Work Text:
Shane can’t believe it— signed to the Montreal Metros, and then Ilya Rozanov was assigned as their coach? This was a dream come true.
Shane can’t stop grinning.
“Now, remember,” his mom says, “Now remember, Rozanov is an asshole. He's a good coach, he was an amazing player, but he's an asshole.”
“Yes, Mom, I know,” Shane says, rolling his eyes.
Everyone knew that, especially Shane. Shane had idolized Rozanov since he was a kid, he’d watched every interview he could get his hands on, watched every game, every documentary Rozanov even momentarily appeared in. He’d stared at his poster opposite his bed for so long it was embarrassing. It had also got him through his first sexual experience with a woman, but no one needed to know that.
He’d felt Rozanov’s eyes on him before his rookie season, appraising, focused. Shane had never dared dream that this might happen and the Metros might draft him.
“He just might be a bit critical, that’s all,” his mom says.
“I can take criticism, Mom,” Shane says.
“Yeah, but you looked up to him a lot, it might be worse coming from him.”
“I know, Mom. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”
He’s actually more concerned that he’s jerked off over Rozanov so many times that he might not even hear what he said to him, too busy swooning over that Russian accent that Rozanov had never lost.
No, he’ll be fine. He’s a professional, he’s worked for this all his life. He isn’t about to throw it away because of some fantasy.
*
Fuck, but Rozanov is hot in real life. Shane nearly loses his breath the first time he sees him up close, when he’s getting changed and Rozanov walks into the changing room to greet his team for the first time at the start of the season.
“Hollander, welcome to the team.” Rozanov holds out his hand and Shane puts his hand in Rozanov’s. He can do this, he’s not going to swoon or something embarrassing. Fuck, Rozanov has big hands.
“Thanks, Coach, glad to be here.”
Rozanov nods, then and sends him out on the ice to see what he can do. He can feel Rozanov’s eyes on him the whole time they practice. Thankfully, instead of making him lose his mind and fuck up, this seems to kick in Shane’s instinct to perform, to impress, and he’s pretty sure he smashes his first practice. The rest of the team seem happy with him anyway, nodding their approval and slapping him on the back.
Maybe this will all be okay.
*
He’s stretching with everyone else after the session when Rozanov comes up beside him and clicks his tongue.
“Your left hip is tight,” he says.
“Uh, yeah, a bit?” Shane says, feeling already like he’s done something wrong.
“Get on your back.”
Shane does, trying to keep a straight face as Rozanov take his leg and starts moving it around, bending it this way and that and humming. His hand slides so far up Shane’s thigh that Shane nearly makes an involuntary squeak. Rozanov’s not looking at Shane though, looking just over Shane’s shoulder, clearly thinking.
“Yeah, I think you could do with a sports massage, maybe a bit of therapy. I’ll get you booked in with the physio,” he says.
“Okay, yeah, thanks, Coach.”
Rozanov nods, pats him on the shoulder and goes back to walking around the team.
“He’s intense, huh?” one of the other guys on the team says to Shane.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Shane says, glad for a hand-delivered excuse to why he might be slightly panting.
“Hayden,” the guy says, holding his hand out, and Shane gladly takes it. God knows he could use a friend out here.
“Shane.”
*
That night he dreams of Rozanov fucking him up against the lockers in front of the whole team, pulling his hair and telling him this was how he liked to welcome new recruits.
He wakes up rock-hard and mortified. He’s so mortified it actually makes his erection subside a little and he tries to calm down. Such an embarrassing fantasy. He didn’t want Rozanov to fuck him in front of the whole team. What the fuck?
He starts thinking about him again though, thinking of how Rozanov called him Hollander. Everyone had, but the way Rozanov snapped out his name in that accent… god, Shane had nearly fallen on his face.
Rozanov shouted a lot too, a lot of coaches did, but when Rozanov did it it made Shane’s dick twitch. Fuck. Did he want Rozanov to shout at him?
