too much, too good

★ ★ ★

Shane had been able to talk himself out of reading into the wink in the gym the night of the draft.

He could rationalize catching each other's eyes across the room at the cocktail hour after the draft.

He could even ignore being called pretty.

But there aren't a lot of ways to deny the sight of Ilya Rozanov staring at him in the showers with a hand stroking his dick.

Until this point, Shane existed in a world where his fascination with Rozanov was professional. Other men caught his eye lately. That had become harder to deny too, but he's started to accept that.

He's still haunted by the fact that he'd jerked off thinking of Rozanov the night of the draft.

But all of that was locked inside of his own mind. No one else had to know. Especially not Rozanov himself.

And now they're both half hard in the showers and Shane is rewriting every single time they've ever looked at each other because holy shit. Rozanov likes men too. And Rozanov seems to like him.

It simultaneously feels too good to be true and like the worst possible thing that could be happening.

"Not here."

Only a deeply innate sense of self preservation makes Shane say the words, because holy shit.

This isn't just him.

This isn't him being a complete fucking pervert thirsting after the only player who beat him in the draft. This is… mutual.

Rozanov wants him.

A man wants him.

Shane has no idea what to do with that.

He's able to dissociate through the rest of his shower before nearly sprinting to his locker to get dressed.

★ ★ ★

Ilya barely believed his own intuition.

From the moment he first saw him up close, Ilya had thought that Shane Hollander was attractive. He hadn't planned to do anything about that, but fuck. He's a strong player and Ilya could only imagine what his body looked like. And he did imagine it.

And then he learned Hollander had freckles and that… stuck in his mind more solidly than he'd like to admit.

But Ilya's always appreciated beautiful people. Hollander was just another name on that list, though a little more intriguing because of his talent.

And then the draft happened and Ilya maybe enjoyed lording his win over Hollander a little too much, the thinly veiled irritation in his eyes as he held up the number two. Ilya knows he's an asshole, but he worked for this just as hard as Hollander did. It feels good to win.

Despite going first in the draft, Ilya had spent most of the day being belittled by his father.

When he made his way to the gym to escape his own restlessness, it had felt like a gift to find Hollander there. He knows from playing against him that Hollander is a delight to rile up, even if he's straight. So it's barely a thought to join Hollander on a stationary bike.

Hollander's head is down and he looks like the physical manifestation of how Ilya feels.

It's only when he starts pedaling that Hollander seems to realize someone else is here, head popping up.

There's a moment when Hollander hasn't quite built his walls back up as his eyes land on Ilya, so Ilya sees his genuine reaction to realizing who he is.

There's something like panic in Hollander's eyes that Ilya hadn't expected.

As they race, Ilya tries to rationalize why Hollander would be nervous to see him. It becomes a little clearer as Hollander continues to sneak glances at his arms, his legs.

By the time they collapse against the mirrors across from each other, Ilya has no more doubt in his mind.

Hollander can barely control the way his eyes trail over Ilya's body.

Ilya plays with him. Licking his lips. Watching the way Hollander tracks the motion.

Un-fucking-real.

Shane Hollander likes men. Likes him.

He can tell that Hollander doesn't even realize how obvious he's being. Doesn't seem to realize that Ilya is flirting.

He mouths more and okay, Hollander seems to have noticed that one. His eyes dart away, panic setting in.

Ilya takes his water bottle back and winks.

Fascinating.

Hollander wants this, but won't let himself have it.

Well, Ilya loves a challenge.

They'll see each other later this year when their teams play against each other and maybe Hollander will know what he wants by then.

The moment Ilya's offered the CCM commercial and they tell them that they'll film with both him and Hollander separately, Ilya jumps on the opportunity. Why not film together? And somehow, he has enough sway that they listen to him.

So now Shane Hollander is on the ice with him three months earlier than expected and he looks pretty. Ilya says as much and isn't surprised that Hollander shoots the compliment down.

God, this is fun. Does Hollander still not know he's flirting?

