Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Ilya Rozanov knew he was great.

A great student, a great athlete, and a very great fuck.

All of this greatness meant that at 18, Ilya had won a very lucrative hockey scholarship at McGill University in Canada.

So, Ilya had packed his winter coats and his cherished necklace and his books and his thoughts and had made the big move to Canada, all the way from dreary Russia—leaving his terrible brother and worse father behind and hoping he would never hear from them again.

And Ilya had maintained a level of greatness in all the things.

Greatness was important to Ilya because it had been drilled into him at a young age that he would never love if he wasn't exceptional.

So, Ilya had become exceptional at hockey.

While Ilya’s emotional intelligence was somewhat lacking, he made up for it with serious enthusiasm in the bedroom.

Ilya loved sex. Sex with girls, sex with guys. Sex with anyone that was hot, really. And the emotional stuff, well he felt it deeply; he just didn't really understand what a lot of it meant.

Ilya entered into sexual relationships with the same enthusiasm that he did everything, with force, and gusto, and bravado; making sure that his partners laughed and came and cried. Alongside Ilya’s perfectly chiselled cheekbones, Los Angeles tan (despite the Russian and Canadian winters), cupid’s bow lips, crooked nose and snarky grin; he was a wildly successful hockey athlete on the verge of breaking into the NHL.

While Ilya was hot and successful, and cocky; he was never modest.

Ilya also considered himself a funny guy, he thought anyway. Sometimes he could come across as abrasive or rude, but just because he didn’t smile politely after every word that came out of his mouth, didn’t make him an asshole.

It was just a slavic thing.

This was where Canadians and Russians differed greatly.

It wasn’t that Ilya hated Russia. It would always be his home country, but since his mother had died, nothing felt right there anymore. His father was always at him and his brother was even worse. They both really seemed like they enjoyed making Ilya’s life hell.

So, on the rare occasion they actually called him, he either ignored the calls or spoke to them briefly before returning to his better and much happier life in Canada.

Being bisexual and a hockey star had its challenges, but Ilya was not secretive about his sexuality; he had spent too long having to hide in Russia and decided he would never hide again.

But, there was one thing that was messing with Ilya’s perfect greatness.

As an athlete at McGill University, Ilya had to maintain a very significant GPA alongside his athletic obligations. He had chosen to major in Sports Science, but of course still needed to maintain a decent grade.

A GPA that he had been very much struggling to maintain. In fact, he had received a final warning from the Dean that if he didn’t improve his grade in his English class, they would need to consider his scholarship prospects for his final year in college.

Professor Hollander was always up his fucking ass about his written English needing to improve. But fuck, he was a college athlete and not a native English speaker; did it really matter if he couldn’t remember the exact fucking themology of fucking War & Peace or if he spelt a word wrong anymore (compatible/compatable?)—Ilya didn’t care enough to correct his mistakes.

Reading and writing in English were hard, but Ilya wasn’t stupid, just preferential to what he consumed.

Ilya glanced down at the piece of paper that listed the reading options for the class, knowing that this was important because he absolutely needed to nail this assignment.

English Literature Assigned Readings - Please ensure you choose one for your final assignment, a thematic analysis of the story with a focus on character development in relation to the themology

• Stoner by John Williams
• It Lasts Forever & Then It’s Over by Anne D Marcken
• Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar
• The Odyssey by Homer
• The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

Did anyone actually enjoy reading the shit Hollander had assigned them in class? Maybe if the books had any humour or light or relevance to the current world, Ilya might actually enjoy them.

Because Ilya sure as hell did not want to read one of these books but knew that the cliff notes would not cut it with Professor Hollander, who was anal about details.

A fucking stickler.

Ilya preferred reading romance books and books about life, because his life had been heavy enough without literary or classical fiction. In fact, he was currently reading The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller, which unfortunately for Ilya’s sake, told a very different story to The Odyssey.

But it was very gay, very hot, and very emotional.

All of the things that Ilya was, even if he didn't quite acknowledge the latter.

While Ilya appreciated looking at Professor Hollander, who was several years older than him but acted about 70, he seemed to have a large Canadian stick up his ass that he refused to remove.

Professor Hollander was of Korean and Caucasian ethnicity, with beautiful almond eyes that slightly tilted at the ends, he had golden skin that looked unfairly beautiful in yellow tones, very kissable lips and one of the juiciest sets of thighs that Ilya had ever seen.

Fuck. He fucking had no chance with him.

And Ilya couldn’t even think about his beautiful fucking hair without having to scrunch up his eyes and refocus. It was almost to his shoulders and had a slight wave to it, with smaller pieces that hugged his cheeks and forehead. He often wore the front clipped back, but that didn’t stop Ilya from imagining what it would feel like to tug on it late at night while he growled into his ear.

Professor Hollander also took to wearing three piece suits and a lot of mulberry silk, always paired with a set of beautiful glasses.

Sometimes he looked like the epitome of a young professor, with a beautiful knit or a perfectly ironed white shirt with one too many buttons undone, tucked into unfairly tailored high-waisted slacks, that always gave far too many hints of what lay beneath. He also took to wearing rings and earrings, always looking the picture of refined style.

The last part really fucked with Ilya in a way that was completely unbearable.

Which to say, did absolutely nothing but fuel Ilya’s very inappropriate thoughts about his professor.

Ilya on the other hand, took to wearing singlets and basketball shorts most days in the Canadian summer and only went as far as a button up shirt with jeans if he was going to a bar or on a date.

His thick blonde curls were often tucked under his signature backwards LA baseball hat. He thought it made him look cool, Canadian, and maybe that helped Ilya to feel a little less homesick, sometimes.

Ilya couldn’t help the thoughts that had bloomed in his dirty little mind from the moment he had seen his new professor several months ago.

Ilya could often be found staring into the distance as Professor Hollander talked about something or other rather than focusing on improving his written English—Ilya had been too focused on imagining him in several compromising but pleasing positions.

On his knees as Ilya pounded into him from behind, taking Ilya like the slut that he knew he was, or straddling Ilya, his cheeks flushed pink like they did when he was really passionate about a topic, riding Ilya’s cock hungrily.

The day-dreaming had absolutely become a problem that Ilya was unwilling to do anything about.

And perhaps, if he really thought about it, it wasn’t a problem with the assigned readings at all, but a ploy for Professor Hollander to be more attentive to Ilya. Ilya knew that if he fucked up the class, it would be a very good excuse to be alone with his professor—he knew it was a bad idea; but he had always been a sucker for trouble.

Fuck, I really need to get my shit together, Ilya thought and immediately realised that he was growing hard again just thinking about his professor.

Ilya paced around his apartment, wondering to himself what Professor Hollander might be like in the bedroom. Would he like praise, or degradation, would he be greedy or giving, or a combination of the two? Would he call Ilya pet names like daddy or papi or baby? Would he be a top, a bottom, or a switch?

Ilya really hoped that he was open to bottoming, the way he looked at Ilya from beneath his lashes made Ilya very strongly suspect they would be compatible sexually.

Ilya usually had a pretty good feeling about that kind of thing.

Ilya was certainly not opposed to being vocal about his needs and he slowly convinced himself that failing the class would be the best opportunity for an unorthodox meet-cute between student and professor.

A flush rose to Ilya’s cheeks as the thoughts continued to assault him like he was a man possessed.

Ilya moved from his desk to his bed, kicking his shoes in opposite directions and falling onto the large bed.

“Fuuuuck,” he said loudly, as he gave in.

Ilya sprawled out, rubbing his hands over his eyes before pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it on the floor with his other discarded clothes and sweaty hockey gear. His cock was hardening now, trying to escape his red Calvin Klein briefs.

Ilya gave in, hand wandering down his firm abdomen as he began brushing lazy circles over the tip of his cock, massaging it gently before relenting and pulling his cock out for better access. Ilya’s other hand reached up to grasp at his firm chest before he groaned in frustration, unable to shake thoughts of Hollander from his mind.

Ilya’s hand began moving, as reached for his lube, lazily drizzling it over his cock and accidentally spilling a little on his sheets, “Fuck.”

He reached for his phone, pulling out a recorded lecture of Professor Hollander talking about the literary crisis and pressed play; putting his noise cancelling headphones on.

Ilya moaned in frustration as the sound of Professor Hollander's deep voice consumed him. He bit down on his lip, imagining it was Hollander taking it in his mouth, as he arched his back—stroking over the tip of his cock and massaging the head, before picking up his pace and aggressively squeezing his cock and losing himself to thoughts of his Professor underneath him and taking his cock hungrily.

Ilya glanced over to his desk and spotted the note that had been attached, feedback from his last assignment.

Sprawled in perfect cursive was: “Ilya, please make a time to meet with me to discuss this. I am concerned about your progress in this class,” and followed with his phone number.

Ilya sank further into himself as Professor Hollander's voice continued blasting throughout his apartment. His breath hitched, thinking of the way Hollander’s too-large hands gripped the blackboard eraser or moved around him passionately as he spoke about literature that Ilya did not understand.

Ilya spent the next several minutes lazily stroking himself until he came messily over his stomach and hand, Professor Hollander’s name on his lips as he was consumed by thoughts of him on his knees, sucking his cock and staring up at him from behind his glasses— a disapproving look somehow still planted on his imaginary face.

Still a fucking stick up his ass, even in Ilya’s imagination.

Ilya laughed at the thought as he silenced his professor’s boring lecture on his phone and returned to his regularly scheduled programming.

Ilya groaned, sitting up onto his elbows as he scrolled through his phone, looking for a real-life distraction but instead falling into a rabbit-hole on Instagram of hot women that he appreciated looking at but truly had no interest in.

Ilya cleaned himself up in an attempt to recalibrate his thoughts before his class with Professor Hollander later that day. He picked up the class notes and threw the list of books onto his desk and turned his stereo up, loud. I Did Something Bad by Taylor Swift blasted through his ears as he spent the next 30 minutes doing sets of planks, elevated squats, and flexibility training, before sauntering over to his desk.

So, Ilya formulated a very stupid, but very well-considered plan to get what he wanted and not get kicked out of his final year of college because of his stupid obsession with his professor.

Ilya

Ilya paced around his apartment as he packed his messenger bag for his afternoon class, haphazardly throwing on a backwards cap and chucking a protein bar in his mouth before running out the door and through his front yard, which now hosted blooming lavender and marigold flowers that Ilya had planted to remind him of home.

Another perk of being a star-athlete was that he received paid brand sponsorships for just posting their stuff on his Instagram. This had helped Ilya greatly because he couldn’t imagine sharing a disgusting dorm-room with some Canadian knucklehead that needed him to smile at him politely before every fucking word that came out of his mouth.

Ilya got on his e-scooter and threw on his huge noise-cancelling headphones. He knew they looked stupid, especially with the headphone/scooter combination but he didn't care.

He scrolled to In Too Deep by Sum 41 before turning it up full bore. He mouthed and hummed to the song, breeze kicking through his hair as he did the familiar ride to McGill Campus, which was only ten minutes away.

He nodded to a couple of his hockey team-mates when he passed the cafe, Zane and Luca; but didn't have time to stop. They looked like they were stifling a laugh as they saw Ilya zooming away on the scooter.

Ilya grit his teeth, fucking assholes.

He did feel like a total dickhead on the e-scooter but it was fun and fast and silly, all of the things that made Ilya feel good.

He arrived at the large stone building, entering slowly as he looked around in search of Professor Hollander. Ilya took a seat in the middle of the room, hoping he would catch a glimpse of Hollander staring at him again.

A few students settled in and sat a few seats away from him, Rose, a gorgeous redhead and Svetlana, a stunning brunette with killer legs, giggling as they looked over at him. Ilya just smiled back politely and returned to pretending to read The Odyssey.

The auditorium doors swung open dramatically, squeaking as they closed, Professor Hollander tiptoed in, making an awkward face before mouthing ‘sorry’ for the noise the door had made as he had entered.

Ilya wished Canadians would not apologise for just fucking existing, it was infuriating.

He looked more casual today, half of his hair pulled back and tied in a small bun, with silver-rimmed glasses, dark blue jeans, a black belt, a matching messenger bag, and a crisp navy t-shirt, which was french-tucked, accentuating his firm abdomen.

