreet – hence his reason for being sad, horny, and willing to message this person at all – but going to the internet to find it? Ilya would have just walked into the nearest gay bar and picked someone out of the crowd at random.

Who is this guy?

boobzboozebozton: Why tonight?

It’s a stupid question, but one that Ilya suddenly needs to know the answer to.

throwaway353535: I had a good day. Are you local?

boobzboozebozton: Here on business. My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon

throwaway353535: Business? How old are you?

boobzboozebozton: Same as you. Why?

throwaway353535: Thought I should ask. I’m considering asking you over. You’re the only person who’s asked me real questions

boobzboozebozton: Where are you?

The address is only fifteen minutes away, and for the first time since he started messaging throwaway353535, he realizes he might really be considering saying yes. One thing he’s a sucker for is someone who wants to explore and is eager to learn; his cock is getting hard just thinking about it. Something, maybe intuition or stupidity, tells Ilya that this might just be worth the risk, team flight tomorrow or not.

boobzboozebozton: I can be there in twenty if you are inviting me over

Seven minutes pass in near-agony as Ilya waits for a reply.

throwaway353535: Message me when you’re here

Ilya has never gotten changed so quickly. He swaps his sweatpants for a pair of jeans and his faded Boston t-shirt for the nice whitewashed grey one he’d been planning on wearing before Friday night’s game. His shoes go on last, and he fixes his hair in the mirror by the bathroom before grabbing his wallet and double-checking that he has his room key and the address right. Then, he hails a cab, texts Marlow that he left the hotel to meet someone – not unusual for nights in Montreal, fortunately – and reminds himself that half of his job is punching people for overreacting to his commentary, so he should be fine.

Halfway through the drive, he opens their chat and tries not to panic when the little green dot is gone. Worst-case scenario, throwaway353535 chickens out, and Ilya rides back to the hotel with an unhappy dick but no worse off than he was before he left. 

For a distraction, Ilya locks his phone and stares out of the window at downtown Montreal as it passes by. His usual dalliances had always kept him headed in the opposite direction from the arena to a much quieter area where he could slip in and out of a side door without being noticed. Tonight, he’s deposited in front of the kind of high-rise that would make him jealous if his penthouse back in Boston weren’t nicer and not in a city that no longer feels like a second home. 

boobzboozebozton: Here

The little green light blinks back on. 

throwaway353535: Floor 13, the unit on the left. Elevator code 1335

As Ilya follows the very basic and not at all welcoming instructions, he walks past the person managing the front desk as confidently as he can, sparing them a smile when they offer him one first. The elevator doors slide open the moment he pushes the Up button, and he types in the code, thinking he has to remember to find out what’s so special about the number 35 and why this guy lives in a place like this and thinks he can’t find another man to hook up with. Asking what he does for a living is probably off the table given their conversation, but now Ilya’s horny and intrigued, which is a much more dangerous combination than horny and sad. 

A building like this definitely costs around what Ilya’s does, which means this guy does something decent for work. Maybe he’s a banker or a young politician, someone who can’t risk the public or other rich snobs finding out he’s a normal human being just like everyone else, with urges just like everyone else. 

The elevator comes to a stop, and the doors slide open to reveal a small formal entryway with an accent table beneath a mirror, two potted plants, and matching white paneled doors on either side. It’s quaint, in an Ilya-has-his-own-penthouse kind of way. This guy is clearly ready for marriage if this is where he’s choosing to live. 

Turning to the left, Ilya takes a deep breath and then knocks twice on the door, not quite knowing what to expect. The user said he was twenty-six, but Ilya is half-ready to see a fifty-year-old man standing on the other side of the threshold, and he’s debating what that guy would have to look like to get him to stay when the door opens, and the absolute last person Ilya expected to see is blinking at him like he didn’t willingly give up his address.

“Hayden Pike?” 

Said forward for Montreal is still blinking mindlessly at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Ilya’s first thought is of Montreal’s team captain and what will happen when he inevitably finds out about this. His second is that Pike looks… kind of adorable when he isn’t hiding behind his team enforcers like a pansy.

When several seconds pass, and Pike still doesn’t speak, Ilya tries again. 

“Throwaway353535?”

“Shit.” Pike’s initial instinct is to slam the door shut in Ilya’s face, but Ilya’s ready, sticking out his hand to keep the door open while he bites back a comment about how Pike has to hit the gym if he’s going to keep strange men out of his apartment. “What are you–?”

“Maybe we should figure this out inside?” Ilya offers, equal parts curious about where Hayden Pike lives and wanting to get out of the hallway before his neighbors show up. The chances of them recognizing him are suddenly much higher than he’d originally anticipated. 

