Chapter Text
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Shane had been asked that on more than one occasion throughout his life; an unfortunate byproduct of being… well, him. Of being too quiet, or too intense, or caring too much about things others didn't, or caring not at all about things others did. He was used to it, even if it still stung sometimes. But admittedly, it was a question he asked himself on occasion too; like when Rozanov asked him for his room number in Toronto and the answer had spilled out of Shane's mouth almost immediately. Or when Shane knocked on 1221 after the All-Star Game in Nashville. Or an hour ago, when he had finally given Rozanov his home address. Or when Rozanov kissed him, and Shane couldn't comprehend why he had been such an absolute idiot for refusing this for so fucking long.
It was the last thought that circled his head the most as Rozanov's tongue slipped into his mouth, Rozanov's hands flitting from the back of Shane's neck, to his jaw, down to his chest; the two of them standing at the foot of Shane's bed and the ridiculous mountain of pillows Rozanov had just been making fun of. And Shane, because he was an idiot, hadn't even been annoyed about it; he'd called Rozanov an asshole—because he was—but Shane couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face as he said it, lingering by the doorway so he could watch Rozanov's broad, beautiful body moving curiously around Shane's space.
"Oh you missed me, didn't you?" Rozanov had sing-songed at him in the stairwell, fingers tugging playfully at the cuff of Shane's sleeve, and of course Shane had denied it, but fuck if it wasn't true. He saw Rozanov on the ice multiple times a season, but that was an entirely different world than the one where Rozanov let Shane grip his hair and suck on his tongue; and Shane had wasted so much fucking time not allowing himself into that world.
Goddammit he was going to make up for it now, and apparently so was Rozanov, his arms sliding across Shane's back—one across his shoulder blades and the other low around his waist—and Shane was surprised at the moan that slipped out of him when Rozanov just squeezed, pressing them tightly together from chest to thighs, his dense, solid mass feeling weirdly exciting and grounding at the same time.
"Well, at least you don't taste like cigarettes," Shane found the brain power to tease him when their lips finally parted, both of Shane's hands holding tight to Rozanov's hair, keeping them close, Rozanov's nose pressed against Shane's and his curls brushing Shane's forehead. Admittedly, even if Rozanov had tasted like cigarettes, it wouldn't have been much of a deterrent, though Shane would never tell him that.
Rozanov chortled at the comment, rolling his eyes though Shane could tell he was smiling in amusement.
"Mmm, I am very thoughtful," he purred, then blew a light puff of air across Shane's lips teasingly. "Minty-fresh, just for you, Hollander."
Shane couldn't help but laugh at that, blowing a little breath back at Rozanov despite how fucking silly it was, but Rozanov seemed weirdly delighted—the warm rumble of his deep laugh like a pleasant tingle down Shane's spine before they were kissing again.
Fuck he had missed kissing Rozanov; he missed the hunger Rozanov poured into every kiss, the way he used his lips, his tongue, his teeth. He kissed like he wanted to devour Shane, like the taste of Shane's mouth was his last meal on earth, and Shane was so fucking willing to be Rozanov's buffet.
Then Rozanov's hands slid down his back, unhesitating when he got to the hem of Shane's hoodie, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric and yanking it, along with the T-shirt Shane was wearing underneath, up and over his head in a swift pull that forced their lips apart; not that Shane could say he minded when Rozanov just took it as an opportunity to redirect his mouth to Shane's throat.
"Can we get in bed, or will your pillows be upset?" Rozanov's cheeky murmur into the soft skin just under Shane's ear made him shiver, even as Shane rolled his eyes with a little scoff.
"Fuck you." Maybe not the wittiest of comebacks, but Shane was more focused on wrestling Rozanov's unjustifiably sexy Henley up his abdomen to care.
"Hmm, I think you mean 'fuck me, please.'"
God, he was such a smart-ass, and Shane made sure Rozanov's shirt collar caught him on the chin as Shane yanked it off of him, knocking his head back slightly with a little, disgruntled snort.
"Shut up," Shane told him.
