Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Luca Haas/Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Luca Haas, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Kinktober 2026, Day 19: Daddy/Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Mommy Kink, Dirty Talk, Light Feminization, Anal Sex, Masturbation, devoted first husbands of hockey, Bottom Shane Hollander, Top Ilya Rozanov, Top Luca Haas, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Post-Canon, Dom/sub Undertones, light dumbification, luca as a tool for hollanov to use, as in ilya holding luca's hips to guide him on how to fuck shane right

Language:

English

Series:

Part 44 of heated rivalry masterlist, Part 6 of kinktober masterlist

Collections:

Kinktober 2026

Stats:

Published: 2026-10-19 Words: 12,036 Chapters: 1/1

nothing's gonna hurt you baby

Summary

It makes sense that he's been ensnared by the perfection of the Hollander-Rozanov's. They're a dream both on and off the ice; of course, it's completely, unfortunately, understandable that he's always sort of losing his mind around them, and having brief moments of insanity where instead of listening to them talk, he's besieged by imagining them ruining his life.

It's just one of those things he slowly has to work through; figuring out how to manage the seething heat of arousal, the glittering hunger that sits in his chest, the sly looks he would, and probably will still, steal, all under the banner of drawing inspiration, if anyone were to ask.

Which, thank god, no one has.

OR: Luca knows that this secret of his is going to be his downfall. One day he's going to call Ilya Rozanov Daddy, and he's never going to be the same.

Notes

partially inspired by the two linked fics, both of which i cannot rec enough. SO good. luca haas should go to the daddy & mommy kink torment nexus always!

• Inspired by father figure by Anonymous
• Inspired by [Restricted Work] by cutshot

The day Luca manages to ruin his own life starts completely normally. 

He wakes up at 5:15 am, goes for a light run in the gentle breeze of the September morning, trading places with LaPointe as he shuffles out of their apartment and into the early morning light. Preseason officially starts today, and Luca can already feel the hum of potential in his bones. He doesn't know how it's possible, but he thinks he's even hungrier for a Cup than he was last year.

Back in his own room, Luca stretches, relishing in the muted warmth humming in his bones, before he heads for his ensuite.

His shower cranks on, the pipes rumbling as the room fills with steam, as he slowly moves through his usual motions, letting himself relax for once. He's going to have a good day, he thinks. There's just something about how nice this morning has been, that makes him think he's cracked some code. And he deserves it, he thinks, almost defiantly, even after how much fun the past summer had been.

It was a whirlwind, after the Cens Stanley Cup win this past June. Luca had spent a decent amount of July in Cabo, with the rookie squad, warm and buzzed and loose enough to follow someone of his more… idiotic ideas, to the delight of the other three.

But, after a quick stop in Zurich, Luca had been more than thrilled to come back to Ottawa, to resettle into the easy day to day life that had bloomed under his steady hands.

It was nice, to come together with the team again, and, even nicer to see Shane and Ilya again, despite the way seeing them together always makes him a little squirmy.

But he's over that, or, more honestly, is getting over it, and he's sure that nothing will make it worse. Surely, he's gotten over the worst of it, already.

It makes sense that he's been ensnared by the perfection of the Hollander-Rozanov's. They're a dream both on and off the ice; of course, it's completely, unfortunately, understandable that he's always sort of losing his mind around them, and having brief moments of insanity where instead of listening to them talk, he's besieged by imagining them ruining his life.

It's just one of those things he slowly has to work through; figuring out how to manage the seething heat of arousal, the glittering hunger that sits in his chest, the sly looks he would, and probably will still, steal, all under the banner of drawing inspiration, if anyone were to ask.

Which, thank god, no one has.

But that's fine. And he's working on getting over it. He's more settled than he was last year, and they're the current Stanley Cup holders and defenders, so, he really doesn't have the time to be a fucking deviant. They've got to win another Cup.

And, truthfully, he thinks, his greed can't get worse than the peak of it last year, when Shane dropped gloves during a game with Toronto and split his lip wide open and Luca had dreams about licking the smears of his leftover blood off of Ilya's cock for two months straight, right?

No way. He's totally fine. He's capable of being normal. He's got this.

***

The locker room is a buzz of noise, the whole crew coming back together after a four week stretch of no big team activities, and the pre-pre-season week of training for all of the younger, newer guys.

Zane's throwing a barbecue this weekend, his traditional welcome back bash, one that Luca's eager to get to. He misses the way it feels, to be nestled into the warm heart of the team, to be able to see everyone and soak in how fucking lucky he is.

And, he amends his thoughts, he misses Shane and Ilya most of all, in a pathetic, greedy way, that makes him feel stupid with unasked for devotion. It's normal to miss them, he reminds himself, despite the way it feels almost unethical. He's just… eager to see his Captain again. And, of course, his linemate.

He's fairly certain everyone in the locker room knows just who he's the most eager to see, given the way people have taken to snorting as he perks up at the sound of the door only to subside when it isn't Shane or Ilya.

He can't help it though; he's just fucking excited for preseason. And that's the only reason, he tells himself, despite the anticipatory heat twisting away behind his ribs.

"Dude," Young says, waggling his eyebrows at Luca, dragging his attention away from the door. He's got a funny little smile playing around the corners of his mouth, something hungry in the glint of his pupils. "Have you seen Roz today? Holy shit—I caught sight of him in the parking lot. I totally get why everyone is thirsting for him online. The man's huge. It's so fucking crazy."

Oh, fuck, Luca thinks, glancing up just in time to find Ilya entering the locker room, his whole everything massive. He looks so fucking happy, Shane entering after him, just as thick and large and both of their bags slung held in his hand, his biceps flexing. Oh, no.

He wants to glare at Young for putting extra support for the insanity in his head, but he can't even process it, not really, not enough to try to stop the way it hums in his bones, before Ilya's loudly making his way through the locker room, grinning at everyone.

He claps his hands once, the room quieting down. "Do not worry, boys," he says, cocky and assured, his eyes glittering with cheerful malice as he glances around the room. His gaze lingers on Luca for a beat, before his mouth quirks. "I have seen what everyone is saying online. I know it was scary without me, but, well—Daddy's home."

Daddy echoes through Luca's head with an alarming easiness. It sinks through his bones, lighting up the dark pit in his stomach where he drops things he doesn't want to think about. It holds other humiliating bits and pieces, like the fact that he once jerked off to the idea of being Shane's footstool, or that his current revolving door of wet dreams involves Ilya putting him in panties, and then Shane making him choke on Ilya's cock until he's brainless and sobbing.

He's never considered Daddy, outside of a vague understanding that it would ruin his fucking life, because he knows himself. He knows what that kind of condescending sweet talk does to him, and he knows just how easily both Shane and Ilya wield it.

The room erupts into a mixture of booing and cheering, and the only thing that pulls Luca's attention off of Ilya's cocky strut is Shane, shaking his head and striding across the room to settle in at his stall, which is—of course, because fuck Luca and all his nonexistent dignity—right next to his.

"He's been planning this entrance for the last two days," Shane says flatly, which would work, if Luca couldn't see the smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. "Don't even ask me why he settled on daddy."

If Ilya calling himself daddy was enough to make Luca's cock twitch, it has nothing on listening to Shane say it.

Shane slides a glance his way, and Luca knows he must have guilt painted across his mouth, avidity in the curl of his fingers, as he tries to be normal about it all, but Shane doesn't say anything further, just gifting Luca another smile.

"Suits him," Luca croaks, instead of anything sensible, and then wants to flay himself open as Shane arches a slow eyebrow, a sharp grin unfurling across his face.

