Chapter Text
Crying in the elevator in a crumpled tuxedo.
Shane felt pathetic. Sad. Desperate.
Like the good boy—the whore—he was, Shane had gone to Ilya and allowed the Russian to use his body. Then, Shane had been promptly discarded to stumble out of the penthouse without so much as a second glance from the man who had just been inside of him, plowing Shane deep and hard and fast. Shane felt cheap and silly for having come to Ilya so easily, especially after six months of radio silence.
Shane felt daft. Naive. Of course Ilya did this again. Shane was clearly a sure thing. Two years of suggestive texts, and Shane had readily given up his…virginity certainly wasn’t the right word, but it was the best word to describe the experience in Montreal. And Shane had been so easy from the start, honestly: he fell to his knees for Ilya immediately after the commercial shoot, sucking him off with enthusiasm if not with apparent inexperience. Then, he’d let Ilya damn near rearrange his guts in Montreal their very first time. He was ready to risk it all in the bathroom at an awards show. And now, now, he had done it again. Face down, ass up for Ilya without so much as receiving an apology for having been ghosted for months.
The silence, in Ilya’s hotel room after the sex, had been so painful. The immediacy of it was cruel and hurtful. Shane had rewarded Ilya for his win, done everything the man had asked for. Shane had been open. Soft. Wet. Tight. And good. He bloomed for Ilya. But it hadn’t been enough, clearly.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal Shane’s floor. By the time he was unlocking his room with the key card, Shane’s tears had dried and his resolve had steeled. He would fuck Ilya, because of course he would—he was obsessed with the man—but Ilya would not be his only. Shane would no longer sit around waiting for Ilya Rozanov. Shane would no longer be a name on a long list of Ilya’s conquests.
Shane could play the game, too. Better even.
Travis was the first post-Vegas: a baseball player who was traded to the Los Angeles Dodgers from the Chicago Sox.
Shane was shocked when Travis had sidled up to him at a charity event and smiled cheekily, whispering low, “I couldn’t help but notice you staring at me from across the room.”
Shane blushed. He had been staring. But Travis was so Shane’s type in that he was tall, muscular, rough-looking, curly-haired.
“I’m sorry.”
Travis’ smile brightened, “don’t be. I only noticed because I was staring too. You are very attractive, Shane Hollander.”
Shane’s blush spread down his neck, “oh. Thank you.”
Shane was a slut.
With or without Ilya, Shane was cock-hungry and pliant. And he wasn’t surprised to find himself, only an indecent three hours after their initial meeting, spread across his hotel’s bed with four of Travis’ thick fingers plunging and spreading Shane’s hole deep and wide. And once Shane was crying, tearing up, begging, widening his legs for it, Travis hurriedly removed those dexterous fingers, rolled on a condom, lubed up his dick, and pushed into Shane’s body. Travis fucked Shane differently from Ilya. There wasn’t the haste, the aggression, that Shane was used to. Travis fucked his cock slowly into Shane dragging against his walls—his prostate—so gently, carefully, thoroughly. Shane sobbed.
“You’re so fucking tight, Shane.”
Shane shivered, whined and gripped the sheets, muffling his whimpers in a pillow. Travis used his name, his first name. It felt wrong somehow. And to ignore this inclination, Shane pressed down onto the beautiful, cut, 7.5-inch dick that was impaling him. By the time he came, with the assistance of Travis’ talented hand, Shane felt strung out and loose. He was buzzing, thrilled that this wasn’t a feeling he could only receive from Rozanov. Under Rozanov.
Travis wrapped his hard body around Shane’s, his long arms embracing him close, “any time you visit L.A., I need to see you.”
Travis pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of Shane’s nose before pecking one against Shane’s lips. It was all so soft and compassionate and tender. Shane wiggled into the warmth and comfort of it all.
“Okay…um, but I’m not out.” Shane replied awkwardly.
“That’s okay.” Travis assured. “I’m not either. Actually, according to TMZ, I’m a ‘ladies’ man.’”
Shane huffed a laugh, “and you’re not actually?”
“Oh my gosh, no. I have a million friends who are women. Whenever we have lunch, go shopping, hell, grab a coffee, paparazzi assumes we’re fucking.”
“And what about guys?”
“I have a few. Clandestinely scattered about. What about you?”
Shane swallowed. “I have someone in Boston, but that’s it.”
Travis sucked delicately at Shane’s pulse point, “and now you have someone in L.A.”