Shane accidentally falls back into the fantasy of Rozanov fucking him against the lockers, only this time he’s not shouting, and the rest of the team isn’t there, this time he’s imagining it’s after a game, they’re alone, and Rozanov is biting his way up Shane’s neck, whispering in his ear about what a great game he had, how amazing he is, how he thinks Shane might win them a Stanley cup one day and –
“Ah!” he gasps as he comes all over his bedsheets, eyes rolling back in his head, not even having time to grab a tissue and oh god. He stares at the mess, disgusted with himself.
*
He needs to get a grip. Rozanov probably just thinks he’s a dumb kid with some potential. He can’t be having fantasies like this when this is going to be his career.
Next practice at least goes fine. Well, better than fine, really. Everyone seems very happy and impressed with him, and Shane thinks he might be glowing with all the praise that he’s getting.
He’s got his physio booked in for after but Rozanov heads him off before he gets to the therapy room.
“Hollander, physio called in sick but I can do it, get in there and hop up on the table, I’ll be in in a second,” he says.
“Oh, okay, coach” Shane says, wondering if the fact that he’s having an internal nervous breakdown is showing on his face.
His legs carry him forward into the treatment room, good, at least he’s not standing there like an idiot.
He closes the door behind him and takes a breath. It’s going to be okay. Well, maybe it isn’t, but Shane’s sure he will survive this. He just needs to lie down and try not to make any weird noises.
He strips down to his shorts and hops up on the table, lying face down and waiting. Thankfully he’s only left to lie with his own screaming thoughts for a few minutes before Rozanov comes in and shuts the door.
“Okay, let’s see.”
It’s all the warning he gets before Rozanov is pouring oil on his back. Shane barely holds back a squeak.
“So, you’ve had a sports massage before, right, you know this hurts?”
“Yes, Coach,” Shane says, trying not to sound apprehensive.
“Good, if it hurts, take a deep breath, I’ll talk you through it. I’m going to pull your shorts down a bit, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Shane says, telling his dick to calm down, this is always what they did, so they could get to your lower back properly.
God, but those big firm hands sliding up his back… fuck.
Of course, the pleasant sensation only lasts a few moments before Rozanov starts working on his hips and lower back.
He’s sure he hears a crunch as Rozanov pushes down the first time.
“Hmm,” is all he says. He uses his forearms mostly and god, that hurts, but Shane knows it does you good. He’s had enough of these already to know that afterwards he’ll feel the benefit for weeks.
“That’s it, deep breaths, you’re doing good.”
God, Rozanov’s voice.
Pain shoots through him again and Shane gasps.
“Sorry,” Rozanov says, easing up. Shane’s about to say it’s fine when Rozanov does it again and Shane nearly whimpers into the mattress. “Okay, good job, lets go onto the other one.”
Shane irrationally hates that he has another hip for Rozanov to torture.
He murmurs to Shane about how good he’s doing, giving him that little boost of praise before he pushes hard with his forearm and Shane bites down on the towel he’s lying on.
“Hey,” Rozanov says, sounding vaguely amused, “no teeth marks on my table please.”
“Sorry,” Shane says.
Rozanov thankfully stops with his hips and starts giving him a normal massage on his back for a bit. It feels like bliss in comparison, even when he pushes his hands hard up his back, Shane’s still melting into the table.
“You are certainly good shape, if we discount your hips,” Rozanov says, “turn over for me.”
Shane does, pretty sure he’s at least half hard still, somehow, but his shorts are baggy, he’s got briefs on underneath, he thinks he’s probably okay.
Rozanov comes to stand behind him, starts working on Shane’s traps and fuck, Rozanov’s crotch is so close to Shane’s face he barely feels the discomfort this time, too busy staring up at the bulge in Rozanov’s shorts. He quickly closes his eyes, hoping Rozanov hasn’t noticed him looking.
Rozanov’s hands slide down over Shane’s pecs and start massaging those and Shane tries to breathe through it, but his brain is so confused at how Rozanov is bullying pecs. He’s rubbing them so hard Shane’s sure they must be turning red. It starts making his dick throb.