"Huh," he says, casting a glance behind him as Luca shrinks into himself, cursing the day he was born. "Maybe it does." His eyes dart back to Luca, his smirk unwavering as Luca's cock twitches in his pants. "I'll let him know."

Luca wheezes, but nods, unwilling to argue. What's he going to say? Please don't tell Cap that he's Daddy to me? He's pretty sure even Shane isn't capable of that kind of mercy.

He just hopes he won't do it in front of him. If he were, Luca knows himself well enough to know that he'd have to fall over and die.

***

Once Ilya breaks the seal, though, daddy is fucking everywhere.

"You're brave without your daddy on the ice," some asshole from Montreal mutters as they jostle for the puck in their second preseason game. His face is set into a scowl, when Luca steals a glance at him, annoyed disgust clear on his face.

Luca shivers at the thrum of want that burns through him, quick and fast, before he glares back at the Metro and steals the puck, whirling around to find Shane, open and unguarded.

The satisfying sound of Shane scoring wells within him, even as a different man swears violently from half a pace behind him.

"You're just daddy's little bitch," he mutters, underneath the explosion of cheers. "What, Rozanov let you fuck his other slutty whore, too?"

Luca ignores him, skating off to congratulate Shane, even as a piece of him shivers at the very thought. God, I wish Daddy would, he thinks, and promptly goes so pink he can feel it, ignoring the concern on Shane's face as they head back to the bench.

*

"Dude, she wanted me to call her daddy," Bergie says dreamily, as they board the plane go head to BOS for their final preseason game, LP and Young hooting with delight. "And I fucking did, bro. It was fucking awesome."

"That's such a fucking dream," Young says, sighing. "Ugh, when will my time come?"

Luca keeps his mouth locked tight, unwilling to open it and have I think I'm gonna end up dreaming about calling Roz daddy fall out.

As cool as his friends are, he knows that they'll be merciless about this. He knows them well enough, to know that one of them will get it in their head that they need to call Roz daddy to support him, and then Luca will have to suffer through listening to it, all while knowing that it's all he wants to say. And he knows it'd be even worse for the kindness they'd try to bring to it.

He's greedy for it, the title, the shape of the word in his mouth, the sliver of hunger that curves up his spine. He's been dreaming of pieces of it, dreams that flash pink and blue, smears of heat and glittering obsidian and visions of mussed curls and black hair, of hands holding him down, coaxing him open.

He shivers at the thought of anyone knowing how deep his depravity goes, and takes another swig of his lukewarm water.

He just—he can get through this. He just needs a good night's sleep and then it'll all be fine. He'll be normal.

He can be normal.

*

He can't be normal.

Daddy has fully crept into his dreams, just like he was afraid of

He wakes up to his cock rock hard, the taste of Daddy in his mouth, the salt of sweat and tears on his tongue as he ruts into his mattress. He wakes up aching for two married men, for his fucking captain and alternate; wakes up crying at the thought of Ilya Rozanov fucking him open, of Shane Hollander holding him down and cooing at him.

The fuzziness of his dreams clings to him. The sharp, pulsing need that's slowly blooming into a constant ache; it's following him around everywhere.

He wants it more than he's ever wanted anything, to the point that he knows he's been staring at them. He knows that they both have picked up on it, but neither have told him to stop, and if he keeps the visions of Shane grinning at Ilya—the graceful, predatory intent etched into both of their faces, the heft of their muscles as they strip after practice, the sweat that clings to their brows—as his most frequent jerk off material, so be it.

He already knows he's going to hell. He might as well enjoy it.

*

Of course, the most egregious use of it comes from Shane Hollander-Rozanov.

Most days, Shane is exactly who Luca expects him to be: deadly on the ice, serious about training and fueling his body, unrelenting with his expectations.

It's a miracle that they're on the same team together, a miracle that they're defending Cup champions.

The summer hadn't made Shane shift his patterns either—he'd taken a two week, well-deserved break before he'd thrown himself back into his work outs and runs. It had been a different kind of heady to be texted his tips and tricks, to look down at his phone and have a reminder that he was—somehow, impossibly—friends with him.

But friends doesn't mean that Shane isn't an asshole.

When the Fanmail video leaked back in 2021, he'd had people reaching out, asking if he knew, asking if he'd met Shane, asking if he was as nice as he supposedly was.

Luca had waited until actually meeting Shane, before texting back that he was as impressive in person as expected and very kind. Opposites attract, he'd texted his friends from back home. Makes sense that Roz would find someone to balance him.

Only now, after a whole season on Shane's line, he'd add in the other important piece: oh, and if he gets comfortable with people he doesn't let them forget anything they've ever let slip that's chirp-worthy.

Bergie had accidentally drunkenly introduced himself to Mrs. Hollander as Oliver Homoberg, and neither Shane nor Ilya had ever let him forget it. He's poked fun at the nonsense the rookies believe in, chirped Ilya nonstop, and gently made fun of the rest of the team with the WAGs, Ilya proudly urging him on.

But all that to say, Luca knows he's paying attention. He knows that any slip up of his own thoughts about how fucking attracted to either of them he is will be remembered in infamy forever.

And it's even worse now, because both of them are so goddamn proud of how hot the other is that more half the team openly thirsts over both of them.

It doesn't really catch up to Luca, until they're in New York, after their first seasonal game against the Admirals.

Hunter—which, holy shit, how the hell does Luca know Scott Hunter personally now—and Kip had invited both teams out to the Kingfisher in the aftermath; though, Hunter had joking retracted it for Ilya after the Admirals' loss. It hadn't lasted for long, not against Shane's fake frown, which just goes to show that Luca should feel fucking vindicated—no one can say no to Shane Hollander.

But the Kingfisher is nice, just like Luca remembers from last year, and the drinks are strong enough that he feels drowsy after two, tucked into the booth somehow with Shane, Ilya, Troy, Scott, and Kip.

He's got his chin propped up in his hand, listening idly as Troy and Kip exchange small talk about Harris, Kip asking about the possibility of getting Drover Cider in Kingfisher soon, when the sound of his name catches his attention, dragging it back to the other conversation that Scott, Shane, and Ilya are having.

"—not true," Ilya is saying, laughing loudly, his mouth curled into a broad smirk. "But, hm, I do not argue too much against it. It's always—what is it, that other players are saying these days?"

Shane rolls his eyes. "You just want to hear me say it," he says, smirking wider when Hunter faux-gags.

"If you ever want a divorce," Scott starts, only for Ilya to boo him, his face bright with glee. Luca's attention gets caught on the glitter of malice that's in his eyes, the curve of a lethal smirk sliding across his face. He's pretty sure he sighs like a lovesick fool, as he watches Shane run a proprietary hand through Ilya's curls. "I'm just saying, Hollander."

"You are just jealous you do not have such hot, kinky sex as Shane and I," Ilya says, ignoring the gentle swat Shane aims at him. "I feel bad for Kip."

Scott rolls his eyes, turning to look at Shane. "If you ever do want to be a single parent—"

Shane shakes his head, even as he laughs, his eyes dark with amusement. “You know, really, it's not so bad when his daddy's here,” he says easily, and Luca wants the entire world to swallow him whole as his body lights up, syrupy drunken arousal catching fire in the pit of his navel. Shane's mouth curls around his words with ease, the shimmering lights of the Kingfisher smearing pulsing lights across his lethal cheekbones, his beautiful freckles, the gloss of his lips.

