Chapter Text
Ilya felt light as he walked across the deserted parking lot, his only guidance the dim streetlights under the cover of darkness. He glanced down for a moment to shoot Hollander a text message: I’m outside.
Ilya was in a good mood, but he was almost always in a good mood in Montreal, because visiting Montreal meant visiting Shane Hollander. He was practically guaranteed a hard game against Hollander, one that stretched Ilya to his limit and left his blood rushing. However, what came after always promised a night that he would spend the next weeks mentally replaying, using as masturbation fodder and daydream material.
When the Metros won, Ilya was met with a version of Hollander that was eager to let Ilya put him back in his place, a needy little submissive who was impatient to please and begged to be rewarded. However, when the Raiders won, Ilya was treated to a brattier Hollander, one who maintained a prickly, pouting demeanor until Ilya managed to coax his usual sweetness back to the surface.
All things considered, Hollander was an excellent incentive to enjoy Montreal. Tonight, Ilya was high off of a hard-won victory, a brutal game that ended 2-1 in favor of the Raiders. Ilya and Hollander had scored a goal a piece, and the game wasn’t decided until late in the third period, when a well-placed shot from Marleau had clinched another win for Boston.
Ilya was almost giddy imagining Hollander’s pinched face, sure to greet him in only a moment, thinking of capturing the pout in a kiss, the way the submissive would yield under him. His reward was granted half a second later when the door to Hollander’s private staircase swung open, revealing the waiting man.
Ilya ducked inside, flashing Hollander a grin to combat his sullen expression. Ever the gentleman, Ilya gave Hollander just enough time to lock the door behind him before crowding him against the wall and pressing his palm against his neck, using his thumb to tilt Hollander’s jaw into a bruising kiss. Hollander didn’t shy away from him, pressing into Ilya, returning the force behind the kiss.
Ilya pushed his tongue forward, skirting along the edges of Hollander’s teeth before drawing back, shifting his hand to cup Hollander’s jaw, pressing his fingers into his cheeks. Grinning, Ilya nipped at Hollander’s bottom lip before teasing, “Are you going to be good for me, Hollander?”
Hollander made his best attempt at a huff, brow furrowing as he answered. “I’m always good for you, Rozanov.” His tone twisted, bratty and almost mocking.
So it was going to be one of those nights.
Ilya’s smile didn’t fade, slightly shaking Hollander’s face before releasing him and stepping back. He knew this act wouldn’t last for long, but his cock had already taken interest, arousal swirling low in his gut as he gestured to the stairs.
Hollander turned, silently leading Ilya up the staircase. As he moved, Ilya could see the tension in his body, his shoulders high and tight, his hips stiff. Hollander was always so tightly wound, a submissive who carried himself with an overwrought precision that made Ilya’s bones ache. It was one of the qualities that endeared him to Ilya, that made the dominant long to reach out and take him apart. Hollander made Ilya earn his submission, but that only made it sweeter. Still, Hollander’s tension was uncommon for a well-kept submissive, especially one in the MLH, where teams usually kept their submissives too well-fucked and thoroughly dominated for stress to fester.
It had been a few decades since the MLH began to allow submissives to play, but they were now an expected fixture of practically every team in the league. Ilya knew of a couple teams that had three submissives on their roster, though two was a more common number. For all the league had advanced, hockey culture was still conservative; the majority of players were still dominants, with a handful of switches thrown in for good measure.
And the Metros were more conservative than most. Ilya knew that Hollander was the only submissive on their roster at the moment, which only made his willingness to hook up with Ilya more puzzling. Submissives in the league were owned collectively by their team, though in most teams the captain held final authority. They were responsible for taking care of their submissives, ensuring their needs for submission were met, and also delivering punishment when they erred.
It was a mantle Ilya had taken up earlier that season, when he was named captain of the Boston Raiders. He liked both of the Raiders’ submissives well enough. Both men were sweet and obedient, and between the twenty other men on the roster, their sexual needs were easily met. If anything, Ilya had to ensure his men didn’t overuse the submissives.
Which was why Ilya had never been able to understand why Hollander continued to hook up with him. The Metros’ captain, a Canadian man named Kevin Michaud, had a reputation for running a ‘traditional’ locker room. Even if he didn’t, Ilya had seen how the Metros handled Shane at league events, always keeping him close. It was hard to catch Hollander without a teammate’s hand on him, curved against his back or resting over his hip.
The Metros’ possessiveness was part of the reason Ilya had been so bold trying to catch Hollander’s attention at the CCM shoot. Hollander was beautiful, of course, and Ilya would have been interested in him in most any context, but there was a smug satisfaction in playing against the Metros and knowing he’d had their submissive’s mouth before any of Hollander’s actual teammates.