Ilya wants to know what Hollander is like behind closed doors. He's been so fucking curious. The Canadian golden boy who is also hiding a secret like him. Ilya wants to take him apart.

The league is already trying to build them up as rivals, but Ilya's not thinking about that while he and Hollander crack up laughing together and ruin the shoot.

He undresses and heads to the showers and sees Hollander in there already. He pauses and rakes his eyes over him. It's even hotter because of how taboo it is.

He's used to keeping his eyes to himself in locker rooms, especially with Team Russia.

But this is just him and Hollander. And Ilya knows they're the same, even if Hollander hasn't caught on yet.

Ilya joins him, just close enough to draw his attention. He turns away, hoping Hollander takes the same opportunity he did to look.

They play a sort of tug-of-war with stolen glances until finally they catch each other looking.

If Ilya thought this would be more difficult, he's immediately proven wrong.

He glances down at Hollander's growing erection and raises his eyebrows.

He can physically see Hollander's life flash before his eyes.

No, come on. Ilya begs in his mind, Play with me, Hollander. He wraps his hand around himself and watches the fire spark in Hollander's eyes.

Hollander watches, awestruck.

Right when Ilya thinks Hollander will join him, he snaps his head away. "Not here."

Ilya grits his teeth.

It's irritating that Hollander is right. Someone else could walk in and their careers would be over. But if they'd been quick enough…

Ilya turns away and finishes washing up, but he's determined to get himself invited to Hollander's room tonight.

Hollander tries to shut it down, tries to pretend it didn't happen. But Ilya refuses to let this go, not when he's so close to knowing what Hollander tastes like.

It only takes a tiny push and a very intentional adjustment of his towel to make Hollander reconsider.

★ ★ ★

Shane gets dressed in a haze but zones out before he can pull his shoes on.

Holy shit.

What the fuck did he just do? He got hard and… watched a guy jerk off in the showers.

Why the fuck was Rozanov jerking off in the showers? Looking at him.

They can't do this. No, fuck there is no them.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He's never slipped up in the showers like this, but he's never been in the showers with Rozanov. Never been in the showers just one on one.

Never had eyes on him like that.

He's been with women, multiple women! He knows how… or, well, he thought he knew how this worked. But nothing has felt quite like Rozanov's eyes on him in that gym after the draft.

And nothing has ever felt like Rozanov's eyes on him in the showers.

Everything he's been trying to push down since the draft erupts within him.

He wants.

He can't let himself want.

Rozanov walks around the corner and Shane jerks out of his reverie, frantically pulling his shoes on. He needs to get the fuck out of here. "So, um, look we can forget that happened in there. Okay?"

Shane can barely keep himself from shaking.

How could he be so fucking stupid? What if Rozanov tells someone? What if this is all over before it starts? What if he doesn't even get to step on the ice with the Metros?

"Is what you want?" Rozanov asks calmly.

Shane lets out a breath.

Okay. Okay, he can forget about this. They'll move on. They'll never think about this ever again.

What you want.

No, Shane wishes he could say. That's not what I want at all. But it's what he needs to do. "Yeah, for sure."

Rozanov laughs and Shane feels dizzy hearing it. "Uh, wow. You are a really bad liar."

Get up, Shane. Move. Get out of here.

But he's rooted to the spot as Rozanov steps closer, towel slung low.

Even if Shane averts his eyes, he can see everything in his peripheral vision.

He clamps his jaw shut.

"What is your room number?" Rozanov asks like he already has the answer.

Say no.

Say no. Leave. Walk away from this. Walk away from this while every single cell in your body screams that you need this. Walk away from the only thing aside from hockey that has ever made you feel alive.

"14-10." Shane's mouth betrays him, but relief floods him immediately.

"Well, if I come to 14-10 tonight at 9 o'clock…"

"I might open."

"I might knock."

What the fuck did he just agree to?

★ ★ ★

When Ilya gets back to his hotel room, the door closes behind him and he has to fucking laugh.