He's sure it's not subtle, the way he stiffens, how he blinks rapidly, his ears going bright red, but Ilya only laughs, tossing an arm around his shoulders, both of them ignoring the way Hunter recoils, even as his face screws up, clearly trying to suppress shocked laughter. 

"My husband always says such sweet things for me," Ilya says proudly, as if Luca's not on the verge of an aneurysm underneath his arm. "And I know you were father of the first humans, all those years ago—"

"Rozanov."

"—but it is not so hard, being a parent these days."

Scott rolls his eyes but doesn't bother to actually argue, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. Neither one of them so much as look at Luca, but he can feel the heavy weight of Shane's attention, that heady press of his sharp gaze.

He peeks at Shane from underneath his eyelashes, his gaze catching on the set of his mouth, the freckles on his cheeks, before finally meeting his eyes.

Bewilderingly, there is no stern admonishment in his gaze. He looks, unfortunately for Luca, incredibly put together, as dazzlingly handsome as usual.

The team likes to joke that the Hollander-Rozanov's trade off just who is in charge after every game won, that it's the only way they're ever able to figure it out, the two of them constantly entangled in a web of competition.

But Luca knows the truth; he's watched them close enough.

Shane is the axis of control that they spin on. No matter how much he concedes, Luca's watched the way Ilya will keep close track of his expressions, keeping an eye out for any signs of actual disapproval, for all that they both play at irritating each other.

And, of course, the rest of the team knows it too, though, how the general public is fooled, Luca has no idea. It's blindingly obvious, but he supposes that's how the two of them have always operated, with their whole hearts on their sleeves, if only someone would look.

But here, in the pulsing croon of the Kingfisher, Shane doesn't look mad, or annoyed, or anything that Luca expects. He looks, frighteningly enough, like he is putting together a plan.

Luca's stomach swoops, and he drops his gaze, pushing it out of his head.

He can't afford to think like this. Not here, not now, and really, honestly, not ever.

***

By the time he slips up, it's been months. Months of gritting his teeth, of swallowing back the yes, Daddy that he wants to let lose, knowing that it would be too breathless to be mistaken for anything other than deep, crushing hunger, and too raw for it to be a joke.

He keeps his stupid, useless desires tied to an anchor and thrown straight into the pit of his stomach, keeps them all seething in the dark corners of his mind, only unveiled when he's alone in his room, his hand shoved down his pants, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

His pillow has permanent teeth marks in the soft down of it, from all the times he's shoved it into his mouth, trying desperately to dampen the cries that he wants to set loose, the thick desires he wants to unspool from his chest. It definitely doesn't help that he's been getting more and more invitations to Shane and Ilya's these days; he's been run ragged, at this point, by his own disastrous wants.

It's a problem, too, that both Shane and Ilya have taken to boxing him in these days, that sometimes there's an edge of something when they settle in beside him, or that neither of them seem particularly phased by how much they touch him; both of them seem to take particular pride in watching as he blooms underneath their hands. He can't help the way he turns to them, the way he follows at their heels, and takes the shelter that they freely offer. It's not—it's not anything more, despite the way he searches for it—despite the way he's caught them both watching him—he's sure. It can't be, because he won't survive if it is.

But he shoves all that aside, despite how heavy it is as it clings to him, as he arrives at the Hollander-Rozanov's for gingerbread cookie decorating—something Ilya was blindingly thrilled to be doing—in the few days they have off for the holidays.

Neither of them answer when Luca knocks, though Anya appears, her nose smushing up against the stained glass that frames the wooden door, and Luca shrugs off the pit of fear that threatens to swamp him, glancing down at the last text Shane had sent him, the one that reads door's unlocked if we don't answer. come on in whenever you get here.

"Fuck," Luca mutters, stuffing his phone in his jeans, and twisting the knob before his bravery deserts him. He steps through the door, shutting it behind him with a faint click, before bending down to let Anya snuffle at his hands and lick across his cheek, before she bounds off, her sworn guard duty done.

For a beat, he stands in the foyer, waiting for Shane or Ilya to appear, before he steels himself and slides out of his shoes, hanging up his light jacket. It's odd, walking through the halls without either of them. He can take his time, not caught in the gravity of their attention, letting his eyes wander over the walls, tracing past a decade and a half of love.

He's staring at their grinning faces from their first CCM shoot—one that he knows Ilya tracked down the photographer to get—when his attention is caught by a low groan from the living room.

It feels stupid to call out a hello—especially when they both know he's on his way over, and like, what, is he lost here? He knows where to go, really—so Luca steps back from the pictures and heads for the noise, only to freeze in the doorway when he gets to the living room.

It's obvious why neither answered the door, Luca realizes as soon as he makes sense of what he's seeing. They're both sprawled out across the couch, mouths fused together, Shane grinding into Ilya's lap, their hands frantic as they scratch across their skin. Neither of them are wearing shirts, Luca notes distantly as all of his dignity dies an embarrassingly fast death. He immediately wants to get his mouth on the heft of Shane's bicep, on the ripples of Ilya's pectoral.

Luca's focus drops and narrows in on the clear drag of their cocks against one another, the shameless noises leaking from Shane's mouth, that only grow louder as Ilya tugs at his hair.

He should turn around.

But Shane's tongue is lapping at the corner of Ilya's mouth. His hands are tangled in Ilya's curls. Ilya can't stop sliding his hands into Shane's pants, clearly palming his ass, the peaks of his knuckles clear under the threadbare sweats. Luca's whole body is hot and his dick hardening, even as he frantically tries to command it to stop, despite being unable to look away.

He's never seen them like this before, not so honest with their affection. They've kissed in front of the team, and yeah, Luca's caught sight of them grinding on each other in clubs before, and their make out on the ice the night of their Stanley Cup win did inspire a bunch of think pieces—and inspired Luca to jerk off about it later—but there's something so… debauched about seeing them at home. It's as if it's far more real, like Luca can finally comprehend it: this is Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov's life. They just get to be hot and make out and fuck whenever they want.

It's so fucking enticing he could cry.

He doesn't even know what he wants, aside from them. And he feels like an idiot as a flush works his way across his face, as his cock kicks in his pants at a particularly low groan from Ilya. He wants to drop to his knees and crawl over and beg. He wants to clear his throat and have them spring apart and cease this torment. He wants to turn on his heel and run the fuck away. He wants them to know that he's here and extend a hand and have him nestled in between them, warm and safe and loved.

Instead though, because he's fucking pathetic, Anya takes his choices from him as she bounds into the room beside him and barks, loud and excited enough that Shane pulls back from Ilya, twisting towards the doorway.

For a moment, Luca almost drops down to hide, almost caves to that shallow impulse of terror, but instead he just flushes even deeper and carefully clasps his hands in front of him, as if it's going to help hide the clear erection he has.

"Uh," Luca says, when both of them peer at him for a beat as Anya trots off, probably plotting another way to ruin his life. Clearly, it's a family trait. "Sorry. I—should I not have let myself in? I, uh, you said—or, well—the door was unlocked?"

"Luca, hi," Shane says brightly, pushing himself off the couch and beaming, like he hasn't just walked in on the two of them halfway to fucking. As if none of their cocks are rock hard and obvious, which, Luca's having a really hard time with; he can see a damp spot on Shane's sweats. He can't believe that both of them are being so nonchalant, even as he tries to stutter through an apology that won't leave his throat. He's distantly sure that it isn't helped by the way he can't stop staring at them; they're both shirtless and grinning. Ilya has a hickey blooming in the hollow of his throat, Shane has a lurid ring of teeth marks over his left nipple. But Shane's continuing, before he can get any words out, "You're right on time."

