Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Threesome - M/M/M, Anal Sex, Deepthroating, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Spit as Lube, Degradation, Praise Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Shane Hollander Has a Praise Kink, Bisexual Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Soft Dom Ilya Rozanov, PWP without Porn, Bottom Shane Hollander, Smut, Sexual Overstimulation, Blow Jobs, Monsieur Marleau loves Paris

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of The Talented Mr. Marleau

Collections:

Hags of AO3

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-27 Words: 7,744 Chapters: 1/1

Unwritten Rules

Summary

Shane hears about Cliff Marleau's specialty in threesomes and, after asking his husband, learns about it firsthand.

OR: Shane becomes the meat in an Ilya/Cliff sandwich

Notes

Update 3/30: This has now been updated after a beta read by aqueerium.

It might not have seemed obvious to the outside world, but the men of the MHL gossiped like old women. This was one reason Shane had never felt comfortable divulging too much about his personal life for so many years. Even now—out and married—he remained vigilant. He kept his personal business out of the gossip mill that professional hockey generated. Headlines could be lethal. Still, nothing compared to your escapades reaching 32 teams across North America in days. It would be impressive, how quickly rumors spread, if it weren’t so terrifying.

Shane had learned to ignore most gossip on the Metros. Early on, he heard everything, but his clear disinterest in rumors—especially to protect himself—meant that, over time, less gossip reached him. Teammates stopped seeking him out for lurid stories. As captain, he only heard the mundane details Hayden shared, which he quickly waved off.

Ottawa was different. He wasn’t the captain, and teammates didn’t know his reticence, so he heard it all: divorces, affairs, hookups, rookies puking on the bus, rivalries, bad outfits, rude players. He let most of it wash over him, neither engaging nor deflecting. He couldn’t deny the thrill of knowing details Ilya missed as captain.

Sometimes Shane even filled Ilya in on the details he missed when his back was turned, and Ilya became incessantly giddy at Shane Hollander being a gossip. He picked and chose what he shared, only revealing the best rumors.

After practice, Shane sat in the locker room, listening to the latest rumor mill. Dykstra and Hayes recapped last night’s New York-Boston game. Shane, always interested in hockey talk, was about to ask about the new Admirals' goalie when he noticed the conversation shift.

“No, I heard most of the Boston team went back to Hunter’s bar after the game,” Evan said as he undid his gear. “Guess there wasn’t too much resentment about the loss.”

Wyatt turned from his locker to face Evan, grinning. “Yeah, I heard it got pretty crazy. People doing rounds of shots, drunken singing, and of course, the Marleau special at the end of the night.”

There were a few laughs around the locker room, an inside joke that Shane was very clearly on the outside of. He knew Cliff Marleau fairly well; hell, he had been Ilya’s best man at their wedding, so he was pretty curious about what his special was.

“What’s the Marleau special?” Luca Haas asked innocently from the other side of the room, and Shane breathed a quiet sigh of relief that his own question would be answered without having to ask it himself.

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” Boodram said, wrapping a sweaty arm around Luca. “Cliff Marleau has a very particular reputation in the MHL, has for years.” He swept a hand out as if to start an elaborate tale.

“Which is?” Luca prompted, eyeing Zane expectantly.

“Well, when a man and woman love each other very much...” Zane began, his voice softening as if he were teaching a child.

Troy interrupted him. “He’s the threesome guy.” He spoke flatly. “He’s somewhat infamous in the MHL for having a lot of threesomes.” Troy rolled his eyes at the familiar gossip.

Shane had never heard this about Cliff before. He fought to keep his jaw from dropping. It wasn’t so scandalous; Cliff was single, rich, attractive—though Shane wouldn’t tell Ilya that. Why shouldn’t he have two women over sometimes? But Ilya had played with Cliff for ten years and never mentioned it. Ilya, now chatting with Coach Wiebe about line changes, wasn’t hearing his best friend’s sex life discussed in the locker room.

Shane kept his face neutral while the talk shifted to a San Francisco player caught cheating with the nanny. Outwardly calm, inwardly, Shane pondered Cliff’s “specialty” and wondered if his gossip-loving husband had more to share.

Shane made it through dinner before breaking his silence. About five minutes after they finished eating and the dishes were drying, he gave up trying to be nonchalant about the rumor.

“So, I heard a rumor today in the locker room,” Shane began. Ilya’s head snapped toward him, shark-like.

“Oh?” Ilya said, clearly interested, though he left space for more.

“Yeah, some of the guys were actually talking about Marleau,” Shane continued, watching Ilya closely.

Ilya kept his face neutral as he closed the distance. “Oh no, what did Marly do now?” he laughed slightly.

“It was more about his reputation,” Shane admitted, suddenly flushing with embarrassment at being the one to tell Ilya.

“What about it?” Ilya pressed, noticing Shane’s blush deepen.

“Apparently, he had a specialty for, um...” Shane hesitated, sheepish about saying  the word “threesome” for some inexplicable reason.

