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Shane's hands are still shaking when he lifts the Cup.
Forty pounds of silver, and it feels like nothing - like air, like a dream, like every single moment of his life has been building to this exact second. The crowd is screaming, his teammates are screaming, confetti is raining down from the rafters, and Shane Hollander is a Stanley Cup champion.
Finally.
Finally.
He skates his lap, holds the Cup high, lets the tears stream down his face without shame. Twenty years of his life. Twenty years of early mornings and bruised ribs and sacrificing everything - relationships, friendships, any semblance of a normal life - all for this moment.
It's everything he ever wanted.
Almost.
There's one person missing. One person who should be here, who Shane wishes more than anything could be standing beside him right now. But Rozanov is in Boston, probably watching on TV, probably already composing some stupid chirp about how Shane's Cup celebration celly looked "very awkward, very Canadian."
They've been doing this for seven years now. Seven years since the 2008 World Juniors, when they'd hated each other so much it had somehow tipped over into something else entirely. Seven years of secret hotel rooms in every city in North America. Seven years of Rozanov's hands on his body, Rozanov's cock inside him, Rozanov taking him apart and putting him back together.
Shane has never been with anyone else. Not like that. Rozanov is the only person who's ever fucked him, the only person he's ever trusted enough to let inside. And in seven years, it's only ever gone one way - Rozanov on top, Shane on bottom. That's just how they work. How they've always worked.
Shane has never topped anyone in his life. Never even thought about it, really. He likes what they have. Likes the way Rozanov takes control, likes the way he can let go and just feel.
But sometimes, late at night, he wonders what it would be like. To be inside Rozanov. To feel that tight heat around his cock instead of his fingers. To watch Rozanov fall apart beneath him for once.
He's never asked. He's pretty sure Rozanov would say no.
Shane hands off the Cup to Hayden, accepts approximately nine thousand hugs from teammates and coaches and random staff members, and finally - finally - makes it back to the locker room. The champagne is already flowing, someone's blasting music so loud Shane can feel it in his teeth, and his phone is buzzing non-stop in his locker.
He ignores most of it - he'll deal with congratulations later - but one name makes him stop.
Rozanov.
Shane's heart does something complicated in his chest. He ducks into the hallway, away from the chaos, and answers.
"Hey."
"Congratulations, Hollander." Rozanov's voice is warm, genuine, with that rough edge that always makes Shane's stomach flip. "You finally do it. Stanley Cup champion. How it feel?"
"Unreal." Shane leans against the wall, closes his eyes. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up. That it didn't actually happen."
"It happen." Rozanov's voice is soft. "I watch every second. You deserve this, Hollander. You work so hard. So long. You deserve everything."
Shane's throat tightens. "I wish you were here."
There's a pause. A strange pause. And then Rozanov laughs - low, almost nervous, which is weird because Rozanov is never nervous.
"Funny you say that."
Shane frowns. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." Another pause. "Check text messages. I send you something."
Shane pulls the phone away from his ear, opens his texts with shaking hands.
It's an address. A hotel. Here in the city. Room 1847.
Shane's brain stutters.
"Rozanov - are you - "
"I fly in yesterday." Rozanov's voice is quiet. "Watch game from box. Private. Did not want to jinx, did not want to distract. But I am here, Hollander. I am here, and I have present for you. Championship present."
Shane can't breathe. Rozanov is here. Rozanov flew across the country to watch him win, and he didn't even tell him, and now he's waiting in a hotel room with a present -
"What kind of present?" Shane manages.
The pause that follows is loaded. Heavy. Shane can hear Rozanov breathing on the other end of the line, and something about the rhythm of it makes his cock twitch in his cup.
"I win Cup last year," Rozanov says slowly. "You win this year. We are even now, yes? Both champions."
"Yeah." Shane's voice is hoarse. "I guess we are."
"So I am thinking..." Rozanov takes a breath. "I am thinking maybe is time for something else to be even."
Shane's heart stops.
"Rozanov - "
"Seven years, you let me fuck you." Rozanov's voice drops, goes dark and rough. "Seven years, I am always on top. Always inside you. Always one in control."
"Yeah." Shane can barely speak. "That's - that's how we - "
"I want you to fuck me, Hollander."
Shane nearly drops the phone.
