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Jane: Nice game the other day
Ilya: Thank you but it is not impressive beating the Centaurs
Ilya: Could do it with my eyes closed
Jane: Wow you could just take the compliment
Ilya: Hm no fun. Will like the compliment better after we beat you tonight
Jane: As if
Jane: The team doesn’t leave until late tomorrow
Ilya: Is this a proposition?
“—right, Ilya?”
Ilya looks up from his phone. Their social media manager, Abby, is looking at him expectantly.
“Am sorry. What was the question again?”
Abby almost rolls her eyes but she’s a professional, so instead she just exhales sharply. Their comms director is sat to her right, brows pinched in annoyance as he messes with the cap of his pen. Ilya’s not sure why they are making this a bigger deal than it needs to be. Calling him into a meeting at 9 in the morning before a big game is stupid.
“I said, our fans really identify with individual players, not just the team as a whole. Therefore our players’ social media presences have to be something fans can identify and interact with. As it stands now, your activity on your socials is not all that personable, right?”
Ilya thinks about how he reposted a video of Dallas Kent getting the shit beat out of him at their game against the Sharks last week. He thinks that’s pretty personable.
“I do not understand. I am old and have been on this team for nearly 17 years. If the fans do not identify with me now, they never will.”
“I think what Abby is trying to say—in a very kind way, I should add—is that you need to stop getting into fights with people online. And you need to stop engaging with the Voyageurs account so much,” The director butts in, clearly over all this beating around the bush.
Ilya frowns. This is all so stupid. He only goes onto the Voyageur’s account to look at pictures of Hollander. The other night he jerked off to a picture they posted of the young rookie doing his on-ice stretches, and made sure to like it after he was done.
“Mm. Okay.” Is all Ilya says. His phone buzzes in his lap and his hand itches to grab it.
“We can’t take disciplinary action against you for this, but I really suggest you listen to what Abby is telling you. I think we’re done here.”
Ilya huffs and grabs his phone, standing up and nodding goodbye to Abby. He ignores the director and turns to leave his office. He’s not even two seconds out the door before he’s looking at his phone.
Jane: I need your help with something
Ilya smiles. He’s always happy to help Hollander.
Ilya: Finally going to ask for help fixing your backhand?
Jane: Fuck you.
Jane: It’s not about hockey
Jane: It’s kind of embarassing
Consider Ilya’s curiosity piqued. Hollander gets embarrassed about many things in life, big or small. Ilya wonders if he’s staring at the message chain, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, a barely-there blush across his cheeks.
Ilya: you can tell me Jane. I promise only to make fun of you a little bit.
The typing bubble pops up, then disappears. Then pops up again.
Jane: I downloaded a dating app and im meeting up with this guy next week
Jane: And I haven’t really gone like all the way with a guy
Jane: so I need you to teach me how
Ilya exhales a very long breath. His dick is starting to chub up in his gym shorts. He looks around at the empty hallway, making sure none of the team staff are around.
Ilya: “Dating app” is a unique way to describe it
Jane: Literally fuck off I’m trying to be vulnerable
Vulnerable. Ilya mouths the word, weird on his tongue.
Jane: So I was wondering if you wanted to come by the hotel after the game tonight. Hayden is sick and they didn’t assign someone else to my room
He tenses reading the message. He wants nothing more than to have Hollander in his own bed, writhing and crying as he takes him for the first time. But that crosses the invisible boundary they try so hard to keep up. Every time they see each other they toe closer to the line.
Ilya: I feel sorry for Pike’s wife
Ilya: But yes. I will tell my teammates I cannot come and celebrate with them because I have a hot date
Jane: 🖕
Jane: Room number is 605
***
There doesn’t end up being a celebration.
The Bears lose 3-1 to the Voyageurs, with Hollander scoring two of the three goals and Ilya assisting the one. The team shuffles silently off of the ice, dejected. Ilya doesn’t like to lose, and he should be overwhelmingly frustrated like the rest of them. But he can’t seem to bring himself to care all that much, not when he has his own reward to look forward to.
“Okay boys,” Ilya starts, scanning over the room and watching his teammates slowly start to take off their gear. “I know it wasn’t the outcome we wanted tonight. But you guys went hard, and made some good plays. Leave the loss here and we’ll fix what we need at the next practice.”
