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“Did you miss me?” Ilya's voice was a low rumble. His lips pressed soft kisses up Shane's spine.
“Fuck off, Rozanov.” Shane needed him to fucking move. It had been over two months since their last hook up and, for some reason, Rozanov was taking things slow. Shane was starting to get desperate.
He was sure Ilya had hooked up with dozens of people since they'd last seen each other, but Shane wasn't like that. He didn't have the time, or frankly the interest, to pull random women in clubs. And finding a man was far too dangerous.
So he was back here. In Rozanov’s house. In his bed. Taking what he needed where he could get it. That's all this was. If he missed anything, it was just a human desire to be touched, to get off. Rozanov was just the convenient means to a necessary end.
“I am not talking to you.” Rozanov chided. Shane hated the overconfident smirk in Rozanov’s voice. He hated even more the illicit thrill that ran through his body at the sound of it.
“What?” Shane's brain was a heady scramble already. Rozanov had taken his time opening him up with his tongue and clever fingers, but now that he was inside he wasn't moving. Shane pushed his hips back, hoping to put an end to this torturous teasing.
Shane gasped when Rozanov’s thumb traced his rim where it was stretched open around his thick cock. “I am talking to your hole.”
What the fuck? Shane was about to tell him off, maybe even storm out and leave Rozanov high and dry until the inevitable next time (he never would, but it was nice to fantasize about having the strength to walk away from this once and for all), then Rozanov pressed deeper and Shane's protests caught in his throat.
“Your hole missed my cock.” Rozanov stated it as a fact. He ground his hips against Shane's ass. Shame and relief flooded Shane in equal measure as he let out a strangled moan. At least Rozanov was finally moving.
“My little slut, so desperate.” Rozanov's hips suddenly snapped into him in a few hard, quick thrusts before gripping Shane's hips tight and stilling again. Shane's brain went offline completely.
“Tell me.” Rozanov's breath was labored like they’d already been having sex for hours, rather than barely starting. Now who's desperate. Shane thought smugly.
“Tell me.” Rozanov repeated, insisted. He gave two more sharp thrusts, then stopped again. Shane let out an embarrassing whine and squirmed under his teasing. “Tell me you missed it.”
Shane wasn't sure where this fit into their games. Was he allowed to miss this? Would the delicate spell that somehow kept this all working break if he said the wrong thing? If he showed Ilya just how much he needed this?
“I missed it.” Shane's mouth, always eager to please, formed the words faster than his anxious brain could stop it.
Rozanov rewarded him with a firm hand on his back, holding Shane down while he finally fucked him at the relentless pace he craved. For about a minute. From the cut off whine Rozanov tried to hide, Shane could tell this pace was killing him just as much. “What did you miss?”
There was something in Rozanov's tone, needy and a little unsure, that had Shane reaching blindly behind himself. His hand landed on Rozanov's wrist and squeezed tight. “I missed you.”
Rozanov sucked in a sharp breath behind him and pulled out. Had he ruined it? He was supposed to say something sexier, wasn't he? Shane was no good at dirty talk. Maybe next time Rozanov could just gag him or something. Rozanov loved the sound of his own voice, so he would probably relish the opportunity to have zero interruptions.
Rozanov pushed at Shane’s hip, guiding him onto his back, and settled between his legs. They didn't fuck like this often. At least if Shane wasn't looking at Rozanov, he could pretend he was someone else, but there was no denying it like this. Shane was letting Ilya Rozanov do this to him. And he was loving it.
Ilya's head dipped lower to rest his forehead against Shane's, daring him to stay still in this intimacy with eye contact that was both too intense to hold and too hypnotizing to look away from. Shane leaned up to kiss him, if only to have the relief of closing his eyes for a moment. The kiss was tender as Ilya rocked steadily into him.
“Perfect little slut. Let me take you however I want.” Ilya murmured. Shane's eyes fluttered back open. Ilya was watching him, soft lips parted, like he couldn't quite believe Shane was real.
There was power in this. He was reminded all at once that he was Shane fucking Hollander. Best player in the fucking league (probably), and Shane hadn’t done a million brand photo shoots without realizing that he was fucking hot.
Rozanov was the only person who matched Shane on the ice. He challenged him, pushed him in every way he liked, made him better just by existing in the same space. He was loud and confident and built like a Greek god.
Shane was a prize and Ilya Rozanov was maybe the only person who deserved him. What a fucking mindfuck.
Shane shoved the thought aside. He let one thigh fall further open to give Rozanov more room, while his other leg wrapped high and tight on Rozanov's back. He used the grip to lift his hips and meet Rozanov's thrusts.
“So eager to take, котёнок.”
Shane moaned. He didn't understand the word, but he loved when Rozanov peppered in Russian. He loved the way the language rolled naturally in his deep voice.
