Chapter 1: Teasing

September, 2010

“It’s a split practice, guys, it’s not the end of the world. Quit whining and get on the ice.” The Montreal Metros locker room was full of grumbles and empty threats to their team manager who decided it was best to inform them of the change of plans ten minutes before their morning practice. The rink had been double booked for the hours prior to their face-off against the Raiders that evening; a clerical error that meant both teams were up for the same time slot. Instead of splitting the ice down the middle and risking fights or interference before the game, their managers had agreed to split the time down the middle instead. Metros for the first two hours, Raiders for the last. Which meant little to the rest of the team, but everything to Shane Hollander. For the first time since he’d… been with Ilya Rozanov, he had a chance to see him face to face. Figure out what the hell had happened that night. Not that he would be looking for him. Imagine his surprise when the Russian beauty himself stepped onto the ancient freight elevator that Shane had been taking to the basement parking garage. Shane was sweating from the grueling two hours of practice, and wanted nothing more than to get his forgotten change of clothes out of his car and shower, but as soon as the doors opened, the exit was blocked by the broad form of his rival, headphones over his ears and duffel bag over his shoulder. When Rozanov glanced up, Shane could see the spark light in his eyes, the same one he’d seen in the hotel room as he’d pinned him to the wall. “Getting off?” the man asked in his thick accent. He winked before stepping onto the elevator and dropping his duffel to the floor. “Uh, no, going down…” Shane whispered, both jokes lost on him. Rozanov smiled and slipped his headphones to his neck before leaning over and smacking the button for the main floor. He leaned on the wall next to Shane, not quite crowding him, but not stepping back either. When the elevator doors shut and it began to jolt down to the lower parking level, Shane found he couldn’t meet Rozanov’s eyes. He had so much he wanted to say, but absolutely no way to say it. How do you tell your arch rival he’d given you one of the best orgasms of your life? “Hollander,” Rozanov whispered. Shane looked up to see him staring intently. “Hm?” Rozanov nodded his head to the side and Shane saw the open door of the elevator ready to let him out on his floor. So why wasn’t he moving? “Your floor, yes?” The man asked, cool as ever. Shane nodded, still staring out the open door. And then before he could work up the courage to move, he watched the doors creak shut and the box slowly ascend, leaving his car and clothes below him. “Missed it,” Rozanov stated the obvious, leaning ever closer to Shane. Just when he’d crowded close to his chest, close enough to kiss him if he chose, Rozanov reached over and flipped the worn emergency shutoff switch. The elevator braked hard in between floors, and Shane had to catch himself on tired legs. Rozanov hadn’t leaned back. He stood directly in front of Shane, crowding him back against the wall. Shane couldn’t speak. He gripped the bar running the perimeter of the small room and kept glancing from the thin gold chain peeking out of Rozanov’s tee shirt up to his lips. Why did he keep staring at his lips? “Mmm, Hollander, I think you didn’t leave on purpose,” the Russian whispered in his ear. He leaned in and carefully kissed the side of Shane’s neck, sending bolts of alarm mixed with want through his body. This was bad, it was too public, it was dangerous, they would get caught, and even as these thoughts raced through his head, they were drowned out by the overwhelming voice that begged Rozanov to touch him again. He leaned into the kiss, looping a hand around to the comb through the hair on the back of Rozanov’s head and pull. He felt the man moan against his skin, and just like that, he was back in that hotel room, heart racing, getting hard in his thin shorts. Rozanov pressed forward, bodily pinning him to the wall of the elevator and slipping his leg between Shane’s. “Fuck…” Shane whined at the contact, opening his legs further and feeling Rozanov’s own erection growing against his thigh. Combined with the heat of their touching chests, Shane could barely contain himself when the man in front of him grabbed him by the jaw and kissed him hard, getting his tongue in Shane’s mouth immediately. The sensation felt so wrong, the slide of their mouths, the friction of his hard cock dragging against Rozanov’s thigh. He felt like it was such a risk, like he shouldn’t enjoy it, and that only fueled his desire. He wanted to drop to his knees in this old-ass elevator and take Rozanov into his mouth like he had last time. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. A hand slipped down to Shane’s waist, then his hips, then the leg between his own was replaced with a groping, filthy feeling as Rozanov stroked him through the fabric. The alarm bells got louder, but so did the voice that screamed dontstopdontstopdontstoppleasedontstop. “No underwear, huh?” Rozanov rasped into Shane’s ear, biting his neck. “You were expecting me?” “N-no, I just-” but Shane couldn’t finish his sentence when the man in front of him slid up Shane’s shorts to take him into his hand. He gasped at the contact, his hot skin suddenly on fire, and his exhausted legs threatening to give out on him. “Roz, Jesus Christ-” “What’s wrong, Hollander?” he teased, giving him a slow, drawn out stroke. “You see anyone else here? Any teammates? Or just us?” “Rozanov, we can’t-” Shane was sweating all over again, resisting the urge to buck into his rival’s hand, but he kept just enough presence of mind to talk himself out of it. “Fuck, not here.” “Ah, shy,” he crooned, nuzzling into Shane’s neck. He took his hand away, and Shane had to force himself to keep quiet, to not moan with the loss. “What is your room number? I don’t like to leave job unfinished.” “Uh, 824,” Shane whispered quickly against his neck, reveling in the scent of body wash clinging to it. And then he remembered a pretty fucking crucial detail. “B-but we’re bunking up this week. I won’t be alone.” “Mmm, too bad,” he stepped back, still holding Shane by the waist. Not going anywhere. “I wanted to pin you down again like this. You make pretty noises.” “Fuck you,” Shane laughed, smacking his hand away. “You do,” Rozanov insisted, smiling his crooked smile. “Want to make you sound like that with my dick in your mouth. Feel you moan around it.” He grabbed himself rudely through his sweatpants, still half hard himself. “You fucking asshole,” Shane smiled helplessly and looked at the ceiling. “You’ll have to get by with someone else’s mouth.” “Mmm, don’t know if I can,” he teased, “I’ll keep thinking about you on your knees in this little box.” As Shane’s heart beat hard against the wall of his chest he watched Rozanov reach over and flip the emergency stop switch back up. The elevator lurched upward again, taking Shane further and further away from his car. He looked up to find the man leaning against the far wall, a respectable distance away, just in case. But that didn’t stop his eyes from crawling over Shane’s body. “You going to jerk off before game? “ he whispered across the space. “Going to think about me doing it?” Shane couldn’t make his mouth work. He couldn’t make himself say yes, I’m gonna think about how badly I wanted you to pin me to the wall and stroke me off until I came in my pants like a teenager. Instead he settled for grabbing his gym bag off the floor and holding it in front of his groin, protecting it at least a little bit from prying eyes. “Ah, yes, you are,” Rozanov answered for him. The elevator screeched to a halt on the first floor and the doors opened to a blessedly empty room just in time for the Russian to grab up his gear and step out. Just before he cleared the doors, he leaned over to Shane. “You taste good after practice,” he whispered, looking him in the eyes. “Fuck off,” Shane bit back, trying and failing to hide his smile. “Make me,” Rozanov said, plenty loud. “We’ll fuck all of you tonight. Hat trick.” “Bullshit!” Shane called as the doors shut after him. He sat there grinning like an idiot for several seconds before he had the presence of mind to press the button for his floor again. Ilya Rozanov had gotten under his skin before a game. And oh, he wanted it to happen again.

