Chapter Text
The corridor that leads to the administrative wing of the rink was a mix of glossy promotional material and tired office aesthetics that always smelt vaguely musty.
Taking the first corridor after the reception Shane followed the familiar route past the medical offices, to the very end of the corridor where the massage/physical therapy room was.
Rapping his knuckled sharply on the door, he waited for the muffled permission to enter.
The masseur's back was turned when Shane pushed into the room, and he was greeted with wide shoulders tapering down to a small waist making the uniform blue polo look unfairly stylish.
Shane averted his gaze and took in the changes to the room since the old masseur left.
It had never been a particularly nice room, still wasn’t really, there was only so much you can do with the utilitarian cinder block bowels of the arena, but the new masseur had changed the lighting from the usual hard white fluorescents, and the whiff of chlorine Shane had come to expect of the room was replaced by a faint woodsy scent that didn’t overpower or make his head hurt. He was pleasantly surprised.
Shane was a professional athlete and took his training and conditioning more seriously than some of his teammates, as a result he was used to being poked and prodded by trainers and staff, but that didn’t mean some small part of him didn’t recoil every single time he was forced to endure it. The small changes to the room which meant he wouldn’t have to endure the usual uncomfortable rub down in a sensory hell-hole allowed a small amount of the usual discomfort to lessen.
“Shane Hollander.” A low voice curled around his name, foreign and lilting with what might be amusement.
Shane’s eyes snapped to the other man and he blinked in sudden recognition. Even without the accent he would have recognised him, a few years older, somehow broader, and looking at him with the same assessing stare he’d seen opposite him on the ice and in the bleak cold behind a Saskatchewan rink.
“Ilya Rozanov.”
The man bowed his head in a performative way like he was graciously accepting an award.
“What happened?” Shane blurted, the questions piling up in his mouth in a rush, “You vanished right before the draft, no one knew where you went.”
“Ah,” Rozanov said, rubbing his hands with a towel and nodding. “I was injured right before the draft, wasn’t fit enough to come back,” he shrugged his broad shoulders in a practiced, causal gesture, “then it was too late.”
“Fuck.” Shane breathed, staring at the other man who had lived his literal nightmare. “So you retrained?”
“Da.” A crooked smirk crept across his face, “A shame, I would have enjoyed beating you for number one draft pick.”
A startled laugh burst out of Shane’s mouth, “Fuck you, you wish.”
Rozanov shrugged theatrically, hands out wide in a what can I say gesture before he tossed the towel across the room into a hamper.
“Take off your clothes.”
Shane spluttered, “What?”
“Your clothes, take them off. Your shoulder is tight, I can see.”
Like a splash of cold water Shane remembered why he was here.
“Right.” He muttered, his hands lifting automatically for his compression top. They hesitated there, feeling self-conscious in a way he hasn’t felt since he entered the major leagues.
Rozanov’s eyes trailed over him slowly before reaching his face. He didn’t say anything, just watched with a small smirk as Shane processed and shook the sudden nerves away, feeling stupid and childish. He stripped on and off whenever and wherever was needed, it was a part of the life of an athlete, their bodies belonged to the league that paid for it.
He stripped mechanically, folding the clothes and ignoring the huff of laughter from the other side of the massage table. He stopped at his briefs and turned back.
“All.” The Russian ordered, eyes flicking down to the black briefs in question. When Shane paused, Rozanov picked up a towel from the table behind him without taking his eyes off Shane and tossed it to him.
Turning his back, Shane wrapped the towel around his back and shimmied his briefs off and onto the pile of his clothes before crossing the room determinedly and manoeuvred himself onto the table.
Rozanov made a low noise and then there was a gentle touch at Shane’s hips, over the towel.
“Up.” He ordered, and Shane kept his mind blank as he lifted into enough of a plank for the other man to pull the ends of the towel out from underneath him in a practiced flick, leaving his ass covered. “Good boy.”
