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Prologue
* * * 📸 * * *
Ilya Rozanov has three goals this year:
- Get drafted, preferably by the Boston Bears.
- Pass all of his classes. (C’s get degrees, baby!)
- Finally sleep with University of Michigan’s darling Shane Hollander.
His first goal, while not guaranteed, has a high probability of happening.
The Bears are already having a rough start to the season. Their goaltending is solid but their offense is sloppy. Their captain, while one of Ilya’s favorite players, has one foot out the door heading towards retirement. If they’re still struggling come April, there’s a good chance they’ll secure themselves an early draft pick.
If they’re smart, they’ll use it on Ilya.
Or that’s what he’s been told.
Svetlana’s father works for the organization. She says they’re watching. They want him. His talent. His legacy.
Of course, since Ilya knows he’s a hot commodity, another team could select him first. Ottawa or Chicago, perhaps. As long as it’s not Montreal. God forbid. Ilya can accept playing for any team except the enemy. Montreal probably wouldn’t even dare draft the child of their rival anyway.
Deep down Ilya isn’t sure what he wants more: to play for his father’s team or to be drafted number one overall. The ability to be both may not even be possible.
Desperately, he hopes it will be.
He has months to truly worry about it so he tries not to ruminate on it too long, even though that’s all scouts try to ask him.
His second goal will be extremely easy. Although C’s do get degrees, Ilya has never come close to not passing a class before.
School has never been a struggle for Ilya. Homework, maybe. Sometimes.
Some days there just isn’t enough time to go to class, practice, make time for himself, and do more schoolwork at home. But he’s smart. Naturally. With a good, strong memory. With nearly a 4.0 GPA, he would have to take his exams blindfolded to worry.
Which leaves his final goal. He’s been trying to get closer to Shane Hollander since their freshman year. Sure, Ilya has made some headway but Hollander is as skittish as a baby deer. If an opportunity presents itself to run away, Hollander takes it. At first, Ilya wasn’t sure why. But some offhand comments later about Ilya’s reputation, he knows why.
Shane Hollander is a campus darling with high profile parents. His record is squeaky clean. His reputation is immaculate. Ilya is positive he’s never struggled a day in his entire life.
Someone like Ilya wouldn’t exactly be a blemish - but it would be a scandal.
Ilya’s father was an enforcer for the Boston Bears, a stark contrast to the clean, philanthropic reputation of Yuna and David Hollander.
Ilya himself is known for being rowdy, enjoying parties, drinking underaged - allegedly, in stupid America with their 21 and over rule - and sleeping around. It is his hockey skills - his positively endorsed captaincy - and the high academic honors on his transcript that saves him.
So someone like Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander being together would not cause the end of the world, but it would look a little like two opposites coming together.
Luckily for Ilya - and hopefully soon Hollander will see - opposites attract.
If Ilya cannot convince Shane Hollander to sleep with him by May, he’s afraid that his last chance would have been wasted. Once he starts playing in the NHL - whether that takes him to Boston or elsewhere - the distance will only make his goal harder. Nay, impossible. Unless Hollander were to surprise him by being willing to take a plane for a booty call.
Ilya can at least assure Hollander that he will make sure the flight is worth it.
Good thing it’s January. He has plenty of time, and even more determination.
*
Shane hears him before he sees him, because of course he does.
Because a guy like Ilya Rozanov commands a room with ease. He’s social, magnetic. If Shane enjoyed being the center of attention, he might even find himself one of those people that are jealous.
But he’s not.
He’s content to sit at his table in the corner of the student cafe, a simple coffee, his laptop, and planner in front of him. He’s already carefully color coded all of his assignments into his paper planner and is halfway done with digitizing them as well. He needs to get ahead of things now if he wants to stand any chance at still being on top of things later when lacrosse season starts, not to mention keeping up with hockey, which is in full swing.
Shane only plays lacrosse, but Hayden is on the hockey team. He would be a bad fraternity brother and a bad friend to not support him at least some of his games. And so what if Rozanov is also on the team?
Shane totally does not look forward to Hayden’s games because of Rozanov. So what if he’s tall and handsome? With soft curls, thick biceps, and a gentle accent? So what if it was maybe a little hot to watch Rozanov try to knock that Denver defenseman’s tooth out? Shane doesn’t have a crush. That would be ridiculous. Rozanov just really knows how to get under his skin.
Anyone’s skin, really. And clothes.
Shane shivers, flushing red.
He doesn’t - can’t - get involved with Rozanov for a myriad of reasons. Not wanting to be another notch on his bedpost is at the top of the list.
It’s difficult being torn between finding Rozanov attractive and knowing it’s probably for the best to stay away. Rozanov finds amusement in getting a rise out of people and Shane allows it to be incredibly easy. But no more!
Keeping it together around his not-crush is his number one New Year’s resolution.
As if sensing that, after ordering a drink of his own, Rozanov makes his way straight to Shane’s table, all long legged and confident.
“Can I sit?” he asks, gesturing to the chair across from Shane.
Shane thinks he straightens his back enough to break. He stares harder at his digital calendar.
“Sure.”
“You coming to our game Friday? First one this year. You could be my good luck charm,” Rozanov says, pushing Shane’s laptop closed slowly with one finger. He studies Shane’s face, ducking his head to try to catch Shane's eyes.
Shane glances out the window. “Probably.” He licks his lips. “Hayden mentioned if you guys win you might have a belated New Year’s party after.”