Ilya smiled devilishly, clearly aware of Cliff’s specialty, but still played coy. “A specialty for what, Shane?” he teased, eyebrows raised in challenge.

“You know what.”

“No, I don't ,” Ilya lied, a wide grin spreading across his face as he sank into the couch, eager to watch Shane say the words. “You’re going to have to tell me.”

“Apparently, he has  a reputation for threesomes,” Shane blurted in one long exhale: apparentlyhehasareputationforthreesomes, all merged into one word.

Ilya let out a laugh, quickly smothering it behind a stoic face. “Oh, does  he?” he replied, his voice light and airy.

“Apparently,” Shane said, voice tinged with skepticism as he tried to read Ilya’s reaction, some internal voice turning over Ilya's casual response.

“Oh,” Ilya said, still looking like he knew plenty more but holding his tongue.

“Yes,” Shane said bluntly, his skepticism growing. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? I mean, you were teammates for a decade, and I’m pretty sure you know him better than anyone in the league.”

“What are you asking, Hollander?” Ilya asked, patting the couch next to him in a clear invitation. “Why are you so interested in Marly’s sex life?” he teased, smiling as Shane settled beside him. “Are you trying to get an invite to his next threesome?”

Shane’s face turned crimson at the suggestion, but he pressed on, eager for confirmation. “Oh, so it's true?”

“Da, is true, he was very fun—sometimes with more than one person,” Ilya replied nonchalantly, like they were discussing the weather, not the sexual proclivities of another man.

“Have you ever been with two people?” Shane asked tentatively, unsure whether he wanted the answer, yet desperate to hear it.

“Yes, of course. With Cliff as well. It was his specialty, as you called it.” Ilya said it so casually that it took Shane’s brain a second to process the words.

Ilya. Marleau. Threesome. The revelation spun around in Shane’s mind as he worked to keep his expression locked down. Still, he could sense Ilya watching him closely, and he realized his stunned silence probably spoke volumes.

“Oh—oh. I guess I just assumed he… with girls…You and him…” was what inevitably came out of his mouth when he attempted to continue the conversation. A shameful jumble of words that he wished he could reel back into his mouth.

“Eh, was  not like that. We shared a girl once—oh, was actually twice. But we barely touched, all focus on the woman,” Ilya explained, again so calmly, so unaffected by the words, like they hadn’t sent Shane into a spiral.

“Right,” Shane said, forcing his voice steady as he struggled to tamp down the flood of mental images that threatened to surface—sweat-drenched skin and lips swollen from overuse.

“I did not mean to make you jealous or uncomfortable,” Ilya assured, placing an assuring hand on Shane’s thigh, incorrectly guessing that Shane’s silence was a sign of being uneasy at Ilya’s past.

“No, I’m not, I—” He stopped, unsure what he felt. His brain flooded him with images. He wasn’t jealous—Ilya’s experience didn’t bother him. If anything, he was jealous he hadn’t been there as well. He quickly banished the thought. Bad Shane.

There was a shift in Ilya beside him—shoulders angled in, posture intent—as his eyes scanned Shane’s face, noting the blush that crept up his neck and the subtle quickening of his breath. Shane could feel Ilya’s gaze lingering, and that only heightened his awareness—and his embarrassment.

Ilya leaned closer, his voice going soft and teasing, his hand sliding softly up his thigh. “Ah. You were blushing, Hollander. Maybe you were curious.”

He reached for his phone. “Should I text Cliff—”

Shane lunged for it immediately. “No—God, I’m not. I just—never mind. Drop it.”

Ilya stilled, the teasing easing slightly. “I am sorry. I did not mean to push,” he said, more serious now. Then, after a beat, “But… if you were interested… maybe we could consider it.”

“No. I’m not,” Shane said quickly. “I’m not interested in other guys. Only you.”

Ilya hummed, unconvinced. “You did not think it would be sexy? To be shared for the night?”

Shane’s blush deepened despite himself.

“I thought it would be very sexy,” Ilya continued, his voice dropping, “to show you off. Let Marleau see how pretty you looked when you came for me.”

Shane inhaled sharply. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

“I wouldn’t cheat on you,” he said, like that was the real issue.

“No,” Ilya agreed easily. “Is not cheating if it is something we both want.” He paused for a moment, searching Shane's face. “But only if you want it too. We do this together, or not at all, da?”

Shane hesitated, but then nodded, heart thumping. “I do want it. Only with you. But we should talk about what we actually want... and where the lines are.”

Ilya's expression softened, his hand squeezing Shane's thigh. “Good. We say what is okay and what is not. No surprises.” He leaned in closer. “I have never shared a man with Cliff before. I think I would like to see how he would touch you. If you would come apart for him as you do for me.”

Shane swallowed.

“It’s a stupid idea,” he said weakly. “And I’m sure Cliff wouldn’t—he’s always with women. You said so.”

“Yes, is true,” Ilya said. “But I think Marly is more flexible than you gave him credit for.”

“Oh.”