Stop it. God. Don’t embarrass yourself like this. He tries to breathe through it.
“I know, I know,” Rozanov coos behind him. “I promise, it’s good for you, gets all the blood to rush to the muscles,” he says, before he starts slapping them. God. No one’s done that to him before. Is that normal?
“Uhuh,” is all Shane can get out.
“You are going to be my star player, you have to be in good shape.”
Shane’s eyes fly open, it’s so much like Shane’s fantasy he panics he’s fallen asleep or something. Rozanov raises an eyebrow at Shane’s expression.
“Surely you know how good you are, Hollander, the stir you are making. You’re going to win Rookie of the Year, I’m sure of it.”
Shane would try and talk if Rozanov wasn’t still slapping his pecs, pouring oil over them and rubbing them hard, making Shane feel weird, like he’s pushing through the pain into something else.
“We’ve needed young blood like yours for a while, Hollander. If you do what I tell you, I think I’ll make you one of the youngest captains, well, since me anyway,” he drawls and he’s still rubbing Shane’s pecs so hard.
He suddenly stops and Shane sucks a breath in.
“Good boy,” Rozanov purrs and Shane thinks he might be about to have a heart attack. “Oh. I made them all red, well, the blood is certainly coming up like it’s supposed to. Turn back over.”
Shane’s not sure he can control his body any more but tries his best, wincing as he lies on his abused pecs.
Rozanov works on his shoulders for a while, they’re a little sore, but nothing like his hips. He moves Shane’s arms around, then pushes into his shoulder blades and Shane groans, that one always feels good.
“Mmm, these are okay. You keep up with your stretches, and we keep up with this, we’ll keep you in top shape. There’s something else though, Hollander,” he says, and Shane can barely think to work out what it might be.
Rozanov slides his oily hands down, but this time they don’t stop, going all the way down under his shorts and starting on his glutes.
Fuck. Breathe Shane. It did feel like he needed it on his glutes as Rozanov starts to massage there.
“Mind if these come off?” He says, tapping Shane’s shorts. “Need to do your legs as well.”
“Uhuh,” Shane says, lifting up his hips and then Shane is fully naked and… this wasn’t normal, he’s aware of this but … maybe this was just how they did it in Russia? Rozanov covers his back with a towel and starts on his legs.
Shane nearly squeals when Rozanov does his thighs.
“Breathe, Hollander. Big breaths, you be a good boy for me.”
Shane thinks he might be still dreaming. And then Rozanov reaches under him, takes Shane’s hard dick, and matter of faculty moves it to lay in between his legs so it’s more comfortable.
Shane can’t talk, can’t process what’s happening, can’t work out if he’s just reading this all wrong. Rozanov carries on down his legs and Shane wonders if he just imagined it.
“Right, the thing I was going to tell you, they tell me we’re getting a social media coach,” Rozanov says, laughing at the idea, “but until they do they told me I have to make sure all my players are on socials and posting and following the right people and blah blah blah.”
Shane can’t think enough to respond, and he’s not sure Rozanov is expecting him to anyway. His hands feel so good rubbing up and down his legs.
“So I was looking at yours, Hollander, and you don’t post much.”
“I… I can post more,” Shane manages to say.
“Yes. Good. But, I also notice, on all your socials, you barely post, you barely follow anyone, but on all of them you follow me.”
Oh god.
“Um…”
“And I thought well maybe it’s because I’m your coach now, but actually, you’ve followed me for a long time, and well, I’m not sure I’ve posted anything you haven’t liked.”
Shane flushes. The truth was he was only on half the social media apps just because Rozanov was.
“Um… I’ve…always looked up to you,” Shane stammers. It doesn’t help that Rozanov is back on his glutes. What the fuck is going on?
“Is that right?” Rozanov says, and then. Then Rozanov is parting Shane’s legs and sliding his hands in between his cheeks, rubbing there too and Shane nearly shrieks in surprise.