Rozanov shrugs. “Even if we lose, we’ll still do the party. Good for morale. You should come to both.”
“I’ll think about it,” Shane replies diplomatically. “I’m trying to get ahead of a few assignments since—”
“Ahead already? Semester started two days ago,” Rozanov chides. He spins Shane’s planner around so he can judge how full Shane’s calendar looks already. “What’s the rush?”
“I’m being proactive,” Shane snaps. He swats Rozanov’s hands away to move his planner back into his backpack. He was done with it anyway. “Last year. . . I got a little behind. So I’m trying not to do the same thing this season.”
“Oh,” Rozanov says, grinning wide. Interested. Shane turns more red. “Perfect Shane Hollander is not so perfect after all.”
Shane glances at Rozanov. Beautiful, he thinks. Then, Ew, gross. “Oh, fuck off,” he says, though it’s with little bite.
Rozanov laughs. Under the table, their shoes knock together. Rozanov’s doing. He leans heavy on the table, arms crossed, his mouth opening to probably say something else equal parts charming and obnoxious when—
“Order for Ilya!”
Saved.
Rozanov gets up, leaving Shane with a flirty wink.
Shane doesn’t see Rozanov try to return to Shane’s peaceful table after he’s retrieved his order. He’s already - practically - sprinted out the door with his things. He can be early to his next class. It’s perfectly fine. The first week of classes it’s always smart to get there early anyway, to get the prime seats up front.
* * * 📸 * * *
Chapter 1
i.
Ilya is near sprinting across campus trying to get to his next class when he sees Hollander across the way.
If life were a cartoon, someone might be able to see smoke at Ilya’s heels as he tries to stop in his tracks. Immediately, he makes a u-turn. On syllabus day Ilya learned the professor posts his slides online and doesn’t take attendance. Missing one class won’t hurt him in the slightest.
From afar Hollander doesn’t appear to be rushed, but it does seem like he’s off to somewhere with purpose. Eyes straight ahead, a glance at his watch, politely dodging other students on bikes and skateboards.
Ilya obtains his window of opportunity to catch up when Hollander stops, pointing somewhere, presumably guiding a freshman to a building they can’t find on their own.
“Hollander,” Ilya says, a bit breathless with sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.
Hollander turns. The freshman skitters away between them.
“Rozanov.”
“You on your way to class?” Ilya asks. He cringes. That could’ve sounded smoother.
Hollander glances at his watch again. “No, actually. I have a meeting with my academic advisor.”
“What a coincidence, I was heading that way too,” Ilya lies.
“You know which building my advisor is in?” Shane asks, unconvinced and a tad suspicious.
Ilya pauses. He hadn’t thought of that. “Business building, no?”
Hollander purses his lips. Ilya wonders if he’s going to call him out on his shit. “Yeah.” He exhales. “You sure it won’t be out of your way?”
“Not at all,” he insists.
In the end, Hollander relents, allowing Ilya to fall into step beside him. Ilya tries not to preen. Much to Ilya’s disappointment Shane had not come to their first home game of the year. By discreetly eavesdropping on Hayden Pike, Ilya learned that Hollander had meant to come but something-something lacrosse took up his time. He did not make an appearance at the after party either.
So for the past two weeks Ilya has been starving for Hollander crumbs.
Up until now, Ilya has not caught Hollander on campus. Hollander does not do social media either, for Ilya to stalk for updates. He has, of course, an obligatory Facebook and Instagram, but he and Ilya are not friends and his very public Instagram account is boring. Six measly posts: a family photo from his high school graduation, the car he purchased last year, a stack of his favorite books, him with Pike, and a picture of a dock leading to the water.
Interestingly, Yuna Hollander’s account is a lot more lively. Boasting 1.5 million followers, Ilya followed her without a second thought. He’ll just be another notification lost in the sea of nameless icons.
Almost immediately, the universe rewarded him for his bravery in the form of a story Yuna posted. A simple #ThrowbackThursday thing. Yuna standing in shallow water, her husband next to her, and Hollander in the background, lounging on the dock.
Perhaps, in a moment of weakness, Ilya had taken a screenshot.
Perhaps, in a second moment, Ilya had zoomed in so he could study the wet pane of Hollander’s abs and his fleshy, bitable pecs.
Sue him.
Actually, no. The Hollanders would actually have money to do so and Ilya does not think his father would use their family money to defend Ilya for getting caught being a pervert online, even if it were to be in the name of research.
He should’ve used his burner account. Damn it.
David Hollander’s Instagram looked like a political campaign. Ilya found himself disinterested and backed out of it immediately back to Yuna’s.
So, again, crumbs.
And now Ilya gets to have Hollander in the flesh.
“Will you—”
“This is—”
Hollander laughs, looking down at their feet, shy. “You can go first.”
“Will you be coming to tomorrow’s game? We play UConn. Will be exciting,” Ilya asks, trying not to be too hopeful.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Like, actually, this time.” Hollander nods. “This is me, by the way.”
Having been so deep in his thoughts, Ilya hadn’t noticed. He also had never paid too much mind to how close the business building was.
“Shit,” Hollander curses, oblivious to Ilya’s inner turmoil. He glares at his phone. Ilya thinks he looks like an angry kitten. “Riley - my advisor - emailed me.” Hollander reads, then sighs. “We have to reschedule. Something came up.”
Ilya pounces on the opportunity. “You can walk me to my—”
“Shane!”
Joining them, the uninvited guest - a man - puts his hand on Shane’s arm. “I’m so sorry for the last minute change. I emailed you as soon as I was able to.”