Ilya smiled. “So. Should I call him? We played Boston in two weeks. It could be a nice way to celebrate our win.”

TWO WEEKS LATER 

Ottawa did not win the game, but they still ended up at Cliff Marleau’s penthouse after.

The room itself was lavish, draped in expensive textures and furnishings, a bachelor pad in every sense of the word. No pictures on the shelves, no dog toys piled in the corner, not even a plant. Just clean lines, and the faint smell of wood smoke from a lone, abandoned candle on the low glass coffee table. Shane would have been willing to bet half his salary the candle had been a gift of some kind. Men like Cliff Marleau did not go out and buy cedar and sage candles.

Cliff and Ilya were easy with each other, laughing in the kitchen as they poured three drinks like they didn’t have salacious plans for the evening. Ilya looked comfortable in the space, and Shane got the impression he had probably been there many times. Hopefully not all for sex. Even the thought sent a flush across Shane’s cheeks—jealousy first, arousal right behind it.

Ilya crossed the room, and Shane realized he had been standing frozen in the living room, just watching the two broad men mix drinks like his own personal brand of bartender porn. Ilya pressed a glass tumbler into his hand.

“Have a drink, moy kotik. It will help with the nerves.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You are trembling.”

“Okay, I’m a little nervous,” Shane admitted. “But also—excited. I don’t know. This is very new to me.”

Ilya tipped the glass up to Shane’s mouth, watching him swallow a gulp of vodka with a grimace.

“What happened to ‘vodka is reward, for after’?” Shane muttered, attempting a terrible Russian accent.

“Vodka is for now. Reward is next,” Ilya said smoothly. “Stay here a minute, sweetheart. Finish that.”

“Trying to get me drunk, Rozanov?”

“Trying to make you relax.”

He leaned in, kissed him once, quick and warm, and then turned back toward Cliff.

They fell into quiet conversation in the kitchen, something conspiratorial in the way their heads tilted together, while Shane sipped his drink and wandered the living room, attempting to snoop. It was useless. The whole place felt untouched, like no one actually lived there.

He was standing at the bookshelf, scanning titles and mentally placing bets on how many had actually been opened, when he felt warm lips against the back of his neck. Ilya. He’d know that touch anywhere.

Ilya moved around in front of him, capturing his mouth in a slow kiss— and then Shane felt something new. A second pair of lips at his neck. Unfamiliar.

Cliff.

For a moment, Ilya’s attention was careful, measured, like he was handling something skittish. Watching Shane, checking him. But the second he was sure—truly sure—that Shane was not just okay with this but leaning into it—he let go.

Shane’s head fell back as Ilya kissed him deeper, and Cliff’s hands slid around his waist, keeping him anchored between the two of them. He knew Ilya’s touch well, knew the way his tongue tasted and the way his hands moved.  But with his eyes closed, his body falling slack against the immovable force behind him, things began to blur a little.  He knew it was Ilya’s mouth on his. But the fingertips that traced a sliver of exposed skin above his beltline.  He couldn’t be sure. The knee between his thighs, grinding so deliciously against his aching cock, Ilya’s.  The heavy breaths dancing over his ear, Cliff’s.

He catalogues these things, these minor details.  It felt like being blindfolded and spun around for a game of dizzy bat. One moment, he knew what was right in front of him, and the next, he couldn’t find a sense of direction.  Ilya pulled back from his lips, just an inch or two. Still close enough that Shane could feel the heat from them. He moved to open his eyes, but felt Ilya drag his hand softly over Shane’s eyes and whisper, “Keep them closed.”  Not a request, but an order.

He feels the hands fall from his boy as the two men rearrange. The loss of heat is immediate, and he feels cold without the two bodies caging him in. But he waits, letting his hands linger at his sides, eyes closed, breath still catching after Ilya’s exploration of his mouth. He waited a moment, let the cold air in the apartment slide over him, but he wasn’t sandwiched in again.  He wanted so badly to open his eyes, to see where Ilya and Cliff were, what they were doing, but he kept his face calm and eyes shut.

“Mmmmm,” Ilya sighed in appreciation from a half metre in front of him, he estimated. “See how obedient he is, Marly?” he asked, and Shane could hear the smile in his voice.  Could picture the self-satisfied smirk he was sure graced Ilya’s rosy lips.

Shane smiled a little at Ilya’s praise, a spark of warmth settling in his chest, but felt it quickly slip away when Marleau answered with a tsk tsk. "He’s just standing there with his eyes closed, Roz. I think your expectations may be a little low. I’d hope you have your slut trained to follow more complex directions than that." He could feel Marleau’s voice as he circled Shane’s body. The subtle sting of embarrassment crept in, mingling with the thrill and nerves already humming under his skin. He felt suddenly exposed, acutely aware of being watched and judged, and a guilty ache of self-consciousness joined the rush of anticipation. Could feel the hard gaze of him assessing as he circled like a vulture.

“Be nice, Marly,” he heard Ilya say, planting a soft kiss on Shane’s lips, but he could tell Ilya wasn’t really admonishing him.  “I won't let you play with my toy if you aren’t nice to him,” Ilya said again, stealing one more kiss before stepping back.