Not that Ilya was allowed to chirp about it. He shuddered to imagine what would happen to Hollander if his team of dominants knew he was hooking up with The Ilya Rozanov, Captain of the Boston Raiders. Having Ilya here was a massive risk, one that could threaten both of their positions in the league. Yet, it was a risk Hollander was strangely willing to keep taking, even if he was still so paranoid over getting caught.
Ilya had always figured Hollander had some need that the Metros weren’t filling, but he could never quite figure out what it was, and Hollander hadn’t volunteered his reasoning. For now, Ilya simply avoided looking a gift horse in the mouth, climbing the stairs and thanking the universe he was about to have Shane Hollander once more.
When they made it into the living room, Ilya once again reached out for Hollander, squeezing his ass and leaning forward to land a kiss against the side of his neck. Letting out a small sound of contentment, Hollander turned into Ilya, this time melting into his kisses.
Ilya felt smug, having known that Hollander would be eager to have him, that his attitude wouldn't last all night. Hollander’s lips were soft against Ilya’s, letting Ilya control the kiss, deepening it as he wished, licking into Hollander’s mouth. Ilya’s hands found Hollander’s hips, not letting him fall as he guided the man back towards the stairs, up to the bedroom. Hollander cursed under his breath when he stumbled over a step, though Ilya caught him. Still, Hollander fixed Ilya with a dirty look.
It seemed the brattiness would be making a few reappearances. Ilya couldn’t bring himself to be too upset over it, always one to enjoy the battle.
“Want to know what I was thinking about during every face-off?” Ilya asked Hollander, making it to the bedroom.
“No,” Hollander answered flatly, still committed to being obstinate, even as he sank to his knees in front of Ilya. For his part, Ilya's cock responded to the sight of Hollander on his knees, even still fully dressed. It was almost Pavlovian.
“Hmm, okay,” Ilya answered, shrugging a shoulder as he carded his fingers through Hollander’s hair, stroking him as he used his free hand to undo the front of his pants.
Hollander leaned forward, seemingly intent on getting Ilya’s cock out before freezing, looking up at Ilya with his wide eyes, currently narrowed in suspicion. “You aren’t going to tell me?”
Ilya wasn’t surprised by this response, knowing Hollander would sweeten up sooner if he refused to reward his snark. “You said you don’t want to know,” he answered nonchalantly. “Is okay.”
Ilya watched as Hollander clenched and unclenched his hands, face set as he thought hard, clearly frustrated. “Tell me.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow, still petting Hollander’s hair, letting his face convey how unimpressed he was. “Is that how you ask?”
Hollander huffed, shifting on his knees. He took another moment before gritting out a request. “Please tell me what you were thinking about during the face-offs. Sir.”
Ilya allowed his face to break back into a smile. “Good boy,” he offered before quickly answering. “And I was thinking about your pretty mouth, and how much I have missed having it on my dick.”
At that, Hollander flushed, grimace fading in response to the easy praise. Leaning forward, he mouthed at the front of Ilya’s underwear briefly, then pulled away to speak. “Can I suck your cock?”
Ilya would never deny such a request, nodding. “Of course,” he said, pulling his cock from his underwear, already half hard. “Take off your clothes first.”
Hollander was quick to obey, rising and stripping himself, painstakingly folding each clothing item. When he finished, he gave Ilya a few seconds to look, as though checking the dominant was happy with what he saw.
Ilya had never been anything but thrilled to see Hollander’s body, making sure to give him an approving nod as Hollander returned to his knees. Leaning in, Hollander watched Ilya with wide, dark eyes as he took the tip of Ilya’s cock in his mouth, suckling at the head for a moment to draw a long, low groan from Ilya.
“So fucking good,” Ilya murmured, tangling his fingers through Hollander’s hair, nudging him to take more in his mouth. “Better than I remembered, even.”
That encouraged Hollander, who began to sink lower on Ilya’s cock, trying to take him to the root as he began to bob up and down. Ilya could feel Hollander’s tongue against the underside of his cock, but he was mostly content to set a steady pace, focused on warming Ilya up rather than making him finish.
As Hollander continued to suck him, Ilya kept his hands in Hollander’s hair, kept speaking sweetly to him, letting out little moans when his cock hit the back of Hollander’s throat, already imagining how he would take Hollander apart in bed. Ilya felt an orgasm building when he pulled Hollander off of him, waiting for the sensation to fade.
Hollander looked so pretty like this, lips dark and wet from sucking Ilya, panting on his knees for the dominant, his defiant pretense having slipped away. “On the bed,” Ilya ordered, watching as Hollander scrambled to obey. Stripping off, Ilya left his clothes in a pile on the floor before following Hollander.
