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The phone calls were new. They’d only tried it a few times, still getting used to hearing each other’s voices through tinny speakers. The sound was much better on this new touch screen model he’d been gifted from a sponsorship deal last month than the flip phone Shane had before. But the voice was still metallic compared to the memory of lips next to his ear.
Shane was tracing his entrance, slowly working a second finger in. Thumb rubbing along his perineum, slightly grazing his balls. He could hear the quiet wet sounds of Rozanov fisting his length. Had heard him spit in his own hand a few moments before to ease the friction. The sound which should have been disgusting sending a jolt through his body.
“Tell me how you touch yourself”
“Fuck Rozanov. I’m- my fingers are” Shane blushed as he spoke, worried somehow Rozanov would know about the flush even through the phone.
“Getting ready for me yes? Want my dick that badly? Does it feel good like my hands in you? Can hit all your spots like I do? Fingers enough for hungry Hollander hole?” His voice curls around the last word. Running his mouth, always running his mouth.
“Jesus. Who the fuck taught you to talk like that?
“I have dictionary, is big book, thick like --”
“Oh my god stop”
Shane heard a chuckle through the line. It has him slipping a third finger in as the sound relaxes him further.
“How many?” Rozanov asked like he knew what Shane had just done.
“Three now”
“Mmmm- it is too bad you do not make playoffs. Could have been playing against us tonight. Could have me there doing work for you, opening you. Instead at home.”
“Oh fuck you, you’re the one who just lost to Minnesota on home ice”
“No Hollander, I think you want me to fuck you.” Rozanov purrs down the line completely ignoring the other words.
“Well you aren’t here, and you know what doesn't talk back?”
“Toy is poor substitute.” Rozanov says immediately.
“Not that bad, bigger than you” Shane replied knowing it was a lie but wanting to rile him up a bit, get some of that jealousy leaking into his voice.
“You are still bad liar. Never did tell me color.”
“Are you still that hung up on it?”
“Yes, is all I think about Hollander. Is pink, da? Glittery? Does it have the-- ” Shane hears him make a buzzing *zzztt* sound through his teeth.
“What?”
Rozanov makes the sound again. “I don’t know word, like… Engine? Motor?”
“Vibrator!?” Shane asks shocked laughter bleeding into his voice.
“Yes, the vibrator.” He says like he’s testing the word out.
He barks out a choked laugh “NO! It doesn’t have a vibrator.”
“Is pink though? And glittery tell me please glittery?” his accent rolling the r's in that way that drives Shane crazy.
Shane groans through his next words, his clean hand scrubbing down his face muffling his voice a bit “I thought black was more, discreet."
“Ugghh, Hollander you are so boring, mine is at least green.”
His brain takes a second to process the words, fingers slowing their pace inside him. Scrambling to make sense of what Rozanov just said. His… what is green? They’d been talking about Shane’s dildo. His boring, black, smaller than 9 inch, non vibrating dildo. Does Rozanov have one? Does it vibrate? Is that the noise Rozanov had been mimicking? The sound of his own GREEN dildo. Shane understands now why the color was so important to him. Images of what Rozanov looked like under him. Flat on his back while Shane rode him merging into fantasies of Rozanov with his head tossed back. Golden curls wild on the pillow, strong thighs hitched up, feet planted on the sheets, while a flash of green drove in and out between his legs.
“Hollander? Did call drop?” Shane could hear some rustling and faint Russian that sounded like cursing- but then again, most Russian words did.
Oh god, how long had he been quiet for? Was Rozanov going to hang up on him? He didn’t want that! He needed to keep hearing that low voice that sounded so close but so far through the blood rushing in his ears. Speak, words Shane, now, something, anything!
“Green?” He hears himself ask, the words slipping through any filter in his mind before he could stop them. Sounding breathless even to his own ears. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.
“Did not have pink.” Shane inhales hard at the joking response.
A pause on the other side, the sound of Rozanov’s hand that was working his own cock slowing, stopping.
“You are surprised." It’s not said as a question. Rozanov knows him too well. Heard Shane go quiet for so long and came to the correct conclusion.
Shane doesn't know why he's so stunned. He supposed he knew he wasn’t Rozanov’s first, he’d told him all those years ago, the first night he came to his hotel room. Shane has only been with this one man, but he remembers Rozanov mentioning a guy, his coach's son? He remembers the undeniable skill Rozanov had with his mouth, swallowing despite Shane’s warning, which had left no doubt their first time that he was experienced beyond that as well. Shane just had assumed all those men had been… Like him. Fuck, he had thought Rozanov only topped.
“Why do you have a green dildo?”