Shane's lips were tinted slightly pink and pouting unfairly in Ilya’s direction, a slight disapproving headshake before he returned to the black board.

Shane nodded a greeting, planting his signature polite smile on his face at Rose and Sveta, as he set-up his laptop, locking eyes with Ilya as he got out his pen and wrote something down on a piece of paper in front of him.

“You cannot tell me you do not have a thing for Professor Hollander! He is soooo hot. Like, stupid hot. You know?” Rose said conspiratorially to Sveta, clearly making no effort to hide their conversation from Ilya.

Ilya smirked to himself, and looked over to them knowingly, before dipping his head to the side and nodding at them. “You really cannot say that, Sveta. He is…how do you say it, dreamy?”

“I like my romances to be a little more, adventurous,” Svetlana said, her sultry Russian accent held onto the letters deliciously, as she sucked on her pen—staring between Ilya and Rose hungrily, before returning to her bag to grab out her books.

Ilya pointedly ignored her, crossing his legs in the opposite direction and pretending to read again, as he popped some gum into his mouth.

Rose and Sveta continued laughing uncontrollably, as Professor Hollander now made attempts to clear his throat and capture the attention of the class unsuccessfully.

Ilya sat back in his seat, putting his feet on the chair in front of him as he reclined, hands behind his head. He made efforts to make sure his sizable biceps and forearms were on perfect display for the professor to notice.

Shane glanced in his direction, almost too quickly, but Ilya caught him staring at the barely visible gap between his shorts and his singlet, his golden V and smattering of dark-blonde hair peeking through; as Shane bit his lip, a flush rising to his freckled cheeks, before he turned away from the class, attempting to maintain his composure.

“Alright everyone, settle down. Class is in session, let’s focus guys,” Professor Hollander said, looking pointedly up at the three of them, the women refusing to stop giggling, as Ilya looked around in mock offence, dramatically pretending to zip up his lips and throw away the key.

Ilya spent the rest of the class admiring Professor Hollander’s bubble butt and wondering how he was going to use his poor grade to his advantage.

At the end of the class, Professor Hollander wrapped everything up and Ilya waited; knowing it was his moment to discuss his grade. He would politely and helplessly beg for him to tutor him, the poor little Russian boy, or he would risk getting kicked out of school and booted back to scary Russia.

And while losing his scholarship was a possibility, even in his final year, Ilya really didn’t want that to happen and admittedly had definitely and unequivocally taken failing too far in exchange for a meet-cute.

As the last student sauntered out, the door banged, footsteps echoing as they left Ilya and the professor alone together, finally.

Ilya stood up slowly and slung his bag over his shoulder, before walking down the auditorium steps and over to his professor, who sat patiently and smiled politely at him, tapping his foot.

“Do you mind if we head outside? I might have a smoke before my next class, which is soon, unfortunately,” Shane stood up, brushing out the crease in his shirt and he pulled a leather pouch out of his pocket, quickly rolling a cigarette and offering one to Ilya, which he gratefully accepted.

“The team says I'm not supposed to smoke. But, I like trouble,” Ilya said, a playful smirk on his face.

Shane just looked at him with incredulity then, before moving towards the exit.

They stepped into the warm Canadian sun, Professor Hollander glanced up at Ilya, who was slightly taller than him. Ilya put the cigarette into his mouth, as the professor reached into his back pocket and grabbed his lighter, before lighting Ilya’s cigarette and then his own.

Professor Hollander fumbled around in his pocket for his Raybans before donning them, carefully placing his reading glasses in a case and into his messenger bag—he leaned into the wall, looking over at Ilya questioningly and blew a puff of smoke through his nose, which made Ilya’s breath hitch a bit.

They were facing each other as they exhaled, breathing in each other’s second hand smoke—Ilya rocked his head to the side, surveying the man he had spent months dreaming about and the same amount of months touching himself to.

Shane glanced over at Ilya as he exhaled a drag, biting at his bottom lip thoughtfully as his eyes moved from his lip to his eyes, and back down to the floor.

An uncomfortable beat passed, before Professor Hollander broke it, crossing his arms as he spoke.

“I’m guessing you are more of a, talk about it in person, kind of student; I did leave you my number to chat about your class grade, but that’s okay, Ilya,” he said, sounding every bit as if it was not okay. “I really want to support you as best as I can as your teacher, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me where you are struggling with in class. So, tell me… How are you finding the class assignments? I do want to make some concessions of course as English is your second language, but I want to see your passion on the page Ilya… And, I’m not seeing that from you.”

Ilya sighed, shaking his head as he ashed his cigarette, “Professor. I am interested in learning, and I’m not some fucking Russian idiot with no idea about English. I just find… the books are not, my style. I like more fluff, more romance, more, cute. These books are depressing. Sorry, but they are boring and they are depressing,” Ilya took another long drag, before locking eyes with his professor, he crossed his arms as he waited for a response.

Professor Hollander raised his eyebrows and swallowed a smile before his too-large hand, which donned several beautiful silver signet rings and a leather banded watch, rose to his eyebrows, shaking his head slightly, before sucking at his bottom lip, searching for the words.

“Hey, these books are classics for a reason, Ilya. Some books are for fun and for joy, and some are for evoking thoughts, and feelings, and questioning our moral standing. The fun books, I like those too, but in class; we have to look deeper. This is college, Ilya. Not high school. And I know how important your hockey is to you, I would hate to see you risking your scholarship over this class. So, what can we do? What can I do…for you?”

His deep brown eyes looked up at Ilya from behind his lashes, as he blew smoke haphazardly in his general direction, as a slight breeze blew at his hair, causing some of it to settle around his forehead and cover his brow.

Ilya sat with this and sauntered over to the bin, before depositing his finished cigarette in it.

He exhaled his last plume of smoke as he walked back to where his professor was standing, his thick thighs crossed now, as he learned into the wall, awaiting a response from Ilya.

“I think I do know how you can help, Professor,” Ilya purred out the last part, hoping the meaning would not be lost on him, but thinking it might be.

“Oh?” Shane said, a smile forming on his lips as the sun illuminated the cluster of freckles around his nose.

“Yes. I think maybe you could, tutor me? I need more one-on-one study time, Professor. I am finding this class very hard and you are the only one that can help me. You love teaching, and I need you to teach me…more, or maybe I will get kicked out of this place” Ilya smiled as he said the last part, knowing it was unlikely but hoping he would take the bait.

“Ilya… please, call me Shane. But…,” he hesitated, eyes darting around as he considered, ”I don’t know how much free time I even have for tutoring you. It is very unorthodox, but I do know how important you getting good grades is to the Dean. So, maybe I will make an exception this once,” Shane fished around in his jeans pocket for his phone before pulling it out.

“Put your number in, we will organise a time, okay? But if you call my books boring again, I’m cancelling. You can’t be an asshole in our tutoring as well as in class,” Shane said with smile as bright as the sun.

Ilya grabbed the phone, entered his number and saved it; before sending himself a message to get Shane’s number.

Ilya spent the whole scooter ride home laughing to himself as he pictured Shane’s face as he finally looked at the contact name Ilya had used for himself.

Chapter Text

Ilya

Ilya arrived at Shane’s apartment, nerves rising to his chest as he rang the doorbell. Ilya used the lapse in time to run his hands through his curls, which had become mussed on the scooter ride to Shane’s. Ilya wore adidas tracksuit pants and campus athlete hoodie, Rozanov sprawled on the back of it, his crucifix hanging in between his ample chest, as he leaned against the brick pillar that sat next to Shane’s front door, waiting.

He heard soft footsteps approaching, as Shane opened the door. The smell of vanilla and tobacco enveloped Ilya, as the soft lighting from inside Shane’s home illuminated the rising pink in Shane’s cheeks. Ilya smiled softly as he noticed Shane’s eyes as they quickly darted to Ilya’s arms and then down to the floor.

“Ilya, hi. Come on in,” Shane said politely, refusing to acknowledge what was between them.

Ilya grinned back, biting back the urge to smirk as he sauntered inside, hands in his pockets. “Hello. Thank you, Professor Hollander.”

Ilya left his slides by the front door where a collection of nice shoes lay, as he soaked in the feeling of the heated floor underneath him. Despite it being summertime, the night was cooler than usual and Ilya hadn’t really dressed appropriately for warmth.

Shane glanced back at Ilya as they walked down the hall and saw Ilya’s eyes move slowly up his body appreciatively, refusing to relent. Shane was flustered by the time they entered his living room.

“I figured we would be most comfortable in here,” Shane said, as Ilya followed him down a large hallway into a sprawling living room, which was dimly lit with a number of soft lights and thriving pants hanging from the ceiling and walls. Ilya didn’t wait for a invitation and sat himself on Shane’s emerald green sofa, noticing that the hockey was on in the background.

“You like to watch?” Ilya said, an eyebrow rising in question, as he gestured to the TV.

Shane appeared flustered, as he fumbled around to find the remote before quickly switching off the TV.

“Oh uhm, my team is Ottowa and it looks like they are getting some new drafts moving up next year. My Dad actually used to play for McGill before he ended up in finance. Congratulations on being drafted, by the way,” a genuine smile rose to his eyes, as he licked his lips, looking down at where Ilya had settled on the couch before joining him.

Shane grabbed at his glasses which were sitting on a large oak coffee table, which had piles of notes and assignments.

“Thank you. When I first got drafted, I didn't know how this would work. I was encouraged by my agent to get a scholarship at McGill and I thought, what the fuck is McGill?? I didn’t know you were a fan of me, Shane,” Ilya’s eyes glittered, crossing his leg in Shane’s direction as he put his bag down in front of him.

Pink bloomed on Shane’s cheeks, as he pulled his cardigan around him, “Yeah, I mean. I’m Canadian. Most of us Canadians love hockey. I actually almost played professionally myself, but my path lead me here instead. I don’t have any regrets, I always loved teaching and now I get to help others.”

The way Shane spoke was so fucking enedaring that it made Ilya want to puke but he could not deny the way his heart started beating, as he glanced down at Shane’s too tight grey sweatpants, which left very little to the imagination.

“How cute. Are you happy you chose boring teacher life over being a big sexy hockey player?” Ilya purred, gesturing around the room and refusing to relent despite Shane’s very obvious efforts to derail Ilya’s commentary.

Shane looked around, surveying the space that looked like the home of a much older man, with a chess board, sprawling bookshelves, emerald green vintage lamps, and far too many throw pillows.

Shane laughed to himself before taking the bait, “Who said I’m not sexy?”

“Hmm. Me?” Ilya responded, too quickly, as Shane looked away, feigning embarrassment. Because even though Shane lacked Ilya’s confidence, he knew he was a catch. He took care of himself, he was a fucking Professor at 27 years old. He dressed well and was respectful.

And he had caught too many hungry glances from Ilya in class to consider that maybe they were just coincidental.

“You are a fucking asshole,” Shane pushed back a grin, as he softly pushed at Ilya playfully with his hand, “remember you need me, Ilya. Best not to piss of the man who controls your future at this college.”

Shane shuffled through some notes as he handed them to Ilya. Ilya did not fail to notice the size of his hands as he held them out, their fingers brushing; an electrical current seemingly running through them both.

They laughed, dissolving some of the tension as they settled into the couch. Shane made them cups of tea much to Ilya’s chagrin and he offered nothing else, so Ilya accepted.

They had been at this for an hour, with much of it spent digressing and discussing other books they liked, instead of helping Ilya to choose a book for his thematic analysis. It turned out that Madeline Miller was also one of Shane’s favourite authors. Ilya had pretended that he had never heard of her and made Shane explain explicitly the plot of her books, because he just loved watching him go pink.

Ilya had taken time to peruse the sprawling emerald bookshelves that adorned most of the walls of Shane’s living room, admiring the beautiful editions and wishing his English was good enough to read some of them.

Ilya had caught Hollander’s hand trembling as their hands had brushed accidentally, a few lazy beads of sweat billowed on his brow. His cheeks were flushed and Ilya could have cut the tension between them with a knife.

Ilya suspected that Shane was gay, or at the very least, into guys; he had seen a guy drop Shane off and kiss him a few months back; so Ilya knew he wasn’t completely left of centre here but hoped he wasn’t shooting for a man that was unavailable.