A hot flush erupted on his cheeks and he gaped as his plank wobbled and he sunk down onto the table.
Rozanov had already turned away, busying himself with his lotions before Shane could figure out what to say to articulate his outrage. He bit his tongue and settled more comfortably onto the table.
“Any new strains or injuries not in your file?” Rozanov asked, tone professional as he lifted one bottle before replacing it and selecting another. Shane was pretty sure the last masseur hadn’t had that many bottles to choose from.
“No.” Shane said into the face hole.
There was the slick sound of lotion being worked into skin before Rozanov’s hands came to rest on his back. His hands were hot enough to make Shane jump and he rolled his eyes when he heard a stifled laugh from the other man before he began.
He’d never been particularly fond on massages, they were as much a part of his health regime as anything else, but there was something about it that rankled more than a doctor’s disinterested prodding or a physiotherapists controlling grips.
The last masseur has always smelled vaguely of hair gel and cigarette smoke poorly masked by spearmint gum. He’d talk the whole way through and had a habit of never quite easing the muscle tension completely.
Ilya Rozanov in contrast came out of the gate with a firm, precise sweep of his hands along the length of Shane’s back, somehow seeming to identify the tender spots in one pass.
The sharp, refreshing smell of lemongrass wafted to Shane’s nose, not strong enough to agitate him, but more like a refreshing whiff of outside air. Shane let himself relax more against the table. This was already one of his more pleasant experiences on this table.
Rozanov worked quietly, his large hands seemed to be everywhere at once, hot and firm, taking ownership of Shane’s body like it was his to control. He pressed firmer than the last guy, the weight of his hands digging so deep Shane felt tension he didn’t know he had being pushed out.
His eyes had closed somewhere along the way and he floated just on the edge of relaxed as the massage moved from a general one across his back to a more focused, exploratory one around his shoulder which was still stiff from a hit against the boards during his last game.
A thumb pressed against a knot buried deep below his shoulder blade. It stilled on it as the pain rose like a wave under his touch.
“Ow! Shit, Rozanov.” Shane hissed.
He laughed. “Call me Ilya, am not your rival any more,” he said, holding his thumb there for what felt like an eternity before releasing it. A startling bloom of relief flowed through Shane from the spot and he felt the tension in the muscle ease.
Shane let out a low noise at the relief. A gentle hand rubbed the spot as though in apology before he turned ruthless again.
His body was being beaten into mush, he was tender putty under the controlling grip of the large, strong hands that seemed to have pinpoint accuracy for every bit of tension his back has every experienced.
He couldn’t hold back the soft noises forced out of his lungs and just had to hope they were muffled by the face hole and the slick sound of the oil or lotion being worked into his skin.
When Ilya shifted to his arms it was a small relief from the tidal wave of sensation from his back. Shane almost felt woozy, his blood rushing through his body like Ilya had created whole new pathways for it to travel.
Ilya released his arm and moved down the body. Shane heard the wet sound of more lotion being applied and then he felt Ilya grasp his foot. His hands pressed and moved his feet, one after the other, checking his range of movement and the flex and shift of his muscles. His hold was strong and commanding as he moved Shane like a doll, and Shane felt a bit dizzy at how easily he manipulated his body.
An undignified sound tore out of his throat at a particularly firm touch dug into the arch of his foot and Shane blushed as it seemed to echo through the room.
As Ilya worked his way methodically up his leg, Shane became aware through the pleasant haze which had overtaken his brain, that he was feeling something besides relief.
Heat was slowly building in his groin. It was a low fire that was fed by the firm grip on his leg, moving it with confidence, holding him where Ilya wanted him, as large hands traced lines in his skin, pressing pleasure/pain into the meat of his calf and up towards his thighs.
His mind raced, thinking of stats and the smell of the locker room after a game, Hayden’s farts in their shared hotel room on roadies. Anything to snuff out the slow flame of arousal slowly becoming a problem underneath him.
