Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories:

F/F, F/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Other(s), Ilya Rozanov/Other(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hollywood Blow Job Guy (Game Changers), Mexico Top (Game Changers), Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

POV Ilya Rozanov, Canon Compliant, Situationship Era, Pre-Relationship, Hollanov hooking up with other people, Casual Sex, Anal Sex, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Rimming, Spit Kink, Dubious Consent, Mildly Dubious Consent, but everyone is having a good time, Objectification, Indirect Threesome, Forced Orgasm, Unsafe Sex, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Gets Fingered, Ilya Rozanov Gets Rimmed, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Shane Hollander, Moral Ambiguity, light slut shaming, light kink shaming, light shame of all kinds, Pining While Fucking, Pining While Fucking Other People, Messy, Jealousy, Casually outing past hookups to current ones, Ilya Rozanov is Bad at Sex, Shane Hollander is Bad at Sex, except with each other, Ilya failing the “be chill about Shane for thirty fucking seconds” challenge, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Kind of in a bad way, proxy sex, Freak4Freak Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, 5+1, Happily Ever After, Hollanov Endgame

Language:

English

Collections:

Anonymous

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-29 Words: 14,721 Chapters: 1/1

In His Opponent’s Room

Summary

Hookup-era Ilya develops an unsustainable kink when he realizes Hollander has been with other people, too.

The one where Ilya keeps getting Shane’s sloppy seconds.

Notes

Please read the tags. Many of these things are described in detail.
This is in Ilya’s POV which can get kind of degrading and objectifying, and Shane isn’t exactly a saint either. Lots of bad sex is being had by all parties, but the terrible sex is all fairly consensual.

Explaining the dubcon tags (light spoilers)

This fic includes using other people sexually as pawns during the hookup era. Everyone is having a good time and consents to the sex, but some sexual partners are missing the full context, and that can be consent-ambiguous. There is also a Hollanov forced orgasm, which is implied CNC.

Fall 2015

The first time is not intentional. 

It’s just pillow talk in a pitch black Los Angeles hotel room, and Ilya wishes it would end. This guy— Peter? Paolo? Pat? is a fucking chatterbox and every word grates on Ilya’s ears.

He’d kick the guy out of his room, but he tries to make sure his casual sex partners leave on a good note, so they don’t go squealing unsavory details to the press. Especially if the partner in question is a man. 

He knows he doesn’t always succeed. He’s heard rumors that he’s an inconsiderate lover, that he’s cold, that he takes what he wants. He’s seen the spark of recognition when he introduces himself that has nothing to do with hockey. He also thinks there are rumors that he bones so well, it doesn’t matter if he’s not Prince Charming with his bedside manner.

But this part of his sex life has managed to stay a secret. So if this …Philip? fellow wants to jabber incoherently for another 15 minutes, Ilya would rather pretend to listen than have his name splashed on a tabloid tomorrow. 

Ilya wishes he was actually listening when the guy babbles “…though if we’re just talking about professional hockey players I’ve hooked up with, you were better.”

That catches Ilya’s attention. “What?” He props up on an elbow, as if he could see the guy through the dark anyway. “I am the best hockey player.” He doesn’t add that he’s definitely the best out of the players who would potentially hook up with a random, male, penised, masculine, man-stranger. 

“Not at hockey! I meant better at this,” Pablo says with a laugh. “Actually, you’re not the best hockey player who has done that though…”  

Ilya freezes. There is only one player who could (mistakenly) be considered better than him, and Paulie can’t mean… That player would never… Ilya asks before he can change his mind. “Who?” 

“I shouldn’t tell you…” The guy sounds cocky and flirty like this is a game and Ilya’s blood isn’t freezing in his veins. Ilya is prepared to convince him, to beg, or pay the man for all he cares, when it becomes clear he doesn’t need to do any of that. This windbag is still talking. “It was Shane Hollander, who else? And trust me, it was not great.”

A shocked laugh leaves Ilya’s lips to mask his sudden outrage. He can’t pinpoint exactly why he feels this infuriated hearing that name mentioned. 

Really, he has his pick of reasons. First, the guy just spilled Hollander’s secret with exactly zero coaxing. Second, Hollander has been hooking up with other men? How many? Does he even know how risky that is? Ilya’s blood boils. He feels a little sick. 

Third… “Why was it not great?” 

“Don’t get me wrong! He’s super hot, right?” Ilya nods despite the dark room. That’s not news. “But he was so quiet… like he was nervous or something. I thought at first it was just because he liked sucking dick, so he’d rather do that than talk, but then it was like I was sucking off a doll. He just didn’t seem that into it.” 

Ilya plops onto his back, knocked over by this deluge of information. His racing mind skips over the words ‘he liked sucking dick’, afraid to examine how he feels about another man’s dick in Hollander’s mouth. The other thought—that Hollander’s dick was in someone else’s mouth—burns when Ilya touches it, and his mind jerks away from it like a self-defense reflex.

So he chooses to address the safer thoughts, starting with this shocking allegation: Hollander was too quiet? Hollander does not shut up. Ilya knows Hollander is famously shy in social settings, but ever since their first time, behind closed doors, he’s constantly talking or moaning or cursing or panting… even with a dick in his mouth, Hollander is louder than Ilya ever is. He’s always a little nervous about getting caught, but it never stops him from having a good time and expressing it.

There’s another component that’s relatively safe, and he’s surprised his mind actually likes hanging out with this idea. Actually, he really likes it. Despite Ilya’s inner turmoil, his dick starts to harden again. 

Shane Hollander hooked up with this guy. Hollander’s mouth has been where Ilya’s just was. Ilya wishes badly that he knew beforehand. His stomach twists in a weird way. It’s not jealousy. It can’t be— Ilya hooks up with probably a hundred times as many people as Hollander. But as he apprises the silhouette next to him, he realizes this is the closest he’ll be to Hollander for another two weeks.

He thinks maybe he could have tasted Hollander on the guy, if he had known what to taste for. Suddenly he wants to try again. “He blew you? When was this?” he asks, in lieu of every single detail he wants. 

“Yeah. Ummm…” Pierre genuinely sounds like he’s thinking about it. “Like, Spring? He was in town for a game.” 

Good enough. Ilya makes his way back down the guy to share skin with Shane Hollander again, now that he knows. He licks the guy the way he knows Hollander would have, trying to collect any remnants of Hollander’s saliva off the shaft. The whole time, he pictures this cock in Hollander’s mouth and it’s almost, if you squint really hard, like he’s kissing Hollander himself. 

After, he’ll give Perry a lecture about keeping secrets. And maybe see if he can taste Hollander’s jizz in the guy’s mouth.

Two weeks later, Hollander appears like an angry kitten at Ilya’s doorstep because Montreal lost against Boston. Ilya was looking forward to tonight even before the game, but now he knows Hollander will be all riled up after losing. It would have been good if he won, too. It’s always good. 

Hollander doesn’t disappoint. “What the fuck?” he growls at Ilya as the door closes behind him. “What are you giving your defense? No one could get anything through.”

Ilya opens his mouth to speak, to say it’s not technically true, Hollander scored twice, but Hollander isn’t done. “And Carmichael should have gotten a major for that hit. It was bullshit, you know that.” 

A grin starts to take over Ilya’s mouth. Hollander continues, “And Hayden’s been dealing with this ankle thing, I can tell you that now, don’t go fucking spreading it around. And I hate the new guy they put in… oh.” Ilya backs Hollander up into the wall. His hands move to Ilya’s waist like a reflex. It feels like Ilya is finally relaxed after being tense since… the last time those hands were on his waist.

“You are very talkative tonight.” Is it just tonight? Or is Ilya just noticing it for the first time? 

Hollander rewards him with a scrunched up, half-offended, half-confused face. “No? …Am I?” He shakes his head and whines, “You would be too, if you got fucking robbed in a division game!” 

Ilya’s smile covers Hollander’s lips for a messy kiss, pressing their bodies up against the wall by the door. Hollander whimpers through the whole kiss, every tiny sound lurching Ilya’s gut in the best way. When he backs up he looks Hollander in the eye and clarifies, because he knows Hollander will overthink it all night if he doesn’t. “Talkative is good.” 

That night, Ilya drinks in every moan he can squeeze from Hollander’s lips. He notices every gasp and whisper, and he definitely notices the running commentary: “Your mouth Rozanov, what the fuck… again, please, Jesus Christ… it’s so big, Rozanov… there, oh my god… wanted this so bad… feels so good…” and especially the “fuckfuckfuckfuck” as he comes for the second time, onto his own stomach. Ilya laps it up after he finishes, too.

When Ilya walks out of the bathroom, Hollander has a forearm draped over his face, doing nothing to hide the tiny smile that always lands there when they’re finished. He’ll leave soon, Ilya laments, but it’s for the best. If Ilya had Hollander in his bed any longer, he might do something crazy. 

But, because Ilya is a professional annoyance, and this is the first time Hollander has been quiet all night, he smirks and declares, “I met your friend… Pervy?” 

Hollander’s head jolts up and his arm drifts in the air. “Percy??” Then his expression tightens and he corrects himself, “I mean… who?” Ilya smiles. Hollander covers his face, now in a different way, and throws his head back onto the bed. “It was one time! I didn’t even fucking know him! He told you? What an idiot! He can’t be going around telling people—” 

“Hollander. Is fine, I reminded him. He will not be telling anyone.” 

“Fuck. Ok.” Hollander is visibly trying to calm himself down before he realizes the implied second part of Ilya’s confession. He looks back at Ilya. “Wait. You hooked up with him?” His eyebrows twitch.

