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Shane stares at the parcel sitting on his dining table with his arms crossed and the fingers of his right hand restlessly tapping against his left bicep. It’s just a brown box — completely nondescript, the packaging phenomenally boring — sent to his house by, according to the return label, a New York company he’s never heard of before.
Receiving parcels he didn’t order isn’t particularly strange; he’s a pro athlete with a lot of long-standing sponsorships and tons of other companies trying to get him to work with them by sending him protein bars and workout clothes and creatine supplements. So he probably would’ve opened the package already if it weren’t for the text message he’d gotten half an hour ago.
Lily
(9:34 pm) You are welcome 😘
So here Shane is, leaning against his kitchen island, exhausted from two hours on the ice and another at the gym, and now forced to deal with… whatever this is. He reaches for his phone, unlocks it, and types out a response.
Shane
(10:06 pm) What is this?
He attaches a photo of the parcel, just in case Ilya decides to be annoying and play dumb. But Ilya replies not even twenty seconds later.
Lily
(10:06 pm) You are too rich to be scared of your mail, Hollander
(10:07 pm) Open it. I promise you will like it
Shane snaps a close-up photo of the return label and sends it to Ilya.
Shane
(10:07 pm) What the fuck is Atlantic Innovations?
Because Ilya is an asshole and Shane should really reassess his taste in men, Ilya leaves him on delivered even though Shane knows he’s on his phone, so he huffs and puts his phone down on the table. He fishes a pair of scissors out of his cutlery drawer and slices the package tape open to reveal a second box, this one black and purple with silver shimmering print. Remote Control Vibrati—
Shane takes a hasty step back, already reaching for his phone again.
Shane
(10:09 pm) You sent me a dildo????
Unsurprisingly, this text goes from delivered to read immediately. Fuck him.
Lily
(10:09 pm) Yes
(10:09 pm) Actually no
(10:10 pm) It is a prostate stimulator
(10:10 pm) For when I can’t be there to finger or fuck you
(10:10 pm) And I love your pretty little asshole and don’t want it to have to go through what your poor dick had to endure when you were in LA :(
Shane can’t help it — he sputters a laugh.
Shane
(10:11 pm) You got me a sex toy because you don’t want me to go around looking for other guys to fuck me?
Lily
(10:11 pm) I thought the problem was that there are no other guys you want to fuck you, no?
(10:12 pm) Only me 😘
Rolling his eyes, Shane puts his phone down again. He’s a fully grown adult who’s had a dildo, a real dick, fingers and a tongue in his ass. He can unpack a fucking sex toy and not be weird about it.
Like the packaging, it’s purple, silicone and slightly heavier than expected. A bit of a weird shape, too, because according to the description it’s meant to stimulate both the prostate and the perineum. The part of it that’s supposed to go inside is smooth and contoured, and almost as long as… well, Ilya.
Lily
(10:15 pm) So…
(10:15 pm) Any plans for tonight? 😉
Shane turns the toy over in his hands, trying to get a feel for it. He’s never really gotten the hang of sex toys. His own dildo — hidden away in his nightstand upstairs — has maybe only been in use a handful of times, and even then it never came close to what it’s like to have the real thing inside of him. He thinks of Ilya’s perfect cock and what he can do with it, and, because there’s no one here to judge, sighs.
It’s still embarrassing to miss sex this much, especially because it’s Ilya Rozanov he wants to fuck, but whatever. He’s jerked off watching Ilya score goals and shit-talk opponents; craving a good lay is nothing.
Shane
(10:18 pm) I don’t know if I can
Lily
(10:18 pm) You busy?
Shane
(10:18 pm) No
(10:18 pm) I mean
(10:18 pm) I don’t know if I can come
(10:19 pm) From this
For a minute, Shane watches three dots appear and disappear, then appear again. Finally, a text plops up.