He felt warm fingers on his chin, tilting it up, and then felt words spoken a breath away from his lips, “I’m sorry, Hollander, I’m sure you’re a very obedient little slut,” Cliff said, dragging his lips over Shane’s lightly. “I just want to put that to the test a little,” he instructed before kissing him fully. Roughly pushing his tongue into Shane’s mouth and pressing all the hard lines of his body against his.

Kissing Cliff was different than kissing Ilya. More overwhelming, rougher, and a complete loss of control.  When he was with Ilya, he listened to what Ilya asked of him, but never felt like he was completely out of control. Now he did. Cliff used his grip on Shane’s chin to direct his mouth to the angles he preferred, used his tongue to coax moans and whimpers from Shane’s throat, and used his spare hand to rub over the hard length of him through his jeans.

Ilya moved behind him, pressing his own erection against Shane’s ass and using his teeth to nip at Shane’s earlobe. Ilya and Cliff moved together in a way that spoke to their years shared on the ice: commands passed without words, movements anticipated before they happened. Seamless. Practiced.

It didn’t take long for Shane to be panting between the two of them, switching his mouth between Cliff’s intoxicating and demanding kisses and Ilya’s slow and deep ones. He was whimpering, grinding himself shamelessly against Ilya’s cock and pressing his own leaking dick against Cliff’s hand, which was still rubbing him through the fabric of his jeans.

It wasn’t enough; he needed more. It was becoming torturous to keep his eyes closed, to not watch the two men who surrounded him, tear him apart. But he was nothing if not obedient.  With his eyes closed, he reached down and popped the button on his jeans, then pulled the zipper down for good measure. Anything to get more friction where he needed it.  

Then he reached out blindly, finding Cliff’s belt and moving to undo it with practiced motion. He had his hand on the buckle and was just moving to undo it when his hand was slapped away. Yes, literally slapped away, like a mischievous child reaching for a cookie before dinner.

Shane couldn’t help it; he opened his eyes to inspect Cliff before him, shaking his head in a slow admonishment.

“Not allowed,” he said simply, taking Shane’s wrist and moving it back to his side.

“That’s against the rules,” Ilya whispered against the shell of his ear.

Shane blinked. “The rules?”

Cliff huffed out a laugh. “Oh, fuck you, Rozanov. You didn’t tell him about the rules?”

Shane could feel Ilya’s smirk even though he still stood behind him. “Hollander is very good at following rules. I thought we might have more fun stopping him from breaking rules he doesn't know, the way things worked since.”

That did not sound fun to Shane.  That actually sounded like his own personal form of torture.  He liked knowing what was expected of him, iked knowing when he was doing well and hated when he didn’t meet expectations.  Not knowing the rubric that he was being graded against seemed like something Ilya had cooked up just to infuriate him.

Cliff let out a low whistle. “That's kindas fucked up.” But he sounded impressed.

“It is,” Ilya agreed lightly. “But look at him.” He trained alongside Shane until he was standing next to Cliff, both of them imposing. A solid wall of muscle stretched between the two men.

There was a pause as they both surveyed him.  Shane stood stock still with his chin raised as high as he could muster.  He waited as they took him in, eyes open and hands by his side, just as Cliff had last positioned him. inadvertently following instructions without even being explicitly told them.

“Look how hard he is trying,” Ilya continued, softer now. “How badly he wants to be good.” Half whispering it to Shane, half saying it to Cliff.  

“Such a good toy,” Cliff murmured, almost thoughtful. “You’re right, Roz,” he added, his voice tipping toward amusement as he took in Shane’s posture, his lips parted in waiting. “He is very obedient.”

Ilya walked forward, wrapping his hand around Shane’s neck, not neck, his throat, pressing his fingertips against the side with a light pressure.  Not enough to take his breath away or make his pulse spike.  Just a light reminder of who was in charge.

“Shane, is this okay?” he asked, meeting his eyes for a moment, checking in.  Shane could stop everything here. Tell him he wanted to know the rules. Tell him that he wanted him to outline everything that would happen, everything that he could expect.

But he couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through his veins at the thought of the unknown.  It sent a jolt of arousal through him when he thought about being ordered around.  The choice to fully turn his brain off and follow the whims and desires of the man in front of him.  The men in front of him.

Truthfully, he wasn’t going in completely blind.  He and Ilya had talked rather extensively about what tonight would look like.  What Shane was comfortable with and what sounded arousing for him. The conversations always started with Shane blushing furiously and ended half-finished, with him and Ilya tangled up together on whatever surface was nearest.

So Shane nodded. He let Ilya take the metaphorical reins with a subservient nod of his head, and then, at Ilya’s prompting eyebrow raise, a simple “Yes.”

Both men smiled devilishly at him as he accepted.