Ilya shrugs to confirm. “He was cute, no?” 

“Yeah,” Hollander admits distractedly. “Did you…” He takes a breath. “Did he tell you before? Or after?” 

He sits back down on the bed next to Hollander. “Hmm…Both?” Ilya wonders if he can keep the secret that having Hollander’s sloppy seconds was such a turn-on he had to go twice.

“Both.” Hollander repeats. “Like… he told you before, and then you forgot? And he told you again? What does both mean?” 

“After. But then…” Ilya sighs and tilts his head. 

“Then…?” 

“We did it again?” He feels like he did something wrong, and Hollander’s little angry face doesn’t help.

“How many times? Jesus, Rozanov.” He shakes his head and then stops. “You know I could go again, right?”

This competitive little dick. Ilya laughs. “We can, if you want…” Hollander glares at him. Ilya gets comfortable on his side so he isn’t looking directly at Hollander anymore, speaking more to his shoulder than his face. “No, it was…” he can’t hold it back. “I liked it,” Ilya says quietly. 

“No shit, if you went twice. Twice, right? More? I don’t want to know. …Three times?” 

“No, I liked…” How does Ilya explain this, when he’s not even sure he himself understands the appeal? “Like, after he told me this.” Ilya leans to be close to Hollander, pressing his entire body against Hollander’s side, to have contact with the skin he craved when he was with Petro. He ducks his head into Hollander’s neck so he doesn’t have to look at him when he says, “I wanted to try to taste you.” He punctuates it with an open-mouth kiss on the neck.

Hollander is bright red. “That’s disgusting.” But it’s really hard to act disturbed and scandalized if you’re naked on top of the covers and your dick is getting hard again. Ilya looks down at it and back up to Hollander’s face to smirk at him. Hollander tries to defend himself, “What? It’s gross. And you didn’t tell him, right? So it’s probably mean to the guy, like…” he loses track of what he’s saying while Ilya makes his way down his torso, licking any remaining evidence of come off his stomach. “…depraved— oh, fuck.” Ilya fills his mouth with Hollander’s cock, relishing in the moment he interrupts the train of thought and Hollander abandons it for noises instead. 

Hollander babbles the entire time, a running commentary cataloging everything that crosses his mind. Ilya jerks himself off listening to it. Hollander’s jizz tastes better directly from the source, not imagined in some guy’s mouth.

January 2016

The incident is mostly forgotten for months, except on late nights when Ilya has no one else and nothing in mind to use. 

But one day in the gym at a team workout, some of the guys crowd around St-Simon’s phone, laughing.

Ilya only has to nod inquisitively as he approaches them.

“Shane Hollander hooked up last night,” St-Simon giggles. “Boiziau sent it to our Olympics group chat.” 

Ilya’s stomach instantly plummets. He is being handed a phone with a dark picture on the screen. It’s ostensibly a picture of two guys smiling at the camera. Ilya vaguely recognizes them as Montreal defensemen. But it’s framed purposefully so you can see the bar behind them and sure enough, Hollander is making out with a lady on a barstool. Ilya zooms in. Hollander’s hands are on her thighs, and she has one hand in his hair. As Ilya studies the picture, the guys keep talking. 

“Apparently she’s the bartender at the club they went to, and they left together.” 

“Nice pull,” another guy says, “Bartenders are hot. Hard to get.”

Ilya’s pulse is doing something erratic that has nothing to do with his workout. He snaps. “Is breaking news when Hollander fucks? Are you sending this chat my daily update?” Ilya looks expectantly at St-Simon, who shakes his head sheepishly. Ilya chucks the phone back into St-Simon’s hands. “Waste of time.” 

Ilya walks away and tunes them out again. He searches Montreal’s schedule on his own phone, as if he doesn’t have it memorized. Hollander was in Chicago last night. He goes to J.J. Boiziau’s social media and traces them to a club called Keys. The website shows the interior looks the same as the picture Ilya was shown. 

Boston plays in Chicago in one week. Ilya can’t wait.

The bartender lives a block away, and takes Ilya upstairs after he flirted with her for her whole shift.

He was right, it’s better knowing beforehand that Hollander had been here too. Not just in this apartment, probably. But with this woman, his hands in her hair. Ilya wonders how many times she’s bathed in the days between them. It doesn’t matter, he can still taste Hollander’s tongue on her lips. He imagines Hollander’s cock was in this mouth, and spends much longer making out than he normally would. He goes down on her like he’s making out with Hollander and, in some fucked up way, he is. He knows Hollander heard all these sounds, had these hands on him in the same way. When he gets inside of her, he feels like Hollander carved this space out for him. The skin of his hips touched this skin, too. Ilya touches the woman everywhere, unwilling to leave it up to chance. He is going to touch the same skin.  

After, he wants to talk about Hollander, but has no idea how without revealing the whole setup. He tries something safe, “You like hockey?” 

“No, not really.” She sighs like she’s tired of the question and shrugs. “Sorry? You’re not the only person who has asked me that recently.” 

“Ah, Montreal was here last week, no?” 

“Actually yeah… do you know Shane Hollander? Are you friends?”

Ilya tilts his head. She really must not know hockey. “We know each other.” Then he has to dig the wound deeper, “He was here?” 

She blushes a little. “Yeah, sorry. Maybe I have a type.” The idea that Ilya and Hollander are the same type is laughable, considering their only similarities are their job and their occasional indulgence in cock. And, I guess, this lady.

“How was he?” Ilya waggles his eyebrows despite his inner torment. Why does he do this to himself? Hollander haunting the room tonight was hot, there’s no denying it, but there’s also a dark rumble in his stomach when he thinks about Hollander in this bed with her. Why is he asking for details when he knows they’ll just hurt him? 

“I don’t kiss and tell!” She kicks him gently. “But not great.” She laughs. That… wasn’t the detail he wanted. 

Ilya draws his head back in surprise. Again? “Really.” 

“Just… it took forever? And he wasn’t really that into it, I think. Maybe he had a lot to drink or something, because I don’t even think he finished. Couldn’t keep it up.” She bites her lip with a nervous smile, “Don’t repeat any of this, obviously. I could find a lot to say about you, too.” 

Ilya stares at the ceiling. He’s always suspected Hollander might not like women, but it’s still a shock to hear. This person who begs for it, gets so hard it looks like it hurts, leaks everywhere just from kissing, can come three or four times in a night… Shane Hollander wasn’t that into it? Hollander loves sex. But maybe he doesn’t.

“Hi,” is all Ilya has time to say when the door opens, before Hollander pulls him inside by his game-night suit lapel and slams him up against the back of the door. A hard bulge rubs insistently on Ilya’s hip as Hollander attacks his mouth with his tongue. Ilya doesn’t even get a chance to do anything before Hollander is mouthing at his neck and undoing his own pants.

“Come on. Need it. Please.” He directs Ilya’s hand to his crotch and moans pornographically at the first contact. 

“Clearly, Hollander. Jesus.” Ilya wants to tease more, but this desperation is the hottest thing he’s ever seen, at least since the last time he saw Hollander. The underwear is already dabbed with a little wetness, and Hollander whimpers another sigh of relief and shudders when Ilya finally starts to rub him through the fabric, humping his painfully hard cock back against Ilya’s hand. 

“Wait, wait, I’m so close.” Hollander tries to pulls back, but Ilya wraps an arm around his waist to keep their bodies pressed together, his hand trapped between them. 

“Nuh-uh, you needed it so bad, yes?” He angles himself away to make room to redouble his effort, gripping Hollander’s shaft through his underwear. He’s met with the most brilliant sounds. Hollander is leaning on him completely, held up only by the arm around his waist. Ilya has to lean hard on the door to keep them both upright. He wouldn’t trust his own weight right now, with how his knees are buckling. 

“Stop, let me— god… fuck.” Hollander squirms and babbles, begging to be let go, to make it last longer. If it were anyone else, Ilya would. But here, with Hollander, Ilya knows it’s just the first round of a long couple of hours. Hollander’s face is scrunched up, eyes tightly clamped shut, like that will help fend off the impending orgasm. “Please, I can’t… I’m gonna— Rozanov, fuck!” 

Ilya holds on tightly as Hollander strains to push back with both hands. He’s glad Hollander is too distracted to see him grinning like an idiot. Hollander pinned against him, wriggling around to fight against his own pleasure, is kind of Ilya’s happy place. Ilya doesn’t stop stroking through the fabric until he feels the first pulses of Hollander coming in his underwear like a teenager, still fighting and squirming. Ilya keeps going to hear every single incoherent curse that comes out of Hollander’s filthy mouth.

He just watches in reverence and thinks about poor whateverhername, never seeing Hollander like this, never holding him upright through a hard orgasm, never hearing “Oh, shit—” and the prettiest moan, never squishing the cum around to make sure the underwear is completely wrecked. She didn’t know how to handle Hollander like Ilya does. No one does. No one else should even try. 

“So quick, Hollander. You are done with me? I should go?” Ilya teases, but he knows if Hollander even looked at him, it would be even faster. Luckily Hollander is busy panting whispered curses against Ilya’s shoulder so he can’t retaliate or take the idle threat seriously. Ilya would sooner jump in front of a train than leave right now.

Hours later, after he migrated to the bed and held Hollander close through two more of those, Ilya is putting on his boxers to leave. 

He can’t help himself, he has to ruin every good thing he has. “Jillian says hi.” 

“Jillian?” Hollander looks confused where he sits cross-legged on the bed. 

“In Chicago.”

His jaw falls, "Jacqueline??" He covers his face with his hands. “You did not do it again, Rozanov!” 

Ilya grins broadly. “I did.” 