Lily
(10:20 pm) You always come with me
(10:20 pm) I gave you a prostate massage once and you cried
Shane closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, trying to ignore his flaming cheeks and the echo of Ilya’s voice in his head, deep and sultry; So pretty when you blush, Hollander. Then, he types out a response and sends it before he can reconsider his words.
Shane
(10:22 pm) Yes
(10:22 pm) Because it’s you
Lily
(10:22 pm) Hollander
(10:22 pm) Are you trying to kill me?
Heat pools in the pit of Shane’s stomach; he realizes he’s grown a little wet at the tip only when his dick twitches and his underwear clings to it. His gaze flickers back to the toy still clutched tightly in his hand.
He focuses on his phone again, on the man several thousand kilometres away from him. What is Ilya doing right now? Where is he? What is he wearing? Is he getting hard, too? Maybe even stroking himself already? Or maybe he’s been playing with himself all evening, waiting for Shane to text him about the gift he bought for him.
Shane
(10:24 pm) I don’t know how to do this without you
Lily
(10:25 pm) You lie down and get yourself ready
(10:26 pm) And you close your eyes and pretend it is me deep inside you
(10:26 pm) And then you take a photo of yourself and send it to me because you are a good boy and I made you a nice present
“Fuck,” Shane says. He hurries into his kitchen and opens the drawer that he knows has batteries in it. Once they’re in the toy, he heads upstairs, gets naked and climbs into his bed. He still has a bit of lube left, thank God, and coats his fingers with it.
The first finger is always the hardest when he’s alone.
Shane
(10:29 pm) I wish you weren’t in fucking Carolina right now
Lily
(10:30 pm) Keeping tabs on me, Hollander?
Shane
(10:31 pm) Don’t know if you have any room to talk considering you’re buying me presents now just so I don’t get bored of my own hand and find someone else to do what you want to do to me
Lily
(10:31 pm) We have been over this, I thought?
(10:32 pm) I remember you texting me at 4 am because LA blowjob guy was boring and you were desperate for my cock
(10:32 pm) And you can have it, Hollander. Any time you want. Just have to ask and it is yours
“Shit,” Shane breathes, and the first finger finally slips inside. He stretches himself out slowly, trying to imitate the way Ilya touches him, but it’s not the same, never the same. He misses the weight on top of his body, the warm palm pressing down on his sternum, the deft fingers massaging his rim, the shock of Ilya’s slick tongue in his mouth, the taste of his spit.
He digs his teeth into his bottom lip and quickly sends another text message.
Shane
(10:37 pm) How can I have it when you’re in Carolina and I’m in Montreal?
Lily
(10:38 pm) Retire and move in with me so I can come home after winning every game and fuck you as reward
Shane snorts and presses a second finger inside of himself.
Shane
(10:39 pm) Glad to hear that even in your fucked up fantasies the only way you’re winning is if I’m not there to beat you
Lily
(10:40 pm) You got lucky last season
(10:40 pm) I will win the Cup again this year
Shane draws his legs up and apart, removes his hand from between them and reaches for the toy Ilya sent him. Should he switch it on before inserting it or after? He bites the inside of his cheek, figures it probably doesn’t really matter, and presses the toy’s silicone shaft against his hole.
He wishes he had Ilya propped up above him, so he could turn his face into the crook of Ilya’s neck and mouth at the soft skin there. He’d wrap his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and hold tight, maybe tangle his fingers in dark blond curls, and nose along the sharp cut of Ilya’s jaw until Ilya would get the hint and tilt his head for a kiss, open-mouthed and filthy, just the way Shane likes it when he’s got Ilya pressing into his body.
But Ilya is not here, and he’s being kind of prick, so Shane forces his attention back to his phone and sends another text.