"I want you to come to this hotel room and use me like fucking whore." Rozanov's voice is pure filth now, dripping with want. "I want you to shove cock inside me and ruin me. I want you to treat me like cheap slut, like hole for you to dump cum in. I am thinking about it all day - thinking about you splitting me open, making me your bitch - "
"Jesus Christ - " Shane's face is burning. In seven years, he's never heard Rozanov talk like this - not about himself, not about wanting to be taken.
"I am so empty, Hollander." Rozanov's voice drops to a whine. "Been fingering myself all day, fucking myself open, getting ready for your cock. So wet and loose and desperate. I need you to come here and fill me up. I need you to use my hole like fuckhole it is."
Shane's cock is rock hard. His face is so red it feels like it's on fire.
"Rozanov - I've never - I've never topped anyone - "
"I know." Rozanov's laugh is breathless, needy. "I know, and I do not care. I want you to learn on me. Want to be first hole you ever fuck. I want you to be clumsy and desperate and I want to feel every second of it."
"You've - have you done this before? With other - "
"Yes." Rozanov doesn't hesitate. "I have been fucked before. By other men, before you. But never like this. Never by someone I - " He stops, swallows audibly. "Never by someone I want this much. I want you to destroy me, Hollander. Want you to wreck my hole so bad I cannot sit for week. I want to be dripping your cum for days."
Shane is going to pass out.
"Give me ten minutes."
"Hurry." Rozanov's voice is a moan. "I have three fingers in ass right now and I am pretending they are your cock. I am so fucking ready. I am going to be best hole you ever have, Hollander. Going to milk your cock so good. Just - please - come fuck me. Come use me. I need it so bad."
The line goes dead.
Shane stares at the phone.
Then he runs.
xxx
The elevator ride feels like an eternity.
Shane's cock is straining against his compression shorts, and his face is still burning from everything Rozanov said. In seven years, Rozanov has never talked like that. Never begged. Never called himself a whore, a slut, a hole to be used.
Shane had no idea he wanted that.
He had no idea he wanted that.
Room 1847. Shane knocks, and his hand is trembling.
The door opens.
Rozanov is standing there completely naked.
No robe. No pretense. Just six-foot-three of Russian muscle, cock hard and leaking against his stomach, and the most desperate expression Shane has ever seen on his face.
"Took you twelve minutes." Rozanov grabs Shane by the shirt and drags him inside. "Twelve minutes I am lying on that bed with fingers in ass, thinking about you. You know how hard that was? You know how empty I feel?"
"I - " Shane's brain has stopped working. "Rozanov - "
"No more talking." Rozanov is already stripping Shane's clothes off, yanking at his shirt, shoving down his pants. "I need your cock. I need it now. Been waiting all day - all year - cannot wait anymore."
Shane is naked in seconds, and Rozanov drops to his knees.
"Let me get you wet." Rozanov looks up at him with those dark eyes. "Let me get cock nice and sloppy so you can shove it in my slutty little hole."
He swallows Shane to the root.
"FUCK - " Shane's hands fly to Rozanov's hair. "Rozanov - fuck - "
Rozanov sucks him like he's starving for it - wet and sloppy and obscene, drool running down his chin, gagging himself on Shane's cock over and over. And the whole time, he's looking up at Shane with those desperate eyes, moaning around him like having a cock in his throat is the best thing that's ever happened to him.
"Enough - " Shane pulls him off, breathing hard. "Enough - I'm going to come if you keep - "
"Then come." Rozanov's voice is wrecked. "Come down my throat. Come on my face. I do not care. I just want your cum. Want it everywhere - in my mouth, on my skin, in my ass - I want to be covered in you."
Shane's face is so hot he's surprised he hasn't spontaneously combusted.
"Bed. Now."
Rozanov scrambles onto the mattress like his life depends on it.
He lands on all fours, then drops his chest to the bed, reaches back with both hands, and spreads himself open.
His hole is pink and wet and gaping - clearly stretched, clearly prepped, glistening with so much lube it's dripping down his thighs. Shane can see him clenching on nothing, can see how desperate he is.
"Look at my hole, Hollander." Rozanov's voice is a filthy moan. "Look at how ready it is for you. Been opening myself up all day, thinking about this moment. Thinking about you using me."
Shane can't move. Can't think. Can only stare.
"Come on." Rozanov wiggles his ass. "Come eat me out. Get tongue in my hole. I want to feel your spit inside me before you fuck me."
Shane drops to his knees behind him.
"That is it - " Rozanov moans as Shane spreads him wider. "Eat my ass, Hollander. Eat it like you are starving. Get me nice and sloppy for your cock."
