Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Smut, Shane keeps the suit on, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Ilya is Smitten, Shane is oblivious, Tie Kink, Suits, Suit Porn, POV Alternating

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-14 Completed: 2026-01-19 Words: 7,496 Chapters: 2/2

suit up

Summary

“Is that a fucking suit?”

“Shut up,” Shane replies, crossing his arms over his chest as if that’ll hide the suit he’s wearing. “I… I didn’t know what to wear to this sort of thing.”

Ilya throws his head back, leaning against the opposite wall. “Oh my god, Hollander, you look ridiculous.”

Shane should throw something at him, he really should, or maybe he should kick him out of his hotel room, but he doesn’t. He lets Ilya get his giggles out, his rival placing his hands on his knees as if trying to keep himself from collapse. “Are you done yet?”

Another snort leaves Ilya, then he puts his hands on his hips. “Sorry, sorry, I—“ He’s interrupted by more laughter, Ilya’s eyes giving him another once over. “I did not expect you to uh… dress-up?”

Or Shane doesn’t change out of the suit during his first time with Ilya. As told from both of their perspectives.

Chapter 1: Shane

“I might knock.” Ilya’s voice echoes through Shane’s head.

That knowledge has had him spiraling since he returned to his hotel room, watching a clock count down the minutes to nine. With half an hour to go, Shane has stood in front of the mirror for about five minutes just staring at his own reflection.

What the fuck is he supposed to wear to fuck his rival?

They haven’t even played a game against each other yet, but the entire hockey world is already buzzing about it. The people yearn to pit them against each other, but he doesn’t actually hate Ilya, or he wouldn’t be fucking him, right? He has no idea how this works.

Does he dress nice? Does he wear nothing at all and open the door with nothing but a towel on?

His hands are shaking as he does up his tie, as he shrugs on a blazer, staring at his reflection with a bewildered expression. Ilya has seen him in a suit before—draft day. Had he liked it? Was the suit doing it for him? “Fuck,” Shane breathes, stepping away from the mirror as the clock ticks on past 8:45.

There’s a hockey program on the tv right now, but Shane hardly pays attention to it. His leg bounces where he sits in the so-called cuck chair, his body still vibrating with tension as he watches the front door. Tugging on his tie, Shane turns off the tv, letting out a heavy breath as he watches the clock finally strike nine o’clock.

The door remains silent, no knocking or throat clearing to be heard. Shane watches the clock hit 9:01, then 9:02, and just as he starts to wonder if Ilya has decided to abandon their plans, 9:03 strikes in time with a three tone knock on the door.

Ilya’s here. Fuck.

Steeling his nerves, Shane opens the door, ushering Ilya inside before anyone who may be in the hallway can see them together. Once he has the door closed, he tries to think of what to say, but unfortunately, Ilya beats him to it.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Ilya’s face lights up in a smile, a hand covering his mouth as he barely concealed laughter. “Is that a fucking suit?”

“Shut up,” Shane replies, crossing his arms over his chest as if that’ll hide the suit he’s wearing. He knew it, he should’ve fucking changed, maybe if he had, Ilya wouldn’t be looking him up and down with a gleeful sort of mischief in his eyes. “I… I didn’t know what to wear to this sort of thing.”

Ilya throws his head back, leaning against the opposite wall. “Oh my god, Hollander, you look ridiculous.”

Shane should throw something at him, he really should, or maybe he should kick him out of his hotel room, but he doesn’t. He lets Ilya get his fucking giggles out, his rival placing his hands on his knees as if trying to keep himself from collapse. “Are you done yet?”

Another snort leaves Ilya, then he puts his hands on his hips. “Sorry, sorry, I—“ He’s interrupted by more laughter, Ilya’s eyes giving him another once over. “I did not expect you to uh… dress-up?”

Glowering at him, Shane gestures to the door. “You’re more than welcome to leave, if it bothers you so much.”

Eyebrows rising to his hairline, Ilya shakes his head. “Leave?” He steps forward, reaching for the ends of Shane’s tie. “No, Hollander, you look… sexy.” He tugs on the tie, pulling Shane closer to him. “Almost as good as you looked in shower.”

Heat rises to Shane’s cheeks. “Then why’d you laugh?”

“Was not expecting it, that’s all.” Ilya steps forward, Shane stepping back until his body is up against the wall. “Who wears a suit to have sex?”

“Is that what we’re doing here?” Shane asks. “Having sex?”

“If you want,” Ilya replies, a hand coming up to squeeze Shane’s bicep.

The contact is nice, so is being this close to Ilya, sharing his space. He smells like the soap from the arena gym and just a hint of cigarettes, the combination oddly intoxicating. “This is a bad idea.”

“What is?” Ilya leans in close, his features becoming blurry with the proximity.

“Us.” Shane’s eyes drift down to Ilya’s lips as he gets closer. “You and me.”

“And yet you did not chicken out.”

“I’m not a chicken.”

“No, you got all dressed-up for me.” Ilya smirks, one of his hands winding its way into Shane’s hair. “Cute.”