Slowly, so slowly that it’s nearly impossible to not comment on it, Pike opens the door and steps to the side, gesturing for Ilya to come in. He glances around the open floor plan while he kicks off his shoes, searching for any hint of a personality among the grey and beige furniture and stock wall art that every athlete thinks they’re supposed to have in their house. Only when he comes up short does he let himself speak.

“Really? You proposition a strange man on the internet, and you don’t even meet him in the lobby?”

It must not be the right thing to say, because Pike throws his hands up as he groans, overly dramatic given the fact that he’s the reason why they’re both here. 

“Oh, fuck off, Rozanov.” He brushes past Ilya and heads for the kitchen, so Ilya follows, hoping to at least find one plant that isn’t fake during his journey. “I wasn’t sure I was going to answer the door. Now I know that was pure instinct.”

Ilya makes himself comfortable with his hip against the kitchen island as he watches Pike rifle through a giant black refrigerator. After several seconds of pitiful searching, he stands up straight with two beers in his hand. 

“So, you think you might be bisexual?” Again, it’s apparently the wrong thing to ask, because Pike huffs and sets both beer bottles on the counter before angrily knocking utensils out of his way in a drawer. 

“What’s it to you?” Pike snaps as he uncaps the two beers and slides one a few inches in Ilya’s direction.

“I did just take a fifteen-minute cab to fuck you,” Ilya speaks slowly in case that’s what Pike needs to understand. “At your request. After admitting online that you think you might be–”

“Okay! Okay, I get it.” Pike closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths, which Ilya gives him the space to take as he studies everything on the small coffee cart by the kitchen window. He tries to picture Pike making a flavored cappuccino first thing in the morning and hates that the image is… not unpleasant. “Boobzboozebozton? Seriously?”

Fine, Ilya will let Pike get a few jabs in instead of acknowledging the situation at hand. Maybe that’s what he needs to be more comfortable, and at least Ilya’s getting a beer out of the deal. And something to hold over Pike’s head if he ever needs to. 

“I was like twenty when I made it,” Ilya shrugs, still not making a move to reach for his beer. “I thought it was funny.”

Pike downs half of his instead of responding, and Ilya gives in, taking the three steps necessary to reach the second bottle. 

“You had a good game today,” Ilya tries, taking a sip. “Two goals. Not bad.”

The side-eye Pike gives him might scare a weaker man, but it has Ilya’s cock perking back up. 

“Thanks.” With his bottle empty, Pike groans and puts both hands on the counter, hanging his head. “Yes, I think I’m bisexual.”

“What do you mean, think?” Ilya asks. 

“I mean, sometimes I have… thoughts. Like tonight. I had a stellar game, and in the shower I was thinking about… you know…”

“Tell me.” 

In Ilya’s experience, the hardest part is admitting to having those thoughts out loud. Once someone does that, it’s usually smooth sailing to an orgasm. Mind-blowing, if Ilya is involved. 

“Getting my dick sucked,” Pike forces out. “By a man. Getting–” he groans, and Ilya would comment again on the dramatics if it didn’t seem like Pike needs this. “Getting fucked. By a man.”

It’s official: Ilya’s dick is back on board with the situation. There’s just one last question he needs the answer to. 

“And you’d rather hook up with a stranger than tell someone you know?” Taking the risk, knowing how close the two are, Ilya pushes, “Not even Hollander?”

That gets Pike to stand up straight, and his eyes are wide enough to be considered comical as he shakes his head. 

“Absolutely no one can know about this,” he says. “Especially not Shane. I– he’ll feel like I should have told him by now, and if I’m not, it’s not worth it.”

Seems foolish, but Ilya didn’t take a fifteen-minute cab to judge throwaway353535; he came here to hook up. And if Pike is this intent on keeping Hollander in the dark… well. There’s no point in pretending they aren’t strangers, right?

“Okay.” Ilya knocks back the rest of his beer and sets the bottle down next to Pike’s. “Which way is the bedroom?”

“What?” Pike has the nerve to act confused, and Ilya barely contains his eyeroll. How Hollander can stand this guy on a daily basis is beyond him. 

“Since we’re here,” Ilya shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest, opting for casual over could-be-considered-desperate. “Might as well.”

“Are you insane?” Pike laughs and runs a hand through his hair, and it hits Ilya for a moment that he’s kind of pretty when he’s flustered.

“The word you are looking for is fun,” Ilya takes his time looking Pike up and down, noticing for the first time that he’s wearing a dark grey t-shirt and light wash jeans. It’s very boy-next-door, which only has Ilya’s cock more annoyed that they’re still standing in the kitchen. “Or you could say yes.”