“Why??” 

If Ilya knew, he’d be able to answer that question for himself. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know. He tries to put this confusion into one simple shrug. “Is hot.” 

Hollander blushes like he did last time the subject was broached. “No! It’s weird! Did she tell you? Please tell me it was a coincidence or something.” 

“No, your team said you did her, so I did her, too.” 

“That’s so fucked up. You get that, don’t you?” 

Maybe Hollander is right. But then Ilya remembers the shuddering orgasm that started when he licked the woman’s neck and pictured Hollander’s tongue in the same place, and realizes he doesn’t care. He shrugs again.

“Easier for me if you tell me who is next, maybe give me a phone number… or set up a date…”

Hollander wallops him with a pillow. “Fuck you.”

“I thought we were done,” Ilya jokes. Hollander stares at him for too long, swallows once.

“I’m not. Come here.”

And if Ilya ever says no to that, kill him.

March 2016

Ilya is in the bathroom of a bar in Toronto, on his knees. He thinks he got the right guy. Hollander was cagey about telling him whether he hooked up here, which is enough to make Ilya suspect something. 

“You hook up all the time, Rozanov,” Hollander had texted. “I’m not allowed to?”

No, Ilya wanted to say. He wanted to tell him to knock it off, that one dick—specifically his—should be enough. It’s hypocritical and illogical, but it’s just different. It’s Hollander. He’s different. 

Ilya eventually extracted enough information to know Hollander’s Toronto mistake was a baseball fan off Grindr with a neck tattoo. So now, Ilya is in this bathroom with BlueJaysFan1 down his throat. He had to research what the different baseball teams are called. There was literal research for this.

Ilya remembered to ask beforehand, remembering how much better it was with Jennifer, when he knew the whole time, than Pedro, when he didn’t. 

“Have you hooked up with a hockey player?” Ilya had asked at the bar. The guy looked a little weirded-out, and definitely not interested in giving out information about closeted celebrities. “Is ok, I know about all the gay ones.” 

“Oh,” Mr. Grindr Guy sighed with relief, “Ok, yeah. Once, like a month ago. But it was terrible, the guy didn’t know how to give head.” 

Ilya could barely find any attraction to Mr. Neck Tattoo after hearing his shitty blowjob opinions, but then he remembered he was so close to a dick that Shane Hollander sucked, so he smiled and nodded as long as he needed to. 

Now that he’s here, he doesn’t care if this guy is receiving good oral, really, because he apparently wouldn’t know good head if it bit him in the dick. But Ilya is worshipping the cock in front of him anyway, as if he could lick Hollander’s spit off of it, one month after it was there. The tip hits the back of his throat, like he knows it hit the back of Hollander’s, and when Ilya sputters, it has nothing to do with his gag reflex. The back of their throats have officially touched. Ilya nearly dies on the spot.

Mr. Terrible Opinions finishes and recovers up against the stall door. “So much better than the last hockey player,” he laughs. “Guy took forever, too. And like… silent. I get we’re in public but you can say something. I guess he wasn’t that into it.” 

…Shane Hollander took forever, even with another guy?

Ilya opens the door before Hollander can even knock on it, “Hi.”

He pulls Hollander in by the back of his neck and kisses him hard as the door slams. He presses his tongue against Hollander’s with delight. Anyone who wants to make out with Hollander is going to have to accept that Ilya owns this mouth. 

Hollander pulls back. It looks like he wants to be upset as he reprimands Ilya, but a smile is threatening his face. “You did it again, didn’t you?” 

“I did.” Ilya backs Hollander in the direction of the bedroom. “Wanted to feel you.” Hollander shivers. 

“What do you mean?” His voice is already breathy, “It’s literally a different person, not me.” 

Ilya shrugs, same as he usually does when he hears logic in comparison to his weird new kink. If he inspects it any longer than he has to, he might happen across some truths he doesn’t like. 

Luckily, he’s got a distraction in mind. Ever since that idiot made him think about Shane Hollander’s fellatio game, Ilya has been craving it badly. And all he has to say is “Knees” before the best blowjob of his life, narrowly beating out the last time Hollander was down there. 

Hollander gives head like he’s desperate for it. He never hides the fact that he enjoys the process, he savors it, keeping Ilya on the edge. And Ilya knows it’s not to make it feel better, it’s because Hollander loves the task and doesn’t want it to end. Ilya eventually has to take over, knowing Hollander would do this all night. He comes deep in Hollander’s mouth and doesn’t think about the guys with bad taste who have done this with no clue what a privilege it is.

August 2016

Ilya just got back from Russia when Hollander actually texts him out of the blue. They don’t text much outside of arranging their meetups and to be honest, Ilya hopes the text is an invitation. Summers are hard with months away from his best hookup. It’s been especially bad this summer, when he knows that Hollander has fucked exactly zero other people in Russia, so no one really held Ilya’s interest for long. It’s really the only way he wants to fuck anyone anymore. So if Hollander asked, Ilya would go to him. Unfortunately, the incoming text seems to be the exact opposite of that sentiment. 

Jane: i won.
Jane: but i think you’re going to hate me.

Ilya: ?

Jane: this guy: [Link: @clubbincaleb on Instagram]

Ilya’s blood boils and he clicks maybe too hard on the link. To his displeasure, it’s a relatively attractive guy. The most recent pictures are tropical, on a beach somewhere. But scrolling down, he’s always at the same one or two clubs in Atlanta. Searching the username gives Ilya all the guy’s social media, and he has his location on his Snapchat stories. After about five minutes of recon, Ilya is fairly certain he’ll be able to find and land Caleb if he ever goes to Atlanta. 

The guy is hot. Ilya feels the same snarl he gets whenever he thinks about Hollander hooking up with anyone. Why does Hollander feel the need to tell him? Is Hollander, like, dating the guy now?

Ilya: why are you showing me this?
Ilya: i will just blow him.
Ilya: he is not as hot as me.
Ilya: but does not look like a mistake?

Jane: no, it wasn’t a mistake to hook up with him
Jane: but you won’t like it

Ilya: again,
Ilya: ?

Jane: we didn’t do anything else. just sex.
Jane: no kissing or blowjobs.
Jane: plus, it was in Mexico and he lives in a non-league city.
Jane: so you can’t pull your usual shit.

Ilya: so you took his dick and nothing else?

Jane: yep.
Jane: unless you want to travel to Atlanta specifically to bottom for him, you’re outta luck.

Ilya: and you did this on purpose? 

Jane: i don’t want you sex-stalking me anymore!

Ilya: so you think I will not travel to take the same cock as you?

Jane: what the fuck. don’t. 

Ilya: ok so I come to montreal?

Jane: our preseason training starts tomorrow. 

Ilya: so I have no choice. 

Jane: Rozanov. 

Weirdly, he loves that he was on Hollander’s mind during sex with a stranger. He feels like a goal has been accomplished. 

Then he thinks about what he should do. Hollander is really cutting it close, but he could have told Ilya about this encounter later, like during Boston’s pre-season training, when Ilya really couldn’t have done anything about it. But no, Ilya’s training starts in 5 days, plenty of time.

Two days later, the man’s location changes from Mexico and comes back to Atlanta. Ilya books the first flight.

On the plane, Ilya tries to form a strategy. He thinks maybe it would be enough to suck the same dick that was inside Hollander. But if there was a condom—and he hopes there was— it’s admittedly a little less satisfying. He’ll still try to get his mouth on it, because that thought has him shifting in his plane seat. 

He doesn’t mind getting fucked, it’s not like he’s opposed to it. He just hasn’t done it in a long time, not since he was a teenager fooling around with Sasha, before moving to America. 

Ilya has always secretly hoped it would be Hollander to try it again, someday when they have more time. Really, Hollander loves taking it so much, Ilya would never deprive him for even one of their sparse evenings to switch things up. 

But who is he kidding? They will never have more time than their 3-hour maximum, desperate for quick release, trying not to experiment too much. They prioritize making it as reliably good as possible because they know they have to stock up the memories for the next weeks or months without. And there are so many other things Ilya wants to try first.

He would do anything for a week or two alone with Hollander. Or even a night. Maybe he can get him to spend the night when Montreal plays Boston in October. 

It’s only with this guy in front of him at the club, asking if he wants to leave with him, that Ilya makes the decision. If this is the only way he’ll be close to Hollander tonight, he’s going to do it.  

In the hotel, Cletus leans in to make out, but Ilya doesn’t see the point if Hollander didn’t. In fact, as the guy licks Ilya’s neck, he wants details about the no-kissing. Was it just no kissing on the mouth or none at all? Even without kissing, even knowing Hollander’s saliva wasn’t on this guy, he still knows where this skin has been. It’s almost enough. 

He wants to know if Hollander was on his back or his front. Did this guy use his fingers or did Hollander prep himself? Did he eat Hollander’s ass? Ilya’s blood boils at the idea that someone would put their dick in Hollander’s ass without properly loving on it first, but he also wants that to stay exclusively his. Is it still exclusively his? Has it ever been? 

Did Hollander run his fingers over this guy’s back like he does with Ilya? Did he tuck his fingers into this hair and pull? Ilya does, and his heart twists uncomfortably. He clenches around the same flesh that was in Hollander two weeks ago.

The guy is just ok. Ilya spends the whole time thinking about Hollander in this same position, getting the same thrusts. He tells the guy to go harder, because he’s positive Hollander asked for the same thing.