He set down his papers and book, stretching out on the couch as his feet found Shane’s coffee table. Ilya looked over at Shane innocently, pouting in invitation, as he let his hoodie ride up; exposing the barest hint of his chiselled abs and deep v.

Shane's breath caught, as he averted his gaze; his glasses getting a little foggy from the increasing warmth of the room.

“So, I am now the best student, right Professor?” Ilya teased, looking sidewards at Shane, who was perched on the end of the couch rearranging some assignments that already looked very organised.

“I think if you were the best, Ilya, then you wouldn't be sitting on my couch and taking up my free time on a Monday evening,” Shane said, pointedly, with a mock serious expression on his face.

“No, I guess that is true. But, I think we both know that I am not here, in your house, by accident,” Ilya moved slightly closer now, as he propped his head up onto his elbows, leaning on the top of the couch.

“I don’t like your tone or implication, Ilya. I think it’s time I get to bed, anyway. I have an early start tomorrow, and I think we’re done here. You should head home now, okay?” Shane said, standing up now.

Ilya stood up, mirroring Shane, but instead of stepping towards the door, he took a pointed step softly in Shane’s direction. He stood over Shane now, looking down. Ilya could feel Shane’s hot breath on his neck, before he looked up at Ilya, his eyes giving away his intentions before he moved.

“Is that what you want?” Ilya challenged, tucking a stray hair behind Shane’s ear, as his head tilted into Ilya’s touch.

“Sure,” Shane replied, not sounding sure at all.

“Professor, you are a really bad liar,” Ilya laughed, a hand reaching out to caress Shane’s jaw, before moving his hand to brush through Shane’s hair, tugging on it gently before closing the space between their mouths, which were now mere centimetres apart. Shane’s mouth parted automatically, before he shook his head, withdrawing slightly.

“Ilya, fuck, I am your Professor. I can’t….We can’t,” Shane’s voice trailed off, sounding dazed.

“Who said we can’t? Is there a rule?” Ilya challenged, taking a step back to respect the space that his professor had demanded.

“Of course there is a fucking rule. Fucking students may not be banned, so to speak, but it is very frowned upon in the professional community. So yeah, there are unspoken rules,” Shane defended, before moving his hand to brush a thumb over Ilya’s lips.

“Oh?” Ilya said, sucked Shane’s thumb into his mouth, tongue swirling at it before biting down, as Shane’s head fell back.

“Fuck, Ilya. Maybe….,” Shane searched for the words before the dam broke. “Maybe I could make an exception. But, you can’t say anything. I have so much to lose here. But fuck, I do want you. I’ve wanted you…” he panted, losing himself as Ilya massaged his hand through Shane's hair as he sucked at Shane’s thumb, a taste of what he could offer, “all semester. Ever since I realised you were the one I’d seen on TV getting drafted. The huge guy I couldn’t get out of my mind was standing there in front of me, hanging on every word I said, or… at least, pretending to.”

Shane was starting to become breathless, as Ilya pulled Shane’s mouth to his; Shane’s thumb stuck in Ilya’s mouth as they kissed softly before Ilya quickly withdrew, eyes searing into Shane.

Ilya removed Shane’s thumb and waited.

Ilya smirked down at Shane knowingly, who was now staring hungrily at Ilya's mouth as he bit his lip. “Are you sure, Professor? I would not want to compromise your…,” he searched for the English words, “professional integrity.”

“Those English words just roll off your tongue,” Shane laughed, his head fell forward, forcing his glasses down the bridge of his nose and making Ilya's breath catch, “and here I was thinking you were some jock with not a lot between your ears.”

“I have a lot between my ears and even more between my legs,” Ilya purred, as he grabbed a fistful of Shane’s hair before closing the space between them and pushing Shane’s glasses back on.

Shane’s hand moved to take them off.

“I can see without them, you know,” Shane laughed.

I don’t give a fuck.

“No, no, no,” Ilya said firmly, “I need these slutty little glasses, Professor,” he pouted, before pushing Shane into the closest wall with enough force that his head made a slight thud when it connected, but Shane didn’t seem to mind, instead he let out a soft appreciative purr, which Ilya swallowed with a kiss that Shane couldn't help but chase.

“Fuck. Okay, fuck,” Shane relented, as his cheeks turned beet red. Ilya swooped down, taking Shane’s top lip in between his teeth and sucking on it lightly, before drawing back and sinking into Shane, hand grazing his cheekbone and softly caressing Shane's neck.

Ilya’s finger drifted slowly over Shane’s adam’s apple, waiting for him to come to him as he lapped at his throat like a dog.

Shane

Shane couldn’t hold himself back any longer he gave in to the temptation that was Ilya fucking Rozanov, University hockey star, Ottowa draft (very fucking irresistible to Shane), and his English student.

Their kiss began as a soft exploration. Ilya gently massaged Shane’s lips with his, before repositioning his mouth to gain better access. Ilya’s tongue darted against Shane’s lip, a question, before Shane parted for him, shivering in anticipation, and letting go, hands wrapping around the back of Ilya’s neck and kneading at his shoulders and chest, getting to know the body he had wanted to explore for so long.

Their kisses became heated and frantic, as each of their hands moved over the others bodies. Firm and taught and flush with needing and wanting that had been forbidden and stifled for months.

Shane's hand searched, finding its home on Ilya's firm length and pressing his huge palm into it, drawing out a groan from Ilya and leaving Shane picturing the huge cock that awaited him.

Fuck, this man is ridiculous.

Shane readjusted, hoping that the new angle would feel slightly less irresistible on his ridiculously firm cock.

He was fucking huge, everywhere. And, as much as Shane hated to admit it, the feeling of being swallowed whole by a huge guy really did something for him.

Shane hoped that Ilya was into topping because Shane, while he had done it: was very much into bottoming, but would consider switching it up, maybe not for anyone, but for a man like Ilya, he would pretend to be a fucking dog on a leash.

Literally.

Ilya growled into Shane's ear, pulling back before planting soft kisses down his neck and collarbone, sucking slightly and pulling; Shane aware that it would leave a mark.

“Territorial,” Shane laughed, pushing at Ilya weakly, before sighing and letting his head fall forward, the men’s cheeks meeting as each of the men gasped for air while trying to devour each other whole.

Their eyes met, as Shane looked up at Ilya with lust-filled eyes; his bottom lip jutting out invitingly, as he stroked Ilya's cock above his pants.

Ilya pushed Shane’s t-shirt up, exposing his stomach but leaving it bunched around his chest, before spinning him around, picking him up bridal style and throwing him onto the sofa, as Ilya descended on him with a cocky grin. His thick corded arms braced his body on either side of Shane’s head.

“Mmm, you are very hot, Professor.”

Shane looked shocked before biting back a smile and raising his hands to Ilya’s forearms, as he said, “What the fuck?”

“I think you like to be manhandled, Professor. Am I right? I usually am when it comes to these things.”

“Well…” Shane trailed off, the flush in his cheeks deepened, highlighting the soft brown of the freckles smattered across the bridge of his nose, “I… yeah, I guess.”

“And now I have you where I want you….what do you want to do?” Ilya said delicately, as he planted a chaste kiss on Shane’s mouth before drawing back and locking eyes with him.

“Why do you assume I have planned this out, Ilya? I don’t usually make it my business to fuck my students, but here we are.”

“Well, I know I would like to fuck you. If you would have me,” Ilya said, without any hesitation.

“Fuck. Yes. For a second there I was worried you might ask me to top, but…I am really not interested in…that. My last boyfriend liked to switch but, honestly, I love bottoming,” before adding, “I would try topping again. In the right circumstances,” Shane’s body relaxed underneath Ilya, the awkwardness leaving him.

Shane moved his hand down to stroke Ilya’s cock over his pants, as Ilya’s ground deeply into Shane’s, his pelvis bone crushing Shane’s cock, causing him to gasp; before kissing at his chin, and gradually moving down his neck and towards his muscular chest.

Shane’s shirt was still pushed up—golden skin glittering and beautiful; leaving his flushed pink nipples ripe for the taking by Ilya’s mouth. He circled his tongue around them; worshipping the delicate buds—Shane arched, head falling further into the sofa as he sighed, “Fuck Ilya, I want more.”

Their bodies collided, grinding and rutting against each other, as their breaths and moans collectively picked up, mingling ogether. Shane gasped, as Ilya's thigh pressed against his hard length.

“Fuck, Shane. Such a slut for me,” Ilya whispered into Shane’s ear, his accent thick with desire, before mumbling a slew of Russian that Shane couldn't understand.

Shane arched into him, the praise filling him with confidence.

Such a slut for me. Slut. Slut. Slut. Shane fucking loved it.

Shane's voice dropped an octave, now a husky and sultry whisper that he dragged out slowly, as his eyes pierced Ilya's,“I wanted to be your slut for so long,” and crushed their lips together, drawing out a “Fuck, Hollander.”

The name brought Shane back to his days playing hockey, but it was way hotter having this big sexy Russian saying it; he needed to hear it again.

“I remember watching you in the drafts, wondering about your cock, about your mouth; and picturing you taking me from behind in front of the class. Fuck, Ilya. I couldn’t stop thinking about your cock in me, stretching and filling me, when I looked at you. It makes me kinda wish I was on the ice again. The thought of going head to head with you really….does something for me.”

Ilya growled, “Jesus Christ. You are perfect.”

Shane knew he had met his match in Ilya, because the one thing he loved just as much as fucking, was foreplay, and dirty-talk, and a man who knew what he wanted and took it. Even though on the surface Shane might have seemed unsure, he knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid of it.

Uni had helped him with that.

“And now you will see how much I will fill you, Shane.”

Shane licked his lips, pulling Ilya into his mouth, his tongue a force that was not afraid to take what Ilya offered. Shane grabbed at Ilya’s ass and back, squeezing him closer and begging for more.

Ilya made quick work of removing Shane’s pants, pulling them down in one quick stroke, revealing Shane’s beautiful pink cock pressed up against a set of black lace high-cut booty shorts, that hugged at his thick, muscular thighs and cut half-way up his round ass—high thighs parted slightly; an invitation.

Ilya’s mind emptied at the view as he stared at Shane’s thighs hungrily, kneading at them as Shane gasped, arching.

Every single time he had pictured them, he could never had pictured how fucking beautiful they would be, thick and juicy but toned and corded; and the panties, Ilya could not believe he had been blessed with this view. His mouth dropped open, before a stupid grin rose to his face, shaking his head.

“Professor. All of this for me?” Ilya whispered, his deep voice vibrating against Shane’s pelvis, as he kissed his inner thigh delicately. Ilya mouthed against Shane’s panties, his 5 o’clock shadow scraping at Shane’s skin, before removing himself and descending on Shane’s thighs, tracing the outline of the lace with his tongue and worshipping the man he had fucked himself to for so long.

“Fuck yes, baby. Just like that,” Shane whimpered breathlessly, back arching as his cock pressed into Ilya's hot mouth through his panties. Ilya laughed softly into Shane’s cock, as he kept licking and mouthing at Shane over his panties.

Ilya's head lingered above Shane's cock, as he looked down at Shane's lust-stricken face. His hands found Ilya's corded biceps that were braced around Shane's head, as he massaged them softly.

The leather of the couch groaned against them, making unholy noises as they frantically collided together.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya moaned, losing his steely composure as he sucked at Shane’s collarbone, pulling at it just enough that Ilya knew it would leave another mark.

“Not fair, I am basically naked here,” Shane laughed, looking down at himself sheepishly.

Ilya stood quickly. “Oh, sorry,” he smirked, tracing his finger under the waistband of his basketball shorts, before lazily pushing his hand underneath and stroking himself as he locked eyes with his professor.

“Oh,” Shane gulped, sitting up to watch the show that was promised, licking his lips as his hand found his cock and pulled it out of his panties.

Ilya removed his hand from his pants, leaving Shane to watch as he pulled his Rozanov hoodie over his head, throwing it at Shane, before sauntering around shirtless, save the gold crucifix that Shane had noticed he always wore, as he poked at Shane’s books in mock curiosity, leaving Shane to watch him as he continued to stroke himself lazily.

Ilya listened intently to Shane's little sighs getting louder.