Shane licks over his hole, and Rozanov keens.
"Yes - fuck - just like that - shove tongue inside me - I want to feel it - "
Shane buries his face in Rozanov's ass. He licks and sucks and devours, fucking his tongue into that tight heat, and Rozanov is making sounds Shane has never heard from him before - high-pitched whines and desperate moans, pushing back against Shane's face like he can't get enough.
"So good - " Rozanov is babbling. "So fucking good - your tongue feels amazing - but I need more - I need your cock - please, Hollander, I am so empty - "
"You want my cock?" Shane pulls back, wipes his mouth. His confidence is building now, fed by Rozanov's desperation. "You want me to fuck this slutty hole?"
"Yes - " Rozanov's voice breaks. "Yes, I want it - I need it - please - I do anything - I be so good for you - just fuck me - "
Shane lines up and pushes in.
xxx
The first press of his cock against Rozanov's hole makes Shane's brain white out.
He pushes in slow - the head pops past the tight ring of muscle, and then he's sliding in, inch by inch, and Rozanov is so tight, so hot, so fucking perfect -
"Blyad' - " Rozanov shoves his face into the pillow, hands fisting in the sheets. "Yes - yes - fill me up - give me all of it - "
Shane bottoms out with a groan.
He's inside Rozanov. After seven years, he's finally inside Rozanov.
"Move." Rozanov's voice is muffled by the pillow. "Hollander - move - fuck me - I need you to fuck me - "
Shane pulls back and thrusts in.
The sound Rozanov makes isn't human.
"Harder - " Rozanov is pushing back to meet him. "Harder - fuck me harder - treat me like whore - I am whore - your whore - "
"Jesus - " Shane's face is burning again. "Rozanov - "
"Call me slut." Rozanov turns his head, meets Shane's eyes over his shoulder. "Tell me I am your cumslut. Tell me my hole was made to be fucked. Tell me I am nothing but hole for your cock - "
Shane has never said anything like that in his life. Has never even thought about saying things like that.
But Rozanov's eyes are wild with want, and his hole is clenching around Shane like it never wants to let go, and something snaps.
"You are a slut." Shane grabs Rozanov's hips, starts fucking him harder. "Look at you - begging for my cock like a desperate little whore. Is this what you wanted? To get fucked like a cheap slut?"
"YES - " Rozanov screams into the pillow. "Yes - that is it - more - "
"Seven years you've been fucking me - " Shane pounds into him. "Seven years of being in control. And now look at you - face down, ass up, begging for cock like a bitch in heat."
"I am bitch - " Rozanov is sobbing with pleasure. "Your bitch - fuck me like your bitch - breed me - fill me up - "
Shane has never felt like this before. Never felt this powerful, this dominant, this unhinged. Every filthy word that comes out of Rozanov's mouth makes him harder, makes him thrust faster, makes him want to ruin this man completely.
"I'm gonna cum - " Shane's rhythm is faltering. "Rozanov - I'm gonna - "
"Inside me - " Rozanov reaches back, grabs Shane's ass, pulls him deeper. "Cum inside my slutty hole - fill me up - I want to be dripping with it - "
Shane buries himself to the hilt and explodes.
He can feel himself pumping into Rozanov, filling him up, and Rozanov is moaning and clenching around him, milking every drop.
"Yes - " Rozanov's voice is awed. "I can feel it - so hot - so much - fuck, Hollander - "
Shane collapses on top of him, panting.
"Sorry - " he manages. "Sorry I didn't last longer - "
"Do not apologize." Rozanov turns over, pulls Shane into a kiss. "That was perfect. And we have all weekend. You are going to fuck me in every position possible."
"Every position?"
Rozanov grins.
"Every single one. Now get hard again and get back inside me. I want to cum on your cock."
xxx
They fuck on the bed - missionary with Rozanov's legs over Shane's shoulders, bent nearly in half.
"Deeper - " Rozanov is clawing at Shane's back, leaving scratches. "Fuck - so deep like this - I feel you in my fucking throat - "
"Yeah?" Shane snaps his hips harder, watches his cock disappear into Rozanov's body. "You like that? Like getting your slutty hole stuffed?"
"Love it - " Rozanov's eyes are rolling back. "Love your cock - love being your fucktoy - use me, Hollander - use my hole - "
"Such a desperate whore." Shane can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. Can't believe how good it feels to say them. "Begging for cock like you can't live without it."