Before Shane can call Ilya an asshole for teasing him, Ilya’s hand comes back around to cup his jaw, then he’s kissing him. He’s a little stunned at first, but then he leans in, placing a hand on Ilya’s waist as he kisses him back.

It’s kind of similar to kissing girls, he supposes, but there was something off about kissing his ex girlfriends or hookups, something he feels now with Ilya that he hadn’t felt with any of them. Maybe guys just kiss differently, Shane isn’t sure.

Ilya’s tongue slides into his mouth, and he welcomes it, moaning softly as the Russian tugs on his tie, twirling it in his fingers. It feels fucking amazing. If Ilya wanted to, he could just kiss him like this for hours.

But then Ilya pulls back, stroking Shane’s tie as he looks him up and down, his gaze… appreciative bordering on something else he can’t quite read. “I hate to ruin this perfect suit,” he purrs, leaning in to whisper in Shane’s ear. “Leave it on… for now.”

Brain processing everything at approximately two miles per hour, Shane nods, then lets Ilya tug on his tie, pulling him over to the bed. He should probably just take it off, and stop letting Ilya have so much fun with it, but he kind of likes this, likes the dumb smile on Ilya’s face as he sits down on the bed, tugging Shane onto his lap.

Why does he like it so much?

“Is this your first time with a man?” Ilya asks him, hands gliding up Shane’s chest, feeling him up over the fabric of his shirt and jacket.

“Yeah,” Shane rests his hands on Ilya’s shoulders. “You?”

“No.” Ilya presses a kiss to Shane’s jaw, but Shane pulls away, curiosity piqued.

“Who was it? Another player?”

“My coach’s son, back in Russia,” Ilya tells him, pressing another kiss to Shane’s jaw, then lower down on his neck.

Shane’s eyes close, his head falling back, and he lowers himself a little further onto Ilya’s lap. “You weren’t scared of getting caught?”

“I like danger,” Ilya admits, hands reaching for the buckle of Shane’s belt. “And he made me…”

“Curious?”

“Curious, yeah.” Another kiss to his Adam’s apple. “Like you and your suit.”

“Fuck off.” He almost laughs. “What? None of your other lovers dressed nicely?”

Ilya grins as he pulls back, tugging Shane’s belt loose from his pants. “What about you? Do I make you curious?”

“Obviously,” Shane replies, then Ilya’s kissing him again, a hand palming him through his pants. Shane’s already hardening cock twitches, blood pooling south as he rolls his hips into the contact. “Oh, fuck.”

“Is this what you want to do?” Ilya whispers against his lips. “Hmm? Or do you want me to take this suit off?”

Shane groans. “I should have changed.”

Shrugging, Ilya undoes the button and fly of Shane’s pants. “What? You don’t want to look nice for me?”

Another moan falls from Shane’s lips as Ilya’s hand slips inside, fingers wrapping around his cock as he shivers. It isn’t cold, he isn’t even naked yet, but Shane shivers, his body shaking as Ilya begins to gently stroke his cock.

God, it feels so good, his body melts into Ilya’s, their foreheads resting together as Ilya thumb swipes over his slit. No one but Shane’s right hand has touched him there in so long, it nearly makes him come on the spot. “Oh, fuck…”

“Take off your clothes,” Ilya breathes, tugging on Shane’s blazer with his free hand. “Come on, I want to see you.”

“You saw me in the showers.”

“Not like this,” Ilya reminds him, stroking Shane’s cock a little faster. “Take it off. Leave the tie on.”

“Leave the—ah, fuck—“ Shane pants hard as he reaches for his blazer. “You need to stop, I’m gonna—fuck…”

Hand ceasing its sinful ministrations, Ilya aids him in removing his blazer, chuckling to himself as Shane steps off of his lap. “So cute.”

Enough. “You keep laughing, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

“No, Hollander, I want to fuck you.” Ilya grins as he watches Shane undress, a small giggle shaking his chest as Shane folds the blazer over the edge of the nearby couch. He can feel those eyes on him as he undoes the buttons of his shirt, loosening the tie so he can slip it off beneath the fabric. The shirt gets folded as well, set down beside the jacket, and then he reaches for his pants, tugging them off the rest of the way.

There’s an unreadable expression on Ilya’s face as he folds those, too, his eyes sweeping over Shane’s body. They land on his boxer-briefs, then he cocks his head. “Those, too,” he says. “Everything but the tie— off.”

“Why the tie?”

“I like it,” Ilya replies, then he tugs off his own jacket, tossing it aside casually without a care in the world. It boggles Shane’s mind how casual he is about all of this, how easily it seems to come to Ilya. Sure, this isn’t his first time, but no one he’s ever fucked could have possibly come with so much risk, right?

As Shane slides his underwear to the ground, he watches Ilya finish undressing, his clothes strewn about in multiple piles around the bed. His shoes clatter to the ground as he kicks them off with his pants and underwear, and Ilya Rozanov is bare to him for the second time.

