101 – 108 of 108 Works in Masturbation

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  1. “Do you–” his breath hitches as another sharp stab of arousal sweeps through him.” Do you enjoy seeing me like this?” he asks, tipping forward desperately, tilting his head up and back as if giving Ilya access to his mouth. He hears the break in his own voice, the whimper that threatens to break out, and wonders if it is enough to convince Ilya to be merciful. Or: Ilya's grey sweatpants make Shane incredibly horny.

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    AO3:
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  2. It’s exactly three minutes after Ilya leaves Shane’s condo that Shane is in the bathroom, putting toothpaste on his toothbrush, when his eyes spot it. He hasn’t been back here in a month, which means the waste bin is empty, save for the white trash bag, and the condom Ilya had tied off and discarded in it.

    No. He isn’t going to untie the condom and swallow down what’s inside. That’s a crazy thing to do. It’s a crazy thing to think, even, so he shakes his head, as if doing so will dislodge the thought.

    ---

    Shane drinks Ilya's cum from a used condom and feels a lot of things about it.

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    AO3:
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  3. “Fuck yourself,” Ilya said without shame. “With me. Right here. Right now.” He pulled back just enough to look Shane in the eye. The suggestion was so blunt, so depraved. They were in a public facility, for fuck's sake. They could get caught. “I can’t,” Shane whispered, the denial tasting like shit in his mouth. He felt his own cock stirring, thickening against his thigh, and he winced. “You can,” Ilya insisted. He leaned against the tiled wall, one hand moving down his own body. “Look at me, Hollander. Watch.” All Shane Hollander wanted was to shower off the stink of a loss. He didn't expect Ilya Rozanov to join him, let alone to call him out on the hard on he'd been trying to ignore. "Fuck yourself," Rozanov dares him. And, God help him, Shane does. Shane Hollander kicked off the ice, chest tight, legs burning. The game was over, and they’d lost--again. He’d left everything out there, and it still wasn’t enough. The locker room door slammed open. He needed the shower, get the smell of his gear off of him. He peeled off his jersey, tugging it over his head, and felt the fabric cling to his skin from sweat. The thing he hated most about hockey was how disgusting you felt afterwards. Relief came as he stripped the rest of his gear. Socks, skates, his cup, and he immediately felt better. He moved toward the row of showers at the back, looking over his shoulder the locker seemed to be empty, and he was grateful for it. He stepped under the first head, flicking the lever and letting hot water hiss to life. The sudden spray hit him, shoulders first, then back, chest, arms. He tilted his head under the pounding stream, closing his eyes. The heat pressed against his skin, loosening the tight coil in his muscles, but the frustration stayed. “Still brooding, Captain?” Hollander kept his eyes closed, face up into the spray, letting the hot water fan down over him. “Go away, Rozanov,” he said. Rozanov’s laugh came. “Is that how you speak to me after a hard loss? We should be bonding,” he said, and Shane could hear the other shower turning on somewhere across the room. “Sharing our pain, no?.” Shane’s jaw clenched beneath the water. There was nothing he wanted to share--not with Rozanov. The memory of the final shot hit him again, the puck teasing the edge of the net, his blade missing it. He’d fanned on the shot, left the game on the ice, and no amount of ice baths or post game analysis would fix it. Nor would being harassed in the shower by Rozanov. “There’s nothing to share,” he said, the sound almost swallowed by the hiss of water. He wanted the isolation. And sharing it with Rozanov... felt like opening the wound and inviting someone else to poke at it. The water beat down on his shoulders, tracing the lines his bruises and Shane let himself sink into it. He didn’t need Rozanov’s commentary to make the bitter pill of failure any harder to swallow. He had enough voices in his own head for that. “I disagree,” Ilya’s voice was closer now, right behind him. Shane could feel the heat from his body, a separate warmth from the steam. “I see much pain. In your shoulders. In your jaw... In your cock.” A finger, warm and calloused, traced the line of Shane’s clenched jaw. “Is bad for you to hold so much... tension.” Shane flinched away, turning finally to glare at him. “Don’t touch me.” But his protest felt weak, even to him. Ilya stood there, completely unashamed, water sliding down his broad chest and over the hard muscle of his stomach. “Why not?” Ilya asked, his head tilted. “Nothing to be ashamed of.” He took a step closer, invading Shane’s space. Shane’s breath hitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, his voice rough. Ilya’s smile was slow, knowing. “Yes, you do.” He let his gaze drop, pointedly, to Shane’s cock. “See? Your body knows. It is honest.” “Fuck you,” Shane breathed, but there was no venom in it. “Maybe later,” Ilya said, his voice a low purr. “For now, there is simpler way to… release tension.” He leaned in, his lips brushing Shane’s ear. Hollander’s heart hammered against his ribs. “What?” “Fuck yourself,” Ilya said without shame. “With me. Right here. Right now.” He pulled back just enough to look Shane in the eye. The suggestion was so blunt, so depraved. They were in a public facility, for fuck's sake. They could get caught. “I can’t,” Shane whispered, the denial tasting like shit in his mouth. He felt his own cock stirring, thickening against his thigh, and he winced. “You can,” Ilya insisted. He leaned against the tiled wall, one hand moving down his own body, slow and deliberate. “Look at me, Hollander. Watch.” His eyes never left Shane’s as his fingers wrapped around his own cock, already thick and hard. He gave a slow, lazy stroke, his breath catching slightly. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

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    AO3:
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  4. Shane Hollander has been keeping his identity a secret for his entire hockey career. How could he be so irresponsible as to lose his suppressants?

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  5. Ilya didn’t know what was worse: knowing Hollander’s favourite ginger ale brand, or caring too much about getting his hands on a case of it. He planned to use it as leverage to convince Hollander to stay the night at his Boston penthouse. To sleep in his bed until morning. Or, that time Ilya Rozanov nearly had a mental breakdown at the grocery store the night before he’d planned to fuck and make a tuna melt for Shane Hollander.

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  6. He felt so guilty about it, but those moments on the road trip had been the most turned on Shane had ever been in his life.

    Logic tells us that within the Game Changers Universe, Shane/Hayden shippers must exist. This is what they might be writing. With bonus Ilya and Shane reactions at the end!

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    AO3:
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  7. Ilya Rozanov is a single dad who's just trying to live his life and be the best dad he can. He never thought that love was for him until he has a chance encounter with pro hockey player Shane Hollander at a hotel bar in Vegas...

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    AO3:
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  8. Shane Hollander is a single guy living a fairly boring life until he meets ruggedly handsome and European, Ilya Rozanov. A whirlwind romance begins, but Ilya has a secret that could come between him and Shane.

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    AO3:
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