Ilya manhandled Hollander onto his knees, being careful not to be too rough, though Hollander was already moving with him, offering no resistance. “Good boy,” he said, offering praise as he leaned in to press a kiss to the back of Hollander’s thigh. Reaching up, he pressed his palm to Hollander’s spine and lowered his shoulders to the mattress, so he was offering his ass up to Ilya, his thighs spread wide.
“So pretty for me,” Ilya murmured. “I was thinking about this the whole game.” He used his hands to spread Hollander’s ass, exposing his tight hole, already flushed pink. Ilya hummed, unsurprised to find Hollander’s hole was slightly swollen, already opened up some, though the lack of lube meant it hadn’t been prepared for him.
“You were fucked today already?” He asked, pressing the pad of his thumb over the plush hole, testing the give of Hollander’s flesh.
“No,” Hollander answered, now scowling again, turning his face to press his cheek to the mattress so he could send Ilya a glare.
Ilya pressed against his hole more firmly, letting his tone grow firm even as he was delighted by Hollander’s tetchiness. “You know something?” He asked, letting his voice drop as he pressed a kiss to Hollander’s hip. “I always kind of think that your team must not fuck you properly, the way you’re always so desperate for my cock. You always want it so bad, I have to think… maybe the Metros do not do good job with you? Maybe you are neglected in Montreal?”
Hollander pressed his lips into a thin line, still glaring, and Ilya was half-surprised he wasn’t met with backtalk. But Hollander’s eyes were already going glassy, evidence he was close to floating.
“But Hollander, this hole does not look neglected to me.” Ilya tore his eyes from Hollander’s face, making a show of studying his hole, leaning close enough to let Hollander feel his breath against the sensitive skin. Then, Ilya hooked the pad of his thumb against Hollander’s rim, using the friction to tug down, just enough to be uncomfortable, but too wary of the lack of lube to truly hurt him. “This hole looks very well used. Would guess this hole gets a cock every day, maybe does not even need prep anymore.”
A low whine rumbled through Hollander’s chest and his eyes fluttered closed, but he didn’t pull away, only spreading his thighs a little wider.
“It’s okay,” Ilya teased, speaking almost casually. “Do not be embarrassed. It is still a very pretty hole, Hollander. I bet it’s very convenient for your team. They just use a swipe of lube over their cocks and then they sink right in, hmm? This hole opens up so nicely for them, warm... Soft... Just made to take cock.”
“No,” Hollander repeated, sounding uncertain.
“I think it is a good thing, actually. I was going to use my mouth to help prepare you for me, but your teammates save me the trouble.”
And at that, Hollander whimpered, eyes going wide as he looked at Ilya imploringly. “Rozanov,” he whispered. “Please? Please use your mouth?”
Ilya made a grand show of thinking, letting out a hum of consideration as he pressed his thumb against Hollander’s hole again. There was no world where Ilya didn’t eat Hollander’s ass tonight, and a part of him thought Hollander had to know that. Still, Ilya saw no reason he couldn’t make a game of it. “Maybe I make a deal with you?”
Hollander nodded, fisting at the comforter.
“Maybe, I use my mouth,” Ilya began, reaching out to pinch Hollander’s cheek, condescending. “Because I am a very, very nice dom, I will use my mouth to open you up for me. However, I will only use it while you are telling me about whoever fucked this hole today. You only want to tell me their name? You want to be very secretive, no extra information? Then this will be a very short meal for me. However, if you want to be generous with the details… Well then, I can be generous, too.”
Hollander’s lips were slightly parted, his eyes very glassy now, evidence that he was either in subspace or very close to it.
“Deal?” Ilya prompted.
“Deal,” Hollander choked out.
Suppressing a grin, Ilya settled himself behind Hollander, leaning in to land a kiss over his cute hole. He didn’t pull away far, sure that Hollander could still feel the warmth of his face so close to him, his breath hot against his hole. “I start when you are ready.”
He listened to Hollander breathe for a few moments, enjoying the little whimper that escaped just before Hollander started talking. “I wasn’t technically fucked, I just had to use my hole to cock warm today.”
Satisfied, Ilya pressed his tongue to Hollander’s skin, giving a broad lick over his hole, enjoying the taste of clean skin.
Hollander choked off a moan as he kept talking. “It wasn’t really a punishment, but it wasn’t not a punishment either. During the first period, I was annoyed with Moore because he wasn’t where I was needing him, and I guess I made a comment about it that Michaud didn’t like.”
Ilya continued to lave his tongue over Hollander’s hole, providing plenty of warmth and moisture, still warming him up. He only let out a small hum of acknowledgement, wanting to encourage Hollander to keep going. Even now, Ilya could hear the edge of brattiness creeping into his voice, clearly still unwilling to cop to whatever mouthiness had set Michaud off.