Breath catching in his throat, Shane watches Ilya scoot back on the bed until his head rests on the pillows. Once he’s settled, he pats the bed beside him, hunger in those admittedly pretty, green eyes. Taking a deep breath, Shane crawls onto the bed, lying down beside Ilya as he forces himself to remain calm.

One of Ilya’s hands comes to stroke his tie, pulling it between his fingers. “So… what do you want to do?”

The question hangs heavy in the air. What the hell do they do? Shane’s never done this before, he doesn’t know what Ilya is expecting or what he wants from the encounter. Is he wanting to fuck Shane? Does he want to fuck his ass? His mouth? His thighs? Does he just want to jerk off together? Don’t panic. He forces himself to think. He’d liked when Ilya’s hands had been on his cock, but he thinks there may be something else he’d like to try more.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Shane takes a risk, letting a hand slip between Ilya’s legs as he leans in for a kiss. A surprised moan leaves Ilya, but he tugs on the tie, tugging Shane closer as he rolls on top of him, stroking his rival’s cock. He strokes him slowly, curiously, as he lowers his kisses onto Ilya’s chest, then onto his belly, crawling between his legs as the kisses drift down until they reach the patch of hair at the base of his cock.

Shane strokes Ilya’s cock as he takes it into his mouth, forcing himself not to gag as he goes down as far as his throat will allow. Ilya is big, really big, bordering on something he’s only ever seen in porn, and it makes him a little nervous, if he’s being honest. But he has to try.

One of Ilya’s hands reaches into his hair, the other remains on his tie. Shane looks up as he begins to suck his cock, cheeks hollowing as his head bobs up and down, tongue swirling around the tip. “Da, like that, Hollander,” Ilya tells him, those eyes still hungry, wanting, as he pushes Shane’s head down a little further.

It almost hurts, but Shane takes it, finding some odd pleasure in being so full of Ilya’s cock. He wonders what that cock would feel like elsewhere, an ache between his thighs growing as he pictures Ilya fucking him with it, pinning him into the mattress and just having his way with him. Those thoughts have him moaning around Ilya’s cock, a series of swears falling from the Russian’s lips in return.

“Fuck, Hollander,” he breathes, hips twitching like he wants to thrust up into Shane’s mouth, but he doesn’t. He stays put, watching Shane as he sucks his cock until suddenly, he tugs on his tie. “Stop.”

Before confusion can settle in, Shane is pulled up beside Ilya, their eyes meeting briefly as Ilya’s hand reaches for his cock. He strokes it swiftly, eagerly, and Shane watches, licking a bead of precome from his lips as Ilya moans, come splashing onto his abdomen as he falls apart.

He kisses Shane after, a hand reaching into his hair as his tongue sweeps into his mouth. At last, he lets go of Shane’s tie, and just kisses him until he’s dizzy, stars clouding his vision. He still tastes like sweat and a little bit of cigarettes, but Shane doesn’t mind. In his nearly nineteen years of life, Shane’s never been kissed like this. He’s kissed girls before, had girlfriends, but none of them have driven his body this wild, made him feel this intense, like he wants it to go on and on and never stop.

The kiss ceases abruptly, Shane whimpering—fucking whimpering—as he loses that contact. His eyes flutter open, confusion furrowing his brows as Ilya lies back on the bed, one of his arms propping his head up. “Okay,” Ilya says, reaching over to the side of the bed for the tissue box that sits on the nightstand. “Was fun.”

Shock runs through Shane’s body as he looks up at the ceiling in disbelief. “I…” He watches Ilya wipe his hand with the tissue, discarding it in a nearby wastebasket with a near perfect basketball toss. “Seriously?”

“What?” Ilya rolls over, then he smirks, rolling on top of Shane before settling between his legs. “You think I am asshole?”

Shane’s eyes roll as his hands come up to rest on Ilya’s shoulders. “I know you’re an asshole.”

One of Ilya’s hands strokes his tie again, staring at it with a curious expression. “I would not leave you like that.”

“No?”

Shaking his head, Ilya leans down, his lips brushing against Shane’s once, then twice, and Shane is more confused than ever. “No.” Another kiss. “Let me show you how to do this, kid.”

Then Ilya’s the one kissing a line down Shane’s body, a hand using his tie as a guide, following the fabric down to where it sits by his belly button. His hand remains on the edge of the tie, his lips causing fire to bloom beneath Shane’s skin where they touch him.

Between his legs, his cock is impossibly hard, begging to be touched. Shane watches as Ilya takes his cock in his hand, stroking him gently a couple of times before lowering his mouth to his aching cock. “Oh…”

Ilya hums around Shane’s cock, bobbing his head effortlessly, like there’s no strain at all. He said he’d had experience, and judging by the way he nearly takes Shane to the hilt, it shows. A breathy moan parts his lips as Ilya swallows around his cock, and he knows he isn’t going to last long. Hell, he’d nearly come apart minutes ago when Ilya had just been stroking him.

