Chapter Text
Shane would like to think he's a pretty sensible person. He kind of has to be, being who he is. Being what he is. He's reasonable, logical, responsible, all in all not prone to making stupid decisions…until now.
He's laying on his stomach between a pair of thick thighs, dick hard underneath him and pressed against the hotel sheets. He feels out of his mind. His mouth is pressed against hot skin and Ilya Rozanov's cock is in his hand and it was in his mouth a few minutes ago. He can't think. He barely feels aware of his body until—
"Fuck," Rozanov hisses as Shane digs his teeth into his thigh, just shy of breaking the skin. It feels like someone throwing a cold bucket of water over his head.
Shane pulls back suddenly, looking down at the red mark he left on Rozanov's skin. Shit. Shit. His eyes flick up towards Rozanov with alarm. "Fuck, I-I'm sorry," He winces. "I didn't mean to bite that hard, I swear."
He doesn't know what he's doing. Not just with Ilya Rozanov, a man, but right now, in general. His teeth and gums have been aching to sink into something and suck for days, but he hasn't had the time to feed with everything his mom has had lined up recently.
Not that she needs to know that, of course. Though he's one hundred percent certain if he doesn't drink before he sees her next she will know and will be on his case about it.
And then today in the showers, God. He'd never do something like this, have a hook up when he's as thirsty as he is. Hook up with another player. It's reckless and stupid but something about Ilya Rozanov makes Shane reckless and stupid, and he's really not strong enough to resist.
Especially when he can hear the thrum of his blood in his veins, hot and just under the surface of his skin.
And, apparently, he's weak enough that he nearly started to tear a chunk out of his thigh without conciously deciding to do that. Shane licks his lips. Fuck. He should focus. He should stop.
But now he's dug his teeth into the meat of Ilya Rozanov's thighs and he can't stop thinking of how Rozanov would taste. He can't smell his blood, but the taste of his skin and scent of his body is enough to make him salivate.
Focus.
To his surprise, Rozanov huffs out a breathy laugh and raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Polite canadian boy Shane Hollander has some bite after all?" He grins, his eyes dark as he leans down to pull Shane's lips up to his and hum into his mouth and oh, Shane thinks he could get addicted to this alone.
"Is okay, I like it." Rozanov nips at his bottom lip. "You can bite as hard as you want, as long as you do not mind getting same treatment, yes?" He raises an eyebrow questioningly.
Wordlessly, Shane nods. He moves back down, staring up at where Rozanov is leaning back against the hotel pillows and thinks, I'd let the you do whatever you wanted to me. Which is a little concerning considering they've barely ever had a proper conversation before today, but.
He'd rather not think about it.
The other boy nudges him with his foot when he's just laid there staring for a few seconds too long, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Shane gets back to work by kissing the spot he had bit before moving along slowly, dragging his lips over Rozanov's skin. He purposefully nips one spot, heat curling in his stomach when he hears Rozanov's breath hitch just barely.
When he tests a harder bite on a meatier part of his thigh, careful with his teeth, he's rewarded with hissed Russian words and Rozanov's cock twitching in his hand.
Oh, fuck.
Rozanov liked this, really, actually liked it and Shane felt like his brain was short-circuiting. He dug in a little harder, his eyes rolling back as just the act of gnawing on something like this blissfully eased the ache in his teeth and gums.
He popped off before he could get carried away, because he definitely would, moving his mouth instead to Rozanov's cock and taking in as much of it as he could without gagging.
Which wasn't much, but judging by the way the Russian threw his head back, Shane doesn't think he minded all that much. He picked his head back up a second later, his smirk long gone as he panted openly and stared as Shane started to bob his head.
"Hollander, God," He breathed out, eyes wide.
And really, Shane was a little surprised he was getting reactions like that. He'd never done this before, and from the few blowjobs he had received from girls, he knew he wasn't exactly doing well.
He can only take a few inches at a time, he's pretty sure he's drooling everywhere, he can't move his head that fast, and he has no idea what to do with his tongue. But obviously, somehow, that was doing it for Ilya Rozanov, notorious playboy.
And God, the taste of him. Even the bitterness of his pre-cum made Shane feel crazy. How was everything about him so addicting?
He could taste and smell the arousal coming from the other people he had been with, but this was just…something else, entirely. The heady scent of arousal, sex, lust, desire…it was all pouring out of Rozanov and straight into Shane and he felt dizzy with it. He wanted to drown in it.
It feels like everything else fades away almost, after a little while. Shane manages to get into some kind of rhythm, bobbing and sucking and swallowing and occasionally pulling off to lick up the underside of Rozanov's length, looking up at him the best he could.
"You love it, don't you? Sucking my cock?" Rozanov questions breathily after a few minutes, the corner of his mouth curving up into what Shane would usually call an infuriating, mocking smirk. Now, though? Something about it makes his head feel fuzzy. That meant he was happy, right? Shane was doing good?
"So fucking good," Rozanov continues, as if he could read Shane's mind, his own hips twitching and his rhythm stuttering at the praise because oh my god.