“Go into the bedroom, Shane, second door on the right,” Ilya said, and then Marleau finished, “Strip down to your boxers and get on your hands and knees, facing the headboard.” This seemed to be a practiced dance between the two of them, and Shane didn’t want to consider whether this came from years of familiarity with each other, previous sexual escapades, or from two weeks of Ilya sending texts to Cliff while secretly tilting his phone away from Shane’s eyes.

No matter what it was, he followed the directions he was given. He entered a lavish bedroom, a guest bedroom he’d guess based on the lack of personal details—although the rest of Cliff’s penthouse was rather lifeless, so he couldn’t be sure.

He’d already removed his shoes, a habit whenever he entered anyone’s house. He took off his jeans, folding them neatly and placing them on a plush armchair in the corner of the room, he couldn't help but notice was facing the bed. Then did the same with his shirt, stripping it off and neatly folding it on top of his pants.  Finally,i he slipped off his socks, a little awkwardly.

When he was left in just his briefs, which already had a wet spot of precome across the front of them, he did as he was instructed and climbed onto the bed, getting onto all fours, a beautiful tabletop yoga pose really, and stared blankly at the upholstered beige headboar,d wondering if it came as a matching set with the chair or if the world’s most boring interior decorator had picked them out separately.

He stayed like that for what felt like an age, but he was sure it was only a brief couple of minutes. Finally, he heard the door reopen and the light sound of footsteps on the carpet. He didn’t turn, keeping his eyes on the fabric diamonds in front of him. There was a shameful part of him inside that knew he was only following directions so Ilya would tell him how good he was.  But in his sex-addled brain, that didn't seem like such a shameful thing.

He heard buttons being undone, zippers being pulled open, and the soft sound of fabric hitting the floor in a heap. He didn't turn, even though he was desperate to watch the show.  And he also didn't nag his husband about leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor; it's not the time for that.

Shane had excellent peripheral vision after so many years in the league, so he was quick to see Cliff approach him from the side, sliding two fingers up the ridge of his spine in a long, languid stroke, like checking for dust on a mantle. He kept his head facing forward, but watched as Cliff stopped to the side of his face.  

“Look at this fucking cockslut, kneeling on the bed just begging for it, Ilya,” he said with amusement from above Shane, and the sentence made his dick twitch.

Ilya wrapped a strong hand around the front of Shane’s thigh, sliding his fingers lightly over the outline his cock was making in his briefs, and Shane gave an involuntary moan, already overstimulated by the touch, body keyed up in anticipation.

“He looks so pretty when he’s following directions,” Ilya said reverently, running his fingers over Shane’s cock again, before moving his head lower and sucking on Shane’s inner thigh in a move that Shane was positive would leave a mark tomorrow. Good.

“Shane, are you going to be a good boy for us?” Ilya asked, pausing his assault on his thighs momentarily.

“Yes,” Shane answered immediately, his voice breathy and lust-filled.

His answer was accepted with a brief squeeze of his thigh, and then Ilya’s attention turned back to Cliff. There seemed to be something unspoken shared between them, because Cliff turned away from Shane for a moment, reaching into a bedside drawer and handing something from within it to Ilya.

He desperately wanted to turn his head and watch what was happening, but he wanted to be good for them.  He’d promised he'd be good for them. So he  kept his head facing forward, even as he felt Ilya peel his briefs down slightly.  Felt the cold air of the room on his exposed ass, and then the warmth of Ilya’s hands spreading him open.  

And then his head was turned to the side, and Cliff Marleau’s cock was in front of his lips.  There was a silent moment of confirmation, a small eyebrow raise from Cliff, checking on him.  Shane knew he could stop this if he wanted to.  But he didn't want to.  So he licked his lips and let his mouth envelop Marleau's cock.

The salty taste of his precome bloomed across Shane’s tongue as his lips stretched around him.  He was large, and Shane’s mouth worked hard to take all of him. He let his tongue flatten over the underside of him, let his lips wrap around him, and focused on relaxing his throat.  It brought him back to the eagerness he’d had the first night he and Ilya had hooked up.  How he’d sunk to his knees and taken Ilya so eagerly in his mouth.

Cliff was being gentle with him.  He could feel a single hand in his hair, large fingers woven into the silky strands. But he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t directing; his hand stayed still there, just holding Shane in place.

His pace stuttered out for a moment when he felt the hot slide of Ilya’s tongue sliding over his hole.  The wet heat of it caused him to give an involuntary moan around Cliff’s cock.  With that moan, he felt Cliff’s finger tighten in his hair and a quiet “fuck” slip from his lips.  He liked it.  He wanted to hear it again.

So, overachiever that he was, he doubled his efforts.  He hollowed his cheeks and relaxed his throat, taking Cliff even deeper.  He wanted to use a hand; he really didn’t need both to balance like this, but he was pretty sure that would be against these illustrious rules.  So he focused on his mouth, feeling Marleau’s control slipping a little as the grip in his hair tensed.

Ilya, to his credit, wasn’t taking it easy on Shane either.  His hand had a bruising grip on his hips, and his tongue was lapping at Shane in a way that made his  brain go blank.  He pushed against Ilya’s tongue and was answered with a light smack across his backside.