There’s no way he lasts longer than another minute. He’s always come fast, even while jerking off alone.

But Ilya is sucking his cock so well, taking him like it’s nothing, sending shockwaves right through his entire body. Every lick, every stroke, sends a new wave of pleasure through Shane’s body, and before he realizes it, his orgasm is right there, and he’s about to fall over the edge. “Oh, fuck, you’ve gotta—mmmh—stop, you’ve gotta—“

Ilya doesn’t pull off, he sucks him harder, faster, holding tight on Shane’s tie as he falls apart. Shane comes down Ilya’s throat, the other man swallowing it down like it’s nothing. All the while, Shane is swearing, hips fighting the urge to buck into Ilya’s mouth as he comes down from his high.

When the stars finally fade from his vision, Ilya is kissing a line up his body, twirling the tie between his fingers. Blood colors Shane’s cheeks as he once again finds himself being laughed at. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“For coming so quick?” Ilya grins, releasing Shane’s tie before kissing him once more, then he rolls onto his back, both of them panting hard. “Or for wearing a ridiculous suit?”

“Asshole.”

“Mmm, you like it,” Ilya teases, then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “God, I want a cigarette.”

“Smoking is bad for you,” Shane replies, but looking back at Ilya, he doesn’t seem to give a fuck.

“Oh, is it?”

Was that sarcasm? Shane isn’t very good at reading sarcasm, but he’s at least eighty percent sure that was, so he ignores it. Reality begins to settle in, his mind reeling at what they’d just done, at the fact that he’s still wearing nothing but his fucking tie because Ilya had wanted to fuck him with it on. “You won’t… you won’t tell anyone about this, will you?”

“Me?” Ilya points to himself, then he stares at Shane. “Yes, Hollander, I am going to tell everyone.”

That was definitely sarcasm. “No one can know.”

“What, that you lost your virginity wearing a suit?”

“I’m not a virgin!”

“No, not now,” Ilya replies, grinning even as Shane shoves him. “But no, I am not going to tell anyone.”

“Good, cause if anyone finds out…”

“No one is going to find out, Hollander.” Ilya reaches again for Shane’s tie, running the fabric between his fingers. “This is just for me.” Confusion wells within him at what that could possibly mean, but then Ilya sits up, patting Shane’s thigh. “I should go, I have early flight tomorrow.”

Though he wants to ask what ’just for me,’ meant, Shane nods. “Me too,” he replies, watching as Ilya rises off the bed, and begins putting his clothes back on.

How he finds them all given how haphazardly he’d tossed them aside, Shane doesn’t know, but slowly, piece by piece, Ilya’s body is once again covered by clothing. He mourns the loss of his bare ass, then the round curve of his pectoral muscles, but most of all, he thinks he might just miss those eyes, and the teasing sparkle within them. Once he’s done dressing, Ilya looks at Shane, winking at him as he gestures to his neck. “Might want to take that off.”

Shane groans, but reaches for the knot of his tie, loosening it all the way before letting it fall to the bed beside him. “Happy?”

“There he is,” Ilya replies with a grin. “Good night.”

“Night,” Shane says, then he watches Ilya leave, watches the door close behind him, and when he’s finally alone, he looks up at the ceiling. His hands come up to rest behind his head, and he sighs, eyes falling shut. “Holy shit.”

He just had sex with Ilya Rozanov. Ilya. Fucking. Rozanov. The very last person he should be having sex with, and he did, and it was… mind bending. He wants more, wants to do it again, and as scared as he is of getting caught, he thinks that wanting Ilya again scares him even more.

Chapter 2: Ilya

Chapter Summary

Ilya’s thoughts when he sees Shane in the suit.

The elevator dings for Ilya, his body thrumming with anticipation as he gets on, pressing the button for the fourteenth floor. One of his hands drums a beat on his thigh, his nerves fluttering beneath the surface, but he can’t chicken out now. Unless Shane has chickened out, then he may have an excuse.

A premature ding occurs as the elevator stops on the sixth floor, Ilya’s brow furrowing in confusion as the door opens to reveal possibly the last person Ilya wants to see. Before him stands Yuna Hollander, at least, he thinks it’s her. They’ve never met directly, but he’s seen her around Shane before, knows of her name from a few late night Google stalking sessions.

“Oh,” she says, staring above the elevator. “I’m going down.”

“This is going up,” Ilya replies apologetically, but he also kind of wants to die. Of all people for the elevator to open on, it had to be Shane’s fucking mother.

“Ah, yeah.” Yuna holds out a hand. “Anyway, I’m—oh!” The elevator doors close before Ilya can accept the handshake, much to his embarrassment and relief.

The elevator keeps rising, Ilya puffing air into his cheeks as he calms down from his close call. Shane can never know he ran into his mother on the way to their hookup. He will never tell him.

Eventually, the doors open on the fourteenth floor, and Ilya steps out into the hallway, one foot in front of the other to room 1410. When he gets there, he hesitates slightly, his hand hovering in front of the door before he finally knocks three times.