Rozanov smirked, and the next thing Shane knew, Rozanov was stooping down slightly to hook his arms under Shane's ass and hoist him several inches off the floor, ignoring Shane's "Hey!" of protest in favor of twisting to his left and literally throwing Shane onto the mattress, laughing warmly at Shane's startled gasp before hooking his fingers over the waistband of Shane's track pants.
Oh. Yes, okay.
Shane's brain was thankfully quick to get with the program, lifting his hips as Rozanov started to tug, stripping Shane of both pants and underwear in one go before Rozanov grabbed Shane's calf just below the knee and raised his leg.
"You will be without these this time, I think," Rozanov smirked, hooking the forefinger of his free hand into the top of Shane's crew sock and tugging it down as Shane's cheeks heated in embarrassment.
"Oh my God, shut up," Shane said again, but still cooperated with Rozanov as the other man worked the sock over his heel and off, then immediately switched to his other leg to do the same.
"Ah, look at that," Rozanov said cheekily as the second sock hit the floor, answering Shane's confused eyebrow-furrow with a shit-eating grin. "Perfectly normal, I thought perhaps you were hiding some kind of secret under these."
"Jesus Christ, fuck you." Shane couldn't believe the stupid blush spreading over his face, shaking his head and looking to the ceiling instead of at Rozanov's stupid, smug face. "You got a fetish or something, Rozanov?"
God, Shane hoped not.
"Nope." Rozanov popped the "p" sound, and Shane's eyes were inevitably drawn back to him when Rozanov's hands went to his own pants, thumbing open the button and tugging the zipper down with unfumbling confidence that Shane kind of hated him for.
Not so much that Shane could resist sitting up, though, wetting his lips with his tongue as Rozanov slid both underwear and jeans down his hips, then his big, muscular thighs, watching Shane watching him with that annoyingly sexy grin on his face until Shane could no longer resist letting his gaze drop between Rozanov's legs.
Fuck.
Shane knew that Rozanov's ridiculous "nine inches" exaggeration was exactly that—an exaggeration—but it had been long enough that the exact dimensions, so to speak, were a bit fuzzy in his memory. Which was a problem Shane hoped to never have again, looking at Rozanov's annoyingly perfect, uncut, really fucking hard cock and feeling his mouth flood with saliva.
Then Rozanov was naked from head to toe—save for the gold chain and cross forever around his neck—a predatory grin curving up the corners of his mouth as he took a step toward the bed.
Fuck.
Before Shane could let himself overthink it he reached forward and grabbed Rozanov's hips, keeping him from raising his knee onto the edge of the mattress, but there was no way Rozanov was going to complain when Shane leaned forward to slide his mouth down Rozanov's cock.
"Wow."
Shane didn't know why, but hearing that soft exclamation instead of a curse word made a sort of prideful delight thrum through him, even though he was sure that he was not much more skilled than the last time they did this. (He would improve; he would make sure that he improved, Shane Hollander was nothing if not a quick study and he was going to fucking prove it.) But in the meantime, Shane could do this; he could rub his tongue against the underside of Rozanov's cock, he could let Rozanov flirt with the back of his throat, he could hollow his cheeks in a sucking pull every time he slid back until Rozanov was pulling him away by a firm handful of his hair.
"Fucking eager, Hollander," Rozanov growled, finally able to hike one knee up onto the mattress, coaxing Shane to move back by his grip on his hair, moving them both up the bed.
Yes, fuck, Shane was eager, was more than happy to move toward the headboard, eyelids fluttering at the firm pressure of Rozanov's hand holding tight to his hair, the pull on his scalp far from painful.
Then Rozanov smirked, and with a broad sweep of his free arm, he sent most of Shane's pillows to the floor.
"Rozanov!"
"Shh."
He was such a smarmy bastard; smirking as he guided Shane down onto the couple of pillows that were left, and stole any further protest on the matter from Shane's mouth with a kiss that would have made his knees weak, had he been standing.
"Asshole," was all Shane could gasp, holding on to Rozanov's arms as Rozanov's mouth trailed luxuriously from Shane's mouth down his chin, his throat, along his clavicle and back up the side of his neck, giving a warm purr of a moan against Shane's skin.