Pike is considering it. Ilya can tell by the way he chews on his bottom lip and drops his arms to his sides, flexing his fingers. His eyes are locked on Ilya’s lips, too much of a temptation to ignore. He also doesn’t move away when Ilya steps closer, not stopping until they’re toe to toe and Pike has to tilt his head back to look Ilya in the eyes. 

“Why would I do that?” Pike asks, but then he licks his lips and Ilya’s body catches fire. 

“You want anonymous, and you want to be fucked.” He dips his head down until he can speak in Pike’s ear. “What if I told you that random guy you met online is a good time?”

A moan slips out as Pike’s lips part, and Ilya pulls back to watch himself get what he wants. Pike might have won the game, but Ilya thinks he might have just won himself someone to play with and keep the bad thoughts about Hollander away. 

“How good?” 

Unable to keep from touching, Ilya lets his hands find their place on Pike’s hips, tugging him the last couple of inches until they’re pressed together, chest-to-chest. 

“I will be impressed if you end up engaged to a woman.” 

The corner of Pike’s mouth tilts up in a slight smile, but he quickly stifles it with a slight shake of his head. He’d look almost unbothered if his hands weren’t on Ilya’s chest, thumbs drawing tentative circles on Ilya’s pecs. 

“I can’t believe I’m about to agree to this.”

Ilya can’t either, but he’d never let Pike know that. Instead, he lifts a hand to Pike’s chin, tilting his head up so he’s forced to look Ilya in the eyes as he drags his thumb along Pike’s bottom lip. 

“I can,” he says with a slight shrug that has Pike rolling his eyes in a way that makes Ilya’s cock harder. “So, since you won’t take me to your bed, I should start stripping here, yes?”

Instead of answering, Pike lets out a breathless chuckle and then steps back until Ilya is forced to drop his hand. Pike’s is there waiting to catch it – a move Ilya is definitely storing away for later – and then their fingers are intertwining as Pike leads him toward a hallway Ilya hadn’t noticed when he walked inside the apartment. More generic art hangs on the walls, and Ilya focuses on those instead of Pike’s sweaty palm flat against his. 

At the end of the hall, Pike stops in front of the door on the left and takes a deep breath before he uses his free hand to push it open. Inside, Ilya finds the first bit of personality in the entire apartment. 

Above the bed is Pike’s jersey in a black frame, flanked on either side by shelves with his two Stanley Cup rings, several awards Ilya hadn’t known he’d won, and pictures of Montreal’s team. On the opposite wall, above his dresser and on either side of the large mirror, are two additional jerseys, one from the World Juniors and the other most likely from whatever school Pike had played for. A rack of sticks takes up the third wall beside the door, more knick-knacks are on additional shelves, and then there’s a hat collection that takes Ilya by enough surprise that he doesn’t feel Pike take his hand away. 

The room is dimly lit, the big light turned off and several lamps and strip lights bathing the room in a dark, warm white glow. It’s romantic, almost, and Ilya tries to knock that thought from his mind before it has a chance to settle. 

Stupid Canadians making him feel… stuff. 

“Okay.” Ilya turns to see Pike standing at the foot of his bed, running a hand through his hair and looking like he wants to melt into the carpet. “I’m ready.”

Two large windows frame the walking-to-the-gallows expression on his face, giving Ilya an unadulterated view of the city skyline stretching into the distance. Part of himself starts to wonder if he’s facing in the direction of a place he used to consider home, but his mind is thankfully distracted by the sight of Pike reaching for the hem of his shirt. 

“Slow down,” Ilya chuckles, closing the distance between them and stopping Hayden before he can undress. “We should talk first.”

“About what?” Pike whines almost petulantly like he hadn’t been having a near-breakdown in the kitchen just moments ago. 

“You said you want to be fucked, yes?” Ilya watches as Pike swallows. 

“Yes.”

“Have you ever–?”

“I’ve done… things,” Pike cuts him off, and it takes a herculean amount of effort to not flash back to the last time he had a conversation like this. “But not with someone else.” 

“Okay.” Ilya can work with that. “Is there anything you want to know before we–”

Once again, Pike interrupts him, but there are so many nerves radiating off him that Ilya doesn’t particularly mind. 

“What about you?” Pike asks. “Are you gay?”

“I’m bisexual,” Ilya shrugs. “If there is a hole, I will fuck it.”

“You’re so gross.”

“You requested me.” They’re both smiling now, so Ilya uses his grip on Pike’s shirt to pull him in close like they were in the kitchen. “Beggars cannot be choosers.” 

