Work Text:
The sensation of Ilya Rozanov’s magnificent cock filling him up and stretching him, was an addiction Shane Hollander did not know how to quit.
Not that he’d want to.
Not that he’d ever even made an attempt to quit.
Ilya just consumed him; and he was letting the Russian do it.
Every single hour of every single day he thought about his hot situationship with his shocking blue eyes, his cut figure with an ass so delectable that any thought of it instantly made Shane horny and of course; his dick.
It was like he was in a trance most days. Like clockwork he’d wake up in the morning, get in the shower just to jerk off thinking about one of their previous encounters. It was usually Vegas with the chair, that was the one that plagued his mind, even nearly a year later. Shane was likely to never get over the feeling of being watched by Ilya, he’d probably still think about it on his deathbed in sixty years time or whatever.
Then, he’d go to practice with his teammates, trying to get a sense of normalcy to his thoughts, trying to push the Russian out of his mind as he did all kinds of drills. He was happy to report that it was not affecting his game, because it wasn’t. To further Shane’s confusion; it was having quite the opposite effect. He’d never played this good. Case in point they just knocked Boston out of the play offs and were on their way to the final of the Stanley Cup.
Yet the second he finishes a game, his thoughts always filter back to his rival. Again, Vegas, crawling on the bed in need of Ilya, being watched as he fingered himself open for Ilya, face in the mattress as he’s pounded by Ilya.
Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.
And amongst all this, he wonders what Rozanov’s doing and if he’s just as horny for him. Shane knows he’s probably not, he sleeps with other people and Shane is only sleeping with Ilya. He most likely doesn’t have as much pent up sexual tension in his body as Shane.
He probably doesn’t spend his days counting down to the next time that Montreal plays Boston; feeling like every other fixture, all the other games just don’t compare. Shane does; somehow, knowing that win or lose he was going to have some of the best sex of his life. It was incomparable.
Powerful, euphoric, hot.
That’s how he felt when he had Ilya’s undivided attention, that’s how he felt when he’s manhandled and contorted into all sorts of positions and that’s how he felt when Ilya pounded him so hard he blacked out; it’s happened a couple of times.
Long story, short; It was all he thought about these days, being fucked by Ilya.
Until he met the Russian, Shane never knew he could be such a raunchy individual.
He’d only had sex once before that fateful encounter in room 1410, and it was an awkward thing to even remember. Two teenagers (Sorry, Jessica) very poorly giving each other hand jobs and realising that they didn’t fit together.
There was none of that awkwardness with Ilya.
If anything, Ilya made him feel deviously slutty. The feeling of longing for Ilya’s cock, the concept of wanting it so badly that he doesn’t even look at other people twice, the idea of their bodies pressed together, connected in raw, earth-shattering sex that had lasting effects on his body days after. He was so down bad for Ilya but deep down he knew that he must also have a similar power over the Russian.
After all, he kept on coming back to Shane.
Their sex was extraordinary. It truly was.
The way Ilya could make him come hands free time and time again, the way he worshipped Shane’s body (particularly his hips and stomach for some reason) and in turn let Shane worship him. The feeling of their bodies combining in such a way that no feeling, even that of beating the other in a game of hockey was just ever so slightly starting to lose its thrill by comparison.
And tonight was no different.
Shane was bent over his Kitchen Island, chest flat against it, the cool marble sending chills through his nipples as Ilya opened him up with three long and thick fingers. It didn’t matter how many times they fucked or for how long they fucked; Shane was tight. And so, every time his knuckles pushed past Shane’s ring of muscles he couldn’t help but push back into them, enjoying the burn, needing the stretch, aching for it. Even with Ilya’s other hand pushing him down onto the countertop to try and stop him. He couldn’t help himself.
Ilya chuckled at the neediness Shane was displaying. “Such a perfect little slut, you want me to fuck you so bad, da?”