Hollander smiles, polite. “It’s okay.” Ilya can tell that it’s not. “At least now I won’t have to fight for parking later. It’s even harder to find a place in the afternoon.”
“You know, why don’t I just give you my number. You can let me know what your schedule looks like and I’ll fit you in, even if it’s outside my hours,” the man offers. He doesn’t allow Hollander to say no, pushing his phone into his hands.
“Nothing we need to go over is urgent. I can just see you when you have time,” Hollander replies. Ilya stares at the way Hollander’s fingers type in his digits.
“Don’t worry. After today, I have plenty of time. Especially for you.”
Ilya thinks his eye might twitch watching Hollander’s advisor continue to get handsy.
“I’ll call you later, so you can have my number too!”
Frustratingly, Hollander doesn’t seem like he knows how things came to this either, watching with Ilya as Riley walks away.
“You and your advisor seem. . . close,” Ilya points out.
Hollander scratches his neck. “I mean, I don’t think we’re any closer than most students and advisors. I wouldn’t make him see me outside his hours anyway. Seems inappropriate to have him work outside the hours he’s supposed to.”
“Sounded like he wanted to do more than just advise your academics,” Ilya adds, arms crossed against his chest. He huffs.
“What do you mean?” Hollander asks, head tilted.
Ilya grits his teeth. “Hollander, he was—”
“There you are! Long time no see!”
Clinging to his arm, a girl who Ilya met at a party last week bats her pretty eyelashes up at him. Her name was Taylor or Marie, maybe.
“Big game tomorrow. I’ll be there. Front row, for you,” Taylor-Marie tells him. She presses against him more firmly when he on instinct - against his better judgement - removes his arm so he can wrap it around her shoulders instead.
“I - uh, I’ll see you around, Rozanov,” Hollander says, awkwardly. He glances between Ilya and Taylor-Marie and flees.
ii.
For Valentine’s Day Ilya knows he won’t have to worry about being lonely. He has plenty of options. Except his first choice is sidled up next to some business finance bro talking his ear off about stocks.
Ilya imagines that Hollander’s partner must be borderline torturing him. Maybe it’s just Ilya’s overactive imagination, but Hollander looks like he’s two seconds away from climbing into his partner’s lap and shoving his tongue down this throat. Anything, really, to make their conversation more interesting.
Clearly, the finance bro has no idea what kind of treasure he has in the near palm of his hand.
It’s painful watching Hollander not so discretely start to untuck his partner’s shirt from his pants, fingers toying coyly at his belt. His cheeks are the perfect shade of pink from the drink Ilya saw Pike press into his hands an hour ago.
He looks good, loose and happy from the effects of alcohol. Not sloppy, very much still in control, and gorgeous.
Ilya scoffs to himself, vaguely remembering that he has a sorority girl chatting his ear off. One of Jackie’s sisters. She’s pretty, with long, dark brown hair and freckles.
He wishes he was interested.
He drags his gaze back to where he saw Hollander last.
Gone.
“Excuse me,” he says, removing himself politely. He puts his arm briefly around the girl’s shoulders and kisses her temple. If he can’t find Hollander, maybe he’ll try to take her home with him later.
It doesn’t take Ilya long to find him. A fresh drink in hand, Hollander stands on the back porch to the sorority house, a new companion, this one a lot less oblivious than the last. This one has a hand on Hollander’s hip, his head ducked so they can hear each other better despite the atmosphere not calling for it.
The salmon colored polo wearing man says something that makes Hollander laugh, tipping his head back to show off the column of his throat.
Ilya scowls.
Pursing his lips, he takes a second to compose himself, then interrupts.
“Tell Jackie she puts on good party,” Ilya tells Hollander. He places himself as close to Hollander as possible, putting a hand on the porch’s railing so he can lean even closer.
Hollander quirks an eyebrow at him. “Tell her yourself.”
“Can’t find her,” he shrugs. “I was thinking of continuing this party elsewhere. You want to come?”
Hollander hesitates. “Trevor and I were sort of in the middle of something.”
Ilya feels his lip curl. At least Trevor knows how to make a move, unlike couch boy. “Some other time then,” he concedes. He pulls away.
Trevor and Ilya are near the same height except it looks like the only thing Trevor lifts are textbooks and his daddy’s wallet. He’s not sure why Hollander would be impressed by him. Not when the Hollanders could buy this entire school if they wanted. Nonathletic pencil pushers also didn’t seem like they’d be Hollander’s type.
Couch bro at least looked like he could bench.
Hollander must really want some to settle. The idea causes Ilya to smile. Crazy. But Ilya does suppose that Trevor looks like someone safe, and Hollander is known for liking safe.
“Hey,” Hollander says, touching Ilya briefly on the arm. “Our home opener is this weekend. Hayden says you guys aren’t playing. You should come. I usually host a little thing at my place after. It won’t be anything crazy. But you should. Come. To the game and the party, if you can.”
An olive branch.
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
Hollander smiles, turning fully to face Ilya. Trevor’s pasty hand falls back to his side. “Cool.”
“You sure you don’t want to get out of here?” Ilya asks one more time.
“Can’t. I sort of promised Jackie and Hayden I’d help clean up,” Hollander replies. He looks at Ilya’s empty beer bottle. “Drive safe.”
Ilya thinks Trevor looks smug. He almost wants to punch the look off his face. But he doesn’t. He takes the small victory and his leave.
iii.