“I don’t beg.” Pike lifts his chin slightly when he says it, and Ilya smirks. 

“Yet,” is all he says. “Alright, Pike. Are you ready for practice?”

“Gross and embarrassing,” Pike scrunches up his nose, but he’s more amused than genuinely disgusted. “If only your fans knew.”

“I like to save this side of me for special occasions.”

At last, Ilya found the right thing to say, and he watches in amazement as the last bits of tension leave Pike’s shoulders. 

“I’m special?” The way Pike asks the question has Ilya lifting a hand to cup his cheek, drawn in by the urge to shower him with the attention he so clearly wants. 

“Yes,” Ilya affirms without hesitation. “I would not have responded to your post if I didn’t think so.”

Pike nods, his eyes dropping to Ilya’s lips for a moment before rising back to meet his gaze. 

“Can you… can you say that again? Please.”

Fuck, Pike might be the death of him. Honestly, if Ilya leaves here tonight and Pike marries a woman anyway, he’ll have done his job wrong. A guy like this with eyes like the ones that are staring up at Ilya with this much want in them was made for taking cock. Ilya can sense that the same way he can sense a pass on the ice coming from his blind spot. 

“What? That you are special?” Ilya leans in until they’re both forced to close their eyes, lips ghosting along each other with the promise of a kiss. “Why tell you when I could show you?”

A whimper is the only answer Pike gives, and Ilya closes the distance between them, swallowing the sound down before it's lost. He tastes like his fancy IPA beer and mint gum, and something about the combination is like doing five shots of vodka in rapid succession right before his favorite song comes on in the club. And the way he kisses? Mouth immediately parting for Ilya’s tongue, fingers making a mess of Ilya’s curls, soft little noises raising goosebumps on Ilya’s skin – he’d be overwhelmed if he hadn’t had a cab ride and an awkward kitchen conversation to prepare. 

Using his hold on Pike’s shirt, Ilya walks them both the two steps to the bed before he gently nudges Pike down onto the mattress. Pike leaves him no option but to keep kissing him, so the two take their time shimmying up the bed to the pillows while Ilya successfully conquers every inch of Pike’s mouth. 

“Yeah,” Pike mumbles when they break the kiss to breathe. “Yeah, I’m– fuck.”

“Hard?” Ilya offers, leaving open-mouthed kisses on Pike’s neck as he grinds his hips down, their cocks rubbing against each other almost painfully through their jeans. 

“So hard,” Pike’s skin flushes as he drops his head back onto the pillows, tilting his head to the side to give Ilya better access as his hands sneak up the inside of Ilya’s shirt. “God. Have you been this hot the whole time?”

“Now I feel special.” Ilya licks a line up Hayden’s neck to his earlobe, a moan getting caught in his throat as Hayden’s hips buck up off the mattress. He shifts to his knees in between Hayden’s legs, giving them both room to breathe as he tugs his shirt over his head. 

“Fuck me.” Pike no doubt thinks those words stayed inside his head; Ilya can tell by the way he sits up slightly to run his hands more confidently from Ilya’s pecs to his abdominals and back up again, eyes fixed on the crucifix hanging from his neck. 

“Soon,” Ilya promises, leaning in to kiss Pike one more time before he pulls himself off the bed. “Take off your shirt.”

By the time his jeans are around his ankles, Pike is shirtless and reaching for the button on his pair. Ilya almost trips in his effort to kick the denim away and climb back onto the mattress before Pike can finish taking the simple pleasure of undressing someone from him. 

“Let me,” Ilya says, smacking Pike’s hand away. When he looks up, Pike is staring at him like he’s confused, so Ilya adds, “You won; you get special treatment.”

Pike bites his bottom lip as he nods, and his hands grab onto the duvet like he has to make a concentrated effort to let Ilya take off his pants for him. A question about the spice levels of the sex he’s having with his girlfriend flits through Ilya’s mind, even Svetlana has yanked Ilya’s pants off from time to time, but he opts for staying in the moment over baiting Pike out of reflex. 

With Pike laid out before him like this, with his arms splayed out across the mattress, lips parted as he breathes and a few bruises making themselves at home on his side from the game, Ilya thinks he looks almost beautiful. Almost, because admitting it to himself would open up all kinds of drawers and boxes he’d rather leave closed. At the very least, he lets himself feel lucky, and more than turned on. Pike is hot, in a pretty boy kind of way that Ilya kind of wishes he had more time to appreciate. 

“There’s lube in the drawer.”