It’s a terrible speech. He’s done better, but he can sense that the guys just want to get home. Marlow pats him on the shoulder and gives him a nod before turning to his own locker.
Ilya mindlessly goes through the motions of undressing from the game. The dressing room is eerily silent, and Ilya can only think about what the Voyageurs’ room sounds like right now. Someone’s probably playing music off a speaker, the guys shouting and congratulating each other on their plays. And Hollander probably stands in the middle of all the chaos, bright red as his teammates pat the rookie on the back and praise his playing. But Ilya hopes he can’t think of anything but what they plan to do in a few hours.
Ilya is one of the last ones out of the stadium. But instead of taking his usual exit home, he hastily plugs in the address to the hotel the visiting teams stay at.
When he gets there, he sits in his car for an awkward amount of time. He would probably die if he walked in the hotel at the same time as the rest of the Voyageurs. He’s glad he drove his Cayman to the stadium instead of his usual 911, letting him kind of blend in with the rest of the parking lot.
After an appropriate amount of time passes, Ilya throws a Red Sox hat on and steps out of the car. He shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps his head down as he walks into the hotel lobby. He probably looks suspicious as hell right now, but he’s Ilya Rozanov; if anyone sees him, they won’t have a problem with him. Unless it’s Hayden Pike.
The elevator ride up to the sixth floor is torture. Ilya taps his foot impatiently as the numbers start to rise. Luckily, no one tries to hop in the elevator with him, so he’s free to quickly walk down the hall to Hollander’s room.
It only takes one knock before the door swings open. Hollander smiles when he sees it’s him, body relaxing. His cheeks are a little pink, his hair still a bit damp from the shower he took after the game.
Ilya wants to devour him.
“Quick. Get in.”
Ilya steps inside the room, the door deadbolting behind him. Hollander backs up awkwardly, moving out of the way so Ilya can shrug his jacket and slides off. His eyes glance around the hotel room—bland and boring—before he pulls out the desk chair and turns it around to face the bed. He beckons Hollander over, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down so he can kiss him. He tastes like minty toothpaste.
“Sit,” Ilya grumbles when they pull apart.
Hollander obeys.
“I liked your second shot on goal tonight,” Ilya hums, spreading his legs so he can sit more comfortably in the hotel chair. Hollander’s eyes flick down to Ilya’s crotch. “Very nice. Went in easy.”
Hollander blushes at the compliment, wringing his hands where they rest in his lap. Thank you, he murmurs, his enticing lips curling up in a smile. Ilya loves watching him react to compliments, especially when it’s about hockey. Or how good he is at sucking cock.
“You’re supposed to be mad you lost,” Hollander says.
“Hm.” Ilya considers this. Yes, he should be. He sort of is. He likes winning. It makes him feel good. But he likes making Hollander feel good more. “I am not happy we lost. But I am happy that, instead of celebrating with the rest of your team, you stayed here so I could come and fuck you.”
Hollander’s lips part in a silent oh. He adjusts his pants to try and make his bulge a little less obvious.
“Rozanov-“
“No.” This is a bad idea. Ilya is being ridiculous. Something inside of him tells him to shut up, to shut his mouth before he ruins this. “Ilya. I want to hear you say it when I fuck you.”
He’s not sure how he’s expecting Hollander to react. To freeze up, go ramrod straight, and tell Ilya to fuck off. Come to his senses and realize it’s not right for a man 17 years his elder to open him up for the very first time. Instead, Hollander whines. It’s a pathetic mewling sound, so soft you could almost miss it.
“Ilya,” Hollander—Shane, moans. Every fiber of Ilya’s being ignites with pleased arousal. “I need…”
“Shane,” Ilya says. He likes the way it feels in his mouth, likes watching Shane shudder as he listens. Ilya stands up, trying to mask the wince in his face as his right knee twinges, and he steps forward into Shane’s space. The younger man spreads his legs immediately, letting Ilya stand between them. Ilya cups Shane’s jaw, forcing him to look up at him. His dark brown eyes are wide and pleading.
“I, um, cleaned up,” Shane whispers. “Down there.”
Ilya hums.
“Good boy,” he replies before leaning down to kiss Shane. He moves his hand into the other man’s short hair, gripping it in such a way that he receives a moan in return. Shane’s hands hurriedly rest on Ilya’s waist, thumbing under the hem of his shirt to rub at his hipbones.
