Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

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

Characters:

Luca Haas, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Established Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Post-Canon, Public Hand Jobs, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, light Captain kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Cum Eating, Teasing, light humiliation kink, Intoxication, Luca Haas has a praise kink, Grinding, Hollanov as the predator and Luca as the prey, he is so into it to be clear, Puppy Play, Threesome - M/M/M, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, luca as a tool for hollanov to use, devoted first husbands of hockey, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, the one where hollanov ruins luca's life by being too good at sex, Light Dirty Talk

Language:

English

Series:

Part 21 of heated rivalry masterlist

Collections:

goated heated rivalry fics, pepperroxd’s library, Fics LunaK does not want to lose track of

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-03 Completed: 2026-04-08 Words: 17,614 Chapters: 2/2

all the things you do to me, i don't care if you're using me

Summary

“The thing is,” Ilya says, conversationally, as if he doesn't have fucking Shane Hollander grinding into his touch, as if he doesn't have a hand on his—Luca's sure of it—perfect fucking cock, “you have not been subtle, Haasy.”

It takes Luca a moment to understand just what the hell Ilya's talking about, before he moans, low in his throat, humiliation sweeping across his body. It's not that he thought he had been actually subtle, but he hadn't expected this, of all places, to be where they confronted him. Not with Ilya's hand worming its way into Shane's pants, the soft blue of his briefs a flash color amongst the pale glow of his skin and the dark drape of his clothes.

OR: The Cens have won the Stanley Cup. Luca's been voted Hollanov's MVP.

Notes

this fic is dedicated to leah, for the iconic tweets, for the incredible headcanons, and for the fun filth that your twitter always inspires. i absolutely hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1: if you ask, i'm crawlin' on my knees, watch your feet

Chapter Notes

Luca’s not unused to the impossibility of desire. He’s felt it all his life; the odds that he’d ever play hockey professionally were always framed as a pipe dream, even as it got closer and closer. The idea of being good at art—his tiny, silly dream—is something that he's still chasing after. The concept of playing on a line with either Shane Hollander or Ilya Rozanov was something that was utterly inconceivable until it wasn't. 

But this new—or rather, not new, but crushing—want is ruining his life. It's hard not to want so ardently and desperately when the very thing he craves is everywhere he looks. 

He should have known his doom was approaching as soon as he signed with Ottawa. He should have read the signs in the stars when Ilya Rozanov became his Captain. He should have known that things never go his way, not when he’s got everything to lose on the fucking line. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the season when Shane Hollander joined them. Nothing could have primed him for the unspooling of such aching hunger in the pit of his stomach like watching Ilya and Shane come together game after game, a merciless storm of wins unrolling from beneath their skates. Even the losses, of which there were the fewest the Centaurs had ever had, weren't tragic; no, the team was thriving as it never had under Ilya's pre-marriage leadership, his whole body aglow with love for his husband. 

But, truly, the burn of desire doesn't actually catch beyond thoughts he can somewhat shove aside, until after they win the Stanley Cup. 

The night they win passes as a blur, shots pressing into his hands, laughter and joy thick enough to taste blanketing the room. He's happy, truly and wholly, delighted to be alive, full of so much goddamn cheer he thinks he might explode from the force of it. 

Wyatt’s smacking kisses against everyone’s cheeks, and Bood’s wearing a crown he got from somewhere, and Luca’s lost sight of Bergie and LaPointe in the crowd as he bounces around the room, thrilled and beaming, unable to contain any of his excitement. 

He's drunk, veering towards a dangerous sort of mindlessness, by the time he realizes he could stand to get some air. They’d won in game five, after nearly sweeping the San Jose Squids, and the only thing that made their near miss of a shutout worth it was the fact that they had won in Ottawa. 

It makes him far more comfortable to be this drunk when he knows he's relatively home; he understands the streets, and he knows these buildings, knows these people. 

The fresh air feels amazing as he stumbles over his feet, heading for the darkened alleyway next to the club. He just wants to be out of view from the street, and doesn't want to be bombarded with questions when he's just trying to take a moment. 

Not that he really thinks he would be—he's basically still a rookie, according to the whole team—but still. He scored tonight, assisted Shane; he's not the face of the team, but he's still someone. He shakes his head, laughing at his own thoughts, only to groan as his stomach sloshes uncomfortably.

The world is only a little blurry as he drags his hand down the brick wall, the cool summer air a balm against his skin. 

Further down the alleyway, someone mutters something, faint laughter rising on the gentle breeze, and Luca follows the vaguely familiar sounds, only to freeze as he rounds the corner, his gaze settling on his captain and his husband, entangled in a deep, filthy kiss. 

He almost doesn't want to see this. He can't look away. 

It feels blasphemous to see Shane undone like this, to catch the shine of spit in the dull sputtering overhead light that clings to his lips as he sloppily kisses Ilya. 

He feels insane, watching as Ilya leans back to take another drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke straight into Shane's slack mouth, held firm in his other hand. He can't tear his eyes away as Shane whines, his hands restless as they slide across Ilya's back, dipping in and out of his waistband, before they ruck up the back of his shirt, dragging across bare skin.  

A heat unlike anything Luca's ever felt sparks to life in the pit of his stomach.

He knows that they're attractive; hell, the whole team knows that the two hottest players in the NHL have locked each other down. Ilya never lets anyone forget how hot he finds Shane, and even Shane has dished out his own smug compliments about Ilya's attractiveness as he's become more comfortable with the team.

It's almost unfair how dazzlingly intoxicated they are with each other. If their tiny gestures day in and day out at practices and games hadn't proved that, then anyone who was unfortunate enough to room next to them on the road did. 

Luca has been kept up more than once by such incredibly distracting noises next door, his cheeks hot and his eyes wide as he tries his best not to listen. He's met Young's gaze in the mornings after, and they both have shared that same dumbfounded expression of maybe we don't talk about whatever that was because it was a little too embarrassing to think about how hot under the collar it got them. 

He knows he's not alone in that either: their group chat has been incredibly informative about how flexible some of their straight teammates are. 

So it's no secret that they're in love and so undone for each other. 

But those were all small moments, or plausibly denied through walls and closed doors; they weren't ever this—the blatant, public claiming of each other. 

Luca can't stop watching Shane palm his husband's ass. He can't stop looking as Ilya crowds in against Shane, shamelessly grinding, his grin clearly smug even from behind, at the tight, faint whines leaking from Shane's throat. 

He feels drunker than ever. He feels obliteratingly sober. He can't tear his gaze away, even as Shane's eyes open and meet his, his cheeks going bright pink. 

His mouth dries out as Shane keeps his eyes on his, his jaw dropping wider, flashes of wet tongue in the damp caverns of their almost connected mouths. He's abruptly so hard he's dizzy, unable to look away as Shane coaxes Ilya's tongue into his mouth and sucks, the sounds loud to Luca's ears. 

He should leave. He needs to go. 

He's pretty sure he's forgotten how to walk. 

Shane doesn't look away, even as their lips separate, something dark and heated in his gaze. 

He can’t hear what Shane murmurs over the rushing in his ears, but he recognizes the smirk painted across his mouth; a smear of shark-toothed danger in the glint of his canines, the curve of his lip. 

He sort of wants to drop to his knees and crawl; to beg for something he can't even name as he stares at them. 

Ilya doesn't even turn and look—no, he just gestures, an impatient crook of his fingers, the cigarette still burning in between his fingers, and Luca's moving towards them on instinct, accustomed to listening to his captain without fail. 

“Haasy,” he greets, as Luca stumbles over his feet and stands beside them. His head is spinning. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. He can't stop staring at Shane's mouth, at the touch of Ilya's fingers against his throat. “Do you smoke?” 

The question is so far from what he had expected that it takes Luca a moment to reboot his brain. Shane is watching him, his eyes dark, his mouth still curved into dark satisfaction, liquid honey soaked through. 

“Uh—not during the season, Captain,” he manages, falling back on formality, feeling utterly useless. Ilya twists, ignoring the way Shane groans as he grinds against him and only smirks as he sees Luca's red-hot face. 

“Is a good thing we are off-season, then, no?” he asks, but Luca can't follow the thread of conversation, his eyes drawn back to the lines of Shane's throat, the glossy tendrils of hair that dance around his face, the curl of his spit slick lips as he gasps underneath his breath as Ilya's grip on his neck tightens for a beat before it relaxes. He can't take all of Shane in, too haunted by the glint of his dark brown eyes, the long, lean lines of his body. He's as if a god has come to earth, too gorgeous for Luca to even hope to comprehend, too pretty for Luca to think he can understand. “Haasy.” 

Luca snaps back to attention, his blush even darker. “I'm—I'm sorry, Captain.” 

Ilya smirks, his mouth into a dangerous hedonism that even Luca can spot despite the haze in his mind, the greed in the pit of his stomach. “Haasy,” he coos, the sound dripping down Luca's spine. He can feel his cock twitch, a humiliating addition that he thinks Ilya knows about despite his eyes never slipping from his face. “Open your mouth.” 

Luca drops his jaw before he even thinks about it, his tongue useless behind his teeth, drool pooling in his mouth. He locks his knees as he trembles, uncaring that it strains his muscles. He can fix that later, and they just won the Stanley Cup. Listening to his captain and standing is way more important.

As if he can hear his thoughts, Ilya grins and twists his wrist, setting the filter of his mostly smoked cigarette against his bottom lip, his fingers pressing against Luca's damp mouth. Luca's lashes flutter for a moment before he forces them open, meeting Ilya’s darkened eyes. 

“Hold that, Haasy,” he orders, his lips curling into a leer Luca's only ever seen directed at Shane before—normally when he's gotten cocky and arrogant after a drink or two—when he immediately complies. “Good.” 

Luca gasps around the end, inhaling a small puff and groaning when Ilya arches a brow. “Oh?” 

Luca sways on his feet, unsure where to look. Ilya's face is settled into the expression he gets when he really wants to grind a win into the other team, his eyes sharp with power and brilliance, as if he's peeling Luca apart layer by layer. But Shane's no better, still tipped against the wall, his gaze heavy and hungry. He's set into artful disarray, and it's nearly more than Luca can take, as he drags his gaze over the blooming marks ringing his throat, the indents of Ilya's claim laid bare to the world. 

“Haasy,” Ilya says again, and Luca snaps back to attention, meeting his eyes. “You did well tonight, shchenok,” he murmurs, as Luca's heartbeat thunders in his ears. Shane sighs against the wall, and Luca's eyes slide towards him, watching the edges of his mouth curl into something bladed and pleased.

He has no idea what the fuck is happening, but he never wants it to stop. He doesn't even know what Ilya called him; he just wants to hear it again, wants to hear Shane say it, wants to curl up at their feet and beg for attention and be good. 

“I am going to give you a treat,” Ilya continues, and Luca can't help the whine he lets out, his mouth full of the ashy taste of cigarettes, smoke in his lungs. Heat singes his veins as he watches Ilya set a possessive hand over the bulge of Shane's dick, still tucked away in his sleek pants. “Be good, Haasy.” 

He nods eagerly, careful to clamp the cigarette in his teeth, unwilling to find out just what being bad will bring. 

“You can do it, rook,” Shane says, his voice somehow even, perfect control still laced into him. He sounds like how he does on the ice, firmly centered, unable to be distracted. “Be good for your Captain.” 

Ilya's snarl of heated desire twines with the loud whimper Luca lets slip, his whole body shivering under their gazes. 

He feels crazy, heat crackling up his spine, his whole body buzzing. He can't stop watching as Shane arches into Ilya's touch with a groan, his mouth parting around another soft sigh. 