“Ahem. Professor, please, are you trying to make me leave? Because if you come so quick, what am I going to do?” Ilya said mockingly, as he sat on the windowsill next to Shane’s bar cart, before pouring himself a deep glass for Glenlivit ‘92.

Shane gritted his teeth as he continued to stroke himself. “I….may have started before you got here.”

Ilya tutted, shaking his head mockingly. “So many surprises. You also have okay taste in spirits, professor. And very pretty thighs. And the panties…they were a surprise.”

Shane continued to stroke his firm length and knead at his chest, before moving to remove his panties. Ilya’s breath caught as he watched him, surveying his next move. Shane bunched the panties in his hand and threw them at Ilya, who caught them; dropping them to the ground before taking a long draw of the scotch, which left a luxurious taste on his tongue, which was still nothing compared to the taste of Hollander’s lips.

“It’s all for you,” Shane said breathlessly, as his mouth parted longingly. “I want you, please.”

Ilya swallowed thickly, as he placed his glass on the window seat before returning to the coffee table and sitting directly in front if Shane.

Ilya's eyes narrowed, head tilting back, before he slowly parted his thighs—removing his shorts in a single stroke and discarding them on the floor.

He wore nothing underneath, leaving Shane staring, lust-drunk at Ilya’s thick cock, a few beads of pre-come delicately dripping down.

“Who is the slut now, Rozy?” Shane purred as his eyes traced over Ilya’s cock, eyebrows rising every so slightly as he stretched back down over the couch.

“I think you know, Professor. How about you come and take what you want, hmm?” Ilya replied, joining Shane as they each stroked themselves now, sounds of their breath catching and echoing around the room.

Shane’s mouth dropped open, knowing that he needed to feel Ilya’s cock in his throat and everywhere else, or he might die.

Shane moved quickly, kneeling beneath Ilya as he sat on the coffee table, books, and pens, and assignments and unnecessary things being squashed by his perfect ass. Shane planted his hands on either side of Ilya’s corded thighs, noticing the delicate trail of hair stretching from his naval to his cock, before his mouth sunk down on him, softly at first; adjusting to the feel of Ilya’s thickness filling his cheeks, before he swallowed against Ilya’s cock, taking him deep into his throat.

Shane wanted to make sure Ilya knew he knew what he was doing

“Professor, bol’she bol’she, fuck,” Ilya gritted out, his hands pulled at Shane’s long hair, lifting his head up to lock eyes with Ilya, before pushing him down to take all of Ilya into the back of his throat. Shane gagged, before locking eyes with Ilya again, saliva now pooling around his mouth, tears falling from his eyes—his glasses were stupidly foggy but he refused to remove them, the look in Ilya’s eye when he had seen Shane in the glasses was too fucking ridiculous to ignore.

Shane pulled back slowly, leaving only the head of Ilya’s cock on his tongue as it stuck out of his mouth, mouth hanging open, Shane's doe eyes honing into Ilya's blue ocean eyes, lost in them.

Ilya’s cock laid on Shane's tongue desperately, waiting for over a minute as Ilya inhaled sharply but did not speak, wanting to see what Shane would do, as his hand found the back of Shane’s head and tapped it twice.

Shane snapped back, circling his tongue around the head before entering it into Ilya’s slit, drawing out a groan for Ilya, his head falling back as he almost lost his balance on the too-small coffee table.

The sight of this beautiful and stupidly annoying man sucking Ilya dry in front of him almost made him come on the spot.

Shane could feel Ilya’s balls tightening and he came closer to tumbling over the edge. Shane felt Ilya shift, pumping his cock and playing with his delicate orbs, before pressing a soft finger down onto his perineum.

Ilya started mumbling garbled Russian as he massaged Shane’s hair, praising him over and over, each time, watching as Shane shivered, working harder to please Ilya,

“Fuck, you are so good for me. Hollander, fuck. Do you want to taste my come in your throat?”

The name on his lips again, fuck. Shane grabbed at Ilya’s hand, pressing down; an invitation to take what he wanted.

Ilya took the hint, thrusting into Shane’s mouth, holding the back of his head firmly into place as Shane stared up at Ilya hungrily from the floor, knowing his knees would bruise but never retreating as his eyes glittered with tears, saliva dribbling out the side of his mouth.

Shane felt Ilya's abs tense, as his head fell forward, mouth parting as he spoke entirely in Russian, his face hot and red and panting. His mouth made a delicate o-shape, unable to say anything more. Shane worked Ilya’s cock relentlessly, before Ilya started shaking, The Odyssey and papers and a box of sad tissues falling off the table as it shook.

Ilya let go, as he came desperately and hungrily into Shane’s mouth; hot and fast.

Shane did not relent, swallowing everything that Ilya offered, working him through the orgasm and licking soft kisses up his cock as it started to soften slightly in Shane’s mouth.

Shane stood up from his knees softly, bracing himself on either side of Ilya's thighs, before wandering over to his bar-cart and pouring himself a drink and refilling Ilya’s now-empty glass. Shane sipped his slowly, before holding one out to Ilya.

Ilya’s hand stretched up to take it, before Shane tutted.

“It’s for after. As your reward,” Shane smiled a shit-eating grin, “I want you to show me what you can do, first.”

Shane planted both glasses on the coffee table on the top of two cork coasters, before returning to the beautiful man waiting for him.

Shane joined Ilya, who had moved to the sofa now, Shane straddled him before pulling at his own delicate orbs as Ilya stared at him in wonder.

“Fuck,” Ilya responded, before Ilya flipped him onto his back in one quick swoop.

Ilya kneaded at Shane’s chest before swallowing his cock in one swift motion, taking it deep into the back of his throat and gagging slightly as saliva pooled around the corners of his mouth.m

Shane sucked in a breath, electricity moving through his body at Ilya’s hot mouth started pumping him, already tasting Shane's pre-come on his tongue.

Ilya pulled off with a pop, earning a whine from Shane.

“So wet, Professor,” Ilya grinned, before returning to his cock.

Shane could barely hold himself back, after edging himself all afternoon he was so close to coming into Ilya’s throat as soon as he took him—Ilya ate up his moans and begs and pants deliciously, refusing to relent.

“Fuck Ilya. You are so fucking hot and big and fuck,” he struggled now, garbled words and noises becoming lost in his throat as he floated about his body—watching this beautiful man suck his cock like he might die if he stopped.

Shane stared at the deep lines and corded muscle of Ilya's back as he toyed with Shane's taut nipple. Shane grabbed a fistful of Ilya's hair and pushed him down as deep as he could, swallowing everything Shane offered him.

He admired Ilya's trapezius muscles and twitching biceps that held him up, as he worked Shane's cock deep in his throat. Shane was also a large man, with a cock to match. Ilya growled before locking eyes with Shane, tears now welling there as he tugged on Shane's balls, massaging them delicately, as he sucked at the tip of Shane's cock, circling him before flattening his tongue across the underside of Shane's cock.

Ilya felt it before he heard it, Shane's body tensed and spasmed and he knew he was flying too high, too fast.

“Fuck, Ilya, I'm coming, fuck fu—,” Shane moaned, thrusting up into Ilya's mouth, before pulsing into him, taking Ilya by surprise as he swallowed it all greedily.

Ilya fell onto Shane's thighs, planting soft kisses and stroking his thighs and hair; waiting for Shane to return to himself.

“Good boy,” Shane laughed, a little unhinged and unfocused. “I guess you earnt your scotch.”

It was so much hotter than anything Shane had imagined. Because not only was his student into him, but was also into sex in the way Shane was. Enthusiastically and vocally and a little bit roughly.

And he appreciated Shane's affinity for beautiful lingerie.

Ilya watched Shane as his breath slowly returned to its normal pace, trailing kisses along his stomach and up his neck before planting a messy kiss on his lips, tongue massaging against Shane's.

“I didn't wanna come so quick. I think the build up killed me a bit,” Shane blushed, laughing—fingers weaving through Ilya's hair as the large man sprawled on top of him, Shane holding his weight easily.

“I don't mind, you are fucking hot Professor. So fucking bad for me. Do you think you can come again?” Ilya said, planting soft kisses along Shane's chest and moving up his neck, before returning to his chest and sucking at his nipple.

Shane smiled softly, his dimples pinching at his face as his eyes scrunched up at the grin.

“I guess we can find out. But, first can we eat? I kinda didn't expect the night to go this way. Like, I hoped, obviously, but somehow never thought it would actually happen. So, dinner?” Shane made to sit up, Ilya moving onto his knees and shifting to stand.

“A study session and dinner. Very college romance, Shane. Maybe a little weird for an old man, hmm?” Ilya teased, following Shane's lead as they both put their pants on, Shane leaving his panties discarded in the centre of the room.

“Fuck you, Ilya. I’ll fail your next assignment and you’ll have to come and live in my basement,” Shane grinned, moving through the door and towards the kitchen, Ilya dragged his feet behind him as he followed, checking out Shane’s ass in his grey sweatpants in the process.

“I think you would like that, Hollander. Now I see. You got what you want and now I am just here as some kind of fuck toy? Okay, Professor. I see the man that you are,” Ilya pouted, grabbing at Shane’s waist and pulling him taut against him, before kissing his neck aggressively.

“Fuck off, I’m hungry,” Shane said, pushing Ilya away playfully as they entered the most beautiful and organised kitchen that Ilya had ever seen. Everything was labelled and perfect and in its rightful place. It was traditional, with oak wood cabinetry and a marble island in the centre, to the right sat a 6 seater dining table, which showed the only sign of chaos; covered by more books and papers and discarded tea-bags, a staple in Shane’s house.

Shane caught sight of Ilya looking.

“Oh, sorry about that. Schedule has been crazy with final assignments coming in and I have had no time to clean properly. Sorry.”

Ilya smiled softly, lifting his body easily so that he sat on the marble counter, stretching back as he waited for Shane to discover something tasty in the fridge. “Is nothing. You really would not want to see my apartment, Shane,” he laughed, his ab muscles clenching unfairly in the process.

“Umm, I don’t have much in the way of real food. I have….” he opened the freezer, looking in there instead.

“Icecream, peas, or…quiche?”

Ilya belly laughed, “Wow, this is a disgusting combination, Hollander. I’d probably rather starve,” before finishing with, “what flavour?” looking up to the ice-cream container and pouting playfully.

“Uhh, vanilla.”

“Oh course is vanilla. Because you are an old man, you are so boring. Lucky for you, I love vanilla,” Ilya drawled, moving off the counter and sauntering over to where Shane stood in front of the freezer.

Ilya pushed Shane up against the door of the fridge, swallowing Shane's gasp as he kissed him.

Ilya took his time, his lips working to part Shane's juicy lips and running his hand over the slight stubble on Shane’s chin and jaw, controlling the depth of the kiss, leaving Shane wanting.

More, more, more. Fuck.

As Ilya kissed Shane, he reached behind him into the freezer, grabbing at the ice cream and removing it, before breaking their kiss, a stream of saliva left in their wake.

Ilya walked over to the closest drawer, assuming it was for cutlery and grabbed out two soup spoons, before walking back to the counter; taking a seat on one of the bar stools propped next to it.

“You don’t want a bowl? Or a dessert spoon?” Shane asked, joining him on the breakfast bar.

Ilya looked offended, “fuck, no. Is ice-cream. It is the way God intended,” he looked deadpan at Shane before his huge spoon started digging into the icecream and hauling a ridiculous amount into his mouth, before offering it to Shane.

Shane reached for it, but Ilya pulled it back just as he was about to get his hand on the container.

Ilya reached over to Shane’s stool, grabbing at the bottom underneath his crotch before dragging it over, so that their legs interlinked underneath the kitchen counter.

“If you want some, you will have to get it from me,” Ilya said in challenge, before hauling a large scoop of ice-cream into his mouth and opening for Shane, waiting.

“You… fuck,” Shane started before he pounced off his chair, straddling Ilya and wrapping his arms around the back of his neck and taking his mouth in his.

Shane’s mouth was overwhelmed by Ilya’s tongue and the remnants of come and the taste of vanilla icecream—he ground against Ilya, the stool wobbling slightly underneath their sizable weight.

Ilya stood quickly pushing the stool to the side, grabbing Shane by the waist and positioning him between Ilya and the breakfast bar—Ilya caressed Shane’s face on either side with his deeply calloused hands, before kissing him tenderly.