"Mm, yes, that is the plan," he husked out, shifting his hand from Shane's hair to pet over his chest, his mouth spending a moment licking and rubbing against Shane's pulse before placing a lingering kiss there, then pulling back to place a kiss to Shane's mouth instead. "You still want?"
Shane was relieved at how easily the answer fell out of his mouth, how much it filled him with a sort of nervous excitement that made him feel giddy in a way sex never had before.
"I still want."
A little smile, another kiss, and Rozanov was reaching between them, repositioning himself to rub his cock against Shane's, the both of them glancing down at the display.
Rozanov was big, there was no denying; not nine inches, fuck you, Rozanov, but sizable. A little bigger than Shane—though not by much—but seeing it like this, or even having it in his mouth, were definitely different than the reality of having it shoving its way inside Shane's ass.
"Don't worry, it will fit," Rozanov said cheekily, as if he were reading Shane's mind, the Russian giving Shane a little smirk that made Shane roll his eyes, but he couldn't help the way his own mouth quirked up in an answering smile either, nor the way he readily accepted another press of Rozanov's lips against his own.
They needed condoms and lube, both of which were in Shane's bedside drawer, and Rozanov shifted out of Shane's way as he reached for the drawer and dipped his hand inside.
"Woah, wow," Rozanov immediately plucked the chain of condoms from Shane's hand, grinning like an absolute asshole as he swung them in front of Shane's face. "You think this will be enough?"
"Fuck off." Thankfully Rozanov was completely unperturbed by Shane's propensity for cursing at him, simply smirking as he pressed a few sweet, amused kisses to Shane's lips before venturing lower, his lips and his hands trailing over Shane's chest in a warm, scattered path that felt so nice that Shane was shamefully willing to forgive Rozanov for practically any little chirp he could throw Shane's way.
But then Rozanov glanced up, and the heat in his gaze made it exceptionally clear that teasing Shane was now the last thing on Rozanov's mind; further proved when his mouth enveloped Shane's cock and his hand pressed against Shane's pec, and Shane could do nothing but curl his fingers under the edge of Rozanov's hand and hold on.
Jesus. Jesus. Shane's memories of Rozanov's mouth paled in comparison to the real thing; the other man so fucking eager to take Shane in, to rub his tongue along the underside of Shane's dick, to press Shane's cockhead into the back of his throat, huffing out a little breath of air through his nose that spread in a ticklish wave across Shane's pelvis.
It was so fucking good and Rozanov was so damn hot as he did it; glancing up at Shane again through his lashes as he bobbed his head once, twice—his attention to Shane's cock sending shivers through Shane's belly, and Shane couldn't help but be disappointed when it was over far too soon, Rozanov releasing Shane's dick with a little parting kiss to the tip.
Then Shane's knees were up at his shoulders, and Rozanov put his mouth to work somewhere else entirely.
Holy shit.
Shane knew this was a thing people did, the same way he knew about a lot of things that people did; as an abstract, a theory. A thing he had seen in porn, a thing that he had shamefully imagined here and there when he occasionally fingered himself late at night. But this was not his imagination; this was Rozanov's tongue circling Shane's asshole, hot and wet and confident, and Shane gripped the sheets with one hand and his own knee with the other, squirming a little against the tight way Rozanov had damn near folded him in half.
Then Shane made the mistake of looking down, of looking at the way the bottom half of Rozanov's face was hidden between Shane's cheeks and his nose pressed against Shane's taint, his eyes closed in apparent bliss and Shane felt a hot bead of pre-cum drip from the tip of his cock onto his belly at the sheer sight of it; the sheer debauchery of the image, of Rozanov pressing his mouth and tongue somewhere so intimate.
"Oh my God…"
He slammed his eyes shut, rubbing his cheek against the back of his hand where it was curled around his knee, trying to ground himself as Rozanov's tongue laved broad and flat over Shane's hole, the sensation weirdly relaxing and arousing in equal measure, and Shane really had no idea how that was even possible.
"Okay?" Rozanov tilted his head to the side slightly, just enough to press the word to Shane's cheek before giving a little nip to the pump flesh, startling a little gasp out of him and a twitch of his thigh in Rozanov's firm grip.
