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Vishnya.
He’d called Hollander that during their very first hook up in room 1410 years ago. They had been skating up to each other over and over for that commercial to promote their on ice rivalry, and Ilya had been so flustered and nervous at seeing Hollander up close, all his freckles so clear, that Ilya had laughed nervously. Hollander had laughed back, his cheeks and his ears red from the attention and the embarrassment, and that was the very first time Ilya had called him that.
Vishnya.
Cherry.
He hadn’t known what it meant, of course. But Ilya had kissed him and watched him turn red, and kissed his neck and whispered it into his ear.
Hollander blushed a beautiful cherry red whenever Ilya turned his attention on him. For a while, Ilya had thought that Hollander blushed for everybody, but he had watched him closely in their rookie year.
Hollander got embarrassed, sure, and sometimes when the media frustrated him and he had to work hard to hide his displeasure, the tops of his ears turned a little pink. But that cherry red colour he turned when Ilya focused on him and said naughty things?
That cherry red flush was just for Ilya.
He loved it.
It was unbelievable how easy it was to make Hollander blush. To make him avert his eyes and try and fail to school his facial expression into indifference. To watch his eyes dart around in a panic to make sure nobody overheard them.
Nobody ever did. Ilya was always careful, his ears attuned to sounds that other people made as they approached. It took him no time at all to memorise people’s walks, to know who was approaching by their footsteps. A result of growing up with his father and brother, Ilya was sure. He could even tell who was where on the ice around him based on the pattern of people’s skating.
Ilya always made sure their secret was safe before he teased Hollander. It wasn’t his fault that he lost all sense of decorum when he was around Hollander. It was like he saw those brown eyes and beautiful freckles and his brain stopped functioning and his dick took control. Ilya was happy to hand over the reins when his cock was so good at getting Hollander to blush that exact shade of cherry that he loved so much.
Hollander was red right now. Ilya watched him across centre ice, turning redder and redder as he tried his hardest to avert his eyes from him.
He was so lovely. Ilya had never really appreciated art before, but if artists were smart enough to sculpt and paint Shane Hollander, Ilya might be one of those people who went to museums and stared at their favourite pieces of art every day.
“You are blushing just for me?” Ilya asked under his breath so the ref wouldn’t hear them. Hollander’s jaw tensed as he kept his eyes on the ice, waiting for the drop, but Ilya could see him turn an even deeper shade of red.
“Vishnya,” Ilya cooed.
Hollander looked up frowning just as the puck dropped. Ilya snatched it from him, firing off down the rink. He could hear Hollander skating behind him, his steady rhythm faster than anyone else Ilya had ever skated with before.
He looked back to check how red Hollander was when he turned back to look at him after he scored, smiling at how violently red his cheeks were.
>>>
“What does it mean?”
Ilya had no idea what Hollander was talking about, preferring to suck on Hollander’s collarbone instead of asking him to clarify.
“Rozanov,” Hollander said more firmly, pressing his hand to his face and pushing Rozanov away.
He made a displeased noise as Hollander shoved him away, frowning at him. “I need to –“
“What does it mean?” Hollander repeated.
Ilya couldn’t think, all the blood rushing down to his cock, nothing left to help him think coherently. “What does what mean?”
“What you said to me on the ice,” Hollander said impatiently.
Ilya tried not to blanch. “I called you slow,” he winked, kissing him again.
Hollander narrowed his eyes at him as he pushed him away; Ilya didn’t like that he could already tell when Ilya was lying.
“Too slow to score tonight,” Ilya taunted.
“I scored two goals!”
“I scored three,” Ilya winked, surging forward to kiss him again. Hollander huffed, clearly unimpressed.
“One was an assist,” Hollander corrected.
Ilya put on an exaggerated pout. “You’re right,” he conceded. “Do you think maybe I’ll score again?”
Hollander scoffed, but Ilya didn’t hear a no. He let Ilya put his hands on him, pulling his shirt off and running his fingers down his chest. Ilya sucked at Hollander’s neck, tempted to leave a mark, desperate to make sure there was evidence of this, of Ilya being here, only Ilya –
“No hickeys,” Hollander said in a strangled voice.
He didn’t mean it. Ilya could tell. He could push it; Hollander would secretly love it, Ilya knew. But he listened to him anyways.
Ilya kissed his way back to Hollander’s mouth, moaning softly at how delicious he tasted. It made no sense, with his terrible diet of ginger ale and salad and pepper as his only seasoning. But there was something on Hollander’s tongue that was always tasted so fucking good.
Ilya grabbed his jaw, holding him still. Hollander moaned softly as Ilya dug his fingers into his cheeks, forcing his mouth open –
It drove him fucking crazy, the way Hollander always read his mind and his cues. Hollander stuck his tongue out, moaning filthily as Ilya sucked on it.