Shane knew all too well the scars that hockey left on the body and loved the feeling of them scraping against Shane’s skin.

Ilya admired the soft shadow of Shane’s stubble on his chin, caressing it gently and licking it.

“I have wanted this for too long, Professor” Ilya said, staring at Shane for a second too long; before hauling him onto the counter far too easily.

Shane instinctively wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist as they kissed for a stupid amount of time, each taking turns eating the vanilla ice-cream as it turned into a melted mess and then equally devouring each other, as they laughed and teased, heated, but unrushed.

The power differential that existed in the classroom was non-existent here, they were basically the same age; just with completely different lives and priorities.

In another life, Shane could have been Ilya, but at 17 he realised that a life in hockey would not make him happy.

He had chosen a different path for himself and was finally able to embrace who he was. Because, in hockey; Shane was never able to explore his identity or sexuality, he was so scared of who he was and hockey had made him ashamed of himself.

Going to University had been life-altering for Shane. He had been able to kiss and love and be high and drunk and stupid and funny and just not worry about being the man who the world expected him to be.

The hockey world had pinned him as a shoe-in draft for so long, that the pressure eventually became unbearable. Not to mention the hateful words that were commonplace in the locker room, the ones that Shane never said but never said anything about.

Shane looked up at the man who was doing everything he had wanted to in another life.

Ilya had been drafted and was living as an openly bisexual man, never hiding that part of himself. Shane didn’t know how it would impact his career, but as far as he knew, Ilya was not secretive about who he was. And that made Shane feel a little glimmer of pride for him.

Ilya was doing more for the sport and for the men that would follow him than he knew.

Shane smiled at Ilya softly, his eyes glittering; before rubbing his thumb over his Adam's apple and licked up his neck, tracing over it in a smooth and languid motion—the sticky remnants of ice-cream leaving a trail down Ilya’s neck. Ilya arched into Shane’s touch, breath catching as he gripped Shane by his muscular biceps.

Ilya pointedly looked down, noticing a suspicious bulge in Shane’s pants, before meeting his eyes again and smiling conspiratorially.

“My,” he kissed Shane’s neck, “greedy,” he kissed Shane's bottom lip, “slut,” he kissed Shane’s forehead and pushed him back so that his back was now flush on the counter. Shane felt the cold hit his back and shivered in anticipation, looking down at Ilya.

Shane heard Ilya saying something in Russian that he thought might mean ‘sunshine’ but couldn’t be sure.

Ilya ripped Shane’s pants down, before tossing them onto the table, the marble chill against Shane's thighs and ass. His firm cock was still shining from earlier and ready for a second round, sitting firmly against his belly as he stared up at Ilya, his abs glistening in the soft light.

Shane felt ridiculously glad that he never turned on the big lights at that moment.

Ilya teased at Shane’s cock with his calloused hands, the grit hurting but feeling fucking perfect for Shane.

“Ilya…” Shane stopped, hesitating—their eyes meeting.

“This sounds serious,” Ilya teased.

“I want you to come…inside me. I don’t want there to be anything between us,” Shane said, looking a little embarrassed but sure.

“Have you…?” Ilya questioned.

“Yes, I haven’t been with anyone since my last test. What about you?” Shane said quickly.

“I am also fine, have been with no one since.”

Their eyes grew heated, an understanding falling over the room as Ilya lent over Shane now, kissing at his navel before hauling his legs over his head and pressing them down into Shane.

Ilya took Shane's delicate hole in his mouth, tongue languidly stroking over it, teasing and stretching, taking his time until Shane demanded more—gasping and begging as his back arched against the cool countertop.

“Moya solnyshko. You are taking me so well baby. Relax, give me everything. And, I will fuck you until you come with my name stuck in your throat.”

Shane arched into the praise, noticing that word again, solnyshko, tugging firmly on Ilya's hair as he laughed into Shane’s ass.

Ilya gave him everything he had, massaging at his firm thighs and parting Shane with his tongue and fingers, he entered two into him, pumping him slowly as he stretched around Ilya—welcoming him and begging for more.

Shane was a slut for it, which sent Ilya's frenzy over the edge, ringing out more desperate cries from Shane, for more, faster, deeper, thicker. It was never enough and Ilya knew that couldn't take much more of this, he was going to fall apart from just watching this beautiful man come undone for him, the taste of vanilla and Shane, on his tongue.

“Fuck, you are so good Ilya. Fuck, you. Could. Give. Lessons,” Shane struggled to grit out the last part of the sentence, as Ilya entered a third finger, curving it around to meet his prostate, drawing out a muffled cry from Shane.

“Baby, I am so ready for you, please let me…I need to touch you,” Shane sat up, as Ilya moved from Shane's hole and locked eyes with him; the amber glittering and surveying before settling on Ilya's pink and swollen lips.

Shane desperately kissed Ilya's beautiful mouth before jumping off the counter and grabbing his hand, leading him upstairs to his bedroom.

Ilya followed Shane, who had taken to massaging his firm cock with his hand lazily as they walked upstairs. They reached the top of the stairs as Shane turned around, pulling Ilya up the final step and shoving him into the wall, before claiming his mouth.

“You are so fucking hot, Illya. So fucking hot I can’t even understand how I get to have this with you,” Shane said, a little too earnestly, as he massaged Ilya’s cock, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Hollander,” Ilya whispered, pushing his cock into Shane’s hand a little more as he whispered against his mouth, “I guess you have not seen yourself lately, hmm?”

“Shut up.”

Shane pushed at Ilya, moving him into the bedroom as their mouths and bodies collided, Ilya bumping into the doorway as they arrived.

Shane’s bedroom hosted a king size bed, a few lamps, another desk with lots of scattered notes, a window seat and an adjoining bathroom; the room felt warm, with lots of pillows, an occasional chair, books with bookmarks, a window seat with a few scattered blankets, and photos framed on the wall.

Ilya looked around, surveying the room quickly before Shane turned off the lights, lighting a few candles that he had in the room.

“Get on the bed. I need to touch you, Ilya,” Shane said firmly, watching Ilya through hooded eyes. Ilya just nodded, moving with purpose and lying on the bed as Shane asked, arms sprawled out behind him as he awaited further instruction.

“Is this how you want? Professor?” Ilya said breathlessly, stroking himself softly. Shane’s head was now tilted to the side, surveying—still wearing his glasses and refusing to remove them once he understood what they did to Ilya.

“Don’t move. That’s the rule,” Shane instructed, looking at Ilya for confirmation, before Ilya nodded, swallowing and licking his upper lip and sucking it between his teeth.

Shane pounced, planting a knee between his thighs, before planting his legs on either side of Ilya’s. Shane stretched his thighs before softly kissing and licking Ilya’s firm stomach and chest, reaching up to his pink nipples and sucking each one, before kissing up his neck and glancing down at his chain.

“Do you always…wear this?”

“Yes, it was my mother’s,” Ilya said, refusing to elaborate.

‘It’s beautiful,” Shane responded, continuing to plant chaste kisses down Ilya’s body, finally reaching his navel and circling it with his tongue—tracing a line down the smattering of dark-blonde hair that led to Ilya’s huge cock, now pushing up against his firm stomach.

“Thank you. Now, please let’s fuck before I explode or I will have to call the ambulance for blue balls?”

Shane smiled, moving away from Ilya and disappearing downstairs, leaving a very confused Ilya naked and horny and cold on the bed upstairs.

He waited a few minutes, smiling to himself as he imagined Ilya desperately waiting and having no relief, as he leisurely strolled downstairs and scooped up Ilya's discarded hoodie from the floor.

Shane knew Ilya wasn't used to being the one wanting and waiting, making it even more fucking exciting to leave him thirsty and desperate for him.

Shane walked slowly up the stairs, making a point and stomping loudly enough that the stairs echoed throughout the house.

As he stepped into the room, Ilya's eyes found his and wandered down his body hungrily.

He tried to comprehend the situation in front of him, as Shane wore nothing but Ilya's hoodie, his thick cock peeking out of the bottom.

Shane's cheeks were flushed, a cheeky smirk rose to his lips as he stepped into the room, turning around theatrically to show ROZANOV 81 on the back, before bending over and parting for Ilya, head turning to lock eyes with him before slapping his ass.

Ilya growled in delight, noticing for the first time the beautiful stretch marks that adorned Shane’s perfectly rounded ass.

“Fuck, Shane. You are mine now, the hoodie is proof. So long as you wear my name, you know? You are perfect.”

Shane moved towards a vintage record player that sat on a mantle, picking one that Ilya couldn't see before the lyrics erupted around them.

Take Me To Church by Hozier

Ilya raised an eyebrow but said nothing, enjoying the beat and the sexy lyrics that engulfed them.

Shane wandered slowly over to the end of the bed, before crawling over to straddle Ilya, who stilled under him, awaiting instruction.

Shane reached behind Ilya’s head, grabbing more pillows, propping Ilya’s head and shoulders up, as he stared up at Shane adoringly, a hand trailing up the back of his hoodie and tracing circles on Shane's back, as he admired the blooming marks on Shane's neck.

“Mine,” Ilya said, reverently, stroking his hand over Shane's lower back to pull him closer.

“You wish,” Shane said playfully, grinding their cocks together. Ilya groaned as they met, pushing into Shane, their wetness and hardness enough to send both men’s necks creaking backwards.

Shane couldn't quite describe the feeling of Ilya’s cock touching his, the thickness and wetness of the both of them was an intimacy that Shane was fucking dying over.

His sensations were in overdrive, over-sensitive, and hot, and needy; but he couldn't help but relish the feeling of being able to let go completely with Ilya.

He knew he came across as a fucking square, but he was professional about his work and being younger than all of his colleges made him feel like he had something to prove.

He felt so guilty and so hot and so fucking horny in that moment, all of the wrongness and rightness of fucking a student but knowing it was Ilya Rozanov.

It all felt worth it, despite Shane’s worrisome head fucking with him.

He almost came on the spot at the thought of this man fucking his ass, the man that looked like a Greek God, a statue that could be in a Roman church, a beautiful and perfect speciman of a human, and all his, for the night, at least.

Ilya's beautiful body sprawled out in front of Shane, all unfairly chiselled muscles and beautiful beauty spots, in places that Shane knew took years of honing to perfect.

Shane might be predominantly a bottom but he wasn't a sub, sure he liked praise and being thrown around, but he also liked to do the throwing, sometimes.

And he fucking loved the idea of being in control of Ilya.

He hoped Ilya would be into him taking the lead.

“You want to fuck me, Rozanov?” Shane purred, his voice a whisper that set Ilya’s insides on fire. Shane smiled, the getting the reaction he wanted as Ilya leaked a little from his cock.

“Fuck, Hollander. I need to feel you,” Ilya shifted to grab his own cock as Shane stilled his hand.

“It’s not time for that, Ilya. Just stop fucking moving,” Shane pinned him down, placing both hands over Ilya’s and pinning his thighs to the bed with his own.

Ilya peered up at Shane with lust-drunk eyes, stricken that this man who he thought just a moment ago would bend to his will, and fucking loving taking a back seat, for once.

“Yes, Professor,” Ilya purred, hands stilling at his side as he waited.

“You want me?” Shane asked, still wearing Ilya’s hoodie, as Ilya nodded once in confirmation; Shane moved to position his hole over Ilya’s firm length, now dripping with need.

“Fuck,” Shane ground out, reaching for the lube and squirted a generous amount on Ilya’s cock before pumping it a few times, squeezing it and repositioning himself.

Shane looked desperately into Ilya’s eyes as his mouth hung open, waiting for the feeling of Ilya’s cock to press into him, as he lined them up perfectly and sunk onto him.

It was an agonisingly slow descent, where time stood still as Shane heard the remnants of Hozier joining their breaths.

The first brush of Ilya’s cock sent Shane into a shiver, head arching backwards as he kept up the agonisingly slow pace of sinking down, taking every delicious inch of Ilya, as the man gasped underneath him; garbling out Russian and English and being fucking beautiful.

“Ah, my fucking god. You are huge,” Shane gasped, feeling his thickness and taking the final inches as his ass finally met with Ilya’s thighs.

He shifted slightly—adjusting to the girth of Ilya, rolling his hips as he moved forward; taking Ilya’s mouth in a filthy and desperate kiss.