"Fuck yes."
Rozanov seemed very pleased with Shane's answer, the other man pressing a deep, warm hum against Shane's skin with another little nip before returning his mouth to Shane's hole; warm, wet licks of his tongue over the ring of muscle making Shane's breath shake and his cock throb, pleasure tingling through his whole body at that filthy little rub. Flat, slow licks, pointed circles of the tip of Rozanov's tongue, languid, open-mouthed kisses of his lips; every sensation bloomed pleasure through Shane's nervous system, syrupy sweet and mesmerizing, putting any exploration Shane had ever done of this part of himself to shame. This was heaven, this was—
"Oh my God."
The tip of Rozanov's tongue firmed against Shane's opening, pressing slowly but steadily inside, just barely breaching him before pulling back, laving against Shane's twitching hole soothingly before pressing in again, Rozanov's soft moan against his rim sending a ripple of shocked pleasure up Shane's spine so sharply it took his breath.
"Holy fuck don't stop."
The words shocked Shane even as they fell out of his mouth, the wanton shake of his voice catching him off guard almost as much as the sentence itself, and apparently the same was true for Rozanov—who made a low, desperate sound against Shane's body with a shiver, his fingertips digging harder into the underside of Shane's thighs, his breath unsteady as it huffed out of his nose against Shane's perineum, but doing exactly, perfectly as Shane commanded of him.
"Fuck…"
Hot, slow press, deeper now than before, Shane's inner walls fluttering around the intrusion of Rozanov's tongue, which only seemed to spur him on; pulling his tongue back but not completely, keeping Shane speared open and very fucking wet. In, withdraw, in; deeper every time until Rozanov was fully, undeniably fucking Shane with his tongue, and Shane was about to lose his goddamn mind.
He didn't know how to feel about the brief reprieve when it came, Rozanov moaning warmly against him before pulling his tongue back into his mouth, kissing Shane's hole sweetly when Shane whined in complaint, then giving a firm squeeze to Shane's left leg.
"Hold yourself open, Hollander."
Shane didn't even question the command, he didn't have enough brainpower to, immediately shifting his hand from the top of his knee to the underside, replacing Rozanov's hold on him without hesitation as Rozanov hummed in approval.
"Good boy."
Shane wished he had a retort for that, wished he could at least tell Rozanov to go fuck himself, but he couldn't; not when Rozanov immediately pushed his tongue back inside Shane's ass, and this time his finger joined it, Shane's rim giving a little twinge at the new intrusion as the two thrust in tandem, but fuck if it wasn't incredible. Shallow at first, Rozanov's finger only pressing in as far as his tongue could manage, but he slowly worked it deeper, Rozanov's saliva making it easy.
"Fuck…" Shane knew his mouth made the shape of the word, but his voice didn't join it, lips wordlessly repeating the curse over and over again as Rozanov explored him, petting his long, thick digit into Shane like he had all the time in the world to take Shane apart from the inside out.
Then a rotation of his wrist, Rozanov's finger buried to the last knuckle, and he rubbed at something with the pad of his finger that made Shane nearly jackknife off the bed in shock.
"Holy fuck!" That time, Shane's voice did work, almost coming out as a yell as Rozanov groaned greedily against his hole before slipping his tongue out.
"Good?" he asked, the one-word question coming out as a husky pant, Shane's eyes slipping open to look at the hungry, horny expression on Rozanov's face, his mouth and chin shining wet, plush lips flushed a deep pink, looking back at Shane like he was going to devour him. It made Shane's cock twitch so hard it tapped against his stomach, leaving a big, shiny smear of pre-cum against his abs that Shane was almost embarrassed about.
"Yes," he panted anyway, tilting his head back against he pillows when Rozanov's stare became too much, swallowing thickly as he tried to regain at least a smidgen of his composure and utterly failing. "Fuck yes."
This time, when Rozanov crooked his finger and rubbed that spot that had to be Shane's prostate, Shane was at least a tiny bit more prepared, though the pleasure was no less intense.
Fuck!