Rozanov had a talent, one of many, for making Shane feel both shamed and praised. Both were deliciously hot. Shane rolled hips and clenched around Ilya inside him.
“Da, like that. Perfect.” Heat built in Shane’s belly as the slide of Rozonov's big cock pressed relentlessly against his prostate.
Shane liked to be told he was good, but only when he was actually good, and only by someone just as good as he was who could make a proper assessment. Rozanov's praise warmed him in a pleasurable part of his brain and made his dick twitch.
Shane often felt hot embarrassment about their sex, and his desires in general, but something about Rozanov giving voice to it as something playful, just dirty talk to get off to, made the feelings a little less heavy. And a whole lot hotter.
“You want your reward, cockwhore?” Ilya seemed to read his mind.
“Jesus- fuck- who taught you that word?” He probably learned it from porn, but Shane found he really did not like the idea of Rozanov saying it to anyone else.
Rozanov grinned wickedly and ignored him. He grabbed Shane by the hips and pressed impossibly deep to make clear what Shane's “reward” would be.
“You want to know you did a good job?” When it came to sex, he really could read Shane like a book. After years of hook ups, he knew what Shane liked. Too be praised, to be rewarded for his efforts and his control, and sometimes, for Rozanov to be a little mean.
“You wish there was no condom, yes? So you can feel the proof inside you.”
He nodded, dazed and horny. Shane's protests were as much a part of their games as his eventual submission. He should tell Rozanov to fuck off, instead he simply said, “Please.”
He wasn't sure if Rozanov actually would or if this was still part of the game. Just talk. They talked a lot during sex, Rozanov especially, and it didn't change anything between them.
But Shane wanted this. It wasn't like he could get pregnant, he rationalized. And he was pretty sure Rozanov got tested regularly. Maybe it was the risk that thrilled him. If it was anything else, Shane didn't want to think about it. The closeness. The intimacy. The fantasy of exclusivity. Getting to keep something of Rozanov inside him even after he'd gone back to his hotel.
Shane cut off that train of thought and simply begged again like the whore Rozanov's been telling him he is. “Please.”
He pushed at Rozanov's hips to clumsily communicate that he meant it. Surprise was evident on Rozanov's face, but he relented to Shane's shoves and pulled out. Shane's trembling hands fumbled between their bodies. Rozanov took pity on him and slid the condom off himself and tossed it blindly onto the floor. Shane was sure he would find that gross later, but right now it was the furthest thing from his mind.
“So good for me, котёнок. So perfect.” Ilya soothed as he slid back in with a loud groan. “Fuck- you take me like a dream.” Ilya whispered against the shell of his ear. Shane felt like he was dreaming.
The physical sensation wasn't much different, but the knowledge that Rozanov was bare inside him, touching him everywhere in ways he never had before, had Shane trembling.
It was a comfort to see Ilya was just as affected, and Shane was now glad they had flipped positions to face each other. Rozanov hadn't looked away, his gaze burning into Shane. His brows were scrunched together, his face was red, he looked like it was taking all his concentration not to come immediately.
Shane wanted it. He wanted Rozanov to use his body and get off inside him. Shane wanted to see him lose control. It was one of his favorite parts, when Ilya let his mask slip a little and showed him he was just as deep in this madness as Shane was.
Shane felt cracked open, exposed far beyond his own comfort, but slipping into that floaty space where he cared very little about anything other than pleasure. His own pleasure, and perhaps even more so, Ilya's.
“You need it so bad, котёнок. Need my cock.”
“Yes - fuck!”
Ilya pressed his face into Shane's neck as he pounded into him. His breath was warm on Shane's skin. “You need me.”
“Ah! Fuck, Rozanov.”
Rozanov's hand found Shane's wrist and held it down tight against the mattress. “You need me.” He insisted as his eyes met Shane’s, wide and wild.
Shane felt compelled to answer. “Yes.”
“Touch yourself. Show me.”
Shane's free hand gripped his leaking cock between them. His head tilted back as he moaned. He was so close. Waves of pleasure rippled through him with each deep push of Rozanov’s cock.
“Fuck Hollander.” Ilya's hand slid up from his wrist and locked their fingers together instead. He buried his face back in Shane's neck and murmured against his skin. “I'm going to come inside. Fuck.”
There was a distant sting in Shane's shoulder as Rozanov sank his teeth in and shuddered through his orgasm. Shane felt it, warm and wet, as Rozanov's cock pulsed inside him.
Shane wanted to be mad at him for leaving a bitemark in such a visible place, but he was too busy coming harder than he maybe ever had in his life. His hand clutched Ilya's tightly as he spilled onto his stomach between their writhing bodies.
