Chapter Text
Shane is glaring at his own dildo. His emotional state is… complicated.
Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it all boils down to this: Shane Hollander. Twenty three years old. Professional athlete. Still a virgin.
For the first few years of his career, which pushed him deep, deep into the closet, he was terrified and ashamed. Recently, he’s been terrified and angry.
He loves hockey and his life, and he doesn’t want to give it up, but there is this gaping, black hole, where a sexlife should be. It’s sad. It’s annoying. It’s fucking pathetic.
He feels like he’s running out of time.
He grabs his phone and re-downloads Grinder. His account is already waiting. A black square for the profile picture. Name: Holden. He only ever uses it to look and imagine things that will never come true.
It takes a few minutes of careless swiping until one photo catches his attention. Sharp cheekbones. Abs to die for. A cold, hard stare that makes Shane squirm a bit even through the screen. Hot.
Shane checks the profile.
Ilya, 24
no boring, no annoying
don’t care about your face, wear a fucking balaclava but must take big cock without complaining
don’t waste my time
So an asshole. Arrogant, crude asshole. That much is clear. But something about that look in the picture makes it difficult for Shane to just go back to scrolling.
He opens the chat. He’s done it once or twice, but a little bit of dirty talk is as far as he’s ever gotten. He’s not sure why he’s doing it now. Maybe it’s because on Friday, the conversation in the locker room turned extremely dirty again and he felt terribly, utterly left out again. Maybe it’s because Hayden is about to have another kid – a fucking kid – while Shane never even had sex.
Not that being a virgin is a bad thing. It would be fine, if it was his choice. But it’s not, not really. It just feels impossible to be anything else in his current situation. He has too much to lose.
Shane is vaguely aware that his anger is born out of desperation and helplessness. He’s feeling on edge, almost reckless and it’s concerning, because that’s not who he is. He likes order. He sticks to a routine. He’s careful. But something is itching underneath his skin. Has been for a few months now. He’s scared of what might happen once it finally comes to the surface, but a part of him also wants to find out.
He types the message quickly, as if trying to finish before his own common sense catches up to him.
Holden: Can I actually wear a balaclava?
He feels like an idiot the second he presses send. It’s not like he’d ever actually do it. What the fuck? He tosses his phone onto the bed, frustrated and resigned. It lands right next to a dildo – the big, red one – as if to mock him.
Then the notification chimes.
Shane freezes for a moment, then slowly reaches out and checks the message.
Ilya: why? are you ugly?
The disappointment floods Shane instantly. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but this is just… whatever. Nevermind.
Ilya: you can
Shane stares. The guy responds so fast, he can’t process his own emotions in time.
Ilya: you have no photo
no face is fine
but I want to see body
The guy is clearly a foreigner. His English isn’t very good and for some reason, this makes Shane relax a bit. Almost as if his own inadequacy is being balanced by the inadequacy of a different kind. He’s probably fucked up for feeling like this, but that’s the least of his concerns right now.
He considers it – the photo.
Ilya: are you scared?
Shane’s competitive side wakes up at that.
Holden: no
Ilya: okay
give me photo and maybe I fuck you
Now Shane’s dick threatens to wake up too. He switches back to Ilya’s pictures. They look fake. Shane’s pretty convinced the guy stole them from an instagram model or something. He looks too perfect. His muscles are insane. He’d probably be able to pick Shane up, if he wanted to.
Shane’s dick is hard.
He gets off the bed, takes off his t-shirt and opens the camera app with shaking hands. It feels illegal. He takes a picture that shows his chest, nothing more, and then spends about five minutes staring at it, making sure nothing in the frame can accidentally give his identity away. It’s obsessive, but that’s what years of being in the closet do to you. When he finally sends it, he feels a mixture of panic and excitement. It’s almost similar to the endorphin rush right after winning the game. His hands are still shaking slightly.
Ilya: good
really good
Shane’s face heats up. Fans call him hot all the time online, but this is different.