Sometimes for the hell of it, Ilya will use the campus gym instead of the fancy, much cleaner, more exclusive one that his apartment complex provides. The school gym is a lot more crowded but has the added benefit of more machines and it’s where his teammates go.
He, Marly, and Carmy are in the middle of their warmup when a trio of female nursing students ask to join them to do their cooldown routine. They say yes, and when they ask for assistance in their stretches, the answer certainly doesn't become no.
Ilya is engaging in a borderline inappropriate downward dog when he spots Hollander by the squat racks. But that isn’t what nearly causes him to fall on top of his stretching partner.
Standing behind him, Hollander’s spotter is much closer than what’s probably reasonably safe. As Hollander squats, the man behind him is so close that Ilya could swear Hollander is sitting on his lap. He also doesn't look like he’s struggling.
With legs and an ass like Hollander’s the last thing he needs assistance with is lower body exercises.
As Hollander re-racks, the man is already trying to give him tips on his form. Hollander nods along, but doesn’t seem to care. He’s looking around the room, probably looking for his useless friend Pike or his teammate Boiziau.
“We should do legs,” Ilya announces to the boys.
“I thought today was chest day,” Marly protests.
“We do legs every day,” Carmy almost whines.
“Do chest by yourself then. I’m doing legs.”
Ilya leaves his partner on her yoga mat. He hadn’t brought one himself. Sure, the gym carpet is a little gross but it beats having to carry around equipment.
For some reason, Hollander’s gym partner has progressed to rolling his t-shirt sleeves up, flexing.
“—my gains. We should work out together again sometime. I can show you my full routine,” Ilya catches the tail end of the gym bro trying to keep Hollander engaged.
“Actually, I have a pretty good routine already with my personal trainer,” Hollander tries to decline. He spots Ilya and his shoulders drop, the stress flowing out of his body.
“Work me in?”
Hollander smiles. “Yeah,” he responds breathlessly. “I can spot you.” He glances at his partner. “We can take it from here.”
Sleeveless man looks Ilya up and down. “Why don’t I get your number? We really should work out again sometime.”
Hollander outright ignores the request, too polite to give a flat out no. “I can give you my Insta.” Pulling out his phone, he clicks to what Ilya assumes must be his profile.
Ilya holds back a laugh. He’s seen Hollander’s Instagram. It’s possible his DMs are on fire but considering he follows a whopping dozen people and has even less posts than that, the chances of him checking his account is not likely.
Hollander’s social media time is probably spent on editing Wikipedia pages and scrolling YouTube for podcast recommendations.
“My name is Jared, by the way,” Sleeveless says, passing Hollander’s phone back to him.
Ilya rolls his eyes. Jared practically had his clothed dick up Hollander’s ass and now he thinks names are important.
“Shane.”
Jared shakes Shane’s hand for a second too long, his other hand coming up to grope Hollander’s bicep. For some reason, Hollander thought it would be appropriate to wear a white tank top and white 3-inch inseam shorts. He basically dressed himself to be the gym equivalent of catnip. It’s a wonder that ass stays contained in those tiny shorts while he does squats.
Jared does not care enough about Ilya to say goodbye to him. Only Shane.
“Thanks, by the way. I tried to get rid of him, but he wouldn’t take the hint,” Hollander says, chuckling awkwardly. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Jared is gone. “We really don’t have to work out together if you don’t want to. I’m sure you don’t need a spotter.”
Ilya tries not to let that information bother him. He’s glad Jared is gone. “I don’t need spotter, no. Cheerleader, maybe.”
Hollander laughs. “Fuck off.” Playfully he pushes Ilya’s shoulder. “I’d be a horrible cheerleader.”
“Right,” Ilya agrees. “You are missing pretty skirt and pom poms.”
“Like I’d put on a skirt for you,” Hollander says. He grabs his water bottle off the ground.
Ilya steps closer. “Not even if I said please?”
Hollander sucks in a breath. “No.”
“Pozhaluysta,” Ilya insists. He carefully tracks the way a blush blooms under Hollander’s freckles. “I’ll even get on my knees and beg.”
Ilya could swear Hollander’s lips had been poised to say yes, but the arrival of Pike ruins it all.
“Get away from him, asshole,” Pike demands. He tries to step in between him and Hollander.
“Hayden.”
“Where were you five minutes ago when he needed you?” Ilya accuses.
Pike’s face pinches in confusion.
“Forget it, it’s not a big deal.” Hollander pushes Pike away. “Go. I’ll meet you outside.” Hollander reaches into his bag to pull out a small bottle of cleaning wipes. “Sorry about Hayden. Sometimes he acts like I can’t take care of myself. I swear sometimes I think he was planted here by my mom to keep an eye on me.”
Ilya makes a small noise of acknowledgement.
He ends up working chest exercises with Marly and Carmichael after all.
iv.
Maybe it’s bad of him but Ilya doesn’t care why Troy Barrett decided to transfer his senior year. He knows he could find out through the gossip chain but like he told Coach LeClaire. As long as Barrett plays good hockey, Ilya doesn’t care whatever it is he did off ice last season.
He especially doesn’t care since Barrett promised the team the first day that it won’t happen again and Ilya has no reason to think Barrett is a liar.
Now though, Ilya sort of wants to toss Barrett through the boards.
Marly is smart enough to not participate but Hammy apparently has not gotten the memo.
Shane Hollander is off limits.
“You think I could get his number? I know I’m not, like, heir to an empire but I could show him a good time.”
