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Ilya wasn’t surprised at all when the knock came.
It was late. After midnight. He had been back in his room, 1221, for almost two hours, staring at the ceiling in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, replaying the last time they’d done this. After the CCM commercial shoot, they’d ended up in a hotel room just like this one, hearts pounding, hands shaking. Shane had been trembling when he dropped to his knees. He had confessed it was his first time with a man. Ilya didn’t mind.
The blowjobs that followed had been frantic and clumsy, all desperation and muffled moans.
Neither of them had lasted more than a minute.
Shane had been thinking about it ever since, the memory looping in his head during every practice, every game, and in quiet moments alone late at night with his hand stroking his cock.
Evidently, Ilya had too. And so here, in room 1221, he waited.
Shane pushed into the room as soon as Ilya opened the door. He turned and flipped the bar latch with a sharp click, as if someone was going to burst in any moment and catch them red-handed.
He looked terrified, eyes wide, shoulders tense like he was ready to bolt at the first sound.
“Is there a ghost out there? Someone is chasing you?” Ilya asked, amused, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
“No. Fuck you. This is fucking dangerous and you know it. Scott Hunter is right next door.”
“I know,” Ilya said, stepping close and gripping Shane’s jaw firmly, thumb brushing over the stubble there. “Get on your knees.”
Shane’s breath hitched hard, but he obeyed instantly, sinking down right there on the hotel carpet without another word. He yanked Ilya’s pants down just enough to free his cock and took him into his mouth in one hungry motion. He sucked him hard, no teasing. Instead he used deep, sloppy pulls that had Ilya’s knees buckling and his hand flying to Shane’s hair.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya groaned, threading his fingers through the dark strands and tugging lightly. “Slow down. Jesus, you’re too good at this. Stop or I’m gonna come.”
Shane pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen, breathing hard through his mouth. Ilya hauled him up by the arms and kissed him fiercely, then walking them backward toward the bed in a clumsy tangle of limbs.
They fell onto it together, mouths still fused, the mattress dipping under their weight. Ilya stripped the rest of Shane’s clothes off piece by piece, tossing them aside, then slid down his body and took Shane’s cock into his mouth, sucking him slow and deep while his fingers teased lower, tracing the sensitive skin behind his balls.
He let his fingers trail down further, tapping one lightly against Shane’s puckered opening and waiting for any reaction. Shane’s body stilled completely on the bed. Ilya drew light circles around his hole, a casual suggestion. Would he? Would Shane let him?
Ilya kissed the shell of his ear, voice low and desperate, breath hot against Shane’s skin. “Get on your stomach.”
Shane flipped over without a word, pressing his face into the pillow, heart hammering so loud he was sure the whole floor could hear it.
“Have you ever—?” Ilya asked quietly.
Shane shook his head, breath catching.
“Would you like to?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are scared.”
“No! No, I’m not scared.”
“Is okay to be.”
Shane exhaled loudly. “I’m not scared,” he said again.
“Have you ever touched yourself here?” Ilya asked, circling his finger again, pressing just a little firmer.
Shane’s face flushed bright red, all the way down his neck. “Jesus Christ.”
“You are embarrassed.”
“Well!”
“You don’t play with your ass? It makes you gay?”
“Oh my fucking god…”
“You know what makes you gayer?”
“Rozanov… shut the fuck—”
“Sucking my dick. You were doing that a minute ago.”
Shane sat up abruptly, chest heaving. “I’ve played with it, all right? I’ve—I’ve got a… thing.”
“A thing?”
“A dildo! Okay?”
Ilya grinned so hard it hurt, eyes sparkling with pure delight. “What color?”
“Fuck you!”
“Is it big?”
“I’m leaving.”
Shane moved to get off the bed, but Ilya quickly covered him with his body and pinned him back down by the wrists, strong and unyielding. Shane made a halfhearted attempt to fight him off, twisting under him, but stopped the second Ilya kissed him slow and deep, tongue sliding.