It’s not until Pike speaks that Ilya realizes he’s just been kneeling here, staring at him like it’s Ilya’s first time and not his. He leans over Pike to reach the drawer rather than removing himself from the mattress, and Pike’s lips attach themselves to the first bit of skin – Ilya’s collarbone – that they can reach. When his eyes catch on the condoms next to the lube, he starts to reach for them, but Pike shakes his head and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Want to feel everything.”

As if Ilya would ever say no to a desperate plea like that. He’s a tease, not a monster. 

“When do you play again?” Pike asks more confidently when Ilya is back to kneeling between his legs. 

“Two days,” Ilya answers, setting the bottle down on top of the blankets. “Why?” 

Pike’s eyes are focused on Ilya’s collarbone, and he ducks his chin to try and see if Pike left a mark behind, but he didn’t. It takes less than half a second for Ilya to realize what Pike is actually trying to ask. 

“Mark me up, Pike,” he smirks. “My teammates are used to it.”

Besides, it’s a compliment: giving someone so much pleasure that they have no choice but to bite and scratch their way through it, clawing at him and the sheets for something to hold onto as he fucks them into the atmosphere. 

Pike opens his mouth to speak, but Ilya moves on pure instinct, the movement drawing him in until all he wants is to taste whatever Pike had been about to say. Arms circle Ilya’s neck before hands creep down his back, forcing him closer until he has no choice but to drop down and cover Pike’s body with his, skin-to-skin now everywhere except their dicks, which are still trapped beneath fabric. Wet, sticky, offensibly-in-the-way fabric. 

In this position, with Pike’s cock grinding against his with each movement they make, it’s easy for Ilya to start the process of inching his way lower, taking his time in exploring each dip of Pike’s muscles and the wide expanse of smooth skin. It also gives Pike the chance to change his mind if he wants, but his hands are on Ilya’s shoulders and digging into his hair, pulling on his curls as little noises fall from Pike’s lips and fill up the room. 

“So good,” Ilya tells him as he twirls his tongue around one of Pike’s nipples. “I like the noises you make.”

That drags a whine from deep in Pike’s throat, and if tonight weren’t all about him, Ilya would want to know what that whine would feel like around his cock. 

“Did you know?” Ilya nips at the nipple he just assaulted with his tongue while he plays with the waistband of Pike’s boxers. “When you scored that second goal and flipped me off on your way to the bench?”

“That I wanted to get fucked tonight?” Pike asks, breathless, thrusting his hips up again and grinding his cock against Ilya’s chest in an effort to find friction. “Yeah. Yeah, I knew.”

Ilya’s tempted to ask how the girlfriend feels about this, but his own secrets and fear of ruining the moment keep him quiet. It’s better, he knows, to focus on the here and now instead of worrying about potential negative consequences. And, fuck, if the here and now isn’t one of the hottest things he’s ever had the good fortune to witness. 

On the ice, Hayden Pike is always so… put together. He plays a clean and almost silent game, staying out of scrums and earning most of his points through assists to Hollander. Really, and this isn’t Ilya being petty, Hollander wouldn’t have half his stats if it weren’t for the guy currently trying to hump Ilya’s collarbone. There isn’t any of that quiet deferring going on right now. He’s putting on a show, eyes somewhere between hooded and blown wide, hands scrambling for anything to find purchase on, not caring if his nails dig into Ilya’s shoulder hard enough to leave marks. 

“You earned it,” Ilya mumbles against Pike’s chest, kissing and nipping at the skin as he starts to hook his fingers around the waistband, needing to get the boxers gone and his mouth on Pike’s cock as soon as possible. 

“I know,” Pike huffs, dropping his head back as he lifts his hips, encouraging Ilya to slide his boxers off faster. “So why are you making me wait?”

“I had to watch you win,” Ilya finally sits up enough to slide the fabric down Pike’s legs and toss it off the bed. “Now, you get to watch me.”

His eyes are locked on Pike’s cock, where it’s hard and leaking against his abdomen. Ilya would never admit this out loud, but having the chance to fuck the loss away with the person who beat him has a way of making it almost worthwhile. Sure, he had to put up with a hostile crowd and Pike’s captain pretending nothing ever existed between them, but if he can’t have him, the alternate captain is a sweet enough consolation prize. 

A consolation prize with responsibilities, Ilya remembers halfway to having Pike’s cock in his mouth. 

“Why are you stopping?” Pike groans, sounding as frustrated as Ilya’s felt since the moment the team’s plane landed in Montreal’s stupid airport. 