"Cannot - " Rozanov is sobbing. "Cannot live without your cock - need it - need you inside me always - "
Shane wraps a hand around Rozanov's cock, strokes him rough and fast.
"Cum for me. Cum while I'm inside you. Let me feel that slutty hole clench around my cock."
Rozanov cums with a scream.
xxx
They fuck against the wall - Shane holding Rozanov up, bouncing him on his cock like he weighs nothing.
"So strong - " Rozanov is marveling, running his hands over Shane's arms. "Did not know you could hold me like this - "
"Shut up and take it." Shane slams up into him. "Take my cock like the whore you are."
Rozanov's head falls back against the wall.
"Yes - fuck - yes - call me whore again - "
"Whore." Shane bites his neck. "Slut. Cumslut. Cocksleeve. My personal fucktoy."
"Yours - " Rozanov is shaking apart. "All yours - only yours - "
He cums untouched, splattering both their chests.
xxx
They fuck in the shower - Rozanov bent over with his hands on the tile, water streaming over them.
"You are so loose now - " Shane marvels, fucking into him easily. "So sloppy. I can feel my cum inside you."
"Add more." Rozanov pushes back. "Fill me up again. I want to be dripping with it."
"Greedy slut."
"Your greedy slut." Rozanov turns his head, grins. "Now shut up and breed me."
Shane breeds him.
xxx
They take a break to eat room service.
Rozanov sits gingerly on the bed, wincing, and Shane feels a surge of pride.
"Sore?"
"Very." Rozanov's grin is wicked. "Not sore enough. I want more."
"You're insatiable."
"For you? Yes." Rozanov pushes his plate aside, spreads his legs. Cum is leaking out of his swollen, puffy hole. "I want you to destroy me, Hollander. I want to not walk for week."
Shane's cock twitches.
"Eat your dinner first."
"Make me."
Shane shoves a forkful of steak into Rozanov's mouth, then shoves his cock into Rozanov's ass.
Rozanov moans around the steak.
xxx
On the second day, Rozanov pulls out a box.
It's sleek and black, expensive-looking, and when Rozanov opens it Shane's breath catches.
Inside, nestled in velvet, is a set of glass anal beads - hand-blown Murano glass, perfectly clear with swirls of deep blue and gold. Each bead is larger than the last, ending with one bigger than a tennis ball.
And next to them, a double-ended glass dildo - long and thick, with a bulbous head on each end. It's beautiful, catching the light like a work of art.
"Is from Italy." Rozanov strokes the glass reverently. "I have them made special. Beads are for me. Double-ended one..." He looks up at Shane with dark eyes. "That one is for both of us."
Shane's mouth goes dry.
"Both of us?"
"Da." Rozanov's grin is filthy. "I want to feel you on other end. Want us to fuck ourselves together - meet in middle - cum at same time." His voice drops. "I want to be connected to you. Literally."
Shane has never - he's never even imagined -
"You want me to - to put that inside me? While it's inside you?"
"I want us to share it." Rozanov pulls the double-ended dildo out, holds it up. It's at least eighteen inches long, thick and heavy, gleaming in the light. "I want to watch your face while we fuck ourselves on same toy. I want to feel every time you move. I want to drown in you, Hollander."
Shane's cock throbs.
"Okay." His voice comes out hoarse. "Okay. Yes. Let's - let's do that."
xxx
Rozanov preps him slowly, reverently.
"Relax." Rozanov's fingers are slick with lube, circling Shane's hole. "Let me open you up. Been doing this to you for seven years - you know how good it feels."
"It's different - " Shane gasps as one finger slides inside. "When I know we're going to - "
"Going to what?" Rozanov crooks his finger, finds Shane's prostate. "Going to fuck ourselves on same cock? Going to be connected? Going to cum together?"
"Fuck - " Shane's hips jerk. "Rozanov - "
"Two fingers now." Rozanov works him open, slow and thorough. "That is it. Open up for me. I want you nice and loose."
By the time Rozanov has four fingers inside him, Shane is shaking.
"Ready." Shane gasps. "I'm ready - please - "
"Okay." Rozanov pulls his fingers out, reaches for the double-ended dildo. "On your back. Face me. I want to watch you."
They position themselves - lying on their backs, legs spread, feet almost touching. Rozanov slicks up the dildo with an obscene amount of lube.