“The thing is,” Ilya says, conversationally, as if he doesn't have fucking Shane Hollander grinding into his touch, as if he doesn't have a hand on his—Luca's sure of it—perfect fucking cock, “you have not been subtle, Haasy.”  

It takes Luca a moment to understand just what the hell Ilya's talking about, before he moans, low in his throat, humiliation sweeping across his body. It's not that he thought he had been actually subtle, but he hadn't expected this, of all places, to be where they confronted him. Not with Ilya's hand worming its way into Shane's pants, the soft blue of his briefs a flash color amongst the pale glow of his skin and the dark drape of his clothes. 

“Mmm,” Ilya agrees, amusement dripping from his mouth. “It is cute, though—Shane and I agree.” 

Shane's voice splinters on a groan, Luca's eyes widening at the slick noise of Ilya's fist around his cock, before he nods his head. “You're okay, Haasy,” he murmurs, heat under his tone, sloppy desire in his voice. “We're not mad.” 

Luca whines, low in his throat. He wants to bury his face in his hands, wants to drop to his knees and hide his flushed cheeks against their thighs. He wants them to stop looking at him, wants them never to look away. 

Ilya clicks his tongue, and Luca's eyes snap to his, trained on the rhythm of his Captain's disapproving noises.

“Keep your eyes on my hand, shchenok,” Ilya orders, and Luca's gaze drops immediately, electric covetousness simmering under his skin. His whole body jolts, teeth clamping down on the filter of the cigarette as he realizes that Shane's somehow wearing lace briefs, flashes of Ilya's hand clear with each slow stroke. 

“So good,” Shane murmurs, and Luca has no idea if he's talking to him, but the words shatter against his frayed nerves, making him keen behind his clenched teeth. 

He can feel drool growing under his tongue, the wet taste of paper mingling with the filmy taste of smoke. It's been burnt down to nearly nothing, the edges smouldering as it creeps closer and closer to Luca's lips, but he's—he's being good, he won't spit it out until his Captain has told him to, won't shift his eyes or move his feet until he's been unleashed from the heavy weight of their gazes. 

“Haasy,” Ilya croons, as Shane moans in his grip, his hip thrusting into the tight heat of his palm. Luca can hardly imagine what it feels like, his whole body trembling at the mere thought. “Such a sweet, good boy.” 

“Mmhmm,” Shane manages, and Luca's whole heart stops as Ilya drags his hand out of Shane's briefs, his fingers shining with precum. He feels like a fucking dog, locked onto a treat, everything floating put of his head as sheer want surges. He needs Ilya's fingers in his mouth so badly he's shaking. “Spit out the cigarette, shchenok,” Shane rasps, still looking completely put together to Luca's damp eyes. “Your Captain has another gift for you.”

The cigarette falls out of his mouth without a thought, his jaw unlocking around a desperate exhale. He keeps his mouth loose, doesn't so much as shift, except for the rapid shifts of his chest, his breathing stuttering with every lungful of air. 

Ilya's fingers creep closer, the curve of his knuckles appearing in fragments. It feels like he's at a club, flashing lights breaking up motions into static photos. Here is Ilya's hand, steady in the air; there is the glossy sheen of Shane's precum; he's not even an arm's length away, and still, everything is slowed, broken into tiny bits as all of Luca's focus narrows in. 

Ilya's damp fingers touch the edge of his mouth, and Luca stills even more somehow, every edge of him attuned to the gentle pressure of his calloused fingertips. 

“Good,” someone breathes, but Luca has no idea who, all of his senses winnowing down as the tips of his fingers press against the flat of his tongue. Musky salt blooms, and it takes everything in him not to close his mouth around Ilya's fingers and suck. “You can go ahead and lick, shchenok.”

Luca’s dragging his tongue over Ilya's fingers before he realizes, soaking in the taste of Shane. He has no idea what he's done to deserve this, but he's not going to let it go to waste, even as tacky drool spills from the corners of his mouth, sliding down his skin. 

Eventually, the taste tips from salt and musk into skin and heat; far more of a blend of Ilya and Shane, and he's whining for more before he can contain it, still carefully licking, his mouth cracked open, breathing shallowly around Ilya’s thick fingers. He's so hard he thinks if either of them touches him more than this, he'll fucking cum.

His eyes have slipped shut at some point, he realizes abruptly, and blinks them open, only to whimper at the sight before him. 

They're kissing again, filthy and lewd, the wet sounds of their mouths meeting loud even over Luca's racing heartbeat, Shane's eyes fixed on his, as if he was just waiting for Luca to peek.

He nips Ilya's lip, and Luca sways forward, more of Ilya's fingers sliding into his mouth. 

“Greedy,” Shane says, but he sounds more fond than annoyed, his mouth curled into a scythe of pleasure. Luca can't tear his eyes away; he thinks Shane should always look like this, decadent and lithe, danger in the set of his face, confidence in the shift of his body. 

Ilya laughs, tilting his head toward Luca and slowly pulling his fingers out of his mouth. “He has tasted you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting back to Luca as he pants raggedly in the warm summer air. “Of course he wants more.”

Shane tilts his head, arching a brow imperiously at him, and Luca says the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Thank you,” he rasps, and flushes even deeper, his shoulders hiking up to his ears as he drops his gaze to the cracked concrete.

“So polite,” Ilya coos delightedly. “So cute, Haasy.”

Luca squirms, only for his attention to be caught as Ilya slides his spit-slick hand back into Shane's pants. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, staring as Shane moans at the touch. 

“You gonna finish me off this time, Rozanov?” he asks, a layer of desperation soaked through his voice. 

Ilya hums, his hand speeding up, and Luca wants to be touched by them both so badly he's shaking, his hands fisting into the sides of his pants so he won't touch himself or them. 

“You would like that,” Ilya says, his voice shifting into a different tone, one Luca's never heard before. It sends a tremor through his body, listening to Ilya talk to Shane like this, watching the pump of his hand, the flash of his knuckles through the lace. “You want to cum in my fist, shlyukha? Watch me let Haasy lick it from my hand like a dog?”

Luca can't help the thin whimper he lets out, lifting his gaze to find Shane already watching him, his eyes dark with unbridled lust. 

“I think he'd cum from the taste,” Ilya says, a tinge of mockery in his voice. He's not even looking at Luca, and still, the weight of his attention feels like a blanket of depravity, sinking into his skin. “Poor little shchenok, so pent up from watching his idols, hm?” 

Shane hums, tilting his head to the side. The dull amber light hits the bruise of Ilya's mouth, set into the curve of his neck, and Luca twitches, swaying forward with so much hunger that for a second it feels as though he can't contain it. 

“C'mere,” Shane says, dark intent smeared across the set of his mouth. He looks like he does when they're down three and he's somehow going to pull off a miracle; how he does when there's a nasty play that he's eager to see all the way through. Luca, like everyone on the team, knows never to argue with Shane when he looks like this: stern and unforgiving and mind-meltingly attractive. 

Luca stutters into motion, drifting close enough to feel the heat from Shane's shoulder, the warmth of Ilya's arm. 

“So good for your Captain,” Shane says again, the words tangling into the throbbing pool of want at Luca's core. “So good for your—fuck, Ilya—” His voice shatters into a whine, his head tilting back, and Luca wants to gnaw on his collarbones, wants to go to his knees and beg for a hand in his hair. 

Please, he can imagine himself crying, syrupy humiliation at sliding through at the thought of being so vocal, so obvious with his needs, touch me, please, please, please. I'll be good, I promise, I'll be—I'll be whatever you want me to be. I can do it, I swear. 

It sinks into him; the acceptance, the heat, the sheer audacity of his hunger. He's never wanted anything so badly, has never been so ravenous for another's hand. It feels like it's a seething mass inside of him, the slow mix of heat and pleasure, the tides of desire lapping at his nerves.

“Haasy,” Ilya says, gravel in his throat, shot through with liquid fervor. “Do you want a taste?” Luca nods so quickly his head spins, and Ilya grins, sharp-toothed cruelty spilling across his mouth. He looks like a fucking king, watching his prized possessions, his curls debached, his eyes bright with feverish lust. “On your knees, shchenok.” 

Luca drops to the ground. 

He's fairly certain his knees have split open underneath his pants, but it doesn't matter, not when Shane Hollander is peering down at him, a filthy smile on his face. 

“So good for him,” he murmurs, and Luca nods, panting, unable to look away as Ilya twists his hand and a wave of pleasure crashes through Shane's face. He soaks it in, unblinking, watching as a fucking orgasm rushes through Shane, listening to the muted sound of his moans as Ilya leans in and drinks them down. 

He doesn’t think he’s breathing as Ilya slides his hand out of Shane’s pants, his eyes dropping to take in the cum pooled and dripping between his knuckles. He doesn’t even wait for the order, his mouth already open, his eyes wide. 

“So good, Haasy,” Ilya croons, before he slides his prize between his lips. 

Luca’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his hand rising to latch onto Ilya’s wrist, desperate for more as he sucks Shane’s cum off of his fingers. The taste of it: lightly bitter and creamy, salt and Shane, floods his mouth, until it’s all he knows. He whines as Ilya presses down on his tongue, as he laves at the webbing of his fingers, scrapes his teeth carefully over the ridge of his knuckles. 

Someone’s hand lands in his hair, and he can’t stop himself from twitching into it, his eyelashes fluttering open to find Shane watching him closely, a teasing grin on his face. 

“C’mon, Ilya,” Shane murmurs, as Luca struggles to understand just what he’s talking about. He can’t think outside of the coiling heat in his stomach, the thrumming desire in his veins; he has the taste of Shane in his mouth, and he thinks he could die happy, soaking Ilya’s fingers just like this. “He deserves it.” 

Ilya shoves his fingers deeper, and Luca swallows around them, frantic as Shane tugs at his hair. He’s so fucking close he could cry, as his eyes start to water, the wet noises of his mouth filling their tucked-away corner. 

Ilya grins, and Luca wails around his knuckles as something nudges under his hard dick, before he realizes it’s Ilya’s foot, as he slides closer, his leg a line of heat as it settles in against Luca’s body. 

“Go on, shchenok,” Ilya purrs, his eyes flashing with heat. “Earn your reward.” 

Luca slurs a thank you around his fingers and rocks forward, sobbing at the brush against Ilya’s shin. 

Waves of simmering pleasure shiver up his spine as he grinds forward, his cock heavy and leaking in his pants. Shane tugs again at his hair, and the ache of it zings up his nerves, spilling into the pool of heat crackling in his navel. 

He’s never felt pleasure like this, had never known it could feel so blisteringly good. 

“Feel good, puppy?” Shane murmurs, and Luca moans in response, trying his best to nod and not lose any of Ilya’s fingers from his mouth. He writhes against Ilya’s legs, chasing the golden heat as it sizzles down his limbs, buzzes in the tips of his fingers. “Oh, Haasy, you’re so gone, aren’t you?” 

Luca whines again, unable to do anything but feel, all sense knocked free from his head. The heavy drag of his dick melts through him, winding in his core, and he shivers as Ilya’s other hand tangles with Shane’s in his hair. 

“Haasy,” Ilya drawls, his face dark with greed as Luca glances up at him, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Be good for your Captain and cu—” 

Spots of white obliterate his vision as his orgasm rushes through him, as though it had just been waiting for Ilya’s command. Heat races down his spine, the world splintering into fragments; snapshots of Shane’s dark eyes, the curve of Ilya’s smirk, the feeling of their hands, knotted together in his hair. 

