61 – 80 of 88 Works in Face-Fucking

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  1. Ilya is two hours late to meet Shane and now has to make it up to him. Shane doesn't always have the words to explain what he needs, but fortunately Ilya has learned his body enough to figure it out and give it to him anyway.

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  2. Shane wearing glasses makes Ilya unbelievably horny. cue Shane getting his face fucked within an inch of his life.

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  3. Ilya's been carrying the weight of a playoff series on his shoulders. Shane has a plan to make him forget all of it. Starting with two silk scarves and the headboard. ~~~ "Fuck my mouth." Shane stroked him with a slick hand, spreading the mess of spit and precum. "Use me. I want to feel you in my throat tomorrow." "Shane." Ilya's voice was strangled. "Baby, I don't want to hurt you." "You won't." Shane held his gaze, licking his lips. "I want to gag on you. Please, Ilya." Something snapped behind Ilya's eyes. "Open your mouth."

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  4. Ilya likes the photo and opens the comments to see what people are already saying and to leave his own comment. The first comment he sees is from Pike. The post has been up for two minutes and he’s already in Shane’s comments. haydenpikeofficial: what a smoke show 👅 OR Hayden ragebaits Ilya in Shane’s comment section.

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  5. seeing stars by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • E
    • ✓

    2026-01-05

    "Quiet, I'm trying to say something." Shane waits. Ilya says nothing, but taps the side of Shane's head, as if prompting. "Okay. Well. I think… I think I kind of liked it?" Ilya continues to not say anything for a long moment, and then he grabs Shane's face and peers down at him. "Did you get new concussion while I was not looking?" he asks, brow furrowed. The genuine concern in his eyes makes Shane bristle. "Did you not see glass and run into the window like dumb bird?" "Fuck off," Shane sighs, rolling his eyes. "I'm being serious." "So am I!" Ilya insists with real worry. "Either your old concussion is not gone and it is making you say things, or you got new concussion 'cause you liked it so much! And both is very bad!" Or; Shane discovers that he sometimes needs to get literally knocked out of his own head for some much needed peace and quiet. Ilya has never pulled his punches, and he doesn't intend to start now.

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  6. Takes place after the end Heated Rivalry before Long Game. Ilya has moved to Ottawa and the hockey season is starting. He tells Shane if he wants to experiment sexually while they are traveling for work, he would not be jealous. Shane knows Ilya well enough that this is a ridiculous idea. Shane tests Ilya and ends up getting exactly what he wants, punishment in the bedroom.

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  7. Shane Hollander has a problem. He can't keep his mouth off Ilya Rozanov, and it's going to get them both in trouble. Five times Shane's oral fixation nearly exposed their secret, and one time it was exactly what he needed.

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  8. “I think you just need something to take your mind off of this whole situation.” “Oh and what do you have in mind, Hollander? Do you think we should do one of your yoga sessions?” Ilya mocked, clearly missing what the other man was implying. “No dummy,” Shane said with a smile. “I was thinking about something more relaxing. Like maybe a blowjob?” OR Ilya is stressed out about his first game as a WAG, and Shane helps him forget with a blowjob.

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  9. Ilya's birthday present with Shane pregnant and on his knees - let's just say best birthday ever.

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  10. shane goes into heat in the middle of a game

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  11. A rewrite of episode four and what happens afterward. “Well yeah,” Shane said, his voice took the slightly bratty tone that Rozanov loves. “You keep your house cold as shit.” This made Rozanov burst out laughing. He went towards his dresser to pull out a hoodie. He pauses as he sees Shane’s perfectly folded outfit settle neatly on the wood. He lets a small smile cross his lips within the privacy his back has provided from Shane. Like in every piece of clothing Rozanov has ever had the luxury of peeling off of Shane’s body a neat S.H. was written on the label of Shane’s jacket. He was about to toss an old CCM sweatshirt to Shane when a different one caught his eye. The team had got them this year, they were black with the Boston Bear’s logo in yellow. The hoodie was branded with Rozanov’s number and last name on it. The thought of Hollander, Montreal’s and the NHL’s golden boy, wearing his name did something to him. I guess he didn’t care that Shane was a hockey god, the only thing he cared about was the fact that in a few moments he was going to see Shane wearing his last name. Something he couldn’t let himself dream of.