Ilya grimaces into his beer bottle.
“Doesn’t that mean Hollander can afford to have a good time any time he wants?”
Barrett groans into his hands.
“Why don’t you ask Pike? They’re best friends, aren’t they?”
RIP Zane Boodram. He isn’t dead yet but Ilya is already thinking of ways to kill him and get rid of the body. As his assistant captain, Marlow is legally required to help him.
If he wasn’t before, Ilya is positive his father has a lawyer who can help him write up the contract and Marly will agree to most things Ilya proposes for $20, free dinner, and the promise of beer.
The time of Boodram’s demise will depend on whether they make the playoffs.
“Pike is like his guard dog, isn’t he? Hey, Rozy, you’re sort of friends with Hollander, aren’t you?”
Childishly, Ilya wonders if he stays still enough, his teammates will realize they either a) can’t see him or b) he doesn't want to participate in this conversation unless someone is prepared to fork over bail money or get really on board with providing some kind of alibi.
“Roz?”
“Something like friends, yes,” he admits.
“So?. . . Do you have his number?”
Ilya purses his lips. “Yes. I have. . . but he is taken.”
“He’s not single?”
“It’s complicated.”
Hammy pats Barrett on the back comfortingly. “Maybe next time, bud.”
“How do you know he’s in a relationship?” Bood questions.
“You know, is,” Ilya waves his hand dismissively, “secret thing. Rich boy is very careful with who he dates in public.”
“Damn.”
“That sucks.”
“He’s probably, like, a prince then.”
“Barrett,” Ilya says, cutting through the nonsense chatter. “How tall are you?”
Barrett looks at Ilya quizzically. “Why?”
Ilya sighs. He can just check the student website for the team roster. “No reason.”
v.
Now Ilya can flaunt his money, he’s got fancy clothes, a fast car, and sponsorships even though he hasn’t even been signed yet to the NHL but there’s no denying that the Hollander name carries more weight and money behind it when he finds out that Hollander rented out an entire lakeside resort for the week of Spring Break.
Hollander invites the entire lacrosse team first and then somehow Pike weasels his way into getting permission for the hockey team to come as well.
At least he’s good for something.
Even then, the resort has more space to spare so plus ones are allowed so long as they’re added to Hollander’s very organized spreadsheet.
Ilya adds Svetlana as his plus one and Marly, ever single, allows Sveta to use his to bring along her friend Sofiya as well.
A giant lakeside resort surrounded by their teammates isn’t exactly the most intimate environment to lure Hollander into his bed, but Ilya has a week and a goal to accomplish. With two months left of school, Ilya has made little headway.
Despite not needing to host, that’s all Ilya heard Hollander do the first few days. He’s kept his ear to the ground for his whereabouts and Hollander is always - supposedly - tending to everyone and making sure no drunk students accidentally cause property damage.
By Thursday he’s almost given up.
On his way to spend some time poolside, Ilya finally finds him.
Hollander is lounging in the sun, expensive sunglasses on his face, his skin glistening with sweat. Stretched out and on display, Ilya almost does not see Sveta and Sofiya sharing a chair next to Hollander. They’re all chatting about something, though it seems Sofiya is more interested in ogling Hollander’s abs than she is in making conversation.
Honestly, Ilya can’t blame her.
He drapes his towel along the back of the chair on Hollander’s other side, joining them.
“Ladies,” he says with charm. “Hollander,” he adds, perhaps, lower and more seductive than he would have had he not realized he’d have competition.
“Ilyusha,” Sveta acknowledges him.
“Roz,” Hollander says, squinting, until Ilya moves to block the sun. Ilya puffs out his chest more seeing Hollander check him out.
His sunglasses may hide his eyes, but Ilya doesn’t miss the way Hollander’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips.
Sofiya ignores him.
“Lacrosse then, is more physical than hockey, no?” Sofiya asks, trying to redirect the conversation.
Ilya scoffs at the same time Hollander says, “No. I mean, they’re both pretty physical but hockey is a little more physical than lacrosse.”
“Oh really?”
Sveta shoots Ilya a look when he tries not to laugh.
“Yeah, I played both for a while. Hockey was definitely harder,” Hollander confirms, not noticing.
“You must be really strong then,” Sofiya says, laying it on a little thick, Ilya thinks.
“I guess so,” he says modestly. “Roz might be stronger than me though.”
Ilya can’t hide his surprise fast enough. “Hollander, you flatter me.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Hollander laughs. “I’m just speaking the truth. Hockey is the harder sport.”
“Why did you quit then?” Sofiya asks.
“Must not have been good,” Ilya teases.
“Lacrosse season is shorter, and my parents were able to go to more of my games. Either way, it’s not like I had any plans to go pro. I just enjoy it.” Hollander shrugs.
Over Hollander’s head, Sveta attempts a wordless conversation with him. Ilya shakes his head back at her.
“Come, I want a refill,” Sveta announces abruptly, trying to pull Sofiya to her feet. “Shane, you want anything?”
Hollander briefly looks at his empty glass and the full one of water beside it. “I’m good, thanks. I think I had enough today.”
Weakly, Sofiya protests, but Sveta blows Ilya a kiss and insists her friend come with her.
With the two of them alone, Hollander grabs his water and confesses, “I’m surprised you came.”
“Why?”
Not needing to have to look over Hollander, Ilya finally allows himself to fully lounge on the chair. He makes sure his abs look flat and when he puts his arm behind his head, Hollander can get a good look at his muscles.