After a couple of seconds, Shane opens the door, ushering Ilya inside like he’s in a hurry. Vaguely, Ilya registers the sound of the door closing, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it—not with the sight before him.

For some godforsaken reason, Shane Hollander is wearing a suit. A suit with a black blazer and pants, and a blue tie wrapped around his neck. A suit. He’s wearing a suit to have sex, and the sight of it sends shockwaves through Ilya as he takes it in. Shane looks handsome in his suit, almost better than he had in the showers, and it makes his heart flutter in his chest as he realizes his rival has dressed up like this just for him.

Oh no, I like him, he thinks, a hand covering his mouth as he smiles. “What the hell are you wearing? Is that a fucking suit?”

“Shut up,” Shane replies, crossing his arms over his chest as if that’ll hide the suit he’s wearing. He looks so fucking mad, the grumpiness almost making him look even cuter as Ilya stares him up and down, glee in his eyes as he takes in this feast that is Shane Hollander in a suit. “I… I didn’t know what to wear to this sort of thing.”

Ilya throws his head back, leaning against the opposite wall for support. “Oh my god, Hollander, you look ridiculous.” You look so fucking hot, I can’t wait to rip these clothes off of you.

Ilya giggles—fucking giggles—placing his hands on his knees to keep himself from collapse. Holy shit, Shane is actually dressed up like they’re going out on a date or something, not hooking up. Hell, if it weren’t for the fact that it would get them into a plethora of trouble, Ilya might ask him out here and now.

“Are you done yet?” Shane asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Shit. He did come here for a specific purpose, one he fully plans to fulfill.

Another snort leaves Ilya, then he puts his hands on his hips. “Sorry, sorry, I—“ He’s interrupted by more laughter, giving Shane another appreciative once over as he fights the urge to blush. “I did not expect you to uh… dress-up?”

Glowering at him, Shane gestures to the door. “You’re more than welcome to leave, if it bothers you so much.”

Absolutely not. Ilya can’t leave now, not when temptation is staring him right in the face in the delicious form of Shane in a suit. I need you so bad.

Eyebrows rising to his hairline, Ilya shakes his head. “Leave?” He steps forward, reaching for the ends of Shane’s tie. “No, Hollander, you look…” Gorgeous. Incredible. Beautiful. Lovely. Edible. Delicious. “…sexy.” He tugs on the tie, pulling Shane closer to him, because he needs Shane in his atmosphere, needs to breathe him in like he’s oxygen. “Almost as good as you looked in shower.”

Color blooms on Shane’s cheeks, illuminating his pretty freckles. Ilya wants to touch them, he nearly does. “Then why’d you laugh?”

Don’t touch his freckles. “Was not expecting it, that’s all.” Ilya steps forward, Shane stepping back until his body is up against the wall. He can feel him, warm and wanting, and though their bodies are touching, he needs to be closer. “Who wears a suit to have sex?”

“Is that what we’re doing here?” Shane asks, and there’s a curious sort of hope in his eyes. Ilya is obsessed with it. “Having sex?”

“If you want,” Ilya replies, a hand coming up to squeeze Shane’s bicep. God, he’s so muscular, so beautiful, he can’t wait to get this stupid suit off. This stupid, sexy suit.

“This is a bad idea.” Shane doesn’t look like he believes himself, but he doesn’t step away, doesn’t do anything to indicate that he’ll stop.

“What is?” Ilya leans in close, Shane’s features becoming blurry with the proximity. He breathes him in, smelling the faint scent of soap and cologne—Shane is wearing cologne to fuck.

Shit, is this supposed to be a date? Does Shane think it’s a date?

“Us.” Shane’s voice pulls Ilya back to reality before he can spiral too far. “You and me.”

“And yet you did not chicken out.” What do you want here? What are you expecting from me?

Shane almost looks offended. “I’m not a chicken.”

“No, you got all dressed-up for me.” Ilya smirks, one of his hands winding its way into Shane’s hair. “Cute.” Shit, he shouldn’t have admitted that.

Quick, don’t let him say anything, Ilya’s hand comes back around to cup his jaw, then he’s kissing him. Shane tenses, but then he leans in, placing a hand on Ilya’s waist as he kisses him back.

Shane tastes… clean. That’s the best thing Ilya has to describe it. Clean and almost a little minty, like he’d brushed his teeth before Ilya came here. Oh my god, I bet he’s even douched. Ilya’s tongue slides into his mouth, and he’s rewarded with a moan as he tugs on Shane’s tie, twirling it in his fingers. It feels fucking amazing. If Shane wanted to, he could just kiss him like this for hours.

But he wants to take this suit off, wants to see what he’d gotten a glimpse of in the shower, so he pulls back, stroking Shane’s tie as he looks him up and down, disbelieving that this is his life, that he has Shane in this hotel room. Mine. All mine. “I hate to ruin this perfect suit,” he purrs, leaning in to whisper in Shane’s ear. “Leave it on… for now.”