Ilya’s hand slides out from his mouth, and he gasps, sucking down air greedily as he slumps forward into his thigh. Someone’s hand leaves his head, and he whimpers, unable to comprehend anything that’s happening, only to be tucked into someone’s arms; Shane’s, he’s fairly certain, given the way he’s still nuzzling against Ilya’s thigh. 

“You did so well, Haasy,” Shane murmurs, stroking a broad hand down his spine. “So good for us, shchenok.” 

Luca sniffs, his eyes damp, the heat of his all-consuming greed receding. “Thank you,” he manages, blinking dumbly when Ilya coos a wordless encouragement at him, and Shane slowly coaxes him to his feet. 

He flushes, his eyes falling on the ground as soon as he’s standing, back to being awkwardly unsure of where he stands. “Uhm. I’m—I should—I don’t want to intrude.” 

Ilya snorts before groaning when Shane’s elbow lands neatly between his ribs. 

“You’re not intruding, you were invited,” Shane says firmly. “And neither of us is letting you go home and spiral about this, okay?” 

Luca nods, his eyes still fixed on the ground, shifting on his feet. He can’t believe this just happened. He wouldn’t—he doesn’t want to change that it did, but he’s just—he’s never been good at the ‘figuring out how to leave’ part of things, even in the few hookups he’s had. To have this be happening with Shane and Ilya is almost more than he can bear. 

He’s mapping out his escape route, which really is a turn and blindly run back to the front of the club, when Ilya murmurs something in Russian, too quick for Luca to parse with his limited understanding. All he knows is that whatever his question was, Shane’s answered yes, before Ilya’s hands curl under his jaw and knock his thoughts out of his head. 

“Haasy,” Ilya murmurs. “I will kiss you now, yes?” 

Luca blinks at him, heat sinking into his cheeks, before he manages a wobbling nod. 

Ilya smiles at him, his eyes crinkling up, fondness clear. “You are so cute, Haasy,” he says, before he dips his head down and kisses him, a gentle, easy press of his lips, the faintest nudge of his tongue, before he pulls back, smiling. “So sweet, too.” 

Luca flushes even deeper, glancing over to find Shane smiling at the two of them, before he nudges Ilya out of the way. “May I kiss you, too?” Shane asks, rolling his eyes when Ilya mutters about Mr. Perfect Grammar, even as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

He nods, still somehow feeling a little shy, and tilts his head back to accept the kiss Shane presses to his mouth, only to gasp when he slides his tongue in, far filthier than Ilya’s kiss. He groans into it, dissolving back into the stirrings of warmth at the firm touch of Shane’s tongue, the slick nip of his teeth. 

“That’s for being an asshole, asshole,” Shane says, as he pulls back, twisting to narrow his eyes at Ilya. 

Ilya grins at him, predatory intent clear. “You will regret that later, Hollander, when I am making you cry,” he croons, reaching out to sweep a thumb across Shane’s mouth, mere inches from Luca’s. “When will you learn, sweetheart?” 

Shane tuts, pulling back, and Luca blinks at him in faint surprise as he winds an arm around his waist. 

“C’mon, Haasy,” he murmurs. “We’ll take you home.” 

“Home, home?” Luca asks, before all his courage deserts him. “Or, your home?” 

Shane grins as Ilya settles in on Luca’s other side, tossing his arm over his shoulders. “Our home, shchenok,” he murmurs, his eyes dark. “What, did you think we were done?” 

Chapter End Notes

yes, this is open-ended, in case people are interested in a part two. lmk what you think!

sometimes a girl sees luca haas as the adopted son of hollanov. sometimes she sees luca haas as a filthy addition to their dynamic. i don't make the rules, and i can contain multitudes.

in all aspects of hollanov, making people see shane as a god and ilya as a king is a fave of mine; a king allowed to rule will always know the blessings of being chosen by a god

also, if you're into these three, please read Skills Clinic, it will change your life, I cannot rec this fic hard enough.

as always, you can find me on twit!

Chapter 2: lord, forgive me, i've got an appetite

Chapter Notes

this is for every single one of you in the comments. wow, i fucking love you all! as always, i'm totally down to hear about dead batteries, and i hope you enjoy!!

The car is nice, Luca thinks. He can’t really focus on it, not when Shane has his hand set high on his thigh, heavy and claiming, Ilya’s hand curved over; another kind of possession, though Luca doesn’t really know how to take it—is it a reminder that Shane’s his? Is it just another moment of them being so in love that they can’t help it? Is it something deeper that Luca’s just completely missing? Regardless of their intentions, it’s unmistakable in the dim light, in the warm pressure. 

He can't stop staring at their tangled fingers, their rings touching, the wink of a gem in every flash of a street light, even as exhaustion tugs at his limbs, the whole night catching up to him.

Around them, the outside world passes in a blur of bright lights before smoothing out into a gleaming darkness as the center of Ottawa fades away to quiet neighborhoods. The soft purr of the engine is as soothing as his white-noise machine in his apartment, easing him into a more relaxed state; something he thinks should be impossible, but he's unable to resist the way the vibrations feel and the quiet hum. 

Equally as strangely relaxing are his backseat companions. He has no idea why both of them slid into the back with him, bracketing him easily, instead of one taking the front or making him take the front, but he isn't complaining as he sinks into the lines of heat beside him. It's honestly impossible for him to tense up too much, not after his earth-shattering orgasm and the buzz of alcohol still floating through his body. 

Shane sighs, warm and fond—the kind of sigh he's heard directed at Anya when she's too cute for the kind of mischief she's getting into—and shifts closer somehow. 

“You can take a little nap,” he murmurs, his voice hardly louder than the gentle classical music the driver turned on at some point, almost lost beneath the rumble of the car’s tires. “We have a little bit to go.” 

Luca nods, somehow comfortable enough to listen despite the anxiety about what happens next gnawing at his ribs, and lets his eyes drift shut, slipping into a light dose.

He can hear Shane and Ilya murmuring, the mumble of their voices a familiar life raft that he can cling to, even if he can't make out their conversation, and slides even further into an almost nap, his head lolling against someone's shoulder as he sinks lower in his seat. 

Words slink into his ear: pretty, good, sweet boy, sleepy puppy, but he's fairly sure he's dreaming, as he twists to get comfortable and feels his cheek nudge against warm skin.

Someone coos wordlessly at him, something gentle touches his hair, his cheek; a warm hand squeezes his thigh. In between one breath and the next, the world fades out. 

When Luca awakens, blinking open drowsy eyes, he's tucked into bed, with Shane settled against the headboard next to him. He's on top of the thin sheet that Luca's under, glasses perched on his nose as he reads something on his phone, a tiny crease appearing on his brow. He's changed at some point, and is now dressed in a too-large Cens’ henley, the collar dipping low, the marks of Ilya's mouth on his throat dark red and lingering. The hem of his rucked-up shirt hits the waistband of his tiny sleep shorts, the heft of his toned, muscled thighs out on display. 

For a moment, Luca is so taken in by the sight of him that he forgets he's clearly not at his apartment, that they've made good on their promise and taken him home, too entranced by the softness of him. Shane's always distracting, but this is an impossible delight as he lets his eyes wander across the relaxed lines of his body. So rarely does he get a chance to just soak Shane in, often too afraid of getting caught watching him too intently. He blinks again as Shane shifts, his legs straightening out of their bend, and his mouth dries out at the flex of them, the nonchalant power clear in his casual motion. 

The silence they're in is odd. It takes Luca another bleary-eyed moment before he realizes he’s been expecting Ilya to make some comment, as he's never been shy with his lewd observations about Shane's legs before. Still, when he glances around, Ilya is nowhere to be found. 

“Haasy,” Shane says as soon as he stretches, feeling vaguely dazed and still buzzed, muted arousal rolling around his body, tiny sparking aftershocks he can't control. Shane smiles at him and sets his phone to the side, warmth in his glittering gaze as Luca twists towards him, pulled into his orbit as always. “You feelin’ okay?” 

Luca’s whole face erupts into flames, the tight coil of heat kickstarting in his navel as if no time has passed, and he's back to standing in the alleyway, abruptly recaught on their lures. “Ye-yeah,” he manages, his eyes wide, drinking in the sight of Shane Hollander in glasses, the dark brown of his eyes only more piercing through the sturdy frames. He feels like he's been given an honor, another delicate layer unwound from the mysterious aura that clings to these living legends he plays with. “Sorry for—for falling asleep.” His nose wrinkles, genuine embarrassment slamming into him. Jesus Christ, he gets a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he falls fucking asleep? How the fuck are Shane and Ilya supposed to take that, besides a weird rejection? He's such an idiot. He should probably go, but he knows Shane won't let him leave the room without an actual reason, and he certainly isn't smooth enough to slip past Ilya wherever he is. “Wait, how am I—what happened?” 

“You fell asleep in the car like we told you to,” Shane murmurs, reaching out to run a hand through Luca's hair. Involuntarily, a soft whine leaks from Luca's throat, tangled want and nervous desire knotting together in his stomach. His eyes feel damp as he blinks up at Shane, backlit by the bedside table lamp, a warm amber glow illuminating his body. 

Shane smiles down at him, as if he's well aware of the privilege he's given him, a smug sort of knowing in the edges of his mouth. 

“We got home about ten minutes ago. Ilya carried you in—” 

Luca gasps, half with humiliation, half with a strangled sort of arousal, and Shane's mouth kicks up. 

“Yeah, he's good at that,” Shane says, smooth, proud possession in his tone. It slides between Luca's ribs with all the grace of a keenly bladed dagger lodged against his heart; Christ, they're so in love. He feels lucky to just be able to see them share it, let alone be involved in whatever the hell this is. 

He dares to inch a little closer, his eyes fixed on Shane's face for any hint of displeasure, his pulse pounding when he finds none. “Your slacks and button-down are folded over there,”—he nods to a dresser on his side of the room, and Luca's cheeks flare even hotter at the thought of being undressed by either of them, though he's grateful to realize his undershirt and underwear are still on. He doesn't think he'd be able to handle this conversation if he were fully fucking naked, even as a part of him perks up with faint interest—“we figured you'd maybe want a moment to wake up, or fall deeper asleep, so you've been tucked into bed with me.” His mouth sharpens into something wicked. “Aren't you glad I cleaned you up in the bathroom before we left, Haasy?” 

Luca whimpers, his dick hardening rapidly, and Shane's grip tightens against his mussed curls for a beat before he relaxes, Luca's eyes catching on the flex of his arm, clear even through the loose shirt sleeves. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, his cheeks hot. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful. “Thank you, Shane.” 

“You're welcome, puppy,” Shane says, and the thin line of composure Luca's valiantly holding onto shatters as he squirms even closer to press his hot face into the crease of Shane's leg. It feels like Shane's hooked his fingers into the soft meat of him and turned him inside out, like he's cracked open his ribs and read the lines of his soul in each swollen, wanton pulse of his heart. 

“You don't need to be so embarrassed, honey,” Shane says, but there’s a layer underneath his words, condescension mixed with amusement, as if he knows just how intense his attention is. It bubbles underneath Luca's skin; the swirling pressure to be good, to be needed, to show his captain and his husband just how well he can perform. “I know this is a lot, shchenok, but you're doing so well. And anything you don't like, you can tell us. If a play reads wrong, or you feel your skates slipping out from under you, you say something, understood?” 

“Yes,” Luca mumbles, into the darkness of Shane's hip. His mouth feels dry as he inhales the warm smell of Shane's skin, the almond scent that follows him everywhere from his fancy soaps that Ilya always teases him about. His cock twitches, and he can feel the damp spread of precum in his boxers, his ears burning as he realizes how fucking turned on he is, just from Shane's easy handling of him. “I don't—I want to be good.” 