“Stay still, Hollander, or I won't be nice to you,” Ilya instructed, rubbing over the sting with a soothing touch, before continuing his ministrations against Shane’s asshole.

It was hard to focus with it all. The feel of Ilya’s tongue on him, lapping and probing at him.  The feel of Marleau’s cock in his throat and the deep moans he was able to coax from him when he swallowed around him.  But most distracting of all was his leaking cock, still trapped in his briefs that Ilya had only pulled down enough to expose his ass and not enough to give his dick any relief from its confinement.

It was driving him insane: the lack of friction, the pressure of being trapped, and the lack of attention.  

But his attention was quickly brought back to the task at hand when Cliff seemed to lose his battle with being gentle, using his hard grip on Shane’s hair to direct his head.

“Fuck, Ilya, your whore’s mouth is fucking heaven,” he stuttered out as he thrust his dick into Shane’s mouth over and over again, one hand pulling his hair, the other gripping tightly around his jaw to keep his mouth spread wide over him.

“I love when he’s like this,” Ilya said, pulling his tongue back from Shane’s ass and using his finger to rub his spit over Shane’s rim instead, “Thrusting against air, like the desperate slut he is.” Ilya kept one hand on his hole, moving in those slow circles around his rim, not penetrating, just teasing.  He snaked the other around the front of Shane and gave a slow stroke over the now-damp form of his briefs where Shane’s dick was weeping with precometill trapped beneath the fabric.  

He couldn't help his reaction to Ilya’s touch, grinding against his hand and whimpering with the friction. He hated to admit it, but he was close to coming just from that simple contact.  From a slight graze over his dick, a finger circling his hole, and a cock down his throat.

But Ilya knew that and quickly withdrew both hands, leaving Shane gasping for more friction, his eyes watering either from the lack of release or from Marleau testing his gag reflex, maybe both.

He heard Ilya give a little laugh at his desperation and then a quiet “What is it you want, Hollander?” Ilya’s hand caressed his cheeks, but otherwise refused to give him any kind of stimulation.

Shane didn't even question his answer, the truth spilling from his lips as he writhed himself back from Cliff’s dick, spit training between them, and dribbling down his chin. “To come,” he answered, his eyes still watering.

He stared up at Cliff, who was shaking his head in clear disappointment.  “Wow, Roz, I can’t believe you haven’t taught him any manners,” he said, stroking Shane’s cheek lightly. “He didn't even say please.”

He heard Ilya’s matching exhale behind him. “I’m sorry, Marly, sometimes my fucktoy doesn’t know how to behave,” he said, pulling Shane’s cheeks apart and spitting between them.  

Ilya used his finger to spread the spit around before pressing a single finger into him, using it as lube.

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re always so tight for me,” he said before collecting himself, pressing the finger into Shane expertly in a way that made his toes curl, and his breath stutter out.

“You’re really going to reward him when he’s not being good?” Marleau asked, fingers still touching over Sahne’s cheek. Not in a kind way, more like he was best deciding how he’s going to punish Shane.  An artist assessing how best to tarnish a canvas.

“Yes, and no,” Ilya said, the sound of the cap popping open and the feeling of cold lube joining his finger.  “He said he would like to come, but he wants me to touch his dick so he can.  I’m not going to touch his dick because, as he put it, he forgot his manners. But..” he paused for a moment, sinking another finger into Shane, which resulted in a garbled moan.

“If he thinks he can come like this, with your cock down his throat and my fingers in his ass, then I will allow,” Ilya finished, curling his fingers just so to graze against Shane’s prostate. It's a move that Ilya has spent over ten years perfecting with Shane, using his intimate knowledge of Shane’s body against him in the cruelest of ways.

Ilya began fingering him in earnest, and Shane attempted to keep himself from finishing, fighting against the sensation growing in his balls.  Cliff watched as Shane moaned and clenched around Ilya’s fingers, using his own fingers to open Shane’s mouth, pulling down on his tongue and bottom lip in a sloppy manner that left spit dripping down Shane’s chin.

Then he brought his cock back to Shane’s lips, but instead of pushing inside, he used it to lightly slap Shane’s cheek. Cliff paused, eyes searching Shane's face for any flicker of uncertainty. He held there a moment, voice low, "You good, Hollander?" Shane nodded immediately, a rush of heat pooling in his chest at being checked in on even now. Only then did Cliff continue. It was humiliating to be used like this. No, it wasn't humiliating being used like this. It was humiliating how much he loved being used like this. The way he could feel his cock pulsing at the treatment, his balls drawing up without even being touched. The sting and the ache were dizzying, but underneath it all was a deep thrill, a primal satisfaction in letting go like this, letting himself be seen and known. He trusted them; even in the flush of embarrassment, every look and every touch reminded him he was safe here, that this humiliation was just another way of being worshipped.