Shane had touched that spot before, during his intermittent explorations, both with his fingers and the single dildo he possessed, but it wasn't anywhere near the same; where Shane had struggled to get the right angle, struggled to get persistent pressure, Rozanov was able to easily use his finger to press and rub, fingertip drawing maddening little circles that made Shane's nervous system go haywire in the best possible way. It was intense, it was insanely good, and somehow the intensity increased tenfold when Rozanov added a second finger, the stretch stinging Shane's rim a little bit but not for long; especially when Rozanov ducked his head to take Shane's cock into his mouth.
Shane almost forgot that he had been gripping the bedsheets with his other hand until his cock hit the back of Rozanov's throat, the overwhelming sensation yanking his arm up to grab Rozanov's hair instead, completely helpless to stop the soft, wordless yell that erupted out of his throat.
Fuck he was going come, he was going to come down Rozanov's throat with his fingers in Shane's ass and—
Rozanov pulled his mouth off, fingers stilling inside Shane but not withdrawing, and Shane helplessly thrashed at the loss of sensation with a whine that would have mortified him if he were anywhere near his right mind.
"Not yet," Rozanov's words sounded thick to Shane's ears, his accent heavy and voice deep. "Want you to come on my cock, Hollander—" Rozanov dragged a line of wet, nibbling kisses up the inside of Shane's thigh. "—Want to feel you inside."
God, even that almost made Shane come, the filthy wish coming out of Rozanov's mouth hotter than it had any right to be, pulling another longing whine from Shane's throat that should have left him mortified.
"Please," he panted instead, digging his head back harder into the pillows and trying to pull back from the edge, trying to calm his body down, even though Rozanov was rocking his fingers now, the sensation making Shane's cock drip. "God, fuck, please."
Rozanov blew out a long, slow breath, rubbing his cheek against the inside of Shane's thigh, trailing his face down to where his fingers were still buried in Shane's ass and giving a little lick to the stretched ring that made Shane's hand tighten in Rozanov's hair.
"Rozanov."
A low moan, another lick, but then Rozanov was letting his leg down, fingers sliding free, and Shane took his first full breath since Rozanov had kissed his way down Shane's chest, convincing his hand to let go of his own leg as he did so, feet flat on the bed and knees cocked out to either side.
"Well, since you asked so nice, Hollander," Rozanov pressed the words against Shane's abdomen, messy mouth leaving a wet trail in its wake and his hands skating up Shane's sides, firm enough not to be ticklish but light enough that Shane squirmed anyway.
"Come here." Shane's hand was still in Rozanov's hair, pulling him up, unthinkingly lifting his head to meet Rozanov's despite where his mouth had just been, but Shane very rapidly realized he did not care. Not when Rozanov's lips felt so good against Shane's, not when Rozanov's tongue dipped behind his bottom lip and licked his teeth.
"Lube, Hollander," Rozanov husked against Shane's lips, then unhelpfully licked into Shane's mouth again with a moan. "Where?"
"Drawer."
A light peck to Shane's lips, then Rozanov tilted off to the side, reaching into the drawer to retrieve it while Shane forced himself to let go of Rozanov's hair and tried not to think about how big Rozanov felt pressing against his hip. Then he tried not to think about how big Rozanov looked as Shane watched him sit back, ripping a condom off the end of the chain so he could put it on before opening the lube.
"Okay?"
Shane looked up from where Rozanov was curling his fingers against his palm to spread the lube around, finding himself a little flustered by the quietly intense look Rozanov was giving him; serious but… gentle, somehow. Shane thought Rozanov might joke again about fitting, or brag that he was good at this, don't worry, Hollander…
"We do not have to," he said instead, his voice low and earnest, softly rubbing the back of his knuckles of his un-lubed hand against the side of Shane's calf kindly, and Shane was struck, not for the first time, by the fact that Rozanov might be a royal pain in the ass when they were out on the ice, but he had never been anything but considerate on the two previous occasions they had spent in bed together.
"I want to."