Chapter 2: Sexting

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes February 2012

Lily: going to make you beg for mercy tonight Jane: your lead defenseman is on IR. you guys arent winning this one Lily: not the game Lily: after Ilya delighted in sending those little messages to Hollander right before they were about to play. Seeing him still blushing when they stepped out onto the ice always got him hot and bothered. Made him play better. Made both of them play better, he thought. Jane: fuck you Lily: later ….. It had the desired effect. Despite the injured teammate, the Raiders had given the Metros a hell of a time, preventing all but one goal. One slammed into the net by Hollander just before the second period ended. Ilya himself had scored two, and assisted on a third, driving up their lead and winning the game. The look on Hollander’s face at the end of the third was to die for. Lily: start begging Lily: maybe refs will change mind Ilya could see it now; Shane Hollander’s little scrunched expression, the divot he got between his brows when he was well and truly pissed. Jane: no way. id rather lose than win when i didn’t deserve it Always so fucking noble Ilya thought to himself as he stripped and showered, packing up his gear. How long would he keep up this game? All night? Lily: then send me a picture of what a loser looks like He was met with radio silence while he left the rink and muddled around a mostly empty club with a few of his teammates, ignoring the passes some of the women there were making at him. Not that he didn’t want to go home with them. Just in case a certain Metros player wanted to leave his hotel room. After an hour of checking his phone and finding it empty, a message pinged onto his screen from Jane. Not a picture. But not a refusal. Jane: you have to promise youll delete it Jane: after Ilya’s heart started beating harder in his chest. Here was the Shane Hollander he’d met in that hotel room. Unsure. Lacking confidence. But so keyed up he was willing to try. To follow directions. Lily: cross my heart <3 He ducked into the bathroom, found the only stall with a door attached, and shut it quickly just as a notification appeared on the screen. Jane: -Attachment: 1 image- Ilya swiped open the dim screen to see a picture of Hollander’s chest laying in a hotel bed, still perfectly made. He had a towel around his waist, and his skin still shined with moisture after his post-game shower. His face wasn’t in it, but the angle was delicious, and gave Ilya hope of seeing something else. Something more. Jane: heres your loser, loser Lily: loser scored the only point for his team all night Lily: he can show off a little more Ilya was so curious if he could bait Hollander further. Coax him out of that shell and show him just how much fun sexting could be. As he watched the typing bubbles dance across the screen, his eyes kept drifting back to his first picture. The way the light hit his stomach, how his towel rode up his thighs. He felt himself getting hard just from the memory of squeezing those pecs. Jane: you first The screen flashed the message, and Ilya’s mouth twitched up in a surprised smile. Cheeky. He supposed it was only fair. In the bathroom stall at this club, Ilya raked up his shirt and undid his fly, shoving a hand down the front of his own pants. For a picture taken in a dark bathroom with the flash on, he thought it was some of his better work. It showed off his happy trail leading to the bulge in his underwear that he cupped easily. Give him a reminder of his favorite toy Ilya thought wickedly. Lily: -Attachment: 1 image- Lily: like view? He didn’t remove his hand from his pants as he waited for Hollander’s reply, massaging himself gently. Staring at the first picture and imagining being in that hotel room right now, laying into Hollander like he wanted to so badly. Before he knew what was happening, he was fully hard, stroking himself lazily through his underwear. From just a picture? his inner voice teased. He’s got you this bothered from a picture of his chest? Jane: you look pretty Ilya chuckled at the reply. Classic Hollander to flirt like he was at a church wedding. Lily: you still suck at sexting Lily: show me He waited with bated breath for more, and when he felt his phone buzz, his heart gave a little jump. Jane: -Attachment: 1 image- Jane: hows this? Ilya began stroking himself faster, leaning his head back against the wall. The picture was the same angle, only this time the towel was cast to the sides and he could see Hollander cupping himself. The sparse hair on his pelvis trailed down underneath his hand suggestively, and it was only when Ilya clicked on the picture and zoomed in did he realize that the tip of his cock was poking out from between his fingers, pink and beading with precum. “Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya whispered to no one over the bass of the music. He pulled at himself faster for a moment before slowing, trying not to get ahead of himself. He could get one more picture out of him before the night was over. Lily: fucking perfect Lily: you look so pretty like that And then came through a text Ilya hadn't been expecting. Jane: i want to see you again Jane: show me please Shane Hollander, hockey’s golden boy, was begging him for dick pics. If he hadn't been so focused, Ilya would have laughed. He pulled himself free of his boxers, shoving everything low on his hips and holding his tee shirt up with his teeth. He stroked his already rigid cock twice and held it as he took another picture, this one showcasing exactly how hot and bothered he was. Fucking very, Ilya thought absentmindedly. Lily:- Attachment: 1 image- Lily: since you ask nicely Lily: he wants your mouth but he will settle for seeing you touch yourself He wanted so badly to see Hollander hard on camera. Wanted to see him getting himself off just like Ilya was. He had to slow his roll just so he didn’t finish before he got his last picture, and as he coasted along the edge, staring at that little drop of precum in the pixels on his screen, his reward came through. Jane: -Attachment: 1 image- Jane: is this good Ilya smiled at the comment as the picture loaded in, but it fell into slackjawed shock when the image resolved. He was looking at Hollander’s torso again, but this time he’d propped the phone up somewhere and shifted on the bed. Now he rested on his knees with his legs spread wide and a hand behind him for balance as he fisted his cock hard and fast enough to put a blur in the photo. Ilya could see a splotchy blush spreading out across his chest, and a sheen on his skin; whether it was shower water or sweat he had no idea. Either way, it took him entirely by surprise. “Oh, my God, Hollander,” Ilya choked out. His hand moved without him thinking as his brain thrust an image of his rival in this same position on top of him, riding his dick like his life depended on it. It was that final thought, of having the great Shane Hollander moaning and blushing in his lap that finally sent him over the edge. He dropped his phone to the ground just before his orgasm hit him, barely in time to grab a handful of toilet paper and catch most of his spend. Most. As it rocked through him, wave after wave set to the sweet pace of Shane Hollander fucking himself in his head, he was vaguely conscious of some of his cum hitting the ground in front of him. He leaned his head back against the wall as he was coming down, and breathed heavily, sweat dampening his thin shirt. If that’s the worst thing on this floor at the end of the night, they got off lucky, he thought idly. He cleaned himself up and tucked himself away, and after his conscience got the better of him, he wiped up his mess from the floor, flushing down all evidence of his misdeeds. Shane Hollander, you’ve got me masturbating in public bathrooms, he thought as he finally picked up his phone. “Fuck,” he hissed as he realized the screen had cracked right across the center in an ugly spiderweb. There were glass etchings all across Hollander’s torso and thighs, but it didn’t diminish the image. Nothing could. Lily: is good Lily: best i have seen Lily: i just came in bathroom at club you are so beautiful Ilya felt a little strange telling him that, but in the interest of honesty, he thought it would only add to the experience. He was rewarded quickly though, as he left the bathroom and his phone pinged again. This time with something he hadn’t even asked for. Jane: -Attachment: 1 image- Jane: me too He ducked back toward the fire exit with fewer people and opened his phone to an image that was difficult to suss out through the new cracks, but incredible nonetheless. Hollander was laying on his back and had several delicate strings of cum showered over his stomach, nearly up to his chest. The blush was even more intense below his collarbones now, and if pictures had sound, Ilya would guess that he was panting as he came down from his orgasm. “Oh my God,” he muttered, feeling himself getting aroused again. He wouldn’t jerk off, but the idea that this man could send him a photo on a cracked phone in a dark nightclub and get him hard twice in twenty minutes sent a tingle up his spine. This was intoxicating. Lily: you did so well Lily: so pretty with it on you like that Lily: hard to believe is your first time sexting Jane: i think i get the appeal Ilya chuckled at that, his heart giving a little lurch before he remembered his promise. He backtracked through their texts and deleted each photo from the thread, taking a moment to appreciate each one a final time. He lingered for an extra second on the last one of Hollander laid back in bed, probably panting and shivering, thinking about how he’d need to take another shower, before he finally cleared it. Lily: pics gone Lily: same time next week? Jane: fuck you Jane: maybe

Chapter End Notes

As someone who blushes during sex I'm adopting Shane Hollander as one of us.