Luca blinks at them, shifting on his feet, and tries, desperately, to be normal. "I am?"

Ilya's mouth curls into a smirk as Shane bobs his head and steps over to him. "Yeah," he says easily, his cheeks faintly pink. It's the only part of him that appears embarrassed in any way though, as Luca frantically tries to figure out how to be casual. "C'mon. I barely kept Ilya from the gingerbread cookies while we waited for you."

"You didn't have to—"

"He wanted to," Ilya corrects, his voice low and gravelly. "Isn't that right, Shanya?"

Shane grins, sharp-toothed and hungry, and Luca's stomach swoops, his thoughts reeling. He has no idea what's going on, no idea why it suddenly feels like he's walked into a den of lions, and he's nothing more than prey. Surely, this can't—there's no way that he's reading their lingering looks with anything other than false hope. There's no fucking way. He's imaging things. He has to be.

"I did want to wait," Shane admits easily, stepping closer. He smiles, softening just a beat. "We want you to feel welcome here, Luca," he murmurs, reaching out to cup a hand over his cheek, his thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth, lightning quick, before he pulls back. "Okay?"

Luca nods dumbly, nerves buzzing under his skin, heat collecting at the base of his spine. He chances a glance at Ilya—half expecting him to be faux-glaring at him—only for arousal to lick across his skin at the blatantly hungry look he's leveling at both of them.

Okay.

Maybe he is reading parts of this correctly.

*

"Well," Ilya says, as he sets his final gingerbread cookie down with a sigh. Luca snaps to attention and realizes that he has no fucking idea what either of them have been saying for the last few minutes, his mind caught on going over their couch make out again and again and again. He just can't stop thinking about the filthy grind of their cocks, the lust scored across their face, the teeth marks sunk into their bodies. He's been a mess this whole afternoon, caught in the tides of syrupy arousal, the gentleness of their hands as they pass him things or slide a hand over his shoulder. It doesn't help that they both just pulled on aprons over their bare chests; it should be illegal how good they look. "We cannot be boring, can we?"

Shane grins, some spark roaring back into being as he glances at Ilya from Luca's other side. "We don't want that," he agrees, and before Luca can process anything—because what the fuck were they even saying before this—they're kissing over him, trapping him easily between their warm bodies.

Luca can't even pretend to try to tear his eyes away, watching avidly as Ilya sucks Shane's tongue into his mouth. His cock hasn't ever quite softened—a state he's unfortunately used to around them both—but he hardens almost embarrassingly fast as the muffled, wet sounds hit his ear, the faint hum of pleasure Shane makes as Ilya steps closer, his hand curling over Shane's jaw, before he pulls back.

Shane's lashes flutter, his gaze hazy as he opens his eyes, immediately catching Luca's gaze.

"Hi, honey," he says, his voice dipping into the low register of patronization that always lights Luca up inside. He squirms between the two of them, a flush working it's way across his skin as Shane tips in, somehow even closer to him, and beams. "You doing okay?"

Luca nods mutely, sure that he looks like an idiot, even as Ilya crowds in against his back.

"You sure, Haasy?" Ilya asks, his nose nudging into the hinge of his jaw, his breath dancing across his skin. "If you are not wanting, you can say so, yes? We won't be mad."

"Not at all," Shane says, blinking at him. His hands creep up to touch his face again, and Luca lets his eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed with how easily Shane's gaze pierces through him. He nuzzles into his tentative fingers, as they brush over his cheekbones, trail over the bridge of his nose. "We just wanted to give you a little treat, after how hard you've been working lately."

Ilya nips at the shell of his ear, and Luca can feel the smile he presses into the back of his neck at the breathy, shocked noise he lets slip. "Let us help you feel good," Ilya says, his hands settling on Luca's hips. "Yes, Haasy?"

"Yes," Luca says, stuttering over the way he wants to add Daddy. He swallows it down with a whine, tilting his head back. He doesn't know how to ask for what he wants; he knows if he opens his mouth, all of his terrible, raw desires are going to tumble out. And, he's humiliated himself enough today; he can't handle it again even as a tiny little whimper leaks out.

But, as always, they read him easily, and suddenly, Shane is kissing him, easy and gentle as if he does it every day.

"It's okay," Ilya murmurs into his ear, over the soft noises of their lips brushing together. It's mesmerizing, the tiny, shallow kisses, the rhythmic touch. Someone's hands are sneaking under his shirt, callused and warm as they drag over his skin. He feels like he's encased in sticky honey, warm with buzzing arousal as Ilya continues. "We have you, sweet boy."

Luca moans, low and aching, and then he's spinning, his eyes still closed as Ilya's mouth descends on his. He kisses like a hurricane, prying Luca's mouth open as if he's a prize to be won, uncaring as their teeth clack together, or how Luca shivers at the first slick touch of his tongue against his.

"Want it," Luca manages, when Ilya backs off enough for him to speak. He cracks his eyes open, meeting the sharp blue ice of Ilya's, and heat rolls through his body at the keen desire clear in his gaze. "Want you—" He cuts himself off, before he can slip up, and twists just enough to find Shane behind him. "Both. Um. Now, please?"

"So sweet," Ilya coos, a little blade of condescension in his tone. "So polite, hm?"

Luca doesn't tear his gaze away from Shane. He knows that if he has to convince anyone, it's him, though, he's not really sure why he'd need convincing since this sort of all feels like a plot to get him into their bed, but also—he's not thinking clearly at all. It's hard to concentrate when all the blood has rerouted to his cock.

"Very polite," Shane says, watching his face. Luca has no idea what he's searching for—if he should seem more pitiful, or braver, or somehow any emotion other than incandescently horny—so he doesn't even try to shy away from any of it.

He lets the clear hunger crawl across his face, oxidize in his gaze. He refuses to even hide the flicker of fear that runs through him, because what if he slips up; he's sure Shane hasn't forgotten about his little quip in the locker room, or his flush at the Kingfisher. But that could never stop him, especially not now. Not when he's so close to having them.

He would rather have them with gritted teeth and fear, than never have them at all.

"Okay," Shane says after a beat, something dark emerging in the curl of his mouth. It's a struggle to keep his eyes open as Ilya sucks hickeys into the curve of his neck, scraping his teeth over the edge of his jaw. He can feel his dick leaking in his jeans, the pulse of animal greed, the drool pooling in his mouth. "If you want it so badly, Haasy, you're going to have to work for it. Okay?"

Luca nods, his head bobbling back and forth. "Yes, of—of course."

"Well then," Shane says, as if that's all he's been looking for, Ilya pulling back from his throat with a final nip. For a second, it all feels so planned that Luca wonders if they've practiced, before the thought leaves his head at Shane's sharp grin. "Living room?"

Luca nods again, flushing at the low laugh that it pulls from Ilya, but doesn't fight his eagerness as he scrambles after them.

"C'mere," Shane murmurs, as soon as they're at the couch, reaching out to snag his wrist and drag him in. He doesn't pay any mind to how Luca pauses, even as Luca's attention is snagged by Ilya peeling his apron off, before he reaches over and tugs Shane's off as well in one easy motion.

Luca follows Shane's gentle pull, tumbling down beside him on the couch, unwilling to so much as blink in case this turns into a dream. But Shane pierces through that fear easily, as he sinks back against the long arm of the couch, adjusting Luca to be in his lap.

"Easy for it," Ilya rumbles, humiliation crawling down his spine as he pants, Shane's hands sneaking under his t-shirt, his jeans abruptly too tight as his thighs spread over Shane's. He feels like an idiot at his first hook up, too dumb and dazzled by the potential to do anything more than grind down and whine.

