Work Text:
“See, this frozen puck is supposed to go in the net. Over there,” Rozanov’s helpful tone isn’t at all helpful. The ref, some guy named Connor, sighs as Scott tries everything in his power to not strangle the cocky Russian. He can see the playful smirk, the way it reaches those eyes despite the fact that it shouldn’t be so easy to see under the helmet and helmet hair.
“Go fuck yourself, Rozanov,” Scott says instead, as if that’s a perfect comeback. Wow, he showed him. How will Rozanov ever recover from such a comeback?
As expected, Rozanov just grins, bending even lower to take the faceoff.
“Not bad idea. Maybe after I score. Hat trick, maybe?”
“Leave it, Rozanov,” poor Connor ref says, and drops the puck, most definitely to get Rozanov to stop chirping and not because the game needs to get going.
Rozanov wins the faceoff. And scores.
The fucker.
***
Usually Scott never goes out after a game. Especially not after a loss. Especially not when in fucking Boston of all places. But tonight he feels antsy. As if something is trying to claw its way out of his skin and he just can’t deal with the four walls of his hotel room any longer. He needs to get out of here.
As captain, he probably should make more of an effort to hang out with the team. He could at least maybe ask Carter if he wants to do something but god, he really doesn’t feel like it tonight. Perhaps he needs to be alone and just see what Boston has to offer. Something better than this hotel room, at least.
***
Turns out Boston has, surprisingly, quite a few bars and Scott picks one that doesn’t seem too flashy, and not too busy. He orders a drink, something stronger than what he usually gets and is about to start people watching like a creep when a feeling of ice cold dread sweeps over him.
Because through the doors enters a cocky looking Russian man and damn it.
Scott is about to run for the hills when Ilya Rozanov’s eyes meet his, and the half smirk that seems to be constantly on his face gets turned into a full smirk as he makes his way over.
“Hunter! Look at you! I did not know you could be out so late!”
“Shut up, Roz,” Scott says but he can’t hide the little smile threatening to show on his face. Dammit, for some reason it feels pretty nice to have Rozanov’s attention on him. Just a little bit.
Without asking, Rozanov sits down next to him, ordering a beer and from what Scott can smell, he must have done some pre-partying before coming here. He can smell alcohol, maybe some weed. Perhaps some perfume from someone else because it seems to mix with the cologne Rozanov is wearing. Scott blinks. Why is he thinking about what Rozanov was doing before coming here?
“Is this your scene?” Rozanov asks after sipping his beer, looking over at Scott. There’s a tone, something hidden in his voice and it makes Scott stiffen. “Or were you… looking for something else?”
“What do you mean?” Scott asks, and he wonders if he should meet Rozanov’s eyes or not. He chooses the latter, which might be a mistake because Rozanov touches his arm. He leans in, whispering.
“I thought you’d be more interested in going to… Laser, maybe.”
And Scott feels absolutely everything at once. Fear. humiliation. Worry. For Rozanov to have clocked him. He knows and Rozanov clearly knows about that gay bar. And he knows Scott… how? Scott fights the urge to look around, wondering if maybe this is a setup. Is Rozanov here with somebody trying to… what? Out him? He knows his closet isn’t the most secure one in the league, but he thought it was a bit more than this.
“I go there sometimes,” Rozanov continues, as casual as if he’s just told Scott he likes milk in his tea. “When I feel like it.”
And then Scott needs to add shock to the list of feelings he’s feeling. Because…
“You…?” he chokes out and that’s when he meets Rozanov’s grin, and he is leaning in closer now.
“Maybe we could go together.”
***
Oh this is so bad of Ilya, he thinks as he leads Scott Hunter from the ride share to the club. First of all, someone could see them and recognize them. Second of all, he’s a bit drunk. Third of all, and probably the most important of them all is that Scott looks really hot tonight and Ilya has been wanting to see if his hunches were right for… well, since he first caught Scott checking him out at an award show.
Besides, this week has been hell. Shane isn’t texting him anymore. Maybe he needs a change.
The sound of music calms him, and the amount of hot, sweaty bodies does too. He leads Scott, who looks a bit startled, through the sea of bodies on the dance floor once they are inside, holding his hand tight. Scott doesn’t let go.