From the beginning he’d been ordering him around, telling him to get on his knees, asking to fuck Shane. Shane had wanted it like that too. Happy to follow commands, to see the flicker of pride in Rozanov’s face when he obeyed them. He had wanted to feel the heat of skin pressing inside him instead of cold silicone, the press of another body against his. Had craved the orders that took away his control, that let his mind go quiet so he could let all the strings propping him up snap. Letting himself be taken care of. In bed with Rozanov was the one place where he didn’t have to follow all the rules he had set for himself. Rozanov had given it to Shane and Shane had asked no questions, had taken it happily from him, greedily. He had thought that’s just how it was, how they were.
“I think maybe same reason you have black one.” And Rozanov sounds almost shy? Like he's nervous of Shane's reaction.
Maybe that had been a little ignorant of him. Or regressive? Why had he assumed they could only do it one way? Why would he think they had to relegate to only one role when they were together? Yes, he liked the feeling of Rozanov inside him, surrounding him, consuming him. But Shane had been with women before, and it had never been bad, not really. The pressure felt nice, the heat around his cock. He had even liked going down on them, feeling them clench around his tongue and the press of thighs around his head. What he hadn’t liked was feeling bigger than them, feeling like he had to control the pace, tell them what to do. He’d enjoyed it most with the few that had taken the reins from him. Even then the problem had just been that they were, well, women. And if he let himself be a little honest, not him.
“You use it? On, yourself?” He has to know, suddenly desperate for the answer.
"Is what is for, da?" He says slowly sounding confused as to why Shane keeps asking.
Rozanov had never seemed unhappy with their arrangement, had never asked for it any other way, no hint of it even. Did he want that? Or did he just not want it with Shane? It was all he could think about now. Fingers no longer chasing his prostate, pulling out. Moving upwards to squeeze his balls and wrap around his dick.
“Fuck, Rozanov. Do you, when, have-” the words sound choked, Shane's mouth working too slow for his racing thoughts. Hand stripping his cock so fast the friction burns.
“Hollander, what is wrong? Breathe slower.” Rozanov sounds worried now but Shane can't think about anything other than the color green right now.
“Rozan- fuck, fuck-- Ilya” he cries cumming hard and fast, his vision whiting out.
“Hollander? Holl- Shane? What happened? Did you… just?” Ilya's words crash over Shane bringing him back into his body. His stomach now coated in his spend. Oh god. What the fuck had just happened. He had no clue what to say to Ilya. No, Rozanov. He was Rozanov to Shane. He had to be. But still there was a halo of green surrounding his thoughts.
“No I. Fuck I have to go I'm sorry.” He went to hang up but before he could he heard-
“No! Shane, what just happened– tell me, are you ok? Are you hurt?” And the worry he heard there stopped him from ending the call.
“I'm not…not hurt.”
“Did you cum?”
“Yeah.”
“Already?” Shane can hear the laugh and feels his cheeks burn.
“Fuck off.”
“I know it's been a while-”
“Shut up.” Shane interrupts whatever Rozanov was going to say.
“What did it for you? You said no vibrator, but did you even get it in?” Rozanov's voice is teasing but not upset.
“No.” Shane mumbles, embarrassed with the real answer.
“Tell me, I'm still hard here.”
“You said-” He cuts himself off again.
“What did I say, Hollander? Was it imagining my fingers? Are bigger, da? Yours not enough?”
“No!” Shanes takes a deep breath. Is he really going to say it? Admit what had sent him spiraling? Does Rozanov actually know what he was thinking, and is just trying to give Shane an out?
“Too short? Cannot hit-”
“You said green.” Shane interrupts before Rozanov can finish.
“What?” There's a long silence as Shane tries to force an explanation.
“Green.” He finally manages to get out. “You said yours is green.”
“My, dildo?” God this was unbearable. Shane's cock twitched just hearing the words.
“I didn't know you had…one.” He finished lamely.
“Oh. That surprises you?”
“I guess. We've never–”
“Never what?”
“Never, I don't know, switched?”
“Ah. No.”
“I mean, do you, like to…?” He can’t force out the last word. Bottom? Would Ilya even know what that meant? Ilya hadn't actually said HOW he uses it, now that Shane’s mind has cleared a bit. Maybe he just uses the vibration. Or does he have it to use on partners? Ilya didn't seem the type, too confident in his own abilities.
“Like to what, Hollander? What are you saying?”
“Do you use it? Like, on yourself, do you…fuck yourself with it?” There he said it, the words are out there now, floating between them.
“Um. Sometimes.” And wait is Rozanov…? It's not quite embarrassment in his voice, but it's something soft, and almost reluctant. Like he’s worried what Shane will think. The images come to him again, Rozanov grinding his hips down onto a green dildo. What would he look like stretched around Shanes cock?