Shane met Aaron four weeks later in Detroit after a game against the Red Wings. Shane and Hayden were nearly court side at a Pistons game despite Shane arguing how little he cared about basketball. But, when he’d caught the eyes of Aaron—a tall (6’8”) light-skinned Black man with locs up in a bun—after he’d scored a three pointer, Shane was suddenly rapt with attention.
Hayden, a fan of the Pistons evidently, introduced the two of them. And, as soon as their eyes locked, Shane knew where he’d be that night just not in what position.
Aaron held Shane’s wrists tight and bound above his own head as he pounded, absolutely destroyed, Shane’s hole with a dick bigger (somehow) than Ilya’s nine inches. Shane tried, Jesus did he try, to stifle his screams and cries of pleasure, but Aaron wouldn’t let him, grabbing Shane’s jaw with his free hand, forcing him to meet his gaze. Shane sighed. Aaron had such nice, dark eyes.
“I wanna hear you, Shane.” His thrusts turned languid and drawn out so that Shane could feel every inch that tore through him. “I’m too fucking good not to hear about it.”
Shane came. Untouched.
Yet another thing taken from Ilya fucking Rozanov.
And then, because he was absolutely filthy, Aaron stripped off the condom and pushed Shane to his knees. Aaron talked Shane through giving a proper blowjob, hissing when Shane licked just right under the head and sucked a specific sensitive spot where his balls met the shaft; groaning when Shane opened his mouth to show Aaron all his come before Aaron grabbed Shane by the neck and ordered him to, “swallow.”
Shane left Aaron’s Michigan home with a new bag of tricks and a limp in his step.
After that was Hugo from Austin, a soccer player with an uncircumcised dick that reminded Shane, horrifically, of the man he was desperately trying to forget. Hugo taught Shane how to ride dick, using his hips and thighs more than his knees to get the job done.
Then there was Jeremy of the Arizona Coyotes who ate Shane out until he was panting and slobbering into the sheets and pleading the redhead to fuck him, suck him, literally anything. Jeremy had a piercing through the head of his cock that had Shane coming even before the first thrust. When Shane looked up at him, bashful and embarrassed, Jeremy was smirking down at him, so self-indulgent and proud. Shane ignored the twinge of recognition that smirk elicited.
Jeremy was so fucking good. Shane came three times that night: twice from Jeremy’s dick and once from just his mouth on Shane’s hole, tongue-fucking him like he was licking out the bottom of an ice cream cone.
Shane smiled at the memory of it in his own hotel room later that night. Ilya had never made Shane come like that. Yet again, another thing that Ilya motherfucking Rozanov couldn’t conquer or claim to have gotten from Shane.
Lily: Ready to get fucked tonight? And not just on ice.
Shane smiled. He couldn’t help it.
Jane: Sure. I’ll top you on the ice and bottom for you in bed.
Ilya held the phone in his hand in shock. Shane didn’t sext, at least not well.
Lily: What if I want to bottom in bed?
Ilya scoffed. He didn’t bottom. Never had and never will, but if that’s something that Shane wanted…
Jane: Ha!
Jane: Please. I need that cock. Deep inside me. I’m aching for it.
Ilya threw his phone into his cubby earning a look from Marleau. Ilya just shook his head at his teammate, perspiration breaking out across the captain’s forehead. Shane was an anxiety-ridden prude. He didn’t say things like he’s “aching for cock.” Ilya’s phone vibrated, and begrudgingly he grabbed it to face another text from Shane.
Jane: I’ll be open and ready for you at my place. You’ll be able to slip right in ;)
Jane: I can’t wait to ride you
Jane: Suck you
Jane: Have your mouth on my slutty little hole
Ilya was blushing. There was a click in his throat as he swallowed anxiously. Where had all this confidence come from? It’d been almost a year since Ilya had reached out to Shane and he expected (rightfully so) for the Canadian to be contrarian, abrasive, standoffish. Instead he was willing, approachable, amicable. Ilya felt thrown off by it.
Montreal won 3-2.
And as soon as Ilya was inside of Shane’s apartment, Shane was on his knees, opening his mouth nice and wide to suck Ilya down until the head nudged his uvula. Shane didn’t even gag. He just kept sucking Ilya down his throat like a fucking pornstar, moaning around it like this was the pleasure of his life. Then Shane pulled off and looked up at Ilya with false purity.
“Would you like to come in my mouth or in my ass?”
That was the last straw, “what the fuck, Hollander?”