Shane's hand slides down his head, slipping smoothly under the collar of his shirt to press a flat palm between his shoulder blades. He puts firm pressure behind it, a steady sort of weight that Luca melts under, his thoughts turning less frantic and embarrassed and more syrupy and slow. It's a relief to sink, to let his body unspool under Shane's hand. 

“You being bad isn't something I think you're capable of right now,” Shane muses quietly. He sounds like he means it too, soothing that part of him that's screaming at him that this is all some fucking joke, that he’s ruining his life, that he’s ruining theirs. “You're very good at listening, Haasy.” 

Luca warbles low in his throat, heat flashing up his spine. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the drag of his nose as he shifts catches on the edge of Shane's shirt, and then suddenly he's pressed against the warm skin of Shane's hipbone; everything else but sheer, crackling desire leaves his head.

He pants, shallow and desperate, shimmying in closer as Shane huffs a laugh. He wants to press his mouth to him, wants to hold the meat of his muscles, the jut of his bone in his teeth and breathe, wants to let his drool slide across his skin, painting him with the sloppiness of his devotion. He wants to worship at their feet, to be cosseted like some pet, always reaching to prove himself as worth it to both of them. He wants to be told what to do and listen, wants to hear the gravel of Shane's stern voice, the lilt of Ilya's accent. 

“Would it make you feel better to have something to do with your mouth?” Shane asks as he tries to wiggle further into his lap, and laughs again at Luca's shallow nod. His hand starts to slide up, out of his shirt, and Luca whines, before he freezes, unsure of how much he can ask for. 

“Oh, honey,” Shane says, even as he resettles his palm against his shoulders. “You're so needy.” 

Luca shrugs, his eyes damp again as he presses into him even harder, shoving his face into Shane's skin. He wants to live in this quiet, simple world, where all he has to do is listen to Shane, where it doesn't matter if he doesn't have his words in proper order and is understood all the same. 

“It's okay,” Shane murmurs. One of his fingers draws a tiny star across Luca's back and then a heart, the edge of his fingernail sparking goosebumps up and down his skin. “If you want to mark up my hip with your mouth, you can, shchenok. Careful with the teeth, though. I know how sharp puppy mouths can be.” 

“Thank you,” Luca manages, despite the avalanche of humiliation rolling through his body. Heat sears through him as he listens and carefully presses his mouth to the curve of Shane's body. The now slightly familiar taste of him blooms across his tongue as he drags it up the warm ridge of his hipbone, lapping salt from his skin, the faint taste of clean, damp sweat. 

His eyes drift close as Shane hums, his nails scratching at his back, before Luca sets his cheek firmly against the crease of his thigh, and just stays there, breathing in the smell of him, letting himself lick Shane every so often. He feels small like this, taken care of in some distant way that he doesn't want to examine too closely, for fear it will make the floating feeling pop. 

He doesn't know why it makes him feel so good; he's not even doing anything really, but there’s something about the permission of it all, about how every touch he's been given has been doled out with little thought, but every time he's touched them back, he's had to earn it. 

Buzzing arousal alights in his veins, a familiar heat catching like kindling as he hears the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. He knows, too, by now, that Ilya is making noise for his benefit; the whole team is accustomed to how both of them can move silently in the halls when they want to. 

Luca’s been scared out of his mind more than once when he's turned around to find both of them in the room with him, their steps freakishly quiet and terrifyingly light. They've got that predator instinct, Hayes has joked before, and Luca knows—now more than ever—that it's unerringly true.

“Ah,” Ilya rumbles, molten desire crackling through Luca's body at the sound of him. He sounds fond and amused, a flare of pleasure burning in his voice, and Luca wiggles in closer to Shane, trying futilely to hide his burning cheeks. “I see shchenok has woken up.”

Shane hums, his fingers digging into Luca’s shoulder before he relaxes. “He needed some settling,” Shane says, as if Luca’s not capable of answering. The ease of falling back into his earlier headspace notches into place, blanketing him in one fell swoop, and Luca moans into his hip, sealing his mouth over the lean cut of it and sucking. Shane scratches down his spine again, and Luca shivers, squirming closer, keeping his mouth on him. “He’s a little bit needy, baby. New place, new bed, you know how it is.” 

“Mm, it's common with puppies,” Ilya murmurs, Luca’s ears pricking up as he hears the clink of him undoing his belt. He feels like the fucking puppy they’re calling him as he tries to track Ilya’s motions by the sound of his movement without lifting his mouth from Shane’s skin. “They need structure, no? Bedtimes, feeding time,”—his voice drops into a familiar register—“play time.” 

Luca, before all this, had no idea this would do it for him. He’s not a blushing innocent, despite what most of the team assumes, but he’s not particularly adventurous either. He just—he’s found that he has to really trust the person he’s sleeping with to get brutally honest about what he wants, and no one he’s been involved with has ever felt that exceptional, which is probably terrible, now that he thinks about it. 

And even if he had trusted the person, he’s fairly certain he wouldn’t have had the words, that he would have stuttered his way through a poorly thought-out I don’t want to be a person, I want to be a thing, I want to be put to use, and would’ve had to go and die with embarrassment in the aftermath when they didn’t understand because he didn’t even know what he wanted. 

But here and now, Shane and Ilya have tapped into that line of fire, that now inescapable bruise point; they have, like all good captains and alternates, read the greed in the shift of his body, the need in the supplication of his spine. They’ve unearthed an ember and tipped it back down Luca’s throat, pouring honey and gasoline in the aftermath, as if that will cleanse them of their sins. 

Not that Luca’s complaining. No. This is, hands down, the hottest thing that has ever happened to him. He never wants it to stop, even as humiliation sends his shoulders up around his ears, and a blush spilling down his back. 

Instead, he worries his teeth into the curve of Shane’s hip, careful not to bite too hard, and lets the simmering heat of their voices drag him along. 

“He’s been good,” Shane says, easy and relaxed. He pats his back, a gentle thump against the center of him, the jolt of it skittering down his nerves. “Good enough to deserve a treat.” 

Luca whines as Ilya leans over Shane, sliding his hand over his cheekbones, until he's somehow wormed two fingers into his mouth. He twists as Ilya hooks them into his cheek, following their guiding pressure out of the damp, dark softness of Shane and into the light, blinking back spots as his gaze settles on Ilya's knowing gaze, the smug curl of his lips. 

“You are very cute like this, Haasy,” Ilya says, before he slides his fingers even deeper into Luca's mouth. Luca flushes at the way his breathing turns deeper immediately, heavy, wet pants leaking out around the slick, vulgar sounds of Ilya's fingers as he casually fucks his open mouth. 

His eyes dart between the two of them, searching for something he can't name but feels reassured of all the same, as he watches their faces settle into twin masks of predatory intent, their gazes alight with liquid fire.  

He's pinned under their attention, flayed open by the brand of their desire. He doesn't even care if they're just using him as some toy for their own wants; in fact, he wants that, wants to be used and set to a task and fastidiously cleaned before he's carefully set back up on a shelf, a tool to be pulled down some other day. 

Heat sparks again as he remembers how brisk and still gentle Shane had been, leading him to the bathroom as he wobbled, unsteady and sticky. Drank too much, he'd assured Bood and Chouinard when they'd appeared out of the crowd, concern etched across their faces, his arm around Luca's waist, fingers curled into his hip. We'll take him home and keep an eye on him. 

Luca had been too embarrassed to look anyone in the eyes, nodding along until Shane had settled them into the unisex bathrom—the door locks, he'd murmured, a sly quirk to his mouth, which had only made Luca flush even harder—and it had been like an out body experience as Shane carefully cleaned the rapidly cooling cum out of his fucking boxers. 

He'd kept up a steady stream of you're okay, good job, staying so still for me, as he'd worked, until Luca had been floating, tethered to earth only by the firm press of Shane's hands. 

He'd fucking loved it; how precious it made him feel, how cared for. It had made him unbelievably breathless, something that had followed him out to the car that Ilya had called. The kernel of it had flared again when Ilya had swung an arm around his shoulders, his fingers casually playing with his hair, keeping him anchored even as the weightlessness of his own hunger threatened to carry him away. 

And now, it's much the same, as Ilya hooks his fingers around his teeth and grins at him, as Shane's hand wanders across his chest, pinching at his nipples, exploring the bend of his ribs. 

He feels good, caught between the staggering force of their attention, the world slimming down to just them as it had before. It's embarrassing how into them he is, except for how hot it makes him that they're both clearly into it, if their sly, knowing smirks are anything to go by. 

He wonders how he looks, jaw slack, drool slipping from the corners of his mouth, eyes glassy with want, and flushes even harder, squeaking around Ilya's knuckles as Shane slides a hand down his stomach, toying with the waistband of his boxers. 

“I think we could keep him,” Ilya murmurs, his thumb rubbing across his bottom lip. Luca blinks up at him, feeling slow and stupid as he struggles to make sense of just what Ilya is saying. His tongue laves over Ilya's fingerpads as he inhales raggedly, content to exist and be directed as they want. “He likes to suck on things nearly as much as you do, malysh. Needy little thing, no?” 

Shane snaps the waistband of his boxers against the soft skin of his stomach, and Luca whines, low and thick in his throat. 

“Could and should are two different things,” Shane says firmly. “And is now the time?”

Ilya leans in to brush a kiss across his lips. “Yes, yes, I understand,” he says, before he tugs his fingers out of Luca's mouth, casually wiping his spit off across Luca's cheek. He pats the damp spot, neither of them paying him any attention as they snipe at one another. “You say, oh, Ilya, let's seduce the rookie, look at itty bitty Haasy—” 

“I did not,” Shane says, rolling his eyes, a slight blush dotting his cheeks as Luca breathes heavily, open-mouthed and sloppy, seared by their casual disregard. It sinks into him easily, lighting him up from the inside out. “If anything, you were the instigator.” 

Ilya purses his lips. “Mm, no, is lie—liar told you that,” he says, his mouth curling into a smile when Shane laughs, looking annoyed at himself for the sound. He yanks at his shirt as Luca tips his head back to watch, panting shallowly as Shane slowly slides one finger after another into his boxers. He can feel his cock throbbing the closer Shane gets to touching him, and fists his hands into the sheet to stop himself from bucking into his palm; to keep himself from being bad. “I said hm, maybe Haasy will be our MVP and get a reward and then—” 

Luca can't help the involuntary noise that slides out of his throat; somehow, everything is even hotter when he knows this is happening because he fucking earned it for real. And not only that, but he earned it through playing hockey well enough that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov thought he deserved a special fucking prize. It's so incomprehensible that he almost dissolves at the mere thought, a shockwave decimating his nervous system. 

“Oh?” Ilya says, stilling. He cocks his head when Luca flushes, licking his lips, unsure of what to say or where to look as both of their gazes hone back in on him. “You have been so good, shchenok, especially these past few games.” Luca shudders under the weight of his words, everything splintering into heat under his skin. “We agreed, you know, that we would do something special for our own MVP.” 

“It varied person to person,” Shane says, smoothly taking over as Ilya tugs his shirt off, Luca's eyes snapping to his chest, the panes of his stomach. Fuck, but his captain is gorgeous, his body cut from marble, moles painted across his skin. “I won't lie—yours was something we came up with a while ago, back at the beginning of April.” 