Ilya focused on his thigh, pressing and kneading his muscle, slipping from the back of his knee upwards, just nudging under his towel.
The stats and remembered macros of his breakfast drifted from his mind, impossible to keep in focus as he fixated on the line of his towel resting just under his ass, painfully aware each time Ilya’s fingers danced along that edge.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he released him and moved back down to start at his ankle on his other leg.
Shane knew he was attracted to men. This wasn’t new information to him. This was, however, the closest he’d ever gotten to a man touching him how he wanted one to. He was painfully aware of how big and warm Ilya’s hands were, of the controlling, firm way he touched Shane.
Beyond one exhilarating and terrifying solo visit to a gay bar in New York where Shane had stood in a corner panicking the entire time before leaving soon after he arrived, Shane had never been brave enough to do more than catch a second glance at an attractive man in the supermarket or in a restaurant.
The thought of being publicly outed as gay was literally the stuff of his nightmares. Being publicly outed as an awkward, fumbling gay virgin was somehow even worse. So, he watched porn and jerked off and focused on hockey. At least he was good at hockey.
It also probably was the reason he was in this predicament, growing equally hard and panicked as an attractive man touched him.
The talented hands slipped to the sides of his legs and moved authoritatively up the outside of his body, slipping under the towel to work the muscles along the side of his hips and glutes with a punishing pressure that made all the hair on Shane’s body stand on end and his brain short circuit.
He didn’t breathe until the hands released him. The first breath he sucked in made him dizzy along with the relief as the hands lifted from his body.
“On your back.”
Shane’s eyes snapped open, staring down at the grey flooring with horror as the blood left not in his dick rushed to his cheeks. He’d known it was coming, he’d had more massages than most people had in a lifetime, but until Ilya gave the order he hadn’t thought about the reality of that.
He remained still too long because the other man clicked his tongue and he felt the towel draped over his ass being lifted in the practiced, discrete way all masseurs did it.
Sucking in one shuddering breath and sending a silent prayer up to whoever could be listening Shane turned onto his back and felt the weight of the towel settle back across his hips.
Glancing down, he saw the cartoonish bulge of his dick distorting the line of the towel. Heat rushed to his face and he squeezed his eyes shut in mortification, his hands clenched into fists to stop himself from lifting them to shield his groin or his face.
Five agonising seconds of the blessed dark behind his eyes was as long as he allowed himself before he forced himself to open them, staring up at the ceiling, jaw set against the shame building in his throat. Wishing his dick would take notice of the shame and do him the favour of chilling the fuck out.
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the crooked smirk spreading across Ilya’s face.
“Shut up.” He snapped, not moving his eyes away from the ceiling.
Ilya huffed a laugh, “Is okay, Hollander, happens to lots of men.”
Shane darted a look at the other man, horrified to feel a prickle behind his eyes he tried to blink back.
“Really?” he asked, hating that his voice came out watery. The other man’s smile softened.
“Yes.”
Some of the dread eased away and he could resettle his head into place and relax from the full-body clench he’d tensed into. At least his dick had finally taken the hint and softened slightly from the humiliation.
Ilya moved around the table, reapplying lotion and gave him a warning tap on his shin before returning to work on his legs.
His joints were moved and tested again, strong hands controlling his movement, testing his body and Shane let out a breath at the return to the familiar.
He wasn’t expecting it when Ilya moved his hands in a firm, steady glide up the length of his entire leg, thumb pressing firmly from ankle up into the meat of his inner thigh.
Maybe there was a nerve or something there because Shane’s whole leg twitched and shook as a jolt of electricity followed in his wake pulling a high, breathy ‘Ah!’ from his mouth followed by a shuddery inhale.
Ilya's head was bowed as he worked, but Shane still saw him lick his lips as he held back a smile.