“What a terrible idea this is,” Scott mutters and he probably doesn’t mean for Ilya to hear but he does. He grins, turning around. It causes them to end up very close to each other. Scott’s nose, which really shouldn’t look so good after a career of hockey, and plump lips, are in Ilya’s face. He hums, his fingers running over Scott’s arm.
“Mm, what terrible things did you have in mind?” he purrs instead, and he can feel, almost feel how Scott’s breath hitches. The tension is something else right now. Ilya isn’t sure if Scott wants to murder him or kiss him, maybe a bit of both and honestly, Ilya can work with that. Most of the people he hooks up with are conflicted about him anyway.
Not that he and Scott are going to hook up. But, it would be nice. If it happened.
“As if one thing hasn't been on your mind since you dragged me here,” Scott replies, and his voice drops a little. Deeper. Richer. Manlier in a way that makes Ilya’s head spin for a whole other reason than the amount of alcohol in his blood. Damn, he’s hot. Scott is leaning closer now, and his mouth is close to the shell of Ilya’s ear. As if he wants him to be able to hear. It’s not necessary. Ilya hears every word, feels it almost, and he leans closer anyway. Their bodies have been close many times on the ice, struggling to get the puck but this? He’s never been close to Scott without a protective level of padding and shirts and jerseys between them. Considering how his body is reacting now, that’s a good thing. His cock is plumping up embarrassingly quickly just from feeling Scott’s hard muscles. God, Ilya wants to lick them.
He starts moving to the music instead, dancing slowly, carefully, as if treading deep water to see what happens. As if he’s throwing out bait to see if Scott will bite. His eyes lock on Scott’s and they move together for a few moments, strong hands gripping Ilya’s waist. He thinks they’re Scott’s, hopes they are. The dance floor is so busy, they’re like part of a big mass yet Ilya feels absolutely focused on the man in front of him. He looks so… good. So different than on the ice or in a pregame suit. He just looks like… well, Scott, he supposes.
“Can anyone get in on this?” comes from another guy moving up to them and Scott turns, all but growls.
“No.”
Fuck, Ilya didn’t know it was so hot to see someone go all caveman. He grins, moving closer.
“What would they be getting in on?” he asks, innocently enough. “Is there something…”
What he was going to say gets swallowed, swallowed by Scott’s mouth coming down on his, catching his lips in a scorching, needy kiss.
Fucking hell. Ilya had had some thoughts about whether or not Scott had been with guys but clearly, this isn’t new to him. He kisses like he plays hockey, thoroughly, greedy, devoted. Ilya lets out a moan, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck, all but rutting against him right there on the dance floor.
“Fucking hell Hunter,” he curses out when they come up for air, which must give Scott some kind of clarity on what they’re doing. Or where, at least. He pulls away, looking startled.
“Oh shit, fuck, I… fuck we can’t do this here.”
“Oh?” Ilya grins, chewing on his lower lip. He takes a step closer. “But we could do it… somewhere else?”
Scott looks like he’s going through five internal struggles at once before he grunts.
“God I’m going to hell.”
***
The fact that he splurges on getting the better hotel suites is absolutely something he is thankful for now, Scott thinks, as he is slammed up against the wall as soon as the door closes behind them and Rozanov is on him again. They kiss, Scott’s hands going to grab Rozanov’s leather jacket to push it off his body. If he had any thoughts on not going through with this they are gone now, gone with every second he exposes more of Ilya’s tanned skin.
“Fucking hell, Hunter,” Rozanov grunts, tugging at Scott’s clothes as if he wants to claw his way through them. Honestly, Scott would let him. He is so turned on beyond sanity right now, there’s nothing he wants more than to feel him skin on skin. His cock is so hard, probably leaking into his boxers. He wonders if Rozanov is too.
Wonders if Rozanov might fuck him. The thought makes his entire soul tremble.
Again, so thankful he isn’t staying with the rest of the team on the lower floor. The rookies hearing this would actually kill him.
“Come on, get naked,” Scott tells him, pushing Rozanov towards the bed and loving the Russian man’s smirk as he falls onto the expensive sheets, quickly shedding off his shirt and jeans.