What the fuck is he doing?
Ilya: want to meet?
Holden: Are your pictures real?
Ilya: yes
want proof?
He sends a dick pick. It’s obscene. And huge. The abbs seem to match the other photos. There are the same moles visible.
Shane’s own cock twitches at the sight. Then anxiety comes back. He suddenly feels pathetic again. It’s just a fucking photo and he’s on the verge of spiraling.
Ilya: okay?
you can fit?
The question is probably supposed to be cheeky. It’s pretty obvious Ilya is no stranger to the app. This, however, makes Shane even more stressed. It’s a horrible feeling, when arousal gets tangled up with dread. He doesn’t have any experience. He doesn’t know anything. Sure, he shoved a dildo up his ass many times and it was only a bit smaller than Ilya’s cock, from the look of it, so it should be fine, but he can’t know that. It stresses him out when he doesn't know something.
Why is he even thinking about this? It’s not like he’ll meet this guy in real life.
Will he?
No.
What the fuck is going on with him.
He feels a sudden wave of exhaustion and is about to toss the phone again, but another message comes.
Ilya: respond.
It’s arrogant and direct. Bossy. Shane hates that a part of him likes it. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and tries to ground himself.
Holden: What are your hobbies?
Ilya: what?
what you mean hobbies?
i top, you bottom
is simlpe
Holden: no i mean, like, actual hobbies
Ilya: why do you care
Holden: it’s important to me
Don’t say hockey – Shane begs in his head. As if this could really go somewhere. – Please, don’t say hockey.
Ilya: want a zodiac sign too?
fuck off
Shane laughs out loud. It might be the nerves, it might be the bad English. He’s not sure, but he does feel better after.
Holden: Please?
For the first time, the reply doesn’t come immediately. Shane wonders if it’s a coincidence, or if Ilya is, well… busy. There’s no way to tell if the dick pick was old or taken at the present moment.
Or maybe the question was weird enough to scare him away.
Ilya: I work at the club my friend owns.
i like sex, vodka, good parties
gym and running
hate swimming
that enough for you?
It means nothing, but the lack of ice hockey on the list makes a wave of hot excitement flood Shane’s stomach.
There it is again – that dangerous itch just underneath his skin.
Holden: Would you sign an NDA?
He types, presses send and closes his eyes again. He can swear the Earth is suddenly spinning faster than usual.
The thing is, he thought about it. He thought about it so much, he does actually have a document ready. J.J. shared the template from his lawyer with him a while back. Shane has his own lawyer, yes, but it’s all managed through his mother, so it’d be an awkward situation for everybody.
He also briefly considered hiring somebody. An escort. That’s how desperate this whole thing became. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would make him feel even more pathetic. Young, rich, successful and paying money to find out what sex feels like. How fuckign depressing would that be?
There's always an option of going to a bar or a club and just... finding someone. But with so many people - phones with cameras - around, he'd never dare. He gets paralysed every time the team goes out and he spots a stranger he likes.
Shane glances at the phone.
Ilya: your name is not Holden
It’s not a question. Shane bites his lip.
Holden: no.
Ilya: good
is a dumb name
Holden: So would you sign?
Hypothetically.
Ilya: what that means?
Holden: like, in theory
Ilya: I sign in practice
Shane laughs again. Alone, in his room, lying on the bed and staring at the screen. He doens't know why the way this rude guy types makes him feel more at ease. Maybe he's loosing it.
Holden: I'm not joking.
Ilya: sure
you make me curious
do I make you curious?
Holden: yes
Ilya: good
The next message is a time and a place. Tomorrow. The address suggests it’s an apartment building.
Shane responds with “okay” and then does finally toss his phone. He panics for a few hours. Then he shuts down completely. Then panics some more. He goes to bed, falls asleep eventually and wakes up anxious again.
Then the anger resurfaces – directed not at himself, not at Ilya, but at the world – and so he does something stupid: he follows through.