Chapter Text
The sexting had escalated from occasional to constant, and it was making Shane crazy. Crazy for sex, crazy for touch, crazy for Ilya.
The texting had started early, about an hour after Shane had woken up, with a simple question from Ilya.
Lily: are you wearing underwear today, hollander?
Jane: Yes… I wear them every day.
Lily: i told you not to today 👹😈
Jane: I didn’t think you were serious.
Lily: when it comes to sex hockey and vodka i am always serious
Shane grinned at his phone, fingers hovering over the keys, trying to decide what to respond. Before he could come up with a good response, Ilya texted again.
Lily: so…?
Jane: So what?
Lily: your underwear. have you taken them off yet?
Jane: Oh. You’re REALLY serious?
Lily: i am serious, yes. is there different meaning of serious in english??
Shane grinned again, putting his phone down and unzipping his pants. He had 40 minutes before he had to leave for practice. Surely that was enough time for whatever Ilya had in mind.
Lily: i looked it up. same meaning
Lily: so when i say no underwear, hollander, i am serious
Jane: OK. The underwear are gone.
Lily: good boy
Lily: you are hard?
Jane: Getting there.
Lily: bad boy. i did not say you could get hard
Jane: What? Well what the fuck do you want me to do? Walk around with no underwear on?
Lily: yes
Jane: Why??
Lily: because i like thinking of you going through your day without underwear
Jane: I’m leaving for practice soon. I have to wear underwear or else it will be weird when I’m getting changed.
Lily: let it be weird
Shane sighed and looked at his hardening cock, wondering how and why he’d gotten himself into a position where Ilya Rozanov was telling him what he could and couldn’t do with his clothing and with his cock.
Ilya was in Boston, their season having just started a few weeks prior, and Shane hated to admit how glad he was to be in the same time zone as Ilya again. It made sexting much easier, not to mention the actual sex possibilities that came with Ilya being back in North America.
Lily: i can’t wait to fuck you
Jane: Yeah, about that…I’m nervous, Ilya.
Lily: don’t be. i will make it good for you. i promise
Lily: you are not the first virgin i’ve taken
Shane swallowed, licking over his lips and imagining Ilya’s beautiful fingers sliding over the keys when he wrote that text: You are not the first virgin I’ve taken.
Shane tried to suppress the next thought—a thought that surprised even him: Hopefully I’ll be the last.
Jane: I’m still allowed to be nervous.
Lily: i have plan. we will take it slow
Lily: i can be nice, you know
Jane: I have a hard time believing that, Rozanov.
Lily: speaking of hard, how is your cock
Jane: Hard.
Jane: Can I touch myself, please???
Shane sighed, frustrated with himself for asking his arch rival if he was allowed to touch his own dick.
Lily: only if you send photo
Jane: Dick pics aren’t my style. It’s yours.
Without warning, a photo of Ilya’s rock hard cock appeared on Shane’s screen.
“Jesus,” Shane muttered to himself, his own cock twitching.
Lily: yes is my style
Lily: and how do you like it?
Jane: Fuck you.
Shane sighed as he stroked himself and tried to ignore the plain truth: Ilya’s cock was amazing.
It had been two years since their encounter on draft night in the hotel gym. Since then, they’d hooked up several times, jerking and sucking each other off, but never anything more. It had been nice—it was still nice—but now Shane found himself yearning for more. He’d admitted to Ilya, reluctantly, that he hadn’t slept with a guy, and had barely done anything with a girl. Sexual intercourse would be entirely new for him.
But not for Ilya, apparently. Not by a long shot.
Lily: well?
Jane: Well what?
Lily: do you like what you see
Jane: You really get off on cock worship don’t you?
Lily: can’t wait to see what gets you off
Shane put his phone down and went back to stroking himself, referencing the picture of Ilya’s cock as he pumped. To his dismay, another text came in, causing the screen to jump to the latest message and away from the photo of Ilya’s glorious cock.
Lily: i didn’t say you could, by the way
Jane: Could what?