He’s not wearing anything underneath, so Scott is immediately greeted with a thick length of uncut cock, his mouth watering.
Scott abandons the idea of getting undressed because he needs his mouth there. Now. needs to lick his way down those cut V’s and get Rozanov’s length in his mouth. Wants to choke on it.
“What are you… fuuuck, Hunter,” Rozanov curses, turning back to Russian as Scott takes him into his mouth, wasting no time. He tastes like sweat and precum, and Scott sucks greedily, swallows as much of him as he can, covers the rest with a hand as the other cup’s Rozanov’s full balls. Rozanov curses again, his back aching off the bed and Scott can’t believe he can reduce him to this. The big, cocky, sometimes angry Russian is absolute putty in his hand. It makes Scott delirious thinking about it. That’s what he’s doing to him.
Scott’s own cock is rock hard, begging to be touched but he ignores it. Keeps sucking Rozanov down until he groans, tugging on the length of Scott’s hair, pulling him off.
“Do you wanna get fucked?” he murmurs, dark eyes meeting Scott’s. They’re so full of lust, Scott feels dizzy. He nods without thinking, his body is taking over. His brain is left somewhere on the way from that club. It’s only his body, his need, his horny self wanting everything Rozanov can give him.
Suddenly, he is pushed to his back, Rozanov, Ilya he supposes he should call him in his mind now since they’re clearly about to get very acquainted with each other, gets on top of him.
“Don’t worry Hunter, I will take care of you. Been too long, yes?”
He doesn’t wait for a reply which Scott is grateful for because yes, it has been too long. Way, way too long honestly. His ass clenches just at the thought of getting to be filled with a human being, not a toy. He lets himself get undressed, clearly he is not in charge anymore. Ilya moves as he does on the ice, quick, with grace, Scott barely noticing anything happening until he’s completely naked, skin on skin as Ilya makes himself at home in his bed, with his things, reaching for the lube by his bedside table.
“Fucking hell,” Scott curses suddenly, realizing something that will ruin this. “I don’t have condoms.”
It never happens during roadtrips, barely even happens at home nowadays so he’s stopped carrying them. Ilya just grins though.
“No worries Hunter, I got you yes. Always… prepared.”
***
Ilya loves winning hockey games, especially against New York. They hate him there. The fans, the team. Scott hates him most of the time. But not now. Not when Ilya fishes out a condom from his wallet in his jeans, and Scott looks so relieved he could cry. Or kiss him.
He does the latter, catching Ilya’s lips in a kiss which means Ilya needs to multi-task a little, opening the lube and coating his fingers. He doesn’t mind. He lets his index finger tease Scott’s rim, feeling drunk with the idea that he gets to touch him here, that he’s going to be let into Scott’s body. Scott doesn’t even tense up, clearly so desperate for Ilya that he lets him in with little to no resistance.
One finger. Two. three.
Scott’s dick might be bigger than his, something Ilya will never, ever admit to, but Ilya knows he’s big too. Knows Scott might feel it tomorrow.
Maybe when he goes to meet his team for morning skates or sits on the plane back home, he will have an ache in his ass. And it will be from Ilya.
And no one will know but him.
“I think…” Scott breathes out, grinding down on Ilya’s finger now like a bit of a desperate slut. Seeing the captain of the Admirals like this is like a dream. “I think you need to get inside me. Now.”
Ilya grins, the voice is such a captain's voice and for a moment, Ilya wants to keep him begging. Wants to hear it a bit more because he knows this won’t happen again. This is truly a one and done with.
But his dick is throbbing, and Ilya isn’t more than human himself. So he kisses the desperate whine from Scott’s lip, letting him help him roll the condom on as he finally, finally moves to get on all fours. Ilya lines up behind him, a large hand resting between Scott’s shoulder blades.
“You gonna get it,” he mutters, and then he is finally sinking in. inch by inch, until he’s all the way in, his hips meeting Scott’s ass and he needs to stop for a moment, bite down hard on his lip to not start railing him right away.
Big mistake.
Scott looks over his shoulder, eyes dark with lust and there’s a challenge in his eyes Ilya recognizes from the ice.
“Are you going to fuck me or just stand there, Rozanov?”