Ilya crowds in against his back, a solid wall Luca wilts against as Shane deftly unbuttons his pants and plunges a hand in without even bothering to slick his palm. Luca gasps at the touch, Ilya's hand sneaking up to snare him by the jaw. He twists his face, tugging him in even closer as Luca shudders between them, overwrought with pleasure.

"Feel good, malysh?" Ilya croons, his fingers smoothing over his lip, the salt of his skin filling Luca's mouth as he tries to get them further in. Sloppy, thick desire wells in his throat as Shane's hand twists down his shaft, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. "Is my Shane treating you well?"

"Ye-yeah," Luca whines, one hand reaching back for him, the other clinging to Shane's arm as he works him over. "Fuck—I—oh, god, more—" He chokes on his next words, stuttering over the please, Daddy that threatens to rush out.

"Manners," Shane corrects, leaning up to kiss the edge of his jaw. "C'mon, honey. Where's your little please and thank you now?"

"Please," Luca gasps out, unwilling to disappoint him, even though he can still taste the salaciousness of Daddy, his hands dropping to scramble for the edge of his t-shirt, desperate to peel it off of him. He can feel sweat beginning to collect on his skin, the humid fog of lechery descending.

He blinks when Ilya shushes at him, as if he's working himself up unnecessarily before flushing a deeper red as he helps him out of his t-shirt and tossing it aside, running a proprietary hand down his spine.

"Thank you," he warbles, shuddering as Shane shoves at his waistband, his nails scratching across his skin. Abruptly, he realizes he's the only one with his dick out, humiliation coring through him, only to be followed rapidly by a tsunami of aphrodisia. It licks across his nerves, the realization that he's desperate enough to let them do whatever they want to him, that he'd go to his knees and crawl and beg and pant for a chance to just exist around them, nevertheless to have this happen to him. "Thank you—"

Shane twists his hand, the slick, lewd noise sending static up his spine and cutting him off at the knees. He can hardly get a full breath in as Ilya winds a hand through his hair and tugs, dropping kiss after kiss over the slope of his shoulder, as he slowly makes his way up Luca's neck.

"So good for us, hm?" Ilya mutters into his mouth as he captures his lips in a kiss, his tongue dipping in and tracing over the edge of his teeth. Luca can hardly kiss him back, undone with voracious need, the thundering pulse of pleasure rushing through his veins. "Will be even better when you are naked, yes?"

Luca nods, moaning as Shane lets go of his cock, tears springing to his eyes. "Please, no," he pleads, desperate for him to keep touching his dick. He thinks his brain is leaking out of his ears as he grinds forward into the air. "Come back and touch me."

"So desperate," Shane says, grinning at him, a dark avidity clinging to him. He glances over Luca's shoulders, meeting Ilya's eyes. "I want him to fuck me."

Luca whines at his words, unable to keep track of the hands on him as he's stripped out of his clothes, bare and needy before them. For a moment, he thinks that only he's going to be completely naked—something that he doesn't hate, can't with how it means that their eyes linger on him—before Ilya is tugging at the leg of Shane's pants, encouraging him to strip as well.

His chest is heaving as he watches Shane push up off the couch, long, lean lines of muscles out on display as he pulls off his sweats, the slap of his cock against his stomach; it's a sound that's going to haunt Luca forever.

"Now, lyubimyj," Ilya murmurs. "Show Luca why you are so eager for him tonight."

Shane grins, a bright flash of cheerful malice searing across his face, before he turns, bracing himself against the back of the cushions and arching.

Luca's eyes follow the slope of his spine, only to gasp at the garish gem winking from between Shane's ass cheeks. It's a gaudy mix of the black and red of the Cens, and Luca can't help the way he reaches out, smoothing a thumb over the warm plastic and silicon.

"Mm, yes," Ilya murmurs, as he slides off the couch. Luca can't even turn to look at him, even with the soft thump of his sweats being tossed across the room, too entranced by the plug beneath his fingers. "He had a whole plan for this afternoon, the little slut."

Shane whines, shuddering, and glances over his shoulder, his eyes damp with tears that haven't fallen. "Want you," he murmurs, coyness soaked through his voice. "Ilya fucked me and then plugged me up."

Luca squeaks, a flush rushing down his chest as Ilya laughs at him, and keeps his eyes fixed on the plug as Ilya leans over and folds his fingers over his to tug on it, grinning as Shane whimpers. "He was crying for it," Ilya says, as Luca watches Shane's rim stretch around the thickest part, panting so loudly he's almost ashamed. "Bitching and moaning to be full for when you came over." Shane groans again as Ilya fucks him shallowly with the end of it. "And, what did you say, my Shanya?"

"I said I want Luca to be able to slide right in," Shane slurs as Luca's whole world shatters into another wave of heat, desire winding up his throat, so thick he could choke on it. He drops his hand from the plug as soon as Ilya releases his hand, his cock leaking steadily. He's lightheaded with lechery, hunger swallowing him whole. "Said I wanted you to teach him how to fuck me right."

Ilya pats his ass, before he reaches over and tugs the plug out completely. "I know it is scary to see someone so hungry for dick, Haasy," he stage-whispers, as Shane glares at him; though, the force of it is belied by how teary his eyes are. "I will teach you all you need to know about keeping this one satisfied."

"Rozanov," Shane says, low and serious enough that a prickle of danger runs down Luca's spine. It only adds to his feeling of devotion, though, churning up another riptide of hunger that rinses through him.

It doesn't do anything to Ilya, who leans in to smack a loud kiss against both of Shane's ass cheeks, swiping a crooked fingerful of lube over his hole, before he pulls back, a grin on his face. "Go on," Ilya murmurs. "Touch him, Haasy."

Luca reaches out with trembling fingers, hardly able to fathom the fact that Shane's skin is underneath his hands. He drags them down, curving over the muscle to gently touch his rim, pressing in ever so slightly.

Ilya tsks, shaking his head in the corner of his eye, and Luca yanks his hands back, unsure of what he's done wrong.

"Don't worry," Ilya coos, as he settles back in behind him, the touch of his cock searing against Luca's ass. The heat simmers into something even more potent as he reaches down and fists Luca's dick, the assured touch sending a pulse of hunger straight to the pit of his navel. "He does not need your softness, Haasy. But, I will help you, malysh. I know, I know—you are both too tender and too eager to make this good, yes? Too unsure to fuck my Shanya the way he deserves."

He pauses, as if he's waiting for an agreement, and Luca can feel yes, Daddy rattling up his throat, coiling under his tongue, no matter how hard he tries to swallow it down. Before he can verbalize anything though, Shane makes an annoyed sound, twisting to glare at both of them.

"Are you fucking me, or not?" he snaps, bitchiness seeping from his tone, even as he wiggles his ass, his slick and puffy rim winking. Another waves of lecherous agony swamps Luca at the twinkle in his eyes, another playful layer uncovered. "I want to be fucked."

"So impatient," Ilya murmurs, even as he lines up Luca's cock without waiting for Luca to catch up. Dark, clawing hunger washes over him as he watches Ilya's hands notch him against Shane's hole; though, nothing feels real as Ilya laughs under his breath as the tip of his cock breaches Shane.

He doesn't even get a moment's reprieve, no, Ilya grips him around the waist and shoves.

He scrabbles at Shane's hips, a whine tearing free from his throat as Ilya grinds him forward, his brain unable to comprehend what the fuck is happening to him as Shane arches his back, the ends of his hair slipping over his shoulders. He clenches down and Luca gasps, lightning sparking up his spine at the shivery slick heat of him and the heavy hold of Ilya's hands on his waist. 

