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”You were distracted tonight, yes?” Ilya asks as Shane enters his apartment. “Beating you was so easy. Almost no fun.”
“Fuck you.” Shane mumbles as he walks past Ilya, pushing him agitated back against the wall. God, he could be so fucking frustrating. And horrible. Somedays Shane can’t even figure out why he keeps seeing him. But as Ilya’s crooked smirk appears on his face, Shane is reminded exactly why he keeps putting up with him. He is too fucking hot. And I might be a little bit in love with him. Shane puts a mental muffle on his thoughts and pushes it all the way to the back of his mind. Burying it deep.
“I would rather be fucking you, Hollander.” The Russian says as he grabs Shane’s shirt and flips them around, pinning Shane to the wall. “Beating you always gets me hard.”
Shane moans as he feels the evidence of Ilya’s words pressed against his body.
“Then hurry up, asshole.” Shane snarls. “I have to be back at the hotel in less than two hours.”
“So desperate.” Ilya says before pressing his lips against Shane’s, kissing him hard. “So needy.” He mumbles into the kiss, and Shane wants to punch him. Especially because it is true, and Shane almost hates that it is. “You want me to fuck you hard tonight?” Ilya asks as he breaks the kiss, his eyes firmly locked onto Shane’s, possibly looking for confirmation.
Shane nods. “Yeah. Hard and fast.”
“Not too fast.” Ilya’s eyes shine with lust. “I want to take time enjoying myself.”
Shane’s mouth goes dry. He knows exactly how Ilya likes to enjoy himself. And Shane would be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy it too. Maybe even a little too much.
“Yeah?” Shane asks, with his head tilted back to look at Ilya.
“Da.” Ilya puts his hand on Shane’s throat. Holding him in place. “Yes.” He translates. “I’ll make you beg.”
Shane swallows hard and Ilya’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he feels it against his palm.
“Alright then.” Shane says. “Give it your best shot. See if you can make me beg.”
Without hesitation, Ilya palms Shane’s dick through his pants.
“Is not going to be difficult.” He leans down, putting his lips close to Shane’s, but doesn’t kiss him. “You want me.” He exclaims confidently. “Always so horny for me.”
“Asshole.” Shane mumbles, as he is fighting a loosing battle to not kiss Ilya.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” He licks at Shane’s bottom lip. “Tell me you don’t want me.”
Shane catches a hint of something in Ilya’s eyes. Something different. Is this a test? Could he be testing if Shane really wants him? And if so, why now? Nothing has changed between them.
“I can’t.” Shane says truthfully and Ilya lips curl up slightly.
“Good.” Ilya finally presses his lips against Shane’s again, and it would seem that whatever the test might have been, Shane passed it. “Now, take off your clothes.”
Shane obeys immediately. Removing everything till he is standing in Rozanov’s hallway, completely fucking naked.
Ilya has taken a step back and is scanning Shane’s entire body with lust filled eyes.
“Beautyful.” He says low and Shane can feel himself blush. “Go to the bed. Put on show for me. Then maybe I’ll fuck you.”
“I thought you wanted me to beg.” Shane teases but is already walking towards the bedroom with Ilya right at his heels.
“Trust me,” he says, “you will.”
*****
He has never seen anyone as beautiful as Hollander. Ilya knows this much. And he has been with many people. Men and women. But no one has ever been able to match Hollander. Or Ilya’s desperate need for him.
Ilya is standing at the foot of the bed, watching Shane touch himself slowly. He is on his back, legs bent and parted. His own hands on his chest and stomach. Slightly trembling. He is nervous.
God, how Ilya loves watching a nervous Hollander following every command he gives him. It’s so fucking hot.
“Lower.” He demands hoarsely, and Shane’s hands instantly travel south. The tips of his fingers gently touching his already leaking cock. “Good…” Ilya licks his lips. This is all he wanted today. A show from Shane to erase the memory of his conversation with his father. A conversation about how disappointed he is of him, even though he won the fucking game tonight. Not that his father cares. No, he will always be unimportant to his father. Less than nothing. Disposable, in fact. If it wasn’t for his money of course. Ilya mentally shakes his head to stop thinking about it. Not now. Not with Shane Fucking Hollander in his bed. “Stroke your dick.”
And Shane does.
“Fuck…” Shane mutters and pushes his head into the pillow.
“Feels nice, da?”
“Yes…” He moans breathlessly. “So fucking good.” He opens his eyes and looks at Ilya. And Ilya shudders. That pleased look in Shane’s eyes is almost too much. “Fuck me, Rozanov.”
“Is that you begging, Hollander?” Ilya asks with a grin.
“It’s the closest you’ll get.” He answers defiantly.