Luca moans, his heart pounding. “April?” he repeats, dizzy with understanding. It's humiliating how his dick twitches in his boxer, leaking precum across his thigh. “But that was—we hadn't—” 

Shane's mouth curls into something satisfied and assured, and pressure starts to build in Luca's stomach at the sight of it, as Shane's fingers begin to stroke through the fine hair above his cock. “Well,” he says, as Ilya starts to laugh, loud and echoing. “I mean. It wasn't guaranteed, but—” 

Ilya clicks his tongue, and Shane huffs but cuts himself off. “What my husband means to say,” he says, drawing out each word, as if Luca isn't desperate to hear how they'd been planning personal Stanley Cup MVP ideas before the fucking playoffs had even started, “is that despite the superstition he holds around what it takes to win, he knew we would take it this year.” He spreads his arms, a smug smirk affixed to his face. “How could we not?” 

Shane rolls his eyes, but keeps quiet as Ilya continues, dropping his arms down to his sides. “And you, Haasy, you were already a top contender, yes? For our own personal MVP award.” Luca shivers under the weight of his attention, only to gasp as Shane curls his fingers around the base of his cock. “Mm,” Ilya murmurs, a glint in his eye Luca can't quite parse as he watches him slide a hand into Shane's hair and tilt his head back, pressing a bruising kiss against his lips, before he pulls back to stare down at Luca, who's staring up at them, open-mouthed and panting. “So, in the end, yes, Haasy, you have played good enough hockey to be seduced by the two best players ever.” He leers at him, golden-haired and glorious, a king admiring his finest entertainment. “How does it feel, shchenok?” 

“I think I'm gonna cum,” Luca warbles, heated humiliation buzzing in his veins. He's not even lying, as arousal rushes through him, laying waste to everything else in its path. He wails as Shane's fingers cinch tight around his cock, the tight coil of release going nowhere as he jerks in his grip. 

“No,” Ilya says, clicking his tongue, with a dangerous lightness in his voice. “You did not even ask my husband or me if you could, shchenok. It’s bad manners not to even say please, may I.”

“Please,” Luca begs immediately. He’ll do anything, say anything if only he can cum. “Please, Captain, please may I cum?” 

Ilya clicks his tongue again, and Luca can feel his brain rearranging around the soft, disapproving sound. He's heard it before tonight, a corrective sound for Anya, one that she obeys instantly. 

Luca thinks he'll be much the same as he desperately tries to stave off his orgasm, twitching underneath their gazes and Shane's hand. 

“If you cum,” Ilya says, tilting his head to the side and fluttering his lashes. “Who will fuck my beautiful husband?” His mouth curves into a smirk. “After all, I will be busy fucking you, won't I, shchenok?” 

“Yes, Captain,” he rasps, as his whole body lights up, his balls drawing up, the buzzing feeling of an orgasm brewing. He's frantic with hunger, desolated by the mere thought of what they're offering him. He slams his eyes shut as a tear leaks out. “Sorry—I'm trying—” 

“You can do it, rook,” Shane murmurs, stern expectation in his voice. “How else are you going to fuck me?” 

Luca gasps, lightning shattering against his nerves, his whole body jolting at the thought. “Ohmygod,” he slurs, sweat prickling down his spine as his hips kick up instinctively, only for Shane's tight grip to keep him down. “Sorry, sorry—” 

Shane squeezes tighter for a beat before he drops his hand completely and slides it out of his boxers. 

“Out from under those sheets,” Shane orders, and Luca scrambles to comply, his dick throbbing, his heart racing as he struggles to sit up and kick the blankets off of him. 

He flushes at the damp spot of the front of his boxers, only to freeze as he glances up to see Ilya already naked, stripping Shane of his shirt, his glasses already set aside, the wet bruise of Luca's mouth shining on his hip bone. 

His eyes dart to Ilya's dick, his mouth watering at the heft of it, unbelievably eager to have it splitting him open. He doesn't think he'll ever be the same again, once Ilya fucks him, and as nervous as it makes him, he doesn't fight the swell of excitement swirling in his stomach. 

“What a pretty little gift,” Ilya says, drawing his eyes back to Shane as his hand settles over the mark Luca gave him, the red of it lightening under the pressure of his fingers. “Mouthy little shchenok, no?” 

Shane groans, his mouth parting on a softer sigh as Ilya loosens his grip. “He needed a moment,” Shane murmurs, before he extends a hand towards Luca, both of their faces turning to him. “C'mere, puppy.” 

Luca scrambles across the bed, uncaring of how eager it makes him seem—it’s not like it’s a surprise that he wants this. 

Their hands reach for him, and in a blur of motion, suddenly, Luca’s on his back, naked and blinking up at them as Shane looms over him, his mouth settling into a familiar stern look, the click of a lube cap loud in the room. 

“Ilya's going to open you up, honey,” Shane says, watching his face carefully as Luca shivers at the thought, nodding eagerly. “You excited to be in the middle?”

Ilya taps his ankle, still out of sight unless Luca cranes his head around, and he flushes but slowly spreads his legs at the unspoken command. He shudders as Ilya's hands skim across his shins and over his thighs, making their way closer and closer to where he wants them desperately. 

“Y-yeah,” he says, blushing even deeper as he averts his eyes, his gaze falling on the shorts Shane's still wearing. “‘m afraid I'm gonna—” he lowers his voice, blinking rapidly. “Uh—sort of, uhm—” He gestures, and then realizes just what motion he's made in front of Shane and slams his hand down onto the bed, his cheeks hot enough to fry an egg, even as he clumsily adds, despite his embarrassment, “Like, immediately.” 

Shane ducks in closer, his hand curling around his jaw, guiding him back to looking at him. 

“It’s okay if you do, shchenok,” he murmurs, a glint in his eyes as Luca whimpers at the feeling of a finger ghosting over his hole, his hips shifting restlessly. He winks, a faint smile on his face. “Happens to the best of us.” 

Luca has no idea what that means, but he takes it as the reassurance Shane clearly means and melts into the mattress as he draws his legs back, his skin prickling at how exposed he feels. 

“So cute, Haasy,” Ilya says, his voice saturated with hunger, before he gently begins to trace a finger around his rim, carefully petting him. Luca presses back into his touch, eager to have Ilya inside of him, and sighs with faint relief as he starts to slide a finger into him, sparks lighting up his spine. 

Luca's jaw drops open, a continuous moan unspooling straight from the heart of him as Ilya nudges his finger deeper inside, just barely glancing off his prostate. 

Electricity ricochets up his body, and he wails, embarrassment swelling at how fucking loud he is before pleasure rolls through his nerves. He feels like he’s going out of his mind as Ilya crooks his finger, ceaselessly massaging his walls. 

“I'm gonna—” he starts, his mouth slack as he gasps, his whole body shuddering. God, he forgets how much he likes being fucked; every time it happens, it feels like a goddamn revelation. “I'm—oh god—please—” 

“No,” Shane says, his hand tight on his cock again, and Luca pants through the feeling of almost cumming again, the waves of it lapping at his nerves. He whines, high in his throat as Ilya inches back his finger, before two are sliding inside of him, the stretch a burn he welcomes, as it pulls him back from his peak; though not as much as he would like, still teetering dangerously towards an orgasm. 

“Oh, Haasy,” Shane murmurs, leaning in, his face blurry before Luca blinks his eyes, rolling his hips eagerly. “You really like this, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he gasps, moaning as Ilya crooks his fingers again. His grip tightens in the sheets as he rolls his hips, trying to get more of Ilya in him as he tugs teasingly at his rim, a quiet burble of Russian rising from his mouth. Luca doesn't even try to understand it with the limited knowledge he has and just lets it lance through him, sinking into his soft spots, warmth growing in his navel as he fights the urge to cum. “Feels so good, wanna—oh god—wanna feel like this all the time.” 

He can feel the rumble of laughter from Ilya's chest as it rolls down his arm, lighting him up from the inside. Shane hums, his mouth twitching into a smile, before he leans down and captures Luca's mouth. 

Time slows down, and speeds up, and ceases to matter as the Hollander-Rozanov’s do their level best to take him apart. If it’s not Ilya with his wide fingers and the merciless tapping of his prostate with unerring accuracy, it’s Shane sucking his tongue into his mouth, lapping across his teeth, his hands restless as they explore his chest, tug at his hair. Everything fades out to slick, glitchy pleasure besides his occasional pleas for mercy, to cum; though he doesn’t edge close enough to need Shane’s help to stop himself again. 

He has no idea how long it’s been when Ilya’s voice shatters through their heavy breathing, a quiet rumble of sound that Luca can’t even hope to piece together, too ensnared by Shane’s mouth, by the soft feeling of his face under his greedy hands. 

He whines when Shane pulls back, his mouth buzzing and almost numb, his face flushed and sticky from their sloppy kisses. 

“Come here, shchonek,” Ilya murmurs as Shane leans in once to press a kiss to his forehead, Luca's eyes abruptly damp, before Shane leans all the way back, a satisfied expression on his face. “You are so hungry to be fucked, I can tell. You didn’t want to let my fingers go, did you?” Luca shakes his head, already eager to be full again, and Ilya grins at him, holding out his dry hand. Luca blinks at it, a different sort of warmth filling his navel at the gentleness of the offer, before he delicately sets his hand in Ilya’s larger one. Ilya presses a kiss full of teeth to the back of it, and Luca melts into the smooth touch, letting Ilya pull him up and into his arms with ease.

It soothes some part of him he hadn't even realized was nervous still; that ashy part of his heart that shrills will worry that he's never going to measure up, the fear gently dismantled by the kindness his captain and his husband have always offered him. 

“Now,” Ilya says, turning his attention to Shane as soon as Luca's situated against him, his hands squeezing down whenever Luca so much as shifts, mindlessly grinding back against Ilya's cock. “My husband has something to show you.” 

Shane smirks knowingly and slides off the bed, his hands settling on his waistband. 

“You know,” he says, casually toying with the edge, Luca’s eyes tracking his every motion eagerly, shifting in Ilya’s arms restlessly. He likes the pulses of Ilya's weight against him, the firm but unspoken, be good in every heavy beat of pressure, the wet drag of his dick against his skin. “This was a surprise for Ilya, but now it’s for you, shchonek, for being such a good boy.” 

Luca flushes, blinking rapidly as both of their attention lands on him, clearly waiting for something. He scrambles for words, his mouth dry. “Thank you—please, may I see?” he blurts out, hunger and lust tangling in his chest, a burning kernel of desperation. He wants to be fucked so badly; he’d go to his knees and beg if he thought it was what they wanted. He wants to know what the surprise is with a fierceness that sears through his chest at Shane's coy look, the soft flutter of his lashes. “Please.” 

“Well, since you asked so politely,” Shane murmurs, as if he isn’t an instigator, and spins, dropping his shorts. 

Luca’s mind shorts out as Ilya sighs in delight. “He is perfection,” Ilya says, tipping his head against his temple as they both take in the sight of a fucking bright red plug in Shane’s ass, the wink of a gem at the end of it, a garish little ornament that somehow works. “Such a perfect husband, always ready for my needs.” 

“Uh-huh,” Luca says, shuddering. Sharp, heady greed soars inside his ribs, the snap of hunger nipping at his heels. He thinks about the heavy pressure of a plug inside of him, the slow burn of waiting for more, and his dick twitches as he flushes at the knowing look Shane shoots him over his shoulder. “I—this—the whole night?” 

Shane straightens up, tossing another sly look at him. “The whole night,” he says, smug with pleasure; the kind someone who has won a game no one else knew they were playing has, before he delicately steps out of his shorts, only to bend down again, picking them up to fold them. 

Luca has no idea how he makes the strangled noise he makes, but it erupts from his throat anyway.  

“Poor little Haasy,” Ilya coos, swooping in to smack a kiss against his cheek, only to bite the same spot a moment later, like he doesn’t know how to be kind without an edge of roughness. “Did you forget you were going to fuck Shane as well?” 

