Chapter Text
1…2…3…4–
“Hey, Hollander,” Shane’s teammate, Hayden Pike, came up beside him in the locker room, sitting down on the bench. Shane sighed, having to start his pregame ritual again. “What do you say? We gonna beat Boston again, huh?” Shane couldn’t hide the frustrated face he made.
“Yeah, that's the plan,” he replied, his tone sounding clipped. Pike gave him a pat on the shoulder before getting his gear on for the game. Shane cringed and mumbled under his breath, “Don’t touch me.” At this rate he was going to be overstimulated before he even stepped foot on the ice.
–
His teammates never understood his “quirks”, the little things that made his brain feel good so it didn’t feel like he was drowning. It went deeper than just a couple pre-hockey rituals. These quirks followed him all through grade school, though there was never a definite meaning or diagnosis connected to him. His parents were never big on doctors, or at least those kinds of doctors.
Practical medicine was never an issue with his mom, hell, his mom would take him to the doctors for a simple cough, which turned out to be nothing but him choking on air from time to time. However, his parents were adamant that his son had nothing mentally wrong with him, he was just different. This definitely did not warrant a psychiatrist visit to them. Every concern that was raised to them about Shane was discarded in hopes that they would just go away. They didn’t need anything weighing down their dreams of him becoming a big hockey star.
–
Shane skated around his area four times, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes caught those of the Boston Raiders’s captain, Ilya Rozanov. The two have been unofficial rivals since before the start of the season, when the two were competing at the draft. Shane and Ilya were the two most talked about players going into their first official season with their teams, Ilya with the Boston Raiders and Shane with the Montreal Metros.
There was always some sort of hidden attraction between them. Even if neither of them acknowledged it. Their silence spoke wonders. Their looks would speak a thousand words when they were on the ice. Shane chalked it up to Ilya being friendly in his own Russian way. Russians were very flirtatious, or so he heard.
“Good luck to-night,” Ilya called out, his broken English and Russian accent shining through. Shane almost smiled but then remembered that while Ilya was fluent in Russian, he was also fluent in sarcasm.
“T-Thanks,” Shane gritted out, remembering the importance of good sportsmanship even in a rivalry. “You too.” Ilya smirked at him, making him feel all warm inside.
—
It was a brutal loss for the Metros, Shane hadn’t been clicking with his team for the game, which led to a 0-3 match. Shane skated around his area four times before being caught by Ilya.
“Hollander,” Ilya said, it was soft yet rough at the same time. “Sorry you lose on home ice.” Shane clicked his skates on the ice anxiously.
“‘s fine…” he mumbled. “You guys played a good game. Great, even.” Shane’s eyes flashed back and forth between the locker room and Ilya. The Russian smirked when he saw him trying to avoid him.
“More..important things, Hollander?” he asked. Shane nodded. There were definitely more important things to do than standing around in sweaty clothes that started to make his skin crawl. “Hot date after loss?” Shane scoffed at that.
“With the shower maybe,” Shane shot back, moving just out of Ilya’s way, the Russian countered this and stood in front of him once more. “What do you want, Rosanov?” Ilya chuckled softly.
“So sweet, so…невинный,” Ilya murmured, taking his helmet off. “Any extra room in that shower?” Shane was stuck on the Russian word, the word was unfamiliar to him anyway, but the way Ilya had said it wasn’t mocking, it was tender…adoring.
“I-I’m sorry?” Shane stammered, realizing the implication of his question. He dug his skate into the ice, staying exactly where he was, even though his body was screaming at him to abort. “I-I really need to shower.” Ilya’s eyes burned into his soul.
“You come to my room after shower?” he asked. Shane tilted his head in his confusion, which made Ilya chuckle. “We stay in same hotel, yes?” Shane nodded. “Oh my god, Hollander, you are so boring.”
“I-I’m lost,” Shane whispered. He saw the way Ilya looked at him and he quietly connected the dots. “Oh-“
“We watch movie.. blow some steam..” Ilya trailed off. “Da?” Shane had to admit, it did sound nice.