Shane
(10:43 pm) The toy’s bigger than you
Lily
(10:44 pm) Fuck off
(10:44 pm) It’s not
(10:45 pm) [Image]
Shane clicks on the photo the second it appears. Predictably, it’s a photo of Ilya’s dick; hard and flushed a deep pink at the tip, held upright by long fingers loosely curled around it. There’s a string of pre connecting Ilya’s slit and thumb, and Shane’s mouth waters. The desire to wrap his lips around Ilya doesn’t even come as a shock anymore; if he concentrates hard enough, he can taste Ilya’s cum on his tongue, feel it sticky and hot coating the roof of his mouth.
“Fuck,” Shane whimpers, pressing his palm to the dildo in an attempt to push it inside. It’s met with too much resistance, even despite the fairly ridiculous amount of lube he used. He spreads his legs a little wider, puts his feet down on the mattress and rolls his hips upward, but he still can’t get the smooth tip to slip inside. It doesn’t catch on his hole the way Ilya’s cock does and there are no hands running over his abs and thighs, no fingertips digging into his pecs and no lips kissing his neck, and Shane’s getting desperate, every slide between his cheeks drawing raw, helpless sounds out of his dry throat.
He wants Ilya’s mouth open against his, sharing his breath, swallowing his moans. He wants to lick over Ilya’s lips and feel him shiver. He wants to be fucked — the overwhelming stretch of it, the drag of Ilya’s cock inside of him, the full-body flush that always comes with the knowledge that it is Ilya Rozanov who’s fucking him, who’s running his hands through Shane’s hair and pressing hot, wet kisses to the side of his face.
Shane
(10:46 pm) I can’t do it
Lily
(10:46 pm) Can’t do what?
Shane rolls his eyes ceiling-ward as he fights the rush of embarrassment prickling his skin. He’s cringing so intensely that he shudders. Is he really going to admit to how much easier all of this usually is with Ilya? How much better it feels when it’s Ilya’s cock? As if it’s so hard fucking himself with a dildo.
He stares at Ilya’s text for several long moments before his thumb starts moving across the keyboard.
Shane
(10:47 pm) It doesn’t feel like you
The typing bubble appears, then disappears. Then comes:
Lily
(10:48 pm) Soon, Hollander
(10:48 pm) You are good boy, yes? You will wait for me
Shane feels hot all over.
Shane
(10:49 pm) Fuck off
Lily
(10:49 pm) What?
Shane
(10:49 pm) I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to fuck me
Lily
(10:50 pm) I think you are
(10:50 pm) Is why I got you that toy
Shane’s heart is hammering against his ribcage. Lightheaded, he sends another text.
Shane
(10:50 pm) Just don’t tell me what to do
Lily
(10:50 pm) But you like it
(10:50 pm) I think you would be willing to do a lot of things for me
Shane
(10:51 pm) You wish
Ilya doesn’t bother replying; Shane’s phone rings.
“Hi,” Shane says and immediately feels stupid. They’ve been talking for over an hour already.
But Ilya says, “Hey,” and then, “I am not hearing any vibrations.”
“Still getting used to the size.” Shane licks his lips, fighting a smile. “Since it’s much bigger than what I’m used to.”
Ilya breathes out on a laugh. So cocky. Shane loves it. “Bullshit, Hollander.”
There’s no need to play coy — not with Ilya — so Shane says, “I want it to be you.” He angles his hips to ease all of the toy in, until he feels the flared base of it pressing against his rim. He’s full, but not the way he is when it’s Ilya; the girth is different, the length not quite right. “Inside me. I wish it could be you.”
“I know you do,” Ilya purrs, his voice sending shivers down Shane’s spine. “One week until we play.”
Shane can’t help himself, so he says, “Until you lose.”
“Yeah, right.” Shane can hear the grin laced through his words. “I’ll make sure to play extra good so fans can upload new highlight compilations to YouTube for you to jerk off to.”
Shane groans. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
Ilya hums, drawn-out, and the sound courses through Shane like voltage. “Switch the toy on.”
Shane gets the remote control, his head spinning. He makes an embarrassingly needy sound in response to Ilya’s command but figures now is not the time to feel self-conscious, so he just pretends he didn’t.