“You have fingered yourself? Before?” Ilya asks when they pull away. Shane flushes like it’s the dirtiest thing Ilya’s ever said to him.
“Of course I have!” He yelps. “I’m not like, a prude or anything. I have a…thing.”
“A thing?” Ilya asks, gently rubbing his thumb along the back of Shane’s neck.
“A dildo.”
He can’t help but bark out a laugh. Shane swats his bicep.
“It’s not funny,” he insists.
“You like to play with your hole, Hollander?” Ilya asks after pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the ground. Shane’s hands immediately fly up to his chest, feeling the hard muscle of his pecs.
“Ilya, it’s—“
“It’s not embarrassing," He interrupts, his voice suddenly a lot rougher. “I have eaten your ass. And now I want to know how you touch yourself.”
Shane swallows thickly. Ilya takes off his jeans while he’s standing, the younger boy watching him the whole time. He squeezes his dick through his sweatpants just to tease Shane before settling back in the hotel chair.
“Take your clothes off and get on the bed. I want you to show me how you open up your hole.”
Shane nods, and with shaky hands, begins to undress himself. Like every time, he takes a moment to fold his clothes neatly and lie them on the nearest clean surface. He crawls onto the bed—not very gracefully—and gives Ilya a fantastic view of his ass as he reaches for the lube that’s already on the nightstand.
“You came prepared. How sweet,” Ilya teases as Shane turns back around. Shane shoots him an annoyed look, sitting down in the center of the bed. Ilya can’t even keep making fun of him, because the words die in his throat as he gets an eyeful of Shane’s cock. It’s already hard, laying against his thigh, flushed pink with arousal.
“Mm. Pretty cock,” Ilya hums. He absentmindedly runs his knuckles over the bulge in his pants. “I don’t want you touching it yet. Just open up your hole for me.”
Shane spreads his legs for him so beautifully. So eager to obey, so ready to take whatever Ilya wants to give him. The younger man adjusts so that he has one foot planted on the bed, giving him better access to his hole. Ilya’s mouth is dry as he watches Shane sheepishly flick open the travel-size bottle of lube, smearing some on his fingers. He starts by just gently teasing his opening, feather-light touches that don’t quite reach his skin. He whimpers when he locks eyes with Ilya, and he must be anxious from the heat of the older man's gaze, because he chooses to let his eyes flutter shut.
“Beautiful, Hollander,” Ilya grumbles, edging him on.
“Ilya,” Shane moans as he slips one finger inside of himself. Ilya curses, watching Shane’s cock twitch against his thigh, his hole tight around the intrusion. Shane takes his time, dragging his finger in and out slowly. He’s biting his bottom lip, brows twisted in concentration and pleasure.
Ilya can’t help it. He lifts his hips off the chair so he can kick off his sweatpants, then his boxers. He just needs a little relief while he watches the delicious show in front of him. He wraps his hand around the base of his own cock, just holding it for now.
“Just like that, baby.” It slips out easily. Ilya doesn’t mean for it to, but Shane seems to like it, breathing a soft yes as he prepares to take a second finger. Ilya gives his dick a slow tug.
“F-feels good,” Shane stammers, a quiet ah! falling from his lips as he slips a second finger inside.
“Do you touch yourself like this often, Shane?” Ilya asks, and Shane nods. He opens his eyes again, looking at Ilya, lips parted. “What do you think about when you finger yourself?”
“You,” Shane whimpers. There’s a squelching sound as he pumps his fingers in and out. “I think of you.”
The admission makes Ilya’s breath catch in his throat.
“Elaborate.” I want to hear more. I want you to tell me how I’m the only one who can make you feel this way.
“I, fuck—your cock, Ilya,” Shane cries. He’s got a third finger inside, now. “I think about sucking your cock, sometimes I miss tasting you when we’re apart, and I want—I really want you to fuck me.”
That’s what breaks Ilya. He stands, taking a second to tug off his shirt, before taking one long stride to Shane. Ilya pushes Shane down by his pec, and the younger boy yelps as his fingers slip out of him. Ilya takes Shane’s strong, thick thighs in his hands and spreads his legs. He gets a closer look at Shane’s hole: smooth, recently shaved and wet from the lube. Fuck, Ilya mouths. It’s already a little loose from Shane’s fingers. He can’t help but reach down and touch it.