Rozanov searched his face, his expression still serious, before he gave a little nod, curling down over Shane again to caress his side and press a slew of kisses across his belly and hips as he slid two of his now-lubed fingers back inside him, adding to the wetness of the saliva still lingering there. One, two, three thrusts of his fingers, rotating his wrist to ensure he was spreading the lube around before he withdrew, diverting his attention to his condom-sheathed cock and giving it a stroke.
God, Shane really did want to; he wanted more than just Rozanov's fingers inside him, he wanted Rozanov's hips against his ass, he wanted Rozanov to hit that sweet spot inside him until he saw stars. He wanted to use his body to make Rozanov feel good, to bring him pleasure, to make him come.
It was that last thought that brought Shane's hands up from their passive position by his sides to pet across Rozanov's shoulders encouragingly, driving the point home by squeezing Rozanov with his knees.
Then, finally, Rozanov kissed his way up Shane's abdomen, his chest, his neck, planting one hand on the mattress beside Shane's chest as the other guided him against Shane's opening.
"It's okay?" he asked again, searching Shane's face once more for confirmation, which Shane readily gave with a frantic little nod and a squeeze of his hand around the back of Rozanov's neck, and Rozanov glanced down as he started to sink himself into Shane's body.
Fuck.
Shane let out a shuddery breath, closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the pillows as the pressure of Rozanov's cock consumed his senses, panting uneven breaths against Rozanov's forehead. It was… a little uncomfortable, at first, a slight sting through the unaccustomed nerves down there until Rozanov's cockhead cleared that ring of muscle, Shane's body clenching and fluttering around the intrusion as Rozanov made an effort to breathe slow and steady against his neck.
Another inch, and another, and Rozanov's lips pressed firmly against Shane's pulse-point, undoubtedly able to feel the way Shane's heart was pounding; lingering nervousness, yes, but far outweighing that was the gut-deep, rising arousal that was making his cock throb as hard as his pulse. Then Rozanov was fully seated inside him, hips pressed tight against Shane's ass and his unsteady moan humming against Shane's throat.
"Ohmygod," the slur of words whispered out of Shane's mouth, just breathing for a moment before squeezing himself around Rozanov experimentally, rewarded with another moan and a hitch of his hips that ricocheted pleasure through the both of them like a bullet. "Oh my god, please move."
Rozanov did not have to be told twice, immediately hooking one arm under Shane's knee to hike his hips up, both hands planted flat on the mattress as he started to thrust, slowly at first, watching Shane's face for discomfort or pain, but very rapidly letting Shane's insistent hands and pleasured sounds drive their momentum to a much more enthusiastic pace.
"Fuck, Hollander." God, Rozanov sounded wrecked, the pleasure-drowned sound of his voice drawing Shane's eyes open; gut-punched at what he saw when he did.
Rozanov didn't just sound wrecked, he looked it, his flushed face hovering above Shane's, rosy mouth parted and panting, pupils almost completely eclipsing the blue, artery jumping in his neck so alluringly that Shane felt the impulse to bite it, to feel Rozanov's heartbeat between his teeth and know that Shane was the one making it race like that.
The impulse was so strong that it scared him, Shane quickly shoving it down, using his hands to pull Rozanov down for a kiss instead, desperate and hungry, hiking his other knee up higher against Rozanov's side and—
"Holy shit, Rozanov."
God, yes, fuck; just that little shift in angle got Rozanov rubbing just right, sparks flying up Shane's spine, kindling primed to ignite.
"Is still okay?" Rozanov had the audacity to ask him, as if Shane wasn't shivering and panting, pleasure climbing higher with every thrust and promising a fucking supernova at the end of it; so all Shane could do was nod, pulling Rozanov down for another kiss, hoping it could convey even a fraction of the pleasure he was currently feeling.
Perhaps it did; because between one kiss and the next, Rozanov shifted again, hooking both of Shane's knees over his arms now, and this time Shane really did see stars.
Shane squirmed, writhed, his hand in Rozanov's hair so tight he had to be hurting him, though Rozanov didn't give any indication that he wanted Shane to let go, the other man huffing and panting and thrusting and still letting Shane pull him in, again and again, meeting every wordless demand Shane gave for his mouth, kiss after kiss after kiss.