Ilya had never really thought of himself as depraved or desperate. He could get any girl he wanted on her knees with just a look. He could clock another man’s interest in him within seconds and have them begging him to try it with a man, just once. Ilya had had all sorts of sex; most good, some even great. He sucked dick and ate pussy and ass and he pulled hair and loved having his hair pulled and getting on his knees and having people get on his knees for him. He loved fucking someone within an inch of their lives, making them scream and cry and come on his cock.
But there was something about Shane fucking Hollander that stood out from everyone else.
He was inexperienced and nervous and shy and sweet and enthusiastic and so fucking sexy and beautiful and perfect.
Perfect.
Ilya wanted to fucking break him.
He spent most of his time devising new ways to make Hollander blush and cry and scream, even when he was on the ice. Even when he was smacking men into the boards and fucking girls after the games, he was always thinking about Hollander.
All Ilya ever thought about when he was fucking other people was Hollander.
Would Hollander let me bend him over the kitchen island like this?
Would Hollander like it if I spit in his mouth?
How much redder would Hollander get if I slapped him? Would he let me?
Why doesn’t anyone else look at me the way Hollander does?
Why don’t they touch me there like Hollander does?
What’s Hollander doing? Is he with someone else like I am?
Most of the time, Ilya tried to push it out of his mind. He knew deep down he was becoming fixated, but he refused to spend any time thinking about why. About what it was about Hollander that made him feel different.
He loved sex. He loved sex. He loved touching people and being touched. He loved feeling wanted and needed, and he loved that he could show people how great at sex he was. He loved the idea that he would be the best that someone has ever had.
And yet, he wondered if Hollander knew that that’s what he was to Ilya.
The best Ilya had ever had.
It made his head spin. Hollander had never been with a man before Ilya, and, he suspected, not since. His first time giving head was so endearingly terrible, but his mouth was hot and warm and Hollander wasso eager and kept looking up at him with eyes so clouded with arousal that Ilya had barely been able to pull him off before he came all over himself.
And the sex…
Ilya had never in his life felt the way he did when he was inside Shane Hollander.
Not even with Svetlana. Not even with how much he loved her or how much fun they had together.
It had terrified him, the first time. Ilya had done his best to pretend that he hadn’t taken Hollander’s virginity, like something seismic hadn’t just happened to both of them when he had run from his condo. He went on a tear the in the weeks afterwards, fucking absolutely anything that moved. Marleau and Coach had both pulled him aside separately to ask if he was okay.
He had been looking for something, anything, to make him forget what Hollander felt like. But it didn’t work.
Nobody did.
Nobody kissed him the way Hollander did, desperate and all consuming, like he was trying to eat him. Nobody made Ilya feel like he was on fire like this.
Hollander moaned into his mouth as Ilya reached for his pants, pushing them down slowly. Ilya pulled back a little to help him undress, smiling as he stripped Hollander of his shirt and caught sight of his bright red chest.
Vishnya.
Hollander pressed his hands to Ilya’s chest and frowned. Ilya had no idea what his problem was now, but he was annoyed. Ilya wanted to kiss him, and Hollander just kept talking.
“What does it mean?”
Ilya blinked, annoyed now. “What?”
“You said it again,” Hollander frowned. “Vishna, or something, you keep saying it to me.”
Ilya didn’t realise he had said it out loud. He shrugged, not willing to tell Hollander exactly what it meant. Because then he would have to tell him why he liked it so much.
“Is Russian word,” Ilya deflected. “Means nothing.”
Hollander frowned, but he let Ilya shove him down on the bed and climb on top of him and kiss him again.
“Are you making fun of me?”
Hollander said it so quietly, in a tone so sad and flat, that if Ilya weren’t plastered to his throat would have missed it. He reared back to stare at Hollander in disbelief.
“Hollander, if I am going to make fun of you, I do it in English so you can call me an asshole,” Ilya said.
Hollander’s face relaxed slightly, but he still looked tense. “So what does it mean?”
Ilya looked down at Hollander’s bright red face, his flushed cheeks, down to his cherry red cock, his tip flushed and leaking precome. God, he loved when Hollander looked like e was burning with fire everywhere Ilya touched him.
“Means I am looking at something I like very much,” Ilya said as honestly as he could.
Hollander frowned up at him, but Ilya could tell that he liked his answer, that he believed him.
Ilya was many things, but he wasn’t a liar. And he liked to think that Hollander knew him well enough to know that, even if they kept each other at arms length.
“Vishnya,” Ilya cooed into Hollander’s neck. He smiled when he felt Hollander shiver a little. “You want me to stop?”
“No,” Hollander murmured, pulling Ilya’s face to his and kissing him.
Ilya kissed him back, relieved. “Good,” Ilya murmured. “I wouldn’t have stopped.”