The second time he did it, Shane bit back the noise, but he couldn’t stop his leg from twitching and the instinctual way his thighs parted as his stomach and ass convulsed around the electric sensation. The other man’s hands crept slightly higher this time, dipping under the high fold of his towel, thrillingly close to his groin.
Shane sucked in a shuddery breath and both wished for this to end and for his hands to reach higher, to keep going and giving some actual pressure for his dick to press against.
There was an exhilarating anticipation singing in Shane’s veins when Ilya moved to the other leg and repeated the process.
It felt good in a way entirely different to a normal massage, it didn’t have any of the usual invasive and clinical detachment that coloured most of the physical contact Shane experienced, and it wasn’t pushy and clingy like the girls in the club who grabbed at him and made him feel like he was a piece of meat. This was intimate. It was demanding but for Shane’s pleasure, not the other person’s.
On the second pass, Shane’s eyes fluttered shut and he felt his mouth go slack, but he managed to hold in the breathy noise that wanted to escape as he rode out the now almost familiar electric wave that coursed through his body at the touch.
He was almost disappointed when the hands lifted from his body and he watched Ilya move around the table again to come and stand at his head.
The other man slicked his hands again and leaned over his head, a gold necklace slipped from the open collar of his polo and Shane’s eyes followed the swing of the pendant hypnotically. Saliva pooled in his mouth as the unexpected though of sucking it into his mouth popped into his head.
Ilya shot him a wink, like he could read the thought on his face, and began carefully massaging down his arms and working the joints.
When his hands drifted back up his arms and moved to press and kneed the tight muscle of his pecs, following the line of his collarbones, before moving up to massage his neck, Shane closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling.
He let out a groan when it shifted into a head massage, the strong, firm hands cupping his head and rubbing out the spots of tension between firm tugs of his hair that made his eyes roll back under the safety of his closed lids.
The last masseur had never done this. It felt incredible. So good that he wasn’t even panicking about the way his dick was definitely plumping back up with enthusiasm.
When Ilya released him, Shane felt spacey and good, like all the hard edges of the world had been filed down and all the light was soft and warm.
He watched hazily as Ilya slicked up his hands again and gave him a long look before he returned his hands to his chest.
Ilya's hands moved confidently down his pecs, following the line of the muscle with a firm, commanding touch, curving around under his pec to cup the muscle before repeating the process in a smooth, hard glide. Then again, friction warming the skin despite the lotion.
His muscles felt beat and tender, his skin hot, and Shane knew that was partly the blush that was making his cheeks burn.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Shane’s body tingled with anticipation for the next pass. He’d never paid much attention to his pecs before, hadn’t expected this attention to his chest to thrill him as much as it did. The motion came again and Shane held his breath as the large hands hesitated, cupping his pecs.
In the dark behind his eyes the tentative touch of a thumb lightly grazing his nipple felt electric, and like the boldest touch he’s ever experienced.
Shane gasped.
“Yes?” Ilya asked softly.
“Please, yes.”
Ilya let out a low noise of hunger before he repeated the motion again. This time at the bottom of the downward stroke, each hand grabbed at the meat of his pecs in a way that shot down Shane’s body straight to his dick.
The hold was possessive, firm, commanding. It took ownership of his body in a way even Shane didn’t entirely feel entitled to outside of training or hockey.
Two strong fingers pulled and twisted his right nipple. Electricity shot through his body and he gasped. He was letting out noises, low, soft grunts and gasps as Ilya played with his chest. He’d never known it could feel so good, like his nipples were hardwired to his dick.
Ilya released his hands temporarily as he shifted to stand at the side of the table. Shane watched through a haze as his head bowed over Shane’s chest as one hand returned to plucking at a nipple and his mouth closed around the other.
Shane gasped, back arching and a hand rising without thought to tangle in Ilya’s soft curls. Impulse begged him to simultaneously pull him away and tug him closer. Closer won, and Ilya took the direction enthusiastically, sucking and gnawing at his nipple before pressing a soothing tongue against it as though to press the sharp edges of oversensitivity back.
