Chapter Text
Shane Hollander, the golden boy of McGill University, has a secret.
Ilya Rozanov shouldn’t have been able to recognize him from the faceless video, shouldn’t have been able to point out those perfect freckles and the stretch marks tugging across his ass. But the sight had been burned into his mind in the gym locker room earlier this semester, haunting his thoughts of his rival and teammate.
They were constantly vying to be the best, fighting for the starting center position on their shared team, the McGill Redbirds. Shane is annoyingly smart, his 4.0 GPA a frequent enough topic of conversation that even Ilya knows it.
And yet, here he was, naked, three fingers in his ass, and showing off his hole to the camera with his face covered in a black medical mask for a live stream.
Ilya hates how hard it has made him, nails digging into his thigh as Shane turns, looking back at the camera with wet eyes.
Ilya can’t resist sending a tip, $5, with a comment attached.
Bigdick81: hey pretty boy 24.
Bigdick81: number sounds familiar?
Shane turns at the ding of a notification, squinting to read the message on his monitor screen. His face flushes darker, and his fingers leave his hole in an instant.
The stream is gone seconds later, leaving Ilya hard and aching in his shorts.
“Fuck,” Ilya hisses, wishing Shane would reappear if he would just will it hard enough. He does turn on notifications for the account, hoping that Shane returns to his screen sometime soon.
…
“Fuck,” Shane whisper-yells, staring at his now blank screen. Bigdick81. The jersey number of his rival- the rival that he knew was… well-endowed. Not that he meant to look, but the locker rooms led to little privacy in that regard.
Maybe it wasn’t him?
It was definitely him.
Shane stands, wincing at the sudden movement. Last week’s game had come with a hard hit to the ribs, still aching now. He begins to compulsively clean his space, needing some control so as not to lose his mind.
This is what he gets for having too full a schedule for a part-time job, instead choosing to do these livestreams to pay the rent in his off-campus, private apartment.
Sex work had seemed like the perfect solution- his face hidden, his horniness sated, and a good chunk of money for relatively little time spared. He had made enough money to pay for his two-bedroom apartment, molded perfectly to his preferences.
And for sex toys. Many, many sex toys that Shane continued to make more and more money showing off how he uses them. It kind of made a perfect loop, right up until “Bigdick81” or his teammate, Ilya Rozanov, had left a $5 tip.
Shane couldn’t help himself, pulling his laptop back up and looking up the lewd username.
Fuck.
It was even bigger than Shane had recalled seeing- naturally, because it hadn’t been erect then.
Like he had been notified of Shane’s presence on his page, a message came through from the man himself.
Bigdick81: hello again pretty boy
Bigdick81: you look like u could take me like a champ
Prettyboy24: You look like a whore.
Bigdick81: were you not the one i just saw fucking your ass on camera?
Prettyboy24: You have plenty of videos, and almost all of them are with a new person.
Bigdick81: and whats the downfall of that? Everyone wants to see what it’s like with someone so big. Arent you curious?
Prettyboy24: ….
Prettyboy24: Get an sti screening before Friday.
Bigdick81: deal. See you friday.
Shane slams his laptop closed, little care for it as he stands and paces his room.
Ilya Rozanov.
Obviously, he is incredibly hot. They’ve been on the team together for a year, after Ilya transferred in from a Russian University where he played as their Captain.
Shane had been Captain since his Sophomore year, still holding the title now as a Senior. Now, unfortunately, he had Ilya as his co-Captain as of last month, having been inaugurated at the beginning of the semester.
Maybe it would be good to get some of this tension out.
…
Ilya grins at his phone, already pulling up the contact information of his usual clinic to schedule an appointment. It was a Tuesday, so he needed the soonest appointment possible.
Luckily, if he skips his next class, he can take a canceled appointment in 20 minutes.
He scurries out of his apartment to his waiting motorcycle, securing his helmet before gassing it to the clinic.
…
Friday comes by way too quickly. Shane has seen Ilya around several times now, each time they make eye contact coming with a swift wink.
He wishes it didn’t turn him on so much.