Hollander laughed as Ilya kissed a path down to his cock, moaning as Ilya wrapped his lips around him. Ilya had always liked sucking dick, but Hollander’s cock was something else. He was big; Ilya knew there were probably guys on his team who checked Hollander out in the locker room and couldn’t understand why he wasn’t out there every night fucking girls. Only Ilya knew the truth; that Hollander really had no use for it.
It was confronting to crave someone so much, but Ilya couldn’t get enough of Hollander. Ilya had never tasted anyone as sweet as him. He found himself craving the taste when he had gone too long without it; missing the way Hollander hit the back of his throat, the way his skin felt so velvet soft against his tongue, how heavy he was.
He sucked Hollander down to the base, swallowing wetly around his cock. He and Hollander shared that – the love of an incredibly messy blow job. Ilya let himself drool around Hollander’s cock, looking up at Hollander, pleased to see that he was watching him closely. Ilya loved that, too; being watched.
And Hollander could never keep his eyes off of him.
Ilya sucked until Hollander pulled his hair, forcing him off.
“Stop, not yet,” Hollander said.
Ilya nodded, coming up to his knees and reaching for a condom in the drawer he knew Hollander kept them, quickly counting how many were left.
Seven.
Exactly the same amount that was left after his last visit.
Ilya tried not to smirk with pride at that, at how there was nobody but him. About how Hollander waited for him.
Part of Ilya wished he could do the same, that he had the strength to wait for Hollander. All the pretty girls and the small handful of gorgeous boys that helped him pass the time in between their meet ups were necessary, though. Ilya couldn’t go that long without feeling someone around him, kissing him. He couldn’t go that long without being needed. Without making someone come, without feeling like he was doing something good, something useful.
He reached for the lube, unable to stop his smile when he realised it was clearly a new bottle. He wondered how often Hollander used the dildo he had told about; Ilya had asked so many times to see it, to let him use it on him, but Hollander always turned red and refused to tell him about it.
Ilya loved seeing Hollander turn red so much though, and he had no use for Canadian politeness, so he kept asking.
“How many bottles you’ve been through since last time I was here?” Ilya asked as he poured some over his dick, using his hand to coat himself in it and press the excess to Hollander’s hole.
Hollander blinked slowly up at him; Ilya loved asking him questions when they were like this. Hollander’s mind worked so much slower when they were in bed. He was always so razor sharp, so fast, always two steps ahead of Ilya, that Ilya often felt two steps behind. But during sex?
During sex, it was like Hollander stopped functioning, unable to process anything outside of Ilya’s touch, his voice, his body. Ilya fucking loved it; he loved how simply taking his shirt off was enough to make Hollander drunk on sex, like honey slipping between his fingers, conscious of nothing else in the world except for Ilya.
It made Ilya feel drunk too. It took Ilya to a place here he felt like there was nothing else in the world except Hollander. He’d never experienced anything like this, two people getting fuck drunk on each other, needing each other more than air. Ilya had confessed that to Hollander once, during a particularly intense round of sex months ago. Hollander had started to cry and writhe beneath him as Ilya had moaned into his mouth about how he would die a happy man if he died right then, and Hollander had screamed and came, panting same into his mouth.
“Fuck off,” Hollander breathed.
Ilya laughed as he pressed one finger inside him, pushing in slowly all the way before he started working it in and out, massaging Hollander from the inside. Hollander moaned as Ilya bent forward and suckled at the tip of his cock, moaning in return at the sweetness of him.
Ilya kept sucking as he pressed a second finger inside, pulling off Hollander’s cock to watch him whine in pleasure.
“I want to see it,” Ilya murmured.
Hollander looked confused as Ilya continued to finger him open. “What?”
Hollander’s eyes were glassy and red. God, Ilya loved that shade of red. He loved every single part of Hollander’s body that turned red because of him. Red for him.
Ilya pressed a third finger inside, licking the length of Hollander’s cock. He smiled as Hollander cried out, burying his hands in Ilya’s hair. Ilya let Hollander push his head down further, making a show of gagging around his cock.
Hollander was so fucking gone that he moaned at the sound. He usually pulled away, apologising, yammering on about how he didn’t mean to make Ilya uncomfortable, but when he was like this, pliant and soft in the best places and hard in the right places…
Ilya pulled off, removing his fingers and enjoying the sad, desperate noise Hollander let out at being empty. He moved quickly between Hollander’s spread legs, hooking his knees over his elbows and folding them back to Hollander’s chest, bearing down over him.
“You will show me after?” Ilya asked politely as he pressed his cock inside. Hollander moaned as he reached for Ilya, pulling him closer, even though they were as close as two people could possibly be.
“What?”
“Your dildo,” Ilya said, feigning calm and composed as he pressed all the way inside him, completely captivated by the way Hollander’s body opened up for him.
“No,” Hollander shook his head, the flush on his chest burning brighter.
Ilya made a show of pouting as he pumped his hips so slowly that Hollander tried to push down against him to get more friction. “Then maybe you don’t come tonight.”