God, fuck, fuck; Shane wanted more, needed more, though he had no idea what that "more" could even be; he had no way to articulate it, no way to know what more he could want, what more he could have. He wanted to touch his cock, but he also didn't, because it would be over way too fast if he did; he wouldn't be able to hold back, he wouldn't be able to moderate his pleasure, he'd be flying towards his peak like a bullet from a gun and he wasn't ready for that yet. He just needed, writhing again under Rozanov's body and breathing out a pathetic little whine as he dug his head back against the pillows.
Then Rozanov was pulling out, pulling away, and Shane's eyes snapped open, lifting his head in shocked confusion and desperately trying to pull Rozanov back.
"Shh," Rozanov immediately soothed him, trailing his hand gently up Shane's arm to his wrist, giving a little squeeze, encouraging Shane to let go of Rozanov's curls with a gentle smile; not a teasing one, not a precursor to a chirp, but real—almost fond. "Trust me, you will like this."
I liked what we were doing, Shane almost said as Rozanov shuffled back on his knees, giving a couple light taps to Shane's thigh encouragingly.
"Hands and knees."
Fuck. Okay.
Rozanov guided him, using his hands to help Shane get his unsteady legs where they needed to be, shuffling Shane back as he shuffled forward, the unexpected touch of Rozanov's lube-wet cock against the back of his thigh as he rearranged them flustering Shane for absolutely no good reason.
But fuck, Rozanov's hand trailed up his side, gentle and reassuring as he guided himself back to Shane's hole, and Shane thoughtlessly tilted his hips back into that steady press until Rozanov was fully sheathed back inside.
Then warmth; the warmth of Rozanov's body curling over his back, the gentle press of an open-mouthed kiss against Shane's scapula and Rozanov's hand curling over the top of Shane's shoulder.
"Is still okay?"
"Jesus Christ." Shane was sick of that question, as well-intentioned Rozanov was in his asking of it; sick of having to think, sick of saying yes when all he wanted to do was feel.
So Shane shoved his hips back, hoping the aggravated glance over his shoulder helped to get his point across, hoped the shuddering pant that trembled out of his lips as Rozanov's cock brushed his prostate was all the yes Rozanov needed.
Thankfully, it was, Rozanov letting out a little huff of surprise, his hand tightening on Shane's shoulder, but not asking again, his hips falling into Shane's rhythm so easily it made Shane's arms feel weak.
And God, Rozanov had been right; Shane did like this—he could move, like this. He could keep pushing his hips back into Rozanov's thrusts, he could tighten his core, his thighs, anchor himself counterpoint to Rozanov's forward motion, make each meeting of Rozanov's hips against Shane's ass hit that little bit harder, deeper. It was the more that Shane needed; Rozanov figuring it out somehow, even if Shane hadn't known what to ask him for.
"Fuuuuck, Hollander."
Rozanov's panted curse tickled against Shane's skin, his chest and belly brushing Shane's back on every thrust, his arms bracketing Shane's chest on either side, palms braced against the bed, and his cock, fuck. Especially when Rozanov leaned back slightly, one arm still anchoring him to the bed, but the other grabbing Shane's hip, holding him, pulling him, fingers gripping so tight Shane was sure to bruise, but it would be so fucking worth it for the leverage it gave him to fuck Shane that much harder.
"Oh fuck." Shane's arms couldn't hold him anymore, they just couldn't; buckling at the elbows, his hands fisting in the pillow below his head, his cock throbbing and twitching with every brutally good jolt of Rozanov's cock against his prostate.
Shane knew he was starting to get noisy—he could hear himself, could hear the increasingly desperate sounds coming out of his mouth, but he couldn't fucking stop; not with the relentless pound of Rozanov's hips pushing him higher and higher like a mounting ocean wave, threatening to turn into a tsunami that was sure to leave devastation in its wake.
And it did; it fucking did, and all it took, the weird fucking thing that pinged the inside of Shane's brain just right, was the soft, desperate little "oh!" panting out of Rozanov's mouth over Shane's shoulder, that pleasured sound paired with just the right thrust to let that monstrous fucking wave of pleasure overtake him, his throbbing cock erupting in pulse after pulse after pulse while his vision went white.