Ilya pushed Shane over onto his front again, and then tentatively brushed his leaking cock against Shane’s hole. Fuck.
“Hollander, I want to fuck you.” Ilya nudged his cock forward just a little.
Shane didn’t move. “Rozanov… Scott Hunter is literally right next door.”
“I swear we can be quiet,” Ilya begged, voice pleading as he hovered over him, hands running down Shane’s back. “I’ll be so fucking quiet for you, I promise. Just let me. Please.”
Shane was quiet for a long moment, breathing shakily into the pillow. “I’m not prepped for this. Next time, if we have more time, maybe my place in Montreal—”
“Please,” Ilya whispered urgently against the back of his neck, lips brushing the skin there. “I want it now. Just the tip. I promise. I’ll go so slow. I just need to feel your hole around me. Please, Hollander. I’ll do anything. Just let me put the tip in. Please. I’m begging you. I need it so bad.”
Shane paused, mind racing. This is fucking stupid. What the hell was he doing? Why was he willing to be so reckless for Rozanov? One look from him and he’s on his knees in a hotel room and then letting Rozanov talk him into stupid shit like this. Scott Hunter was right there. They could get caught. But fuck…
Well, fuck it.
“Okay. Just the tip.”
Ilya scrambled off the bed, already reaching for his bag. “Okay. I’ll get some stuff—”
He rifled through it frantically for a minute and froze. “Ugh, fuck!”
Shane lifted his head, propping himself up on his elbows. “What is it?”
“I don’t have any condoms or lube in this bag.”
They locked eyes across the rumpled sheets. The silence was heavy, charged with everything they weren’t saying.
They both knew this was a completely fucking insane idea. Fucking stupid. Reckless. Ridiculous.
Unprepped, unsafe, unlubed sex, even if it was just the tip, was foolish as hell.
They shouldn’t do this. They absolutely cannot do this.
Shane spoke first, voice barely a whisper, barely believing the words leaving his own mouth. “If it’s just the tip…”
They’re doing this.
“Hollander, I swear,” Ilya said instantly, crawling back over him like he couldn’t wait another second, voice cracking with need. “Just the tip. I swear it. I’ll pull out. Please. Let me. Just a little. Please. Please Hollander. I need it so much. I’ve been dying for this. Just the tip, I promise. Please let me feel you. I’ll be so careful, I swear.”
Shane exhaled shakily and nodded once. “Okay.”
Ilya rolled him fully onto his stomach with strong but careful hands, pressing Shane’s chest down into the mattress. He shoved a pillow under his hips to tilt his ass up, then spread his legs wider, thighs parting until Shane was completely exposed, open and vulnerable. Ilya’s hands were gentle, almost reverent, but they trembled with barely-contained urgency as they gripped the firm muscle of Shane’s ass and pulled his cheeks apart.
He held out his hand. “Spit.”
It was kind of nasty, filthy even, but the shame only made Shane’s cock throb harder against the sheets. He turned his head to the side, cheeks burning hot, and spat directly into Ilya’s waiting palm, a thick, wet string of saliva connecting them for a second before it broke.
Ilya groaned at the sight. He wrapped his slick hand around his own thick, aching cock and stroked the top of it slowly, coating it until it glistened. Then he leaned in and rubbed the rest of the spit over Shane’s tight hole, circling the puckered rim with two slick fingers, pressing lightly against the center, teasing it open. He kept rubbing in slow circles, spreading the wetness, occasionally dipping just the tip of a finger inside before pulling back, making Shane’s hole twitch and flutter with anticipation.
He lined up, pressing the fat, leaking head of his cock right against that glistening entrance. “Breathe, Hollander,” he whispered, voice strained.
Ilya pushed forward. Just the fucking tip.
The swollen, blunt head of his cock slowly forced its way past the tight ring of muscle, popping inside with a delicious, burning stretch. Shane gasped sharply into the pillow as his hole clenched hard around the thick intrusion on pure instinct, gripping the head like a vice.
