Chapter Text
Shane
“Hey Hollander! You seen this?” Comeau's voice echoed above the din of the locker room, breaking Shane out of his pre-game focus.
“Seen what?” Shane replied, furrowing his brow in confusion.
Comeau pointed his phone in Shane’s direction, a video already playing on the screen. Shane could hear moaning coming from the phone’s speaker, too loud to be drowned out by the chatter of the players around them. On the screen a man with a head of blonde curls was on his hands and knees, moaning and keening as an unseen man pounded his cock into him.
“What is this?” Shane sputtered, his heart rate picking up.
“It’s fucking Rozanov,” Comeau said with a grin, “Who would’ve thought right?”
“You can’t even tell if that’s him,” Shane scoffed, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. You couldn’t easily identify Rozanov at this angle, but Shane recognized those breathless gasps and moans.
“Oh just wait a second,” Comeau smirked.
On the screen, the man rolled onto his back, face fully visible to the camera, and Shane felt his heart drop to his stomach. The video was clearly a few years old; Ilya looked younger, muscles less bulky and defined, cheeks softer and rounder, but it was obviously him. His skin was flushed a light pink, his cock hard and shiny against the taut skin of his stomach. The golden crucifix around his neck glinted in the dim light. He gave a grin to whoever was behind the camera, and said something in Russian before throwing his head back with a loud moan as the unseen man began pounding into him again, leaving Ilya gasping and groaning underneath him.
“He looks like he fucking loves it huh?” Comeau said snidely.
“Where did you get this?” Shane managed to stammer out. He felt like the room was spinning around him, colors beginning to blur together in a hideous cacophony that made him nauseous.
“It’s all over Twitter,” Comeau replied, and Shane felt the room spinning faster.
“Never would’ve figured Rozanov liked it up the ass,” someone else chimed in behind them.
On the screen, Ilya had started stroking his cock, mouth falling open as he stared into the camera lens shamelessly.
“C’mon man, I don’t want to watch this,” Shane croaked, shoving the phone away from himself.
His mind was reeling, and there were too many people standing around, peering over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the phone. He stumbled back, the ringing in his ears drowning out the chatter of the locker room. It felt like he was sinking through the floor. He needed to find Ilya, he knew he was in the home team's locker room, close enough for Shane to run to, but what excuse could he give? What would Ilya’s team think if Shane Hollander came rushing into the locker room to comfort his rival after his sex tape leaked?
Oh god. His team.
Shane scrambled for his phone, banging his hand on the side of his locker in his haste.
“Fuck!” He shouted, shaking his wrist furiously to try and dull the sharp sting.
“You good Hollander?” He heard someone call out behind him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he managed to mutter, waving shakily over his shoulder as he lurched towards the door.
Ilya. I need to get to Ilya.
The thought repeated in his head over and over as he stumbled out of the locker room and into the cold hallway behind the heavy door. He jumped as the door slammed behind him, pressing his hand to his chest with a gasp.
His fingers fumbled across his phone, until they landed on the right contact. Lily.