Summary:

"You were missing goals because of this...secret." He thumbed over the lace at the thought. Shane tried to swallow the lump in his throat but this new form of humiliation with Ilya was arousing to him. Ilya's reaction was not judgment, just pure want. "Put them on." Or: Shane loses a bet with Hayden and has to wear lingerie during a game. Ilya finds them and is insistent that Shane try them on. Shane Hollander was a man, and men - at least in his mind - did not wear such garments. He glanced at himself in the mirror, clenching his jaw so tight that it hurt. The locker room was a sea of pre-game chatter - sticks tapping against the floor, laughter echoing off the walls, and a pungent scent of sweat-caked gear lingering in the air. But Shane paid no mind to any of that because he could not remove his thoughts from the humiliating secret hidden underneath his hockey gear. It was just a stupid bet really. Hayden Pike had been his friend and foe on the ice for years, playing with and against each other as they were passed from team to team. Their banter was playful and sharp, but at the end of the day they were still good friends. Although after tonight's game, Shane might have to reconsider. A few weeks ago, after Ottawa had pushed Montreal out of the play offs in over-time, Hayden cornered Shane outside of the dressing room. "You've gotten feisty Hollander," he grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Bet you I can score more goals than you in the next match up." Shane, still buzzing from the adrenaline of the loss, shot back, "You're on. Loser does what exactly?" "Something embarrassing." Hayden grinned. "What like wearing woman's underwear during a game?" A question he would later regret asking. Hayden laughed in delight. "Perfect! Full game though, no backing out and no taking them off half way." Shane was certain he would win, but fate - or bad luck - would prove him otherwise. In their rematch, Hayden racked up one solid goal and a hat trick while Shane only managed an assist. A fact that otherwise would not have bothered him, but the bet was sealed. And now, Shane was wearing the black lacy panties Hayden had mailed him with a note: can't wait to see you squirm. What a dick. The fabric was soft, almost too soft. It hugged him in a way that felt foreign and intrusive. As he laced up his skates, he desperately tried to ignore how the lace rubbed against his skin with every movement. It was supposed to be a joke, just a humiliation tactic, but as he slipped on his jersey a strange heat crept up his neck. He shook it off, focusing on the game ahead. Tonight was crucial - this was his teams chance to earn their spot back in the play offs and Shane will be damned if he lets a silly bet get in the way. The team filed out to the ice for warm-ups and relished in the roar of the crowd. Shane glided onto the rink and relaxed a little when the cool air hit his lungs. He circled the net, firing pucks at the goalie, trying to find his rhythm. But every stride and pivot sent him a subtle reminder of what was hidden beneath his uniform. "Focus." he muttered to himself. Hayden was out there too, smirking as he stretched. Their eyes locked and Hayden winked. Shane vowed to give that man a taste of his own medicine tonight. The national anthem played, the puck dropped, and the game began. Shane won the opening face off and sent the puck back to his defenceman. He charged forward while stick-handling through the neutral zone. Ottawa's defense closed in and he passed to the wing man, but his mind wandered for a split second. The lace pressed against him as he accelerated. He thanked god that his helmet hid the blushing on his face. First period flew by in a blur. Shane assisted on a goal, bringing the score 1-1 but he couldn't shake off the awareness. Every time he sat on the bench to catch his breath, the fabric teased him. It wasn't painful, just constant. By intermission he was sweating more than usual and his heart pounded in his chest. The coach barked orders in the locker room, adjusting lines and replanning strategies. Shane could only half-heartedly pay attention. What the hell is wrong with me? He thought. This was supposed to be embarrassing...not arousing. He shifted in his seat and the lace shifted just right, sending blood to his groin. He stifled a whimper and prayed that none of the other guys had heard what did slip past his lips. During the second period the intensity grew. Ottawa scored on a power play to take the lead. Shane retaliated with a hard check to an opponent, the impact jarring through his body. But even the brute force of the collision couldn't drown out the thrill he felt from this secret. As he skated back to the bench he realized that the lace was now cradling his half hard cock in a devilishly pleasant way. "Hollander get your head in the game!" His lineman yelled as they set up for the next shift. Shane nodded, but he knew that would be an impossible task. He imagined Hayden knowing and pictured a smug look on his rivals face. that thought only heightened the sensation. During a penalty call, Shane looked over at Hayden who was trash talking another Mett. Hayden caught his eyes and his expression shifted. Fuck. Shane thought. He knows. The puck dropped and Shane exploded off the bench. He intercepted a pass and made a break away towards Ottawa's net. The crowd roared but all he could think about was the sliding of lace against his growing erection. He deked the goalie, slapping a shot that dinged off the post. Close, but not a goal. He circled around and huffed in frustration. How could a stupid pair of panties throw him off his game this badly? He would have never missed that shot otherwise! By midway of the second period, Shane was a mess. His plays were sharp but fueled by a bizarre adrenaline that had his sweating profusely. His thoughts were consumed and he liked it. God he liked it. And the make matters worse, he started thinking about Ilya...on his knees...kissing up Shane's thigh to- NOT NOW! He yelled at himself. Shane was all to aware of the sensations in his body now, and not just his arousal. The pressure of his skates on his feet, the weight of his helmet on his head. He wanted to rip his gear off and let someone have their way with him. He wanted Ilya. A whistle blew for icing and Shane lined up to face off with Pike.