The hands running up and down his sides are practiced, like Caleb does this to everyone, so he definitely did it to Hollander. The pads of these fingers have touched the same places on Hollander. A hand eventually strokes his dick, maybe like it stroked Hollander’s. Ilya fucks into the hand like it’s Hollander’s own skin and that thought sends Ilya over the edge with Hollander’s name coming out of his mouth. He feels a bit bad; despite the effort to get here, this orgasm had nothing to do with this guy. 

“Hollander?” Callum asks, when he’s done too. 

“Sorry.” Ilya doesn’t mean it.

“No, it’s just weird I…” Colin looks like he’s realizing something, and then hating it. “What the fuck? Aren’t you guys like… opponents or something? Fuck, am I, like, a competition? Holy shit.” Ilya starts to answer, but Connor shakes his head. “Ok, fine. Whatever. You win. You were better.” 

“What?” Ilya asks in disbelief. He’s had Hollander maybe a hundred times and nothing Ilya did tonight would compare to how beautifully Hollander takes it. He doesn’t ask for details. For once, he decides he doesn’t want them. 

Ilya takes a selfie in front of a sign in the Atlanta airport. He did all this for Hollander, he might as well brag about it. 

Ilya: [photo]
Ilya: my ass is sore Hollander
Ilya: how do you do this all the time 

Jane: !!!!!!
Jane: Rozanov!
Jane: what the fuck???

“Hello?” Ilya answers his first-ever call from Hollander in the airport. He’s giddy, if the texts are any indication of Hollander’s mental state right now. 

“What the fuck were you thinking? You went to Atlanta for this picture?”

“Uhh no, not for this picture.”

“Don’t say that— you didn’t…”

“I did.”

“Rozanov, what the fuck…” He pauses. “Are you going back to Boston now?”

Ilya eyes the boarding pass in his hand. “Where else?”

There’s some silence over the line. Then some rustling around. Ilya desperately wants to know what Hollander is doing over there. “You could come to Montreal,” Hollander says quietly. 

Ilya feels like it’s Christmas. “You are in pre-season, no?”

“Yeah I… I have nights though. Like tonight. Or tomorrow.”

“Fuck, Hollander, you need it that bad?” Ilya asks, so he doesn’t scream ‘yes’ in the middle of the airport. He puts his phone on speaker and quickly looks at a flight. There’s one in an hour. 

“If you’re going to fly just to have sex…” Hollander doesn’t finish that sentence and instead starts a new one, “I didn’t know you were making house calls.” But he did, right? Ilya asked if they could meet. So what’s changed, Ilya traveling to hook up with a stranger?

“I can. There is a flight. Lands this evening.”

“I’ll send a car.”

The whole flight, Ilya buzzes. He should sleep. He didn’t sleep much last night and God knows he’s not going to get much sleep tonight, not if he has any say. Shit, should he get a hotel? Or… the earlier thought about asking Hollander to stay over comes to mind. He could stay with Hollander tonight. They haven’t done that, but they also haven’t flown with the express purpose of having sex. He might share a bed with Hollander? Eight to ten hours of his best hookup? Ilya considers jerking off in the plane bathroom, and then he does. 

When he lands, he opens Jane’s texts and his heart deflates slightly. 

Jane: got you a hotel room
Jane: driver will take you there.
Jane: i’ll be there like 8?

Ok. This is ok. It’s not like Ilya flew to spend the night with Hollander. He flew to fuck him. That doesn’t require a sleepover. 

When Ilya gets to the hotel room, he assesses his last 24 hours. A man was inside of him, there was a light rinse, a hotel bed, and an airplane. He takes the opportunity for a deep clean seeing-Hollander-tonight kind of shower. Then, he lounges in his towel before he has to get dressed. It’s 7:30, he still has time. It’s always funny to get dressed to see Hollander; their clothes are never on for long. He could even open the door in this towel— the door beeps with a keycard. Ilya sits up in alarm, but there’s really only one person it could be. 

Hollander bolts in the room and shuts the door quickly. 

“You’re early.” Ilya gestures to his towel/skirt. 

“Sorry.” Hollander crosses the room and pulls his shirt and pants off on the way. He folds the shirt while his eyes are still on Ilya, but seems to forget about the pants on the floor. That usually speaks to some kind of desperation, and Ilya bubbles with excitement. He lies back on the pillows as Hollander settles between his legs. 

He tugs at the towel until Ilya’s soft cock is exposed. Give him a second, he was ambushed. 

“I jerked off on the plane.” Ilya says by way of apology. Really, it will only take two seconds of Hollander’s mouth or hand… or even just the way he’s staring.

“It’s fine,” Hollander says and kisses Ilya’s hip bone. He pushes on Ilya’s inner thigh, and Ilya moves his leg over to make room willingly. Ever since their first time, he lets Hollander put him in whatever position he wants. If Hollander's in the mood to push him around a little, all the better. 

But now Ilya’s legs are spread a little wider than usual and Hollander is ignoring his rapidly-hardening cock in favor of planting a broad tongue on his balls. Ilya would typically not react strongly to that, but it’s the first real contact of the night, and he’s only human. He arches up into it. 

Hollander ghosts his hand over Ilya’s cock. His face is inches away from it, why isn't he gobbling it up by now? It’s not like Hollander; he loves having his mouth filled. Ilya kind of wants to tell him to do something. “Are you looking or sucking?”

Hollander looks. He runs his hands around Ilya’s hips, thighs. He thumbs at Ilya’s balls a little. Ilya would maybe pay to have him touch his cock right now. Instead of answering, Hollander starts a different question. 

“So let me get this straight.” Hollander’s tone is even. Ilya swallows and he doesn’t make a joke about Hollander getting anything “straight” because his voice would announce how affected he is. Hollander is making eye contact with his dick but continues, “You bought a ticket, flew to Atlanta, hit on a guy, went home with him, and let him fuck you.” Hollander’s hands are squeezing every emphasis on Ilya’s thighs. He leans down and bites one of them gently, then sucks a little open-mouthed kiss there. Ilya feels fuzzy with anticipation. Hollander’s mouth is right there. He tilts his hips in that direction, hoping Hollander will take the hint and swallow him down. He doesn’t. 

“Yes, I told you this.” Ilya finally realizes if he doesn’t answer they will never start. “Now will you please suck my dick?”

“How was it?” Hollander asks, instead of sucking Ilya’s dick. “Have you done that before?”

“I have.” And not great, Ilya wants to say. “Have never liked it as much as you do.” He does a little half shrug like it doesn’t really matter. 

“Hmm.” Hollander sucks a kiss a little closer to where Ilya needs him. Ilya whimpers. Hollander has never teased him, ever, so he’s never made that sound. Hollander squeezes Ilya’s thighs again and backs up a little. “Up.”

Ilya looks down, bewildered. Ok, Ilya’s not getting his dick sucked right now. Fine. He rolls slightly to get up, but Hollander is holding him down. “What—”

“No, up,” Hollander hoists Ilya’s thighs up to fold him in half. Ilya instinctively holds his knees up to his chest, but there’s nothing instinctive about this for him. His entire asshole is on display. And Hollander is just looking. 

Surely he’s seen Ilya’s asshole at some point. Hollander has spent hours of his life between these legs. But he has never reached for it or tried to look at it or—like now—gazed at it in wonder. Ilya feels a gentle finger stroking his rim, barely brushing it. He shifts uncomfortably. 

“I’d never even seen it,” Hollander whispers. Not much to see, Ilya wants to say, he can’t imagine there’s much to look at. He hopes it’s not still red from last night’s activities. 

“Is just an asshole, Hollander. There is one in the mirror.” Ilya receives a small laugh at this, but there’s still a finger on his rim. Hollander’s face is right next to it. What’s the plan here?

“I didn’t know this was an option.” He says, putting a fingertip over the hole. Ilya thinks maybe it’s his thumb. 

Did Hollander want this option? Is this something Hollander does with other guys? They never discussed it. They never had time. Though, if Ilya is thinking about it, today wasn’t supposed to be their time. This whole meetup was unscheduled, just to give them more time. This is borrowed time. 

He swallows. Last night was different. He had something to concentrate on: Hollander’s hole around the same cock as his. Now, with Hollander's singular focus on his most intimate parts, it’s too much. Ilya is about to tell him it’s not an option, that it was a one-time thing, that the actual feeling of it last night was not good enough, he’s decided he doesn’t want to do it again, ever. Before he can say any of that, though, Hollander’s tongue is on him. 

Ilya gasps. He’s not even sure if he’s breathing, but he gasps. Over and over again, too, because Hollander doesn’t take his mouth away. The tongue moves with authority in circles around his ass, and Hollander moans. 

There’s no breath leaving his lungs but Ilya gasps anyway. He can’t catch his breath, each new shift of the tongue eliciting a new gust of air to his overfilled chest. 

Nothing has felt like this. He knows he must have had this done at some point, maybe even last night for a minute. But nothing prepared Ilya for Shane Hollander’s warm tongue between his legs, moaning into his hole like he’s the one getting rimmed. It’s certainly never been this hypnotic, if it has happened. How would he be able to forget something like this?

Hollander is treating it like the main event, like maybe Ilya flew here so Hollander could eat him out. He’s acting like he knows what he’s doing and owns Ilya’s asshole and can just do things like stick his tongue wherever he wants. Ilya resists the urge to touch himself, unwilling to admit to himself or Hollander how affected he is. 

“He did this?” Hollander asks, now pulling at Ilya’s inner cheeks, spreading Ilya to see him more clearly. It’s so intrusive, Ilya wants to die. He wants to die doing this. 

“No— I don’t know.”

“He wanted to, to me. I said no,” Hollander muses. Ilya feels like he was just hit. The reminder that Hollander had the option, that someone else’s mouth could have been on him like this, an unwelcome presence. “But you ‘don’t know.’ Not very memorable? Guess I didn’t miss much.” Hollander laps his tongue over Ilya’s hole again before asking, “do you like it?”