The toy comes to life at the push of a button. It’s quiet, but Ilya still seems to be able to hear it over the phone because he says, “Good boy.”
“Shut up,” Shane huffs like he doesn’t love it, like his cock doesn’t twitch at the praise, and whines high in his throat when he switches the toy to a different dynamic mode. He’s breathing like there’s a weight on his chest and he can’t keep his eyes open.
“Feeling good?” Ilya asks, voice light. He’s stroking himself; Shane can hear the slick glide of his hand, the rustle of sheets, and the quiet bitten-off moans.
“Yes, but—“ Shane gasps, shuddering in a deep breath, then tries again. “But not as good as I feel with you.”
“No,” Ilya says. Shane imagines the self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Of course not. You love my cock, yes, Hollander?”
Heat licks at every inch of Shane’s skin; he wonders if he’s glowing in the darkness of his bedroom, the blood in his veins fever-bright. “Yes,” he breathes, dropping all pretense, “Yes, I love it. I love it so fucking much.”
“I know,” Ilya says. “You are so desperate for it. моя милая, нетерпеливая шлюшка.”
Shane pants, pressing the side of his face into the pillow as his fingers tighten around his dick. “Again.”
“Again what?”
“Say something in Russian.”
Ilya lets out a soft, amused breath, and Shane’s shoulder twitches on instinct, like Ilya’s here, muffling his laugh against Shane’s sensitive neck. “Ты — самое прекрасное, что я когда-либо видел. Я хочу трахать тебя без остановки.”
“Fuck,” Shane whines, tugging at his balls with one hand and squeezing his left pec with the other. He parts his knees, brings one of them up to his chest and holds it there with his nails digging into the muscle of his thigh, and blinks up at the ceiling. If Ilya were here, he’d bend down, dip his head until Shane could feel his breath hot on his hole and the soft ends of his curls tickling bare skin, and spread him open with his thumbs.
“God,” Ilya says, and then, like he just read Shane’s mind, “I miss your ass.”
Heat rushes down the nape of Shane’s neck. He can feel it; Ilya’s tongue in his hole, easily finding that spot that makes Shane whimper with each brush against it, popping every coherent bubble of a thought in his brain. “Yeah. Ilya, please, I—”
“What do you need?”
Eyebrows pinched, Shane runs his hand over his face, lets his fingers drag over his lips. “You.”
“I am here,” Ilya says, his voice shaky. “Sit up. It will be deeper that way.”
Shane’s bones feel like jelly but he’s been teetering on the brink of pleasure for so long there are tears caught in his lashes, so he squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates all of his energy into the seemingly impossible task of dragging his body up and into a sitting position.
“Good,” Ilya coaxes. “Put a pillow between your legs.”
Shane does, and sinks down on toy still nestled deep inside of him. The moan that leaves him is uncontrollable — he slumps forward a little, supporting most of his weight with both of his hands digging hard into the pillow beneath him and resting his forehead against the bed’s headboard. His mouth has dropped open, spilling broken moans and soft pants.
“Better?” Ilya asks, half a laugh.
Shane nods frantically, his eyes fluttering shut. “Better.”
“Does it feel good?”
“Yeah.”
Ilya clicks his tongue. “How can you tell? I am not hearing you move.”
Shane exhales. He imagines Ilya behind him, big and broad and so fucking hot, coating his length with Shane’s fancy seventy dollar lube, deft fingers smoothing over the head. His hand would still be sticky as he moves to push Shane’s thighs apart, slipping his index and middle fingers through his crack before moving lower, before nudging the red head of his cock against Shane’s clenching hole. It would take a few tries to push it in, but Ilya would reward each inch with soft praise, and then Shane’s body would come alive at the stretch, at the heady feeling of Ilya’s hard chest against his shoulder blades and his abs against Shane’s spine.