“Just surprised, is all. That you didn’t have anywhere else to be.”
“Since you invited all the hotties, this became the best place,” Ilya replies.
Hollander drains half his water, then puts it back onto the little table. “Still. I’m surprised this is your thing. We’re a little more relaxed here and a lot less party than you usually like.”
“Maybe I knew there would be someone here that I wanted to see,” Ilya hedges.
For a second, Ilya doesn’t know whether he should regret being too vague or if he was too honest after all. But Hollander rotates onto his side to give Ilya more of his attention.
“Have you seen them yet?”
“I’ve seen many someones.”
“But the one you really want?”
“I just found him. He’s a very busy, very popular man.”
“Well, I’m pretty busy and popular too. And very much free tonight if someone were to look for me,” Hollander offers.
“I might look.”
“You might find me. Room 1221.”
“Easy to remember.”
Hollander hums in agreement. Gathering his things, he pauses at full height. “I’ll see you later. Maybe."
Ilya keeps his gaze straight ahead, grinning. “Maybe.” But he knows it’s a promise.
*
“I don’t usually do this,” Hollander says, in between accosting Ilya with kisses as soon as he enters the room, not that he had to tell Ilya that.
Ilya is pretty positive if perfect Shane Hollander did anything less than, he would’ve heard about it. Still, it's sort of nice. To know. To have confirmation that Ilya is one of the special few - if there even is more than just him getting to have Hollander this way.
Hollander nips and sucks at Ilya’s neck until he’s happy with the mark he’s left behind. Ilya has no complaints except the minor discomfort from the door handle being pressed against his ass.
“I’m glad you came,” Hollander adds. His pupils are dilated and he’s blushing.
Taking Ilya by both hands, Hollander drags Ilya deeper into the room. He pushes Ilya onto the bed, not even allowing him to bounce before he’s sliding into his lap. They’re kissing again, Hollander’s hands frantic, unable to decide where they want to touch and hold Ilya next.
On the other hand, Ilya knows exactly what he wants.
Greedily, Ilya paws at Hollander’s ass, pleased when Hollander grinds down.
Generously, Hollander allows Ilya to breathe in oxygen, breaking away just so he can pull Ilya’s shirt off. Ilya allows it, of course. And without asking, Hollander undresses as well. Whereas Ilya’s tee ends up somewhere on the floor, Hollander makes a half-assed attempt to fold his own nicely before tossing it onto the spare bed. Ilya has half a mind to ask whether they should be worried about a roommate interrupting but Hollander is already slipping off his lap and onto the floor.
Hollander breathes hotly over Ilya’s clothed cock, his hand rubbing - feeling the shape and size of Ilya.
“Fuck you’re big,” Hollander sighs. He presses his nose against Ilya’s zipper before pulling away, hands at the ready. “Can I?”
Ilya moans, then curses. “No, Hollander. I wish to cum in my pants.”
Hollander laughs. “That would be pretty hot, but I have other plans for you tonight.”
He then has Ilya naked quickly, although he almost gives up when he gets Ilya’s pants and briefs bunched up at his ankles. Hollander apparently doesn’t care if Ilya looks silly so long as he can get a hand around his cock. His slides, Ilya already can’t recall when Hollander got rid of those for him.
Eager, Hollander drags his lips from root to tip along the underside of Ilya’s cock. Then, satisfied with what he’s found, Hollander takes Ilya inside until the back of his throat protests. He does that twice, in quick succession. Testing out his ability while getting Ilya wet. What he can’t comfortably deep throat, he wraps his fingers around, jerking and twisting in a teasingly light hold.
“Blyat.” Ilya’s head thuds against the mattress.
Gentle, at first, Ilya cradles the back of Hollander’s head in his hand. Then, seeing Hollander looking up at him, mouth full of cock, Ilya’s fingers twist in the black inky strands and pushes down.
Hollander gags a little, but his eyes roll back in pleasure and when he refocuses - allowing Ilya to take over - Ilya can only interpret the tears in his eyes as encouragement to do more. Idly, Hollander’s fingers scratch and scrabble at Ilya’s happy trail. Ilya can’t see for sure, but with the way Hollander’s shoulder is moving, he assumes Hollander is touching himself which simply can’t be.
If anyone is making Hollander cum tonight, it’ll be because of Ilya’s doing.
With reluctance, Ilya has Hollander withdraw.
“Generous host should cum first,” Ilya promises. He pulls Hollander’s head back by the hair with one hand, fitting his fingers around Hollander’s neck with the other.
Hollander smiles, voice hoarse when he replies, “That is generous.”
Ilya helps Hollander back onto his feet. They kiss quickly, just so Ilya can get a taste of himself on Hollander’s tongue, then he forces Hollander onto the bed, face down. It’s easy to pull down the elastic of Hollander’s workout shorts and boxers, but he purposely leaves them somewhere around midthigh so he can admire Hollander’s cheeks better and trap him right where he wants him at the same time.
Carefully, Ilya makes his way down Hollander’s back, leaving a trail of kisses directly down the length of his spine. Hollander wriggles until Ilya lets him place a pillow underneath his hips, then settles.
Considering how tiny Hollander likes his gym shorts, his ass is surprisingly pale in contrast to the rest of his sunkissed skin. All the better for Ilya to leave claiming marks on.