Cliff moved his cock back into Shane’s mouth, and brought his hand up to his cheek now, He alternated between light taps and strokes as he spurred him on, telling him what a slut he was, how filthy Shane was acting with his cock in his mouth, how much of a cumslut he would have to be to come untouched.

That’s what took him apart, the perfect move of Ilya’s three fingers, and Cliff’s taunting words, and Shane was coming.  He shot hot bursts of cum into his briefs while he moaned around Cliff’s cock and clenched around Ilya’s fingers.

As he came down from his orgasm, he pulled off Cliff’s cock with a pop and felt himself collapse into the mattress below him, his briefs sticking against his skin as his cum cooled against his body.  He felt dirty, boneless, humiliated, and satiated.

He rolled over onto his back, mainly to ease the discomfort of his wet briefs sticking against his skin, and made eye contact with Ilya, who was still standing at the end of the bed, Marleau beside him now.  They both stared down at Shane with amused smirks on their faces.

“So easy,” Marleau muttered to Ilya.

Shane took a moment to look them over, both naked and hard.  He lazily ran his eyes over the hard muscles of their thighs and the taut lines of their chests.  He might have to trace the lines of their matching Adonis muscles with his tongue later, just to get a better look.

“He’s such a slut for it, but he’s so fucking pretty when he comes apart,” Ilya said, eyes fully on Shane as he surveyed the pair of them . “But we are not done with you yet, Shane,” Ilya said, his eyes glinting with arousal. “Are you going to be good and let us use your mouth and ass like we want?”

“Yes, please,” Shane said, his boy still feeling wrecked, but his inclination to please was overwhelming it.  

“Now there’s those manners,” Cliff said with a smile, walking to the side of the bed, as Ilya followed suit, standing opposite Marleau.

Ilya leaned over him and gave him a slow and languid kiss.  Like a prize for pleasing him with his answer.  “So good,” he murmured against Shane’s lips, and Shane gave a small whimper in joy at the praise.

As Ilya sat back up, he slid Shane’s ruined briefs from his body, swiping one finger through the release still coating his cock and bringing it to his mouth to suck it off.  

“Shane, I want you on your back, facing Cliff now, but let your head hang over the edge of the bed,” Ilya instructed, helping to arrange Shane’s body the way he requested, his head hanging off the side of the bed so he could look up at Ilya, his tongue and inch away from the underside of his cock.

“Good boy,” Marleau praised, and Shane bathed in the unexpected recognition of his obedience.

“Now spread those legs nice and wide for Marly, feet on the bed,” Ilya again instructed, and Shane followed the directions, his eyes still on Ilya even as he felt the weight of Marleau settle between his thighs.

“Good?” Marleau asked, checking with Shane as he ran a hand over his thigh.

“Good,” Shane agreed, the touch sending him alight. His eyes on Ilya, who was still standing just far enough away that Shane’s mouth couldn't make contact with his throbbing cock the way he wanted.

He felt Marleau press against his entrance, already slippery from Ilya’s work earlier with the lube and his spit.  But he still felt as Marleau added more lube, rubbing it up and down his cock before pushing in an inch.

It was a delicious stretch as he took Marleau's cock, his spine arching off the bed with each delicious inch that he pushed inside.  He wasn’t watching Cliff’s face; he was watching Ilya’s.  He was waiting for any hint of jealousy and a glimmer of trepidation.  But Ilya was just watching with riveted attention. Like he was looking at the Grand Canyon and not his best friend fucking his husband’s ass.

“Fuck Shane, you should see how beautiful you look taking his cock,” Ilya whispered, catching Shane’s eyes. “Like you were fucking made for it, made to please us,” he said, using a hand to lovingly stroke along Shane’s jaw.

Shane rubbed his face against Ilya’s palm, like a cat begging for pets. And Ilya acquiesced, sliding his finger into his hair with a smile that turned fiendish quickly.

“Will you let me fuck your throat now, sweetheart?” Ilya said sweetly. And who was Shane to turn down such a nice request?

“Yes, please,” Shane answered, and with a smile, Ilya slid his erection into Shane’s mouth, the angle of his head giving him immediate access to Shane’s throat.

It was filthy in the best of ways, having Marleau pound into his ass while he suck Ilya down his throat. He felt used, like a toy between the two of them, and he absolutely loved it.  Loved the dirty thrill of being their fucktoy for the night, used however they wanted.

It didn't take long before he felt his spent cock growing hard again.  It was uncomfortable, his body not ready for so much stimulation and pleasure after coming so recently, but he couldn't control it.  He moaned against Ilya as Marleau fucked him into the mattress, obscenities spilling freely from his lips.

“God, Hollander, look at your cock fucking weeping from us using you,” he said with stuttered breath as he continued fucking himself into Shane, driving him into the mattress.

His thrusts became increasingly erratic, his grip on Shane’s thighs hard enough to bruise as Cliff grew closer to release.  Shane moaned and clenched around him. He wanted to use a hand to stroke his own cock, but again, he was pretty sure that was against the rules.  He raised a hand and got so close to touching himself before remembering this and pulling his hand away shakily.  