That cut through whatever noise was in his head. Hollander gasped, looking up at Ilya like he had threatened to stab him. He blinked rapidly, and Ilya could tell he was trying to fight his way through the drunken feeling, trying to come back to himself enough to fight with Ilya.
“Please,” Hollander begged. “I’ll – anything.”
“Anything, he says,” Ilya taunted as he slowed his hips down even more. Hollander looked devastated as he tried to wriggle beneath him, his hole greedily chasing his cock as Ilya pulled away. “But he doesn’t give me anything.”
“Okay,” Hollander agreed breathily. “After – okay.”
Ilya couldn’t help the bright smile he broke out into; nearly four fucking years of begging and he was finally going to fulfil one of his deepest fantasies. Hollander was bright red; with arousal or humiliation or heat, Ilya couldn’t quite tell, but he had figured long ago that for Hollander, they all fed into one thing.
Arousal. And for one reason.
Ilya.
Ilya rewarded him by fucking him hard, biting his lip as Hollander cried out, his hands looping around Ilya’s neck. Ilya bent lower, kissing Hollander as he fucked him fast and rough. Just the way Hollander loved it.
He watched as Hollander writhed beneath him, crying out his name, muttering something in French before pulling Ilya’s hair and screaming Rozanov.
He felt like a fucking god as he made Hollander come, crying for him and screaming his name.
Ilya didn’t even bother trying to last any longer. He wanted them both to come straight away now that he had a plan for round two.
>>>
“Hollander,” Ilya said, completely serious. “Do you want to suck on your dildo while I fuck you, or suck on me while I fuck you with your dildo?”
Hollander bit his lip, but Ilya caught his whimper, his eyes going wide.
He didn’t do well with choices, Ilya knew that. He hated being forced to choose between the thing he wanted, and the thing he thought someone else wanted him to choose. Somehow, he fared even worse when there were two options he wanted.
They had cleaned up after their first round of sex and Ilya had gotten two glasses of water into Hollander. He had texted Marleau about helping him sneak back to the hotel after curfew had ended, and he had agreed.
And Hollander had agreed.
“I don’t know,” Hollander said. “Both.”
Ilya shook his head. “Pick one. We do the other next time,” he promised.
“You fuck me,” Hollander rushed out. “It’s not as – you’re bigger.”
Ilya tried not to swell with pride at that and nodded. “Next time.”
“No,” Hollander scoffed. “This is a one time thing. You coerced me into this.”
Ilya felt his stomach drop. He knew that word. He was not that word. “Hollander, if you don’t want to –”
“I want to,” Hollander said quickly. “I just, I don’t want to look stupid,” he said quietly, looking away.
Ilya’s stomach fell to the fucking floor. “You think you would look stupid?” he asked in disbelief.
Hollander shrugged. “I mean, maybe. Sucking on a toy while you fuck me. Wouldn’t I look stupid?”
Ilya stared at him. “You think you would look stupid with your fucking mouth wrapped around something that I would pretend is my cock at the same time as I fuck you?”
Hollander flushed that beautiful red again, from his cheeks to his hips. He was ridiculous and perfect, worried about how he would look for Ilya.
“Really?”
“Vishnya,” Ilya said in a low voice as he closed the distance between them, grabbing Hollander’s face and pulling him to him gently. He was rewarded with Hollander’s lashes fluttering at him. “I have been asking all these years because I think you would look so fucking sexy being fucked both ways.”
Hollander bit his lip as he looked up at Ilya. “I’ve thought about it,” he said quietly. “You and – it. At the same time.”
Ilya tried to keep his cool, but he could feel his self control dissipating with every word that came out of Hollander’s swollen, red mouth.
“Get it,” Ilya demanded.
Hollander moved fast, grabbing the dildo from the bottom drawer of his nightstand and tossing it onto the bed between them. Ilya looked at it for a while before he picked it up, an eyebrow shooting up when he realised it was heavy.
It was bigger than he expected. It was one of the realistic looking ones, probably the kind that were modelled after a porn star that Hollander had definitely never seen before. It was veiny and uncut and looked more like Ilya’s cock than he expected.
“Is big,” Ilya said, both impressed and jealous.
“It’s not my first one,” Hollander said, staring at it in Ilya’s hands. “I started smaller.”
“When did you buy this?”
“Maybe a year ago,” Hollander said, his cheeks turning red as he kept his eyes down.
“Smaller than me,” Ilya mused. “You don’t want bigger?”
“Not yet,” Hollander said, somehow turning an even deeper shade of red.
Ilya did his best not to read into that. “Maybe one day we try both together,” he suggested as nonchalantly as he could.
He could see the exact moment Hollander understood what he meant, his jaw dropping and his eyes glazing over at the idea of Ilya double penetrating him with his dildo.
“Oh,” Hollander breathed. “Maybe – maybe one day.”