“Okay..” Shane replied, nodding slowly. Ilya nodded.
“Alright then, Hollander,” he said. “1312.” His room number. Shane was doomed.
—
Shane spent way too much time in the shower, the shower. The water pressure wasn't the best, because it’s a hotel shower. Even when he got out, Shane didn’t feel 100% clean, but he would never feel 100% clean even if he spent hours in the shower. He couldn’t wait to get home to his own shower. His safe shower.
“You took long time,” Ilya said when he opened the door, eyeing Shane up and down. “Get lost on elevator?” Shane rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants.
“Shower pressure,” Shane mumbled, trying, but failing, to meet Ilya’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” Instead of responding with words, Ilya pulled Shane into his room by his shirt collar.
“Do not dare apologize,” Ilya murmured. “Sit.” He gestured to the bed. “I put on movie.” Shane walked over to the bed and sat down awkwardly, like it was hot to the touch. “Hollander, I do not bite.”
“I-I know that,” Shane replied. “I just… I get weird in new places.” Ilya smirked, but it wasn’t mocking, it was almost fond. “So what movie did you pick out?”
“Russian movie, my favorite,” Ilya explained, turning on English subtitles. “Is violent, that okay?” Shane nodded slowly, looking at Ilya’s body, careful not to get caught.
The mood of the hotel room shifted around the 45-minute mark. Ilya kept touching Shane’s thigh, which he thought was an accident. It wasn’t until he caught Ilya’s eyes that he knew the touches were deliberate, and anything but innocent.
“Hollander,” Ilya murmured into Shane’s ear, sending tremors through the Canadian’s entire body. Shane’s brain was torn between giving into the arousal or being overstimulated by the closeness. In the end, Shane’s brain ended up giving in.
Shane let Ilya’s hand go wherever it wanted to, up and down his thighs, under his shirt. The Russian took his shirt off before taking his own off. Ilya kissed his neck down to his hips.
“You are so pretty,” Ilya whispered, almost like a prayer, before continuing to plant kisses on Shane’s abs. In all honesty, Shane had never felt this good in his entire life. Sure, he had plenty of girlfriends, although some of them were PR stunts, but none of them ever left him feeling satisfied. Not like Ilya was making him feel.
“Rozanov,” Shane mumbled. He squirmed, the kissing not feeling nice on his skin anymore. He didn’t know how he did, but Ilya knew exactly what he was hinting at and stopped. “Pants..” Ilya wasted no time unbuttoning Shane’s pants and pulling them off of him. Shane was then suddenly hyper aware of how wrinkled his jeans were going to get, not to mention his shirt that was lazily thrown on the floor mere seconds earlier. “Rozanov, stop, stop…”
“Stop?” Ilya asked, picking his head up from where he was placing sloppy kisses all down Shane’s thigh. “You don’t like?” Shane’s eyes darted to the pile of his clothes.
“C-can I just fold them, please?” he asked. It was silly really, thinking he had to ask permission to fold his own clothes. Ilya smirked softly, that same fond smirk, and let Shane out of his soft grasp. Shane quickly folded his shirt and jeans and set them on the table, then he got back on the couch. “Okay. Continue.” While Shane was folding his clothes, Ilya kicked off his own pants, leaving the two in nothing but their boxer briefs.
“You are like cleaner,” Ilya mumbled in-between neck kisses. “Order, always.” Shane couldn’t even argue with him. He actually couldn’t, all that could come out of his mouth were whines and moans. He liked this way too much and that scared him. “May I?” Shane looked down to see Ilya gesturing to his boxers, he nodded before he could even process what he meant.
With Shane’s boxers discarded on the floor—he didn’t care if they were wrinkled at that point—Ilya got to work, kissing and sucking at every spot across the front of Shane’s waist except for the part he needed to feel it most. Shane even tried to shift his body to urge Ilya in the right direction. Instead, Ilya got up on his knees.