Whatever. They had scheduled a time at Shane’s apartment, and both of them would get some great content for their pages. It’s Shane’s first time posting non-solo content, and his subscribers had been begging for months, if not years.
His subscribers who called him a size queen were right, after all. No way would he risk hooking up with someone unless he knew they had what he wanted. Which Ilya fucking Rozanov had.
Think of the devil, the doorbell rang 3 minutes past their agreed time of 7:00 PM.
“You’re late,” Shane hisses as he tugs the door open, grabbing Ilya’s wrist and pulling him inside.
“Three minutes, pretty boy. You’ll live.”
Ilya’s Russian drawl shouldn’t be so hot, but it is. Shane can’t resist pulling him in and kissing his stupid smirk off his face. As soon as Ilya starts to melt into the kiss, he pulls away, taking his hand and pulling him towards the spare bedroom- his filming room.
There are already two cameras propped up facing the queen-sized bed, a fluffy white towel laid in the center of it.
“Ah, yes, so this is where the magic happens?” Ilya drawls, walking to the bed and running a hand over the dark green comforter.
“Yeah, the magic,” Shane says, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “More like the money-making.”
“Yes, magic.” Ilya grins, his focus turning to the cameras. “So, where’s your cute little mask?”
“Shut up,” Shane snaps, going and grabbing his black medical mask regardless. “We’re gonna pre-film this one, I don’t trust you enough for a live stream yet.”
“Aw, you think I’ll reveal your identity or something?” Ilya snarks, hiding his hurt at the lack of trust.
“It could happen really easily, and I have been really careful. What if you call me Hollander, or my mask comes off? I can’t have anyone knowing that this is what I do. It’s bad enough that you figured out who I was so easily.” Shane fiddles with the cameras as he speaks, checking that the angle is facing the bed right.
Ilya’s hurt softens, melting into sympathy. “Okay, we will fuck and then edit it before all our fans get to see it."
“Thank you,” Shane says softly, looking up and making eye contact with Ilya. “Are you ready to get started?”
“Yes.” Ilya grabs the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head with practiced ease.
Shane chuckles, slipping on his mask and starting the cameras. He strips off his shirt and pants before crawling onto the bed in tight black briefs, thin enough to see the hint of color that is a shiny blue buttplug.
“Slut,” Ilya says from off camera, leaning his body into the frame and pressing on the buttplug through the thin fabric. With Shane on his hands and knees, he’s in the perfect position to tease.
Shane lets out a small noise, pressing his face into the pillow. Ilya grabs the spare mask lying on the dresser, slipping it on and pulling off his pants. His own boxer-briefs are a dark red, his boner obvious in them. He crawls onto the bed behind Shane, hands landing on his hips and squeezing. “Such a pretty little slut, bent over and presenting for me. Already plugged up and waiting to be filled by something more satisfying.”
“Yeah, c’mon, fill me up,” Shane whines, turning his head just enough to catch Ilya’s eye.
“Say please, Sir,” Ilya teases, Shane’s boxers pulled down to his thighs so his thumb can press and pull on the plug.
Shane whines, turning his head into the pillow again.
“C’mon puppy, beg me to fuck you. Say please, Sir.” Ilya’s hand digs harder into his hip, the other tugging the plug most of the way out before pressing it back in.
“Please, please, Sir- please fuck me,” Shane hardly recognizes his voice, all whiny and desperate. Fuck. Puppy? He hadn’t even known he would like that, much less be drooling into his pillow over it.
Ilya surprises him, pulling out the plug in a swift motion. He lowers his mouth to Shane’s hole, pulling his mask down to eat him out sloppily, his face hidden enough behind his hair and the swell of Shane’s ass to remain anonymous.
If anything, they can always edit it later, Shane reminds himself- so used to being perceived live that he can’t turn it off.
All of those thoughts seemingly fall from his mind as Ilya’s tongue pushes through his puckered rim, earning a whiny moan from Shane.
Once Shane is thoroughly debauched, eyes watering with pleasure and cock rock hard underneath him, Ilya relents, hands sliding up and down Shane’s lower back. “Are you ready for me to fuck you, pretty boy?”