Good, good, good, Shane was going good, he liked doing good. He let out a loud, pathetic sound, whining around his cock, and Rozanov's smirk turned into a grin. "Like that, too?"
The condescending tone makes Shane glare up at him, some of that fuzziness clearing form his mind. Asshole. The Russian laughs and shakes his head. "Ah, do not look like that, Hollander, you break my heart. Is not bad."
"You are good, doing so good. Of course you are, hm? Look so good, too." Rozanov's hand reaches down and he runs his fingers through Shane's hair, dragging his nails across his scalp and oh, that feels nice.
He hums at the feeling, his eyes slipping shut and he just barely hears the other mumble something, unable to make it out. Shane's breath hitches when the fingers in his hair tighten, lifting his head and pushing it back down.
Oh. He had stopped moving, at some point, just laying there with Rozanov's cock sitting in his mouth. He hadn't even noticed, he just, fuck, he can't think. Something in his stomach dropped, an uncomfortable feeling coming up his throat. His eyes flutter back open to look up at Rozanov.
"Shhh, is ok," Rozanov cooed. "You are…natural?" Shane moaned.
"Fuck, yes," The other panted as he kept moving Shane's head, up and down, up and down. "A natural cocksucker, but a lot to handle for first time, yes? Even for someone good like you. You do not need to worry, did so good. Relax."
Shane nodded as best he could, that uncomfortable feeling dissipating from the other's words. He didn't even realize that's what that feeling was from. Worry that he wasn't doing good. He kept doing that, knowing what Shane needed before he knew himself. It would be infuriating if it wasn't hot as hell.
That fuzzy feeling started to creep back over his mind again, and Shane lets it. He lets Rozanov take control. Lets himself not think, not move. He's pretty sure he might have stopped breathing at one point, which he hoped Rozanov didn't notice.
He drifts. Lets himself float.
Shane doesn't know how long it's been when the other lifts his head higher, his cock almost falling out of his mouth, and Shane whines, pushing himself back down.
Rozanov moans above him. "Hollander, you, shit," He huffs as Shane keeps his head in place. "You need to get off, I'm—fuck!" He curses, and his hips twitch up, and Rozanov cums in Shane's mouth.
A bolt of pleasure rolls through his body and his hips roll down against the bed. Shane lets out a deep, satisfied moan as he swallows eagerly because it's so good and warm and holy shit, what the fuck? Why does it taste so fucking good?
After he swallows as much as he can, Shane pulls off Rozanov's cock in shock, worried he'd somehow cut it with his teeth and he'd been tasting blood, because it tasted that good, but the only thing he sees is Rozanov's softening, spit-covered member and leftover cum dripping from his lips down onto it.
So it just—okay. Right.
He doesn't get time to work through any of this before Rozanov is pulling him up into his lap, licking into his mouth and making the both of them moan. His hand reaches down between them to wrap around Shane's cock, and he hisses because for some reason it hurts. Rozanov pulls back, confused.
The two of them look down, and then back up at each other. Oh. "Did you…?" The other boy trails off, and Shane feels his cheeks start burning. He did. He 100% did. Shane Hollander came from sucking Ilya Rozanov's cock, Jesus fucking Christ. And, despite that, he was still hard.
Rozanov's eyes widen before they narrow, a determined look settling on his face. He starts jerking Shane off fast, twisting his wrist on every upstroke. Shane cries out and grips the other's shoulder. He's not surprised anymore, so it doesn't hurt as much, but fuck, fuck, fuck, it's overwhelming.
"You can give me another, yes?" Rozanov asks, a wild look in his eyes. He leans forward to kiss Shane again, humming. "One more, Hollander, I know you have another in you."
Half delirious, Shane nods, falling forward and laying his forehead against Rozanov's chest.
If you told Shane from this morning he'd be begging Ilya Rozanov to make him cum after already having an orgasm just from sucking his dick, he'd probably have punched you. And yet.
"Rozanov, fuck, please," He whines embarrassingly. Rozanov tightens his grip in response and he moans against his chest, picking his head up enough to lean into the Russian's shoulder. He's close, he's so close, he just needs a little more.
Rozanov uses his free hand to grab Shane by his hair and lift his head, putting his face into the crook of his neck. "Bite." He orders, and who is Shane to refuse?
He has enough of his faculties still to hold back when he bites, as tempting as Rozanov's pulse under his teeth is, but he still opens wide and latches onto Rozanov's neck, moaning deeply as the relief and the hand on his cock finally, finally pushes him over the edge and he cums into Rozanov's fist. Fireworks explode behind his eyelids and his body feels like it's burning and fuck, it's perfect.
Shane sits there, straddling the Russian's thighs for a minute as he comes down. The only sound in the room is his own heartbeat and Rozanov's heavy breaths in his ear. He flutters his eyes open, not knowing when he closed them, and unlatches from the other's neck before he rolls over to the side to lay on his back, panting heavily. His body is still tingling.