Ilya definitely couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face that time. “Hollander,” he smiled. “You would let me?”
Hollander nodded, his mouth slack. “Yeah. I would want that.”
Ilya felt his own jaw go slack at that. He handed Hollander the dildo and yanked him down to lay on his back, climbing between his legs and reaching for the lube. “Lick. Just the tip.”
He watched as Hollander followed his orders, licking and suckling at the tip of the toy as Ilya spread lube across his fingers and began rubbing at his hole, still gaping and swollen from earlier. He watched Hollander’s eyes flutter shut as he moaned with pleasure as Ilya pressed two fingers inside him, his plush lips wrapping around the toy.
Ilya felt like he was drunk and high, reaching another plane of existence as he pressed his cock to Hollander’s puffy hole, slowly fucking inside as he sucked on the toy.
Hollander moaned filthily as Ilya pulled out most of the way before fucking back in, taking the toy deeper. It struck Ilya how beautiful Hollander looked like this; flushed red, his eyes streaming tears, his lips stretched, drooling around the dildo, his perfect body on display for Ilya, his legs spread and his ass clenching around him...
He moved faster, fucking Hollander harder to force dirty, desperate noises out of him, watching the way he choked around the dildo. It took Ilya an embarrassingly long time to realise that Hollander was swallowing the toy down as deep as Ilya was fucking him, matching his thrusts.
“Fuck,” Ilya muttered as Hollander gagged around the toy on a particularly punishing thrust. “If you could see yourself, Hollander.”
Hollander looked up at him with needy, wet red eyes, and Ilya felt himself falter as he fucked him. He moved, folding Hollander’s legs by his chest and lowering himself over him. Hollander’s eyes fluttered as Ilya leaned down to lick at the drool on his chin, sucking a wet kiss to his stretched lips around the dildo before leaning back up over him.
“You make me fucking crazy,” Ilya muttered as Hollander moaned loudly –
Ilya’s hips stuttered as he watched Hollander deep throat the toy, his throat bulging around it. Ilya couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and wrapping his hand around Hollander’s neck, feeling him swallow around the dildo.
He fucked into Hollander punishingly hard, all sorts of praise falling from his lips about how perfect Hollander was, how red, how beautiful, how slutty, how he was everything as Hollander choked around the toy, his eyes locked on Ilya. He had no idea how much of what he was saying was in a language Hollander could understand, but his tears were coming faster and harder, more drool collecting on his chin, sliding across his cheeks, his neglected cock smearing precome across his abs.
Ilya wiped Hollander’s chin, wiping the saliva down his flushed neck, his red chest, down to his stomach, grazing past his aching cock and slapping his thigh, marking that red, too. Hollander keened, rolling his hips against Ilya’s own.
He could feel it; Hollander was close. Ilya snapped his hips faster, reaching for his wrist adn pushing the dildo deeper into Hollander’s throat, holding it there as Hollander choked around it –
Ilya watched as Hollander came, his cock spurting come all the way across his chest, up to his neck, as he choked and gagged around the dildo. He pulled it away from his mouth to let Hollander cry out and gasp as he came, Ilya coming with him, moaning as Hollander clenched around him.
He waited until they had both caught their breath, until Hollander was half asleep, until he was completely soft, to pull out and move to the bathroom to turn on the shower and let the water get hot. Ilya moved back to the bedroom, pulling Hollander up by the wrist and pushing him ahead of him, forcing him into the shower.
“Fuck,” Hollander whimpered, stepping under the spray. Ilya followed him in, closing the door and angling Hollander under the water.
Ilya made sure to wash Hollander carefully, wiping away all the spit and come and lube he was covered with, letting him rest his head against his shoulder as he shampooed his hair with the fancy shampoo that smelled like coconut and clean laundry. Ilya let Hollander rest in his arms until the water started to turn warm, finally turning off the water and reaching for their towels.
“You okay?” Ilya asked as he wrapped the towel around Hollander’s shoulders.
He nodded, looking up at Ilya, his perfect, tanned skin now red from the hot shower. “I liked that a lot.”
Ilya chose not to say that he could tell, that it was obvious. “I liked it, too. You looked so... better than any porn I ever watched.”
Hollander's cheeks somehow turned an even deeper red than they already were. “Stop.”
“No, really,” Ilya said, grabbing his jaw gently. “I didn’t want to blink and miss anything. Will be picturing you every time I touch myself.”
Hollander bit his lip, and Ilya could see that he was pleased. “Maybe – maybe next time, we try reverse?”
Next time.
Ilya nodded, not caring if he looked too eager. “Next time, maybe both in your ass.”
Hollander looked away, flushed, but he shrugged. “Maybe.”
Ilya practically skipped his way back to the hotel that morning, not even caring that he had missed curfew by three hours.
>>>
Jane [14:07]
I keep thinking about it.