“Yes,” Luca says, completely honest. It feels insane to think, but he had been so wrapped up in Ilya prepping him, he’d completely forgotten about the other part. A high-pitched whine sounds in his ears as he tries to maintain his composure, only to make another horrific noise as Ilya reaches down to touch his cock. 

“You are dripping,” he says, and Luca flushes even deeper at the baldness of his statement. 

“Of course he is,” Shane murmurs as he crawls up the bed towards them, predatory intent smeared across every limb. “He’s going to fuck me, isn’t he?” 

Ilya hums in his ear, agreement clear, before he leans back, Luca swaying towards Shane as he settles onto his heels, a smug smirk on his face. 

“You ready?” Shane asks, the edge slipping just for a beat, and Luca nods, so eager he could explode. 

Ilya tosses a condom at Shane, and Luca reaches for it, only to freeze as Ilya clicks his tongue, his hands falling back to his sides. 

“Good boy,” Ilya murmurs. The words spill down his spine, lapping at his nerves as he ascends to a new level of depraved hunger. Want seethes in his chest, a feral shade of greed unwinding in his core; there's nothing but pleasure in this wasteland of a bed, and somehow he's the recipient. He twitches eagerly as Shane unwraps the condom easily, tossing the trash back to Ilya in a quick motion. 

All of Luca's attention spills down to his dick as Shane easily takes him in hand, fighting the urge to buck into his fist. 

He has to be good for them; he needs it more than anything. 

Shane slides the condom up Luca's cock, his hands deft and sure, and it takes far too much willpower to make sure he doesn't cum, as he trembles uselessly between them, Ilya a watchful line of heat at his back. 

“Okay,” Shane says, flipping onto his front, as Luca wheezes through the echoes of the sensation, his eyes locked on Shane's gleaming hole,  the shape of his perfect ass, the delicate unfurling of his spine as he lounges languidly in front of him; a maw of dizzying hunger set to ruin his life. He can't believe Shane had a plug in the whole time, can't believe that he was just ready to get fucked, as if Luca could have begged for it on his knees in that alleyway. 

“You don't have to ask to cum, okay, shchenok?” Shane says, as he slides closer to the edge of the bed, settling easily, gesturing for Luca to come closer. His legs slide up as he settles into a deep arch, his perfect fucking core on filthy display, and Luca whimpers, dazzled by the sheer wave of desire that floods him. 

Every time, he thinks he's hit his peak for what he can feel, and somehow, no matter what, Shane and Ilya nudge him even further into it. He's nothing but clay molded for their pleasure, even with eager cupidity in the tremble of his fingers, avarice in the set of his mouth. 

He settles behind Shane, mindlessly following Ilya's gentle directions, unable to process anything as he braces himself, his hands clenching around Shane's hips, desperation in the tight grip of his fingers. Shane's eye that he can see glitters up at him, satisfaction in the scythe-smile that carves across his face. 

Heat sings through Luca's veins, brambles of hunger wrap around his ribs; the world crystallizes into perfection as Ilya carefully reaches around his hip, notching his cock against Shane’s slick hole and so, so carefully guides him in, as if he can't do it himself. As if he hasn't had thousands of fantasies all like this, as if he can't be trusted to behave himself, like some fucking dog. Sweat slides down his spine as his mouth slackens; the sublime decadence of Shane's tight walls surrounds his dick. 

He doesn't even know how to function as he slides further in, the slick pressure forcing everything but waves of roiling delicious agony spilling throughout his body.

Somehow—by some miracle—he doesn't cum as he bottoms out. He just can't really hear or do anything but gasp as Shane ripples around him, sucking him even deeper. 

“Ohmygod,” he slurs, his hips twitching. He can feel his racing heartbeat in every inch of him, the heavy pulse of desire throbbing. “Ohmygod.” 

Ilya hums knowingly from behind him, dropping an absentminded kiss to his shoulder. “Yes,” he says, pride clear in his tone, a rich smugness underlying his words. “My husband is perfect, shchenok. Say thank you.” 

“Thank you,” Luca warbles, lust shattered through his words. His fingers bite into the skin of Shane's hips, but Shane only sighs, pleased and smug, as if it's exactly what he wants. “Thank you, thankyou, thankyou—” 

“You're welcome,” Shane murmurs, rocking forward an inch before sliding back, only to pause when Ilya clicks his tongue. 

Luca shivers, the correction racing up his spine, forcing his hips to stillness despite how badly he wants to rabbit forward, every part of him shuddering as Ilya inches closer, his broad hands warm against him. 

“Just stay still, shchenok,” Ilya coos, sticky heat saturating his voice. “We're going to make you feel so good.” 

“Uh-huh,” Luca mindlessly agrees, whimpering as the blunt head of Ilya’s cock starts to press inside of him. “Thank you, Captain—Jesus—” Sweat drips down from his temple, his whole body on a knife’s edge as Ilya inches in deeper, the wide, hot press of his cock ricocheting through him. 

Luca’s never felt anything like this, as he remains caught between two apex predators, twin lines of heat settling in against him. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, in the soles of his feet; he’s never felt so much and still ached for more. 

He thinks he would carve his heart out, for another chance at this, would let the two of them tear him to shreds with pleasure, rend him down to nothing more than buzzing nerves and an avalanche of heat, would let them sear him with their mouths, bruise his soul until he’s nothing more than theirs. 

“Next year,” Shane says slowly, as if Luca can retain any of this information, as if his brain isn't melting out of his ears as his perfect hole slides slowly down his cock, as if it isn't a fucking miracle that he hasn't cum with Ilya already so goddamn deep inside of him and Shane sucking him in so smoothly. “If you make our MVP again—” 

Luca whimpers at the thought, his hands scrabbling over Shane's hips, his head thrown back against Ilya's shoulder. 

“—We'll tell you before,” Shane continues, and Luca tips his chin down to see a wicked expression on the edge of his face, as Ilya’s cheek presses against his, and he pushes himself into Luca even deeper. It doesn’t help his fraying control that Luca can tell that Ilya's smirking as Shane talks; he's near positive that there's a familiar look of devilish delight in his eyes, that ungodly light he gets when he’s clearly thinking about fucking Shane. “So you can get tested to fuck me raw.” 

Luca’s heart stops. His world implodes. Something's making a high-pitched whining sound, a reedy sob of pleasure, and it takes him way too long to realize that it's him, as an orgasm decimates his body, a riptide of glorious decadent agony slamming through him. 

“Oh, shchenok,” Ilya croons, and that's all the warning he gets before he's inching his hips back and settling into a rhythm, his dick slamming into his prostate with every solid thrust. 

Luca doesn't even know what's happening, as his body lights up with a smear of painpleasuresogoodtoomuchwantmore. It isn't helped by Shane squeezing tight around his cock, a slow and dirty grind starting up as he methodically works with Ilya to take him apart even more. 

He can taste salt as he arches into the waves of pleasure, his dick getting hard again so fast he's almost dizzy. He doesn't even know if he ever even got soft, can't remember anything outside of this; the mind-breaking raw heat courses through his veins, the blurriness of Shane and Ilya through his wet lashes. 

“Thank you,” he slurs, distant echoes of politeness making their way through his muddled thoughts. His head lolls against Ilya's neck, all of his body melting underneath their combined attention. His fingers hurt; they're clenching Shane's skin so hard, but it fades under the blur of sheer heat crackling up his spine. “Thank—ohmygod—you, Captain.”

“Good boy, puppy,” Shane says, and then his hand is somehow on his chin, his flexibility on full display as he carefully twists, and Luca's staring straight at Shane, Ilya a specter looming behind him; caught and caged just for their pleasure. “Oh, honey.” 

Luca pants, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as Shane starts to actually fuck back against him, his fingers biting into his jaw. 

His whole body throbs, one pulsing livewire of need as he tries his best to clench down on Ilya, tries his best to fuck into Shane. But really, he's just another toy for them, another way for Ilya to fuck Shane as he lets Ilya guide their rhythm, giving up control completely. 

Sweat drips down his temples, and his threadbare control isn't aided by the way Ilya licks at his cheeks, around Shane's fingers, over the edge of his parted mouth.

Heat builds, though really it never stopped, in the pit of his stomach; molten lust, feverish greed, all-encompassing pleasure. 

“How does it feel?” Ilya rasps, his teeth catching on Luca's ear lobe, the pinch of pain a welcome addition, even as it sends sparks skittering under his skin. “To know you are fucking four time Stanley Cup champion, Shane Hollander?” 

Luca moans, thrashing between them as Shane clenches down, the slick noise of it almost unbearable. 

“I don't—I can't—so good,” he manages, trying to get some semblance of order to his thoughts. It's an impossible demand, really, but of course it is. Ilya loves to put people into positions just to see them squirm. “In-indescribable, Captain.” 

Ilya hums, before his hand slides over Shane's, and Shane's hand slips away, scratching down his chest, thumbing over his nipples as Luca tries fruitlessly to have any thought other than sogoodsogoodsogood. 

He can't stop keening, the high-pitched noise spilling from his mouth without pause, slurring into gasps and groans, the occasional hiccuped word warbled with his useless tongue. 

Ilya's thumb and pointer finger slide into his mouth, the rest of his fingers under his chin, and Luca latches on, sucking hard. It settles some of the franticness, soothes the jittery part of him that's still eager to prove himself. 

“There you go, shchenok,” Ilya coos. “Just needed some settling, hm? Something to pet across your tongue, fill your mouth so you don't start biting?” 

“Yeah,” Luca slurs around his knuckles, his lashes fluttering. He sucks harder as Shane clenches down, the world fragmenting into a blur of heat and blurriness, tears leaking from his eyes every so often at the sheer feeling of it all. He gurgles around Ilya's fingers, drool sliding down his chin as he trembles between them, pleasure ratcheting higher and higher. “Need it.” 

Ilya hums, pressing his fingers down firmly, and Luca swallows artlessly around them, letting the burning rush of another orgasm creep through his veins. 

Shane squeezes down around his cock, and Luca whimpers, chasing the high as Ilya fucks him further into Shane. 

He's a livewire of need, ravenous depravity as he dissolves into nothing more than feeling. Pulses of sybarotism lance through him, shattering against his nerves as the coil in his navel cinches tighter and tighter. 

His hands clench around Shane's hips, fingers digging in as Shane groans, his walls rippling, his ass bouncing as he fucks himself with Luca's dick. 

“Gonna cum,” he gurgles out, the words sticking in his throat. ‘Gonna—” 

The world incinerates, shattering into nothing more than relentless hedonism as he chokes around Ilya's fingers and cums again, chasing after the bitten off curses Ilya mouths breathlessly into his ear as his whole body tenses and he clenches down hard on Ilya's cock. 

For a moment, his body is nothing more than perfection as Luca soars through pleasure so deep it changes him, shorting out all his limbs into nothing more than boundless decadence; everything else in the world is blotted out by how fucking good he feels, before he slowly starts to return to earth, bits and pieces of reality filtering back into view. 

“Good job, puppy,” Shane's murmuring underneath him, the first thing he understands when his hearing returns. “Such a good boy, did so well, honey.” 

Luca mewls a reply, his tongue thick and useless even as Ilya’s fingers slide out of his mouth. 

“You did well, shchenok,” Ilya rumbles, as deep satiation begins to wind through his body. “Very proud, yes?” 

Luca nods, eager and breathless, before wheezing when Shane clenches around his softening cock. 

Ilya huffs a faint laugh, reaching around Luca's side to pat Shane's hip. 