Giddy, Ilya bites one cheek, smiling when Hollander’s hand comes back to smack him lightly on the head. He kisses it in apology, moving to the other to work a hickey right at the top of the round muscle. Hollander groans into his folded arms, attempting to spread his legs so he can get onto his knees. He can’t. It’s perfect.
Once Ilya is satisfied with his marks, he glances up to catch Hollander peeking. He smirks, then plants once last wet kiss to Hollander’s cheek.
“Have you ever cum from being eaten out?”
Hollander hides, hips wriggling again. “No.”
“Then you will today.”
Truly Ilya knows anyone else will simply be a disappointment after this. He’s around hockey ass all the time but something about Hollander’s two perfect handfuls are something else.
Ilya approaches things cautiously at first, but Hollander makes it clear from his pretty noises that he likes it wet and messy. He likes feeling Ilya’s tongue swirl and the promise of a digit pushing at his entrance. He likes his balls being played with, though Ilya is mean and leaves Hollander’s cock trapped and weeping.
Careful, Ilya works in half a digit with spit before Hollander hastily shoves a bottle of lube against his forearm - because Hollander can’t keep still and Ilya has to keep an arm draped across his lower back to keep him in place.
He’s almost insulted. He must not be doing that good of a job if Hollander is still coherent.
Ilya redoubles his efforts.
He pushes the tip of his thumb inside then spits. Hollander feels so buttery soft and hot inside Ilya might have to forgo his original plans. His own poor cock is protesting.
“How many fingers do you need?” Ilya wonders out loud. “How many can you take?”
“I - fuck - don’t need much. I already loosened myself up before you got here,” Hollander insists.
“You didn’t.”
Hollander has the gall to look coy. “Some guys think fingering is just jabbing their fingers down there. So I’ve learned to come prepared.”
“Shame. I’m very good with my cock and my fingers,” Ilya assures. He rises, pressing the length of his body against Hollander’s back. His hand grabs the lube. “You sure you don’t need more? I’m bigger than most, no?”
Hollander scoffs. “You’re big, but not the biggest.”
“Brat.”
Amused, Hollander lets out a satisfied, “Yeah.”
Ilya brings his hand down for a sharp smack. Hollander’s ass ripples beneath his palm.
“Condom?”
“Here.”
As Ilya rolls the condom on, Hollander takes the opportunity to push Ilya off him to finally kick off the rest of his clothes. Hollander resumes his upper hand - his place on Ilya’s lap - to pull him back into another kiss. He groans into Ilya’s mouth.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
Ilya just barely has the time to agree. The view of Hollander adjusting himself - Ilya laid out on the mattress, Hollander in reverse cowgirl - has his brain short circuiting.
Inch by agonizing inch, Hollander sinks down, his fingers keeping Ilya stable at the base. Hollander has his back arched, knees spread, so all Ilya sees is the perfect view. Ass, back dimples, and the slope of Hollander’s sweaty body taking Ilya in with ease.
Hollander starts off slow. Sampling the feel of Ilya’s girth. Testing what feels good and what he can manage.
Lazily, Ilya assists. Every time he feels Hollander hit a good rhythm, Ilya adds a minute thrust.
It’s good for a while. Hollander is moaning, but his breaths are even. Ilya can’t get over how good Hollander feels, but he’s no longer afraid of coming prematurely. It’s just good. Testing out each other’s bodies.
With some difficulty, Ilya manages to prop himself up on a pillow or two so he can feel up Hollander’s legs and grope at a cheek so he can continue to watch his cock glide in and out of Hollander’s hole.
Only when Hollander’s breath becomes ragged and his smooth up-down-up-down motions become choppy does Ilya make a move. Hollander is tired, close, or deliciously both.
“My turn.”
Hollander acquiesces.
Falling comfortable against the pillows Ilya arranged, Hollander holds his legs close to his chest. It makes Ilya want to fold him like a pretzel.
When he sinks back inside, the sight is even better from this angle. He can see everything, control everything. Hollander’s legs shake, feeling Ilya go deeper than before, his head thrown back. With languid thrusts, Ilya covers Hollander’s body, holding his chin up so they can kiss.
Ilya is addicted.
He picks up the pace, ruthless in his efforts.
Hollander claws at Ilya’s chest and back - whatever he can reach - moaning and arching his body for more. Once he lays his hand on Ilya’s pelvis, causing him to pause - maybe he was too much for Hollander after all - but when Ilya slows his pace, Hollander furrows his brows, and demands more.
He likes it - the feeling of it being almost too much.
Reaching for the pillow again, Ilya retreats so Hollander can roll onto his belly. He’s close. So close. But Ilya needs to see that ass again. He needs to see his marks and the fat jiggle as he plows into the only person Ilya has been able to think of all semester.
Propping himself up onto his knees, Hollander holds a pillow against his chest, another under his hips. Whining, Holland rubs his neglected cock against the pillowcase.
“That’s how you want to cum? Rubbing your little cock against a pillow?” Ilya coos. He grabs the meat of Hollander’s ass with both hands, in awe of how his hole seems to open, feeling Ilya’s cock move against it.
“I will, if you don’t get me off soon,” Hollander huffs. “What about all that talk you did?”
“Hm. Not a threat to me,” Ilya replies. He lets his cock catch on Hollander’s rim. “I’d love to see how you get yourself off. I know I am generous lover, but I enjoy a good show too.”
Hollander shivers. He reaches a hand back to guide Ilya back inside, but Ilya grabs him by the wrist and pins his arm against his back. Hollander gasps.
“Gospodi. Your body - so fucking greedy for me.”