“Come here,” he motioned with his finger. “I want you to suck, you do that for me?” Shane crawled towards him, his hands pressed firmly into the bed. His back arched like he practiced this exact technique for years. Maybe he did, hockey warm-ups are just weird sex positions, aren’t they?
Fuck overstimulation, as soon as Ilya’s cock touched his tongue, every feeling other than Ilya went out the window. His eyes nearly rolled in the back of his head as he took Ilya further and further. He could feel everything, every vein his tongue ran over, every twitch, and he didn’t want it to end. As he was still chasing the feeling, Ilya pulled him off by grabbing his hair.
“W-was it bad?” Shane questioned, shame filling his body instantly, turning his cheeks pink. “I-It was my first time-“ Ilya shut him up with a kiss.
“No, no,” he said once he broke away. “I do not want to cum now. Let me enjoy it, da?” Shane blinked. “Lie down.” He obeyed without hesitation. “You said this is your first time, da?” Shane nodded. “Let me show you how real man does it.” Ilya winked before prying Shane’s legs apart by his knees and taking all of him into his mouth.
Shane didn’t last long, all the pent of desire and frustration getting the better of him. He didn’t even get the chance to warn Ilya before he came down the Russian’s throat. Ilya didn’t hesitate to lap up all of Shane’s cum like a seasoned pro.
“S-sorry,” Shane stammered when Ilya came back up to lay beside him. Ilya showed no sign that he was upset about what had happened, in fact he had the biggest grin Shane had ever seen on him.
“You taste sweet,” Ilya said matter-of-factly. “Like sugar. You indulge in lots of sugar?” Shane couldn’t believe they were having this conversation right after he orgasmed. Shane shook his head slowly. “Soda then?” Shane laughed, making Ilya smile. “There it is. Relaxing. Too tense all the time.”
“Shut up, I am not,” Shane shot back. Although, Ilya was right, and he knew it. Everyone knew. Shane was the boy who never drank, never went out to parties, never had any fun. Ilya rubbed his finger lazily on Shane’s chest.
“My turn,” he said. “Make me cum, pretty boy.” Shane didn’t waste any time getting back in-between Ilya’s legs, the banter quickly forgotten. He bobbed his head up and down, trying his hardest to fit it all in one go, but it proved to be quite difficult. Either his mouth was too small or Ilya was too big, or both. It was probably both. His tongue swirled around the head, lapping up the pre-cum as it leaked out of Ilya. He could hear the quiet praises and the ghost of Ilya’s hand on his head, waiting there as if Ilya was waiting for permission to use force. Shane lifted his head slightly, giving Ilya what he wanted most.
Shane let himself be used by Ilya like his own personal doll. It wasn’t scary like he thought it would be, Ilya was as gentle as his body would let him. He practically kicked Shane off of him when he was able to cum, shifting his body quickly to grab a tissue from the nightstand and cumming in that.
Shane sat back on his knees and took a breath to catch his bearings. He was lost. Never in his life had he felt so good, so used, so satisfied with himself. Ilya laid back to look at him. To admire him in all of his thoroughly-fucked glory.
“Better,” Ilya smirked, still a little bit breathless. “We work on it, da?” Shane was so out of it that he nearly skipped over the meaning of what Ilya said. We work on it. We. Working on it means there’s going to be a next time.. right?
Ilya went to grab a towel while Shane sat in the same position and wondered how Ilya was so normal after what happened. How was he not still floating on a cloud and not trusting his legs to do anything but stay immobile. When Ilya came back, he cleaned off Shane first before cleaning himself and throwing the dirty towel on the ground.
“I should get back to my room,” Shane said, standing on unsteady legs as he tried to walk over to his clothes. Ilya smirked satisfyingly as he sat back with his hands behind his head, just watching Shane get dressed. “Have a good flight tomorrow.” Ilya let out a soft laugh as Shane realized how awkward he sounded.
“Goodnight, Hollander,” Ilya said as Shane inched closer towards the door. “Sweet wet dreams.” Shane was so close to hopping back on the bed with that parting statement. Damn the Russian.