***
Holy fucking shit. He’s been bodychecked into the boards multiple times by Rozanov on the ice but now Ilya is gripping Scott’s hip and it takes all of him to not whimper like a pathetic slut when he starts to fuck into him. Scott bites down on his lip, fingers curling around the high threadcount sheets as he tries his best to push back, meet him. Ilya is filling him up in the best way and god, it truly has been way too long since Scott was taken apart like this. Scott is fine with not hooking up during the season but now? He isn’t sure how he survived without this. It feels absolutely incredible.
“Fucking hell, Hunter,” Ilya’s voice is not much more than grunts and growls and the occasional groan, but Scott understands. He understands because if he could form words right now, that’s pretty much what he would say. His cock is rock hard again after softening a bit from the sudden intrusion to his body, and he wraps a hand around it to stroke. He only manages a few before he feels the push, the other man’s hand replacing his own as Ilya growls again.
“My… job… Hunter,” it’s like it’s another challenge but Scott isn’t sure for what. To feel the best? Come first? Either way, he doesn’t care. He feels dizzy and turned on and as if everything is on fire. Ilya fucks him with such determination, his hand jerking Scott off in sync with the thrusts and Scott would be a bit impressed if he could think. But he can’t.
“Fuck… fuck Rozanov, I’m gonna fucking cum,” Scott isn’t sure if he can be heard, mostly because there’s so much skin on skin sounds and moans filling the room but also because his speech is so slurred he might as well be drunk off his ass.
“Do it,” he hears from behind him and Scott decides he doesn’t care what Ilya might think about him finishing this quickly, because his body also decides for him. He feels the familiar tug in his balls, his stomach drawing in and then, with a swear falling from his lips, Scott ruins the whole fancy bedding when his orgasm explodes out of him.
Ilya isn’t far behind, a few more thrusts before Scott feels to sensitive and then he moans.
“Where?”
“Huh?” Scott feels blissed out and dizzy.
“Where… do you want… my cum?”
Fuck, that’s so hot Scott comes a bit more.
“My back, fuck, come on my back.”
Ilya pulls out quickly, ripping off the condom and jerking himself furiously. Scott can’t see it but he can hear, and then he can feel when squirt after squirt of warm cum ends on his back. The last of his strength that was used to holding himself up disappears, and Scott collapses on the bed, not caring about the wet spot he’s currently in. He’s so drenched in sweat and cum and probably drool by now it doesn’t matter anymore.
He hears Rozanov cursing in Russian behind him, before he ties the condom off and tosses it in the nearby trash.
“Well what a win for me, right?” Ilya says after catching his breath. He still sounds breathy, like he might do after a game, Scott supposes. Scott lets out a laugh.
“Go to hell, Roz.”
Ilya makes a tsk-noise.
“Not very nice, Hunter. You should say thank you Ilya, for the mind blowing orgasm. Best sex you ever had, right?”
Scott throws a pillow at him but he’s laughing.
“You wish.”
A yawn escapes Ilya and he stands up, stretching his arms over his head. Scott allows himself a few more moments of admiring his naked glory. Just a few.
“Was fun. Let’s do it again, yeah?”
Scott arches an eyebrow. They both know this won’t happen again. Will probably both of them pretend this has never happened once he leaves this room.
“See you in New York,” is what Ilya says instead when he’s dressed fully, and Scott is still not saying much of anything. “How many goals should I score then? 4?”
“You won’t score anything,” Scott says and Ilya gives him a wink.
“We’ll see.”
Then he’s out the door and Scott wonders what the fuck was in that drink he had.
***
Scott blinks at the sudden light meeting his eyes. He forgot to close the curtains. For a moment he wonders if last night truly did happen or if it was a dream. The dull ache in his ass and the condom in the trash proves that it wasn’t a porno dream though and Scott groans. God, did he really just fuck Ilya Rozanov? He sits up and a chuckle escapes him before he can stop himself. What a mess.
There’s a text waiting for him from Carter.
Carter: where did u go last night???? Anyway loser we’re going shopping
Scott: Excuse me?
Carter: okay no but we’re going to get smoothies. You in?
Scott puts his phone down. Maybe he is in the mood for a smoothie.