Shane’s moans filled the air, frenzied, guttural, whining almost. It was sounds that had never been heard by anyone other than Ilya, moans that no one else could ever make come out of him. His legs were shaking and his heart racing.
That was something that was a recent development, a recent realisation. Ilya called him a slut in passing a couple of months ago and Shane’s body had reacted so strongly Ilya was now milking it for all it was worth.
Shane liked the idea of being slutty, of being Rozanov’s slut.
It came from deep within his brain, a need to please. That’s why he liked it; it was Ilya’s version of praise.
And Shane loved to be praised.
“Oh fuck, Rozanov, please, please fuck me”
“We’ll see” Shane feels Ilya’s breath hot by his ears, he’s stopped all movement of his fingers and Shane feels delirious with want. Shane’s pretty sure he may have mumbled something in French he was that out of it. He was trying desperately to move back on Ilya’s fingers again to get something going. “Ah-ah, no”
Just like that, the fingers were gone.
Shane cried at the sudden loss of Ilya’s fingers, feeling them slip out of his hole and leaving his body shaking with need and desire. Shane mourns them, hoping he could be good enough to earn Ilya’s cock.
But it’s not his cock, or his fingers he feels there next, it’s his tongue.
Ilya began to lap at his fluttering hole and Shane thinks he’s seeing stars, His moans become a mess of blabbering cries as the Russian began to tongue fuck him.
Shane tried to move, tried to reach back and grab onto Ilya’s hair but he was stopped almost instantly, his own hands being clasped together. “No, you do as I say, Hollander”
Shane loved being bossed around by Ilya so naturally, the promise of being told what to do excited him. He feels Ilya come up from his position behind Shane and guide his hands to hold his own cheeks open. Ilya told him to spread and Shane felt his face go hot.
Shane felt a little exposed; which is ridiculous considering Ilya has kissed, played with and fucked every inch of him.
But there was something very vulnerable about the position he was in, bent over, ass in the air, holding his cheeks apart. He felt himself become overwhelmed with shyness. He tried to push it down and found he could ground himself. It was a few seconds before he managed to control his breathing a bit; but when he did, a boldness came from within.
Heart stammering in his chest, he pushed his shyness down further, caught his breath and dared to ask Ilya a question. “Do… Do I look pretty?”
He hears Ilya gasp, and he feels a sense of victory that he’s had some sort of effect on the Russian. He feels Ilya’s hands smoothly gliding over the skin of his thighs and even his fingers gently circling his hole. He’s already very sensitive so he lets out an excited cry at the contact. “The prettiest, Hollander. This hole is mine, this ass is mine, you are mine. Fuck, you’re so sexy”
As the Russian was far more experienced in sex than Shane was, any praise immediately set Shane off again. He always wanted to impress him, meet him at his level. He wanted to be what Ilya thought about when he fucked other girls, he wanted to be the best fuck of his life. He wanted to take every inch of him, be good for him, do exactly as he said.
He’s still reeling a little when he begins to feel Ilya’s tongue again and just like that, he’s moaning and groaning like never before. But this time, Ilya’s humming as he kisses, licks and tongues his ass, the vibrations completely setting Shane alight. Despite him holding his cheeks open, Ilya’s grabbing handfuls of Shane’s pert butt himself.
Shane’s hands eventually become a little slack as he loses himself in the sensations. He's worried he isn’t being good for Ilya briefly but then Ilya lands a huge smack on his left cheek and all thoughts leave his mind.
He lets out a moan so ridiculously wild and filthy that it spurs his counterpart on. Blow after blow, lick after lick, this was the best Ilya’s ever eaten his ass and Shane was fucking losing his mind.
Shane was starting to feel otherworldly, like his body was floating in a pleasure so sinful he could stay in that space forever. He could hear Ilya mumbling something about him being ‘a good little slut’ and it just sent more pleasure shooting through him. I’m your good little slut, he thinks to himself, maybe even says aloud but he’s not sure. He’s so in his head.