“Tell me to stop if you want, yes?” Ilya waits for Pike to say something, like a yes or a fuck you, but Pike is too busy staring at him like he’s grown two heads. “I mean it, Hayden. Say stop and we–”

“Ilya.” The stress Hayden puts on Ilya’s name momentarily transports him back to his living room, but the words that follow quickly chase that memory away. “If you don’t stick something in me in the next five– fuck me.”

Hayden’s hands are back in Ilya’s hair, holding on for dear life as Ilya takes his cock into his mouth. This is probably his favorite part about hooking up with men: sucking them off. Listening to them complain about his mouth and then falling apart for it moments later, mumbling his name as they come. It’s electrifying. And a little dizzying, but that could be the way Hayden is gripping his curls like he’s trying to rip them out on purpose. 

He can’t talk in this position, but he can look up and see the desire burning in Hayden’s eyes. 

Definitely bisexual, Ilya thinks to himself as he blindly searches for the lube bottle. Possibly gay. Not that I care.

Because Ilya doesn’t care. Hell, as far as he’s concerned, he isn’t spreading lube on his fingers and his heart rate isn’t speeding up as Montreal’s alternate captain pulls his knees back like he’s done this before. His name is boobzboozebozton, and this is throwaway353535, and those two people had an agreement. One Ilya is intent on seeing through, even if a small part of his brain keeps trying to distract him from the gasp that slips out of Hayden’s mouth as he circles Hayden’s hole with his fingertip. 

“Fuck, please?” Hayden whines, thrusting up into Ilya’s mouth as best he can in this position like he can fuck himself onto Ilya’s fingers on his way down. It’s a valiant effort, and Ilya rewards him by breaching his rim up to the first knuckle. “Damn it, Rozanov, I want–”

Ilya knows what Hayden wants, so he gives it to him, fucking his finger in as he reaches the tip of Hayden’s cock and then pulling his finger back as he slides down to the base. The alternating sensations have Hayden making the best kind of noises: breathless little gasps and deep moans that send vibrations right to Ilya’s chest. 

“More,” Hayden demands. “Ilya, give me–”

He slides a second finger in beside the first, not stopping until he finds the spot that has Hayden moaning, “Fuck yes!” The sound has his own cock leaking, and he realizes with a small amount of panic that he’s going to have to figure out a way to get his underwear off without stopping. From the noises Hayden is making, Ilya opts for releasing his cock, letting his fingers keep up their pace as he awkwardly shimmies his boxers off. 

“Tell me again,” Ilya manages to get out as he rights himself, cock now making a mess of Hayden’s sheets. “What you were questioning?”

“I might– might have lied, a little.” Hayden takes a breath, trying to collect himself, but the promise of another admission has Ilya adding a third finger, his brain short-circuiting as Hayden takes him easily. “I just– fuck, just wanted–”

“Tell me,” Ilya commands, shifting to his knees and covering Hayden’s torso with his as he increases the pace of his fingers. “Tell me, and I will fuck you as hard as you deserve after that trick shot.”

“I wanted to be fucked, just once,” Hayden admits, his hand trying to sneak its way to his cock before Ilya smacks it away. “To know what it feels like before I– Christ, your fingers–”

Ilya might have pushed if he didn’t understand what Hayden meant. If he were in the same position, he might have done something similar, just not in an anonymous Reddit post. 

“I know I’m bi,” Hayden keeps rambling. “I–”

Cutting him off with a kiss saves both of them from getting too distracted. 

“Roll over.” 

Hayden follows the command with such enthusiasm when Ilya removes his fingers that he almost kicks Ilya in the face. Neither of them so much as stop to apologize, or comment in Ilya’s case, too keyed up on each other to care about almost-accidents. Though, if they were going to do this again – which they won’t – it’s good to know Hayden is good at listening to directions. 

“Fuck.” The word slips out unintentionally at the sight of Hayden in front of him, face down, ass up, and looking at him over his shoulder. “What? You are not the only one enjoying himself.”

The lube bottle rolls across the duvet to bump into Ilya’s knee, reminding him of its existence. He uncaps it, keeping his eyes locked on the way Hayden is biting onto his bottom lip. Maybe having him on his stomach was a bad idea, because Ilya has the urge to kiss him again, but that’s a problem Ilya doesn’t have time to fix. 

“I am almost jealous,” Ilya says as he uses one hand to smear lube on his cock while he takes the other and fucks Hayden’s hole with his fingers for a few more thrusts, just to watch his mouth fall open in pleasure.

“Of?” Hayden somehow manages to curve his back more, his ass higher in the air, not caring how he must look, wanting Ilya’s cock so badly. 