More images morphed in his mind, how Rozanov looks panting above him, necklace bouncing against his pecs. But instead of thrusting into Shane he's instead straddling his waist. Taking his pleasure from Shane as he bounces on his lap. His big cock slapping against his stomach smearing pre against the dark hairs under his navel. Shane nothing but a toy to be used for Rozanov’s pleasure.
“Fuck–” Shane can't quite stop the moan that leaks into the word “And you, like it? Like that?” He prompts trying to get any inkling of what Rozanov is thinking right now.
“I, um–” Shane's never heard him sound so unsure. Even when Rozanov's English fails him he doesn't sound as lost as he does now. Shane decides to push, to see if the hesitation is because Rozanov is embarrassed of his own wants, or fear of Shane's reaction to it.
“I came so hard just thinking about it.” Shane says. He wanted it to come out sexy. Strong. But it has a bit more of a whimper to it than he'd like. Clearing his throat, he tries again.
“Thinking about you, you taking it.” The choked gasp Shane hears makes him smile.
“Fuck Hollander, I-” He hears Rozanov’s words cut off as he groans deep and long.
Suddenly Shane feels brave. He's never felt great at dirty talk. Usually Rozanov does most of it, prompting Shane's answers. Lets him get away with moaning as a response most of the time. Now, though, he doesn't even have to think about the words coming out of him.
“You always feel so good in me. Love having you deep. Does it feel like that for you?” Shane swears he can hear a whispered “Oh my god” from Rozanov and decides to continue.
“Can you find your spot as easily as you always find mine? You said it vibrates, right? You're always so wet for me when I suck you, I bet if you held it there you'd be dripping. Came so hard just thinking about it. Thinking about you with your green fucking dildo. I get why you wanted to know the color now.” Shit, was that admitting too much? The panting he heard across the line calmed the jolt of anxiety he suddenly felt. Rozanov sounded too fucked out to care about whatever Shane thought he had just revealed.
“Yes, fuck Sha- Hollander, yes, feels so good.”
“What are you doing? Fuck, please tell me Rozanov.”
“I am– fingers, like you said. Fuck.”
“How many?” Shane asks, deja vu hitting him of Rozanov asking the same question only 10 minutes ago.
“Two.” Rozanov pants out.
“Yeah? Do you have it with you? Are you-”
“Yes, fuck, I'm home now. In the drawer, let me–” He hears some shuffling down the line, as Rozanov assumedly reaches for the toy.
“You gonna use it for me, Rozanov? God, I bet you’re so fucking tight– when’s the last time you did this?” Fuck, Shane doesn’t know if he actually wants an answer to that question. He knows Rozanov fucks around, it’s fine, they only see each other like, 4 times a year. But he doesn’t think he actually wants to know about the details. Especially if Rozanov is getting fucked by other men.
“A while, few months, the playoffs, I haven’t had time. Just the toy haven’t–” He cuts himself off, the shuffling quieting and Shane feels something tight in his chest loosen. Just the toy, he’d said.
“Yeah? You gonna use it?” Shane asks him again. “Fuck that perfect ass of yours? Is two fingers enough? You said it’s been a while– might need to add another, really stretch yourself for me.” Shane didn’t know where this filth was coming from. Hunter’s words from a few months ago echo in his head. "You’re starting to sound like him."
“Yes, three now, are you? Tell me, are you touching again?” Shane had forgotten about his own dick entirely until now, focused completely on talking Rozanov off. He realises with a start that he’s already almost fully hard again, his tip leaking pre.
“Yeah, you got me so hard again. God, you sound so hot, are you ready?”
“Yes am ready, should I use the–” Rozanov makes the buzzing sound again, shocking a laugh out of Shane.
“The vibrator? Did you forget the word already?”
“Too busy here to remember stupid English”
“Yeah, ok, but no, don’t use it yet. I want you to wait a bit, until you’re shaking. Want you to tell me how it feels, and then, when you’re close, you’re gonna turn it on. Wanna hear you come.”
“Yes. Ok.” He hears a punched out gasp and then “Oh fuck, Shane.” Shane grips the base of his dick at hearing his name, trying to calm himself. He doesn’t correct Ilya, though He wants to have this, just for tonight.
“Slowy, ok, don’t hurt yourself. You tease me so much, makes me crazy when you go slow, make sure I’m ready for you. Does it feel good?” Shane thinks about all the times Ilya has checked in during sex. Making sure he’s ok. He wants to take care of Rozanov like that, too.
“Yes, so good. I forgot. This is why you come hands free, huh?”
“Asshole.”
“You are who you eat, and yes, is proper grammar.” Shane feels his cheeks and chest turn red.