“I do not think you are ready yet,” Ilya lies. Shane’s fingers are just as big as his; he’s probably fine. But Ilya wants an excuse to finger him himself.
Shane keens as Ilya slips one finger, then two inside of him. He presses around his rim, separating his fingers to open him up a little more. Shane’s eyes are completely closed now, a blissed out smile on his face.
“I need you to promise me something,” Ilya says, pulling his fingers out of Shane and wiping them on the hotel sheets. Shane whimpers pathetically at the loss. “You tell me if anything hurts or you’re uncomfortable, okay?”
Shane just hums.
“Hollander.”
That makes Shane open his eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal.
“Yes, sir.”
Stop it, Shane. You don’t know what you’re doing.
Hastily, Ilya turns around to grab the condom out of his pants pocket.
“I bought my own, you know,” Shane chirps from behind him.
Ilya looks at the side table and raises an eyebrow. There’s a whole strip of them.
“You think that is enough?”
“Shut up,” Shane grumbles, covering his face with his hands. Ilya laughs and climbs onto the bed, straddling Shane with his legs on either side of his body. Ilya takes the younger man’s wrists, moving his hands to reveal his beautifully flushed face.
“It is no problem, I will just have to fuck you three more times,” He jokes, leaning down onto his elbows so he can mouth at Shane’s neck.
Shane practically purrs.
Ilya spends a little bit kissing down Shane’s neck. He’s very sensitive here, shivering at the scratch of Ilya’s beard. He keeps it trimmed down, but he wonders if Shane will like it even more once they get to the playoffs.
“Ah, please,” Shane moans as Ilya partly considers sucking a bruise onto his pec.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me, Ilya.”
Ilya groans then sits back on his knees, tearing open the condom wrapper with his teeth and skillfully rolling it down his hard length. Shane watches with wide eyes the whole time, propping himself up on his elbows so he can see Ilya smear extra lube over his cock.
“Can’t wait to fuck this tight virgin hole.” Ilya hitches his hands underneath Shane’s knees, pushing his thighs forward to give him even better access. “Mmm, like this. Hold it there.”
Shane is good and listens well. Ilya presses the head of his cock to his wet hole, not sinking into the tight heat just yet. He notices Shane’s hands are shaking slightly from where they’re clutching the sheets.
“It is okay, Shane. I will go slow at first, okay? And then you will feel so good getting fucked by my dick.”
“Yes, fuck,” Shane breathes, and Ilya takes that as his cue to get to work.
Shane’s mouth drops open in a soundless oh as Ilya slowly presses into him. He’s plenty experienced, but it takes a lot of effort not to start fucking into him right away.
“Holy shit,” Shane breathes. He unconsciously clenches down around the length inside him, which makes Ilya curse. His own abdominal muscles twitch as he adjusts to the pressure.
“Good?”
“What do you think?”
“Brat,” Ilya tuts. “I will move now and fuck you like you deserve.”
Shane shudders as Ilya pulls almost all the way out, then presses back in again. The warm drag along his cock is everything he’s ever needed. Shane’s own forgotten length is plump and wet with his arousal. He’s moaning softly, alternating between wetting his bottom lip and biting on it. Ilya’s eyes move down to the space between Shane’s legs. He watches, mesmerized, as his cock disappears into Shane’s hole, swallowed up by the tight heat.
“Oh fuck, Shane,” Ilya moans, tightening his grip on Shane’s thighs. “So fucking good, perfect little hole.”
Shane whines, embarrassed from the dirty talk. Ilya speeds up his thrusts, getting into a steady rhythm. Shane feels so good around his dick, so perfect, squeezing around him every time he pushes back in. Ilya is drunk on it, head fuzzy from the pleasure. Shane is panting, moaning ah ah ah with each jolting thrust.
“Harder, Ilya, please, I wa—“ Shane shouts as one particularly hard thrust interrupts him. “I can take it, sir!”
Fuck. Fuck everything.
Ilya picks up one foot and plants it on the bed. He has to pull out for just a second, wincing at the loss of pressure, and he thinks Shane might start crying. Ilya manhandles Shane’s legs and throws them over his left shoulder, giving him even deeper access to his hole. Ilya hisses when he sinks back in, the position making Shane even tighter.