The question feels out of place. There’s no liking or not liking, Ilya has nothing to compare it to. It’s not like his normal feeling during good sex, so he has no idea if it’s good. He knows he wants Hollander to stop asking questions and keep doing it. Instead of answering, Ilya grabs a hand of Hollander’s hair and directs him back in. The resulting chuckle applied directly to his asshole will live in Ilya’s head as long as he lives. 

A finger joins Hollander’s tongue, pulling Ilya back to earth’s surface. Again, what’s the plan here? Is Hollander going to fuck him? Is Ilya going to let him?

It’s not even worth entertaining that doubt. Hollander can do anything he wants to Ilya’s body. 

The fingertip makes its way in. Hollander moans just watching it. 

Ilya has never liked this part. He doesn’t like getting fingered, he doesn’t see the point beyond a necessity to prepare himself for the actual sex, which he also doesn’t love. The stretch is not pleasurable to him. He knows Hollander likes it because of all the times he’s moaned about the burn or demanded Ilya’s cock after just a cursory stretch, but Ilya has never felt like that. It’s not just the stretch, he’s poked his own prostate a few times out of curiosity and it just feels weird. Nothing he wants to do with another person. But again, Hollander can do literally whatever he wants with Ilya. He should experiment here, with Ilya, so he can realize he hates topping and doesn’t have to try it on someone else. 

With his fingertip lodged in, Hollander looks up. “How is it?”

They’ve never really had the opportunity to be vocal when things don’t feel good… most things they do together feel really good. But Ilya likes to think they would be honest if they needed to, like now. “My hole is not slutty like yours, Hollander. It does not crave this.”

Hollander rolls his eyes. “My hole does not crave—” he stops before the lie. He looks at the hole, with just half his finger in it. He presses the finger a little more, and Ilya sucks in more air. Hollander’s face is still amazed. “It’s really so hot… holy shit. Did he do this part, or did you?”

Ilya is trembling. “He did. I wasn’t sure he did it to you. Wanted to be safe.”

“Safe?”

Fuck, Ilya can’t explain his logic with a clear mind, let alone with a foreign object being stuck inside him. “Like, the chance he did it to you.”

“He did.” Hollander confirms and Ilya doesn’t know what’s happening in his body. His gut plummets at the same time as his cock throbs and hardens a little more. Hollander notices one of those. “This whole thing is a turn-on for you? Me hooking up with random people?”

“No—” Ilya says too quickly. He tries to explain, “just— his fingers touched you, and then they touched me. Is like you touched me.”

“But I’ve never even touched you here.”

“Doesn’t matter. Wanted to share the skin of his fingers.” Ilya cautions an eye open. “…because there was no cock skin, yes? It was condom?” 

“Yes, of course. Always.” Hollander says quickly and shifts his finger a little. “You?”

Ilya nods. “Always.”

“Good.” They’ve never talked about safe sex practices with other people but Ilya can guess Hollander is fairly careful, and Ilya is too. Hollander returns the gaze back to where his finger is surely over halfway into Ilya. “But this is actually the skin of my finger, or whatever, in you.”

Ilya holds his breath at those words. This is Hollander’s finger inside him. Somehow that fact got lost in everything else, but now suddenly it feels like his whole body is melting from the touch. He needs more. Hollander seems to understand as Ilya’s hips roll down to play with the finger. 

“Lube?” Hollander asks. 

“In my bag.” They both look at each other, Ilya barely breathing and Hollander blushing. Neither of them wants to extract Hollander’s fingers for him to go get it. “Now, Hollander.” Hollander takes his fingers out and scrambles to Ilya’s bag, intuiting which pocket and drawing out the lube and some condoms. 

He slicks up his fingers and returns the same one to Ilya’s body. “So, then you’d probably want to know if I fingered myself before I came here. With this finger,” Hollander says nonchalantly. 

“Yes,” Ilya moans and squirms at the thought. Hollander hums and fucks tiny thrusts with his finger in Ilya.

He might be starting to understand. “I did, I got myself ready. It was this finger… to start, at least. It always is.” 

All of Ilya’s hesitations about this are long gone, and he couldn’t believe he had any to begin with. This is Shane Hollander inside of him. Why did he think he could compare this experience to last night with whateverhisname? Or any teenage experiment? Or whatever masculine hang-ups he thought he had? His whole body wants to lean into Hollander’s hand. He wants more fingers, or the whole hand, or a dick. Ideally, Hollander himself would crawl up in there and never leave. 

It seems like just as Ilya lets go and lets himself feel every wrinkle of Hollander’s finger in him, Hollander’s anxiety takes over. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yes,” Ilya breathes. Surely Hollander can see that, right? That Ilya is completely wrecked on this bed right now? Scooping his inhibitions out and giving Hollander a place to put his fingers has made Ilya feel better than he has all summer long. 

“Can I try…” Hollander stares at his hand inside Ilya. Suddenly, the melting feeling intensifies and Ilya moans loudly. Hollander’s finger begins a light pattern, tapping at the wire that will surely electrocute both of them. Ilya makes some kind of sounds he would never be able to identify. He wrestles around with no idea if he’s trying to get away from Hollander’s fingers pressing into his prostate or fuck himself onto them. His eyes squeeze shut to fend off the impending orgasm. If he looks up and sees that it’s Hollander doing this to him, he will come all over himself. 

So far, none of this is usual for Ilya but he’s not even sure it’s been done before. He doesn’t have the capacity to wrack his memory but anything up his ass in the past has been up there as a precursor. No one ever wanted to make this part feel good for him, but one barely-cracked eye shows Hollander gazing in awe at the scene. He’s practically drooling, and his hand on Ilya’s thigh is gone in favor of touching himself. If Ilya had any presence of mind he would find the words to ask to do that for him, but has no words at all. He probably couldn’t coordinate a single stroke right now anyway. 

“Is it ok?” Hollander is asking, breathy, and Ilya just whines embarrassingly in response and lifts his hips to ask for more. “God, Rozanov. I think I have to—” he stops all movements, to Ilya’s vocal dismay, and breathes. Ilya finally opens his eyes to see Hollander looking as wrecked as he feels. 

Hollander grabs a condom from where he dropped them on the bed. Ilya is terrified. Surely Hollander knows better. That dick is sizable. One finger isn’t enough for this. But to Ilya’s surprise, he’s not trying to put it on himself. He awkwardly fumbles with one hand— the other still lodged inside Ilya— and rolls the condom onto Ilya’s cock. 

“Sorry— I just… I can’t watch this without you in me,” he mutters while slicking up Ilya’s dick, “I’m gonna take this out for a second, hang on. I’m so glad I got ready…” Hollander removes his finger and straddles Ilya’s lap. He lines himself up so he can just sink down on Ilya’s cock, but he doesn’t. He reaches behind him and returns his finger. 

Ilya involuntarily bucks up at the entrance, simultaneously lifting up and into Hollander. The pressure from both sides is insane. It’s not something he would have thought to do but now he might actually want to die this way. He ricochets between Hollander’s ass and his finger, the pressure from one shooting him back onto the other. He doesn’t even mean to be thrusting, it’s just a cause and effect. Hollander is lazily riding back and forth, too, meeting Ilya’s hips halfway and occasionally taking him all the way in. Every time Ilya opens his eyes, Hollander’s face looks more awestruck.

“Hollander— I…” but it’s too much to explain. He needs to tell Hollander to slow down or stop but he has no control over his voice or body at all, with Hollander above him, wringing all sense out of him. Ilya’s eyes are squeezed shut to ward off the immediate need to come, and opening them only reminds him that it’s Hollander doing all of this, enjoying the hell out of it, which only makes it worse. He can’t escape pleasure on all sides, in every one of his senses. 

“Let go, Rozanov. Let me do this,” Hollander breathes. “I’m there too, it’s so fucking good, God.” He redoubles his efforts inside Ilya’s ass, which makes Ilya thrash harder under him. A hand on Ilya’s chest holds him down, and Hollander works his hips faster, fucking himself on Ilya’s cock.

Ilya is trapped exactly where he wants to be, squared between Hollander’s thighs and ass and hands, and any direction Ilya can squirm is more constricting and stimulating than the last. He’s lost any English ability and his usual Russian curses have even devolved into involuntary moans.   

“Never seen you like this.” It’s Hollander’s voice, sounding completely destroyed, that does him in. “It’s so hot, Rozanov… fuck. I’m—”

Ilya shakes as he reaches his limit, too. Hollander doesn’t stop, even as Ilya’s cock starts to pulse inside him, so the waves of pleasure continue with him. He distantly knows he’s being loud, but Hollander is, too. Their voices combined are just intensifying everything. It feels like he’s pumping his whole soul into the condom, and it won’t stop coming. His eyes are still closed, or maybe his vision is just blacked out, but he vaguely registers Hollander whining for him and the hard clench around his cock and warm liquid on his stomach. Aftershocks wrack through Ilya’s system at the feeling, and a little more cum dribbles into the spent condom. 

Hollander’s forehead finds Ilya’s shoulder as they breathe, and when Ilya feels that weight lift, he can’t open his eyes to look his murderer in the face. 

He feels a wet cloth. He knows he’s being attended to. He groans pleasantly at the feeling of being babied; it’s not very often that he is. He feels a warm body on his for a while, then blankets, then lips kissing his, then sleep. 

He wakes up in the morning to no one. A text sent before midnight waits on his phone. 