“You don’t even know the meaning of the word.” He replies laughing.
“What, grammar?”
Shane grins as he says “No, proper” and hears Ilya’s laugh in response.
“I will google later. Busy now. Fuck, Hollander, I’m close.” Shane starts stroking himself again at that.
“Yeah, me too, fuck– turn it on now.” Shane hears a whimper that lets him know Rozanov followed his instructions. “You find the spot?” Another choked gasp that Shane takes as a yes. “Good, hold it there. Stroke yourself Rozanov, tell me how it feels.”
“So good, feel like, like. Fuck– you fucking know.”
“I don’t, mine doesn’t vibrate, remember?” Shane does have a pretty good idea of what it must feel like for him, but he wants to hear Rozanov struggle to put it into words more.
“It like when you hum around my dick. But sharper, more– sparkly?”
“Sparkly?”
“Yes, fuck, like zap. Like– Oh god. Fuck, Shane, I’m gonna.”
Shane starts bucking into his fist. Chasing his release alongside Ilya’s moans.
“Yeah, me too, fuck, come for me Ilya.”
He hears Ilya’s breathing pick up, groans filling the air. Ilya starts gasping in Russian. Shane can’t make any of it out, doubts even a native speaker could understand him right now. He strokes himself once, twice more, then feels himself come. It’s not as blinding as his first orgasm was. He can hear Ilya moaning words throughout as he slows his hand and brings it to rest on his lower stomach. Then more clearly he hears.
“Ты уничтожить меня.”
“Hmm? What does that mean? ”
“Such a good trick.” Shane laughs but feels the blush he still has burn a little deeper.
“It was good? Did you, um…”
“See star? Shoot off? Die and go to heaven? Yes, Hollander.” Got it, back to last names now.
“No, I mean. Did you– like that?”
“Yes, I like it any way, with you.” Shane can’t help beaming at that, suddenly very glad that Rozanov can’t see him.
“Oh, good. I mean we’ve never…”
“Now we have.”
“Shut up, I’m just saying I didn’t know you wanted to.”
“Hollander, I like it any way. Fucking, getting fucked all is good. Was not sure you did. Is ok.”
“I uh. I didn’t know I did. Until–”
“Ahh, until green?” Shit, Shane had forgotten he’d admitted out loud how much the color had affected him.
“I still think black is more discreet.” He tries to make it sound like a joke, tries to play it off.
“Maybe present. I get you new pink toy, you put on show for me as reward.”
“Reward? For what?” Shane asks, trying to push past the idea of Rozanov watching him- What? Masturbate? In front of him? It felt different than talking each other off over the phone. He couldn’t imagine being in a room with Rozanov and not touching him or being touched by him. A part of him thrilled at the idea of Rozanov wanting to watch him like that. Of being considered a reward, a prize worth wanting.
“When I win the Cup.” God he can hear the smirk through the phone. Irritation crashed though him but it was a relief. The teasing and sniping felt like a comfort, this was how they always talked. Chirping back and forth. Trading cups and trophies and highest point stats.
“Oh fuck you! You still have a game seven with Minnesota.”
“Yes, in third round, better than losing game five first round.”
“I’m hanging up.” Shane made no move to end the call. He was sure Rozanov knew it too.
“What, no good luck? Hope you win?”
“You’re right I should text LeMaire.”
“LeMaire? Who the fuck is LeMaire?” Shane really hoped he wasn’t imagining the jealousy in his voice, and then mentally kicked himself for how badly he wished it was there.
“Vincent LeMaire? He was nominated for Rookie of the Year with us? He plays for Minnesota?”
“Ah yes, second runner up for rookie of the year, how could I forget.”
“Dear Vincent LeMaire, I hope you win game seven. Please destroy Boston. Sincerely, Shane Hollander, 2011 Calder winner.” Shane says, pretending he’s dictating a text out loud.
“Sincerly.” Rozanov mocks. “So proper.” popping the second P.
“You can google it now. Goodnight Rozanov.”
“Bye Hollander.”
Shane does hang up that time, watching his phone as it fades to black on the end call screen. He desperately needs a shower, the dry come on his stomach starting to itch in the I need to peel my skin off way he hated and his thighs were still tacky with lube from the beginning of their call. Before green. He tries to shake the thoughts off even as he feels his dick twitch again in interest. Leaving his phone on the bed he forces himself into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later he sees the unread text waiting for him.
(Lily) Since you said my ass was “perfect”.
Shane nearly dropped his phone at the attached picture. Ilya Rozanov was naked, lying on his stomach, arm twisted around to take a picture of his unfairly perfect ass and thighs. The visible skin was shiny with lube. And resting off to the side against his hip was a neon green dildo.