“You feel so fucking good and raw and fuck. I could die,” Shane whined.

“Fuck, Hollander. You are so beautiful and tight for me. Jesus,” Ilya gritted out, pulling his head back to his mouth to suck on his tongue, licking up his collarbone and over his Adam’s apple, before kissing and licking at his chin, a small amount of stubble grazing at Ilya’s tongue—Shane’s long hair brushed over Ilya’s face.

The feeling of Shane stretching around him with nothing in between them was pure insanity. Shane never really went without condoms, even if he'd had a boyfriend; the clean-up was easier and no-one ever really felt worth it

The grooves and moulding of Ilya’s cock inside Shane almost sent him into a frenzy, fitting him perfectly—taking it all and still demanding more.

Ilya pulled at Shane’s hair, removing it from his face as he tugged it behind Shane, admiring his gorgeous freckles and flushed cheeks.

Ilya brought his other hand up to grasp lightly at Shane’s neck, resting a hand there but not taking it further.

“Fucking move, Shane, please “ Ilya begged, beads of sweat dampening his chest.

Shane started to pump himself desperately on Ilya’s cock, moving slowly up and down and planting his arms on either side of Ilya’s head—Ilya’s arms moved, kneading into the firm of Shane’s beautiful ass and over his thighs, relishing in the beautiful marks that peeked over his ass-cheeks and thighs.

“Fuck, Shane, so fucking good for me,” Ilya praised, sending Shane into more of a frenzy.

His cock leaked desperately over Ilya’s stomach, as he pumped and ground into Ilya, taking what he wanted and refusing to relent.

Ilya growled into Shane’s ear, ripping his hair again to look desperately at his face, before locking eyes with him as Shane rode his cock hungrily, like he was made for it.

“Do you like seeing me pumping you like this, Ilya? Getting to watch me ride your fucking beautiful cock?” Shane said, cheeks becoming more flushed and beautiful as he moaned loudly, hips arching backwards and forwards slowly, as his cock bounced between them; grinding into him, balls massaging against Ilya’s pelvis, before a look of knowing came over Ilya’s face.

Ilya scooted backwards on the bed, so he was flush against the bedhead; looking up at Shane who was only slightly higher than him now, the new angle hitting Shane’s prostate as he mewled.

Ilya gasped, grabbing at Shane’s hips as he placed his calloused hands on either side and lifted Shane almost all the way off of his cock. Shane breathed out, the feeling of emptiness overwhelming him, before Ilya dropped his hands, leaving Shane’s hole to take all of Ilya in one brutal stroke.

“Ah–fuck me,” Shane yelled, as he shuddered, the thick slap of their bodies and the depth of Ilya’s cock in the new position enough to overwhelm him and reach his prostate.

Shane fell forward, taking Ilya’s mouth in his and refusing to relent, before Ilya licked up his the column of his throat again.

Shane's glasses fell haphazardly to the ground now, forgotten in the heat of their bodies.

“Let me,” was all Ilya said, as he massaged up Shane’s sides and removed his hoodie, revealing his perfectly sculpted body, slimmer than Ilya’s; but honed and beautiful nonetheless.

His golden skin shimmered in the candlelight, as remnants of their ice-cream incident lingered on his torso.

“So perfect, Professor. You want me to show you what I can do?” he cooed.

Ilya could not quite comprehend that everything he had dreamed of was in front of him, and he was now taking what was his.

Shane released control for Ilya to take what he wanted and destroy him, hoping he would feel the remnants of Ilya fucking him for the days that followed.

Shane desperately mouthed and sucked at Ilya’s neck, a delicate red bloom left in its wake; as Ilya glanced at it briefly before pulling Shane’s mouth to his by the hinge of his jaw.

Ilya moved his hand to massage around Shane’s hole, where his cock filled him, pressing lightly around it as Shane whimpered in response, “Will you scream for me, Professor? I can already feel your cock being so fucking desperate, so needy. All for me. You are clenching around me so tight. Are going to come already, hmm?”

“No, but fuck. Could,” Shane ground out, “Please, fucking use me, Ilya.”

Ilya stilled at the final sentence, hungrily grasping at Shane’s chest and taking a nipple into his mouth and firmly slapping at Shane’s ass, leaving a red hand print in its wake as Shane yelped before Ilya made and a turning motion with his finger, “If you say so.”

Shane took his reward, turning around onto all fours; his well-balanced exercise and flexibility routine paying off in these moments; as his chest sat flush against the bed and his perky ass in the air, ready for Ilya to claim him.

“A slut for it. Are you ready?” Ilya drawled, his voice thick with his accent, as he lost himself in Shane’s beauty, his hair now thick with sweat and sticking to his forehead, as his back glistened.

Ilya traced a finger up Shane’s spine, delicately tickling and tracing his muscles, admiring them as they tensed in anticipation.

Shane squeaked out a sound of approval, turning his head to the side, as Ilya brushed his hair away from his face, wanting to see Shane as he fucked him so hard he was going to see the fucking moon.

Ilya planted a firm slap across Shane's beautiful ass, drawing out a pleasured moan from Shane, as Ilya laughed silkily.

Ilya admired Shane’s hole, glistening with lube and remnants of Ilya's precome, before making a split second decision and taking Shane's red and swollen hole into his mouth.

He licked and sucked and fucked Shane's ass with his tongue and fingers, drawing out unnaturally beautiful and desperate sounds from the man below him.

Shane ground into his mouth, as Ilya grasped at Shane’s cheeks, parting them as he gripped them in place, licking and massaging Shane with his tongue, never wanting this to stop; knowing he would never get enough of this man.

Shane felt over-sensitive and insane and fucking rampant with lust.

Ilya had fucked many people in his life, but there had never been one single encounter that had come close to this level of desperation, and need, and pure insanity—Ilya was high off the fumes that existed from the power plays between them, the hunger that lingered in unspoken things and wanting looks and forbidden desire.

They were on fire with it, and Ilya was going to let himself fucking burn.

“Ilya, oh my fucking God,” was all Shane could fathom, as his cheeks flushed a deep shade of burgundy.

Ilya pulled his mouth off Shane, admiring his flushed face, before placing a hand over Shane’s hair and pulling hard.

Shane yelped, “more.”

Shane opened his mouth, an invitation, turning his head over his shoulder in hopes Ilya would take his mouth in his. Ilya noticed the subtle shift, moving his face a hairs breadth away from Shane before letting his saliva pool in his mouth and drip slowly into Shane’s, who swallowed it all slowly, and greedily.

“More, Ilya,” Shane begged.

Ilya grinned, dripping more spit into Shane's mouth before messily kissing him in the way that was so fucking hot in the awkwardness and strangeness of the angle.

“Good,” Ilya purred, a deep rumble from the back of his throat. You are so good, Professor. If you like, you can call me what my friends call me. We are friends now, yes? They call me Rozy,” before removing himself and pushing Shane’s head further into the mattress again.

“Fuck, Rozy,” Shane gasped, the sound of it making Ilya growl an approval.

“Take me. Now,” Shane demanded, all need and desperation and whining—his body shook with anticipation, as Ilya took Shane’s plump ass cheeks in each hand, gripping him and lining up his cock with Shane’s dripping hole.

Ilya didn’t wait another second before pounding into Shane’s ass in one deep stroke, hitting Shane’s prostate and making him cry out. Ilya moved in punishing and firm strokes, as his hips snapped into Shane, the sounds of their bodies colliding together and the breaths hitching around the room.

Ilya placed a hand over Shane’s hair and tugged, as Shane arched his neck in greeting, body becoming loose as he allowed Ilya to dominate him in the moment. Shane let out a whine, gasping as he swore, chanting Rozy and Ilya and desperately stretching around him, but already being so full that he felt that he might die.

Ilya could feel Shane getting closer, as he clenched around Ilya; only making Ilya more desperate and fucking insane for this man.

“Fuck, I can feel you are close. Come for me, Shane,” before Ilya hauled Shane's body up so it was flush with his, holding him tightly around his firm waist as he reached around with his other hand and grabbed at Shane's cock, gripping it with fervour as he swivelled his hand up the shaft.

Shane cried out, as Ilya felt the beginning of him falling over the edge; his hole clenched deliciously around Ilya's cock, refusing to let go as Ilya snapped his hips into him, over and over as Shane started thrusting desperately into Ilya’s hand.

“Fuck, Shane. You want it?” Ilya mumbled, followed by a number of Russian words Shane believed were profanity.

“I want it in me. Fuck, Ilya, come in my ass, please, Rozy. Please,” Shane whined, his voice on the edge, a garbled mess of breath and pants and moans, his whole body a shaking mess.

Shane turned his head, their tongues meeting, lapping against one another as Ilya swallowed a whimper from Shane.

Shane felt Ilya tense at the sound of his name in Shane's throat, begging for his come. It was overwhelmingly fucking hot.

Ilya’s hand continued pumping at Shane's cock, as he began to feel Shane's body spasming, warm come spilt into Ilya’s hand and over the sheets, soaking them—Ilya’s fingers slick with Shane’s desperation.

Shane let out a, “Oh, fuck—oh my god,” before thrusting a final time into his hand, clenching around Ilya’s cock; before his head fell backwards as he panted into Ilya's shoulders, riding out the wave as Ilya joined him.

Ilya continued pumping his cock into Shane with furiosity and intensity, bringing his come filled hand up to Shane's lips and entering his fingers into Shane's mouth and filling that hole, too, leaving Shane panting and licking up the remnants of himself as Ilya roared, “fuck, Shane. Moya lyubov.”

Shane could see Ilya's face shifting into a deep ‘o’ as their eyes met, Shane's glistening as his mouth fell open—cum dripping out of it.

Shane felt Ilya's body tense and worked his delicate inner muscles to clench tightly around Ilya, the muscles spent and loose working overtime.

The nail in the coffin.

“Fuck, blyat, Shane. Ah—” as Shane felt Ilya's hot come filling him, over-sensitive but relishing in the man that pumped desperately into him, frenzied and fast, taking what was his and not apologising for it.

Shane felt the last of Ilya's thrusting, their sweat and the scent of Ilya, and vanilla, and something else that made Shane's heart skip.

Ilya fell to his side, pulling Shane down with him as they desperately caught their breath, hearts pumping in unison.

Shane turned his head, planting a chaste kiss on Ilya's forehead and returning his lips to his mouth, all swollen and beautiful and perfect with the taste of Shane still lingering on them.

They lay there for a few minutes until Shane felt Ilya beginning to soften inside him. Ilya pulled out of him, agonisingly slow and leaving Shane feeling empty and sore.

“I miss him already,” Shane pouted sleepily, giddy and overwhelmed with oxytocin and adrenaline.

“Such a desperate slut,” Ilya said sleepily, a low rumble of a laugh on his tongue.

“Hey,” Shane started, looking at Ilya earnestly, “that was so fucking hot. I never usually go bare but fuck. It was amazing, Ilya,” a blush rose to Shane’s cheeks as if two minutes ago he wasn’t demanding Ilya to come in his ass as he ate cum out of his hand.

Ilya lazily smirked, flushed and sweaty and spent.

“It was fucking perfect. I will never see vanilla the same again. I will shower if that's okay?” Ilya asked, Shane turning his body to wrap his arms around the man that just gave him the most powerful orgasms of his life. He played with the gold chain around his neck as he stared at Ilya questioningly.

“Maybe I could join you? I can… help washing you,” Shane said stupidly.

“Okay, but no hanky panky, Professor. This is very unprofessional,” Ilya said mockingly, before removing himself from Shane and heading to the bathroom.

Shane watched his beautiful ass move to his and knew that he was so fucked that it was not even funny.

After they had cleaned up, Ilya gathered his things because he knew what this was. A perfect moment of beautiful sex with his Professor, who he was sure did not want him sleeping there.

Shane just watched, not saying much. Ilya eventually put on his backwards cap as he stood by Shane's front door.

Ilya still looked flushed and beautiful in the moonlight, his hair now damp with sweat and water from their shower.

Shane didn’t want Ilya him. He wanted to stay and make pancakes and read books and pretend that they could be anything more than what they were.

Instead, he planted a soft kiss on Ilya’s lips, before pulling back. They sat in the shade of the porch, offset by stone walls, and shared a quick cigarette, not saying anything as their breath returned to normal.