Oh fuck. They're doing this.

Ilya feels himself split in two.

This was a game. He really thought Hollander would keep saying no.

But now…

Ilya's only been with one other man, Sasha. He wouldn't necessarily say that Sasha is his type, but Sasha was there and wanted trouble as much as he did.

Shane Hollander is his type.

And has clearly never been with a man before. Well, maybe… but probably not.

Ilya doesn't know how to play this.

Does he keep up the asshole act? Take what he wants and leave?

He thinks about those brown eyes looking up at him, freckles scattered over blush.

No. No, he can go slow. He can make sure this is good for Hollander. And maybe… maybe he'd even want to do it again…

Ilya lets out a breath and takes a real shower before getting changed, putting on his tightest tank top before putting a jacket on over it.

He'll make sure to get to Hollander's door at 9:03 – just enough to make him worry, but not enough to actually piss him off.

Ilya gets into the elevator and tries to get his own nerves out. He can't let Hollander even guess that he's nervous too.

Right as Ilya's head starts to clear, the elevator opens a few floors early and– holy fuck, isn't that Hollander's mom?! Is she going to his room?

They stammer at each other and the doors close again.

Fuck.

Hollander's mom.

Ilya's not sure if that's a good or bad sign.

He decides not to read into it. Hollander is waiting for him and Ilya will not be the kind of guy to stand him up like this.

Once he's in the room, Ilya kind of can't believe Hollander opened the door. "I thought you might chicken out."

Rozanov feels back in his element. Even if Hollander is a man, Ilya knows how this works. He lets his shoulders relax, acts nonplussed.

"I'm not– I'm not a chicken." Hollander says it like someone who is chicken would say it. "But I think we should talk. Do you… wanna sit?"

Ilya's barely holding onto his grasp of English. He's in a room with Hollander. The door is locked. And nothing is stopping him from reaching out to touch the body he'd mapped out with his eyes hours earlier. "Mmm, not really." And he finally, finally touches him.

He puts his hands on Hollander's waist and the man goes pliant.

Oh, god.

Fuck.

Hollander lets himself be pushed against the wall and Ilya nearly loses it.

"This is such a bad idea." Ilya's face is inches from his as Hollander says it.

"What is?" He dares Hollander to name it.

But neither of them can focus on words anymore.

He grabs Hollander's neck just because he can.

He's used to this being more of a fight, kind of expected it from the man set to be his rival.

But Hollander lets himself be moved, be touched, be taken.

And Ilya takes.

He presses their lips together. Gently at first, then harder as Hollander kisses back.

He takes off his jacket and watches Hollander watch him.

The hesitation is gone as Hollander leans into him and Ilya doesn't even try to act calm about that. He grabs at him, digging his fingers into Hollander's hair.

Ilya's been doing what he can to stifle himself, to make sure Hollander really wanted this before he pushed too hard. He'd been prepared to stand here against the wall kissing for at least ten more minutes, running his hands over Hollander after pushing his shirt off.

But Hollander doesn't reach for Ilya's shirt in return.

He reaches for his pants and pushes his hand in. "Fuck, Hollander." Ilya can't disguise his pleased surprised, kisses praise onto Hollander's lips.

He takes off his own shirt, desperate for Hollander to look at him. To want him.

And god, he does. Maybe more than anyone ever has before.

Ilya moves without thinking, pressing his thumb into Hollander's lips and Hollander… lets him.

What the fuck.

Fuck, maybe it isn't his first time with a man.

Ilya goes for the kiss again, but Hollander drops to his knees.

Ilya feels dizzy.

Shane Hollander is sucking his dick.

God, he's pathetic. He's been fantasizing about pushing Hollander onto a bed and fucking him hard, clawing at each other.

Now they've kissed for a minute and he's about to come in Hollander's mouth from a mediocre, what he has to assume now is a first, blow job. "Ooh, stop, stop, stop." He cannot end this here. Not before they even make it to a bed.