Ilya smirked down at his phone as he read Hollander’s message. He didn’t need to ask what he meant; it was the exact same thing that had been playing on his mind nonstop for the last two weeks. Every time he closed his eyes, Hollander deep throating his dildo while Ilya fucked him was all he could see.
Ilya [14:08]
Thinking about it now? Don't you play Florida in half an hour?
Jane [14:10]
Yes.
But it’s all I can think about.
Ilya pictured Hollander in his gear in Montreal, squirming beneath his pads, probably hard in his cup in the Metros locker room as he thought about Ilya fucking him while he sucked on his dildo. He wiped the sweat from his forehead as he pictured Hollander messaging him about it around all his teammates, doing his best not to get hard around them.
Ilya [14:11]
All I can think about too
Your fucking mouth, all I can think about
Jane [14:12]
I felt so full. I’ve never felt like that before.
“Can’t fucking walk,” Marleau complained from next to him.
Ilya locked his phone and tossed it into his cubby, rolling his eyes at the boys filtering into the locker room.
“Weak,” he said, looking around. “Wasn’t even a hard practise today.”
“Fuck off,” Carmichael said, sitting down and stretching out his neck.
“Beers would help,” Connors said from down the bench.
Ilya stripped his shirt off, looking around the room. “Good idea. Let's get drunk.”
“You mean get laid,” Carmichael corrected.
“For me, yes, not sure you will manage,” Ilya teased.
Marleau perked up and nodded, immediately suggesting a place. Ilya agreed to meet them at the club that night at ten, doing his best to not think about Hollander and the noises he had pulled him from two weeks ago.
>>>
The club was boring.
Not really. The club was fine. Fun, even. The music was good, the alcohol was decent, and the boys were having a great time.
But Ilya couldn’t help but feel disappointed as he scanned the room for someone to take home; it was evident that there was nobody that was going to do it for him tonight the way Hollander could.
It would be easier, if there were others out there like Hollander. If Ilya could find a girl in Boston that he could call on the regular to satiate whatever hunger it was that Hollander ignited inside of him, if he had a more regular, reliable outlet. If there was anyone else in the world that went that exact shade of red that Ilya loved so much, if there was anyone else that made the same desperate, perfect sounds that Hollander did.
But there was only one Hollander.
Ilya knocked back the rest of his vodka as he sat next to Marleau, scoping out the dancefloor. He tried to listen into whatever Marleau was saying to Connors over the table, pulling his phone out of his pocket when he felt it vibrate.
Jane [00:17]
[Picture message]
Ilya opened it without hesitation, his breath hitching at the photo on the screen.
It was a close up of Hollander, his lips wrapped around the tip of the dildo, his red lips redder and wetter than ever.
“Whoa,” Marleau said loudly in his ear.
Ilya panicked and locked his phone, frowning as he turned to the boys. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Who's that?” Marleau teased, nodding to the phone in Ilya’s hand.
“No one. It's nothing,” Ilya said tersely, shaking his head.
He needed to get the fuck out of there. He needed to unlock his phone and stare at the photo again. He needed to call Hollander and listen to him use the toy on himself. He needed, he needed.
“Not nothing,” Marleau laughed. “You got yourself a bit of a freak there, Rozy?”
Ilya grit his teeth as he stared at the table, shaking his head.
“What was it?” Connors asked.
“One of Rozy’s puck bunny sucking on a dildo,” Marleau smirked.
Ilya wanted to punch Marleau. Nobody should be seeing Hollander like that except for Ilya. Nobody.
Connors perked up, nodding at Ilya’s phone. “I wanna see.”
“Fuck off, both of you,” Ilya said, forcing himself to keep his fists loose and not start throwing punches. This was a decent club; it would be a shame if he was banned and couldn’t come back. “She’s not a puck bunny.”
Marleau raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, shit, was that Jane?”
Ilya shook his head and stood, grabbing Marleau’s whiskey and swallowing it in one gulp before he dropped the glass in front of him. “Fuck off.”
Ilya turned and walked straight out of the club, walking in the direction of his house. He made it to the corner of the street when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, turning and seeing Marleau looking apologetic.
“Let me drive you home,” he offered.
He could walk, or he could call a car. He chanced a look down at his locked phone.
00:19
He was only a ten minute drive from here; Ilya could probably run and be home in half an hour. It would suck in his dress shoes, but maybe he could text Hollander and tell him to wait.
“Come on,” Marleau said, his voice softer.
Ilya didn’t say a word as they turned down the side street and he climbed into Marleau’s Audi, too pissed off to pull his phone out of his pocket again to text Hollander to wait, that he would be home soon, that he wanted to listen or even watch as he used the dildo to fuck himse –
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Marleau apologised. “That wasn’t cool. I didn’t realise it was Montreal Jane.”
Ilya didn’t say a word as he stared out of the window, counting down the seconds until he was back in his house and could properly look at the photo. He looked at the dashboard.