“A night to remember, Professor. Thank you for…everything,” Ilya said, blowing out a stream of smoke.

“Yeah. Of course, thank you. Goodnight ” Shane said with a smile, suddenly worried someone might walk past and see Ilya leaving his home late at night. He butted the cigarette quickly, licking at Ilya's ear before pulling back and kissing him lightly on the cheek, nuzzling at his neck in an effort to memorialise the scent of them.

Ilya stepped off the porch; scooting away wearing his backpack and dorky helmet on top of his hat.

Shane smiled to himself as the stupidity of it all.

Chapter Text

Ilya 

The next week passed without any communication between them. It's not that Ilya had expected Shane to text, but it did deflate him a bit when it didn't happen . He found himself checking his messages a little too often to be 100% sure.

Ilya tried to not let it bother him, while it had been by far the best fucking sex of his life, he knew he was just another guy for Shane to fuck.

A Professor in his position, young, and attractive, and intelligent, and yes; a little boring, but that just made him more attractive to Ilya. 

And probably everyone else with eyes and ears and sexual desire.

Ilya had quietly hoped that Shane had felt the same, waiting for a cheesy text; after the usual 3 days, of course. But the text never came. 

So, instead; Ilya sank into hockey practice. It was April, so currently Ilya was in the middle of training and games and drowning in study, but he needed to keep his endurance and strength training up, taking time to run shirtless and let the free people of Canada admire his beautiful physique—it was only a fair trade for living in this beautiful country. 

He listened to Hollander’s lectures on repeat (he had only touched himself twice more that week to his voice, but for Ilya that was a low number), as well as sinking into The Odyssey. Despite the difficulty of the ancient prose, Ilya started to find something strangely beautiful about the ambiguity of the language. 

Nothing was clear and everything was up for debate. That was the beauty of Homer. 

He listened to podcasts that spoke of both The Iliad and The Odyssey, because even though he didn’t want to cheat, Ilya found it helpful to hear people talk about these things. Somehow, spoken English was always much easier for him to get his head around than written English. 

Ilya had started his assignment and had struggled to get it off the ground, but did feel that he just might be getting somewhere with it. He hoped that his next tutoring session (if there was one) would help him work out some of the kinks in his ideas. 

It was a Saturday night and Ilya checked his phone, 7pm, three texts, one from Sveta which he ignored and two from Marleau.

Marleau: Fucking come out man. Don’t be a pussy. You will fucking love it. Come on mannnn pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease

Ilya looked around his messy room, clothes strewn on the floor, sheets mussed; and knew he probably should just stay home and clean, but decided that was depressing as fuck for a hot college athlete who is very horny and there would be many hot people to choose from. 

So, who was Ilya to say no to that?

Ilya considered, thinking it probably wouldn’t hurt to get his dick baptised by someone else, before typing a reply.

I’ll come after my workout. Maybe 9pm. Send the address? I’ll bring some beers?

Marleau just hearted the message, probably already knee deep in some woman and half a keg. 

Ilya packed up his gym bag and got dressed, popping on a white Nike Dri shirt and his regular basketball shorts with Nike trainers. He grabbed his black Nike cap from his coat rack which consisted of a stick in the air on a stand and made his way to the college gym, hoping it would be empty at this time on a Saturday night.

Shane

The gym doors opened mechanically, Shane walked in, expecting the gym to be empty being a Saturday night. Most people had better things to do, but for Shane this was therapy.

The gym smelt of bleach and lemon, as he placed his bag in a locker at the back of the spacious gym. It was a full-service gym, with a pool, a jacuzzi, a steam-room and sauna, all fit for purpose for all of the athletic needs of the college athletes and faculty.

Shane jumped on the closest bike and started cycling leisurely, he wasn’t going to smash himself tonight, it was more a therapeutic work-out than anything else. As he started to pick up his pace, he heard the mechanical throng of the automated doors opening and looked over to see a very beautiful and very surprised Ilya Rozanov ooking at him with a dumbfounded but interested expression.

“Oh,” Shane inclined his head, panting a little before looking away.

“Oh,” Ilya smirked, “mind if I join you?” 

“It’s a free gym.”

They worked out in silence for a few minutes, each looking at one another but refusing to admit they were, as their legs picked up the pace. They slowly were increasing their speeds. 

Shane didn't know why he waa bothering trying to compete with a fucking athlete.

Shane quickly became puffed out at this pace and relented, turning the bike off and planting his hands on his hips, as he sucked in a large pull from his water bottle. 

“I’m finishing up,” Ilya said simply, his leg shifting off the bike as he wiped it down. Shane just started up at him, his red cheeks flushed and his breath uneven. 

He looked so fucking hot covered in sweat, Shane wanted to lick it all off; leaving nothing behind.

Then do something about it.

“Okay, I…was thinking of heading for steam before I went home. Would you, want to join?” Shane said, a smile rising to the corner of his lips.

Ilya didn’t even answer, instead he just walked in the direction; hoping Shane would follow him, which of course he did. Ilya could feel Shane’s hot breath against his neck, as he walked a little too closely to Ilya.

As they arrived at the stream room, they both glanced behind them to check through the windowed door to see if anyone else had quietly made their way into the gym but it was still empty. When Shane turned back around, Ilya’s mouth found his, hot and demanding, his hands raking over his body desperately. 

The kiss knocked the breath out Shane. It was desperate and hungry and wanting. And maybe something else.

“So, you are stalking me now? Hmm, you will murder me?” Ilya smiled into the kiss as Shane chirped, “Fuck off, Rozy,” before shaving Ilya on the chest and opened the steam room door, pushing Ilya in playfully before the heat and humidity of the steam overwhelmed them. 

Shane stared at Ilya, red and dripping with sweat, his corded muscles dancing from Ilya pushing himself at the gym, saliva pooled in his mouth as his balls grew taut in his shorts, causing Shane to quickly adjust. 

Ilya caught it, smirking down before moving slowly towards Shane and planting two hands around his face, his huge hands almost covering his whole head as he tilted Shane’s it and planted a soft luxurious kiss, entering his tongue at the last moment in thanks.

They made quick work of undressing, messily pulling shirts over their heads and shorts down; the fear of being caught frightening but so fucking hot. 

Ilya sat on the bench, cock perched in the air and waiting for Shane’s next move. It was hot and sticky and they both felt the humidity rising between them as their breaths picked up, Shane biting his lip as he descended on Ilya, taking his cock into his mouth and swallowing it, Ilya choking back a moan as he thrust up immediately, unable to resist. 

Shane spluttered, but continued relentlessly sucking Ilya, stroking his balls, before moving one hand towards Ilya’s ass and stroking a finger down and brushing over his hole in question. 

Ilya exhaled sharply, Shane pulled off Ilya’s cock with a ‘pop’ and stared up at him. Ilya glared down at Shane like he was a fucking angel. Shane blushed furiously, from the heat of Ilya’s stare this time, waiting for instruction.

“You want to fuck me with your fingers now?” Ilya said simply, a challenge.

“I want to everything with you, whatever you will give me,” Shane said, sounding desperate and breathless, but meaning every word. 

“Please, I also want this. I have not stopped thinking about you. And the vanilla ice-cream on our tongues, and you riding my cock. The taste of you. And, fuck Hollander,” Ilya trailed off as Shane pushed Ilya’s back flat against the hard bench, as it groaned underneath them.

He took Ilya’s cock into his mouth in a quick stroke before stroking delicate circles and massaging around Ilya’s entrance gently, Ilya arching into Shane at the first touch. 

Shane wasn’t sure how much Ilya had done this, but by his reaction, he had guessed maybe only a few times and he wanted Ilya to like it and was excited to try this with him.

Shane could feel Ilya tensing when he massaged his hole and pulled off his cock to talk Ilya through this. Maybe he hadn’t done this before. 

The thought of being the first of anything with Ilya was absolutely fucking delicious to Shane. 

“Have you…” Shane trailed off, “ever?” as he breathed hot air and massaged up the taut skin between Ilya’s entrance and cock, Ilya shuddered into him before responding.

“No, but sometimes when I am alone I have thought about it. Just never tried,” He said simply, looking down at Shane wantingly. 

“Okay. I can help with that.”

“Oh thank you, fucking Professor Hollander. Wow, a teacher in all things,” Ilya laughed sarcastically, as Shane met his mouth in a kiss before planting kisses down his body and returning a few chaste kisses on Ilya’s rock hard cock. Shane’s cock was already leaking desperately but he ignored it, wanting this moment to be about Ilya. 

Shane stared up at Ilya from around his pelvis, mouthing at him and teasing around the delicate spot of hair, before returning his fingers to Ilya’s entrance and circling. 

“Ilya, breathe,” Shane instructed, “relax for me, baby, I've got you,” he locked eyes with Ilya who nodded in confirmation, head falling back as he exhaled a long deep breath, stomach muscles clenched as sweat pooled in his abs and on his pecs.

Shane felt the tension loosen in Ilya ever so slightly, as he continued swirling soft circles around his hole, licking up the shaft of his cock theatrically, before taking all of Ilya’s cock into his mouth and pulling back, swirling his tongue around the head and entering it into the slit. Ilya gasped, watching it all unfold, before Shane lifted one of Ilya's heavy thighs and pushed it back, parting him for better access. 

Ilya's muscles tensed, as Shane pushed the tip of his finger into Ilya’s ass. 

Ilya gasped, “Fuck,” and clenched automatically, before relaxing and breathing into it—adjusting to the intrusion.

“It’s okay, just let yourself feel it, Ilya. Relax. I know you are going to take it so well. Just breathe, for me.”

Shane tried to be everything Ilya needed in that moment. Powerful and commanding, but so soft. 

Let yourself go for me.

The heat in the room continued to climb, leaving them both panting and Ilya desperately groaning for more, needing to feel everything and nothing and embrace the feeling of letting go completely.

Shane continued, pressing in a little deeper and sucking, nipping and kissing Shane’s cock and thighs, worshipping him as the heat and steam consumed them both. They were dripping with sweat, as Ilya stared down at Shane, who was being so delicate and loving and caring with him, taking his time.

Shane entered a whole finger now, as Ilya arched, curving it around to hit his prostate, “Fuck, that feels good, Shane. Fuck. Bolshe. More.”

Shane just smiled knowingly and started pumping in and out of Ilya’s ass now, curving his fingers every second or third stroke to hit Ilya's delicate spot, each time wringing a new and beautiful sound from him as his body stretched. He was so fucking hard now, grinding into Shane's fingers and face, as he took all of it.

“So fucking hot seeing you like this. For me,” Shane panted, before his mouth licked at Ilya's hole delicately, “My god, Shane. You will kill me,” was all Ilya could manage through gritted teeth. 

Shane toyed with Ilya’s ass using his mouth and his fingers, as he entered two now. Ilya begged for deeper, for more, all while Shane sucked and nipped and bit him through it—relishing the power he had over this Greek god of a man. 

Ilya’s fingers found Shane’s long hair, playing with the strands and pulling and tugging, sometimes pushing Shane further onto his cock as he watched the beautiful man take him apart. His breath picked up, as he swore in Russian and mumbled, Shane, Hollander or Professor (the latter, Shane found particularly hot).

“That’s it, you’re doing so well. I love seeing you like this. So good. Want to feel you come around my fingers,” Shane coached. 

Ilya was moaning now, breathing Shane's name reverently as his whole body shook.

Shane planted a final lick up the shaft of his cock before pumping a third finger into Ilya's ass, curving them around and drawing out an unholy sound that reverberated around the steam room, which was now so clouded with steam Ilya could barely see Shane.

It was so fucking hot.

“Fuck Shane, I can see why you are such a slut for it,” Ilya gritted before garbling out more Russian breathlessly.

Shane could feel Ilya's body tightening around his fingers, could feel his release building and wanted it to be all over him.

He continued to worship Ilya like the Greek god he is, fucking him with his fingers, playing with his hair and nipples and massaging his beautiful thighs, as he wrung every noise and moan out of Ilya, whose hair was now so dishevelled, it was sticking to the side of his face and forehead.

Shane offered in a small voice, “Do you…. like seeing me like this? Maybe next time, I could try fucking you.”