Chapter 3: Disrespecting

Chapter Notes

The couch scene from the episode 4 montage! November 2014

Lily: 3434 St. Michel. Suite 1 Jane: what is that Lily: hotel was crowded. i got condo for tonight Lily: door code is 2600 Lily: be there Shane stared in awe at the messages flitting across his screen. He was half in his pads as he texted, his teammates shouting and passing towels and water bottles around him. Surely the Raiders were in the same position on the other side of the building, and here Rozanov was, sending him an address and demanding he show up. He wouldn’t. Not after Vegas. It wouldn’t be good for him. He slapped his phone down on the high shelf above his cubby and set to getting his head game ready. Hot Russians could wait. Only they couldn’t wait. The moment they were centering on the ice, Rozanov caught his eye, deep and mischievous with the way he looked at Shane under the visor of his helmet. “2600,” he muttered, and Shane’s grip nearly slid on the ice. “Asshole,” he chirped back. “You like it,” Rozanov bit, and before either could say another word, the ref dropped the puck in center ice and the game was on. ….. When the final buzzer sounded and the Metros gathered together at their goal to celebrate, Shane felt on top of the world. A three two victory ought to show Rozanov how little he cared to be treated like some booty call. Just another name on his roster to use and then kick out. He’d take up J.J. and Hayden’s offer; he’d go out to the bars with them to celebrate, and then he’d find some beautiful woman to take back to his apartment and lay. Easy. It was only when the cab dropped him off four blocks from the condo did Shane realize what the hell he was doing. Bragging, of course. He’d go to the condo and brag about the goals he’d scored with Rozanov trying like hell to intercept. He’d say fuck you, I won and leave. And nothing else. “Suite 1, 2600,” he whispered to himself as he found the address in the long, empty corridor. He punched in the digits on the keypad and waited for the lock to retract, the door opening onto a dark room. He stepped inside quickly, looking around for a light switch, or even better, a Raiders Assistant Captain to piss off. He found the light switch first and padded around the chicly decorated rental, but he was alone here. Waiting. Jane: where are you? The moment after he hit send, he heard a notification sound on the other side of the front door. Shit. The number pad beeped twice and he heard the latch click just in time to see Rozanov duck in, checking his phone. He looked up from it to Shane standing awkwardly in the center of the room, and the desire to bad mouth his rival left with the rest of his willpower. “You waiting for me long?” he asked in a teasing cadence. He held up his phone with Shane’s text flashing across it. “Thought it was good manners to be at the home when guests arrived,” Shane threw back, feeling it fall short. He had no natural talent for shit-talking. “I had to make a stop,” Rozanov said, stripping his jacket and throwing a bag from a drugstore onto the coffee table. A pack of cigarettes still in their cellophane and a brand new lighter skittered out onto the glasstop, but the rest of the contents remained a mystery. Shane watched him throw his jacket down onto a chair and stuff his hands deep in his pockets. “So?” “So what?” “You come to show off, talk about your victory, brag, right?” Rozanov drawled. His eyes raked up and down Shane’s body in a way that sent waves of heat over his skin. He was wearing far too many clothes for this. “Y-yeah, I did,” Shane said meekly. “We beat your guys’ asses in a clean game; I say that’s worth bragging about.” “Mmm, three to two is close though,” Rozanov claimed. “Last shootout wasn’t fair. We had a man hurt.” He walked around the side of the couch and stood close to Shane, not touching, but not distant. “Bullshit, Marlow was barely limping. I’d say he’s fine by morning.” “Ah, he could lose the leg,” he lamented fakely, tweaking a button on Shane’s shirt. “So, Shane Hollander… I won last time and I told you what to do.” Shane’s memories of Vegas returned, when Rozanov had won MVP and asked him to show off. Asked him to touch himself. Had fucked him halfway to heaven and then kicked him out. “This time, you are the winner. You get to tell me what to do.” Shane was taken aback. No one had ever outright offered him control. Sure, some girls he’d tried hooking up with had wanted him in control, but he’d never been… excited about it. That was part of the joy of this whole mess. He was allowed to let go of all his responsibilities when he was with Rozanov. He barely knew where to start, but when he looked up and met the man’s eyes, he knew that he was being offered only slack in the leash. He still held the reins. “Kiss me,” Shane experimented. It wasn't much of an ask, but it was the only thing he could think of. The only thing he really wanted badly. He held eye contact with Rozanov as he pulled him in by the button he'd been tugging on. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shane worried about him ripping it off, but his dick spoke up and drowned out his concerns. Rozanov dropped the button and took Shane by the back of the neck, cradling his head and tracking his face down from his eyes across his nose to his lips before pressing his mouth over Shane’s in a remarkably chaste gesture. He pulled back and looked again into Shane’s eyes. What next? they said. I want to make you feel good. Tell me how. “A-again,” Shane pleaded. “Kiss me again. Harder.” His voice sounded pathetic to his own ears, but the way Rozanov went after him, it may as well have been gospel. The man took his face in both his hands and brought him into a deep kiss, dragging his tongue across the seam of Shane’s lips. The reserve and care of his first gentle kiss now felt like an apology. Like he was saying sorry for last time. And now he was saying let me make it all better. Rozanov lingered this time, teasing and biting at Shane’s lips. Hungry. He wanted more, and Shane was only too happy to give it, but that wasn't the game. He had to ask. “Next?” Rozanov whispered, a hand already reaching to Shane’s buttons on his shirt. Shane’s own hands were busy whipping the Boston Raiders tee off his lover’s broad shoulders, feeling him up over his neck and broad back muscles. His mind was a blur of images, things he wanted to happen, but he had to focus to put the words in the right order. “Uh, couch, get on the couch,” he rushed, unbuckling Rozanov’s jeans just before he dropped to the leather sofa, the waistband of his underwear peeking out and the outline of his hardening cock pressing through the open zipper. Shane dragged off his shirt and undershirt before sitting down and straddling Rozanov, but as soon as he rested his weight on his lap, something was amiss. Rozanov was holding his left leg up high on the ball of his foot, and he hissed when Shane rested on him. “Are you okay?” Shane asked with a tinge of worry. “Fine,” Rozanov whispered, trying to pull him back down into a kiss, but Shane sat up higher. “You’re hurt, aren't you?” “Is nothing. I took a stick blade to the back of my leg during game. Is nothing,” Rozanov insisted as he grabbed Shane’s belt and tried to pull him back down. But Shane pushed off and landed next to him on the couch, leaving his lap empty. “Did you get checked out by sports med before you left the rink?” Shane accused, jutting his chin toward the offending leg. “You go to sports med every time you get a skinned knee, huh?” Rozanov threw back, standing and dropping his pants and briefs before kicking out of his socks. “Is that how they do it on the Metros?” If he was honest, he would admit that the dig had hurt him a lot. It was probably going to leave a significant bruise and affect his training the next week or so, but he wasn't about to let that stop him from his pleasure. He climbed back on the couch between Shane's legs and began unbuckling his lover’s belt, eager to get them both on even ground. “Want these off?” “Off, yeah,” Shane faltered, shimmying out of his clothes until they were both naked on the rented leather sofa, the lights low around them. And Shane could see in Rozanov’s eyes that it was taking every ounce of restraint not to whisk him off to the bedroom and do whatever he pleased. “Okay, winner,” Rozanov whispered, the W coming out as a V in his heady accent. “What next?” Shane could hardly think with this man in between his legs, rubbing his palms anxiously over the sensitive spots of Shane’s thighs and sending heat to the pit of his stomach. His cock already stood at full attention, desperate for touch, for movement, but that wasn't what Shane’s mind wanted, not when he'd been given the choice. He didn't want suck my dick, Rozanov, he didn't want worship my body, Rozanov, he didn't even want cover every inch of me with kisses and hold me like I mean something to you besides the sex. That last one scared him enough to never ask for it. No, the words rattling around in Shane's head were ones he couldn't remember ever speaking out loud. Not even in his most private fantasies. “Hollander?” Rozanov tapped the inside of his knee with two fingers, bringing him back to the present. He locked eyes and felt the heat of the situation settle back over him. “Okay?” his lover asked, concerned. Shane nodded quickly, and steeled his resolve. Rozanov said to ask for what he wanted, right? And this is what he wanted. “I want you to-” Shane began, but lost his confidence for just a second. When he looked back up into the deep blue eyes of the man sitting above him on the couch, it all came rushing back in. He wanted this too. “I want you to treat me like… like a slut.” Rozanov’s eyes blew wide with surprise and excitement as he processed the request. “A slut? Shane Hollander, the slut?” “Yes, please,” Shane whined, letting his eyes shine so Rozanov knew just how badly he wanted this. “Like one of your back home hookups. Treat me like a girl you’d pick up in a bar in Moscow… Disrespect me.” Rozanov’s face lit up with possibilities. “You sure, Hollander? Won't be too much?” “Uh-uh. If it is…” Shane tapped his chest rapidly, as if in a fight at