Jane: didn’t want to wake you, seemed like you needed to rest.
Jane: glad i got to see you like that too. 

Too? Who else has ever seen Ilya like that? No one has ever done anything even close, it’s never happened. Not just to him— Ilya doesn’t think anything like that has happened in the history of mankind. 

Just as he finishes reading the text, another one comes in. 

Jane: seriously though, are you ok? should I come back?

Yes, please, Ilya wants to say. Come back and do exactly that again. Come back and fuck me properly, with your dick, erase that guy from memory. Come back and let me fuck you how I thought I would. Come back and do none of that, just sit and sleep here with me. Come back and kiss me again— I was asleep for the one time we even kissed. 

He tries to put some semblance of this into words. 

Ilya: i am fine. was good.
Ilya: see you in October. 

He resists the urge to tell Hollander not to hook up with anyone else. He doesn’t want to do this again.

October 2016

The first weekend of the season, they both play in New York: Montreal on Friday and Boston on Sunday. Unfortunately, even though Boston will get there on Saturday, they don’t overlap at all. 

So it’s a shock when Hollander texts him late on Friday night. 

Jane: i’m about to go home with Becca [Link: @BECwSPK on Instagram]
Jane: she says she’ll be at the same bar tomorrow night
Jane: any requests? 

Ilya feels like he’s just been hit by a bus, and he tries not to let his expression show it in a room with half his team. Is Hollander just willingly offering the opportunity this time? His heart pounds in his throat, knowing Hollander is about to fuck someone else. But he’s basically telling Ilya he’s going to be thinking about him. If he’s honest, Ilya has thought of Hollander every time for months… maybe longer. 

Despite the gut-punch, these texts are an instant aphrodisiac for Ilya. It’s Hollander giving in to the next level of their arrangement. He’s giving Ilya what he wants, even if it’s fucked up. Hell, Hollander might even be a little turned on by it, too. Ilya is filled with such an affection for his casual sometimes-hookup. His stomach flips over and over. It’s probably unhealthy, but as long as Ilya doesn’t examine it any further, it’s fine. 

It feels weird to tell Hollander how to fuck someone else, but Ilya will try. 

Ilya: need me to tell you how to please a woman Hollander?

Jane: forget it. 

Ilya: nooo (((
Ilya: lick everywhere, i want to lick you off her.
Ilya: ask if she’ll do it bare and leave something for me.

Jane: jesus rozanov
Jane: i’m not getting a girl pregnant for your weird new fetish. 

Ilya: no one will know if the baby is yours or mine. 

Jane: that’s worse!! do you see how that’s worse!?

As promised, Bella is at the bar when Ilya gets there. He has no shame, making a beeline for her friend group. He ignores the four other friends to make the moves on her. She’s interested, it’s obvious, but she’s not asking him to leave with her. Why not?

One of her friends lashes out, probably jealous that Ilya hasn’t made eye contact with anyone else all night. “Becca is just worried she’s a slut if she does it two nights in a row.” 

Belinda gives her friend a scandalized gasp. “I can’t believe you said that!” 

Ilya didn’t think his seduction tonight would include a cautionary lecture about the dangers of self-slut-shaming, but here we are. Luckily her friends are sex-positive and encouraging.

Finally, she looks like she’s considering it. “Will you stay? The guy last night didn’t want to stay.” Oh, Shane Hollander didn’t want to sleep over? Join the club, sweetie.

“Sure. I will stay.” Right now, Ilya would say almost anything to seal the deal. 

He reviews Hollander’s texts in the cab. Making out, oral, sex. Hollander said he pulled out and finished on her, he said he thought that would probably be better for Ilya anyway, and Ilya wants to cry because Hollander gets it. Ilya has never described it eloquently or tried to convince Hollander that it’s hot, but Hollander gets it anyway. 

The last text is Ilya asking if she was on her front or back when it happened, and Hollander never responded. 

When they plop down to make out on clean-smelling sheets (to a small tinge of disappointment), Ilya tries to be patient and savor it, as if it’s the same as every other night, as if he doesn’t know Hollander’s fluids were on this body 24 hours before. He never got clarification on whether Hollander’s dick was in her mouth, so he tries to search for evidence with his tongue. Really, he’s trying to gauge how long he needs to do this so it doesn’t look suspicious for him to go straight down and lick her skin like he’s trying to clean it. 

His phone vibrates on the nightstand, and he takes off Bianca’s shirt, pausing for a moment when it’s covering her eyes to glance at the phone. The lock screen tells him everything he needs to know. 

Jane: she was on her back. it got everywhere. 

Ilya disguises the groan as a reaction to seeing Birdie’s tits as she fumbles with her bra. He can’t wait any longer, and presses her back against the pillows. 

He drags his tongue over all the skin he can find on her torso, anywhere Hollander’s come would plausibly land. Brenda squirms as he licks her ticklish stomach, but Ilya holds her hips down, trying to suck the skin off the flesh. 

He can taste Hollander. He knows it, he can. She’s definitely showered since yesterday but it doesn’t matter if it was six months ago, he knows Hollander’s come was on this skin and his taste buds agree. 

“Come on,” Britney moans, unbuttoning her own pants and pushing them down. 

Ilya curses under his breath. He doesn’t want to do anything else. Sure, he’d be making out with Hollander if he went down on her, licking where his tongue had been, but licking Hollander’s phantom jizz off this woman is the hottest thing he’s done in his life, at least when Hollander wasn’t in the room. 

But a glance downward once her pants are off has Ilya cursing for a different reason. There, on her inner thigh, is a hickey. It’s not even yellowing yet, it’s definitely fresh. Ilya mutters profane Russian under his breath that the woman can take to be a response to her exposed body. He latches onto the spot with his mouth. He’s got just enough awareness to use his hands on her while he does it, so it doesn’t seem like he’s just sucking the life out of another man’s mark. 

But he is sucking the life out of it. He licks and bites at the flesh, knowing it was in Hollander’s mouth last night. He sucks it between his lips and then salves it with his tongue. He can feel his cock dripping inside his pants. He actually wouldn’t mind coming just like this. It’s only when he gets a soft “Ow” from the head of the bed that he stops and admires his work. Hollander’s work. Their work. It’s dark red now, and Ilya notices a scratch above it that looks suspiciously like a hockey stick. He ruts his hips against the bed. 

Someday he wants to share a woman with Hollander, and he imagines it as he starts to eat her out. They could both be licking this pussy, brush tongues occasionally, stop to make out every few seconds. Ilya would drag his tongue over her clit and continue all the way up Hollander’s tongue. He could lick Hollander’s rolling spit from her. Hollander could finger her and Ilya would suck on his fingers after. He could be fucking Hollander while they work, taking him from behind and pressing Hollander’s head against the woman’s open legs. Muffling his pretty noises with his tongue inside her. Hollander would get too overwhelmed to focus, and Ilya would grab his hair, tell him to stick his tongue out, and he’d move Hollander’s head around for him, using his mouth like a toy on the woman. A whining, moaning toy. He would suck when Ilya told him to suck. The rhythm of his fingers would match Ilya's hips. Ilya could put his fingers in too, feel Hollander’s skin inside of her. Ilya could make them both come at the same time. 

Ilya feels his orgasm about to start, completely untouched, fully dressed, as he eats Beverly out to these images. He closes his eyes to stave it off and replaces his tongue with his fingers. When the urgency simmers down a little, he realizes with some relief that she’s having a good time, too. 

Bailey sits up, reaches for his belt and unzips his pants. “Fuck me,” she moans. “I hate condoms, is that ok? Just don’t come in there.”

Ilya’s jaw drops. Is that why Hollander came on her stomach? He actually was inside of this woman with no condom? Ilya’s dick could touch the same walls… he grips his cock through his underwear. He leans back down while he fumbles with his pants to taste her again. Hollander’s dick was in this space, bare, last night. Again, Ilya can taste it. He’d know the taste of Hollander’s cock anywhere. Even inside a vagina. He wonders if Hollander rubbed up on the outside of it for Ilya, making it so any kiss or lick would pick up the skin from his cock. Ilya fucking hopes so. 

“You are trying to kill me,” he says, but he’s not necessarily talking to Brinsley. He kisses the spot they made together one more time before he quickly removes his clothes to get inside of her.

Usually he would say no. He doesn’t fuck without a condom, ever. Ironically, he’s trying to stay clean on the off-chance Hollander asks for it raw someday. So this would probably be a revelatory experience no matter what. He can use that excuse for why he feels like he’s walking the edge already. “Feels too good, will not last.”

“That’s ok,” Brielle says, drawing a hand down to rub herself while Ilya feels the warmth Hollander felt. He suddenly wants to know more about the female body. Is this the same wetness that was enveloping Hollander, or does it reset every 24 hours? Is it removed in the shower? Are there any drops that clung to Hollander, got left behind, and now latch onto Ilya? 

He was right, it doesn’t take long, and he pulls out to come on her stomach. Hollander was here, exactly like this, coming in the exact same spot 24 hours ago. It makes Ilya feel like Hollander is there, like this is his hand jerking Ilya off to join his cum on this woman’s stomach. 

Remembering the text message, ‘it got everywhere’, Ilya gives into the perverse instinct to smear it in, let them mix on her skin. 

He feels high. It’s easily the hottest thing he’s ever done with anyone else. He kneels above her to catch his breath and savor the sensation of sharing skin with Hollander.

But he still wishes it was actually Hollander. Hollander’s stomach, Hollander’s cum, Hollander panting satisfied curses into the air. 