“You.” When he pulls his fingers free for the last time, Hayden whines until the tip of his cock takes their place. “Beating a better team and then getting fucked by the best player in the league? Many would kill for a Friday night like yours.”

“God, you can be annoying.” Hayden presses his hips back, trying to force Ilya’s cock past his rim. “I thought I deserved this, so why are you teasing me?”

“Because you like it.” And as he finally gives Hayden what he wants, he thinks he likes it too. Probably too much. “And you look so pretty when you beg for my cock.”

Hayden wants to argue. Ilya can see the war between saying something snarky and screaming Ilya’s name playing out across Hayden’s face, and that he definitely likes. 

“When you take it, too.” He’s moving slower than he usually might, trying to toe the line between giving Hayden what he wants and dragging out the experience for as long as possible. If he’s only going to have one shot, and if this is the only time Hayden will be with a man, he wants it to be memorable. “I will be thinking about this the next time we play. You, bent over the net, yelling for me to go harder while your fans watch.”

“Go harder now,” Hayden says into the pillow, his hands clenching the messed up sheets in a white-knuckled grip as he tries to fuck himself on Ilya’s cock, forcing him that last little bit until his cock is seated fully in Hayden’s ass. “And maybe I’ll let you win the next one.”

How Hayden can still form complete sentences is beyond Ilya. But he isn’t complaining because this is exactly the kind of person he loves to fuck: one with a mouth who won’t shut up. 

“Maybe you will let me win?” Ilya pulls back and then thrusts into Hayden as hard as he can, his thinly veiled control slipping as one of Hayden’s hands flies to the headboard for support. “Is that a challenge?”

“God, that feels so good,” Hayden laughs, breathless, and Ilya watches as sweat slides down his temple. “Fuck, yes, Ilya– fuck me.”

“Has your mouth always been this dirty?” Ilya fucks Hayden slow but deep, holding himself in place each time his hips meet Hayden’s ass, forcing him to feel each and every inch that he asked for. “Or is this just for me?”

He isn’t really expecting an answer, but when Hayden says, “Just you,” it’s like a dam breaks, and every second guess or doubt about tonight that still lingered in Ilya’s mind is vaporized. So is his control, because he grabs onto Hayden’s hips with both hands and lets go, angling his hips so he brushes against Hayden’s prostate with each thrust. As he’s fucked, Hayden has the nerve to smile, cock-drunk and clearly happy with his life’s choices. 

Something about that smile has Ilya wanting to be closer to him, so he slows his pace enough to pull Hayden up, his back to Ilya’s chest. His hands move on instinct, wrapping around Ilya’s neck despite the awkward position, and his lips find the underside of Ilya’s jaw, sucking at his skin while teeth nip hard enough to leave the marks Hayden wanted to see so badly. 

“You’re taking me so well, Hayden,” Ilya tells him, using one hand to hold him up by the chest as the other wraps around Hayden’s cock, his body realizing before his mind that he’s going to come soon and he needs to get Hayden there as quickly as possible. “So good at taking cock. Like you were made for it.”

“Yeah?” Hayden is sufficiently trapped, pinned down in Ilya’s hold and unable to do much more than let himself be fucked and jerked off at the same time. Not that it seems to matter much to him. 

Ilya agrees. He wouldn’t lie; not in a situation like this. “Is a shame I can’t fuck you for longer.”

“Are you close?” Hayden asks Ilya’s neck, and the sensation has his entire body tensing. 

“Yes,” he jerks Hayden faster, not quite sure how he’s been able to keep this pace in this position but unwilling to stop. Having Hayden pressed against him is settling, in a way. It makes him feel momentarily closer to something he doesn’t think he’ll ever have. “You need to come so I can show you how proud of you I am.”

“How proud?” Hayden’s teeth scrape along Ilya’s jaw, and he squeezes his eyes shut to try and last a little longer. 

“I will make them put you in the Hall of Fame,” Ilya hears himself say. “A picture of you, just like this, with your rings on your fingers and your mouth on my–”

He doesn’t get a chance to complete the thought, because Hayden is coming, biting down on his neck as proof of how much he’s won tonight is coating Ilya’s hand and Hayden’s abdominals. Ilya can’t stop himself from opening his eyes to look, and when he does, it’s the end for him. After two or three more thrusts, he’s buried as deep as he can go, twisting his head until he can capture Hayden’s lips in a kiss to keep himself from saying something stupid, like asking for a round two before the first has even properly finished. 

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, lazily kissing as Ilya runs his fingers through the mess on Hayden’s chest, wanting to taste him but knowing that their night is quickly coming to an end. Finally, when Hayden needs air, he untangles himself from Ilya’s hold and flops onto the mattress, a satisfied smile on his face. 