“Relax, Hollander,” Rozanov drawls, moving his hands up to his back again and Shane is so hard he could cry.
Rozanov climbs up onto the table, kneeling in between Shane’s legs, and that really lets him put his weight onto his hands as they slide up Shane’s back and Shane groans.
“Good?” Rozanov asks.
“Yeah, fuck yeah,” Shane says.
Rozanov chuckles.
“I didn’t know you could swear, Hollander.”
Shane gasps as Rozanov goes back to massaging his ass, sliding his oiled hands between his cheeks. Shane moans a little, can’t help it.
“Now you have to be quiet, Hollander, half the team are still in the changing room.”
Shane nearly dies at the thought that there’s just a door between them and the team. God.
“Don’t worry, I locked it,” he says. “Here.” He grabs a towel and rolls it up, puts it at the end of the table. “You bite down on that if you need to.”
Oh my God. What the fuck was happening? Was Rozanov going to fuck him? Was he just going to jerk him off?
Rozanov slaps his ass hard and Shane gasps, biting down on the towel.
“That’s my good boy,” Rozanov purrs and slides his hands in between his cheeks again.
“Oh, please,” Shane whispers, mortified even as it leaves his lips.
“Yeah, you want it, Hollander?” He pulls Shane’s hips up. “You been jerking off over me for years?”
Shane splutters, then bites down on the towel as Rozanov strokes an oil slick hand up his dick. Fuck, that feels incredible.
Rozanov’s thumb grazes over Shane’s asshole. Shane nearly hits the ceiling.
“You’re good out there, Hollander,” Rozanov says, “but you’re tense. Get too uptight and you can’t relax into your game,” he says.
He keeps circling his thumb around his asshole and Shane thinks he’s going cross eyed with how good it feels.
“Relax, Hollander. I’m gonna get you all loosened up.”
He gasps as Rozanov pushes a finger inside him, so briefly, then carries on massaging his glutes. He leaves his dick alone for a minute too, alternating his hands massaging Shane’s ass, sliding in between his cheeks, then sliding up his back.
Shane lets out a sound worryingly like a whimper.
Rozanov laughs low and slaps his ass, both cheeks at the same time with a wet slap and Shane bites down on the towel.
Shane hears the rustle of clothing, then something slick hard and heavy slaps down on his ass, nudges between Shane’s ass cheeks and Shane gasps, the reality of what’s about to happen hitting him hard. He grips onto the edges of the table. Oh fuck. It feels big.
“Please, please, coach.”
“Mmm, let me get you ready first, Hollander,” his voice drops so low that when he says his last name it’s almost a growl.
Shane bites down on the towel as Rozanov pushes his finger back inside, fucking him with it before pushing down on that spot and Shane moans.
“Mhmm, that’s it, you just relax,” Rozanov says, purring at him in that low voice like he had been when he was doing his hips and Shane shudders.
He’s still not completely convinced he isn’t dreaming, because surely this can’t be happening.
“Uptight guys like you, just need a good fuck.”
He pushes another finger in and Shane moans again, can’t help it with that sensation.
“You never had your fingers up here before or something, Hollander?”
Shane shakes his head.
“Holy shit,” Rozanov says and chuckles to himself. “Don’t worry, I’m big, I’ll get you all stretched out.”
Rozanov moves his hand around Shane’s waist, pulling Shane up and against him to wrap his hand around Shane’s dick, and Shane has to bite down on the towel again to stop from screaming as he suddenly feels his orgasm rushing through him, way too fast, so intense it nearly takes his breath.
“Mpf! Mmm…” Shane shakes on the bed.
Rozanov just laughs, keeps stroking him through it.
“You kids, no stamina, don’t worry, it’s something to work on. I can put it on your goals, huh, maybe in your personal file?”
Shane’s too busy panting his breath back to reply.
“I’ll take that as a yes, very good. Your goal for the next 6 months is to last longer than 60 seconds.”