The high doesn’t last, not like it does with Hollander. Ilya looks at what he’s done and his stomach turns. He hates himself. He hates Hollander. He hates this woman. He hates every single person Hollander has touched or talked to or been near. Including himself. He wants to fly to Hollander. Nine days until their first meeting of the season, and Ilya will spend all of them picking at his wounds, regretting this night, jerking off to it, hoping with tears in his eyes that Hollander isn’t doing it again, hoping he keeps telling him if he is, so they can keep doing this. 

What he actually wants from Hollander is so deranged. So, Ilya can settle for this. If it’s all he can get, he can keep doing this. He can be content with imaginary nights with Shane Hollander’s ghost.

Nine unbearable days later, Hollander comes into Ilya’s house uncharacteristically unrushed. They have all day today and tomorrow morning before their game. Ilya has food for easy meals, cold ginger ale in the fridge, enough lube and condoms for a month. Ilya is going to ask Hollander to stay the night. 

Ever since Barbie said Hollander wouldn’t stay for her, Ilya has needed it. He’s realizing he needs Hollander in every way they don’t give to anyone else. These little things are only for Ilya. 

Ilya recounts his night with Bunny out loud while Hollander rides him. Hollander protests the conversation topic, but ultimately curses and moans when he hears Ilya’s plan for their imaginary threesome. Ilya regrets that he can’t lick Hollander off his own stomach, but he makes Hollander dip his fingers in the mess and feed it to him. 

Sitting on the couch with tuna melts, Hollander admits something big. 

“That was a good night. It was the best time I’ve had with anyone… else… or, sorry, anyone like that…?” He trails off as he realizes what he’s admitting. Obviously, Ilya is the best lay he’ll ever have. Privately, they both already knew that. Even more privately, Ilya knows the reverse is true.

But the larger issue is that Hollander needed to think about Ilya to have satisfying sex with a woman. 

Ilya owes him the truth, so he admits it too. His hookups are hotter if he knows Hollander was already there. Ilya realizes with dread he has to think about him to have good sex with anyone. 

They share some more about themselves than they ever have before. He asks if Shane has any regular hookups. He tells him about his own. And yeah, at some point in the day, Hollander becomes Shane. 

He doesn’t want anyone else getting Shane in this way. The nights of grotesque pleasure for Ilya aren’t worth the pit of restless jealousy he has to endure to get them. And he can’t go back to just not knowing when Shane is hooking up. No, the solution here is for Shane to stop hooking up entirely. 

So Ilya gives his best monogamous-relationship-salespitch. And by that, I mean he moans Shane’s first name as he comes.

Shane freaks out. Shane leaves.

December 2016

When Ilya sees the first tabloid, he checks it a thousand times. Every day, a new picture. Shane is there, dining? …shopping? …cutting a birthday cake? all with Rose Landry. Ilya recognizes the actress from her TV and movie roles, like every good well-informed North American. 

But he also knows her from his bed. 

Years ago, just before she got her big X-Squad contract, Ilya brought her back to his place. They had a fine but forgettable night. Ilya would have lost it to the recesses of memories of similar women if it weren’t for her overnight rise to fame two months later. It was a cool little piece of trivia for Marly or Svetlana to sometimes bring up and tease Ilya about. Now he’s wishing he never heard her name. 

Something insane is happening in Ilya’s body at the thought of them together. This must be how Shane felt every time, maybe without the wisp of arousal on top of the burning jealousy. Did Shane know before asking her out? He couldn’t have, right? Does he know now? Does Rose give her new boyfriends a laminated list of every professional hockey player she’s boned?

Ilya needs to tell Shane. And if it breaks them up and makes everyone as miserable as he is, all the better. 

Ilya: have you fucked her yet?

Jane: none of your business anymore.
Jane: why

Ilya: ask her about me
Ilya: before you do it. 

Two days later Ilya gets the response. 

Jane: asshole!!!

Ilya’s stomach twists again at the confirmation that they did indeed see each other again. Did Shane still fuck her? Was it different? Was it better?

It’s humiliating, and revolting. But Ilya jerks off every night for weeks thinking about Shane fucking Rose Landry.

Two months later, Ilya sits naked on the bed in his Tampa hotel room at All-Stars weekend, Shane emotionally and physically wrung out next to him. They’ve had desperate reunion sex once already after covering every other possible topic of awkward-but-necessary conversation: Shane is gay, Ilya’s family sucks, Russia, they can’t be anything, et cetera… so Ilya pounces on the last remaining one. 

“How was it with her?”

Shane looks confused for a second. Ilya expects him to blush, to be embarrassed and shy until he inevitably gives in when Ilya tortures him. He wants to hear how Shane felt him on Rose’s body, tried to lick Ilya off of her. 

Instead, Shane is smiling. 

“She was not impressed, Rozanov.” 

That’s sad, Ilya thinks, but not surprising. He’s heard enough from Shane’s hookups to know that Ilya is the only one in the world with this specific Shane Hollander fetish.  

“Is ok, not many of your former—”

“My? No, she wasn’t impressed with you.”

“How would she not be impressed with me?” Ilya asks incredulously. 

“Actually, I don’t know. She didn’t say how.” Shane looks off into the distance, considering it. 

So that’s how they find themselves naked with their backs leaning up against the headboard, Shane’s phone in his hand between them. 

Over speakerphone, Rose Landry’s already voice sounds exhausted. “So you’re there. Together. After months apart. It’s almost… Guys it’s 2am over there.” She sighs. “…And you want me to rate you?”

“Not rate,” Shane says quickly, “I already know how I did.” Ilya lets this slide. If he hadn’t been hearing so many reviews of Shane’s performance maybe he would torture all three of them by asking for a play-by-play.  

“Ok… so just Ilya?”

“Yeah, you said you weren’t impressed with him but like… how?”

Rose scoffs. “I mean you sleep with him, right? You must already know how.”

Ilya looks at Shane. It’s a good point. If there’s anything wrong with his performance—and there’s not—Shane would be the one to know. 

But Shane just looks like he’s wracking his brain, “Actually? I really don’t know. He’s kind of perfect in bed. I can’t imagine…” he cuts himself off. 

“Oh my God, stop, barf.” The eye roll is almost audible over the phone. “He was such an incompassionate dick! He didn’t care if I finished. He just talked about himself. I think he called me Rhonda? He was super cold afterwards and then he was awkward about whether I should stay or go… He threw a Gatorade at me on the way out! And what is that orgasm face?? It still haunts me.”

Shane’s mouth hangs open. Ilya kind of knows this stuff already, nothing he hasn’t heard before. But Shane looks like his life is flashing before his eyes. “He’s always nice. He was never like that with me,” he says quietly. 

“He never has an orgasm with you? Surely you know the face I’m talking about.” 

This seems unfair. Ilya never told Shane what these people thought of him, in case it affects his future experiences. This is bordering on stuff that could make Ilya self-conscious in the future, and Ilya wants to interject to defend himself. 

He doesn’t need to. Shane looks down at his lap and his voice is still quiet when it comes out, “I love that face. It’s my goal, every time I see him, I need to see that face at least once. Even when my back is to him, or when I’m so… out of it that I can’t think, I make sure I look at him to see it. If I miss it, I need to make him come again. I need to see it.”

Ilya’s eyes sting. This shouldn’t be as sweet as it is. They play with each other’s hands for a minute before Rose rudely interrupts with a laugh, “You, Shane Hollander, are lost in the sauce during sex? And you’re saying Ilya Rozanov is a kind and compassionate lover?” She laughs again in disbelief. “Ok, look, I am so fucking glad you found each other, but now please stop subjecting other people to your terrible sex. I’m forcing monogamy on you two. You are hereby banned from having sex with anyone else.”

Shane blushes bright red. Ilya is probably too, except Russians don’t blush. Shane rolls his eyes to pretend he’s not affected. “Thanks, Rose. Very helpful. Informative. Hanging up now.” 

He hangs up before she can respond and dumps his phone on the nightstand. “Cold and incompassionate, Rozanov?” He crawls on top of Ilya playfully. “Only talk about yourself? Why didn’t I ever get that treatment? Why am I different?” He drops down for a kiss. 

Ilya avoids the question. Shane already knows why he’s different. “At least I do not like my embarrassing O-face,” Ilya shrugs and revels in Shane’s naked weight on top of him.

“It doesn’t matter what you think about that face, you don’t see it.” Shane thinks for a second and traces a thumb across Ilya’s forehead. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about that face.” 

“No? Why?” Ilya’s chest expands. He looks at Shane’s eyes. They’re so dark but if you look long enough you see the browns…

“It’s mine,” Shane states simply, “No one else sees it again.” Ilya’s chest feels full and he nods enthusiastically. Shane looks dubious. “I was kind of kidding…”

“No one else will see it.” That’s the truth. Ilya has been hoping Shane would say something like that for months, probably longer. He doesn’t want Shane to be kidding, though he’s a bit skeptical that he was to begin with. Ilya wants to give him this. He can’t give Hollander anything else, with his family and Russia and hockey breathing down their necks. But for now, he can gift him the ugly orgasm face. “It is yours.”

“Mine,” Shane whispers, studying Ilya’s face with wonder.

It’s too earnest. Ilya needs to ruin it. “I will miss licking you off of other people.”

Shane frowns. “I know. You like it better when we’re hooking up with people. It’s ok—”

Ilya flips them over so he can shut Shane up with a kiss. “Hollander, you are fucking crazy.”

Shane kisses him again and moans a little into it before responding, “No I get it. I have like, no experience. And I think you like sharing people and we can still—”

“We cannot ‘still’.” Ilya bites at Shane’s lip. “You have no idea.” He kisses Shane’s jaw. “I wanted to kill every one of them. I hated it.” He licks up Shane’s collarbone and sucks a small mark at the end of it. He wishes the mark could be bigger, more defined, leave less question of what it is or how it got there. Who it belongs to. “I wanted to lick you off of them so you wouldn’t be on them anymore. So you could only be on me.”