center ice. “Oh, God, you're going to be sore,” Rozanov drawled, leaning forward and pinning Shane to the couch with his broad form. He hoped it was a promise as the Russian kissed his neck, biting hard and sucking a bruise into it. Shane moaned into his shoulder, gasping air into his lungs at the sudden change of pace. Rozanov’s hand was shoved between the two of them, rubbing the underside of Shane’s cock roughly before traveling down over his sensitive balls and pressing a fingertip over his hole. Not pushing in, just teasing. “Fuck, Rozy, what-” but Shane didn't get much further before Rozanov’s hand clamped down over his mouth, shutting him right up. “Ah-ah, shhh,” he drawled before whispering something in Russian. Shane could only pick out a couple of the swear words, but the effect wasn’t lost on him. He was getting exactly what he asked for. “Still for me, da,” the man whispered, twisting Shane’s head to the side to leave a heavy mark on his collarbone. Shane whined under his hand at the harsh contact, never feeling pain like this during sex, but it only served to excite him. He began moving his hips up and down, desperate for any contact. “Ah, he wants it, huh?” Rozanov teased, pressing against Shane’s entrance again and making him jump. He removed his hand from Shane’s mouth and leaned up from kneeling before swiping the drugstore bag off the table and pulling out the rest of its contents: a pack of condoms and a small bottle of lubricant. Shane’s eyes went wide with realization. “S-shouldn’t we-” “Tsk,” Rozanov clicked, quieting him down as he opened the lube and spread it on his fingers. “If I want you on this couch, I will have you on this couch, Hollander. Fuck the bed. I want you here.” Shane had a protest, something about hygiene and being a courteous guest, but they were drowned out when Rozanov pressed a slick finger into him. He cried out hard at the sudden contact, his body easing itself forward of its own accord. Rozanov grabbed him by the jaw as he slid in a second digit, making Shane look him in the eye. Shane held his gaze for only a moment before Rozanov dragged the tips of his fingers over his prostate, unable to keep from arching and striving for more contact. “Jesus, fucking christ,” Shane muttered in a rush, his breathing coming hot and heavy. He held onto the side of the couch behind him with one hand and his lover’s arm with the other as he tried desperately to gain more movement and open himself up. He needed Rozanov inside him fucking now. “Rozanov, please, please…” he pleaded mindlessly. The game, the playoffs, his own self respect, everything had left his mind except for the need for release. “I-I need-” “Shh, shh…” the man above soothed, withdrawing his hand and saying something in Russian. “You look so good when you beg, Hollander. Look so fucking good.” On the last word, Shane felt his legs get yanked forward and spun with his knees facing the coffee table. The rest of his body went with it, and before he knew what was happening, he’d been flipped over onto his stomach. He just barely got his knees underneath him when he heard the tear of a condom wrapper and felt Rozanov grab him up by his hips. “Need it?” he teased, rubbing his hard cock against Shane’s ass in a way that was downright obscene. The contact electrified him and had him pressing back onto nothing. “Y-yes, need it, Rozy, fuck, please,” Shane devolved into a spiral of words and noises all begging Rozanov to fuck him. When he felt the tip of his lover’s dick against his entrance, it took everything in him to hold still. “Take it, Hollander,” he whispered, pressing into the man underneath him. Shane cried out on his hands and knees at the intense feeling of being full,of having Rozanov inside of him. He moved back slowly, fucking himself in earnest until his was practically in the other man’s lap. “God, Roz, you feel so fucking good,” he babbled as he got used to the sensation, the stretch of him. The air was forced from his lungs every time he bottomed out, the slow pace torturous. “Mm, you feel good too,” Rozanov crooned breathily, massaging his lover’s hips. “So soft, so easy…But then… you did not come here to feel soft, did you? No, Hollander, you came to feel like a slut.” Shane felt a hand slide up his spine and grab him by the short hair on the back of his neck. “Roza-” he started, but didn’t finish as his rival took him forward off his arms and shoved his head into the couch beneath them. The angle forced his back into a tight arch that allowed Rozanov to drive in even further as he set the harshest pace Shane had ever taken. He couldn’t even form words. The sensation of being fucked from behind in this position had his muscles screaming and his mind singing. Every stroke hit his prostate deliciously; he heard himself groaning in time against the leather of the sofa as his mind spun. Someone would hear, wouldn’t they? But he couldn’t be bothered to care. All the worrisome thoughts and doubts were pushed out of Shane’s mind and replaced with a chant of more harder please more. “Ah, you look so pretty bent over like this,” Rozanov growled in his ear, leaning forward across his back. “Gets me deeper inside, lets me use you.” Use me please use me Shane’s thoughts urged, until before he knew it they were spilling out of his mouth. “Use me, Rozy, f-fuck, use me please-” “Good, Hollander, beg for it like the slut you are,” he demanded as he kept Shane in the harshest press of his life. Shane couldn’t move, could barely breathe. He was out of control as this man took his own pleasure with Shane’s body. It felt so, so… good. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…” he panted into the leather, high off the sensations overtaking him. His neglected cock was pinned rock hard to the couch as he approached orgasm rapidly, untouched, but at this point it didn’t matter. Shane was only trying not to cry, and not doing a very good job at that either. He lost his words again as Rozanov picked up speed, moaning into the hollow between Shane’s shoulderblades. Fuck, he couldn’t take much more of this. Rozanov was gonna snap him in half if he kept up this pace, and Shane would have to thank him for it. His muscles began to tense up one by one and his breathing came shallower and shallower as he careened toward the edge. “Rozy, fuck-I-” he tried to say something, tell the man driving into him that he was about to come, but he couldn’t make sense of anything beyond the deep ache in the pit of his stomach begging for release. “Come for me, Hollander,” Rozanov panted in his ear. Shane could practically hear the smile on his face. “Come for me; I want to feel it.” That sent Shane over the edge faster than anything else he’d done tonight. He nearly screamed as his orgasm hit him, coming hard and messy in the space between the couch and his stomach, feeling himself pulse around the man inside him. He shook as goosebumps crawled over his skin and Rozanov continued his breakneck pace behind him, fucking him through it. He thought he may pass out. His vision went dark around the edges for just a moment before his lover pulled him close with a harsh groan and held him there as he finished inside him. Shane was barely aware of it, coming back around from the blood rushing through his body, and it was only when he felt Rozanov take his hand off his head that he could shove his arms back underneath him and get his bearings. “Holy fucking shit, Rozanov,” he whispered reverently as his lover eased out of him and stood off the couch. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he finally took in a lungful of air. “Okay?” Rozanov asked, rolling the condom off and cleaning himself lazily with his underwear. Shane looked back at the panting, sweating man before him and had a flashback to the gym all those years ago. He couldn’t help but smile. “You treat all your Moscow girls like that?” he teased, groaning as he stretched to lay on his stomach. The feeling of his own semen sticking to his skin and the leather sofa reviled him, but he was still coming down off the high of his orgasm and wouldn’t care for another thirty seconds or so. “Some of them, yes,” Rozanov smiled. “Others like a softer touch. A few of them want more,” he said, and smacked Shane’s ass playfully. “We’ll get there, though.” “Sure we will.” He smiled into the cushions as his body came back to him and all the will to move left. “Next time you can call me Jane while you do it.” Rozanov laughed breathlessly at that. “You liked it? Being a slut?” God, yes Shane’s mind screamed. For the minutes that he’d been pinned down, helpless and crying, he’d felt truly free of all his obligations. He wasn’t Shane Hollander, the hockey star, or Shane Hollander the brand ambassador. He didn’t have to be perfect. He just had to lay down and ride it out. “Mmhmm,” he moaned, finally rising on shaking legs. Rozanov saw him falter and caught his hand, helping him to standing. “Fuck, I’m gonna be so sore for practice tomorrow. I dunno what I’m gonna tell the guys.” “Won’t have to tell them anything,” he chirped, thumbing the hickeys on Shane’s neck. “They will think you took some nice girl home and… Just don’t let them see the one on the back of your neck.” “Is there one on the back of my neck?” Shane panicked, slapping a hand over his nape worriedly. “No, Hollander, only kidding,” Rozanov laughed. “Go shower. I will clean.” Shane found the bathroom and rinsed away all the evidence of their evening minus the bruises and sore muscles, and when he came to the living room fully dressed, he found the balcony door open and Rozanov smoking against the railing. He looked beautiful in that haze of smoke and the cold Montreal air. Sexy, Shane corrected in his head. Sexy, or hot. Intimidating. Not beautiful. “See you in two weeks,” he called through the open door, not getting too close. “See you then, slut,” Rozanov called back, a smile in his voice. “Fuck you,” Shane answered as he left through the front door. He took a moment in the hallway to breathe the cold air and process just what had happened. He was sore and tired after a full day of hockey and then… whatever that had been. Bragging. He’d been over there to brag. It had gone so well.