The hand that had been teasing his other nipple trailed down Shane’s stomach slowly. When it reached the edge of the towel — barely staying in place over the hard outline of his cock — Ilya lifted his head so the both of them could stare as his fingertips slipped under the fold of the towel.
“Yes? You want?” he asked, voice rough.
Shane’s throat clicked as he tried to swallow. He jerked his head in a nod and managed to get a strangled “I want,” out of his throat.
They both watched Ilya’s hand slip under the fabric and wrap around his dick.
The shape of his cock and Ilya’s hand looked obscene under the towel as it shifted with his hand. A slow, luxurious stroke from base to tip pulled a shuddering groan out of Shane.
Ilya licked his lips and watched his hand. His eyes were heavy-lidded and there was something hungry and intent about his face.
The muscles in his arm bulged distractingly, skin glowing golden in the new lighting. Shane’s eyes fixed on his arm, on the play of muscles under his skin, strong and gorgeous. He wanted to bite the flex of tendon on his wrist, mouth at the slop of muscle on his bicep, trace the line of a vein with his tongue and suck the sweat from his arm hair.
Shane’s fingers clenched in the other man’s curls when Ilya leaned down again and took his nipple between his lips. When Ilya ran his thumb over the head of his dick as he ran his teeth over his nipple Shane pulled at his hair tightly and the both of them groaned.
Using the hold on his hair, Shane pulled Ilya up towards his mouth, gasping against his lips before Ilya took his mouth in a wet, hungry kiss.
It devolved quickly. Shane couldn’t bite back the helpless noises he was making and pushing them into Ilya’s mouth only seemed to spur him on.
Shane’s hips twitched and shifted, trying to chase the contact but desire made his movements sloppy and uncoordinated.
Ilya was gasping into his mouth, sucking on his lips and tongue before retreating to peck kisses around his mouth and chin, nosing at him, seemingly lost in the simple pleasure of kissing him, even as his hand sped up, masterfully jerking Shane off with a brutal, relentless pressure.
His orgasm was building in his balls quickly, Shane could feel it bubbling up and his hips twitched more violently, torn between moving away to prolong this and jerking into the firm hand.
“’M gonna—” Shane gasped, “’m gonna—”
“Yes.” Ilya growled, crushing their mouths together as his hand sped up, faster and harder than Shane ever managed himself.
Shane gasped into Ilya’s mouth, it trailed off into a groan as his orgasm raced through him, seemingly being pulled forcibly from his dick. He felt a few spurts of cum land on his stomach but mostly his mind was taken up with the waves of pleasure that seemed to fill his whole body.
He let out a weak, shuddery noise of complaint when his dick became oversensitive and Ilya licked it out of his mouth, giving him one more firm stroke before releasing him, pulling away from the kiss at the same time.
They both looked down at the mess of cum on Ilya’s hand and Shane’s stomach. His cock fully exposed at some point when the towel slipped off.
It looked obscene. It was so hot Shane wanted to imprint it on the back of his eyelids. He thought dizzily of licking up the cum from the other man’s fingers, of sucking them into his mouth and choking himself on them.
His dick gave a tentative twitch he thought was entirely too optimistic.
Ilya retrieved the lost towel and wiped his hand off, sparing a corner to give Shane’s stomach a once-over.
“Fuck.” Shane said, voice caught somewhere between a laugh and gasp as his breathing tried to steady.
Ilya chuckled, corners of his eyes crinkling with humour when Shane joined in.
“Can I…” Shane’s eyes drifted down the tapered torso in front of him and he licked his lips, his hand twitched as though to lift when his gaze latched onto the prominent bulge distorting his slacks.
“Ah,” Ilya said, grinning, “I would love, but we should clean up before my next appointment.” He glanced up at the clock as he said it.