Shane squirmed on his knees, losing his bravado, “what?”
“You are fucking slut now?”
Shane scoffed, wrapping a hand around Ilya’s dick and jerking it to keep it hard as it’d begun to flag, “yes, Rozanov. I’m a slut. Your slut. Don’t you want me?” Shane ran his pretty pink tongue along the slit of Ilya’s dick. “Don’t you want to fuck me? I haven’t had a dick in my ass in like a month. I’m fucking craving it. Give. It. To. Me.”
Ilya startled, staggering back from Shane in shock, “a month?”
Shane smiled up at Ilya before standing slowly, and taking off his clothes. Shane let his clothes fall to the floor. And he left them there, obviously comfortable with taking off his clothes in front of someone else—no longer nervous about hooking up. Ilya’s skin crawled. It itched. It tightened.
Sandwiched between Shane’s thighs, Ilya reached for the lube and condoms in the drawer of Shane’s bedside table. In it, Ilya found a fresh pack of magnums and a nearly empty bottle of lube beside it. Ilya felt sick. Shane had fucked men who required magnums. Big dicked men had been in Shane. In this bed. In this apartment.
“I’m prepped. Go ahead.”
“What the fuck you mean ‘prepped?’”
Shane stared up at Ilya confused. “I mean, I, you know, douched. I stretched with a plug. I’m…ready.”
Ilya’s grip tightened on Shane’s hips. So tightly in fact that Shane flinched.
“You are ready?”
Shane wriggled against Ilya like a horny mutt, “I know we’re short on time. Wanted you to be able to fuck right in.”
“You fuck someone else?” Ilya didn’t mean to come across accusatory, brusque. “Since Vegas?”
Shane averted his eyes, “…yes.”
Ilya threw the condom and lube down on the bed disgusted, as if the items had offended him greatly. “Who?”
“They’re closeted. I can’t—“
“They?!”
Shane fought against smiling. A jealous Ilya was a hot Ilya. “Mhm. A roster.”
“How many?”
“Including you?” Shane asked with faux-innocence. “Five.”
Ilya’s eyes blew open.
Shane smirked and listed off, “a baseball player in California. A basketball player in Michigan. A soccer player in Texas. A hockey player in Arizona. And, obviously, you in Boston.”
Ilya’s mouth went dry, “busy, huh?”
Shane shrugged nonchalantly. “You know how it is. Different city, different body.”
Ilya was nauseous. Sick to his stomach. His erection waned yet again to his mortification. And Shane noticed, frowning down at Ilya’s flaccid cock. Quick to solve the problem, Shane tried to wrap a hand around it to stroke it back to life, but Ilya rolled away, pulling his body from Shane.
For the first time, Shane felt dirty. Undesirable. Ilya disregarded Shane after sex not before.
“Did I…” Shane swallowed, choking on Ilya’s rejection of him. “What can I—“
“Are they better?” Please God, don’t say they’re better.
“Rozanov, that’s not really how—“
“Tell me.” Ilya’s beautiful light eyes were engulfed in blackness, his pupils large and predatory.
“Different.” Shane caved. “Not better. Just different…”
“They make you come hands-free?”
“Rozanov, please. Let’s just—“
“I ask question, Shane. You answer.”
“Once. Only once.”
Ilya’s frown deepened. His breathing grew harsh and arythmic. “They come in your mouth.”
“Rozanov…” Ilya glared at Shane. Angry and…hurt. “Yes. I’ve let them come in my mouth.”
“You fuck without condom?”
“No! Of course not! I’m not risking my health for—“
“Relax, Hollander. Just a fucking question.”
Shane sighed dramatically, “I don’t know why you have all these fucking questions. I’ve never asked you anything about the people you fuck.”
Ilya shrugged, “so ask.” When Shane said nothing, Ilya continued, “I use condom. Everyone comes in my mouth. I make most come hands-free. I have women and men all over the world. They’re all easy. Meaningless. And now, so are you.”
Shane felt his heart drop to his toes.
Ilya stretched, rolled his shoulders, and inhaled through his nose as if preparing for a difficult undertaking. “Ready? Still want to fuck, slutty Hollander?”
Not really. “Mhm. Yeah. Sure.”
Ilya stroked himself hard, he seemingly didn’t want Shane to touch him. Then he rolled on the condom, applied minimal lube, and pushed into Shane in one heavy, aching thrust.
Ilya grunted once fully submerged. “Good to know you’re still tight.”