This goes on for an incomprehensible length of time and Shane is seeing stars. However, there is an issue which is growing very quickly in Shane’s mind. Shane feels himself, painfully hard as his erection is trapped between his stomach and the kitchen island top. The pressure is too much, and being the desperate slut for Ilya’s cock that he is, he felt like he was going to cum too quickly and not even get to have the object of his desire.
He was moaning, rambling, mumbling, trying to string words together. He’s trying to say stop, he thinks. His tongue just wasn’t working in his mouth. He lets go of his own ass and with what strength he could muster, bangs his hand on the table.
Ilya stops immediately.
Just like that; the pleasure that was within Shane’s body started to come down. Shane could think again, he could sense he was coming back to himself. Ilya rubs his back. “Are you okay, Hollander?”
“Yeah… sorry, yeah I’m good”
“Sorry is not needed… Was it too much?” Ilya asked.
“You were perfect, it’s just… I didn’t want to cum, the counter top felt… awkward” Shane sighed, finding strength in his legs. He falters a bit but Ilya is there. He kisses Shane’s neck, wrapping his thick muscular arms around Shane from behind, allowing Shane to lean back on him. Shane felt every muscle in his body go slack, feeling safe with Ilya.
“Do you still want?”
“Fuck yeah, I want” Shane’s breathy in his response. He feels this shyness take over him again. Ilya’s hands are soothing as they roam his skin, bringing Shane back to himself a bit. “I just… well, I didn’t want to cum that way, was painful, a bit”
There’s a brief pause.
“And how do you want to cum?” Ilya’s accent, at this point, was probably enough to make Shane cum. He was used to Ilya saying some of the absolute filthiest things he’s ever heard a human say (particularly over messages!) but the accent on top was so fucking hot to Shane.
“Cock” Shane managed just to get the one word out. As his back was flush with Ilya’s chest, he felt the vibrations of laughter come out of Ilya and fire off across his own body. He’d meant to say ‘on your cock’, but he was so brainfried. Ilya clearly understood him, he always did.
“You love my cock, don’t you?” Ilya’s left hand began to play with Shane’s nipple while his right hand palmed at Shane’s very hard erection.
“Yes” Shane’s voice was breathy as he sighed at the contact. “Wanna come on your cock, so bad”
His confession hung in the air, for a second Shane thinks he’s said too much, revealed too much, wanted too much. He feels Ilya inhale a deep breath behind him, he feels Ilya’s hand pause on his cock, though he continues to play with Shane’s nipple.
When Ilya exhales, Shane becomes aware that he’s holding his own breath too, waiting for Ilya’s judgement on his desire. Surely he would want the same thing, he loves making Shane come hands free.
There’s a second.
A moment.
And then-
“Fuck, Hollander. You’ll kill me, I think” Ilya whispered into Shane’s ear and just like that, they were off again. Touching, sighing, exploring, wanting. Shane began to breathe as he just sank back into Ilya, feeling the Russian’s strong body against his back, his hard cock against him too. “You want me to fuck you into your couch?”
Shane felt a bolt of fire run across his skin and shoot straight to his cock. He thinks he’s already leaking but he’s not sure. “Y-yes, please” He’s begging, Montreal’s star player, is begging his rival to fuck him on his couch after winning a game. “please…”
Within a second, Ilya is lifting Shane up from behind, surprising him with his brute strength. Shane feels his heart skip a beat and his lungs gasp at how easily Ilya picked him, a 200lb man up. He didn’t even break a sweat. Shane was the one sweating at how hot it was. When Ilya seated Shane on the arm of the couch; they became a mess of limbs. They’re exploring, kissing, biting, sucking, but never leaving a mark. Shane’s arousal comes back to him but this time it’s hotter, wetter, filthier… everything he desires.
Time passes and somehow Shane’s still not face to leather while getting fucked yet. He knows he’s practically acting like a whiny baby but he’s been ready for this for weeks. He wanted to be fucked so badly it had begun to alter his brain chemistry.