Chapter 4: Relaxing

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes March, 2017

“Come over.” “I can’t. I have a practice to run.” “Me too. Come over after practice.” “You’re incorrigible.” Ilya smirked at his phone, knowing the man on the other line couldn’t see it. Incorrigible was new. He had an idea of what it meant, but he’d have to look it up to be sure. “We have hours before the game. I want to make you lunch.” “Another tuna melt?” “What, you didn’t like last one?” Ever since the All Stars game, Ilya wasn’t quite sure how to talk to Shane any more. Because now he was Shane. Not Hollander any more, but Shane, the guy he was sort-of kind-of seeing, that also happened to still be his sort-of kind-of rival. The man who’d climbed into his lap and held him as he processed his father’s failing health and admitted his mother’s death. Things weren’t casual between them any more. And it scared him, but not enough to avoid seeing Shane. Shane. It still sounded so shiny and new in his head. “I did like the last one,” the man chuckled on the other side of the phone. “I’ll come over, but only for a little bit. We have to be back at five.” “Mmm, five thirty,” Ilya reasoned. “What, they are going to start without their captains?” “Maybe. Especially if we show up at the same time.” “You worry. See you after practice.” “See you.” ….. Ilya paced nervously around his house as he waited for Shane to arrive, mindlessly rearranging items on his countertop, making and remaking his bed. He changed into and out of the same joggers twice before finally double knotting the drawstring to prevent any more fidgeting. Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t like Shane hadn’t been here before. Was it that it had ended so badly last time? That he didn’t know exactly where they stood? But surely he did. Shane was in the same field as Svetlana; a friend who he confided in and occasionally fucked. Nothing more. Right? His worries crowded to the back of his mind the moment the doorbell rang and he forced himself to look casual as he opened it. When the door swung inward, he couldn’t help but smile and stare at the man in front of him. “I was worried you’d change your mind,” Shane admitted with an awkward smile. “You didn’t change your mind, did you?” Thank God, Ilya thought, he’s just as nervous as I am. Before Shane could say another word, Ilya beckoned him inside and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. Shane’s arms hung at his sides for a moment before coming up and reciprocating just as tightly, squeezing him slightly breathless. Oh God, it felt good. “Thank you for the All Star game,” Ilya whispered into the crook of his shoulder. “I never said thank you, so I say it now.” “Don’t worry about it,” Shane whispered back, kissing his neck gently. Ilya leaned into the contact, relishing in how it felt to be touched like this. “I’m just glad I got to talk to you. Figure some of this out.” “Figure it out,” Ilya repeated in a daze. In all these years, Hollander still used the same body wash. The scent was like a bell in Ilya’s mind telling him that he was with someone safe. Someone that… No, he wouldn’t think like that right now. He wanted something else today. He kissed Shane’s neck gently, slowly, reveling in the vibrations he felt in his lover’s skin when he moaned at his touch. “Do you want lunch before or after?” “Mmm, after…” Shane mumbled, his head slack on Ilya’s shoulder. “Want you now.” When he looked up into Ilya’s eyes, he had that expression that had driven him crazy for years now. The one that said I want to be led. Whatever you say, gorgeous. It was his favorite Shane Hollander expression. “Did morning practice wear you out?” Ilya baited. “Need someone to take care of you before the game tonight?” Shane nodded lazily, his eyes slipping down to rest on Ilya’s chin. “Yeah, I…” but he couldn’t be bothered to finish his thought. When his gaze drifted back up, he had the look of a man who needed to be broken down and built back up again. “Please, Ilya.” When his name passed Shane’s lips, there was no helping it. He needed to give this man an orgasm or four now, regardless of the game tonight. He dropped his arms below Shane’s ass and hoisted him up to carry to the bedroom. “Say it again,” Ilya whispered, nipping at his jaw. “Please, Ilya,” Shane breathed, quiet as anything. “Please, I need you, baby.” Ilya laid him down on the bed he’d remade over and over again, finally finding it complete with Shane in it. He sat up on his elbows, still looking at him with those desperate fuck me eyes, and began to run a hand over the bedspread nervously. None of that, Ilya thought. I’m gonna fuck the nervous right out of you, Shane Hollander. “Come here, sit up,” Ilya said, getting a knee on the bed next to him. Shane lifted his arms enough for Ilya to slip him out of his shirt before climbing on top of him. It was a rare sight for Ilya to be resting on top of his lover so easily, feeling his growing erection on his ass. He leaned down and kissed Shane without force, taking his time and lavishing him in attention. “I want to make a mess of you before game tonight, yeah?” Shane nodded emphatically, a little moan escaping from the back of his throat. He thrust his hips up involuntarily, seeking friction that Ilya was only too happy to give, grinding back down on him through their sweats. He slid down the bed back to standing before he got too distracted. He was already hard, but ignored it and instead focused on getting Shane’s pants off. He shimmied them off with his socks and underwear until Shane was laying on the duvet stark naked, chest rising and falling and his cock half-hard against his thigh. As Ilya stood at the end of the bed, his eyes raked over Shane hungrily. He wanted to put him on his hands and knees, take him from behind quick and dirty, but that wasn’t what this was about. This was about making him feel good. “You gonna get undressed?” Shane asked aloud, bringing Ilya back away from his fantasies. He pulled absently at a loose thread near his nude hip. Fidgeting. “Not yet,” Ilya said slowly. “I want to focus on you first.” “Focus on me?” Shane repeated. “You gonna focus on me?” “Mmhmm,” Ilya nodded, climbing up in between Shane’s legs and planting kisses all over the tops. “Want you to come before me. Want to make you feel good.” He sounded cock- drunk even to his own ears, but he didn't care. All he cared about was the pleasure of the man underneath him. “H-how?” Shane asked, playing the game. His eyes had that haze that Ilya loved; when he properly slipped into his role of submission. Of taking off his burdens and the pressure of being a star, and just melted into the bed. “Mmm, is surprise,” he muttered in response, his mouth hovering near Shane’s stiffening cock. He looked up at his doe eyed lover, lips parted as he watched. Ilya went slow as he could stand as he eased the tip into his mouth, relishing the taste of Shane’s skin. “Huh, if this is the surprise, I feel pretty fucking good,” Shane murmured as Ilya began to stroke him gently with his tongue. He was doing something he normally only did to girls, just focusing on the part with all the exciting nerve endings. He licked and sucked at it until Shane was fully hard and letting out soft little breaths in the quiet room. “I-I didn't know you could be so gentle, Ilya,” Shane teased uncertainly. “When I want to be, yes,” Ilya confirmed, taking his mouth away and stroking slowly with his hand. “Move up; lean against the wall. I want to try something.” Shane followed his directions and shuffled backward, pinning his back to the headboard and letting his legs fall open. There was no shame or discomfort in his posture, only lust. Which is exactly how Ilya wanted him. Ilya kept an eye on him as he reached into the nightstand drawer and fished out a bottle of lube, tossing it next to him as he crawled back to Shane. “You gonna fuck me before the game?” he asked hopefully. “Mmm, no,” Ilya answered, taking Shane’s legs in his hands and scooting him forward so his ass was nearly in his lap. “You can barely walk after, probably would not skate too good.” “Fuck you,” Shane grinned. “What’re you planning on doing, then?” Ilya didn’t answer him. He simply held his lover’s gaze as he slicked his two middle fingers with the lubricant and pressed one against Shane’s entrance. He gasped at the contact, but didn’t shy away. If anything, he relaxed further and tried to penetrate himself on the digit. Ilya beat him to it and eased the tip in, living for the way Shane’s eyelids fluttered with something inside him. “Y-you sure you aren’t gonna fuck me?” Shane asked pathetically, shifting and stretching in his limited space. Kneeling between his open legs, Ilya didn’t give him much room to move. Nor did he want to. He had Shane right where he wanted as he began to move his finger in earnest, opening up his lover. “I’m sure,” he whispered in Shane’s ear, leaning forward and giving him a tender kiss. As he felt Shane flit his tongue out for something deeper, Ilya withdrew and pressed in both fingers. “Aahhnnh,” Shane moaned helplessly against his mouth. “Fuck, baby, if you aren’t planning on fucking me, you’re sure burying the lead.” “Do you want me to stop?” Ilya teased quietly, rocking his fingers further inside. They were buried as deep as he could get them, and he had to resist the urge to crook them forward fast and hard. Not yet, he thought to himself. “N-no,” Shane mumbled, his eyes slipping shut. His head lolled back as he grabbed the headboard behind him, more for balance than anything. “Good,” Ilya cooed. With his hand as still as he could make it, he slid down the bed until he was on his stomach with his head resting again between Shane’s thighs. When