Shane whines, nodding into the pillow and pressing his ass back until he can feel Ilya’s hard on through his boxers. His own boxers hold his legs together, pulled down just enough for Ilya to have had access to his hole.
Ilya stands from the bed, tugging the mask back on before removing his boxers. “Take off your pretty black panties, baby,” he teases, pulling back the waistband enough for it to snap back into position as it recoils.
“Fuck,” Shane murmurs, each word from Ilya’s lips somehow more erotic than the last. He pulls the underwear down and off, tossing them into the laundry basket in the corner of the room. He arranges himself back into position, back arched and ass pressing towards Ilya. “C’mon, come fuck me already,” he whines, looking over his shoulder and taking in the sight of Ilya’s nine-inch cock, already glistening with pre-cum at the tip. Fuck.
Ilya strokes himself lazily, jerking his length with copious amounts of lube and watching as Shane squirms on the bed. The towel has already caught a few drops of pre-cum, his pretty dick leaking already at the thought of being fucked.
He decides to stop teasing, wiping the extra lube from his hands, and climbing onto the bed behind Shane to grab his hips. He rubs soothing circles into the flesh, and the feeling of his stretch marks drives Ilya crazy. Finally, he uses one hand to guide the tip to Shane’s hole, pressing in slowly and pulling back after a couple of inches slide home. He continues his slow grind, trying to ease Shane into this, but the other man is having none of that.
Shane pushes back against Ilya, moaning as at least seven inches fuck into him. Still, there is more, and Shane is a very determined man, reaching back to grab Ilya’s hips and pull him the rest of the way in.
They both moan as Ilya’s hips press into Shane’s ass, finally fully sheathed in the tight heat of Shane’s hole.
“Fuuuck,” Ilya groans, fingers digging into Shane’s hips, surely hard enough to leave a mark. “So fucking tight, puppy. So fucking perfect, Ho- honey.” Ilya catches himself, nearly saying Hollander and proving Shane right.
Shane doesn’t seem to notice, moaning into the pillow like a bitch in heat, grinding his hips back in such a debauched way that Ilya is shocked no one else has fucked him on camera like this before.
It plants a seed in his mind that he should be the only one to ever fuck Shane like this, that he is the only one who should get to feel his intoxicating heat. Others can look, but they can’t touch- not like Ilya touches.
The possessive thoughts drive his hips forward, making sure that Shane will never forget the feeling of his cock. That he will keep coming back for more, perhaps without the camera. Come back and let Ilya suck him off, and tease him, and kiss those perfectly plush lips.
Ilya curses in Russian as Shane clenches down on his cock, cumming untouched onto the towel. “Fuck, gonna cum in you, gonna knock you up, puppy.” He follows shortly after, the vice grip around him all-consuming.
Thank God Shane had told him he was allowed to cum inside, and from his research through his other videos, he was right on the money about the breeding kink. Shane moans and writhes on the bed, his clenching ass properly milking Ilya’s cock.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Shane says breathlessly, panting into his pillow, “thank you, Sir.”
“Fuuuck,” Ilya grabs one of the cameras, pointing it at where they are connected and slowly pulling out, earning a debauched moan as his cum starts to leak out.
“Mnngh- grab my plug, Daddy, push it all back in,” Shane whines into the pillow, rolling his hips at the thought.
Ilya groans- Daddy, Shane had called him Daddy. He does as he’s told, using his fingers to collect the cum and press the plug back inside. “Don’t worry, puppy, we’ll make sure it takes. You’ll be such a good Mommy.” He cuts the feed for that camera, carefully setting it on the bedside table.
Shane whines, turning enough to reach his arms out for Ilya. Ilya takes the cue in stride, first wiping them both down with the fluffy white towel and then taking him into his arms. Shane’s eyes are slightly glazed, unfocused with lust. Subspace, likely, and Ilya reaches to tug off his mask, and then Shanes.
“All done, puppy, we can take these off. Take a nice deep breath for me, baby,” Ilya says softly, his fingers carding through Shane’s short hair in comforting motions.
Shane doesn’t respond verbally, curling into Ilya’s chest and resting his head on the plush swell of his pecs. Ilya continues petting through his hair and down his back, his words soft and reassuring.