"What that bad?" The panic is back now that they're talking again.

All of Ilya's defense mechanisms have gone offline. It doesn't even occur to him to joke about. Hollander is soft and malleable. Ilya's desperate to praise him. "Ah, no opposite." He touches Hollander's face gently. "Is too much, too good." He kisses him again, can't convince himself to stop.

This is nothing like it had been with Sasha.

Sasha was scrappy, messy, mean. Selfish.

Hollander gave himself over to Ilya as soon as they touched. Needy. Desperate to please.

Ilya has to ask, has to make sure, "Is your first time with a man?"

Hollander nods shallowly, "You?"

"No," Ilya says in a way he hopes is reassuring, that least one of them has done this before. But… maybe part of him is trying to maintain his reputation.

Hollander's eyes light up, "Really?"

It's unfortunate they can't kiss while they're talking. "Really." Ilya confirms, charmed by Hollander's excitement.

"Who? Another player?"

Maybe he was hoping there was more of them, or maybe he thought Ilya's gone after other players. Maybe he's assuming what Ilya wants people to assume – that this is casual, that he's doing this with other people. Not that he's been almost single-mindedly figuring out how to get into Shane Hollander's bed for nearly a full year. "No, my coach's son back in Russia."

He knows how that sounds, likes how it sounds. Especially considering what both of them are risking by doing this with each other. "I like trouble."

Hollander is still asking questions, "Weren't you scared of getting caught?"

Scared like they should be right now.

"No, it was nothing serious and we had same secret so it was just…" He doesn't know what word to use, especially not in English.

But somehow, Hollander is ready to finish his sentence because he understands. "Curious?"

Ilya nods. "Curious." It's the exact word he would use for how he feels about this, about Hollander. He puts his cards on the table. "And you make me curious."

He can see the way the words land in Hollander, his head tilting back in submission as Ilya kisses his neck. "Do I make you curious?" He fishes for the compliment, wants to hear it.

"Obviously," Hollander mutters.

Ilya latches onto the fact that Hollander has a sense of humor. He's revitalized now that Hollander isn't trembling, isn't scared. He lets himself tease again. "Did you like sucking my cock?"

Hollander wears a wry smile. "Wow, those English words just roll of your tongue."

Ilya ignores the deflection, "Yes?" He wants to hear him say it.

"Yes." Hollander admits, eyes going dark with desire.

"Want me to, uh, lie on the bed and let you do it some more?"

Hollander laughs, but he's charmed. "Let me?"

"Yeah." Ilya could do this forever, the way Hollander is smiling at him, letting himself be touched.

Finally, Hollander starts going for what he wants. He grabs Ilya by the shoulders and pushes him all the way to the bed and then shoves him down.

Ilya lets him do it, removing the rest of his clothes without hesitation.

They never break eye contact and Ilya scoffs, gesturing at Hollander where he's not moving to do the same. "Uh, not fair. Come on, I want to see you."

"You saw me in the showers," Hollander says it matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I want more." Ilya can't believe him. What did Hollander think was going to happen? He'd just touch Ilya, suck a dick, and then… what?

Was he so desperate for a man that all he wanted was Ilya's body? He's not even focused on being touched himself?

Hesitating, Hollander walks away to tug off his pants and… folds them before putting them on the dresser.

Ilya watches, a manic grin splitting his lips.

Yeah, he's never been with anyone like this before.

Before he can even think of a quip, he's met with the visual of a very naked Shane Hollander standing in front of him, letting himself be seen.

Ilya memorizes what has until today only been a wet dream.

Hollander approaches the bed, "Okay?"

Ilya can feel the inexperience rolling off of him again. He balls up all the desire in his chest and chooses to be gentle, to go slow. "Come here." He scoots over and just lies down as Hollander joins him, doing the same.

Hollander's first time in bed with a man.

They lie side by side, staring at the ceiling in between stealing glances at each other.

Ilya wonders if you can get high from this. From being someone's first. From being Hollander's first. There's something heady about it.