He stares blearily up at the ceiling, mind still reeling from what was begrudingly the best orgasm of his life. The best sex, definitely. He jumps when Rozanov tosses the tissue box from the nightstand at him, it landing on his stomach. He glares over at him, but the other just smirks.
"Best sex of your life, you think?" Rozanov asks, arching an eyebrow. Shane carefully controls his expression, because the last thing he needs is to give away that he was quite literally thinking exactly that.
Ilya Rozanov does not need a bigger ego.
"As if," Shane huffs and shakes his head, focusing on pulling out tissues to wipe up his stomach. He wrinkles his nose as he wipes. He's definitely cleaning up properly once he's alone. "You're so full of yourself."
"You wound me, Hollander." Rozanov sighs, and Shane feels the bed shift. He finishes cleaning up as much as he can for now, and looks over at the Russian to—
"Holy shit!"
Rozanov jumps and curses something in Russian, dropping his pants on the floor and looking at Shane like he's crazy. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
He scoots to the edge of the bed, eyes wide. Shane feels his mouth open and close, at a loss for words. He gives up and just points at his neck. Rozanov furrows his eyebrows but turns, turning on one of the lamps and looking in the mirror on the hotel room wall. His eyebrows raise and he freezes. "Oh."
Yeah, "Oh." sums it up.
He tilts his neck as he looks at the large, purple bruise right on the side of his neck, too high to cover with a normal shirt. Shane can see his teeth marks in it clearly from here. Rozanov has his underwear back on now, but if he pulled them down Shane's sure there'd be another one on his upper thigh, too. It's rough, and nasty, and the way it got there is clear enough.
It looks like it hurts.
Rozanov is still staring at it in the mirror, and they both wince when he reaches up to touch it. "Does it…" Shane swallows. "Does it hurt?"
Rozanov's eyes flick to his for half a second before looking back in the mirror, like he can't look away from the mark on his skin. He shakes his head and shrugs. "No, is fine. Don't feel a thing." He drops his hand. While there wasn't any evidence on his face to show he was lying, Shane has a feeling he is.
Fuck.
This was such a bad idea, why did he think it'd be a good idea to hook up with Ilya Rozanov when he hadn't fed? He should have backed out, how stupid was he? It's not like he likes the guy but…Shane feels a lump form in his throat. He could have hurt him. Really, seriously hurt him.
"I'm, uh," Shane clears his throat, reaching for his own boxer briefs on the floor to pull them on. He feels weird having his dick out now. "I'm sorry, about that. I didn't mean to…do all that. I'm really sorry." Rozanov turns his head to look at Shane now, staring silently for a few seconds. If he sees Shane's inner turmoil on his face, he chooses not to comment on it.
Instead, a lopsided grin forms on his face. "Seriously, I told you to, and I said it was fine." He goes back to grabbing his clothes. "Now I can say I made Shane Hollander feel so good he couldn't control himself. A big accomplishment, don't you think?"
"You are such a fucking asshole." Shane says, failing to fight back a smile. He laughs reluctantly, before he pauses. "Wait, you're not actually gonna—"
Rozanov groans, rolling his eyes as he pulls on his pants. "No, Hollander, I'm not going to go around talking about how gay you were when you were sucking my cock. Are you going to tell people?"
"…No."
Rozanov just makes a gesture, like well, there you go. Which, yeah, he guesses that makes sense. Rozanov can't talk about what they did without outing himself in the process, so…okay. Right.
It's like he said with his coach's son. Same secret.
They're silent for the most part after that. Shane lays back on the bed while Rozanov finishes getting dressed. He tries not to stare, but, well. It's not like this is going to happen again, so he might as well take advantage. Besides, he only gets caught a few times.
Rozanov stands in front of the door when he's done, staring at Shane. His eyes rake over Shane's body casually, slowly. He smirks when it makes him squirm slightly.
"Goodnight." Rozanov says simply.
"…Night." Shane nods. A beat passes. Without another word, Rozanov turns and opens the door, leaving his hotel room.
Shane slides down on the bed, rubbing his hands down his face. Holy fuck. He just slept with a man. With Ilya Rozanov. He lets himself smile for half a second before he fights it back, feeling stupid.
There's still the case of…why Rozanov's cum tasted like that, that had him confused. That couldn't be normal, right? Was it a vampire thing? God, there was no chance in hell he was asking his mother anything about this. He shudders. Thinks.
…He wonders how good Rozanov's blood would taste.
Nope. Shane shakes his head to clear that thought and sits up. He needs a shower, and to probably find someone to feed from before he leaves tomorrow. Maybe he has a pack in his suitcase? He can't remember.
Shane strips back down and heads to the bathroom. turning on the water hotter than he usually likes in an attempt to distract himself from anymore thoughts of what he just did, of who.
He resolutely, desperately, ignores the fact that under all of the concern over maybe almost killing Rozanov, there's a sick, animalistic part of him that preens at the fact that Ilya Rozanov will be walking around with the imprint of Shane's teeth in his neck. Marked by him. A part of him that's maybe also a little dissapointed Rozanov couldn't return the favor.
Shane clenches his jaw and turns the water as hot as it will go.