“Fuck, you are tight,” Ilya hissed through gritted teeth, eyes squeezing shut in overwhelming pleasure. He stayed perfectly still, buried only as deep as the head, savoring the insane, scorching heat and the way Shane’s hole pulsed and squeezed around him. “Holy shit… your hole is so fucking tight and hot.”
Shane couldn’t help it. He started to rut against the pillow under his hips, grinding his aching, leaking cock into the sheets for friction. Every desperate roll of his hips made his ass push back, causing his hole to clench and flutter even tighter around Ilya’s cockhead, squeezing it rhythmically.
“Fuck—when you clench like that I can’t… I can’t, Hollander,” Ilya groaned, voice breaking with desperation. His fingers dug into Shane’s hips, fighting every instinct to thrust deeper. “You’ll make me come if you keep doing that. Jesus Christ, your hole—.”
Shane did it again, deliberately this time, pushing back harder, grinding his cock into the mattress while his hole squeezed and fluttered greedily around the thick head stretching him open.
Ilya’s breath stuttered, a broken moan escaping him. “Shit—fuck, you’re so tight. So fucking hot and greedy. I’m barely in you and it already feels this good.” This isn’t fair, he thought frantically, a type of guilt he never usually got flooding the back of his mind. Hollander’s first time and it’s raw and dry and just the fucking tip in a hotel room. He should stop. He should make this better for him. He’s such a fucking asshole. Hollander will never forgive him.
He panted hot and ragged against the back of Shane’s neck, lips brushing sweat-slick skin, voice completely wrecked. “I’m going to come if you keep doing that. Your hole is so tight. I’m so close already, I need to pull out.”
Shane knew this was a terrible idea. He needed to tell him to pull out right fucking now.
But the stretch, the filthy heat of just Rozanov’s cockhead inside him, the wet sound of spit and skin, the way Ilya was trembling and groaning above him, it was all too much. The words that left his mouth were shameless and desperate:
“Fuck… come in me. Come in me, Rozanov. Fucking do it.”
Ilya groaned low and guttural, almost animalistic, his hips jerking in tiny, shallow thrusts, fucking just the head in and out of that gripping ring of muscle. “Oh god—fuck, Hollander—” He stayed buried with just the head of his cock inside him and came hard, pulsing thick and hot, flooding Shane’s tight hole with rope after rope of wet, sticky heat.
The second he pulled out, Ilya flipped Shane onto his back with a growl, eyes dark and hungry. He swallowed Shane’s cock to the back of his throat in one smooth motion, sucking him relentlessly, tongue swirling and hollowing his cheeks with perfect pressure. Shane’s hands flew to Ilya’s hair, gripping tight as he fucked his throat in short, frantic strokes, chasing the heat and wetness.
It felt so fucking good, far too good, wet and tight and perfect, Ilya’s throat constricting around him with every thrust. Shane’s hips bucked up helplessly, chasing more, but he was already so close, worry spiking through the pleasure. Shit, he was going to come immediately if Rozanov kept doing that. It’s too much. His mouth was too good. He can’t fucking hold it.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Shane pleaded. He slapped his free hand over his own mouth just in time, muffling the broken, desperate moan as he came hard down Ilya’s throat, body shaking with the force of it.
They collapsed together, chests heaving, sweat cooling on their skin. Oh fuck, that was so, so stupid.
After a long minute, Shane huffed a shaky laugh. “Wow. You really blew your whole load with just the tip in me.”
Ilya pressed his forehead to Shane’s collarbone, still catching his breath, pressing soft kisses there. “Yes. Sorry.” He kissed the skin there again.
“When we are in Montreal in two weeks… at your house. We’ll do it properly. I promise I’ll make it so good for you. I’ll eat your ass and fuck you until you come on my cock.”
Shane rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Sure, Rozanov. Huge promises.”