Shane flinched. Something about the tone. The words themselves. Was callous.
Ilya didn’t wait for Shane to adjust. He didn’t ask if it was “okay.” He just started thrusting immediately—mercilessly.
“Actually.” Ilya bent Shane in half to go deeper. “I like this. With you being ran though, it’s easier to fuck. You’re not so virgin tight anymore.”
“Rozanov—“
“You asked if I wanted to come in your ass or your mouth. I choose your mouth. I want the…the same all the other guys got.”
“Rozanov—“
“You know,” Ilya wrapped strong fingers around Shane’s throat and squeezed. Shane fucking mewled. “I don’t even care about the others. Because I was first, wasn’t I, Hollander?”
Shane nodded, his head bobbing senselessly, “yes! First. You were the first dick I sucked. The first inside me. The first to make me come untouched. You conquered me. Just you.”
Ilya felt some tension leave his spine. His thrusts were still punishing, but instead of being reckless, they were intentional. Shane gnawed at his bottom lip.
“They don’t compare.” Shane gasped. “They’re good, but they don’t compare to the great. Ilya. Rozanov.”
Ilya deflated, falling into Shane, his face buried in his neck and hair. “Say again.”
“No one compares to you, Rozanov. Every time. I always thought about you. What they didn’t do like you. What they couldn’t.”
Ilya shuffled his knees under Shane’s lower back, grinding his dick hard against Shane’s prostate, watching the man’s beautiful flushed dick leak all over his muscled abdomen.
“Say more.”
“Fuck! No one has your mouth. Literally no one.”
Ilya smirked against Shane’s damp skin, “is good mouth.”
“No one talks dirty like you. No one could get me off with just their voice. Just their words.”
Ilya’s hips circled, and Shane’s eyes rolled to the back of his fucking skull, “I know your body, Hollander.”
“Yeah, Rozanov, you do.“
“Better than them?”
“So much better.”
“You like their cocks.” Ilya stilled his hips to get Shane’s undivided attention. “But you love mine.”
Shane nodded helplessly. “I do. Fuck! I love it, Rozanov.”
Ilya continued fucking—brutal, raunchy, and fast. “Say again.”
“I love it, Rozanov.”
“Again!”
Shane came across his own stomach and neck, beautiful viscous streaks along his blushing pink skin. “I love…Rozanov.”
“I know you fucking do.” Ilya pulled out, rolling off the condom and dropping it on the pillow beside Shane’s head. “Now suck my dick. Show me what you’ve learned.”
Shane had evidently learned a lot. Ilya barely lasted past the first swirl of Hollander’s tongue down the length of his dick. “I’m going to come, Hollander.”
Shane pulled off with a lurid pop. “On my tongue. I want to show you how good I am for you. I want you to see it, Rozanov.”
So Rozanov came across Shane’s tongue and plush lips, groaning and moaning like he was fucking dying.
And Shane swallowed it all. Licked up what didn’t make it into his mouth and whined obscenely like it was a five star, Michelin-awarded meal.
After a perfunctory shower, Ilya made a straight line to the door, his hackles rising. He was embarrassingly obvious, begging for Shane’s praise like a needy, clingy bitch. But Ilya was stopped short by Shane standing in front of the door, shuffling sheepishly with his hands in the pouch of his hoodie.
“You don’t get to be mad.” Shane said, his voice quiet but strong. “You don’t get to call me names and shame me for sleeping with other men.”
Ilya rolled his eyes, feeling pinned like a winged butterfly. “I have no time for this, Hollander. Early flight back to—“
“Apologize.”
“What?”
“Apologize to me. For the things you said.”
“I am not apologizing to you—“
“Then find someone else in Montreal.”
Ilya gagged on a retort, shocked by the ferocity in Shane’s voice. In his face.
“As you said. This is meaningless. I’m meaningless…” Shane wiped away a stray tear, and Ilya felt gutted. “So I doubt you’ll care, but if you want to keep fucking me. Having…fun with me, you need to apologize. I won’t tolerate it.”
Ilya scuffed his Adidas against Shane’s shiny wood flooring, ashamed at having been chastised. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
Ilya flashed Shane an annoyed glare. Shane just glared back, unmoved.
“For my…jealous…acting bad.”
“Behavior.”
“For my jealous behavior.”
Shane nodded, appeased. He moved aside, giving Ilya space to leave.
So Ilya left.
It wasn’t until he was outside, in his cab, that Ilya realized he and Shane hadn’t even kissed.