“Might as well give me the Cup now, Rozanov,” Hayden says as he stretches his limbs and Ilya climbs off the bed in search of something to clean them up with. When he’s done, he rolls onto his back and lifts his head to nod toward the right side of the room. “Bathroom’s over there if you want to shower.”

Ilya’s first instinct is to ask Hayden if he wants to join, but something – the reality of the situation, probably – keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he takes the fastest shower he’s ever had in someone else’s apartment and emerges from the bathroom to find Hayden dressed in an old Montreal t-shirt and sweats, Ilya’s clothes folded at the foot of the bed. 

“I’ll grab you a beer for the road,” is all Hayden says before he leaves the room, leaving Ilya standing there with a towel around his waist and the words, you don’t need to, dying on the tip of his tongue. 

As he dresses, Ilya tries not to let the weirdness of the night take over the post-sex high he’d been enjoying until Hayden broke physical contact. What would people say if they knew Ilya was out here getting choked up after a one-night stand with someone he’s pretending is a stranger? Marlow wouldn’t let him hear the end of it, and neither would Carmichael or Thomas. Hell, even the equipment manager would comment that he’s lost his touch. 

Before he leaves the bedroom, Ilya checks his phone to find the only message he has is from Cliff telling him to use protection. He sends a text saying he’ll be back at the hotel in twenty and then makes his way to the front door, where Hayden is standing with a beer in his hand as he chews nervously on a hangnail. His hair is all ruffled and he looks as fucked as Ilya knows he is, and it makes Ilya almost wish they could do this again.

“Thanks, by the way,” Hayden speaks first. “For tonight and your future discretion.” 

“Back to business already?” Ilya exaggerates a pout as he slips into his sneakers. When he stands up, Hayden is offering out the bottle, so he takes it. 

“Well, you do have a business trip to leave for tomorrow,” Hayden shrugs with a soft smile, happy to have come up with some sort of inside joke they’ll never use. “So, I should let you go.” 

“Have a good night.” Ilya means it, probably a little too much, so he unlocks the door and steps out into the entryway before anything else can happen. 

True to his text to Marlow, he makes it back to the hotel twenty minutes later and knocks twice on Marlow’s door as he heads to his room, their code for I’m safe, you can go to sleep now. The urge to message throwaway353535 is strong, but Ilya resists, going so far as to not open the app for three weeks, losing his six-hundred-and-ninety-one day streak. 

Games pass. The holiday season comes and goes, and the back half of the season is in full swing, with Ilya leading the league in goals scored. Ilya does what he does best: throws himself into working out with Marlow until neither of them can breathe and celebrating wins with his team at nightclubs. Eventually, he mostly forgets about his night in Montreal and the fact that he fucked Hayden Pike. 

Until March, when Boston hosts Montreal for two back-to-back home games. Boston wins both games, though not for a lack of Montreal trying. Hollander might have been off his game, but Pike scored three goals in the two games, and even managed to sneak in a few chirps along the way. It gave Ilya the boost he needed to play like he usually does: hard, fast, and with his only goal being to put the puck into the net, annoying whoever he has to along the way to make it happen. 

The rest of the team goes out after their Saturday night victory, but old habits keep Ilya home. He’s sitting on the couch, trying to pick between the same three shows to watch, when his phone buzzes on the coffee table and the Reddit icon pops up. 

throwaway353535: Hey stranger

Ilya tosses the remote to the side, idly aware of it bouncing across two cushions before clattering to the floor as he reaches for his phone.

boobzboozebozton: I assumed you deleted the app

throwaway353535: I did. But, I happen to be in town for business and thought I’d ask what you’re up to tonight

boobzboozebozton: What happened to the girlfriend?

It takes him far too long to answer. Ilya’s closed out of and re-opened the app four times before the message finally comes through.

throwaway353535: Turns out I’m not ready for marriage. And I figured, since I’m here…

throwaway353535: You might consider inviting me over

Somewhere in the back of Ilya’s mind is the idea that he should probably say no. The morally correct thing to do would be to walk away now before things get complicated and out of hand. 

boobzboozebozton: Might as well

Then, Ilya sends his address, because the hotel that Montreal always chooses is only fifteen minutes away and without those bad decisions, he wouldn’t have been doomscrolling Reddit in a boring Canadian city. He wouldn’t have met this completely random stranger who enjoys being anonymously fucked by a faceless guy from the internet. And he won tonight, which means it’ll be his cock being sucked before he shows throwaway353535 what it’s like to be fucked by the best player in the NHL.