"So…" Ilya asks, "What do you want to do?"

Hollander laughs, relaxing again. "I don't know."

Ilya stares at his face.

He wants to take care of him. It's a foreign impulse, but it's there and he can't ignore it.

He doesn't even let himself worry about seeming too eager. He sits up, kissing Hollander's chest. Then reaches for his dick. "Is this okay?" His voice comes out too sweet, he knows it does.

Hollander nods shyly and leans his head back against the pillows.

Ilya kisses his chest again, his neck.

Hollander comes back online. Just like when they were kissing against the wall, he realizes what he wants and goes for it.

He pushes Ilya back and situates himself between Ilya's legs, mouth going to Ilya's cock like it couldn't belong anywhere else.

Quietly, Ilya adds the words 'oral fixation' to his understanding of Shane Hollander.

He knows for sure now that this is Hollander's first time and the praise flows from him freely, "Da, like that, Hollander."

It would take a lot at this stage in his life for Ilya to think a blowjob was bad, so it's nearly impossible for a blowjob in this circumstance to be bad. Hollander is trying so hard to be good.

Ilya digs his fingers into Hollander's hair again and fucks into his mouth. "Fuck, Hollander." It doesn't take long until he has to pull Hollander off of him because there's no way he would be prepared to swallow right now.

Hollander is sluggish as if he was the one getting the blowjob, face pressing into Ilya's chest, eyes trained on Ilya's cock, on his hand pumping himself to completion.

He's so fixated, Ilya has to physically move his chin to be able to kiss him as he cums. His voice comes out in pants. "Ah… fuck…"

They settle back and Ilya's still thinking about this being Shane Hollander that he's in bed with. Shane Hollander's first blow job. "Not bad for first time," he jokes away tension that keeps building in the silence.

Hollander laughs, "Fuck you, Rozanov."

"Okay…" Ilya says with finality, reaching for a tissue. "It was fun."

Hollander actually gets offended, "Are you serious?"

"What?" Ilya asks coyly, "What, you need something?"

Hollander averts his eyes, a pinched expression on his face as he literally scoffs.

Ilya turns back to him, pleased to see the disappointment in his eyes.

Good. Ilya wants him to want more.

He gives in immediately, draping his body over Hollander's.

Hollander's body moves with his like they were made to, grabbing his biceps and thighs squeezing around Ilya's hips.

Their bodies say one thing while their mouths say another.

"You think I'm an asshole?" Ilya asks teasingly pressing against him.

"I know you're an asshole," Hollander says, clinging to him.

Ilya's voice softens, "I would not leave you like that."

"No?" Hollander asks, hope sparkling in his eyes.

"No." Ilya promises.

It's too serious again.

How do they keep ending up back here?

This was supposed to be fun, dangerous, risky.

But Ilya can't resist pressing comfort into Hollander every chance he gets.

He keeps teasing, trying to put some space back between them. "Let me show you how to do this, 'kay?" And he kisses him again. Because he can. Because Hollander lets him.

He kisses down Hollander's body and gets to work massaging his chest while he sucks him off.

It's only a second before Hollander melts, throwing his head back. "Holy shit, Rozanov."

Ilya listens to all the breathy moans he earns.

"Oh…f–fuck."

Hollander panics, "Holy shit, Rozanov. You better get off. I'm– I can't stop–"

If anything, Ilya redoubles his efforts as he ignores Hollander.

"Oh, fuck!"

And if Ilya thinks to himself that he won their blowjob contest, no one can prove that.

"Rozanov, fuck fuck fuck, oh my god, oh fuck."

He happily swallows Hollander down.

Satisfied with himself, Ilya slaps Hollander's stomach.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Hollander somehow manages to spiral so soon after cuming. "I–I didn't think–"

"What, that you would come so quick?" Ilya asks, feeling his ego inflate by the second.

"Fuck you," Hollander responds without hesitation.

Ilya laughs, pleased to get it back as much as he gives it.