It was like being doused in cold water. The warm, happy feelings coursing through his body vanished and Shane scrambled to sit up, horror rising quick in his throat.
He’d forgotten where they were. He’d forgotten who he was.
“Fuck,” Shane said, this time biting it out as he ran frantic fingers through his hair.
“Hey, hey,” Ilya said, stepping closer, “is okay.” He didn’t crowd him but managed to make his large presence a comforting shield between him and the door, him and reality. “Nothing to freak out about, no one knows. No one will know. Our secret.”
Shane concentrated on his breathing, sucking in deep lungfuls of warm, scented air. It was one of his more pleasant freak outs, that’s for sure.
Eventually he’d calmed down enough that he could breathe and look at the other man.
Ilya held up a towel. “Can I unoil you?”
Shane choked out a laugh and nodded, even smiling as Ilya rubbed him relatively clean with a brisk, professional touch before backing away and handing him another towel to cover himself with.
Shane stood slowly on shaky legs, watching Ilya move around, starting the cleaning up phase. His throat clicked when he tried to swallow, clutching the towel around his waist as he tried to find the right words to settle this.
“You can’t tell anyone about that.”
Ilya gave him a droll look. “Obviously.”
“I’m serious! You can’t—“
“Don’t be stupid Hollander,” he cut him off, “obviously I’m not going to tell anyone! I could lose my license, or get fucking arrested. Lose my visa and get sent back to Russia. I have more to lose than you. If I get caught jerking off the NHL superstar under my care I’ll lose more than my job.”
It seemed selfish to be relieved to hear that, to realise he wasn’t the only one who’d be fucked if it got out. Which left the question…
“So why did you…” he made a vague gesture.
“Too pretty to resist,” Ilya purred, drifting closer. “And you got so hard for me.”
Shane crossed his arms over his chest as heat rose to his cheeks. “You said it happens to a lot of guys.”
“It does.” Ilya smiled, “to the gay ones.”
Shane recoiled, throwing a glance at the door even though no one could have heard him and he suspected he’d made a lot louder noises than that moments ago.
“Jesus, man. Shut up.” He hissed.
Ilya threw his head back and laughed.
More comfortable than he normally is with people, Shane didn’t hesitate to swat at him and roll his eyes, feeling a smile tug in reply to the crooked grin Ilya levelled him with.
“Do you…” he darted a look at the massage table as though what happened would be drawn onto the crumpled sheet, “With them?” his voice was quiet.
Ilya scoffed. “I do not give ‘happy ending’ massages, Shane.”
“Mine was pretty happy.” Shane muttered, not sure if he wanted Ilya to hear or not. The boyish grin that spread across Ilya’s face and the sparkle in his bright eyes made warmth settle in Shane’s stomach.
“Only pretty, boring, superstar players.”
Shane ducked his head to hide the pleased smile and blush he couldn’t hold back.
His breath caught when Ilya reached a large, warm hand out and grasped his chin, gently guiding it so they were looking at each other.
Ilya's eyes lingered on his lips before meeting his gaze, he searched Shane’s face for permission before giving his chin a firm tug to meet him in a kiss.
Shane closed his eyes with a sigh and let the other man lead him into a sensual, searching kiss that made him feel dizzy. It was different to the hungry kisses they’d shared before, this one lingered and left Shane feeling hazy and warm when they eventually pulled apart.
“Hm,” Ilya hummed, licking his lips thoughtfully as his hand, which had migrated from his chin to be tangled in his hair, gave a firm tug, pulling Shane’s eyes up from where they’d been stuck on Ilya’s plump, glistening lips.
“I enjoyed massaging you very much, Shane Hollander.” He licked his lips. “I look forward to the next one.”
Shane just nodded dumbly.
“Now get dressed and fuck off, I have to…” he glanced down at himself, “not be hard. And you are making that difficult.”
A giddy burst of laughter escaped Shane as he did what he was told.