"I go first." Rozanov presses one end against his own hole, and Shane watches - transfixed - as the thick glass slides inside him. "Oh - fuck - yes - "
He takes about six inches, then stops, panting.
"Your turn." Rozanov angles the other end toward Shane. "Take it, Hollander. Let me feel you."
Shane reaches down, guides the glass to his hole, and pushes.
The stretch is - god - it's so much, thick and unyielding, filling him up in a way that's completely different from Rozanov's cock. He can feel the weight of it, the solidity, and knowing that Rozanov is on the other end -
"That is it." Rozanov's voice is strained with pleasure. "Take it deeper. I want to feel you."
Shane pushes until they're almost meeting in the middle - just a few inches of glass visible between them.
"Now move." Rozanov starts fucking himself on his end. "Fuck yourself. Let me feel every thrust."
Shane moves.
The sensation is insane. Every time he pushes forward, the glass shifts inside Rozanov. Every time Rozanov pulls back, Shane feels the dildo tug at his own hole. They're connected - literally, physically connected - fucking themselves on the same toy.
"Blyad' - " Rozanov's head is thrown back. "Hollander - I can feel you - I can feel every time you move - "
"I feel you too - " Shane is losing his mind. "Feel you on the other end - it's so - fuck - "
They find a rhythm - pushing and pulling, meeting in the middle, the glass sliding in and out of both of them. Rozanov reaches for his cock, starts stroking himself, and Shane mirrors him.
"Look at us." Rozanov's voice is awed. "Both stuffed full. Both desperate. Both sluts for this cock."
"Both sluts." Shane agrees, and the admission makes his hole clench.
"Cum with me." Rozanov's hand speeds up on his cock. "Cum at same time. I want to feel you clench while I clench - I want us to fall apart together - "
"Close - " Shane is barely holding on. "So close - Rozanov - "
"Now." Rozanov's voice breaks. "Now, Hollander - "
They cum together.
Shane feels it everywhere - his own orgasm ripping through him, his hole clenching around the glass, and on the other end, Rozanov's body doing the same thing. The dildo shifts and pulses between them as they both spasm, both shoot, both fall apart completely.
Cum splatters across Shane's stomach.
Cum splatters across Rozanov's stomach.
And they're still connected - still joined by the glass inside them - shaking through the aftershocks together.
"Holy fuck." Shane can barely speak.
"Da." Rozanov sounds equally wrecked. "Holy fuck."
They lie there for a long moment, breathing hard, neither of them willing to pull the dildo out.
"Again?" Rozanov asks eventually.
Shane laughs - breathless, delirious.
"Give me five minutes."
"I give you two."
xxx
Later - much later - they use the beads.
Shane takes his time with them, working each glass sphere into Rozanov's body one by one, watching him stretch and clench and beg.
"More - " Rozanov is delirious, face wet with tears. "Hollander - more - I can take more - "
"One more." Shane presses the final bead - the massive one - against Rozanov's rim. "Can you take it? Can you take this for me, you greedy little slut?"
"Yes - " Rozanov bears down, and Shane watches in awe as his body opens up, stretches impossibly wide, swallows the bead whole. "Oh - fuck - it is so big - I am so full - "
"Look at you." Shane is transfixed. "Stuffed full of glass. Taking it like the desperate whore you are."
"Your whore - " Rozanov is sobbing. "Your slut - your hole - anything you want - anything - "
Shane fucks him with the beads until Rozanov cums twice, then slides them out and replaces them with his cock.
Rozanov's hole is so loose, so sloppy, that there's almost no resistance.
"So wrecked." Shane groans, fucking into that gaping hole. "Rozanov - I completely wrecked you."
"Yes - " Rozanov sounds satisfied even through his exhaustion. "Yes - I am ruined - your cock ruined me - I will never be same - "
Shane cums inside him for the sixth time that weekend.
xxx
On the morning of day three, they lie tangled together in the ruined sheets.
The room reeks of sex. The glass toys are scattered across the nightstand. Rozanov is tucked against Shane's chest, breathing slow and steady, finally asleep after forty-eight hours of barely resting.
Shane presses a kiss to the top of his head.
Seven years they've been doing this. Seven years of Hollander and Rozanov, rivals on the ice, desperate for each other off it.
Tonight, something shifted. They're not saying what it means. Not putting words to it.
But when Rozanov sighs in his sleep and burrows closer, Shane thinks maybe they don't need to.
Some things don't need words.
Damn it, Shane can't say it today.
But one day soon.