He’s aware that Ilya puts a condom on, but if he’s being really honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind if he didn’t for once. He’s always wanted to know what it was like to be filled, if it truly feels different like the other guys in the locker room always joked about. He doesn’t bring it up though, Shane hasn’t been tested in a couple months and he’s unsure if Ilya has. He shakes his mind and tries to focus on his partner in this dance.
Ilya’s watching him as he rolls the condom on his extremely hard cock. Shane feels himself get harder, if it was possible. Ilya was big, really big. He was all the nine inches he’d bragged about many times. But that had never been Shane’s favourite thing. It was how thick it was, it always ached and burned when Shane first took it but he took it so well. It also had a slight curve as well as a thick vein that ran along the right side of it. Shane always felt that vein catch on him whenever Ilya slammed in and out of him. It was the closest Shane will ever get to a drug high.
Ilya closed the gap between them and manhandled Shane to bend him over the sofa. Shane’s excitement grew. Ilya asked him if he was okay, because that is what he always did. It made Shane melt slightly. He feels the pressure of Ilya’s head pressing into him. His moan catches in his throat and then- Ilya pushes all the way in and Shane feels a sigh of relief. “Oh fuck, yes”
“Oh god, Hollander. You are always so tight and perfect” Shane preens under Ilya’s praise and it only spurs him on. He tries to move backwards and forwards but Ilya has a tight grip on his hips. “Not so fast, just give me a minute”
“Please, please fuck me, hard” Shane has got to be acting the most embarrassing he’s ever acted but he was deadly serious in thinking he might die if he does not get fucked right that second. He’s completely dick-drunk, he knows it. But he scored a hattrick and now he’s getting dicked down, he doesn’t care. He was full of confidence. “Fucking want you, Rozanov”
Ilya moaned and began to pull out and slam back into Shane. The pace is normal for around thirty seconds before Ilya quickens his hips. Then, Shane’s face is in the leather of his sofa, it’s cool texture smooshing his face as Ilya’s hand is on the side of his face to keep him in place and the Russian is pounding into him like never before.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” Shane moaned with increasing volume, completely gone. “Fuck!”
“Oh god Hollander, these noises” Ilya grumbled as he snapped his hips, sweat building on both their bodies, warmth surrounding them as they began to build towards their end. The air was filled with only Shane’s moans and the sound of their skin slapping. It was complete filth, purely wild animalistic sensuality. Shane felt like he was on top of the world. Ilya was there with him.
“Am I being good?” Shane managed to choke out between the hundreds of quick breaths, the moaning and the whining. He feels Ilya’s hand tighten around his hips in response, fingers digging and most likely to leave marks. Which at that very moment in time, Shane did not give a single fuck about. He knows he will tomorrow, if he gets bruises there.
“So good, so fucking good for me every time, Hollander”
Shane still wanted it harder. And so he said as such, Ilya obliged. Luckily for Shane, Ilya was an athlete and had the stamina to snap his hips like his life depended on it. It became brutal and Shane began to see white spots in his vision. He was almost there and so was Ilya. He felt his cock become extraordinarily painful with pleasure and when it ripped through his entire body, he was pretty sure he was about to black out. Ilya’s hips began to thrust in a discombobulated rhythm and Shane felt Ilya reach his end.
As the pleasure took over, he choked out a ‘cum on me’ but collapsed onto the sofa before he could gauge if Ilya had heard him. Everything went black for a moment. Maybe a minute even, he’s really unsure. All he knows is his body is floating but also feels like it’s been crushed by a truck.
Fuck.
Holy fucking shit.
Shane thinks that it might be their best sex yet. Certainly their filthiest.
When his brain comes too and the room comes into view, he sees Ilya sprawled out on the floor by the couch, the condom on the coffee table and he feels Ilya’s come running down his thighs and pooling on his back. Evidently, he’d heard Hollander’s sex-drunk request.
Ilya is breathing very heavily and he’s mumbling away in Russian. Shane finds it so incredibly hot still but pushes that thought process away for another time.