Cliff seemed to take mercy on him, though, because the next moment, he leaned over and wrapped his hand around Shane’s cock.  It didn't take much, a few strokes, coupled with Marleau’s deep thrusts, and Shane felt himself ready to come again.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he warned, pulling his head away from Ilya’s cock. He wasn’t sure if it was a warning or a request for permission, but either way, it was growing unavoidably.

“Marly?” Rozanov asked in a tight voice, like he was asking Cliff if Shane was allowed to come.

“Yes, fuck, Hollander, come for us,” he said, pulling out of Shane’s ass and shooting his cum over both Shane’s cock, and his own hand that was still gripped around it, using his own cum to jerk Shane off until he was finishing as well, their seed mixing over Shane’s dick and stomach.

Shane let his head fall back against the bed, Ilya’s dick sliding free as he worked to catch his breath, back-to-back orgasms draining the life force from him. He closed his eyes and worked to return his breathing to normal, to let his heart rate settle.  

When he opened them, he found Cliff holding up a warm washcloth to his stomach and smiling as he wiped their shared release from him.  He was gentle, but the washcloth was even too much for Shane’s oversensitized cock now.

As Cliff continued to wipe off his stomach, he felt Ilya climb onto the bed next to him, easily turning a very plaint Shane onto his side, while he placed soft kisses along his neck and shoulders.  

“You did so well, sweetheart,”  Ilya whispered into his neck, and Shane soaked in the praise.

Cliff also climbed into the bed, placing a soft kiss on Shane’s lips. “You felt so good, Hollander, like you were made to take my cock,” he added, the praise mixing in with Ilya’s to form a warm glow in Shane's chest.

Shane felt Ilya press against him. “Are you going to be good for me now? Make me come inside you like a good boy?”  Ilya asked against his neck. His erection pressed between Shane’s cheeks.

Shane cracked his eyes open at the response; his body felt wrung out, too much pleasure already coursed through him, and he knew that he’d be sore tomorrow.  But he loved having Ilya fill him with his cum, and he loved making him happy even more, so he pressed against him and once again answered: “Yes, please.”

Ilya slipped inside him easily, one hand guiding his cock and the other pressing lightly against Shane’s hip. He groaned as he bottomed out, little murmurs of flattery slipping from his lips against Shane’s neck about how good he was, how good he felt, how much he loved him.  

Marleau supported Shane’s front, running a soothing hand up and down his side and placing soft kisses to his neck and jawline as Rozanov fucked him.  Shane’s cock ached as his body tried to reconcile with the continued arousal, but god, it felt so good to have Ilya inside him.  He rocked against him absentmindedly, half for Ilya’s sake and half for his own selfish pleasure.

It didn't take long for Ilya to come, his groan of release stuttering against Shane’s neck and his cum filling his ass. For a while after he came, the three of them just lay there, Ilya and Shane running soothing hands over Shane’s body while he faded off, somewhere between awake and asleep.  He felt almost drunk from all the pleasure, sore and sated in a way he couldn't describe.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but when he was roused by a kiss from Ilya, he found that Marleau was no longer there. Ilya watched as he glanced around the room, eyes searching for the other man.

“He went back to his room,” Ilya explained, gesturing for Shane to stand up, which he did begrudgingly. “He loves the sex, and always does the aftercare, but I think he wanted to leave before the cuddling got too intense,” Ilya said with a smile as he led Shane to the attached bathroom.

Ilya turned on the shower, checking the temperature before gesturing Shane inside. Beneath the water, Ilya caressed Shane’s body with soap, washing him slowly and affectionately. He washed Shane’s hair and gave him a barrage of kisses all over his body under the hot water, whispering words of affection against his skin as he did so. Shane leaned into him, eyes closed, letting the warmth of the water and Ilya's gentle touch ground him after the storm of sensation. When Shane shivered, Ilya held him closer, pressing his lips to Shane's forehead. "You did so well for me," he murmured softly, fingers tracing gentle circles on Shane's back. "Thank you for trusting me, Shane. I love you so much." Shane felt the words settle deep inside, soothing any remnants of anxiety. Ilya washed away the sweat and lingered, pausing now and then to press slow, reassuring kisses to Shane’s temple, his cheek, his shoulder.

After they were both clean and dried off, with their teeth brushed (Ilya had packed their bag for them, and Shane was thrilled to see he’d remembered their toothbrushes as well as Shane’s skin care), they climbed back into bed, which evidently someone had changed the sheets of while they were showering. Cliff Marleau, 5-star host.

“Do you do this for all the girls?” Shane asked once he and Ilya were under the covers, pressed against each other.

Ilya smiled in the dark room, and Shane could just make him out. “The sex, maybe, but this, no.  This is just for you,” Ilya said, placing a sweet kiss against his lips.

“Just for me,” Shane repeated, his eyes closing, his mind drifting as sleep overwhelmed him, and he could just make out, before sleep dragged him completely under, Ilya’s promise of, “Just for you, forever.”