00:25
Maybe Hollander was just getting started. He won his game today; he had probably gone out with his team tonight, had half a light beer, and taken himself home to celebrate on his own. Maybe he was still sucking on his toy, waiting for Ilya to see his message and text him back before he pressed it ins –
“Are you guys, like, seeing each other?” Marleau asked.
Ilya stayed silent, grateful when they finally pulled into the street his house was on. He clenched his teeth as Marleau pulled up in front of his house, opening the door.
00:28
“Listen, Roz –”
Ilya slammed the door behind him, practically running to his front door and typing in his keycode. He kicked off his shoes and unzipped his pants as he unlocked his phone, stalking right to his bedroom.
Ilya dialled out and put the phone on speaker, unbuttoning the silk shirt Svetlana had bought him for his birthday two years ago as the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hollander,” Ilya said, clipped and annoyed. “Are you still –”
“Yeah,” Hollander breathed, cutting him off.
Ilya listened intently to Hollander’s soft sharp breaths, his own breath hitching when he heard something wet.
“Are you fucking yourself?” Ilya asked, his voice low.
“Yeah,” Hollander said, his voice syrupy slow.
“Show me.”
Ilya stripped as he threw himself down onto his bed against his pillows, freezing for a moment as he took in Hollander, writing on his bed, fucking the dildo into himself. His hole was stretched around the toy, his cock hard and flushed and wet as it bounced against his stomach.
“Fuck,” Ilya murmured as he reached for the lube in his nightstand.
“I thought that, maybe you were, um, busy,” Hollander said, his voice breathy, his face not even visible, but Ilya could picture it. His eyes hazy, his mouth parted, his cheeks a deep pink. “You were out or – not alone.”
“I was with the team,” Ilya shared, staring at the screen where Hollander was pressing the dildo deeper inside himself with each thrust of his wrist. “I came home when I saw your photo.”
Hollander made a pleased sound.
“I need to see you,” Ilya said as he poured lube on his cock, jerking himself quickly and desperately.
Hollander turned the camera to his face, and Ilya paused, taking in his bright red face, his collarbones burning cherry red. Ilya wished he could touch him; he loved how Hollander’s skin would burn with heat, how he could feel it wherever he touched him.
“Vishnya,” he breathed, staring at Hollander.
He looked fucked. He looked exactly how he did when Ilya fucked him, red and raw, watery eyes and slack jaw and stuttered breaths being forced by his brain. Hollander’s eyes focused on Ilya, smiling slightly when he saw his face. Ilya was decidedly not going to think about what it meant, for either of them.
“Rozanov,” Hollander whispered, moaning as he shuffled around in the bed.
Ilya watched as Hollander propped the phone up on the bedside table, knowing exactly which lamp he was resting against. He stroked his cock as Hollander sat up on his knees, his entire body finally in the frame, sinking down on the dildo and fucking himself on it as if he was riding it.
“Fuck,” Ilya said, because he couldn’t think of a single word, in Russian or English, to say.
Hollander moved his hips frantically, sinking down and raising himself up, rolling his hips as if he were –
“It doesn’t feel as good as you,” Hollander said, his hand moving down his body to grip his cock.
Ilya’s own hand sped up, timing his strokes with Hollander’s hips. “No?” he choked out.
“You’re – fuck – so much better,” Hollander drawled.
Ilya could see his eyes were locked on the bottom of the screen where Ilya probably was. He made a show of twisting his hand at his tip before he stroked himself back down to the base of his cock, making it as obvious as he could that he was doing it in time with Hollander. Hollander must have noticed, because he moaned loudly, jerking his cock loosely as his hips moved faster.
“How does it feel?” Ilya asked.
“Not big enough,” Hollander breathed. “You’re – you’re bigger. Hotter. You feel better inside me. Fuck me harder. Fuck me better.”
Ilya felt like his entire body was on fire as he watched Hollander, his tan skin turning redder and redder as he rode.
“I pretend it’s you,” Hollander moaned, staring at the screen.
Ilya's brain short circuited. He squeezed the base of his cock, desperate to hold on for a little longer, until Hollander came. He wasn’t going to come first; that wasn’t how they did this.
“You do?” Ilya asked. He hoped that Hollander meant it, that he wasn’t just saying it because he was watching him fuck himself right now.
But Hollander nodded, his hips slamming down on the toy harder.
“It’s not the same,” he whined. “I can’t – not as hard –”
“Touch yourself,” Ilya demanded.
Hollander gripped his cock, jerking himself in time with his hips swivelling on the dildo. Ilya watched closely as Hollander began to pant faster, sweat dripping down his chest, drool collecting on his bottom lip –
Ilya came at the same time Hollander did, moaning as he listened to Hollander crying out for him, the desperate Rozanov’s echoing in his huge, empty bedroom. He caught his breath as he watched Hollander slowly pull the toy out, falling onto his side, cringing at the mess of lube and come all over himself.