Ilya doesn’t stop pressing forward until he’s practically glued to Hollander.
“Shit—Shane.”
Hollander squeezes his muscles. “Guh. Ilya, fuck me.”
Ilya moves so rough that the bed creaks and the headboard makes noises of protest even as it’s mounted to the wall. Wanting to be even deeper, Ilya hikes one of Hollander’s legs up higher.
Hollander moans in appreciation.
“Kiss.”
Ilya’s hips stutter.
“Kiss me, asshole,” Hollander demands.
Twisting his torso, Hollander tries to reach out to Ilya but there’s nothing to grab onto except Ilya’s mother’s necklace. He manages to hook the tip of his finger into it, and pulls. Not nearly enough to threaten the chain, but enough that Ilya can only choose to obey.
He leans down to lessen Hollander’s strain. Their lips meet. Hollander buries his hand into Ilya’s curls. Ilya bumps harshly against Hollander’s prostate. He whimpers into Ilya’s mouth.
“That feel good, malysh?” Ilya asks despite knowing the answer. Hollander tips his hips back more. “It must. You love this big cock. Can’t get enough.”
“Fuck o—Il. . . Roz.”
“No, no. You had right the first time,” Ilya encourages. He swivels his hips instead of thrusting.
“Ilya,” Hollander—Shane—gasps. “I’m so close. Don’t stop. Harder.”
Grunting, Ilya knocks Shane off his pillow so he can be rolled onto his side. He pushes both of Shane’s knees together and pushes them up the mattress. It’s easy, thrusting inside again, his body well accustomed to Ilya’s cock by now. Shane groans at the intrusion regardless, his cock partly trapped between his thighs, frictionless.
The tears are back, Shane’s hand trying to palm at his own cock.
Ilya puts a hand around Shane’s throat, simply holding. He presses kisses to Shane’s temple, sucks his earlobe between his teeth. Shane manages to separate his knees, adding an angle that allows Ilya to get deeper again.
Shane whimpers when he comes, surprisingly quiet.
Conversely, Ilya is loud in Shane’s ear, trembling and twitching. He’s sensitive. He doesn’t want to withdraw from the gentle vice Shane has around him.
Without urgency, eventually, Shane does push at Ilya’s hip. He’s long emptied into the condom and could move. Shane makes a little noise that Ilya wishes he could hear on a loop when he pulls out. A cross between sexy on purpose and fucked out of his mind.
Insistent so he doesn’t have to lay in the wet spot, Shane makes Ilya lay cramped on the other edge, the condom discarded haphazardly onto the floor. Drawing a little pattern onto his chest, Shane gives Ilya the calmest kiss of the entire night.
“You owe me an orgasm, but I’ll forgive you,” Shane says.
“Give me ten minutes, I’ll give you another,” Ilya laughs incredulously.
“Or,” Shane says, throwing a leg across Ilya’s waist, “we can just do this again sometime.”
“Tomorrow?” Ilya suggests, hopeful.
Shane hides a smile against Ilya’s chest. He can feel it. “If you stay the night.”
“Mm. Such a hardship, but yes, I will stay.”
+ vi.
So much and nothing at all changes after.
Ilya focuses on hockey; Shane focuses on lacrosse.
Ilya might dance and make out with people at parties, but at the end of the night it’s Shane’s bed he crawls into. Shane’s apartment is nicer than any college student has a right to have. An interior designer came up with all the art and furniture, though the books and knickknacks - boring sports books and childhood trophies - are Shane’s.
Ilya chirps Shane for the amount of family photos he has around only to disrupt the feeling of envy that sits heavy in his chest.
Alexei was drafted by Vancouver 4 years ago, during the second round. Their father wasn’t pleased.
Although their father should be happy - and Ilya should feel relieved - that Michigan is about to make it to the Frozen Four, he’s been breathing down Ilya’s neck nonetheless.
Safe to say, they do not take happy Christmas photos wearing matching itchy corny sweaters.
Able to sense whenever Ilya falls into those moods - which is more and more often the closer playoffs and the draft becomes - Shane pulls him out of it. Sometimes it’s by kissing him back down to earth. Other times it’s by seductively drawing Ilya back to the bedroom.
More often than not, it’s simply him existing. The way Shane tries to find Ilya’s eyes. The way he pulls Ilya’s arms around his body when he’s too distracted to do so.
But he is not falling for Shane Hollander.
Ilya does not do this. Falling.
He fucks and enjoys himself, but he does not do feelings. He does not have time. He does not have the space.
He still has two other goals he must accomplish to make his father even decently proud. A boyfriend, girlfriend - or whoever would be a distraction.
It’s easier - and more fun - to turn things into a game.
He goes out, has fun, and returns to Shane who has quite the possessive streak of his own.
Shane stops seeing his discreet conquests - though sometimes he doesn’t do a good job at deterring the people who want him. He never sees it. Or maybe he does and he enjoys the way Ilya circles him like a dog.
Ilya jokes about sharing once - which doesn’t go over well. Shane ghosts him for an entire week which is how he finds out about the carefully hidden dildos Shane keeps in his bedside table.
But it’s unsurprisingly easy to give up his own side conquests whose names Ilya can’t always remember. He reasons it’s simpler. Safer. For it to be just him and Shane. All the side kisses and heavy petting over clothes doesn’t matter.
He’s passing his classes.
He’s going to make it to the playoffs and get drafted.
And he bagged Shane Hollander.
Mission accomplished, with a month to spare.