Ilya might be the luckiest man in the world. He tugs on that tie, leading him over to the bed, fully aware of the dumb smile on his face as he sits down on the bed, tugging Shane onto his lap.

There’s something hesitant about Shane, almost shy, and his brain starts putting things together. The suit, the way Shane had said he didn’t know what to wear to this kind of thing… Oh my god. “Is this your first time with a man?” Ilya asks him, hands gliding up Shane’s chest, feeling him up over the fabric of his shirt and jacket.

“Yeah,” Shane rests his hands on Ilya’s shoulders. “You?”

Ah, there it is. “No.” Ilya presses a kiss to Shane’s jaw, but Shane pulls away, eyebrows raised.

“Who was it? Another player?”

“My coach’s son, back in Russia,” Ilya tells him, pressing another kiss to Shane’s jaw, then lower down on his neck. He doesn’t want to think about Sasha right now, not when he has this gourmet meal in front of him.

Shane’s head falls back, and he lowers himself a little further onto Ilya’s lap. Yes, get closer. “You weren’t scared of getting caught?”

“I like danger,” Ilya admits, hands reaching for the buckle of Shane’s belt. “And he made me…”

“Curious?”

“Curious, yeah.” Another kiss to his Adam’s apple. God, he’s beautiful. “Like you and your suit.”

“Fuck off.” He makes a choked noise that sounds vaguely like a laugh. “What? None of your other lovers dressed nicely?”

Ilya grins as he pulls back, tugging Shane’s belt loose from his pants. No. None of his other lovers have ever dressed this nicely for him. Just Shane. “What about you? Do I make you curious?”

“Obviously,” Shane replies, then Ilya’s kissing him again, a hand palming him through his pants. Shane’s already hard, and Ilya smiles into the kiss as he rolls his hips. “Oh, fuck.”

“Is this what you want to do?” Ilya whispers against his lips. “Hmm? Or do you want me to take this suit off?” Please let me take this suit off.

Shane groans. “I should have changed.”

No you shouldn’t have. This is great. This is the best night of my life. Forcing himself to remain casual, Ilya shrugs and undoes the button and fly of Shane’s pants. “What? You don’t want to look nice for me?”

Another moan falls from Shane’s lips as Ilya’s hand slips inside, fingers wrapping around his cock as he shivers. The reaction instills a sense of pride in Ilya, watching Shane’s body shake as he begins to gently stroke his cock.

Their foreheads rest together as Ilya’s thumb swipes over his slit, a tiny bead of precome dampening his finger. “Oh, fuck…”

And oh, if that little moan doesn’t drive him insane. He needs Shane naked. He needs Shane naked five fucking minutes ago. “Take off your clothes,” Ilya breathes, tugging on Shane’s blazer with his free hand. “Come on, I want to see you.”

“You saw me in the showers.”

“Not like this,” Ilya reminds him, stroking Shane’s cock a little faster. “Take it off. Leave the tie on.”

“Leave the—ah, fuck—“ Shane pants hard as he reaches for his blazer. “You need to stop, I’m gonna—fuck…”

Hand ceasing its sinful ministrations, Ilya aids him in removing his blazer, chuckling to himself as Shane steps off of his lap. He’s adorable like this, hair ruffled and cheeks flushed. “So cute,” Ilya breathes, then he winces—he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Shane glares at him. “You keep laughing, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

I’d rather die. “No, Hollander, I want to fuck you.” Ilya grins as he watches Shane undress, a small giggle shaking his chest as Shane folds the blazer over the edge of the nearby couch. It just slips out, Ilya can’t help it. He watches gleefully as Shane undoes the buttons of his shirt, loosening the tie so he can slip it off beneath the fabric. The shirt gets folded as well, set down beside the jacket, and then he reaches for his pants, tugging them off the rest of the way.

He folds his fucking clothes before sex. I have to fuck him. Ilya thinks he could be falling just a little bit in love with Shane’s habits, his weird little quirks—he’s just so, delightfully odd. I've never met anyone like you.

Then Shane is naked except for his boxer-briefs, and Ilya almost frowns. He said he wanted to see all of Shane, and yet, his rival has suddenly fallen shy. He cocks his head, hoping Shane will get the message, but of course, the wonderfully endearing idiot doesn’t. He requires words, directions. “Those, too,” he says. “Everything but the tie— off.”

“Why the tie?”

“I like it,” Ilya replies, because he does, he loves that Shane chose to wear a tie today so, so much.

Not wanting to leave Shane naked alone, Ilya tugs off his own jacket, tossing it aside as he fights the urge to tremble. He’s not sure why he’s nervous, this is hardly his first time with another man, but something about Shane makes him feel like he’s starting anew. Maybe it’s because Shane is new to this, maybe it’s because he’s never met someone quite like him before, and maybe because of that, it is a first time for him, too.

Ilya forces himself to remain composed as he strips his remaining clothing, and in the end, his clothes wind up in multiple piles around the bed. His shoes clatter to the ground as he kicks them off with his pants and underwear, and he lets Shane take him in, lets him admire his naked form. There’s a brief hesitation, and he hears Shane’s breath catch as he scoots back on the bed until his head rests on the pillows.