Ilya's mind emptied, he'd never considered it. Not really. He'd only been with a few guys and the one boyfriend he did have, Sasha, was a bottom and had never been interested, Ilya hadn't minded because he had never tried it. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” the thought of Shane's cock in him was enough to send him over the edge, his body jolted as Shane's fingers kept pumping into him. Shane was watching Ilya reverently, as his face contorted, losing control completely. 

Ilya's cock shot hot ropes of come at Shane's beautiful chest, now slick with sweat and heat, as Shane kept pumping fingers into him; until Ilya'a body stilled, quivering slightly as he floated above himself. 

Ilya finally looked at Shane again, his chest and neck covered in Ilya's come and mingling with his sweat, as Shane planted a messy kiss on Ilya's mouth.

Ilya’s hand found Shane's cock, which was practically soaked with precome. 

“You are fucking insane,” Ilya mumbled, stroking Shane hard and fast, squeezing and nipping at Shane's ears and neck as he worked him quickly. It didn’t take long, Shane was so fucking hot and heavy from just watching Ilya. 

“Fuck Ilya. I'm close, fuck,” Shane cried, his body jolting before his orgasm rocked through him, Ilya's sweaty hand pumping him through his release. Shane collapsed beside Ilya on the upper seat, his hand dropping down to interlink their fingers.

Ilya kissed them all, not saying anything—the men breathed through the chaos that ran through each of their minds.

“That was fucking intense,” Ilya laughed, breaking the moment, as his head turned toward Shane.

Shane just smiled softly, his hair stuck to his face and neck, Ilya's come all over him.

“Happy to be of service.”

The moment was broken by the sound of the automated doors opening to the gym, 

“Fuck,” Ilya and Shane said, in unison.

They both bolted upright, searching for their respective clothes before throwing them on. They peered through the window from the steam room into the gym, noticing two athletic guys Ilya knew were in the lacrosse team. But they were setting up on the press machines.

Thank fuck.

Ilya took the moment to brush Shane's hair out of his face before parting his mouth with his hand and kissing him tenderly.

“Do you want to sleep over? We could just, you know…watch a movie or something?” Ilya asked, tilting his head to the side and trying to look casual.

Shane looked nervously at the door.

“Sure. Let's get the fuck out of here though, okay. You first.”

“Okay. Mr. Bossy,” Ilya unlocked the scooter from the ramp, looking like a complete goober but somehow still like he could fucking obliterate anyone that crossed his path. 

Ilya walked out first, waiting for Shane out the front by a tree; helmet on his head and ready to ride off on his scooter.

They both quickly looked at each other and laughed, realising they had swapped pants. 

“So, you want to come?” Ilya said, smiling a little too sweetly for a man who was just finger fucked and rimmed in the gym steam room by his English professor.

Shane's face broke into a ridiculous smile as he looked from Ilya's helmet to the ridiculous e-scooter.

“Get on, Hollander,” Ilya said firmly, pretending to look serious. Shane threw his arms in the air in mock surrender, stepping over to Ilya.

“Umm, can this hold both of us?” Shane looked at the machine, doubting it very much.

“Is a good e-scooter, Professor. Stop being such a scooter snob.”

Shane stifled a laugh, before looking around campus to see if anyone was watching. He had walked there, so didn't have any other option but to jump on Ilya's scooter and hope they didn't die.

Ilya must have noticed the worry on Shane's face, as he handed him his helmet. 

“Is okay. Russian heads are basically made of steel,” Ilya said, shrugging. 

“No, no,” Shane insisted, “I couldn't.” 

“Yes you can, Professor. Because I also don't need anyone to see me riding with you on my scooter back to my apartment. Would be too embarrassing, hot young athlete with ancient professor.”

Shane rolled his eyes, ignoring the last part, “Oh right, yeah. Okay,” Shane quickly put on the helmet and closed the visor, his face no longer visible. He looked absurd and Ilya couldn't help but laugh manically as he jumped on the front. 

Ilya grabbed an earbud out of his pocket, offering one to Shane; who made a somewhat disgusted face but reluctantly took it.

Ilya took off, the sound of Blink 182's What's My Age Again chewing through Shane's ears and taking him back to his high school days. 

Shane thought the song could be a little on the nose but let it slide, he was only three years Ilya's senior and hardly an old man creeping on some young guy.

Shane looked at the speed, noticing that they could only go roughly 15 km/hour. The scooter made weird noises and whirred a lot of the way, making Shane wonder if they were exceeding the weight limit.

Ilya didn't seem to care, he just hummed along, banging his head slightly, as they rode the 10 minutes to Ilya's off campus apartment.

They arrived back at Ilya's, taking care to be subtle and not make too much noise. While Ilya's house was not on campus, lots of other students lived on the street and in the complex.

Ilya walked up the creaky stairs, Shane following closely behind him and wondering what the weird smell was but decidedly ignoring it. Ilya opened the door, before he gestured Shane inside. Ilya closed the door behind him with a small thud as Shane surveyed the small space.

It was clean (enough, well comparatively to some apartments he’d seen when he was at college) with a few stray clothes sprawled around. Ilya’s hockey jersey and skates were hanging up on the wall beside the door, donning number ‘81’. 

He had a double bed with dark blue sheets and a plaid bedcover, it was messy but looked clean (enough). 

Shane tried to keep his face neutral as Ilya led him over to the grey sofa which looked like it had been better days, having a few very large divots in it. 

“Welcome to my palace. Do you want a drink or something?” Ilya said, gesturing around the room like it was something magical. 

“Thanks, umm. No I’m ok for now, do you want me to take my shoes off?”

“No, you’re good. If you want to shower, I'll get a fresh towel for you?”

“Oh yeah, I mean,” he looked at the floor a little embarrassed, “I probably could use one.”

Ilya walked to Shane quickly, licking up his sweaty neck, “that is not what I mean. Is just an offer.”

“Thanks, where is it?”

Ilya directed Shane to the small bathroom, letting him take his time, as Ilya returned to his living area; frantically trying to tidy it a bit before Shane returned.

Shane came out of the shower, all pink and smelling of Ilya's woodsy body wash. He has a towel wrapped around him and Ilya couldn't help but stare, just a bit. Maybe a lot.

Shane fucking loved that he had that effect on him. Truthfully, he was hoping they could just relax tonight and try to get to know each other. Their interactions were so intense that they barely got any words in except for fuck and slut.

Shane honestly could say that he was not usually so confident in the bedroom, but something about the way Ilya looked at him gave him the courage to be more vocal, to be more…exciting.

Ilya had laid out some fresh clothes for Shane. Shane laughed when he saw one was his McGill hockey jersey with Rozanov 81 on the back, left with some grey sweats.

Shane glanced from the clothes to Ilya, who made a sheepish face before grinning stupidly and leaving Shane to change, before jumping in the shower himself. 

Shane settled on the sofa in (only) Ilya's jersey, as Ilya heated up some popcorn that he found stashed in the back of the cupboard. Shane could hear him clanging around a bit in the kitchen for a few minutes, before he returned

Ilya returned with the two packets of instant noodles which he had added some shredded chicken to, which kind of smelt amazing and some instant buttered popcorn which smelt even more amazing. 

“A meal fit for a King,” Ilya smiled as broad as the sun, before looking Shane up and down hungrily and handing him his bowl of noodles, a fork and a napkin. 

Shane held onto the bowl now, looking sideways at Ilya who had planted himself very close to Shane, finally seeing him in a different light. So soft and sweet and delicate, a gentleman, in all respects. 

Shane had not expected this turn of events for a second. 

“This is really sweet, the student special,” Shane’s cheeks heated, noticing the effort that Ilya had put in with adding the chicken after their respective work-outs, “thank you, really.”

They slurped up the noodles in silence, the chicken broth warming each of them and refilling their bellies after a hard work-out. And everything else. 

Shane finished first, offering to take their bowls to the sink before cleaning them and returning. Ilya thanked him as he sank into the sofa. 

Shane returned quickly, as Ilya wrapped him into his arms, Shane soaked in his smell as he laid his head on Ilya’s firm thighs, musky and sweet and woodsy. Ilya reached around, grabbing a pillow before placing it under Shane’s head, he groaned in satisfaction, eyes growing heavy. 

Shane was spent and soft as the saltiness of the noodles and the buttery warmth of popcorn consumed him; sinking into the depths of the lumpy sofa with a man that made his heart spin.  

“Your place is actually pretty nice for a college house,” Shane said, trying to be polite as he fought the slow-blinks he was overcome with. 

“Oh wow, thank you, Professor fucking assshole,” Ilya looked over at Shane with an expression of mock outrage, before grabbing a smaller pillow and tapping it lightly over Shane’s face. 

“You’re the asshole!” Shane jumped up quickly, having chosen to omit the sweatpants he just wore the jersey and some black briefs. Ilya glanced down at Shane's toned thighs quickly before realising his mistake.

THWACK

Shane took the largest and most frumpy looking pillow and hauled it into Ilya's chest. Ilya pretended to fall dramatically like he'd been shot, laughing manically, “Fuck, Hollander. You killed me,” before sticking his tongue out his mouth and rolling his eyes into the back of his head. 

“Fuck you,” Shane grinned, before joining him, hitting him twice more in the head for good measure, Ilya pretended to cover his face in fear, before planting a soft peck on his mouth.

Ilya tasted like burnt popcorn and sweat and sin, the perfect fucking combination that almost set fire to Shane again, before he stilled himself; refocusing. 

Shane drew back, smiling softly before he looked at Ilya seriously,“Hey, you know…you don't have to keep hanging out with me. I know you are smart, Ilya. You're going to pass the class.”

Ilya looked mock offended.

“Professor, you think I'm fucking you because I am incapable of getting a good grade? Wow.”

Shane looked horrified for a moment and started spluttering for words before realising that Ilya was fucking with him. He blushed furiously.

“No, I mean. Of course not. It’s just…I didn’t expect to hear from you again after last week and, I mean, I’m your Professor. Like, even though we are similar in age, I get it if that is weird for you and I don’t want you to feel any…” he searched for the word, “obligation. I will help you to pass and keep supporting you with your assignment.”

Ilya looked up at Shane, so earnest and open and sweet. Completely different from the man who talked him through being fingered and rimmed an hour before, but somehow still the same. 

Before Ilya could stop himself he breathed into Shane’s neck, nuzzling, “I like you,” as he brushed a stray hair behind Shane’s ear—rubbing his calloused fingers along his jaw, Shane purred into him. 

Shane considered saying, I fucking like you too, I’m obsessed with you, so obsessed I would fuck you every day a thousand times, I would drink your come in my protein shakes, I would even top for you, because I want to try everything with you, but only you.  

But instead, his deep brown eyes danced in the lamplight, his cheeks blushing softly, before changing the subject, “So, movie?”

Ilya rolled his eyes and grinned, returning them both to sitting positions, Shane’s legs hanging over Ilya’s lap as they scrolled through Netflix before settling on a romcom (Notting Hill, one of Ilya’s favourites, and Shane really did like this one, too).

They talked through a lot of the movie, not really about anything; just getting to know each other. 

Where were they from? Ottawa, Russia. What did they like to do outside of what they already knew? Hiking, Cooking (that one had surprised Shane). Favourite food? Salmon (Ilya looked disgusted at Shane’s answer), Chicken Parmesan. Ilya tried to give the answer of vodka as his favourite food but Shane refused to accept it. 

Shane was surprised to learn that Ilya had started an LGBTQI+ community for the athletes, who met every week for a beer at the campus bar. 

Ilya laughed earnestly when Shane told him about his love for collecting antiques, kind of a new hobby, but he loved thrifting and upcycling to make things useful again.

The evening felt warm and safe, as they both didn’t allow things to become more heated. Each spent from their gym session and the intensity that was their general vibe.

It was comfortable, their kisses lazy and touches soft and unassuming; just lapping up the feeling of each other’s presence. 

Ilya stroked Shane’s beautiful long hair as he fell asleep and watched him for an unusually long time before settling back into the sofa. Ilya still sat up, not wanting to move Shane. 

They spent the early hours of Sunday morning tangled in one another; stray bits of popcorn smattered around them as the smell of butter filled the room and the thought of meeting your soulmate at a chance encounter at a bookshop ran through each of their minds. 

Don't forget, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.