Time seems to have slowed down around Shane. Or maybe his body had, he wasn’t entirely sure how long they’re both just laid there.
Shane felt like he couldn’t move, like he’d taken a hit on the ice and was on bed rest. He ached from his head to his toes; but goodness did it feel so good. And so right. He deserved it. It was his night. He’d scored a hattrick in game seven, he’d sent Montreal through to the play-off finals with said hattrick and he’s engaged in the best sex of his life with the very rival he’d just knocked out of the cup. It was most definitely his night.
He still tried to move despite the fact his body felt like it had been run over by a zamboni. Mainly because he hated any mess and needed to shower and wash this cum off of him, even if he asked for it. And that condom on the coffee table was absolutely top priority, it needed to go. So he tried to move, but of course, he failed miserably.
He put one leg on the floor and decided to try and stand. However, he just half falls off the sofa and has to fight his screaming body to pull himself back onto it. His brain is still mushy and so he was struggling to get back on the couch.
He felt an arm around his waist, strong and somehow not shaking in the way his own was. He pulls him up, his chest pressing into Shane’s back. Somehow, Ilya has the strength to just spin Shane around, dizzying him. Shane grabs onto Ilya’s shoulders to balance himself as they fall to the couch together.
Ilya lays on the couch with Shane on top of him; them both breathing and staring into one another's eyes, something Shane wasn’t comfortable doing with really anyone else. Ilya’s smiling the most earth-shattering smile and Shane feels himself being pushed to the edge of insanity. “Not bad, Hollander”
“Not bad,” Shane grinned, disbelief flooding through his system and he lays, chest to chest with Ilya and they’re both still panting hard.
Ilya kisses him, not with the desperation and wanton lust they’d both been displaying the whole night, but with a slight tenderness, reminding Shane of the kiss in the stairwell of his apartment building after they first had anal sex. Shane’s favourite kiss, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s a divine kiss, even with all the sweat and filth and faint cigarette taste.
When their lips part, Ilya’s got his signature smirk plastered across his face. “Remember the CCM commercial and how shy you were? Now look at you”
“Fuck you, I was eighteen and had never been with a man before, of course I was shy!” Shane buried his face into the crook of Ilya’s neck. He begins to feel that shyness coming back to him now. He knows his skin is flushed all over. He’s feeling a little overstimulated too but as soon as that thought enters his mind, Ilya’s left hand begins to rub his back soothingly.
“Are you okay?” Rozanov whispers softly, still swirling his hand on Shane’s back.
“Yeah, better than okay” Shane sighs, almost stifling a yawn.
“Good, you want a shower?”
“In a minute” Shane agreed, still not really feeling his legs were strong enough to walk. He feels Ilya kiss his shoulder, again one of the many things Ilya does post sex just to help bring Shane back to himself a bit. After Vegas, when Shane felt he hadn’t been cared for properly by Ilya, he’d shared that concern with him. Ilya had apologised and had since been an expert top in every single department.
“Okay, a minute” Ilya sighed, wrapping both his arms around Shane. Both content to just bask in the afterglow of their sex. “Maybe I can suck you off in the shower, if you want”
“You are ridiculous,” Shane sighed. “We’ve just had the best sex we’ve ever had and yet you want more? How high is your sex drive, exactly?”
“Can you blame me?” Ilya kissed him again, deep and full of want and longing. Shane was dizzy. “You’re so hot, sexy, fun and fuck that mouth and that ass are incredible!”
“Shut up, Rozanov!” Shane laughed as Ilya began to nibble his ear. “I’ll make you shower by yourself”
They both laughed, Shane wondering why he allowed himself all those years ago to get into this situationship with Ilya. He really wouldn’t make any different choices, he’d loved every second of it. But he wonders if Ilya hadn’t been so bold to approach, would they even know each other in the way they do now.
He hoped they would.