He twists his hips, and suddenly the toy feels different, more intense, more real. He whimpers, clutching the pillow and turning his head to the side, cheek pressed to the headboard. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth all of a sudden; he wants Ilya to suck on it, to feel his silky gums and breathe the same air. His hips roll upwards but there’s no one there to rub against, and Shane chokes on a sob that he quickly tries to stifle with a hand pressed to his mouth.
“You are doing so well,” Ilya says, sounding breathless.
“I feel so good, I—”
“Yeah, you do,” Ilya hums. “I take such good care of you. Say ‘thank you for the gift, Ilya.’”
Shane looks down at his own dick, hard and heavy and slapping against his thighs with every roll of his hips, and drops his chin to pant against his shoulder. His face burns. “Thank you, Ilya.”
“I love it,” Ilya prompts over the slick sound of him jerking himself off.
“I love it,” Shane repeats, dizzy, clenching around the toy the same way he would around Ilya’s cock, only the toy doesn’t twitch in response, doesn’t drive into him at a faster pace than the one Shane sets himself. It doesn’t overwhelm him, doesn’t make him see stars. “Ilya, I love it, I do, but please, I need you, it’s not enough, I can’t—”
“блядь,” Ilya hisses. “I can make you come with just the tip of my cock in your ass but this is not enough for you?”
Shane shivers as he shifts the angle, eyes fluttering. His jaw tenses as he watches the toy disappear every time he sinks down on it, and the fluid movements of his hips stutter as he loses his rhythm. Maybe he’s addicted to Ilya’s cock, and that’s why nothing else works; no other guys, no toys, barely even his own fingers.
“I can’t,” he whines and brings a hand down to jerk himself off. “I’m so close but I— I can’t— Please, Ilya, I—“
“You can,” Ilya coaxes, and Shane pictures him in his bed, his golden skin a stark contrast to white sheets, abs flexing with every flick of his wrist over his perfect cock. It’s so easy to imagine sinking down on it — Ilya’s hands coming up to rest on Shane’s waist, the hungry look on his face, his eyes wide and dazed as he rolls his hips up into him in short, powerful thrusts.
“I keep thinking about you,” Shane breathes, “fucking me.”
“Can you not feel it?” Ilya asks. “I am all the way inside you.”
Shane sucks in air. He can feel his dick pulsing, and spreads his legs a little wider, almost into a split and then stays like that, with the toy flush to his ass, rubbing the silicone against every tender place inside of himself. The vibrations send shivers up and down his spine, make his toes curl and his head fall back.
“I will tell you a secret, Hollander,” Ilya says. “No one has ever been able to take me this deep. No one, ever. Only you.”
“Fuck,” Shane pants, hips twisting on the bed. He loves this, loves knowing he’s the best Ilya’s ever had. It takes a surprising amount of effort to keep himself from saying, And no one else ever will. It’s just his competitiveness. Shane has always needed to be the best, so it only makes sense that that particular trait of his isn’t limited to just his on-ice performance. “Then don’t leave, next time. Don’t make me fuck a dildo.”
Ilya breathes out on a laugh. “What? You want me to stay inside of you? Keep me warm in your sweet hole like perfect cocksleeve?”
Shane is too far gone to feel mortified by the hot spike of pleasure that word sends through him. Ilya knows him, perhaps better than any other person on this planet by now, and he knows what sex does to Shane, what a relief it is for him to be able to let go of control until all he is is a creature concocted solely of need and pleasure.
“You would like that, yes?” Ilya asks. “Maybe next time I will fuck you raw. Hold you down and fill you up, so my cum will drip—”
Shane squeezes around the base of his dick, rubs his thumb over his tip, and comes. He’s been on edge for so long it feels less like an explosion and more like an overwhelming relief; his orgasm washes over him in waves, and all he can do is moan and listen to Ilya’s gentle praise as he continues to stroke himself through it.
“So,” Ilya muses, moments later, after giving Shane enough time to gather himself. “Still not a fan of toys?”