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Shane tried to ignore the dread pooling in his stomach as he pulled the fresh shirt over his head. Stuffing the jersey into his bag. The game had been a total disaster. They had lost, by a lot. It made his blood boil just thinking about it. What aggravated him most was the smarmy, smug look on the other captains face. The blonde Russian who was just as big of an asshole on the ice as he was off of it.
And of course, of course he would be the star player of the game. Shane had known he would be. It seemed the Russian had known it himself, pointing at Shane once the game was over with a lopsided grin on his face. A promise of see you later. A way of telling Shane ‘I choose you’. Sure enough not long after someone had found Shane to tell him, it was indeed him. He was the forfeit, today’s victim of the room.
It was stupid really. The entire concept of the Winners room. The star player of the winning team got their pick off the loosing team. The forfeit. It was exactly what it sounded like. You win, you pick someone for your sexual pleasure, you own them for that hour in the room. If you lose and you get picked.. well, then it’s you being somebody’s bitch for an hour. Lucky Shane, they had lost and he had been picked.
Despite being one of the best players on his team, this would be Shane’s first time in the room. He never accepted it when he was the star player, always passing the privilege to someone else on his team. He’d also never been picked before. That lucky streak ended tonight.
Shane had reached the door, sticking out his hand to turn the knob and step inside. Seeing who had chosen him. Ilya Rozanov. It was the fucking Russian. Sitting there on the bed, resting against the pillows, ankles crossed and a smirk plastered on his face.
Shane closed the door behind him. Wanting to runaway. That was against the rules. He knew that.
Ilya sat up, practically levitating. Scooting himself to the edge of the bed. The smirk never leaving his face. “Strip”. “Oh fuck you rozanov” Shane quipped back quickly. The blondes hand flew to his chest in a mock sense of dramatics, “oh Hollander you wound me.” Wiping away a fake tear. Before his face dropped into seriousness again. “But last time I checked I was winner, I was all star, this is my room, you’re my bitch so strip”. Shane would never admit it but the words went straight to his dick. He tried not to show it. Not wanting to make himself too much of a willing participant. not yet.Instead he obeyed, making sure to roll his eyes as he did so. Unzipping his pants and folding his clothes neatly, like he always did. If Rozanov noticed he didn’t say anything.
Rozanov watched silently, speaking only once Shane was fully naked. “On your knees.” Shane realized it was embarrassing how fast he complied, dropping instantly. The Russian stood in front of Shane, the sound of pants unzipping filled the room. “Suck it Hollander” Shane almost complied instantly on muscle memory alone, before remembering he was supposed to be fighting it. That was the whole point, the entire reason they had- a hand tugged at his hair harshly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “I said suck my fucking dick Hollander.” He sounded so cruel, blood pooled in Shane’s dick. Allowing his mouth to fall open, letting his head be dragged towards Rozanov’s cock. He let his mouth open, let himself take Rozanov into his mouth. Sucking gently, slowly. Too slowly. Rozanov’s hips jutted forward. Shane scrambled backwards, a choked gag escaping him.
The Russian rolled his eyes. “If you can’t do it properly, just open your mouth and relax your throat like a good boy, while I fuck it.”
Shane’s mouth fell open. It was willing, Too willing. He was supposed to be fighting, he had wanted Ilya to make him. That was why-. A sharp slap to the side of his head brought him back into his body. “Pay attention Hollander. Wanna watch your eyes while you choke on my dick.”
Shane held back a moan at the filthy words. “Fuck off rosanov.” Ilya just shrugged, grabbing Shane’s hair and plunging himself into the other’s mouth. Moaning as he began to fuck Shane’s throat. One hand on his hair, physically moving Shane’s head to meet the snap of his hips. “Take it. Fucking take it Hollander.” His hips continued to piston forward. Shane’s eyes were glassy, spit dripping down his chin.
Ilya pulled his dick out of Shane’s mouth, his hand still firmly wrapped in Shane’s hair. Using his grip to slap Shane’s cheek with his dick. “Who’s the best.”
Shane; who had been cock drunk, blissed out from being face fucked, snapped back into himself immediately. Ilya smirked, there was the fire, the fight he had been looking for. He did it again, slapping Shane’s other cheek. “I said, who’s the best?”
“I am”. Was Shane’s reply, strong, defiant.
“Wrong answer.” Ilya surged forward, grabbing Shane’s throat. He stopped, scanning Shane’s eyes looking for any sign that this was no longer ok. He saw nothing but pleasure. Shane gave him a small nod.
Ilya yanked Shane to his feet. He let go of his throat, choosing to shove him face forward onto the bed. Yanking Shane’s pants down around his ankles with one pull. Shoving Shane’s face back into the bed as he tried to stand. “Wrong answer naughty boy.” His hands began roaming Shane’s ass. Gripping the globes firmly. “I’m the best. Me, you are just the looser who gets to take my dick tonight. You understand?” He laughed as Shane shook his head, face still pressed into the covers. “Losers get punished.” As he spoke he landed a hard hit on Shane’s ass. The other man lurched forward, letting out a groan that sounded a lot like a moan. “Your ass is mine Hollander.” Landing another swat. “I’m going to send you back there. Back to that locker room, back to your team, with your ass painted red and stuffed with my cum.”
“Fuck you Rosanov”, he tried to hiss but it sounded more like a moan. “Yes that is the plan. Me fucking you.” Ilya began opening Shane up. Not being particularly gentle. Shane hadn’t wanted him to be, when they had discussed things. With a particular hard thrust of his fingers that ripped a moan out of Shane’s mouth, Ilya smirked. “Who is the best?”
Still, the man below him refused to give in, just shaking his head again. Ilya shrugged. “Ok” he pushed in. Bottoming out quickly. Dragging himself out and back in lazily before beginning to piston his hips quickly. Chasing his own pleasure, simply using Shane as a hole. Shane reached a hand towards his dick, desperate. Ilya quickly grabbed his wrist, both of them. Pinning them behind Shane’s back, using them as leverage to fuck himself into the man below him even harder.
“Fuck. Going to fill you up with my cum like a good boy. Going to send you back your team with me dripping out of you. They will all know what a slut captain Shane Hollander is for me.” The snapping of hips got louder, faster, moans echoing in the room.
“Ilya please- I’m gonna”
“Ah ah. Who is the best Hollander?”
“You are. Fuck Rozanov you are. You’re the best in the league.”
“Good boy. Cum for me”
Shane didn’t need to be told twice. He exploded with a cry. Ilya wasn’t far behind, filling Shane’s hole just like he had promised.
Ilya pulled out with a pop. Collapsing on the bed. “You have killed me. Again.” Placing a loving kiss onto the other man’s forehead before standing up to grab the rag. Handing it to Shane so he could clean up.
Ilya lay against the pillows. “I never knew my husband was so kinky. Was so, what is words? Ah sexual deviant”
Shane turned crimson. “Shut up. You liked it.” “Of course I did. Was only way to finally make my husband admit truth. That I am best player in NHL.” That earned him a roll of Shane’s eyes. “Don’t be too proud of yourself. I tell you all kinds of things under distress. Remember when I told you that your dick was nine inches?”
“My dick is nine inches!”
“You wish.”