he’d settled himself, Shane looked down with those beautiful eyes, and the realization that crossed them sent a bolt up Ilya’s spine. “Oh.” Color spread across Shane’s cheeks as he began to say something else, but as soon as Ilya’s tongue laved the underside of his cock, the words died in his mouth. He devolved into a series of pretty moans that made Ilya’s own erection beg for some attention, but again he refused it. He didn't want to focus on anything else other than what was in front of him. He teased the head of Shane’s stiffened cock for a torturously long time, leaving his fingers inside, but barely moving them. Shane had one hand behind him and the other tangled in his lover’s hair, more centering himself than controlling, and Ilya could feel his desperation for more in the way he grabbed and tugged at him, like he was restless. It was only when Shane’s hand finally relaxed that he got his reward. Ilya brought the tips of his fingers forward, pressing gently on the spot inside him that made Shane whine in a high tone. “Fuck, Ilya,” he cried, his legs tensing at the new sensation. Ilya looked up at him with innocence, his mouth still wrapped and teasing around Shane’s tip. He loved to drag it out like this. Remind himself that sex could be about knowing someone on a deeper level, about having an experience beyond getting his rocks off. God, this whole thing was turning him into such a romantic. Shane was panting now, his hand grasping and tensing on Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya was setting a painfully slow rhythm inside him, stroking over his prostate in time with the pressure of licking the sensitive underside of Shane’s dick. The combination did something to his head, setting him at ease at the same time he was taking Shane apart. “I-Ilya, please,” Shane groaned above him. He had that beautiful flush across his chest that set Ilya’s heart racing. “I n-need it. I can’t-” Ilya shut him up with a deep hum that sent Shane reeling. He felt goosebumps break out on his lover’s thighs as they shuddered helplessly, and the voice that usually controlled in these moments nearly took over. Take him how you like, he’d thank you for it, it whispered. He wanted to, badly, but not as much as he wanted to see Shane a messy puddle on his bedsheets. He sat up, lifting his mouth away from Shane and drawing a needy whine out of him. “What you need?” he asked heavily. “You need to come? From this?” He pressed his fingertips to Shane’s g-spot and held it, reveling in the way Shane twitched around him. “Y-yes, fuck, please,” he begged, his eyes screwed shut. He’d broken out into a sweat that left a sheen across his collarbones and neck. “M’not gonna last-” “Oh, really?” Ilya teased. “I need to slow down then.” He relaxed his fingers and moved with Shane when he tried to chase the sensation, not letting him feel it. “Ilya…?” “Were you close?” “Ilya…” “Shane?” Shane finally opened his eyes, his breathing slowing. “Yes,” he said helplessly. He stared at the man in front of him, the man holding his release just out of his grasp. Ilya relished the feeling. “Good,” Ilya whispered. “Again.” Shane began to speak, but Ilya laid into him with both fingers, curving to hit his prostate over and over and over again in a way that made Shane look like he was about to cry. The way he was shaking, he may as well have been. “Tell me when you’re close,” Ilya dutifully instructed above him. “If you come and you don’t tell me, I will score three extra points tonight.” “Fuck you,” Shane breathed, devolving into a deep groan of pleasure. Ilya could feel him beginning to pick up speed, could feel his rapid heartbeat against his fingertips, but he needed to hear it from Shane. “C-close,” Shane muttered after almost no time at all. Ilya slowed his roll until he was barely moving, and for a half second, Shane’s body clenched around him in a way that made him think he’d already gone over the edge. But as Shane’s cock twitched against his chest, his orgasm stayed unattained. He breathed slow, trying to steady himself, trying to talk his body down from the high it was riding. Any sudden moves, and who knows what might happen? “You’re pretty when you’re like this,” Ilya whispered, sitting on his knees between Shane’s legs. “You have the little crease between your eyebrows like when you’re thinking hard. Or mad at me.” “I’m mad at you now,” Shane bluffed, but Ilya didn’t take the bait. “Mmm, no you’re not. You’re mad you have not come yet. You’re mad I am making you wait. But you wanted to relax, right? You’re not relaxed?” Shane’s face read as half-hearted anger, but the rest of him was pure leisure. His legs had turned to jelly, his arms were barely hanging onto the headboard, and the blush on his chest and across his cheeks had deepened to a crimson shade that mimicked a sunburn. He looked fucking spectacular. “I’m relaxed,” Shane murmured, his eyes heavy with desire. “Good,” Ilya praised. He reached up his hand and slipped the thumb over Shane’s lips, rubbing away the sheen there. Shane’s mouth dropped open of its own accord and Ilya was only too happy to press his thumbprint onto his lover’s waiting tongue. Shane closed his lips around the digit, letting himself be guided by the jaw as Ilya spoke. “Here’s what will happen, Hollander,” he said in a gently authoritative tone. The sound of his voice made Shane look up from his task and into his eyes. “You must relax. I will let you come.” Shane moaned around the digit in his mouth, relieved at the promise of salvation. “I will make you feel good, and then, when you are finished, I will clean you. And after I clean you, we will lie in this bed together, and we will sleep. When we wake, I will make us food, and then we will go to arena, and we will play the best hockey we have ever played.” Shane’s eyes shone with lust, comfort, and something else he couldn’t quite place. Love said a quiet voice from the back of his mind, but he shut it up quickly. Focus, Rozanov, he told himself. Don’t get lost in the weeds before a game. “You like this plan?” Shane nodded, still sucking the thumb in his mouth with astute attention. “Good,” Ilya praised, drawing his hand away from Shane's mouth and jaw and licking up the string of saliva that connected them. He held his hand out in front of Shane, just the same way they had on the couch all those months ago before everything got fucked, and then unfucked. “Spit.” Shane looked him in the eyes as he cleared his mouth of saliva and hawked it sloppily into Ilya’s waiting palm. It thrilled Ilya to watch Shane do anything sloppy, or uncareful, or anything not to the millimeter. It meant he was well and truly gone. Ilya slicked his palm with it and grabbed Shane’s neglected cock roughly, finally letting himself go as far as he wanted. Shane groaned at the contact, unable to help himself, especially when Ilya began to rhythmically stroke him. “Ilya-” he whined quietly as he tried and failed to thrust up into his hand. “Shh, I know,” his lover soothed. “I’ve got you.” Ilya finally gave him what he needed. He pressed slowly, but mercilessly on Shane’s g-spot, timing his strokes with the pace of his hand until Shane was panting and crying, swearing nonsensically in English. Ilya didn't bother translating all the words. He knew what they meant. He kept his movements slow, never getting his own heart rate up, but after what felt like only a few seconds, his speed didn’t matter any more. He felt Shane’s body tighten by degrees, all of his muscles locking up and his head thrown backward, not even making noise. He stayed like that for a long time, almost long enough for Ilya to get concerned, before his orgasm stuttered through him. He nearly screamed as his legs shook and his body tensed around Ilya’s fingers, every bit of his pleasure spilling out onto Ilya’s fist and his stomach. He looked as though he'd run a marathon in the last thirty minutes. Ilya’s heart flipped over in his chest. He stroked Shane gently through his climax, letting him come down at his own pace and reveling in the way he looked ready to collapse into bed. He was still muttering under his breath as he softened, and it was only as Ilya eased himself out of him that he opened his eyes. “Oh my God,” he whispered, more to himself than his lover. Ilya gazed at him warmly, fishing a towel off the floor to clean his hands. “Are you relaxed?” “I… I think if I was any more relaxed, I'd be dead.” A smile cracked Ilya’s face that turned into a boyish giggle that he couldn't bother being embarrassed about right now. Shane laughed breathlessly as he slumped to the side, unable or unwilling to hold himself upright for any longer. “I did my job, then,” Ilya joked, gently cleaning Shane with his towel. “I'll fucking say so,” Shane grinned as he let himself be pampered. “But…” “But what?” Ilya worried. Had he forgotten something? Done something Shane didn’t like? “What about you?” Ilya’s heart ceased racing in his chest. “I will find time before game,” he assured, gently caressing himself through his pants. He’d been so hard the entire time that he ached now, wondering if blueballing himself counted as an injury. “C-can I…?” Shane asked timidly. “In the shower?” Ilya’s eyes lit on him with newfound attraction. Always the people pleaser, Hollander. Shane had gotten down on his knees in the shower and given him one of the best blowjobs of his life before they both fell into a heavy nap, resting up before eating a quick meal and heading to the arena in their separate cars, perfectly on time. On the way out the door, Shane had given Ilya a kiss on the cheek, nearly like a husband leaving for his job, and the simple act set Ilya’s soul on fire all over again. They’d played some of the best hockey of their lives.