“I was… that was longer than… 60 seconds,” Shane pants and Rozanov last.
“Hmm, well, we’ll see if you do better for the next one. Come back here.”
“What?” Shane asks in confusion and then nearly yelps as Rozanov pulls him down the massage table until Shane’s feet touch the floor. It’s cold to his bare feet.
“Legs apart a bit more, uhuh, just like that. Good boy.”
Wait, is Rozanov still going to fuck him? Didn’t he just want Shane to suck his dick or –
“Ah!” he gasps as he feels the tip of Rozanov’s dick on his ass.
“No, Hollander, stop tensing up,” Rozanov says, slapping Shane on the ass a couple of times and making him jump. “I spent all this time loosening you up. You can’t get all tense on me again.”
“But I already… I just…”
“Trust me, you can do it more than once. I remember being 19.”
Shane splutters but he tries to take some deep breaths, the past few years he’s been obsessed with Rozanov, the thought of his dick, how it would feel to have it inside him. He can do this. He can relax.
“You know, a lot of people on the internet like to speculate about my dick. Did you ever go on those sites?”
“Oh my god,” Shane groans into the towel, “you really are an asshole.”
Rozanov laughs.
“Oh yes, Hollander, all the stories are true. Including all the ones about my 9 inch dick, did you read those?”
“…no?” Shane tries.
Rozanov laughs.
“Oh, a terrible liar, I love that.”
“Oh, oh, fuck,” Shane gasps as Rozanov keeps pushing forward. He grabs hold of the side edges of the table.
Rozanov abruptly grabs Shane’s hair and pulls on it, leaning down to kiss Shane’s neck and oh fuck, that felt incredible.
“Oh, fuck, wait,” Shane pants, “I…”
“It’s a lot for a virgin,” he drawls in his ear, “I know, I know, but you’re going to take it all Hollander, and I’ll fuck you nice and slow whilst you’re getting used to it, then I’m going to pound you into next week, yes?”
“I… oh fuck, how much more?”
Rozanov laughs like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.
“Oh… only a couple more inches.”
“Jesus christ.”
“You’re supposed to practice, you know, before presenting yourself to your idol to get fucked.”
“I didn’t… present… oh my god,” he groans.
“Yeah? Definitely not showing off out there for me, pulling all your best moves, stretching like that.”
“I wasn’t – oh! Oh my god,” he gasps as he feels Rozanov’s balls hit his ass. Rozanov grunts.
“Mmm, Hollander, you feel good.”
Shane shivers.
“God… oh…” he gasps as Rozanov keeps a tight hold on his hair, strokes his other hand up and down Shane’s side.
“Sweet little rookie,” Rozanov purrs in his ear, his hand sliding over Shane’s back and Shane feels like he’s melting at Rozanov’s words. “How you feeling, honey?”
“Fuck. That feels… big.”
“Oh, I know, honey, I know,” Rozanov croons in his ear and Shane has an intrusive thought that maybe his mom was right and he really should have expected Rozanov to be a complete asshole. He tries to shake it out his head. “I’m gonna move now, you hold on.”
Shane does, gripping the sides of the bed.
Rozanov slowly pulls his dick out, pushes it back in and Shane’s eyes roll back in his head. He can’t quite process if it’s pleasure or not yet, it just feels so big.
“Ohhh,” Rozanov moans low in his ear. “Fuck, yeah.”
Shane tries to breathe but all he gets in are shallow gasps. Rozanov leans down to kiss his neck, yanks his head back by his hair and kisses him.
Shane’s eyes widen, not expecting that at all. He has kissed someone before, thank god, but he’s not exactly in the right headspace to manage to kiss Rozanov back in any kind of coordinated manner. Rozanov’s mouth feels good on his, though, and he obediently parts his lips as Rozanov pushes with his tongue.
Rozanov’s tongue is in his mouth, demanding and oh god, Shane was so in over his head. He let’s Rozanov lick into his mouth, lets him do whatever he fucking wants as he keeps slowly moving his hips back and forth. He grabs Shane’s bottom lip with his teeth and Shane whimpers.