Ilya let go of his cock, still hard, even though he had come violently hard, come splattered across his chest.
“Five weeks,” Ilya said.
Hollander's brows furrowed at that. “What?”
“Until I fuck you again,” Ilya said softly.
He would have been embarrassed about knowing that off the top of his head, not even needing to check the calendar, but Hollander smiled so bright, his red lips curving up to the dimples underneath his eyes.
“It’s so far,” Hollander whispered.
“I know,” Ilya whispered back.
He looked up at the top corner of his phone.
01:07
>>>
“You know what you should do for me, Vishnya?” Ilya muttered, low enough that he was sure the referee couldn’t hear.
Hollander didn’t say anything or look away from the ice, but Ilya saw the way he tilted his ear towards him, showing him that he was listening. He was already blushing, his cheeks turning pink, the tips of his ears becoming red.
“You ever used a plug?” Ilya murmured.
He looked away from the ice, thrilled to see Hollander turn the exact shade of red that he loved. He missed the puck drop.
It was worth it.
>>>
“What are you gonna do when someone hears you?” Hollander demanded.
Ilya tried not to laugh; he knew the Boston refs well enough to know that they would assume he was simply trash talking and not think twice.
“You think they will think we are having sex?” Ilya asked, kissing his way down Hollander’s stomach. “They will think I'm homophobic first.”
“Oh, much better,” Hollander muttered.
Ilya licked a fat wet stripe from the inside of Hollander’s knee to the base of his dick, mouthing at his balls. Hollander buried his hand in Ilya’s curls, pulling him closer, gasping as Ilya pressed two fingers against his hole. Ilya moved to his cock, suckling at the tip before swallowing him down.
He looked up at Hollander, smiling at how flushed he was. His eyes were wet, glazed over as he looked down at Ilya, his fingers tightening in his hair as Ilya pressed his fingers deeper inside him, pumping them slowly.
“Oh god,” Hollander breathed. “So good.”
Ilya hummed as he swallowed Hollander down, tilting his head to deep throat him properly. He could feel Hollander pant above him, moaning and thrashing in the starchy hotel sheets as he spread his fingers inside him.
“Fuck,” Hollander moaned, his hips thrusting shallowly into Ilya’s mouth.
Ilya pulled his fingers away, grabbing Hollander’s hips and digging his fingers in, encouraging him to thrust harder. Hollander moved with him, fucking into his mouth. They moved together, faster and rougher, until Hollander came down his throat. Ilya swallowed everything, moaning at how sweet he tasted.
He pulled away when Hollander softened, kissing his way up from his thighs to his stomach, biting at the soft skin at his hips before kissing his way up his flushed chest. Ilya licked at the hard nubs of his nipples before he trailed wet kisses to his neck, sucking the skin into his mouth for just a second, wishing he could leave a bloody, purple mark, before kissing Hollander properly.
Hollander moaned into the kiss, holding Ilya close. Ilya ran his hands down Hollander’s chest, smiling at the hot, flushed skin of his pecs.
“You keep saying it,” Hollander whispered.
Ilya pulled away to frown at him. “What?”
“That word,” Hollander said. “Vishnya?”
Ilya caressed Hollander’s chest, smoothing his hand down the sweaty red skin.
“My favourite colour,” Ilya said quietly. “Like Russia, like fights on the ice. Like this.”
Hollander looked down at himself, his cheeks blushing darker.
“Like that,” Ilya said, brushing Hollander’s cheekbone. “Like summer. Cherries.”
Hollander bit his lip. “You’ve been calling me cherry?”
Ilya shrugged. “You want me to stop?”
“No,” Hollander breathed. “No that – that’s okay.”
The relief that flooded him would have been embarrassing if Ilya felt shame, but he didn’t. He surged down to kiss Hollander, grinding his hard cock into his hips. Hollander wrapped his arms around Ilya’s back, digging his nails into his shoulder as Ilya lined up and pressed inside him slowly.
Ilya pulled back to watch Hollander’s face as he fucked him; he studied his freckles, his blush. He watched as sweat beaded by his temples, as his hair became damp, as his breathing became laboured. He watched as Hollander writhed beneath him, crying out his name, pulling Ilya closer to him, desperately grinding into him.
He didn’t understand how he got so lucky, finding this with Hollander.
>>>
“Red’s your favourite colour?”
Ilya nodded, looking at Hollander, who was watching him closely.
Maybe it was odd, to know so much about each other’s bodies before learning each other’s favourite colours, but it felt right for them.
“What’s yours?” Ilya asked quietly.
Hollander's eyes flitted across his face, his cheeks turning red as he smiled. “I like blue,” he said, eyes locked on Ilya’s.
Ilya felt his own cheeks turning warm as he smiled back.