Rozanov stayed on top of him, blanketing Shane with the heavy, comforting press of his body, while they both caught their breath. When Rozanov let go of his hand, Shane tangled his fingers into his curly hair instead, still feeling the need to hold onto a part of him.
Eventually Rozanov softened and slipped out of his body. Shane felt a dribble of come drip down his ass crack. This idea had been so fucking hot a minute ago. Now it was messy and sticky and Shane's cheeks heated with embarrassment.
“I should go.” Shane gently pushed Rozanov off as he sat up on the bed.
Rozanov laid down on his side next to Shane, propped up on one elbow. He reached out a gentle hand and squeezed Shane's thigh. “Was that okay?”
Pillow talk was a rarity between them. Once the sex was done, the need was met, it was time to go. But sometimes, when they tried something new or pushed things a little too far, Rozanov would check in afterwards.
Shane wondered each time if he only pushed things to share an extra moment together before they inevitably separated.
“Yeah.” Shane said softly when he saw the nervous look on Rozanov's face. “It was okay.” He took a deep breath to steady himself then leaned down and pressed a kiss to Rozanov's gorgeous lips. “It was good.” He confessed meeting Rozanov's eyes only for a moment before standing up to gather his clothes.
“Hope it does not affect your hockey.”
“Huh?” Shane was half listening as he searched through the scattered trail of clothes on Rozanov's bedroom floor. Where the hell was his underwear?
“When you are too big to skate.” Rozanov continued. Shane turned at that. Rozanov was grinning. He pointed at Shane's stomach. “How long until you are big enough for people to notice?”
It took Shane a minute to parse the strange question and Rozanov's playful tone. The tease hit him like a freight train when he got the meaning and he turned away to hide how red his face was. “I'm not pregnant.” He mumbled. It was stupid, and obviously impossible.
Shane didn't look back when he heard the bed creak. Rozanov appeared behind him, pressing warm and naked against Shane's back, wrapping strong arms around his middle. Rozanov's hand landed on Shane's belly and pressed down. “We will have to keep trying then.” He leaned in and bit Shane's earlobe. “Until it takes.”
Shane's traitorous dick started to come back to life. He shoved the feeling down and elbowed Rozanov in the ribs instead. Rozanov laughed as he fell back onto the bed.
When Shane was dressed, his hair smoothed, his pulse calmed, his hand on the doorknob to leave Rozanov’s house, he paused and turned back to ask a question that had been nagging at him since they finished.
“You called me something in Russian.” Shane's words lilted up in question. “Earlier. When we were…” He gestured vaguely towards the bedroom. God, he couldn't even say the words. Even after everything they'd done. “What did it mean?”
Ilya hummed, probably trying to buy time to come up with one of his standardly avoidant answers.
“Slut.”
“No. You taught me that one already.”
Ilya sighed and grumbled,“котёнок.”
“Yes. That one.”
“It means kitten. Is like,” He searched for the right words, looking anywhere but Shane. “A pet name.”
“Lika a name for your pet, or…” Shane was too nervous to finish that sentence.
Rozanov scrubbed a hand over his face. “Is wrong phrase? Maybe it does not translate.” A slight pink was rising on Rozanov's cheeks. It was a good look on him. “I don't know different way to say it. Is like what boyfriend girlfriend call each other.”
Shane felt a little giddy at Rozanov being embarrassed for once, and also at the word boyfriend. He was not going to examine that feeling.
“Shlyukha might be more accurate.” Shane teased, though it was really more a tease on himself.
Ilya smiled, probably pleased Shane remembered the word even though his pronunciation was definitely clumsy.
“Why do people think you are good, hm?” Ilya pondered, stepping closer. His hands landed on Shane's hips. “They do not know you are an asshole.”
“Just to you.” This felt dangerous.
“Yes, Hollander. Your asshole is just for me.” Rozanov grinned.
Shane blushed deeply. He knew Rozanov was just teasing. Rozanov didn't actually know how true that statement was.
“I’m leaving.” Shane forced his voice to stay even. He rolled his eyes playfully, like Rozanov's words didn't light a fire inside him.
Before he could slip away, Rozanov tightened his grip on Shane's hips and reeled him in for a kiss. It was as heated as it was tender. Boyfriend. The word rattled dangerously in Shane's head as Ilya's tongue slid against his own.
When Rozanov finally let him go, Shane walked away feeling dizzy and like he was floating on clouds.
His head started to clear as he settled into the back of his Uber. What the hell was he thinking? That had gotten way too intense. They definitely could not do that again.
His phone buzzed.
Lily: Touch yourself tonight.
Lily: I hope I am still dripping out of you
Shane shifted uncomfortably in the backseat as his dick responded to Rosanov's texts. Fuck. They were definitely going to do this again.