Chapter Text
Ilya knew this was a bad idea. Anyone with a working conscience could tell you that, and Ilya certainly had one.
His tie is too tight around his neck, and his shoes too small; the air in the elevator too stifling. The universe was practically sending signs to him to get off this dang elevator heading up to Shane Hollander, his so-called ‘rival’, as coined by the media.
But the pounding in his heart just wouldn’t go away. He’d seen Hollander’s reaction as he jerked off in front of him in the bathroom. This man was most definitely into Ilya, as seen by how he was eyeing him even before he had made the dumb decision to jerk off in front of the #2 draft in the MLH.
And even after, when he had demanded Hollander for his room number, he had simply obeyed and answered Ilya immediately.
“Fourteen ten,” Hollander had said far too quickly. So he was pretty sure that he wanted this as much as Ilya did.
Ilya groans, loosening his tie as he taps his foot, waiting for the elevator to reach the fourteenth floor. Fuck, even remembering the way Hollander had been eyeing him in the showers; uncertain but absolutely aroused, and the way his cock had risen as he eyed Ilya up and down was enough to get Ilya hard.
And he was. He was so fucking hard.
The memory of Hollander's hooded eyes as they roamed across Ilya's body, the way despite him clearly wanting to, not being able to take his eyes off of the hand stroking Ilya's cock. Ilya could imagine it now. Goody two shoes Shane Hollander, the league's new golden boy on his knees. On his knees, his mouth stuffed with Ilya's cock and his eyes watery. His cheeks would be a nice red and would still be dusted with those stupidly pretty freckles of his. However, Ilya's fantasies are interrupted with a ding.
Ilya’s heart drops as the elevator comes to a stop, not at floor 14 but at floor 6, and opens to reveal not Hollander but his mother.
Well fuck. Ilya swears his heart rate doubles.
Hollander’s mother looks up, and her eyes widen in surprise.
“Oh,” she stammers, “hello there.”
Please, please, please say you’re going down.
His heart pounds and his palms begin to swear as her eyes dart up to the floor number displayed above the elevator.
“Oh, I’m trying to go down,” she starts, but Ilya quickly interrupts her.
“This is going up.” Ilya already has his finger on the close button, and is pushing it repeatedly while simultaneously trying to seem as discreet as possible about the whole situation.
“Right,” she responds awkwardly. “Well, I’m-”
To Ilya’s relief, the door closes before she manages to utter anything else.
He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before tilting his head up, covering his face with his hand.
“Oh, fuck… ha!” He lets out a barked laugh, letting his hands drop as he stares up at the ceiling. This certainly was a bad idea, and the universe most certainly was sending him signs.
The lengths he’ll go for a piece of ass. Well, it was a nice piece of ass though.