Lily: get yourself off
Lily: not until you send photo
Shane really didn’t want to send photos of his dick to Ilya, but he couldn’t deny that the thought of it was turning him on even more.
Jane: you have to promise to delete it
Lily: no
Lily: i was going to print it off and put in my locker
Jane: I’m serious, Rozanov.
Lily: serious, yes. you always are, aren’t you
Lily: fine, i will delete
Lily: now will you send please
Jane: OK.
Shane spent longer than necessary taking photos of his cock, switching up the framing and filters until he had at least 20 pictures that he was editing and swiping between to find the best one.
Lily: are you waiting for the film to develop at your local drugstore??
Lily: phones have cameras built in now, hollander
Lily: you can take and send instantly
Jane: I’m trying to get a good one for you.
Lily: why?
Lily: your cock looks amazing no matter what
Shane smiled, but then his expression faded when he saw the clock. He had to leave for practice in ten minutes. The amount of time he spent per day texting with Ilya was starting to become a problem.
Jane: Fuck me, I’m running late for practice.
Lily: i have practice too
Lily: luckily dick pics send instantly so can you hurry please
Lily: i’m leaking and dripping like fountain
Another dick pic appeared on Shane’s phone, Ilya’s cock grasped in his own fist, wet and slick with precome, and another glistening bead gathered at the tip.
“Fuck,” Shane said with a sharp gasp. He picked one of the 20 photos at random and sent it to Ilya.
Lily: holy shit
Lily: your cock is gorgeous
Lily: i want it in my mouth
Jane: How are you so good at sexting WHILE jerking off??
Lily: sticky phone
Shane was grossed out, but not enough to kill his hard-on.
Jane: Am I allowed to come now please?
Lily: yes but send photo of the mess you make after 😈
Shane jerked himself off quickly and efficiently, hating that he was more worried about the clock than anything else. Luckily, he only lived ten minutes from the practice facility. He worked hard and fast, and soon he was coming in hot spurts across his fist and abdomen. Before he could even process his own orgasm, his phone lit up with another photo: Ilya’s cock, fist, and abs covered in come. Shane, to his horror, literally moaned at the photo. He wiped off his hands, then picked up his phone to look at the photo closer, fighting the urge to make it his phone screen background.
He snapped a quick picture of the mess he’d made on his own stomach, then sent it to Ilya.
Lily: hollander we are coming together while sexting
Lily: is this love
Shane smiled at the text. He knew Ilya was only kidding with the question about their sexting being anything more than it was, but his stomach did a little flip anyway.
Jane: You wish.
Lily: for your cock? yes
Jane: Don’t get too attached. We have to delete these pictures, remember?
Lily: sorry too late i already made it your contact photo
Jane: Delete it, Rozanov. I’m serious. And I know you know what that word means.
***
Shane had not deleted any of the photos of Ilya’s cock. He’d tried, many times, his fingers hovering over the delete button before he chickened out and admired it again, in all its glory. His favorite was the after photo, Ilya’s cock, fist, and abs covered in ribbons of his beautiful, milky come.
Practice had gone well, though Hayden had remarked that Shane’s cheeks were flushed when he arrived. Shane lied and said he’d just finished a run before heading to practice, and Hayden had looked skeptical, but hadn’t brought it up anymore.
Shane showered and headed home, and when he arrived, he had another text from Ilya.
Lily: did you wear underwear to practice
Jane: Of course.
Lily: bad boy
Lily: i said no underwear today
Lily: take them off as soon as you’re home
Shane smiled, dropping his bag at the front door and heading to his kitchen to grab some water.
Jane: Don’t you have anything else to do than harass me about my underwear?
Lily: harass. that is new word for me.
Shane swallowed. The last thing he’d meant to do was to teach Ilya Rozanov what harassment was.
Lily: i looked it up
Lily: it is fun to harass you
Lily: you get so worked up
Jane: Do not.
Lily: do too
Lily: i bet you are worked up now
Jane: I’m fine.
Shane was not fine. He went to his bedroom, slipped off his underwear and then slipped back into his grey joggers. He snapped a picture of his underwear on the floor before putting them in the hamper, then sent it to Ilya.