“Yes, yes, taking it so well,” Ilya growls. He leans forward so he can pinch Shane’s nipple, just to tease him. Shane yelps and Ilya can see the shine of drool at the corner of his mouth. “You’re such a slut for it, hm?
Shane tries to say something in response, but all that comes out is a moan.
“No no, that won’t do,” The older man tuts, pulling out all the way so just the tip is inside. “Tell me, Hollander.”
“Yes, I—I’m a slut,” Shane cries, and Ilya has to stop himself from coming right then and there. “Please, I need it, Ilya. I’ve been so good.”
Ilya sinks all the way in again before fucking Shane hard. Harder then he probably needs to, but the sound of skin against skin combined with Shane’s moans makes him lose his fucking mind.
“Greedy,” Ilya pants out over the noise. “Could have anyone with an ass like this. But you begged for my cock. Needed someone grown to show you how good boys get fucked, yes?”
“Holy—M’gonna come,” Shane babbles.
“Fucking come on my cock, Shane.”
Ilya doesn’t think he’ll actually do it. Gets ready to maneuver him again to get a hand on his cock. But Shane moans, his abdominal muscles flexing before he comes completely untouched. Ilya fucks him through it, watching in amazement as Shane’s cock twitches against his stomach, his release painting his torso. Ilya keeps fucking him, doesn’t let up the speed of his thrusts, even when the corners of Shane’s eyes prick with tears. It’s too much, with the way Shane is clenching around him and how he’s looking up at Ilya like he hung the moon. Ilya comes with a moan, grasping onto Shane’s legs as his thrusts become haphazard.
“Oh my god,” Shane breathes as Ilya pulls out, hoisting his legs from over his shoulder and letting them fall to the bed. Ilya runs his hand over his face and through his sweaty hair, watching Shane catch his breath.
Ilya goes through the usual after-sex motions of taking off the condom, getting a washcloth, and wiping Shane down.
“Did I blow your very inexperienced mind?” He teases, taking a quick look at Shane’s hole to make sure nothing tore. The younger man scoffs.
“Shut up.”
Standing at the side of the bed, Ilya reaches down to brush Shane’s hair off his sweaty forehead. Shane smiles at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling sweetly. Something in Ilya’s chest aches, longing for something he can’t have.
“I will go now. Do not want to keep my Anya waiting for me.”
Shane’s face falls. It hurts to see, but Ilya needs to get out before he does something he might regret.
As if this wasn’t crossing a line already.
He feels Shane’s eyes on him as he puts his clothes back on. Phone and keycard in hand, he shuffles awkwardly to the other side of the hotel room.
“Rest up, rookie,” Ilya says softly. Shane lies naked on the bed, skin still flushed red. “Good night.”
“Good night, Ilya,” comes Shane’s soft voice.
Ilya turns to leave, hand at the door handle, before pausing.
“And Shane?”
“Yeah?”
“I hope he treats you well.”
Shane’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Me too.”
***
Like always, it’s a quiet night at home for Ilya.
Anya is curled up on the couch, resting her head on his feet. He can’t imagine it's all that comfortable, but he supposes it must be from the little snores coming from her. The TV is playing some old war movie he doesn’t care for. It’s just background noise at this point as he stares at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. The contact name Jane stares at him from the top of his phone tauntingly. The last message was from two weeks ago: Hollander’s room number. Ilya chews on his necklace as he decides what to type.
Ilya: How are you?
He deletes it immediately. Too random. Too needy.
Ilya: Hello Jane
Ilya: Have fun last week?
He sends it. The reply is almost immediate.
Jane: Lily
Jane: wdym?
Ilya has to look that one up.
Ilya. Your date. How did it go? Did he fuck you as good as I did?
Jane: oh that
Jane: I actually chickened out. Don’t think casual hookups with strangers are for me
Wow, okay. That means Ilya is neither a stranger nor just casual.
Ilya: Good you would have been disappointed
Ilya: Dick not as big as mine
Jane: whatever you tell yourself to help you sleep at night
Jane: but I’ve been thinking about it
Jane: I want to do it again sometime
Ilya smiles.
Ilya: Me too.