“Oh, rookie, am I being mean to you?” Rozanov asks, his eyes sparkling.
Shane can’t even find words to reply.
Rozanov laughs then starts moving faster, and Shane thinks his brain is dissolving.
“Oh fuck, fuck, Coach… I…”
“Oh, yeah? You like it like that? A bit faster?”
Shane was actually trying to tell him he wasn’t sure if he could take it, but his mouth just won’t work, and it’s not like it feels bad, it’s just so intense, so much. Shane’s eyes roll back into his head as Rozanov keeps picking up the pace.
“Oh, oh!” Shane thinks he’s yelling out with every thrust of Rozanov’s dick but Rozanov doesn’t seem to care about him being loud. Maybe this room was more soundproof than he thought.
“Mmm, yeah, that’s it, take that dick for me, good boy, my good little rookie,” he purrs in his ear and Shane’s whole body jerks. “Fuck, mmm, yeah.”
Rozanov pulls off abruptly, grabs Shane and manhandles him onto his back and Shane stares up at him dumbly. He feels empty, sweaty, like he needs to take a huge gulp of air and –
Shane stares at Rozanov. Rozanov grins back at him. Shane realizes Rozanov hasn’t even taken his pants off, or his shirt. He’s just standing there in his normal coach gear but with his dick out, his top is sticking to him with sweat and oil, his forehead shiny with sweat, his cheeks flushed and… it’s that look he’s giving him. That grin like Shane is all his, and he is going to eat him up.
It’s the sexiest thing Shane’s ever seen in his life.
“Lie back on the table.”
Shane obediently does and Rozanov grabs his legs, pulling them up on his shoulders, then takes Shane’s hips and pushes his dick back inside him. Shane moans, his eyes rolling back into his head. It felt incredible, even if it was fucking huge.
“No, no, you look at me, rookie,” Rozanov says, taking Shane’s face in his hand. “I want to watch you get that dumb fucked-out look on your face.”
Shane forces himself to look at Rozanov, tries to look, and not just gaze up at him like some sex-crazed idiot. He doesn’t think he succeeds.
“Good,” Rozanov says, running a thumb along Shane’s bottom lip. Shane automatically slides his lips around it and Rozanov grins. He starts fucking him again, slow, sliding his thumb in and out of Shane’s mouth and Shane feels like he’s about to lose his mind.
“Oh god,” he moans around Rozanov’s fingers.
“Yeah, you like that? Feel good?”
“Feels so fucking good,” Shane says and Rozanov nods his approval.
Then he’s moving faster again, fucking him hard and Shane’s eyes lose focus.
“Mmm, mmm, oh!” he gasps as he feels Rozanov pushing against that spot.
Rozanov puts his hand on Shane’s hip, holding him still and starts nailing that spot, over and over and… Shane thinks he might be yelling.
His eyes have rolled back into his head again, Rozanov’s thick dick has gone from feeling way too big to the best fucking thing he’s ever felt in his life.
“Oh yeah, there you go, there’s my nice relaxed Hollander.”
Shane’s not entirely sure that’s the word he’d use, though he certainly feels boneless.
“Mmm,” seems to be the only noise he can make.
Rozanov’s leans down, pulling Shane’s legs with him, bending him in half and is he somehow going deeper?!
“Fuck, fuck,” Rozanov pants in Shane’s ear, grabbing Shane’s ear lobe with his teeth and pulling and Shane whimpers, Rozanov’s dick still hitting just where he wants it.
“I’m gonna come inside you Hollander, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re going to be thanking god we don’t have practice tomorrow. You ready?”
Shane makes an incomprehensible noise.
“Good.”
“Fuck!” Shane gasps, grabbing hold of Rozanov’s shoulders, his back, yelling as Rozanov rails him into the table.