Once he’s settled, he pats the bed beside him, needing Shane to come and join him already. With a deep breath, Shane crawls onto the bed, lying down beside Ilya as he tries to act nonchalant. Ilya is far, far too chalant for this. He wants Shane so badly, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything like this in his life.

Unable to resist, one of Ilya’s hands comes to stroke his tie, pulling it between his fingers. “So… what do you want to do?”

The question hangs heavy in the air. What the hell do they do? Shane’s never done this before, so what will Ilya be able to do with him? Can he fuck Shane? In his ass? His mouth? His thighs? Does he just want to jerk off together? He watches Shane think, watches thoughts drift behind those eyes, watches him come to a decision.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Shane takes a risk, letting a hand slip between Ilya’s legs as he leans in for a kiss. A surprised moan leaves Ilya, but he tugs on the tie, tugging Shane closer as he rolls on top of him, stroking his rival’s cock. He strokes him slowly, curiously, as he lowers his kisses onto Ilya’s chest, then onto his belly, crawling between his legs as the kisses drift down until they reach the patch of hair at the base of his cock.

Yes, Ilya thinks, watching Shane stroke Ilya’s cock as he takes it into his mouth, watching him take his cock in deeper than he’d thought he would for a first timer. If he’s nervous, it barely shows anymore, his body moving confidently, easily as he sucks Ilya’s cock like he was born to do it.

Letting himself enjoy this, Ilya reaches a hand into his hair, the other remaining on his tie. Shane looks up as he begins to suck his cock, cheeks hollowing as his head bobs up and down, tongue swirling around the tip. And oh, if that eye contact doesn’t just send Ilya’s head into a tailspin. “Da, like that, Hollander,” Ilya tells him, pushing Shane’s head down a little further.

Shane takes it, and Ilya has never been more turned on in his life. His eyes wander briefly down to the round curves of Shane’s ass, his mind wondering what it would feel like to be inside him there. An ache blooms between his thighs at the thought of pinning him into the mattress and just having his way with him. Then Shane moans around Ilya’s cock, and the pleasure causes his mind to go blank.

“Fuck, Hollander,” he breathes, fighting the urge to thrust up into Shane’s mouth, but he doesn’t. He stays put, watching Shane as he sucks his cock until suddenly, he tugs on his tie, knowing he’s so fucking close to the edge. “Stop.”

If Shane doesn’t stop, he’s going to come in his mouth, and Ilya has just enough self awareness to know he may not want that. So he pulls Shane up beside him, their eyes meeting briefly as Ilya’s hand reaches for his own cock. He strokes it swiftly, eagerly, and watches Shane lick a bead of precome from his lips.

The sight of it sends Ilya crashing over the edge, moans falling from his lips as come splashes onto his abdomen, and he falls apart. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in his life, his vision going white as he realizes he has to do this again, that he absolutely must have Shane’s lips around his cock at some point in the future—hopefully the near future. He never wants this to stop.

In the aftermath, he kisses Shane, a hand reaching into his hair as his tongue sweeps into his mouth, tasting himself on his tongue. At last, he lets go of Shane’s tie, and just kisses him until he’s dizzy, stars clouding his vision. Even Shane’s kisses are addictive, from the taste of him to the texture of his lips, Ilya can’t get enough of it. He almost wants to forego more sex altogether and just kiss him for days, but he can’t.

Shane is still hard and wanting, and Ilya fully plans to return the favor… after messing with him a little.
He ends the kiss abruptly, Shane whimpering—beautiful fucking whimpering—as he loses that contact. His eyes flutter open, confusion furrowing his brows as Ilya lies back on the bed, one of his arms propping his head up. “Okay,” Ilya says, reaching over to the side of the bed for the tissue box that sits on the nightstand. “Was fun.”

“I…” He watches Ilya wipe his hand with the tissue, discarding it in a nearby wastebasket with a near perfect basketball toss. Nice. “Seriously?”

“What?” Ilya rolls over, then he smirks, rolling on top of Shane before settling between his legs. As if he could ever leave him like this, as if he could leave him at all, really, this beautiful boy who wore a fucking suit to fuck him. “You think I am asshole?”

Shane’s eyes roll as his hands come up to rest on Ilya’s shoulders. “I know you’re an asshole.” Clearly someone isn’t amused. What to do?

One of Ilya’s hands strokes his tie again, staring at it with a curious expression. He still can’t believe this is real, that this is how it went down. A suit. A fucking suit. You are so fucking cute. “I would not leave you like that.”

“No?”

So cute. Shaking his head, Ilya leans down, his lips brushing against Shane’s once, then twice, and, god, he just wants to keep kissing him. “No.” Another kiss. “Let me show you how to do this, kid.”

Then Ilya’s the one kissing a line down Shane’s body, a hand using his wonderful tie as a guide, following the fabric down to where it sits by his belly button. His hand remains on the edge of the tie, not wanting to let it go, as if doing so would make it disappear.