Shane groans in front of him as he roughly bottoms out, rolling his hips ever so slightly, only to pause when Ilya clicks his tongue. “I know, sweetheart,” Ilya murmurs, sweet condescension coating his words. “It's so hard when you're cockdrunk, hm? When you want to fuck but I make you wait for Haasy? And poor, little Luca—he needs his Daddy to help him fuck, hm?”

Luca shudders in his grip, his mouth falling open, slack with shock, saliva pooling under his useless tongue. He should've—he should've realized. He should've known; nothing good can come without a catch, and here is his: his pitiful, greedy wants, laid bare for all to see.

Ilya hums, smugness clear even in the simple sound. “Did you think you were subtle, Haasy?” he rasps, guiding him back until only the tip of his cock remains in Shane. Shane clenches down, his hole desperately trying to suck him in, but Ilya remains unmoved as Luca shakes in his grip, whines leaking from his throat. “Poor, little Luca going pink and sweet and shy any time anyone so much as joked about your Daddy on the ice. Couldn't even look at me after, yes? Could barely even breathe after Shanya said it, hm?” 

Luca groans, panting, his thoughts dissolving before any of them can so much as drip from his mouth. He's been caught, he knows; his desires flayed open, the soft insides of his wants clear for anyone to see. He can't be too upset, not when the humiliation of his greediness spills sweetly into his navel. Not when the weight of his need has brought him here, into Ilya and Shane’s hands. 

“Ilya,” Shane breathes out, wanton lushness crackling through. Luca's eyes roll wildly, unable to settle, skipping up the curve of Shane's spine, lingering on the clench of his hands on the couch cushions. He can look for too long or he'll cum, overwrought at the mere sight of him. “Show him how to fuck me.” 

Ilya tsks, but listens, his grip tightening on Luca’s hips as he rocks him forward, sliding him deeper into Shane in one smooth motion. Luca's hands flex around the curve of Shane's waist, his fingers tacky with sweat.

"Look at you," Ilya breathes as Luca thrashes in his unrelenting grip, the tight, wet heat of Shane almost too much to bear. "There we go, kotik. You just need a guiding hand, don't you?" Ilya tsks as Luca tries to rabbit forward and he can feel the crinkle-cheek grin of his smirk pressed against his tacky, tear streaked cheek. "You needed Daddy's help so badly, baby, didn't you?"

Luca's panting, wildly, his tongue thick in his mouth, drool spilling across his lips. Everything is overwhelming, pleasure crackling at the tips of his fingers, swirling in the pit of his stomach. He can't think, all words sliding out of his head as he soaks in the sensation of fucking into Shane. Ilya's hands are tight on his hips, the bite of a dull ache welcome against the tidal way of glorious decadence that fizzes against his nerves. He wants to rut forward, to sink deeper into the warmth, but Ilya tsks again, his nails digging into the skin at his hips.

"You need to be good for Daddy," Ilya croons, as if Luca's capable of anything but unraveling between them, drowning in the feeling of too much, too good. "I'll show you how to fuck, yes? I know it is hard for you, malysh. You get overwhelmed so easily, distracted by how good Shanya feels around you."

"Ilya," Shane gasps out, rocking backwards, another inch of Luca's cock sliding in. "You're driving me crazy."

Ilya laughs, throaty and guttural, desire clearly lashed to his tone. "It's not my fault our sweet boy doesn't know how to fuck," he says, as Luca whines even louder. "I am helping."

"You're being a bastard," Shane bites out, twisting somehow to glare at them over his shoulder. His expression softens, as Luca meets his gaze. "Is Daddy being mean to you, honey?" Luca nods, his tongue useless as he pants.

He can't feel anything other than thick, heavy greed coiling in his stomach, fervent desperation buzzing across his nerves. It feels as though they both have reached inside him and plucked some perfect, gleaming note; he's undone at their hands, just as he always knew he would be.

"Want it," Luca manages to squeak out. He can feel tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, and can't stop his voice from pitching up into a whining sort of wail. "Wanna fuck you."

Ilya laughs under his breath, his grip tightening, and Luca gasps as he forces his hips forward, sliding even deeper into Shane. Glitchy, saccharine debauchery soaks into his mind as his hands spasm on Shane's hips, all his words slipping from his head.

There is only heat and slick walls and tight, glorious pleasure as Shane clenches down, his lips curling up into a smile.

I am fucking Ilya Rozanov's cum deeper into Shane Hollander, Luca thinks, and then has close his eyes and breathe really slowly to avoid shooting off immediately. He can hardly hold on, as Ilya's hands flex around him. He has no idea how he hasn't cum.

"Oh, honey," Shane warbles, his drip of lust so thick in his tone that Luca has to look, catching sight of the gorgeous avidity streaked across his brow. The muscles of his back flex and ripple, the might of his broad shoulders contained; it only makes Luca hungrier for ruin. "Oh, Luca, you feel so good inside me."

Luca sobs, his fingers scrabbling across Shane’s skin, slick with tacky sweat as Ilya drags him back out, only keeping the head of his cock inside.

"Please," Luca manages to slur, his head lolling back as Ilya inches him forward again, as if he's walking him down the tightrope of doomed hedonism, the squelch of his dick loud in the room. He can feel drool leaking from the corner of his mouth as his captain forces him to fuck his husband, the mere thought making him impossibly dizzy. "Want it."

"I know you do," Ilya says, holding him through another agonizing roll of his hips. "But if I let you go, sweet thing, you will not be able to pace yourself." He presses a kiss to Luca's cheek, dragging his mouth up to the corner of his eye, and Luca is flooded with want, when he realizes Ilya's tasting the salt of his tears, his tongue hot on his skin. "It's your first time, with my love," he says, slow condescension in his voice as he pulls away. "And I do not want you being greedy and spoiled, yes? That is not what you have learned from me."

"Y-yeah," Luca rasps, shuddering as Ilya tugs him back to grind into him, the drag of his cock over his ass electric. There's almost too many sensations fritzing across his nerves. He can't keep track, even as pins and needles of an orgasm start to build in his joints. It all washes together, obliterating all sense. "Wanna be good. Wanna cum."

"You want to cum," Ilya says, as if it's something that has only just occurred to him as a possibility. He laughs again when Luca nods eagerly, casual cruelty in his voice as he grinds Luca forward, faster than he has before, letting him soak in the drugging feeling of Shane's walls clinging to him for a beat, before yanking him back, paying no mind to the mewl of disbelief Shane lets out, or the shaky whine that slips from Luca's throat.

“If you want it so badly, say it then, úmnitsa,” Ilya croons in his ear, his tongue dragging down the shell of it, his teeth nipping at the hinge of his jaw. The bright spark of pain does nothing to help, adding to the drenched feeling of sin that laps at his bones. He can feel his balls drawing up, that shivery explosion of pleasure looming on the horizon. He feels pathetic; unraveled to pieces at the mere touch of them both, unspooled by the quick press of his dick into Shane's tight, hot hole. “Say it, Luca, and we will let you cum, sweet thing.” 

Luca moans, more tears gathering in his lash line. He feels frayed with emotion, the words clogging in his throat.

“Oh, Luca,” Shane murmurs, his voice unwavering even as Ilya drives Luca’s cock back into him, his hand still tight on his hips. He sounds fond and warm and sin-soaked with lust. “Be brave for Daddy, and say it.” 