“Not good enough.” Ilya puts one knee on the bed, close to Shane. He leans down and hovers with his mouth right above Shane’s cock. “Ask me to suck you dick. Then I’ll might fuck you after.”
“You’re such an asshole.” He groans, but only seconds later, he caves. “Please…” he props himself up on his elbow. “Please suck my dick.”
“Okay.” Ilya says with a smirk. “Since you ask nicely.” And then he takes all of Shane’s dick into his mouth, drawing out the filthiest moan from Shane. God, he loves hearing him get loud like this. He puts his hands on Shane’s thighs, spreading his legs out even more, then curls his arms around his thighs before dragging him closer to his mouth. Shane moans. His head pressed firmly back into the mattress.
“Fuck…” he groans, gripping a fistful of Ilya’s hair. “Yes. God, yes. Fuck!” Ilya holds him in place as he pulls off of Shane’s dick, then dips lower, putting his lips to Hollander’s balls. Kissing. Tugging. Making him squirm in Ilya’s firm grip. Then he goes even lower, pushing his tongue against Shane’s hole, making him cry out loud. “Oh fuck!” he bucks his hips and tries to pull away. “What the hell?” He asks.
“What?” Ilya asks, “you don’t like?”
“I…” Shane pants. “I don’t know. Fuck. You surprised me.”
“Good surprise?”
“I don’t fucking know.” Shane is propped up, looking down at him.
“Let me try again.” Ilya says. “And relax.” Shane drops back down on the bed, tensing up slightly as Ilya puts his tongue to his hole again. “That’s opposite of relaxing.” He says and Shane snorts.
“Oh really?” Ilya can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “I didn’t know that.” He then puts his arms over his face, like he is trying to hide from the world.
Ilya lets go of Shane and climbs up his body, hovering above with a hand of each side of Shane’s head.
“What is wrong?”
He lets out a huff of breath. “I don’t know.” He mutters low behind his arms.
“Do you feel embarrassed?”
“Yeah… maybe.”
“No need.” Ilya removes Shane’s arms from his face. “Is just me.”
“I know.” Shane replies but looks away.
“I want to taste you.”
“Fuck…” Shane mumbles, and Ilya can feel Shane’s dick twitch underneath him.
“You like that?” Ilya puts his mouth to Shane’s ear. His tongue gracing the soft skin underneath it. “You like hearing me wanting to taste you?” When Shane doesn’t answer, Ilya continues. “Because I do. I like thinking of tasting you.”
“Jesus Christ.” Shane blushes hard and Ilya can’t deny that it is adorable.
“Let me taste you, Hollander. Let me try.”
“Okay…” he nods slow.
“Okay.” Ilya repeats, then slides down Shane’s body. “Maybe turn around? More comfortable for you.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Shane says and flips to his stomach.
“Yes…” Ilya moans as he watches Shane’s back and ass. “So beautiful.”
*****
Shane muffles his own moans by pushing his head into the pillow. Fuck, how can something like that feels so good. His entire body feels like its on fire as Ilya keeps licking his ass. How can Ilya be so fucking good at this…
“Fuck…. Stop… stop.” Shane mutters. “You are going to make me come.”
“Kind of point.” Ilya says and kisses Shane’s inner thigh.
“Not if you want to fuck me.”
“Right…” Shane can hear Ilya’s grin. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Not this again.” Shane complains and rolls his eyes.
“Yes… Beg, Hollander. Beg me to fuck you.”
“I fucking hate you.”
“I know. Now beg.”
Shane feels slightly embarrassed. He knows he could very well say no to humiliating himself and just leave, but… he needs it. He needs to be fucked by Ilya so badly, that it will almost be more embarrassing to not beg him. At least that’s what Shane tells himself as he opens his mouth.
“Please….” He moans as Ilya scrapes his teeth over the back of Shane’s thigh. “Fuck me. Hard. Please. I need it... I need it so bad.”
“Yes.” Rozanov mutters. “Yes… tell me what you need.”
“I need…” Shane swallows down his pride and turns his head to look at Rozanov over his shoulder. He can see the Russian’s eyes darken with lust as he does. “You… I need you. Inside of me.”
“Good…” he says, then slides a finger inside Shane, and Shane moans. He thrusts his finger in and out of Shane as he rips a condom open with his teeth, and Shane can’t stop watching him. It’s so fucking hot.
Rozanov puts the condom on and slowly sinks into Shane’s body, stretching him out even more and Shane’s eyes rolls to the back of his head.
Fuck…. He feels so good.
“Yes…” he moans… “Fuck me.”
Ilya puts a hand on Shane’s shoulder and the other on his waist as he fucks him. Slow and steady.