"Are you…?"
"I'm coming…" Shane barely managed to gasp out, the words wrung out of him with the last hard throb of his dick, so intense he almost missed Rozanov coming entirely, nearly missed the overwhelmed moans and the hitching thrusts as Rozanov emptied himself inside Shane's body; separated by a condom, his climax contained by that sleeve of latex, but Shane's body had brought him there, had opened to him and held tight and coaxed that pleasure out of him, and that was almost as heady of a high as his own dazzling peak.
Then Rozanov curled over him, kissed his shoulder and pet his hand against the back of Shane's head, as gentle and sweet as he had just been vigorous, and Shane just about floated out of his body. They stayed, just like that, for several long minutes, lungs panting and skin buzzing, and Shane could feel Rozanov's heart beating hard against his back.
Shane loved what they had done before, there was no point denying it; mouths and hands, exploring hard bodies and even harder dicks. Obviously he had, or he wouldn't be facedown on the bed with his own cum staining the sheets, but… he truly got it now, why people loved sex, why they chased that high. The connection, the primal drive for closeness and pleasure, even if it was only temporary.
Rozanov kissed his shoulder again, lingering and sweet, then slid one hand under Shane's waist and the other across Shane's chest, and the next thing Shane knew they were tipping to the side in a sweaty, tangled heap, Shane's breath puffing out in a little "oof!" sound.
"Okay?" Rozanov whispered against the back of Shane's ear, then pressed a little kiss, his free hand stroking along Shane's side, down his hip, his thigh, then back up again.
It was… more okay than Shane wanted to admit to; the way Rozanov had held on and pulled them down onto the mattress had… kept them together, so to speak, and Shane wasn't sure how he felt about how much he was enjoying that, how much he was grateful for the prolonged intimacy.
"Mm," Shane simply grunted in acknowledgement, frowning a little when Rozanov gave a soft chuckle, then murmured something in Russian, dragging his mouth down the back of Shane's neck and shoulder.
"What?" Shane asked, twisting slightly at the waist, flexing a little and stretching both arms up, which Rozanov took as an opportunity to duck his head under Shane's arm to kiss his pec, still stroking his palm along Shane's thigh.
"Nothing," he said with a little shrug, and Shane didn't have the fortitude to push him on it; his brain still floating in that post-orgasm haze and his body all melty and noodle-limbed. Plus, Rozanov's head was right there, and his hair was very nice to touch.
A few minutes later and Shane languidly opened his eyes; he had nearly drifted off, which was a little bit insane considering the circumstances, so he made himself focus, looking at the rumbled, ruined sheets, his orgasm-dumb brain commenting on them before he could stop himself.
"Now the bed's all dirty."
A beat of silence, Rozanov's hand never stopping it's path up and down Shane's thigh, but his mouth paused against Shane's pec as he absorbed Shane's ridiculous comment.
"What?" he eventually said, raising his head to look at Shane's face incredulously. "Shut up."
And, well… fair point, and even Shane had to have a little scoff at himself as Rozanov leaned up for a kiss.
"I will shower now, okay?"
Oh. Right. He probably had to get back to the hotel, probably had an early flight the next day. And Shane needed to shower too, really, and change the bedding.
Shane nodded, then Rozanov slid his hand between them, holding the top of the condom as he pulled out and tugged his arm free from under Shane's shoulders. Which felt… weird. Weird, but a manageable weird, and Shane cataloged the sensation as he rolled fully onto his back and watched Rozanov go into the en suite.
He already wanted to do this again; he had a few fresh ideas on getting his dildo to work better for him, which would be nice, but he already knew that would pale in comparison to a real body, a real cock, someone else's fingers beside his own. The logical part of him knew that it should not be Rozanov; that they were already risking too much, that every future occasion just added to the risk that someone would see them at exactly the wrong moment. But the part of him that had just been fucked so good he'd come hands-free begged to differ.
Fucking hell, he'd just come hand-free. That was some fucking porno shit.
Shane pulled his forearm across his eyes with an embarrassingly dopey grin.