Chapter End Notes

soft dom Ilya my beloved

Chapter 5: Enjoying

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes July 2017

“You were on a plane at 6 this morning; how are you not tired?” “I am not tired because I have spent the day with you, and for once in our fucking lives, I do not have to leave you tonight. Tonight, I get to enjoy you for as long as I want.” It was nearing ten pm on the lake outside Shane’s cottage, but inside, it didn’t feel a minute past noon. They’d had such a day already, driving from the Ottawa airport, getting here, going to knees in front of open windows, burgers, bonfires, the works. Shane was beat, and couldn’t think of anything more to do than crawl into bed, but something else crossed his mind when Ilya came up behind him in the dark kitchen and pressed his hips into him. “You want to enjoy me?” Shane asked in a tone he hoped denoted flirting. “I do,” Ilya whispered. “Didn’t get enough of me earlier?” “I could never have enough of you,” he said, turning Shane around and hoisting him into his arms. Shane laughed and kissed him, still not used to the sensation of his face being higher than Ilya’s when he did this. He was barely paying attention as his lover started walking, and didn’t notice they had gone into one of the guest rooms until he’d been dropped on the mattress. “Um. Wrong room?” He looked up confused at Ilya, who was already on the way back out the door. “Uh-uh, right room. I don’t want to change the sheets before we sleep.” He left Shane with a wink that only had him more confused, but he returned quick enough with lube and a run of condoms. “What’re you planning?” Shane asked innocently, heat building in his stomach. He felt he had an idea, but he wanted to hear it from Ilya. “I plan on fucking you until you have nothing left to give,” he answered, his face stony, but betrayed by his half-hard cock in his athletic shorts. “N-nothing left?” Ilya nodded solemnly, his eyes raking over Shane as he stepped out of his comfortable outfit. “ Until you forget everything but my fucking name. Clothes. Now.” Shane didn’t exactly know what kind of power play shit this was, but he knew that it stirred up his insides. He felt himself slip into that delicious space where he was allowed to simply follow commands. After a full day, he had no idea where Ilya had found a well of energy for this, but in this moment he didn’t particularly care. He wanted to be undone. Wanted to be ruled. He stripped himself naked, quickly folding his clothes and setting them on the floor before crawling up the bed. He watched as Ilya lowered the lights until they were almost off, feeling the ache of anticipation inside him. Two weeks. They had two weeks instead of twenty minutes. “Do you remember once I asked you how many times you can come in one hour?” Ilya said in a low voice, crawling to cover his partner bodily. Shane reveled in the feeling of having this man on top of him. Feeling the heat coming off of his skin. Feeling himself grow harder against his stomach. “I think so,” he answered, fully remembering the text message. “You asked me before a game, and then you came to my apartment and fucked me for the first time.” “Oh good, you do remember,” Ilya joked, leaning in to bite his nipple playfully. Shane swatted at his arm, but didn’t discourage the attention. “Do you remember your answer?” Twice, you said twice, his mind supplied frantically, excited by the idea of getting a question right. “No,” he lied, trying to be cool. “Mmm, yes you do. I know you do.” Shane was reminded once more how terrible of a liar he was, even in the near dark. “Okay, fine,” he admitted. “I said maybe twice.” “I think three times,” Ilya said confidently. “Three?” Shane balked. “I don’t think-” but his words were cut short by a gasp when Ilya grabbed him roughly. He sat up and pinned Shane’s thighs open with his own legs, lording over him in the dim light. “Right, you don’t think,” he instructed. Shane whimpered underneath him at the pressure, the feelings of intimidation coursing through him. “You don’t think right now. Right now you lie there and take it, yes?” Shane nodded fervently, feeling the color rise in his cheeks. “H-how…” How are you gonna make me come three times? he wanted to ask. He wanted to know all the juicy details. But he needn’t have bothered. “On your hands and knees.” He didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as Ilya was off him, he rolled onto his stomach and by the time he got his legs underneath him, Ilya was already kicking his knees wider looking for better access, not bothering with any of the niceties or romance of their earlier dalliance. Shane knew he needed this too, needed to feel this control after all their vulnerability today. He was only too happy to give it. He closed his eyes, half to give into the impulse of tiredness that still ran in him, and half to focus on the noises behind him. He heard the creak of the mattress as Ilya leaned over, heard the snap of a bottle top, heard the deep sigh of appreciation as his lover ran a clean hand over Shane’s ass, spreading it wider. “Fuck, Hollander,” he whispered appreciatively. “You look so pretty with your ass in the air. Look like you need someone to own you” Shane was about to make a snide remark about his English when he felt the first of Ilya’s fingers graze his entrance. He toyed with his hole for a moment before finally, mercifully opening him. A moan escaped Shane’s chest that he wasn’t fully aware of, mostly because of the fingertips pressing against the spot inside him that felt like pleasure on steroids. With every stroke of his prostate, Shane fell harder, fell faster, was sure of who the fuck he belonged to. “Whose is this?” Ilya challenged behind him, grabbing his ass hard enough to leave bruises. “Y-yours,” Shane muttered into the pillow he was clutching. “Mm-mm, whose ass is this?” He pressed hard on Shane’s g-spot, making him cry out in the dark room. “Fuck, Ilya!” he shouted, half in answer, half in overt bliss. “Good, you know then. “ Another finger joined the first inside, and Shane began to feel the telltale stretch that meant he’d be getting plowed in the next few minutes, but the pace at which Ilya was driving into his prostate over and over again, he wasn’t gonna last that long. He’d finish before the man even got a hand around his cock, he was going so hard. “I-Ilya, I’m gonna come,” he eked out, hoping to god it was audible between his heavy breathing. “Mm, come then, pretty,” he teased, his fingers not stopping for a moment. Shane felt his orgasm hit him like it always did when Ilya had his way inside him. Like a tidal wave crashing over him. He felt his chest tighten and the blood rushing through his ears quiet as he came untouched hard and messy against the bedspread. “Fuck…” he started to whisper, started to come down from his high, but Ilya was still drilling mercilessly into him with his fingers, waiting for this moment. The moment of relief afterwards that wouldn’t come. “Ilya?” he asked, so many questions in the name. “Shane?” he threw back. Shane couldn’t answer him, couldn’t speak at all. He was riding the line of pleasure and pain as his overstimulated prostate took more and more from the man behind him. He hadn’t fallen into the valley of post-orgasm relaxation; instead he was on his way up again. His body wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. Something’s wrong, half of his mind told him. You aren’t supposed to feel this good. The other half said, no please don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop over and over again as his dick retained its aching hard-on. “Second one is even better, yes?” Ilya offered, grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed and shoving it under Shane’s hips. He cried out at the sudden contact with something, anything, against the sensitive head of his cock, and didn’t even bother resisting the urge to grind into it. “Where’d you hear that?” Shane bit back, his tongue not minding itself. He couldn’t help his words, or even the noises coming out of him as he rapidly approached his climax again. After so many years of sneaking around, of hotel rooms with thin walls, it felt so fucking good to make noise. “Fucking Cosmo,” Ilya joked, smacking him on the ass playfully before reaching low and cradling Shane’s balls with a careful hand. Oh that’s- was as far as Shane’s mind got before his lover’s voice was in his ear again. “Now whose are these?” “Yours, fuck, Ilya, I-I-” Shane stammered, unable to form a sentence as the combination of touching and ownership finally got to his head. He fucked into the pillow feeling the gentle tug on his balls once, then twice, then he was fucking gone again, his second orgasm rippling through him in a wave that broke his skin out in goosebumps. He made a sound that he would bother feeling embarrassed about later as he ruined the pillow between his hips, fascinated by how different it felt than the first time. The same ache that accompanied two skating practices in a row, where his muscles burned and his chest felt like fire, but the head rush made it so fucking worth it. “Second one feel better?” his lover asked, taking away his hands and stepping off the bed. “Mmhmm,” Shane whimpered. He felt himself tip to the left until was laying on his side, panting like he’d just run a mile. Sweat was dripping down from his underarms, his legs, the back of his neck, but he didn't think to worry about the sheets, he was so blissed out. He wasn't sure in his ability to come a third time like Ilya had estimated, but if he did, he was sure he’d forget to worry about a lot of things. “Ah, he fell over,” Ilya chuckled to the room. Shane felt the mattress dip behind him, felt a gentle hand on his hip. “Do you need help up, moy lyubovnik?” Shane had no idea what the nickname meant, but he felt it was high praise. He nodded against the bedsheets and felt Ilya’s hand go on either side of his hips, hauling him back up on shaky knees. “I-I don’t know if I can stay up much longer,” he admitted, feeling the boneless effects of each of his orgasms. “You won’t have to,” Ilya promised. “I’ve got you. Put your hand up.” Shane leaned his arm up to the headboard, planting his hand flat on the surface and letting the remainder of his body rest on the bed. It felt good. Sturdy. He hadn’t actually been in this bed before; he’d have to let his interior designer know that- His train of thought was cut short with the feeling of a man behind him pressing the tip of his dick to Shane’s oversensitive entrance.

“Okay?” Ilya asked, his voice still in its empowered timbre. Shane nodded fast against the mattress, straining backward to take him even though he knew he wasn’t the one making that call. “Uh-uh. Words.” “Okay,” he breathed, letting himself be guided. “Good boy,” Ilya praised, and fuck, that was going on the list of things to think about later. But Shane couldn’t focus on it in the same moment that Ilya Rozanov was piercing him on the blunt head of his cock. “Nnnnghhh,” was all Shane managed before his breathing picked up and the sounds he was making were lost in the blood rushing in his ears. Ilya slid all the way into him, slow at first, but it was enough to make Shane’s dick twitch up in anticipation. Again? his brain said. You want it again? “I want it again, I want it again, I want it again,” he whispered into the mattress in a low chant as his lover began to pull his hips back and forth in a slow rock, opening him up further. “You want it again?” Ilya intoned behind him. “You feel so good after two, you think three is possible?” “Y-yes, I think- I- please,” Shane begged unabashedly as his hips were gripped tighter. He could feel every pore on his body making sweat, could feel the stick of his own cum on the pillow between his legs. He could even feel the leftover lubricant Ilya was pressing into the skin of his thigh, but none of it could touch him here. Not in this feeling of riding the edge again. Ilya took a hand off and reached to feel Shane’s achingly hard cock. It hurt at this point, hurt so fucking good that Shane almost thought he wouldn’t even come in the traditional sense if they kept going. He’d just be wracked with full body spasms and maybe black out. But fuck it. Let him black out. Let him pass out here and now if it meant he could have another orgasm. “Mmm, I think he wants it,” Ilya said aloud, letting Shane’s dick rest back between his stomach and the ruined pillow. He picked up his pace, gliding over Shane’s prostate with every stroke. “Do you want it, Hollander?” “Yeah, I want it, I want it, I want it,” Shane pleaded nonsensically underneath him. He was chasing that high one final time, one last time if he could get it. God, he wanted to try. Ilya wasn’t making it hard, thrusting into him at a brutal pace that made his back ache and his heart race. Much more of this, and he’d be gone in seconds. “You need it that bad, huh?” Ilya panted, his thrusts harsh and measured now. Shane felt a hand reach up his back and grasp his hair, ripping his face away from the mattress with a sharp cry. Oh fuck, he was gonna die and thank him for it. “You need it so bad, whose is this?” “Ilya-” He laid into Shane with a newfound intensity, snapping his hips hard enough that Shane could hear the vulgar noises they were making with each thrust. “Whose is it, huh?” Ilya growled. “Whose ass is this?” “Yours, Ilya-” Shane nearly cried, his body shaking with how close he was. Just a little more, he just needed a little more, and- Ilya let his head drop down and grabbed his ass back, not giving a damn about the obscene sounds coming out of Shane’s mouth. “I want the fucking neighbors to know, now whose is it?” “Ilya fucking Rozanov’s!” Shane shouted, expending all the air in his lungs. And he felt it too. He felt it from his head to his toes as his third orgasm tore through him that he was Ilya fucking Rozanov’s. His body clenched hard as Ilya sped up and then stilled within him, deep in the throes of his own climax, but Shane couldn’t think about anything except the waves of pleasure washing over him. Longer and harder than the previous two. Like nothing he’d ever felt before. He nearly couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t quite tell the difference between the dark of his vision and the dark of the room. Couldn’t hear over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears, or feel anything apart from the sharp twitch of his cock against his new favorite pillow. He stayed in that spot of terrifying ecstasy for God knows how long before the world came crashing back in. “Oh fucking God,” he swore as he came back to himself. “Okay?” Ilya asked, panting through the aftershocks of his own delirious orgasm. “Uh-huh,” Shane confirmed, returning to the land of anatomy and physics. He felt Ilya ease out of him and rest his hands across Shane’s back and ass, massaging the flesh there. “Want to lay down?” he offered gently. “Please.” Shane felt himself fall panting and sweating to the bed, his body celebrating being fully horizontal. He groaned in relief as he stretched his muscles and caught his breath after… all of that. He opened his eyes just in time to see Ilya throw a few pillows to the side and join him lying down on the ruined bedspread. “Oh my God.” “No kidding,” Shane giggled, curling to his chest. Ilya laughed with him and wrapped a damp arm around his shoulders. “So, three was good?” he joked. “Yeah, run and tell Cosmo.” That made Ilya laugh even harder and bury his face in Shane’s hair, climbing on top of him to pepper his face and neck with kisses. Each of them vacated the ravaged bed and showered, taking turns sitting on the floor and drinking from the bottle of Gatorade Shane had swiped from the fridge. They were both giddy and exhausted and so fucking happy to have each other here. They crawled into bed well past midnight, but neither could give a damn what the clock said. In the dark of that room, Shane felt Ilya pull him close and tuck their bodies together, breathing in the quiet night air and whispering to each other. They stayed like that for seconds or hours, until each of them fell into a deep sleep. Shane couldn’t believe his luck.