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  12. Being on opposing teams meant a certain level of competitive spirit between Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. Naturally, whatever happened on the ice would extend into the bedroom.

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  13. Shane’s hands shook a bit as he knocked at the door, once, twice, three times. He waited, only a few seconds before the door opened, and Ilya Rozanov stood before him. His voice cracked a bit as he spoke. “Your luggage is here, Mister Rozanov, sir.” ... Or: Married Shane and Ilya revisit their bellboy role-play from the cottage.

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  14. Ilya and Shane were back in Las Vegas for a game, they talk about the “we didn’t even kiss” the last time they were here Basically I read Ilya’s pov on Rachel’s website and I wrote them talking about it and then it devolved from there

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  15. It seems Ilya fucking Rozanov adheres to a daily schedule of tomfoolery. He’s always finding ways to irritate Shane with the stupidest shit. or, Ilya ragebaits Shane as a form of flirting. Somehow it works.

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  16. “Shh, shh. Do not scream.” Ilya's pretty, piquant face was inches from his own. “It's just me.” Just him? Just Ilya fucking Romanov, in his apartment, in his room, in his bed. While Shane had a dildo up his ass and his cock in his hand. Oh god. Oh god oh god. This couldn't be happening. Shane forgot he gave Ilya an extra key to his apartment. Ilya walks in on something interesting. It was a cold night in February, and Shane was alone in his apartment while the rest of his team was out celebrating their win over Boston. Shane should have been out with them, drinking his ginger-ale while everyone else ordered pitchers. He'd told Hayden that he wasn't feeling well after the game, that he wanted to make sure he didn't get worse and mess up their next match against the Admirals. Shane didn't like lying. He was bad at it. And it seemed like he was doing it an awful lot lately. It was snowing outside, fat white flakes filling the window and sticking to the glass in pretty crystalline patterns. Shane opened the curtains to peer out over the wintry scene. The last night had been clear and beautiful, and he'd been looking out at the stars over a mop of golden curls before his eyes had drifted closed. Tonight, there were no stars, only grey swirling clouds. And somewhere up there in that dark slate sky, Ilya was flying home to Boston. A lump sat heavy in Shane's chest like he'd swallowed a rock. What was Ilya doing? Looking out through the window at the city lights below and wondering which ones shone from Shane's apartment? Was he reclined in his seat with his earbuds in, his blue eyes all dreamy and relaxed, thinking of nothing at all? Or was he thinking of his Russian girlfriend and the life that Shane knew nearly nothing about? Shane turned away from the window and shook himself. Get it together, Hollander. This is just embarrassing. Pining like an angsty teenager. Ilya would laugh at him if he knew. Ilya looked beautiful when he laughed. Well, to be fair, he looked beautiful all the damn time. Especially when he was in Shane's bed, naked and shameless, looking at Shane with a smirk like he wanted to just eat him up. Between his legs, Shane's cock twitched. Jesus, that was embarrassing. Was that all it took to get him going? Shane took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It didn't help slow his racing heart. God, it just never stopped, did it? He couldn't get away from it. From him. Somehow Ilya found a way to worm himself into his head, even when he was nowhere in sight. He took up space in Shane's head the same way he took up space in any room he was in, larger than life, his presence commanding. That roguish face, those messy curls, the shapely mouth that could flash a charming smile one moment and a challenging snarl the next. The easy way he asked for what he wanted from Shane - or demanded it. And god, how good it felt to give it to him. His phone buzzed from the table. Shane sighed. Probably Hayden again, asking if he was feeling better. Shane considered saying yes, and that he would come by the bar shortly. It would be a welcome reprieve. A distraction. Wasn't that just what he needed? The hot, heavy weight between his legs pulsed again, insistent. He couldn't ignore it. Shane set his phone to Do Not Disturb without looking at who had called. He couldn't handle talking to anyone right now. Not like this. He stood there foolishly, staring out the window with his cock tenting his pants, thinking about pretty blue eyes and chiseled abs, about the moles that dotted Ilya's back, how his gold chain bounced on his collarbones as he fucked Shane into the mattress... Maybe what he just needed to get Ilya out of his system. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't wind up counting down the days 'til the playoffs, haunting the calendar and waiting, yearning. Shane took off his clothes, slow and meticulous as always, starting with his shirt and ending with his socks and underwear and making sure everything was tucked neatly into the laundry hamper. Naked, he made his way into the bathroom and took the little box of Kleenex from the shelf over the sink and brought it out next to the bed. Next to it he put his bottle of lube, the good one with the pump top because Ilya didn't like the one that had to pop open. This ritual complete, Shane threw back the covers and rolled into the soft fresh-pressed sheets, so cool against his flushed skin. At the first stroke of his slicked hand, Shane's eyes closed. The tension left his body in a slow warm wave, like sinking into a hot bath. He started slow, pushing his hips up into his palm and sliding his thumb over the wet tip. His free hand drifted absently across his chest, rubbing his thumbs over his nipples and thinking about Ilya kissing his way down his chest. So sensitive, Hollander. So easy. Shane's hand worked faster up and down his shaft, his breath coming in short punched-out gasps. Sweat prickled at his brow. Better, this was better, but it was not enough. It wasn't what he really needed, what his body craved. Frustration coiled in his stomach like a fist. “Fuck,” he said, and got up from the bed. He wiped his lubed hand on a towel and went rummaging in his closet for what was hidden in the very back in a box wrapped in a hoodie, like he was afraid someone would break into his apartment for the sole purpose of snooping. What colour? Rozanov had demanded. What colour, Hollander? This one was blue. He hadn't told Rozanov. The silicone was cool at first but warmed quickly at the touch of Shane's hand. The texture wasn't as smooth as the first toy he'd gotten – that one had been plain, unrealistic, as though Shane could ignore what it was supposed to be imitating, like that would somehow make any difference at all. This one had thick raised veins, a defined head, and an upward curve that promised to find and massage that incredible little spot inside him that Ilya always found with an easy crook of his fingers.