“Please,” Luca whines, his tongue useless in his mouth, the sting of his teeth sinking into his own flesh as he clenches his jaw in an attempt to gain any sort of control. "Please let me cum in—in Mommy, Daddy."

Shane's hole clamps down tight, tighter than it has been all night, and Luca wails, all of him sparking with desperation, Ilya a line of frozen heat behind him.

"Please," he begs, all sense knocked from his head as he fucks his hips forward, only to be caught by Ilya's tight, unrelenting grip. "Please let me cum, Daddy."

"Oh, you poor, sweet thing," Ilya murmurs, throaty with arousal. He bites at the hinge of his jaw, a dull ache radiating out, simmering under his skin. Tears prick at Luca's eyes, desperation burning through him, a wildfire of scorched need. "Yes, sweetheart, fuck—fuck Mommy like she needs."

Ilya loosens his arms, letting Luca fuck forward, even as he still keeps touching his skin, sliding over his waist, up his chest to thumb at his nipple. Luca can't help the way he sways forward gracelessly, immediately caught in the tide of his own desire, all other thoughts falling to the wayside as he chases his pleasure.

He's panting loudly, sloppy with desire, hungry for that golden tide of relief. He knows he'll be embarrassed later, when he thinks back to how easily he's losing it, but he can't help himself. It feels agonizingly good, a shockwave of pleasure jolting down his spine. There's only the frightfully good slick heat of Shane, the sting of nails as Ilya scratches down his chest. He wants to cum; it's all he's ever wanted.

"Please," he manages to eke out through every thrust of his hips. He can taste salt on his lips, tears of devastation slipping down his cheeks. "Please, please, please—"

Ilya laughs again, dark satisfaction in his tone. "Oh, so you are a good boy," he rumbles, dropping a kiss against the slope of his shoulder. "Asking for permission, yes? You want to cum in Mommy, malysh?"

"Need it," Luca wails, as the world swirls around him, the amber of the lamps glittering through his tear slick lashes. He can taste the pulse of an orgasm, the sharp warmth growing in his navel. "Need it, Daddy—please—wanna cum, wanna fill Mommy."

Shane clenches down on his cock, tight pressure enveloping his shaft as he ruts into him, chasing those golden threads. He's drooling, spit leaking out of the corners of his panting mouth, his tongue flopping between his teeth as he tries to reorient himself. He doesn't want to cum without permission, despite no one telling him to wait; he wants to hear it, wants that syrupy drip of approval through their mouths.

It's useless, though, as his balls start to draw up, the crest of release washing over him. He can't help himself, scrabbling at Shane's hips, as he fucks him; he doesn't even know if Shane's enjoying any of it, and that pinch of potential humiliation stirs another wave of heat through his veins.

Is it better, he wonders, dazed and fuckdumb, if they're just letting him fuck himself out? If they're treating him like a pitiful virgin who doesn't know how to help himself? Would it make him feel better if they trusted him to make it good?

No, he decides, still rutting forward on autopilot, the slap of his hips against Shane’s ass loud in the room. He likes it, that they're treating him like a pathetic little dog, a one trick wonder who only knows how to hump and drool and whine.

"Please," he slurs. "Lemme cum, lemme—Mommy, please."

Shane meets his gaze, his brow arching, a little sneer on his face. "Luca," he says, lush hedonism in the glitter of his eyes. "You can cum whenever." His mouth twists into a smirk. "Daddy's going to fuck me how I like, after, so you don't have to worry about anything else but filling me up." His lashes flutters, his hips shifting back, sucking him in impossibly deeper. "C'mon, honey. Fill Mommy up."

Luca gasps through his orgasm, the pinch of too good, too fast, too much welling up inside of him as his release washes over him, caught on the snarl of approval that vibrates up Ilya's throat. It sinks through him, an opulent decadence swamping him as his hips stutter to a stop, flush against Shane, the pulse of cum spilling into him.

He mouths at the notches of Shane's spine as he slumps over him, dazed and kitten-weak as his eyes roll back at the sensation of Shane milking him, his tight walls rippling around his slowly softening cock.

"Feel good, honey?" Shane asks, groaning when Luca shifts further into him, before hands catch around his waist and tug, pulling him out of the wet heat of Shane. He blinks, still dazed with luscious pleasure, and doesn't bother to do anything but slump into Ilya's guiding arms before he neatly tips him over to the side of the couch right beside where Shane's bent over.

"Oh, wow," Shane says, as soon as he meets his eyes. "Looking a little fucked out there, huh?" He opens his mouth to say more, only for his voice to be split with a moan, his mouth dropping open.

Ilya laughs, and Luca manages to sit up to get a better view, dragging his gaze down the solid lines of Shane to where Ilya's splitting Shane open with his cock, bottoming out with ease. Shane's cock kicks from where it's hanging between his legs, precum dripping across the cushions, a puddle forming.

"So good for me, Mommy," Ilya murmurs, his hand sliding up Shane's spine to settle at his nape. He grips him hard, his fingers curling in as Luca watches open-mouthed. Somehow, he hadn't thought that they'd continue with the names. It doesn't help the heat coiling in his stomach, as his dick twitches against his thigh, already starting to reharden. "So nice of Haasy to warm you up for me, yes? Slick you up so I can slide right in again. That's what Daddy is for, yes, lyubimyj? For fucking Mommy?"

"Yeah," Shane breathes, his thick lashes fluttering, his eyes rolling. He looks obscene, flushed with greedy desire, damp with perspiration. Luca wants to crawl inside him, wants to nestle in between them, wants to claw his way back into their attention. He wants to lick the sweat off the small of his back, wants to drop under his cock and let it drip precum into his mouth. "Please, baby, fuck me."

"I will not leave you wanting," Ilya promises, a little curl of a dark smirk on his face, and Luca realizes—he did. He left Shane aching and wanting and whining; he failed to make him cum. He just chased after his pleasure and left his—fuck—left his Mommy unsatisfied. "Ah," Ilya says, as he shifts backwards, before slamming back into Shane, the loud slap of his hips ricocheting through the living room. "Malysh, yes, do not worry—I will take care of your Mommy."

Dizzying heat rises, battering at his nerves; he can't tell if he's humiliated or turned on or thrilled or what, he just knows that he's hard again, his cock drooling against his stomach as he shifts on the couch, his eyes darting from Ilya's face to his cock fucking into Shane to Shane's gaze, as he turns his face and meets Luca's eyes.

"It's okay, honey," Shane says, through his panting groans of pleasure, Ilya's murmurs about making him take it. "It must've been hard, to have your first time with Daddy in the room."

Luca nods, his cheeks flushing even as his hands creeps towards his dick. "I like it," he admits, pumping his dick when Ilya laughs again, Shane's quicksilver grin crackling across his raw nerves. "I don't—it's—"

"I know," Shane says, the smidge of condescension leaving his tone for a moment, a thrum of genuineness flooding his tone. He moans as Ilya slaps his ass, a streak of pink left behind, before he crooks his fingers as best as he can, gesturing Luca closer. "C'mere and gimme a kiss."

Luca shoves himself up immediately, refusing to let his embarrassment at his eagerness stop him from curving in towards Shane. He catches his mouth easily, losing himself to the rhythm of kissing, the wet stroke of his tongue.

"So sweet, my boys," Ilya croons, as Shane sinks his teeth into Luca's bottom lip. "Perfect me, hm? Well behaved for Daddy."

Shane hums into the kiss, pulling back enough to breathe out, "Touch yourself, Luca," before he's swooping back in, swallowing him down.