"You didn't have to," Hollander insists.

Ilya can hear the genuine concern in Hollander's tone so he matches him and says sincerely so Hollander will relax, "I don't mind."

They sit for a moment and both process that this… happened.

Hollander sits up, back to Ilya.

Ilya starts laughing, almost uncontrollably. Like they're filming that face off again.

Hollander can't help but laugh too. "This is, uh…" He can't find a word to describe it.

"Yes." Ilya agrees with the sentiment. "Yes, yes, yes." The only thing that could top the endorphin rush of hooking up with his rival and learning that he's the most pliant, fuckable person on the planet would be– "God, I want a cigarette."

Hollander responds like he's been programmed to. "Smoking is bad for you."

Ilya levels a glare at him. "Oh, is it?"

Suddenly who they are to each other comes rushing back to them.

The last few minutes – learning how to move together, how to breathe together, how to touch each other – get cancelled out.

Hollander asks, voice tense and serious, "You're not gonna tell anyone about this, are you?"

"Me?" Ilya asks, offended Hollander would even ask. His voice drips with sarcasm as he says, "Yes, Hollander. I'm going to tell everyone."

"'Cause no one can know."

Ilya feels true irritation flash within him. He responds in Russian and doesn't bother to translate for Hollander, "Really?"

The language change seems to rattle Hollander, but he's not entirely comforted by it.

Ilya rolls his eyes, "Hollander, look. I'm not going to tell anyone." The words don't seem to do anything. "Okay?" He nearly begs.

Moments ago he had power over this man, could kiss away all of his fear.

Ilya panics as he realizes that's gone now.

Of course it is.

They're not anything to each other.

Hollander nods. "Okay." But it's clear he doesn't mean that, doesn't trust Ilya with this the way he needs to be able to.

Ilya breathes out whatever fantasy he'd let himself live in. "I, uh, I have early flight tomorrow. So…" He gets up.

"Yeah, me too." Hollander interrupts him. Both desperate to move on from this now that it's over.

Ilya grabs his clothes from the foot of the bed and steps away to get dressed.

They say nothing.

Ilya stares at Hollander, still nude on the bed, tension reentering his shoulders.

He doesn't ask if they'll do this again.

Just does his best to hold onto the memory of it. "Good night."

Hollander can't even look at him. "Night."

Ilya doesn't know what he expected but he hates himself for expecting anything.

He turns and leaves, letting Shane Hollander become a mystery to him again.

★ ★ ★

Shane feels like he's been in a fugue state that he only snaps out of when the hotel door slams shut behind Rozanov.

The visuals he's collected flash through his mind, burned into the back of his eyelids.

Is that what it's supposed to feel like?

All these awkward hook ups he's had with women, trying to figure out how it works and what feels good. Baffled by what he should do for them.

All of that disappeared. He didn't think about how to please Rozanov, he just wanted and Rozanov encouraged him.

Rozanov touched him gently, spoke sweetly.

He threw in some sarcasm, some jokes, but Shane can't just forget the way he kept checking in. The way he kept kissing Shane like he needed it.

And now… what, they're supposed to meet each other again on the ice and act like this never happened?

How is Shane supposed to look at him across a face off dot and not think about having that mouth wrapped around his dick, swallowing him down? Those hands mapping out his chest.

How is he supposed to act like they're rivals with the words too much, too good rattling around his brain?

Shane lets out a long breath.

Rozanov aside, he has to completely rewrite his understanding of himself after tonight.

He can't rationalize his eyes catching on a man as him being envious of his looks or physique. He can't talk himself into pretending he doesn't want.

And he can't ignore that the man he wants more than anyone is Ilya Rozanov.

"Holy shit."

★ ★ ★

End Notes

im simply of the opinion that they were both at war with themselves repressing their crushes and never actually had any animosity toward each other. my reading of the book took the "repressing" too seriously and doesnt show it on page but its so delicioussssss let us see ittttt let them YEARN