Chapter End Notes

After reading the book, this is probably the scene that's the least canon compliant, but don't stress over it too hard <3

Chapter 6: Dreaming

Chapter Summary Also know as: Ilya gets a taste of Shane's dominant side.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes July 2017

Ilya was having one of the best dreams of his life. He was reclining on a stretch of beach that could have been anywhere, but he knew in his mind that he was staring out at the Black Sea, the city of Sochi behind him. He was alone. Well, mostly alone. There was a beautiful, doe eyed man resting his head on Ilya’s hip, looking out at the water with him. Neither were talking. Neither needed to talk. They both knew why they were there. He’d had this dream before, a few times now. It always ended the same way, with Shane laying on his chest as they watched the stars come out after sunset. But this time was different. This time, Ilya felt heat bloom in his stomach. Felt the ache of lust run up his chest and make him breathe a little harder. Don’t ruin this by getting a hard-on, he thought nonsensically. In his dream logic, he worried about offending Shane, but when he looked down to his lap, he found a hand massaging him idly. Groping him through the… well he didn’t exactly know what kind of pants he was wearing. Not that it mattered much. When Shane began to reach and tug down his waistband, Ilya couldn’t have been less bothered about his imaginary clothes. He helped Shane shove them further down, freeing his dick and making him gasp at the raw contact. You’re having a wet dream, his brain teased, bringing his lucidity to the front of his mind. You’re having a wet dream about Shane fucking Hollander. Ilya didn’t give a damn about the absurdity of the situation. About hooking up with a man on a public beach in Russia, about who that man was. He didn’t even care that it was a dream. He just wanted it to keep going. He cradled Shane’s head as the man got to his elbows and took Ilya into his mouth, carefully, but hungrily. Almost like he’d been waiting for this in every dream before. Ilya’s head lolled back as he sank into the pleasure of having a mouth on his cock. He heard himself groan unabashedly and didn’t bother to stifle it. This was too good to stifle. It was only when he felt Shane’s hand creep up and shove him backwards to lay flat did his brain give a little lurch that something might be amiss. He awoke suddenly like he’d just breached the surface of the lake outside the plate glass windows of Shane’s cottage bedroom. He gasped hard and stared around the dark room, feeling like he was still asleep in the early morning light creeping over the horizon. He knew where he was, but where was… “Shane?” He whispered to the room, feeling for his lover on the other side of the bed. It was empty, but Ilya couldn't think straight about where he might be. He was still halfway in his dream, at least he felt like it. Like his dick was pressing against the back of someone’s throat. He finally looked down to the shoved-aside covers of the bed, and saw Shane’s outline there, felt his warm skin between his legs as he fully awoke. “Shane, what…” was all Ilya managed before the man on his stomach hollowed his cheeks and caressed the underside of Ilya’s cock with his tongue. Holy shit, Ilya thought behind the pleasure coursing through him, Shane Hollander is sucking my dick. “Mmm, good morning, handsome,” Shane drawled, removing his mouth from Ilya and stroking him lazily. “You sleep good?” Ilya sat up on his elbows to get a better view of… whatever was happening. “W-what are you doing?” “I guess we never woke up in the same bed together, huh? Always leaving before the morning…” “Shane…?” Ilya wasn't sure what to make of this. All he knew was he didn't want it to stop. “You always treat me so good, made me feel so good last night,” Shane whispered into the crook of his leg. “But I wanna make you feel good too… m’gonna make you feel good, huh Rozanov?” He’d never heard Shane talk like this. Never seen him act like this, cock-drunk and insistent. Well that wasn’t quite true. That afternoon on the couch, before everything went sideways. When Shane had climbed on top of him and taken control from Ilya. You gonna come for me, Rozanov? The words echoed in his mind like a bell and brought a feeling forward that was rare for Ilya. The feeling of being told what to do. Of being dominated. It sent a shiver over him as Shane took him deep into his back palate again, not waiting for an answer. Not that he could answer if he wanted to. He felt dumbstruck as he watched his lover relax his throat and let his mouth glide over him at a torturously slow pace. Oh God, Ilya’s mind whispered, this is the first morning sex you’ve had with this man and it’s some of the best head of your life. Ilya groaned involuntarily at the thought, at this secret pleasure that he hadn’t known he was missing. He almost brought a hand up to put on the back of Shane’s head, regain some of the power in this, but he let it fall to the side. He let himself be taken over. “Fuck, Shane…” he whined, hearing how pathetic he sounded and not caring. He felt pathetic this early in the morning, this vulnerable. He had this man under his skin, and he didn’t want him to leave, especially when he picked up his pace, letting out little moans of his own that sent Ilya reeling. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, like someone had knocked the wind clean out of him, and he knew that any more of this, and he wouldn’t be able to hold his own any more. He’d already been close in his dream, and waking up to the real thing… “S-Shane…” he stammered, barely having the presence of mind to grip his shoulder and attempt to push him away. “Shane, I-I-” but he wasn’t letting up. Not letting Ilya get away. He knew exactly what he was doing. Ilya tried to fight it, tried to sit up, pull his legs up, something, but when Shane pinned both of his thighs open to the bed, he knew he was done for. This man that he’d spent last night hauling around like nothing was reminding him just how fucking strong he was. He was just allowing you manhandle him this whole time, a voice shouted in the back of Ilya’s mind. Letting you think you held the power. In the end, that thought, the notion that Shane had just been weaker than Ilya was proved wrong to him in the best possible way. His legs were butterflied open as Shane took him into the back of his throat and Ilya couldn’t hold his own any more. He swore hard in Russian, and that’s all the warning he gave before spilling into Shane’s waiting mouth, fast and messy. He felt guilty even as it was happening, but when he felt Shane swallow against the tip of his pulsing dick, all the shame in him went out the window. “D-did you-” he stuttered out as his lover kissed away the rest of the mess he’d just made. “Did I wake you up with a blowjob?” Shane whispered in a dark voice. “Did I swallow what I got? Did I show you just how fucking hot and bothered I get in the mornings, Rozanov?” He crawled up Ilya’s nearly naked form and straddled him, kissing him roughly. He tasted like… well like Ilya. Salty and bitter and fucking filthy. “Y-you’re different in the mornings,” Ilya whispered into his mouth. “I want you,” Shane groaned, not propping himself up on any sort of persona. Stating plain and simple what he wanted. “I want you in my mouth and my hands and my ass every fucking minute of this.” “You have me,” Ilya whispered back desperately. “You have me.” Shane Hollander likes morning sex, he jotted down in his memory as he flipped them and put Shane on his back. Shane Hollander likes morning sex and pinning me down and tasting me when I first wake up. This was going to be an interesting two weeks.

Chapter End Notes

This little project was solely an excuse for me to write an absurd amount of smut between these two. I hope you liked it; if you want something softer, check out my fic Over For Dinner! :)

End Notes

How canon compliant is this? Probably not exactly but like don't worry about that too hard :) I hope you enjoyed! Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!