“So when we were going into the tunnel after- after the first, Michaud told me that I was going to settle down by spending the intermission on Moore’s cock.” Hollander’s breath caught, his words stopping as he pressed back against Ilya’s face.
Ilya immediately pulled away, holding Hollander’s hips and staying silent as he waited for him to continue.
“Rozanov,” Hollander whined, wriggling beneath his hands. “Please? More?”
“I already told you the rules,” Ilya reminded him. “You know how to get more of my mouth.”
Hollander made a sound of frustration, then buried his face in the mattress, clearly weighing his options. Ilya was content to watch as his needy hole pulsed, shimmering with his spit.
“At the start of intermission, Michaud made me partly undress and he had Moore sit on the changing bench.”
Pleased, Ilya went back to his task, now focused on teasing Hollander’s rim with his tongue, giving more of the sensation he was craving.
“And he had me sit on Moore’s lap with his dick inside me. They didn’t have a lot of time, so they only gave me one finger for prep, just to get some lube inside and then they lubed Moore’s dick. He wasn’t fucking me but it really burned when I wasn’t stretched first.”
Ilya’s own cock was still standing at attention, over eager as a result of the mental image of Hollander spending his intermission squirming on Moore’s lap. Ilya knew who Moore was, a large veteran forward who had been in the league for over a decade. He was big enough, certainly, to hold Hollander still if he squirmed too much, and Ilya almost lost himself imagining Hollander’s freckled face reddened with a blush, eyes squeezed shut at the humiliation of being forced to spend his intermission with his hole stretched wide around a teammate’s cock in the middle of the changing room. Hollander always blushed so beautifully, always so sensitive to any humiliation, even after three years in the league. Ilya wished he had the time to make Hollander warm him, suddenly desperately jealous of Moore.
“It wasn’t dangerous or anything, but I was a little sore in the second period.”
Ilya pulled back, cooing at him. “Oh, poor Shane Hollander,” he crooned, playfully biting at his ass. “He has to spend intermission on a cock to keep his bratty mouth in check.”
Ilya dropped kisses against his ass as Hollander squirmed, indignant. “Fuck you. I’m not bratty.”
Ilya grinned, and landed a single swat against his thigh, leaving a pink imprint that was sure to fade quickly, as he wasn’t allowed to leave marks Hollander’s team might notice. Hollander let out a hiss of pain, quick to change his tone. “Sorry, sorry, sir.”
“That’s better,” Ilya murmured, lowering his face back to Hollander’s hole. He ignored the rules he had set earlier, focused now on working Hollander up. He kept his hands firmly at the submissive’s hips, holding him in place, ensuring he couldn’t buck or rub his cock against the mattress. Then, he set to work, licking across his hole and beginning to work his tongue inside. Pushing in and out, he used his tongue to fuck Hollander, thrilled with the feel of Hollander’s hold yielding beneath him. He sucked at the rim, interspersing his licks with kisses, focusing on providing plenty of moisture, working Hollander over reverently until his hole was red and wet enough to accept his fingers, allowing him to slip one inside and massage against his walls.
Hollander moaned and quivered beneath him, occasionally thrusting his hips, struggling to keep himself still. “Roz-Rozanov!” He cried out, hole pulsing against Ilya’s mouth.
Going still, Ilya pulled back, ignoring Hollander’s whine at the loss of stimulation. “Tell me more,” he ordered, out of breath as his fingers dug into Hollander’s hips. “When Moore was inside of you, did you think of me?”
Hollander’s face was red, his skin covered with a flush that extended down his chest, to the tips of his ears. When he answered, his voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”
“What was that?” Ilya demanded.
“Yes,” Hollander repeated, a little louder, desperate. “Yes, I was thinking that I wished it was you instead of Moore! Please, Rozanov, please fuck me. I need it, please, sir.”
Ilya smirked, the usual possessiveness hanging heavy in his chest, satisfied to know Hollander had been thinking of him while serving his team. “So needy,” he teased, working a second finger into Hollander, taking care to stretch him open, unwilling to give him any discomfort when the submissive was pleading so prettily. “So needy and so pretty. You’re going to be a good boy for me now?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be so good.”
“I believe you,” Ilya murmured, leaning down to drop a kiss against Hollander’s spine. Turning to the nightstand, he retrieved the lube and a condom, quickly opening the condom and rolling it on before setting to work giving Hollander lube that was more substantial than his spit. He worked three lubed fingers into Hollander, moaning at the feeling of his tight heat, clinging to his fingers.
“My good boy,” Ilya soothed, lining himself up to enter Hollander. Slowly, he breached him, taking his time to bury himself deep in Hollander. “Oh, God,” Ilya muttered, rubbing Hollander's back. “Is okay? Any pain?”
“Please fuck me,” Hollander begged, voice pitching higher.
Ilya didn’t need to be asked a second time.