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  17. Shane and Ilya finally achieve their dreams of winning a Stanley Cup together. Time to celebrate.

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  18. It used to worry Shane. In the early days of their heated rivalry, where the line between fucking and frenemies had started to get shaky and blurred, he used to lie awake at night wondering what Ilya saw in him. If he used to lurk in the murky depths of online gossip columns to read about Boston Raiders Captain Ilya Rozanov’s latest speculated flings with supermodels and upcoming song writing prodigies; well, that information was between him and his internet cookies and that’s where it was going to stay. It was hard not to compare himself though. All of Ilya’s previous known partners (and there were many of them) were tall, razor thin and packing a stunning pair of perfectly round elevated breasts. Shane has none of these qualities. He’s not particularly tall - at least by the standards of ice hockey players - he’s stocky, and he is pretty positive that he does not possess a rack. And yet. And yet, Ilya cannot seem to keep his hands away from Shane’s chest. __ Shane notices Ilya's obsession with his chest. He decides to go along for the ride.

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  19. Ilya leaned down and pressed an almost chaste kiss to Shane’s lips. “Stay.” Shane dutifully stayed still on the bed as Ilya went to the other side of the room, rummaging in the drawer for longer than usual. Shane fought the urge to turn and see what Ilya was doing until the other man came back, crouching down in front of him. He was holding lube, a condom, and–to Shane’s surprise–the pair of leather handcuffs that usually sat in the back corner of their drawer. They didn’t use the cuffs often, maybe a handful of times ever. Shane didn’t usually like not being able to touch Ilya. But Shane felt something warm and eager stir inside of him. He wanted Ilya to make the choices tonight. He was tired of thinking. Shane has a lot on his mind. Ilya gets a few things off it. Shane frowned at the pot of rice as the water splashed out cloudy again. He wasn’t counting how many times he washed it, but Ilya was stirring the saucepan on the stove, and the rice wasn’t going to be ready at the same time. Shane had been moving slowly, distracted. He turned on the tap again. At the same time, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The Rolex rep, confirming what time the shoot was tomorrow. Or his mom. Or Hayden, or JJ, or someone else wanting to talk about the shitshow last night. He swirled his fingers through the rice grains impatiently and poured the water out again. It ran clear enough. Buzz. Tap back on, cold water up to the joint of his finger. Buzz. Three texts meant it was probably Hayden. Shane didn’t want to talk about the game. If the Rolex rep hadn’t sent the time yet, he didn’t know how early he was getting up in the morning. They couldn’t shoot too late, because Shane had to be back at the rink for video review, which was going to suck. Theriault was pissed. He set the pot back into the rice cooker, closed the lid, and frowned again. Nothing happened. He pushed a button, but nothing lit up. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Piece of-” “Shane.” Ilya put his hand on top of Shane’s gently. His tone it wasn’t the first time Ilya had called his name. “Is not plugged in.” Shane took a deep breath. “What’s going on?” “Nothing. I’m just distracted.” Ilya’s hand trailed up Shane’s arm, and Shane turned a little to face him. Ilya brushed his fingertips across Shane’s temple. “Where are you?” Shane leaned into the touch and Ilya flattened his hand against Shane’s cheek. Shane closed his eyes. “Pittsburgh.” “Pittsburgh sucks. Montreal is much nicer.” Shane let out a little huff. “You didn’t get shut out by them.” “No. But half your team has the flu.” “I don’t have the flu. I played like shit.” “Ah, and hockey is individual sport, yes? You can do everything by yourself?” Shane turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of Ilya’s hand instead of responding. He let out another deep breath. “Shane. Sit. I will finish dinner.” Shane didn’t feel like arguing. “Okay,” he mumbled into Ilya’s palm. Ilya took his hand away, and Shane missed it immediately. “And give me your phone.” “Why?” Shane was already handing it over. “Because you will look at it and be more stressed.” Ilya slid Shane’s phone into his pocket. “Sit.” Shane wandered into the living room and sat on the couch. He looked around, picked up the book on the end table he had been ignoring for weeks, and stared blankly at a page until Ilya came back in with two bowls. Shane ate listlessly. When they were done, Ilya pulled him back against his chest and Shane let himself relax a little into the other man’s arms. They stayed like that for a while, Ilya’s breath soft against the top of Shane’s head and his arms strong around him. “You are stressed,” Ilya said into his hair eventually. “Very observant,” Shane said quietly, no real bite to it. “Mmm. Nothing gets by me. Like Pittsburgh goalie.” Shane turned to complain, but Ilya kissed him gently. “Still. You are very stressed lately. You are thinking too much.” “I’m sorry. We haven’t seen each other in weeks, and I’m-” Shane gestured with one hand, and Ilya caught it in his firm grasp. “No apologizing. Come to bed. You need to relax.” Shane reluctantly stood up from Ilya’s embrace. “The dishes first.” “Yes, yes, dishes. Then bed.” Ilya had already loaded most of the dishes into the dishwasher. Shane rearranged them properly and slotted their bowls and forks in. Ilya kissed him again as soon as they made it into the bedroom, backing Shane up until the bed hit the back of his knees. They stayed like that for a while, kissing gently and then deeply, until Ilya pulled back and his eyes searched over Shane’s face. Shane made a frustrated little sound and leaned back towards him, but Ilya put his hands on Shane’s shoulders and guided him down to sit on the bed. “You are thinking too much. Let me make your brain quiet, yes?” Ilya said. His voice was even, but Shane could see he was half-hard in his sweatpants. Shane was almost embarrassed at how quickly he nodded. He didn’t want to think anymore. His whole body, tired and tense, craved Ilya. Ilya leaned down and pressed an almost chaste kiss to Shane’s lips. “Stay.” Shane dutifully stayed still on the bed as Ilya went to the other side of the room, rummaging in the drawer for longer than usual. Shane fought the urge to turn and see what Ilya was doing until the other man came back, crouching down in front of him. He was holding lube, a condom, and–to Shane’s surprise–the pair of leather handcuffs that usually sat in the back corner of their drawer.

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  20. When Shane’s mind gets too loud Ilya finds a way to quite it. And no, it’s not just because he’s fed up with finding the ends of his hoodie strings chewed.

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