Rozanov is grunting and moaning in his ear, and Shane can’t move, not that he wants to, but the idea that Rozanov has him pinned like this, bent in half, impaled on his dick about three meters from the locker room…
He realizes how hard his dick’s got again as the head starts rubbing against Rozanov’s abs. He moans, starts writhing underneath Rozanov, so fucking close, clinging to Rozanov’s muscles and –
“Fuck! Ah, ah, yesss,” Rozanov hisses in Shane’s ear as he comes, pushing his dick all the way inside him, rolling his hips and biting down on Shane’s shoulder. The way Rozanov shakes above him is blowing his mind, that he was that into it, that Shane caused him so much pleasure.
“Mmm,” Rozanov sighs a few moments later, letting Shane’s legs down. Shane groans, he didn’t realize how long he must have had them bent up like that for, his feet tingle.
Rozanov kisses him, slow and deep, his fist tight in Shane’s hair still. Shane whimpers, still so close, his dick throbbing against Rozanov’s stomach.
“You want me to suck it, or you want to come like this?”
Shane’s not sure anyone’s ever asked him a harder question.
Rozanov chuckles.
“I decide for you, looks like I’m making your head hurt.”
He gets off him, sliding back and off the bed and Shane feels cold without him on top of him, feels like he should have picked the other option. Rozanov ties off the condom that Shane didn’t even notice him put on right before Rozanov’s lips slide down his dick.
“Ohhh,” Shane stares wide eyed at Rozanov.
Rozanov eyes sparkle in amusement. He sucks him off slowly, licking at the head, sucking lighting before sliding his lips back down and Shane trembles on the bed.
“Oh, oh, that’s so… that’s so…”
Rozanov starts playing will Shane’s balls idly with his other hand and Shane gasps, the slightest sensation sending him over.
“Oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonna…”
He expects Rozanov to pull off but he doesn’t, just slides his lips all the way down.
“Fuck!” Shane yells as he comes, his hips shaking violently under Rozanov’s hands.
Rozanov holds him through it, one hand tight on Shane’s hip. Shane’s seeing stars, clutching at Rozanov’s shoulders for dear life as it washes over him. He eventually heaves back his breath and stares down at his coach. Rozanov pulls off and smirks at him, kissing Shane on the thigh.
“Very good,” he says simply, then stands up, pulling Shane to stand up too. Shane leans back on the bed, sure if he tries to stand up on his own that he’s going to end up on the floor.
Rozanov cleans himself up and pulls his pants back up. Shane is suddenly very aware of how naked he is.
“Good session, you were perfect,” Rozanov says.
Shane feels warm all over. Rozanov takes Shane’s face in his hand again and looks in Shane’s eyes with the kind of intensity that makes Shane think he’s going to turn into dust.
Shane gulps, no idea what he’s meant to say.
“Thank you, Coach.”
“Do you feel looser?”
Shane splutters and Rozanov laughs.
“I think you’re going to do very well, Hollander. Get yourself cleaned up. Shower. I’ll see you on Thursday.”
He kisses him on the lips, hard, then walks out of the room.
Shane blinks. Pulls his clothes back on. Fuck. Wait. Everyone in the locker room.
He walks to the door and puts his ear to it. Well. He couldn’t hear Rozanov talking to anyone.
He chances opening the door. It’s empty. God. Thank fuck. Rozanov must have just been teasing him saying everyone could hear them. Of course he was. Fucking asshole. Rozanov had as much to lose from this as Shane did.
He dashes out to the shower, also completely empty. God. How long had they been… in there.
He turns on the shower and gets under the spray, washing himself in between his legs, all the lube, all the oil off his skin. He experimentally touches his ass, it does feel a little tender, but not painful exactly. He quickly stops, god, anyone could walk him here, and tips his head back under the water, letting the warm water soak through his hair, breathing in the steam.
Feel looser?
God, Shane fucking did. His shoulders, his back, his glutes, his hips and… he felt lighter. He closes his eyes.
You were perfect.
He shudders under the shower.
*