Between his legs, his cock is impossibly hard, begging to be touched. Ilya can feel Shane’s eyes on him as he takes his cock in his hand, stroking him gently a couple of times before lowering his mouth to it, tasting the salt and sweat and just pure Shane. “Oh…”

Ilya hums around Shane’s cock, bobbing his head effortlessly, like there’s no strain at all. He nearly takes Shane to the hilt, and Shane isn’t exactly small—he’s not as big as Ilya, but he’d definitely make him sweat if he’d been his first. A breathy moan parts Shane’s lips as Ilya swallows around his cock, and he knows he isn’t going to last long. Based on his reaction to Ilya stroking him moments ago, he thinks Shane is the type to come quickly, the type to lack patience.

There’s no way he lasts longer than another minute. Ilya is determined to find out, to see through what he’s just started. Every lick, every stroke, earns him a new moan, a new pitchy, beautiful noise, and sure enough, within a minute Shane is gripping his hair tighter than ever. “Oh, fuck, you’ve gotta—mmmh—stop, you’ve gotta—“

No, I need to taste you. I need to commit you to memory just in case you decide you don’t want to see me again. I need you to come down my throat and make me remember you. So no, Ilya doesn’t pull off, he sucks him harder, faster, holding tight on Shane’s tie as he falls apart. Shane comes down Ilya’s throat, and he swallows it down like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. It’s just come, but he’s earned this, this is his reward for a job well done.

All the while, Shane is swearing, hips twitching against Ilya’s body as if he, too, is fighting the urge to thrust into his mouth. Ilya wonders how much self control that takes as he swallows the last of his come, pressing a kiss to the tip of his softening cock before kissing a line up his body, twirling the tie between his fingers. Red colors Shane’s cheeks Ilya laughs at him. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“For coming so quick?” Ilya grins, releasing Shane’s tie before kissing him once more, then he rolls onto his back, both of them panting hard. “Or for wearing a ridiculous suit?” Ridiculous. Wonderful. Ridiculous, wonderful man.

“Asshole.”

“Mmm, you like it,” Ilya teases, then he sighs, running a hand through his hair, wishing he had something to take the edge off. “God, I want a cigarette.”

“Smoking is bad for you,” Shane replies.

“Oh, is it?”

Shane’s slight smile fades, and his expression grows serious. Oh no, he’s going to ask Ilya to leave, he’s going to run away and try to forget this ever happened. A swallow, then Shane speaks, and Ilya prepares himself for the worst. “You won’t… you won’t tell anyone about this, will you?”

“Me?” Ilya points to himself, then he stares at Shane. “Yes, Hollander, I am going to tell everyone.”

Shane’s eyes roll. “No one can know.”

“What, that you lost your virginity wearing a suit?”

“I’m not a virgin!” Hmm. Good to know.

“No, not now,” Ilya replies, grinning even as Shane shoves him. “But no, I am not going to tell anyone.”

“Good, cause if anyone finds out…”

“No one is going to find out, Hollander.” Ilya reaches again for Shane’s tie, running the fabric between his fingers, committing the feel of it to memory. “This is just for me.” He smiles at the tie, then sits up, patting Shane’s thigh. “I should go, I have early flight tomorrow.”

Shane nods. “Me too,” he replies, then Ilya rises off the bed, and begins putting his clothes back on.

He dresses slowly, piece by piece, until his body is once again covered by clothing. Once he’s done dressing, Ilya looks at Shane, winking at him as he gestures to his neck. “Might want to take that off.” But he doesn’t mean it, he wants him to leave it on long after he’s gone, until the next time they see each other. Wants him to wear it every time they fuck—if he’s so lucky as to fuck him again.

Shane groans, but reaches for the knot of his tie, loosening it all the way before letting it fall to the bed beside him. “Happy?”

“There he is,” Ilya replies with a grin. “Good night.”

“Night,” Shane says, then Ilya forces himself to leave, waiting until the door closes behind him before leaning against the wall outside the room.

Quiet laughter spills from Ilya’s lips, and for the first time in a long time, he realizes he’s happy. All thoughts of his outside problems disappear, and Ilya just lets himself revel in his joy, in the memories of tonight. Fingertips come up to touch his lips, where he can still feel the sting of Shane’s kiss, of his teeth dragging against his skin, can still distantly taste him on his tongue.

He’ll never forget. As long as Ilya lives, he will never forget this wonderful night with the charming, stupid Canadian who’d worn a suit just to hookup. It’ll never happen again, he knows, not like this. He may fuck Shane again, but he’ll never wear a suit, not now that he knows it’s the wrong call. He doesn’t care, he’ll treasure this memory forever.

Little does Ilya know, as he wanders down the hall back to the elevator, back to his hotel room, that this won’t be the last time. He’ll fuck Shane again, he’ll even get to fuck him in his cute little suit, it’s only a matter of time. And Ilya Rozanov has always been very, very good at waiting.