“Come on, moya shlyukha,” Ilya murmurs, as Luca frantically tries to understand just what he needs to do next, even as his thoughts run slow and syrupy, soaked through with honeyed decadence, desperate not to miss a minute. “Your turn.” 

Luca shudders as Ilya pulls out, the sensation odd, and tries to pull out from Shane, only to be caught in place as his legs tighten around him. 

Luca blinks at him, unable to understand what he's doing, before the world blurs into a smear of the room and the gleam of Shane's teeth as he rises up to meet Luca's hips, and knocks him back, flipping their positions. 

“Fuck,” Luca says, as he blinks up at Shane, perched on his hips. Still in his ass, his cock twitches valiantly, trying to get hard again as Shane sighs in satisfaction. 

“You look good on your back, puppy,” Shane says, glancing at him over his shoulder with a smirk, and Luca whines, trembling underneath him. 

Ilya snorts from behind them, and then Shane's hips are being guided up, the condom gently peeled off Luca's soft cock. 

“Stop terrorizing poor little Haasy,” Ilya chides, his hand sliding up to scruff Shane, as Luca watches, wide-eyed and quiet, drinking in the shifting demeanors. His nerves all start to light up as Shane sinks back into Ilya for a beat, the aura of stern control beginning to dissipate under his husband's firm touch. “Up—further up the bed, both of you.” 

Luca scooches back, his whole body warm and liquid, and sighs in satisfaction as Shane crawls up after him, snagging a pillow and carefully guiding his head up before he sets it underneath. 

“Alright, Haasy?” Shane asks, just like he does whenever they trade line shifts, smiling when Luca nods eagerly, sloppy with devotion. “Your new job is to just lie there and feel good, okay?” 

Luca nods again, his fingers trembling as he watches Ilya catch Shane's shoulder and tug him into a filthy kiss, all of Shane melting into it. 

He hardly blinks as he watches, soaking in his personal show; his eyes darting between them, lingering on their cocks, on the scratch marks as Ilya drags a hand up Shane’s back, before he fists his hand in his hair and pulls back. 

“Good?” he murmurs, his mouth curling as Shane sighs. “Good, sweetheart.” His eyes dart over to Luca, his smile only growing when he meets his eyes. “Spread your legs, Haasy,” he orders, his eyes glittering with pleasure when Luca immediately complies, before he turns back to Shane. “Go on, sweetheart, you know what to do; we both know this isn't going to take long.” 

Luca moans behind his teeth as Shane twists and immediately swings a leg over his waist, his eyes glossy, his lip caught between his teeth. He drops down, his arms curling around Luca's head, meeting Luca's gaze with a faint blush, even as his mouth curls into a tiny, satisfied smirk. 

“So pretty,” Luca says with a sigh, his head empty of everything, completely washed clean of anything except for the two of them. He shivers when Shane's hand tangles in his hair and turns his head, pressing sloppy kisses to the crook of Shane's elbow, to the muscle of his forearm. “So, so pretty, Shane.” 

“Haasy,” Ilya rumbles, and Luca drags his gaze from Shane's face to his captain's, blinking dazedly as he suddenly appears over Shane's shoulder. “You are so sweet like this. Telling the truth, yes?” 

Luca nods dumbly, agreeing blindly. He has no idea what's happening, besides the important bit of knowing he's going to watch Shane get fucked. He'd agree to anything, just for that honor. And it is the truth; Shane's one of the most gorgeous people Luca's ever seen. He's only matched by his husband, because of course he is, because why the fuck wouldn’t they be utterly balanced in perfection. 

Ilya smiles at him, fond and warm. “So cute,” he murmurs, before he slaps Shane's ass, the loud crack cutting through the mostly quiet room. Luca shivers as Shane jolts with the force of it, before he lowers himself even more, his face hovering only inches away from Luca's. “Sweetheart, I want you kissing shchenok, yes? Make sure he knows—” 

The rest of the words blot out as Shane leans down and captures Luca's mouth with ease, swallowing down his groan. Distantly, he can feel Ilya settling into place, the warmth of him against his spread knees, but he's distracted by the sloppy heat of Shane's mouth. 

There's little finesse to it, unlike earlier in the night, and Luca can't help the way he's restless in the face of Shane's melting; utterly absorbed by how the stern facade shatters under Ilya's easy control. 

It makes him feel crazy to think that Shane knew how badly he needed to not be in control, how badly he wanted both of them to ruin him; how easily Shane slid into that headspace, all because of Luca. He hadn’t even had to ask; Shane had just known. 

It makes the sight of this all the sweeter, as he groans into Shane's mouth, licking at his teeth, artlessly sucking on his tongue. His cock twitches underneath them, his hips shifting at the steady drip of precum splattering across his slowly hardening shaft as Shane's dick leaks steadily over him.

He wants to make Shane feel good. He wants to make Shane cum as hard as he did; he wants to make him shatter under the rush of delicious pleasure until there's nothing but the warm lap of satiation tugging at his bones. 

And then, as if he's heard Luca's silent vow, Ilya starts to talk. 

“Look at you, malysh,” he murmurs, as Shane arches his back even more, his chest touching Luca’s, their tacky skin sticking as Ilya begins to bully his way into Shane's hole. Luca's hands slide down his ribs, stroking his flanks, avoiding Shane's cock, even though he wants to touch; he has a feeling he'll need real permission for that. “So, so pretty. So hungry for cock, yes? Fucked open by our sweet shchenok, and still eager for more.” Luca blinks as Shane groans into his mouth, before his whole body sinks even lower as Ilya bottoms out. 

“You were so good for our puppy, sweetheart,” Ilya coos, his hand wide enough that Luca can see his thumb and all his fingers as he tugs Shane back on his cock by the nape of his neck. “So good, sharing my cock—oh, fuck, malysh—”

“Oh shit,” Shane whines into Luca's mouth, spit sliding from the corners of his mouth, and a flame of bravery unlike anything Luca's ever known briefly possesses him as he slides his hands up to curl under Shane's jaw and turn his head, lapping at the trails as Shane pants, rocking forward with Ilya's thrusts. He bites once, unable to stop himself, a tiny nip against the strong line of Shane’s jaw. “Oh fuck, Ilya, Luca—Jesus Christ—” 

“It's so cute how stern you were,” Ilya says, breathing hard but not unsteadily as he adjusts, evidently nailing Shane's prostate by the wail he lets out, his eyes glazed when Luca tugs his lips back to his, eager to lick into his mouth. “So fierce, kotyonak, even in bed, hm?” 

“Uh-huh,” Shane agrees, his forehead gently resting against Luca's as he pants raggedly, Luca licking artlessly at his lips, his teeth, even as he talks, desperate just to keep tasting him. “Shit, Ilya, fuck, I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum—”

Luca’s cock twitches, the sheer desperation in his voice sending another slow roll of arousal sweeping through him. 

Ilya laughs, sharp and loud, a mocking edge to his voice. “You know the rules, shlyukha,” he rumbles. He tugs Shane up so that he can make eye contact with Luca, Shane's hands sliding out of Luca's hair as he's pulled up to his knees. “Tell Haasy what they are.” 

Shane moans, his cheeks bright pink. “I can come at any point when Ilya's fucking me, as many times as I want,” he recites, trembling as Luca stares at him, his eyes wide, heated desire once again pooling in his stomach. He thinks he's going out of his mind as he watches Ilya grind into Shane, the vulgar squelch of his cock almost echoing in his ears, despite Shane's heavy breathing. 

“And?” Ilya says, smirking. 

“And he won't stop until he cums,” Shane finishes, his eyes blown black when Luca meets them. Luca squirms underneath him, curiosity and dumbfounded arousal twisting in his chest, butterflies erupting in his stomach as Ilya grins, leaning in to bite at Shane's ear. 

“I think our shchenok is interested,” Ilya murmurs, missing nothing as Luca flushes. “Maybe next time, I'll show him how you like it, malysh. Maybe next time, I'll teach him how to fuck you like you need.” 

Heat immolates in Luca's navel, his dick drooling across his stomach at the thought, at how hard he'd have to try not to cum immediately, at how good he would be for both of them, to show them that he's worth it; that he can be whatever they need. His own personal training camp, his mind supplies, and he flushes bright red at the thought, frantically shoving it out of his head. 

He's already going to have a hard time when they come back next season; he doesn't need to invite more.

“Yeah,” Shane breathes out, his head lolling back against Ilya's shoulder. His lashes flutter as he whines, tight and high in the back of his throat. “Oh god, I'm gonna cum—” 

Luca’s eyes drop, trailing down Shane’s sweaty chest, lingering for a beat on the darkened bruise of his hip, before darting to his cock, watching as it twitches, a pearl of precum sliding down his shaft, dripping down his balls to fall onto the sheets. 

“Do it,” Ilya orders, his face creased in concentration, and Luca abruptly realizes Shane's going to cum untouched, as Ilya pinches his nipple, as he watches Shane's abdomen ripple, his whole body tensing, teetering on the edge of it. “Cum, lyubimyj.” 

Shane wails, but listens, warm ropes of cum shooting from him, splattering on Luca as he gasps, his eyes darting up from Shane's still spurting cock to meet Ilya’s smugly pleased gaze. Shock spills through him, before hunger follows, groaning as Shane cums all over him, as if he's marking his territory. 

Luca's dizzy with desire again, scorched through with need, unable to understand how the fuck he's hard again, and pleading for something, anything, as he manages a hoarse, “Please, Captain.”  He just—he needs, as he sneaks a hand down to Shane's cum, swiping a finger through and licking it from his skin before he can think better of it, desperate for another taste.

Ilya clicks his tongue, and Luca shivers, his heart racing as somehow Ilya moves Shane and him back, before he knocks Shane back down to his hands and knees. 

“Look at that, sweetheart,” he coos, his voice drenched in condescension, as ripples of sugar-sweet saccharinity float in and out of his tone. “You made a mess.” 

“S-sorry,” Shane gasps, sounding utterly gone, and Luca doesn't even try to smother the noise he makes, syrupy desire sliding through his veins. He thinks he's going to see this version of Shane in his dreams forever, the glint of tears in his eyes, the pink flush under his freckles, the tremble of his cock as he cums. “I—oh, right there, baby—I didn't mean to.” 

Ilya tsks. “Good thing you can clean Haasy up, yes?” he says, and grins at the whimper Luca lets out. “Wouldn't want him to be uncomfortable, yes?” 

“Yeah,” Shane agrees breathlessly, before he lowers himself and begins to lap at Luca's stomach, carefully cleaning up his own cum. The first drag of his tongue makes Luca bite back a wail, his whole body twitching into the soft rasp of his mouth.

“Thank—thank you, Captain,” Luca manages, his throat clicking as he swallows hard, when Shane's teeth nip at the edge of his ribs, the soft skin of his stomach. God, he's so aroused he thinks he can feel his heartbeat in his dick. “Thank you—oh god—Shane.” 

Ilya doesn't make it easier for him, instead picking up the pace, sending Shane's mouth and tongue sliding up Luca's chest—he briefly seals his mouth over one of Luca's nipples, further than the cum had reached—before Shane manages to adjust to the new tempo and angle and steady himself before he slides up more.

“Shane,” Luca squeaks, his hands flying to Shane's hair as he sucks hard. He's never had anyone bite his chest or suck at his nipples until they're puffy, but the sensation of it is decadently good, as he arches into it. Shane's teeth carefully latch and tug, the dull ache zinging through his body to pool in his navel, before he slides across his chest to do the same to the other. 

Luca whines in the back of his throat, his fingers threading into Shane's soft hair, tangling into the strands without a thought; holding on for dear life as Shane methodically sucks another hickey into his pectoral, faint bite marks already appearing across his chest. He pants at the sensation, jolting when Shane releases him, pressing a soft kiss right over his heart before he manages to slide further down his body. 