“Ilya, that’s…” Shane arches his chest into Ilya’s kisses.

“No one else should have your spit on them, Shane.” He licks a broad stroke up Shane’s sensitive side before shifting down. If he doesn’t get his mouth on Shane’s cock again, he’ll explode. “I felt crazy. I wanted to drink it.” He gets a feral idea and holds a hand up to Shane’s mouth in request. “Spit.” 

“You’re already down there, just use your mouth,” Shane says, annoyed, probably because Ilya is inches away from his cock and not choking on it yet.

“I will. Spit,” Ilya repeats. Shane rolls his eyes but cranes his head up a little to spit in Ilya’s hand. 

Ilya takes the hand to rub Shane’s cock. It elicits a little sound from Shane. Once Ilya feels like Shane is sufficiently covered, he sinks his mouth down onto him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ilya.” Shane groans. “That’s—” Ilya interrupts to hold his hand up again without taking his mouth off of Shane. This time, the spit lands on his hand a little quicker. Ilya uses his hand and mouth on Shane, working him up.

He tears his mouth off of Shane and holds his hand out in request a third time, but Shane sits up, purses his lips and lets a bit of drool leave his mouth, hanging by a string of saliva. It makes contact with his cock before it snaps and they both audibly sigh. Ilya wants to fucking eat it. He takes the cock into his mouth again and Shane leans back onto his elbows, still staring at the sight in awe.

It’s everything Ilya’s wanted for so long. He’s sucking Shane’s spit off of a dick, and this time the dick is Shane’s, and the saliva is still wet. Shane starts spitting for Ilya even before he asks, and Ilya moans at the thought. This is Shane Hollander, enthusiastically giving into Ilya’s sick demand, understanding what Ilya makes berserk before he can put it into words himself. Does he actually like this, too? Is he just doing it for Ilya? Ilya can’t decide which is more exciting. 

Ilya is in a fucking trance. He has no idea how long they spread both their saliva over Shane’s cock before Shane’s heavy breathing turns into moans and he falls back onto the pillows.

“Ilya…” he whispers, “I can’t hold on. I need… fuck.” 

Ilya detaches his mouth from Shane’s cock. Usually he’d rub it with his hand, take advantage of the slick skin, but he doesn’t want any of this spit rubbed off. He can’t form a single coherent thought, though, hypnotized by Shane’s intense stare. 

“This is mine, Rozanov.” He cups Ilya’s face and thumbs at his bottom lip. He has no idea what Shane is referring to but he nods frantically. If it’s the act itself, Ilya wouldn’t ever want it with anyone else. If it’s his mouth, well, that’s belonged to Shane for a long time. “Fuck me, please.” Those words whispered are all he needs. Shane is probably still loose and lubricated from less than an hour ago, but Ilya reaches for the condoms and lube on the bedside. Shane makes a sound at that, “No condom. I can’t believe anyone else got you like that.”

Ilya makes an abrupt, shocked, probably embarrassing sound. He doesn’t stop to ask twice, just lubes his dick. “That was the only time ever. And I never… in her.”

“I know. Still.” Shane pulls Ilya down and kisses him like he’s trying to crawl inside Ilya’s mouth. “It’s mine.”  

“She got you like that too,” Ilya reminds Shane. He rubs his naked cock up and down Shane’s crease. 

“Not really.” Shane sighs at the feeling. “It was like you were there… I was only thinking about you. You were so into it, and I wanted it to be good. And I just wanted to know who you were with, too.”

“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya tries to press his cock closer to where they both need it but Shane stops him by closing his legs a little. He reaches down and strokes Ilya’s lubed cock. He lines it up but the hand around Ilya’s base stops him from pushing in, so the tip of Ilya’s dick is just kissing Shane’s entrance. “Wh— Please?” Ilya rests his forehead on Shane’s. 

“Mine,” Shane whispers again and looks Ilya in the eye. It’s so much, Ilya feels like his chest might explode. The intense eye contact, the hand around his cock, the centimeter of his cock inside of Shane with nothing between them. “No one else gets this.”

“Yours,” Ilya says again and means it. “Fuck, Shane, I have been yours.” 

Shane arches into that a little, pulling Ilya’s cock just an inch into him. Ilya is starting to feel the heat radiating from Shane. It’s getting harder to resist thrusting into it. It’s definitely hard when Shane keeps staring at him, cupping his face, whispering, “I’m yours, too. I don’t want anyone else.”

“Please…” Ilya could probably overpower Shane’s hand on his cock and sink in, but he loves Shane in control too much. He feels his tip squeezed when he asks for it. “Please let me—”

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane removes his hand from Ilya’s cock, crosses his ankles behind Ilya’s back and draws him in. Ilya goes willingly, however slow Shane wants to move him. “Holy shit…” he pulls until Ilya is all the way in, and then pulls some more like Ilya is planning to escape. 

It’s so hot inside Shane, and he clamps down on Ilya. Ilya breathes into it, his body warring with him. Shane’s euphoric facial expression provides Ilya the motivation not to come immediately on impact. He needs this to be good for Shane, to show Shane he doesn’t need anyone else. What he really needs is to fuck him silly before he loses control entirely. But the legs around his waist are holding him in place. 

“Shane— Hollander, please, I need…”

He relaxes his grip around Ilya’s waist and opens his eyes to look at Ilya again. He nods and arches his back, bringing them even closer together.

Ilya curses and thrusts a little. Shane makes a low moan and Ilya can feel it against his own chest. He’s already so close from pressing his entire body against Shane and sharing skin for the first time. He should push up and get a better angle to go hard and fast, but Shane holds his back so they stay pinned together. Ilya does what he can with the range of motion Shane is giving him. It’s enough for him, it’s actually even better to feel completely enveloped by Shane’s legs and arms and the hot slide of Shane’s ass… he feels heat everywhere, every time he presses back in, and it probably won’t be long now.

“Shane…” Ilya warns. He knows by now what Ilya means by that. 

“Nothing feels like this,” Shane pants in Ilya’s ear, “No one feels like you.”

Shane takes Ilya’s face in his hands and pulls him into a messy kiss. It’s all tongue, and Ilya realizes Shane is just licking his tongue. He can’t help the moan that reverberates into their mouths. 

Shane moans loudly back and reaches down to cup Ilya’s ass, pulling it so Ilya thrusts harder. They’ve lost control of the kiss, and just share air and sounds with their lips grazing each other. Ilya can’t control the noises he’s making, the way his hips lose rhythm, how tight his hands are gripping Shane’s flesh. “Come in me, please Ilya… oh my god, you’re gonna come in me…” Shane tips his head back at the thought and gasps as his cock, still wet with saliva, starts to pulse between them. It’s more than enough permission for Ilya to follow suit. 

“Fuck—” Ilya groans loudly as his orgasm starts. Everything combined, the slick slide directly on his cock, the gorgeous body under his, getting fucking claimed by Shane Hollander? Ilya loses himself, thrusting haphazardly into Shane to work himself through it. He doesn’t even know how long it takes, it feels like minutes pass in which he does nothing but pulse into Shane’s ass, his come buried somewhere deep inside. 

He takes one more shuddering breath and opens his eyes. Shane is staring at his face with delight. Does he really look, every time? Ilya decides right there he never wants to open his eyes from an orgasm without Shane looking back at him. And that’s… not as scary of a thought as it was a few months ago. Fuck, even a few minutes ago.

Ilya presses his ear to Shane’s chest to hear his heart pounding. He starts his usual mental timer to get up and start cleaning five seconds before Shane starts feeling uncomfortable. To his surprise, Shane holds him when he moves to get up. 

“Just a second.” He mumbles, his mouth somewhere in Ilya’s hair. His breathing is still shaky. Ilya plants a kiss against his chest. His ass clenches around Ilya, reminding them they’re still fully attached. “Ok, yeah. Off.” 

Ilya chuckles but pushes up and sits on his heels. Shane looks like a vision, covered in cum, some leaking out of his ass, his face red and his hair messy. Ilya can’t help himself. He licks Shane’s stomach. It doesn’t taste like his imagined phantom-jizz. It’s better, it’s mixed with Shane’s skin and his own sweat and Ilya groans at the thought. He’s still out of his mind, because he licks a little of himself from Shane’s asshole. It’s all he can do to keep his mouth off Shane’s soft cock. He misses feeling it on his lips, even though it’s only been a few minutes. He shouldn’t be this insatiable; it’s probably unhealthy.  

“Fucking disgusting,” Shane mutters, as he starts to get up, but his voice is clearly affected. Ilya wonders if he would let him do more. He lets him walk over to the bathroom anyway. 

Ilya wipes himself on the top sheet (it’s not like Shane can stay the night…) and lays back on the bed, forearm across his eyes, smile on his face. He knows he looks like Shane right now, he doesn’t care. His eyes are still closed when he feels a weight on the bed and a body press up against his. 

He musters up some consciousness to wrap an arm around Shane. No one is leaving without saying goodnight if Ilya falls asleep again this time. 

They’re silent for too long before Shane quietly asks, “So I can stop hooking up with strangers?”

Ilya’s eyes shoot open. Despite claiming each other in the throes of passion, they never talked about how that coexists with ‘we can’t be anything.’ 

But Ilya makes a decision anyway.

“You are mine, too, Hollander,” Ilya mutters. “I will fuck them and then kill them if you do.”