They lay together for another few minutes before Ilya whisks Shane up and takes him to the shower, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. Shane argues the entire way there and feels embarrassment at how easily Ilya managed to rile him up to be semi hard again. Ilya smirks and Shane realises the Russian is going to get his way.
So after another session in the shower, one in which Ilya sucks the lifeforce out of Shane through his dick, they wash, dry and dress. Ilya’s shirt seems to have disappeared from wherever he’d flung it before and so Shane lends him one. Ilya puts his shoes on and Shane just leans against the wall in his boxers and unzipped hoodie.
Ilya looks him up and down when he stands up and kisses him senselessly. When Shane reminds Ilya he needs to go because he has an early flight, Ilya makes a comment about Shane making it very hard to leave, with his current attire. “I’ll wear lots of layers next time then”
“No, you should wear nothing”
“All the time? Even on the ice?”
“That would be hot”
“So you want everyone to see me naked then?” Shane teased and he watched as the cogs turned in Ilya’s head. In response, Ilya just pushed him against the wall again, kissing him on his neck, face, lips, groping what he could. Shane indulges him for a few minutes before breaking them apart. “Go”
“Yeah, I should” Ilya nodded, landing a small parting kiss on his lips. “Good luck next week, I’ll be watching”
“Thank you, hopefully I’ll finally know what it feels like” Shane grins, referencing back to when Ilya teased him about his cup win nearly a year ago. Ilya just smirked his usual annoying smirk and Shane shoved him lightly. “Go on, get lost before your teammates send a search party”
“Fine, fine” Ilya grabs his coat and walks to Shane’s door. Shane unlocked it for him and landed another small goodnight kiss before Ilya walked out. “Goodnight, Hollander”
“Goodnight, Rozanov”
The door closed and Shane found he hadn't breathed much the last few minutes. He took in a few deep breaths before looking around his apartment. His coffee table was skewed and one of his barstools had fallen on the floor. His rug under the coffee table was also half rolled up. He felt himself flush with embarrassment before resolving to tidying up.
He moved everything to its regular place, cleaned the surfaces down and turned all the lights off in the living area. He moved to his bedroom and got under his covers. He picked his phone off of his bedside table and replied to some text from teammates about that evening's win and missing Shane at the bar. Shane promised he’d go out if they won the cup next week. He was about to put his phone on the bedside table when it buzzed.
Lily: i miss that asshole already
Lily: think I saw god tonight
Shane rolled his eyes. How Ilya could be so charming to Shane when what actually came out of his mouth, or in this case what he text, was mostly filthy garbage was beyond him.
Jane: i’m going to sleep, behave
Lily: i don’t think i can sleep, i close my eyes and all i can see is you bent over the sofa
Jane: stop it!
Jane: save it for next time
Lily: you’re blushing, aren’t you?
Lily: but okay, i will leave it for next time
Lily: goodnight jane
Jane: goodnight lily
Shane closed his phone and placed it back on his bedside table. He laid down on the pillow and found himself grinning like an idiot. He’s such an asshole.
He felt sleep begin to creep over him.
He spent the last few moments of consciousness memorising every part of his evening with Ilya, they way they connected, the way they moved, the way they fucked brutally on his sofa. He also remembers the softness, the care, the worship. Ilya was unbelievably crass sometimes, most of the time even, but Shane liked how bold he was. He was chaotic but in a way that Shane’s organised mind enjoyed.
Quite clearly, he enjoyed it a lot.
Sometimes he wished things were different; that he and Ilya were anonymous people in the world, who didn’t have to meet in the dark all the time; it would be nice to be able to go to each other’s house in daylight or… Shane wasn’t sure where that train of thought would take him. He didn’t expect anything more than what they already were to one another; even if sometimes he had secretly hoped for more.
But no, this was familiar, safe.
Routine.
He shook his head and closed his eyes, his mind beginning to calm as everything washed over him and sleep took hold. The last thing he thought of was bright blue eyes and the taste of cigarettes and vodka.