One camera is disregarded on the bedside table, but the other is still recording. Ilya wonders whether he will get this piece of the footage sent to him, or if Shane will keep this for himself.
He really, really hopes for the former.
…
Shane comes back to himself properly, maybe twenty minutes later, lifting his head from Ilya’s chest and staring at him with those pretty brown eyes. His freckles are stunning from this close, and Ilya doesn’t resist his urge to lean forward and kiss the tip of his nose.
His nose scrunches, a small smile blooming across his cheeks. “Hi,” Shane’s voice is delicate as he says it, like he doesn’t want to break this peaceful moment.
“Hello there, pretty boy,” Ilya whispers back, a soft emphasis on pretty coming through with his Russian intonation.
Shane blushes, tucking his face back down against Ilya.
“We are good match, yes?” Ilya asks, his fingertips drawing invisible Russian characters across Shane’s back. Perhaps if he writes what he wants, he will get it.
Shane groans, reluctant to admit that it was the best orgasm of his life. From his rival and co-Captain, nonetheless!
“Ah, I will take that as yes.” Ilya grins, lifting Shane’s head again and holding his chin gently. “We should do again, you agree?”
Shane nods minutely, face flushed pink, and leans forward to shut him up with a kiss. The kiss is shockingly tender, the slide of their lips together comfortable and warm.
When they finally separate, a string of spit snaps apart as they pull away. Shane wants to lean back in but resists. He sits up on the bed and severs the touch of their skin in favor of standing and pulling on a fresh outfit, already folded on top of his dresser in wait. The soft boxers, old t-shirt, and green sweatpants accompany him to the still-rolling camera, shutting it off and leaving it in its stand.
“I’ll send you the footage, and we can both decide how we want to cut it for our channels. Just make sure neither of us shows our full faces, because if they recognize you, they’ll probably recognize me.” Shane knows he’s rambling a bit, trying to separate Ilya from all these tender feelings and keep it professional between them.
Ilya nods, pulling himself to the edge of the bed and pulling his boxers back on in a swift motion. “Will do, boss,” he says with a wink, his trademark smirk firmly in place despite the hurt at Shane’s cold shoulder. Now, he just hopes he will be able to look back on those tender minutes in the afterglow of their orgasms, Shane curled up on him like he really is a puppy.
“Alright! Well…” Shane clasps his hands together, staring as Ilya pulls the rest of his clothes back on.
“Don’t worry, Hollander, I will get out of your hair.” Ilya knows well when someone wants him to leave after a fuck, the soft child inside him feeling rejected each time.
As if sensing Ilya’s pain, as they walk to the door, Shane says, “Are you free Wednesday afternoon? I usually stream around 3…”
Ilya turns, surprised at not only the offer to fuck again but also the willingness to do so live, where they can’t edit out any little slip-up. The show of trust warms his chest, and he nods, “Yeah, I get out of class at 2:15. I can come right here if it’s ok for me to shower here, since it’s a dance class.”
“Dance?” Shane asks, a crinkle appearing between his brows at the thought of Ilya dancing.
“Yes, Hollander, I dance. I am very good. I can show you how to really move your hips if you ask nicely.” Ilya’s eyebrows waggle, tone teasing.
“Okay, well, you can shower here first. Just make sure to bring fresh clothes for after, because I don’t want you in dirty clothes.” Shane’s hands settle on his hips, looking the part of an annoyed boyfriend in a way that makes Ilya’s head spin. “I’m going to edit tonight and post my video tomorrow afternoon. Does that sound good?”
Ilya nods, taking out his phone and checking the time. 9:37 PM, meaning he has been here well over two hours. “I will add to my calendar. ‘Fuck pretty boy,’ will be easy to remember that is you.”
Shane rolls his eyes, more fond than annoyed, and pushes Ilya’s chest. “I’ll see you at practice on Monday, Rozanov.”
Ilya grins, turning to the front door and tugging it open with renewed energy. “See you Monday, Hollander.”
The door closes gently behind him, and they each let out a soft sigh of relief.
Wednesday cannot come soon enough.
…