Luca shakily fits his hands around his cock again, whimpering at the touch, his whole body melting into a viscid pile of need. Drugging sybaritism ripples down his spine as Shane sucks on his tongue, their teeth clicking as Luca groans, opening his mouth even more.

He wants Shane to crawl down his throat, wants to let them ruin his body. He'd take whatever they give him, would let them fill him with cum until he's nothing more than a soft warm thing for them to use. He'd let them fuck hockey out of his head, would let them keep him in bed until he's nothing but a hollow shell, addicted to them and their cocks. It's close enough to how he feels now, teetering on the edge of disastrous wanting, but it's not enough to get him to stop and think; not with Shane licking across his molars, one of his hands on his jaw, guiding him easily.

He never wants this to stop. He wants to sink and sink and sink into debauchery until it's all he knows; all he'll ever know.

Shane whines, loud enough that Luca feels it in his teeth from how they're pressed together, and pulls back, holding him in place easily when he goes to follow.

"Right there," he gasps, his eyes rolling back as Ilya adjusts, his breathing going high and tight, as he lets go of Luca's face. Luca immediately misses the pressure of his palm, but doesn't try to fight it, instead fucking his hand harder than he'd been able to, his eyes wide as he watches. "Right—fuck—oh my god—"

"I think I would like to hear you say it, lyubimyj," Ilya murmurs, bending forward to drape himself over Shane's back. He, somehow, sounds almost unaffected even as he drives into Shane so hard that Luca can hear the squelch of his cum being fuck out, can see the tacky smear of white frothing around the base of Ilya's cock every time he pulls back. "Say it for me, sweetheart."

"Daddy," Shane wails, and starts to spill across the couch cushions, his cum puddling underneath him.

Luca whole body locks up at the sight, his eyes wide as Shane cums untouched, writhing underneath Ilya, the word Daddy ringing through the air. Ilya laughs, a filthy, low rumble of sound and keeps fucking him, paying no attention to the sharp uh, uh, uh's that are leaking from Shane's mouth.

Instead, his gaze lands on Luca, who stills even more under the heat of his eyes.

"Touching yourself, malysh?" Ilya asks, like he can't see that's exactly what Luca is doing. "Greedy boy." His brows draw together, a nasty little smirk emerging on his face. "I know what you need, sweet thing."

He reaches down, swiping a hand across the head of Shane's still leaking cock, cum smearing over the palm of his hand, before he holds it out to Luca, a challenge in his eyes.

"Tongue out," Ilya murmurs, his smirk only growing as Luca listens, sinful depravity swimming in his veins. He leans forward, breathing heavily as Ilya wipes his hand over his tongue, the bitter salt of cum sliding over his taste buds. He can taste sweat underneath, the faint spice of gingerbread, the creaminess of frosting. Nothing has ever tasted so good.

"Good boy," Ilya says, tucking his tongue back into his mouth as if Luca's too dumb to figure it out himself. Heat streaks across his spine at the mere idea, blistering across his nerves. "You feeling good, Haasy?"

Luca nods, panting. He's easy for it, another burning knot of an orgasm rising from his navel, spilling through his balls. He's slick with precum, fucking his fist easily as he drinks in the sight of the two of them.

"Want it," Shane slurs suddenly, his voice infused with greed. "Want it, Daddy. Wanna feel you cum, wanna get filled up." He shudders as Ilya pets down his spine before his hand cracks across Shane's ass, the noise echoing through the room, loud enough that Luca's hips stutter, avidity racing through his veins at the bloom of red.

"What Mommy wants," Ilya murmurs, petting over the impact site in long, firm touches as Shane shudders underneath his hand, "Mommy gets."

Luca gasps, the fires of desire roaring through him as Ilya picks up the speed of his fucking, the slap of skin rising into a rhythm that Luca tries to match as he fucks his hand. His cock is drooling everywhere, precum splattering across his thighs, barely hitting the edge of Shane's ribs as he braces against the back of the couch.

"You are going to cum again for us, sweetheart?" Ilya rumbles, as Luca drags his gaze up their entwined bodies, wide-eyed at the way Shane moans and drops into a lower arch, beautiful and disastrous supplication in the curve of his spine. "Touching yourself at the sight of your Mommy, hm? You getting close just watching your Daddy fuck her like she needs?"

"Uh huh," Luca manages to eke out, decadent arousal crawling up his spine. His own hand is useless around his leaking cock, as he stops trying to follow Ilya's pace, his mouth open at the sight as Ilya rolls his hips forward, fucking Shane impossibly harder. "She's so pretty, Daddy."

Shane gasps, twisting to meet his eyes, his brown eyes glossy with want, his mouth open on a whine. He looks gorgeous like this, sweat damp and hungry, eager to be ruined. Luca can't figure out where to look, his gaze flitting from his drooling cock to the pump of Ilya's hips to glossy sheen of Shane's mouth.

He can see the beginnings of a bruise forming on Shane's hips, the heavy grip of Ilya's hands sinking deep into his skin. He wants the same imprint branded into him, the prints of Ilya's guidance seared into his waist. He wants to come away from this even more permanently changed than he already is.

"C'mon," Shane slurs, his gaze drifting down, a path of fire searing through Luca as if there's a physical weight to it. His head lolls back against the meat of his shoulders, a smirk flickering across his lips, before it vanishes as he moans. "Wanna see it."

"Do not disappoint her," Ilya says, as Luca stares at Shane's blissed out face, the wet part of his mouth, the muscles in his back rippling as Ilya fucks him harder, the breathy pants slipping out of his throat. "Be a good boy, malysh, and cum for her."

Luca whines as his orgasm shatters through him at Ilya's command, toppling back against the couch as the static shock of pleasure rinses through him, hollowing him of all other senses. He can feel the spurt of cum, streaking up his chest as he shudders under his own unraveling, soiled with the force of his own desire.

Shane wails, the throaty grit of it tangling in his mouth as Ilya fists his hand into his hair and yanks, hissing something in his ear as his hips pump, once, twice, and then a third time, clearly cumming, his eyes fluttering closed as Shane groans, "Feels so good, Daddy."

For a moment, they're frozen as they catch their breath, Luca struck dumb with a vague creeping feeling of bad-wrong humiliation, only for it to be yanked out of its roots as Shane reaches out and tugs at him awkwardly, refusing to stop until Luca's almost underneath him.

"Holy shit," Shane says, and then curls up on top of Luca, seemingly uncaring of the cum smeared everywhere across the two of them as he drops down onto him with ease. He inhales, his brow furrowing in displeasure as Ilya carefully pulls out, rubbing his cheek against Luca's chest like a cat. "We're gonna need a new couch," he murmurs, as Ilya starts to laugh, bright and loud. "Oh, fuck off, Rozanov."

"Mmm, no," Ilya says, toppling down on top of him. Luca grunts at the shifting weight but feels the tension coiling in his spine start to dissolve as Ilya reaches up to pet at his hair. "I think I like my other name more, hm, Mommy?"

Shane flushes a bright red, pressing his hot cheek against Luca's collarbone, before he drops a kiss on the hollow of his throat.

"You only get to be Daddy when you're good," Shane retorts. "Or if Luca wants to call you that." He peeks up at Luca, the familiar glint of warm teasing in his eyes. "Isn't that right, honey?"

Luca blinks at him for a beat, before he starts to smile, delight shivering through him. "Yes, Mommy," he agrees, and pretends he can't feel the twitch of Shane's cock against his thigh. He's always been told he's a quick study, but he thinks this is really going to take the cake as Ilya grins at him, a knowing tinge to the curve of his mouth. "It's just like Daddy always says; what Mommy wants, Mommy gets."