Lily: good boy
Shane suddenly had the urge to hear Ilya’s voice.
Shane: What are you doing right now?
Lily: harassing a boring Canadian who edits his dick pics before sending
Shane: Very funny.
Shane: Can I call?
***
Ilya had told Shane to call him in 20 minutes, and Shane had busied himself by tidying up in the kitchen and ignoring the fact that he’d literally set a timer for 20 minutes. When it went off, he set it for five more minutes, waiting until it went off to call Ilya. He didn’t want to look too eager.
He called, swallowing a lump in his throat and noticing the fluttering in his stomach as he waited for Ilya to pick up. The call rang out, and went to voicemail: This is Ilya Rozanov and I will never return your call, followed by something in Russian—the same thing, presumably.
Shane frowned and looked back at the text. It had said to call in 20 minutes and Shane had waited 25. He didn’t understand what he’d done wrong.
He waited another 10 minutes and then called again. This time, Ilya picked up on the fourth ring.
“Wow, you are anxious to talk to me, yes?”
“You told me to call you in 20 minutes.”
“I said about 20 minutes.”
“I waited 25.”
On the other end of the line, Ilya snorted, a short laugh.
“What?”
“You are so cute,” Ilya said.
Shane nodded, then realized Ilya couldn’t see him. He looked down at his feet and shifted his weight. What did he want to talk to Ilya about, anyway?
“So, what did you want to talk to me about anyway?” Ilya asked, as if reading his mind.
“I don’t know. Nothing really. I guess I just—wanted to hear your voice.”
On the other end, Ilya chuckled again. “Cute.”
Shane blushed.
“You like my voice, Hollander?”
Shane shook his head. He didn’t like Ilya’s voice. He loved it. Loved his heavy and clipped accent, the deep baritone, the teasing lilt, the broken English.
“It’s all right,” Shane lied.
“So, how was your practice?” Ilya asked, “Are you ready to lose to us in two weeks?”
“I’m not losing to you. No way.”
“You will. And that’s not the only thing you’ll lose that night, Hollander.”
Shane felt a rush of blood to his cock.
“I didn’t delete the photos,” Shane blurted out.
If Ilya was upset about this, his reaction didn’t show it. He laughed lightly.
“Konechno, net,” Ilya said in Russian.
“What?”
“I said ‘of course not’.”
“You knew.”
“You like my dick too much. And you miss it. You miss me.”
“Did you delete mine?”
“Konechno, net.”
“You didn’t?”
“You learn Russian fast.”
“I told you you had to delete it, Rozanov.”
“And yet you kept mine,” Ilya said, “Don’t worry. Is safe.”
“It’s really not,” Shane said with a sigh, but decided to leave it alone for now.
“So, where are we meeting?”
“When?”
“When we play you in Montreal, of course.”
“I’ll book us a hotel.”
“I want to see your house. Want to see if it is as boring as you are.”
Shane plopped down on his sofa and turned the TV on. SportsCenter was on, and he left it on, but turned down the volume.
“You are very mean to me,” Shane said.
“And you like it.”
“You’re an asshole, Rozanov.”
“And you like that too.”
“I’ll book us a hotel,” Shane said again.
“And I will bring everything we need.”
“What do we need?”
“Lube, condoms, patience.”
“I told you, I’ve used my dildo before.”
“I am bigger than dildo.”
“You haven’t even seen my dildo.”
“I am bigger than dildo.”
Shane swallowed, a slight pit opening in his stomach. What if he couldn’t do this? What if he couldn’t take Rozanov? He didn’t want to disappoint Ilya, and beyond that, he really really wanted this.
“What is your address?” Ilya asked.
“What?”
“Your address. The place where you live? That is word for it, right?”
“Why do you need my address? I said I’d book a hotel.”
“I am going to send you something.”
“What? What the fuck are you going to send me? Flowers? Chocolates?”
“You wish, Hollander.”
“What are you sending?”
Ilya laughed darkly before he said, “You will see.”