Shane meticulously licks across his abdomen, slowly and steadily inching closer and closer to his cock. Luca's brain is going to melt out of his ears as arousal thrums in his veins, molten embers of hunger exploding as Shane ghosts a breath over his cock, before lapping at the other side. “I'm—you don't—”

Ilya clicks his tongue, and Luca's gaze snaps to him, his skin prickling. “Be good, shchenok,” Ilya murmurs, and all of Luca's faint protests dissolve in his mouth. Ilya waits a beat, but when Luca stays quiet, biting back moans, he grins, dark heat in his eyes. “Perfect, Haasy,” he murmurs. “So good for us both.” 

Luca hiccups on a sigh, blistering heat sparking up his spine as Shane finally drags his mouth down Luca's cock, lapping at the precum and cum smeared across his shaft. 

His grip tightens as he shudders, Shane's mouth warm and slick, the flicker of his tongue agonizing as he licks back up it, before he takes the head of Luca’s dick in his mouth and suckles. 

“Holy shit,” Luca sobs, the tight heat of his mouth almost unbearable as Shane dips his tongue into his slit, laving tiny kitten licks around the top. “Shane, Shane, Shane.” 

“He’s good at that,” Ilya rumbles, before he does something that Luca can’t see, and Shane swallows his whole cock down, all the way to the root. 

All of Luca’s body tenses as he teeters on the edge of orgasm, gasping desperately for air as he chokes on the feeling of mind-numbing pleasure. But Shane must be feeling merciful, or really, maybe he’s just a fucking tease, because he only holds Luca in his mouth, the head of his cock in his throat for a beat, before he pulls up effortlessly. 

“‘M close,” Luca slurs, tugging at Shane’s hair. Pins and needles buzz in his fingers, the rest of his body oscillating between lax indulgence and tense frozenness as he fights the urge to cum across Shane’s face as he returns to licking up the pool of precum on Luca’s stomach. “Am I—Captain, do I—” He whines, unable to finish his sentence as Shane sucks his cock back into his mouth, his tongue fluttering against its head. “Captain, please—” 

He manages to lift his gaze from the crown of Shane’s head, from the dizzying production of Shane Hollander sucking his dick, to meet Ilya’s gaze, shuddering at the heated look in them. 

Shane moans abruptly, the vibrations rolling through him, and Luca’s blurry gaze drops to find one of Ilya’s hands gone from where it was settled on Shane’s hip, clearly jerking him off as Shane gurgles around Luca’s cock, the extra sensations ruining any semblance of control. 

“Go on,” Ilya says. His mouth curls into a satisfied smirk as Luca meets his eyes again. “You’ve earned it, shchonek.”

“Thank you,” Luca chokes out, his hands tightening as Shane swallows around him, bobbing faster than he has all night. “Shane, I’m gonna—fuck—” He moans around his cock, and Luca’s gone, obliterated through orgasm, unable to do anything but feel as dazzling slashes of pleasure shred his world to tatters. His ears ring at the force of how hard he cums, unable to do anything but whine and twitch as Shane slowly pulls off, catching the final spurt of cum across his open mouth before it begins to drip down Luca’s shaft, splattering across his stomach. 

Ilya groans, low and deep, and Luca manages to open his eyes, just in time to watch an orgasm wash through him, his gaze darting across the flutter of his jaw, the pulse of his temple, the sweat matting his curls. All of him flexes as he fucks into Shane—once, twice, a third time—before he slumps into him, Shane effortlessly holding him up. 

For a moment, they’re quiet aside from their panting, Luca’s heartbeat gradually slowing, before Ilya sighs and peels himself off of Shane’s back, pulling his hand back from Shane’s cock to wipe his cum off on the sheets. 

Luca hadn’t even realized Shane had cum again, too distracted with his own orgasm, and then Ilya’s, but it ignites a warm feeling in his stomach to know that he helped Shane cum twice tonight. 

Shane sighs in relief as Ilya pulls out, Luca watching them through bleary eyes, before he carefully topples to the right of him. Ilya settles in on Luca’s other side, their arms brushing, the room settling into something warm and gentle, a far easier come down than last time; something that Luca’s grateful for as he tries to piece his mind back into some sort of order. 

“Is this heaven?” he finally asks mindlessly, blinking at the ceiling. He's pretty sure it's got to be close to it; nothing that feels this good can possibly be real. “I think it cannot be but—” He pauses, shrugging. “I guess I do not know.” 

There's quiet for a moment before Ilya starts to laugh, Shane's low, raspy voice following a second later, and reality slams into Luca a beat later, a furious blush working its way across his face. “I mean—” 

Ilya coos, pushing himself up to grin down at Luca. “We have broken our rookie,” he says, pride radiating from every line of him, and Luca groans and scrubs a hand over his face. He can't believe he said that as humiliation crawls up his spine. “He thinks fucking us is heaven, which it is—” 

“Ilya,” Shane says slowly, from Luca's other side, most of his laughter wiped away, though Luca can hear the faint amusement in his voice. “Go and get a washcloth, please. I'm all sticky.” 

Ilya blows a raspberry before he leans over to press a kiss to Luca's forehead and then brushes a kiss across Shane’s mouth. “For you, moy lyubimyj, anything,” he murmurs, before he pushes himself up and heads out the door, unconcerned with his nakedness. 

“This is—there is no bathroom here?” Luca says, eyeing the hallway as Shane reaches out and lazily pets the top of his head. Luca shivers, but closes his eyes and lets himself sink into it. “You don't have an ensuite?” 

“This isn't our bedroom,” Shane murmurs, sounding a little bit more like himself, not quite as fucked out. “I figured we'd want to sleep in a not-damp bed tonight, so we're using one of the guest rooms.” 

“Oh,” Luca says, his body growing hot at the reminder of how meticulously this was planned. His whole face heats up again, nerves growing, even as he tries to relax. “I was—I was okay, yes?”

“Oh, honey,” Shane says, and suddenly Luca's being guided into his arms, his cheek settling onto Shane's chest. “You were perfect, puppy. So sweet, so good.” His hand settles on his back, warm and broad, stroking up and down Luca's spine. “We had a very good time with you, I promise.” 

Luca clings to him, letting himself have this, if only for a moment. “Thank you,” he says, embarrassed when his voice cracks halfway through. “It's stupid, probably, to worry. Sorry.” 

“Not stupid at all,” Shane says, in the same tone he gets when any of the rookies work themselves up over not getting something perfect. “Not to say we're anything special, but I know how overwhelming sex can be—the come down can be brutal.” 

Luca opens his eyes and pushes himself up to stare at Shane for a beat. “You have to know that this is the hottest thing that will ever happen to me,” he says, flushing at Shane's arched brow. “Ever.” 

“I was trying to be humble,” Shane says, his mouth twitching when Luca rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now you're a brat? Ilya will be disappointed—I got you if you were sweet, he got you if you were a brat.” 

Luca squeaks, ducking back down into the shelter of Shane's arms. “I didn't realize it was a whole… production,” he mutters after a beat, even as he feels his ears turn bright red at the thought. “And what does got me even mean?” 

Shane hums, the noise vibrating through him. “Be a brat next time,” he says, as a slow wave of heat creeps through Luca at the thought of a next time. It dissipates into exhaustion before it can go anywhere, and Luca settles even more firmly against Shane, his lashes fluttering as Shane carefully detangles a knot in his hair. “And find out for yourself.” 

“Find what out for himself?” Ilya asks, as he steps back into the room, shorts tugged up over his hips. Briefly, Luca mourns the view, before Ilya gestures for him to roll onto his back. 

Luca listens, twisting so that his head is still propped up on Shane's ribs, his hand still in his hair, unwilling to lose the contact for as long as Shane will allow. 

“Oh, you know,” Shane says lightly, as Ilya drops down onto the bed next to their tangle, gently cleaning Luca's stomach with a warm washcloth. He hadn't realized how badly he didn't like the sensation of cool cum on his body until it was gone. “Just telling Luca to let his bratty side out and see what you're all about.” 

Ilya tsks, even as his mouth curves into a heated smirk. “Ah, so you are spreading the bad boy agenda,” he says, nodding sagely when Shane makes a noise of disgust. “I see. Very fun things can happen when you're a brat.” 

Luca meets his eyes, flushing when Ilya winks, before he turns his attention to Shane. “Do you want to shower, lyubimyj? Or washcloth, teeth, bed?” 

“The second one,” Shane says through a yawn, his finger scratching at Luca's head as Ilya starts to clean him off too. “We have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom for you, Haasy, though Ilya picked it out—”

“So it's extra special,” Ilya says, a pleased tinge in his tone.

“—and it's a little on the nose.” 

“A little on the nose?” Luca murmurs, his eyes sliding shut, warm exhaustion and satiation lapping at his bones. God, he's fucking tired all of a sudden. “What does that mean?” 

There's a pause, before Ilya muffles a laugh as Shane sighs. 

“He picked it before we started the shchenok stuff,” Shane says slowly, even as his voice starts to slide into amusement. “But it might be a Paw Patrol toothbrush,” he admits, tugging lightly at Luca's hair. “Sorry, puppy.” 

Luca grins, settled and warm, safe and happy. There is something utterly hilarious about that, but he's too sleepy to get it. 

There is one thing he's been meaning to say, though—

“You know,” he mumbles, his jaw cracking around a yawn. He just has to get this thought out, and then he can go to sleep; he already knows Ilya can carry him, and he's too fucked out to care if it's rude. “Next time, I want a collar.” 

Shane's breathing stutters, and he thinks Ilya inhales, but he's drifted too far out to sleep to know. 

“Yeah,” someone whispers, as the world splinters into darkness, sleep fully taking over. “We can do that next time, shchenok.” 

Chapter End Notes

this fic is finished, but did i leave seeds for other fics in this verse? yeah. do i have thoughts about the april conversation (shane suggesting rewards, ilya turning everything into a sex joke, only for luca to strike an actual interest, and then they fuck about it) and a collar fic/somno fic/brat!luca fic? absolutely. do i even have thoughts about both an omegaverse fic where luca is afraid he'll be bad at fucking as an alpha so ilya shows him how to fuck shane, AND one where he's an omega but this time it's shane showing him the ropes by using ilya? do i think luca whipping out a daddy or even a mommy could be hot as hell? do i even have thoughts on a a!shane, a!ilya, o!luca fic bc of all of the delicious tweets i get on twit? MAYBE. no plans about any of them currently, but i also had no plans for this one so. who knows when inspo will strike.

also the *extremely* light allusions to clicker training (tho i did reverse it as corrective instead of rewarding bc it fit better) are all bc of this is how you play the game — exceedingly hot, shout out to lizee for the excellent fic

re: hand down the back of the shirt - hell yeah that's pulled straight from ep 4. i absolutely think shane models all dom(ish) impulses afer ilya for luca bc one, he knows how good it makes him feel, and two, it melds the two of them (shane & ilya) into more of a singular entity, so it's almost as if he's marking ilya as him and him as ilya. think of it like hollanov is an extension of each other when shane's in charge like this. but when ilya briefly runs the show, things are totally different. (also, i think it's an unconscious, i have known ilya rozanov my entire adult life you will never understand him as i do subtle possession/claim that shane doesn't recognize he's doing but i think ilya totally does. (spoiler: he thinks it's fucking hot as hell))

luca 🤝🏻 shane
not understanding that their view of wanted sex is absolutely kinky as hell

as always, lmk what you think, and feel free to follow & chat with me on twit!