Shane’s needy cock is bobbing between his legs. Hard and leaking. God, it feels so good to have Ilya inside him. So fucking good.
With every thrust, Ilya scrapes his prostrate and sends shockwaves of pleasure through him.
“Fuck…” Ilya moans and picks up the pace. He fucks him deeper. Faster. Harder. The entire bed shaking beneath them. Ilya starts fucking him so hard, that Shane has to put one hand against the wall so Ilya wont accidentally knock him out or something, but it feels fucking amazing. He knows he will be sore for a week or more, but who cares.
“Yes… fuck… oh god… fuck… I’m gonna…. Fuck.” Shane blurts out as he feels his orgasm approaching fast. Can he really come like this? From just being fucked? No friction on his dick?
The answer arises rapidly as his entire body tenses, and he comes all over the clean bedsheets.
“Fuck!” Ilya groans as he comes too. Inside Shane’s body. Then they both slump down on the bed, Ilya pressing Shane against the mess with his entire weight.
Shane almost wants to push him off. To call him an asshole for pressing him into that mess, but he can feel Ilya’s boneless body resting exhausted on top of him. Like he has completely exerted himself. Maybe Shane wasn’t the only one with a desperate need for this?
With what seems like great difficulty, Ilya eventually pulls out and rolls off of Shane.
“Now I’m a mess…” Shane complains low, and Ilya opens one eye to look at him, then grins.
“Sorry.” He says with that infuriating lopsided smile. “Accident.”
“Sure.” Shane tries to hide his own smile.
“It was.” Ilya says and pulls Shane closer. Apparently completely unfazed by the cum on Shane’s chest as he holds him close.
“Fine.” He mumbles against Ilya’s neck. “I believe you.”
“Good.” He says and kisses Shane’s temple. “You can get revenge in three weeks, da?”
“The game in Montreal…” Shane says.
“Yes. But after game. You can make a mess on me.”
“Fuck…” Shane mutters, almost getting semihard just thinking about it. “That’s kind of hot.”
“Yes.” Ilya says. “It will be.”
*****
“Fuck. That Hollander is fucking flying tonight.” Cliff, One of Ilya’s teammates, says from the couch next to him. A bunch of the team has huddled up in Ilya’s room watching the game.
“Is home turf. Only reason.” Ilya says even though he knows that it has nothing to do with it. Hollander is an amazing hockey player. Not that he will ever admit that out loud. To anyone.
“Home turf or not, he is owning that game.”
Ilya shrugs as if he doesn’t care. But it’s hard for him to hide his smile. He is very proud.
“He’s not that good.” A different guy says behind Ilya, and he has to fight the urge to disagree with him. Or punch him.
“No?” he just says.
“No.” The guy – a rookie – says. “We can beat him.”
“I can beat him.” Ilya corrects. “You, not so much.”
“Fuck you.” He mumbles as the other teammates chuckles.
“Easy now, Rozanov. Let the kid get a chance. He’ll might surprise you.”
Ilya snorts. “Hardly.” Then turns to look at the rookie. “But sure. We’ll see. In two days. You try and beat him. I’ll save your reputation and win game anyway.”
The guy is clearly about to say something more, maybe even start a fight, which Ilya is completely onboard with, he could use a good fight, but something happens on the tv, because everyone suddenly stares at it and then Ilya hear the commentators.
“Hollander is down!”
He snaps back around so fast he nearly knocks the beer out of his teammate’s hand. Hollander is lying on the ice. Not moving. Ilya keeps staring. Waiting.
“Dvigaysya.” Ilya mumbles low. Nothing happens. “Dvigaysya,” he repeats, louder this time. They show the hit again, how he was knocked into, his head bashing against the boards then into the ice. Then the camera goes back to shoving Shane on the spinal board. Still not moving. Not even awake. “Probudis”. Ilya say. He is standing now. The beer can in his hand leaking from the pressure he puts on it. “Otkroy svoi glaza!” he shouts as they see him get carried out and disappear. Then he hurls the crumbled beer can through the room with a loud roar.
“What the fuck, man.” Someone says, but Ilya just pushes past them and out into the hallway of the hotel. He grabs his phone and texts Hollander. A few times even. No response. Of course not.
He decides to call instead. His heart is beating so fast as the phone rings. Then a woman answers. She sounds like she might be crying. He hangs up then slides to the floor with his back against the wall.
He quickly pulls up the sports news, searching for any information about Hollander’s injury. Nothing. Not yet.
“Rozanov.” A familiar voice says. “What are you doing, man?” ¨
Scott Hunter. Ilya groans. Of course he is at the same hotel. Like it hadn’t been enough to see him on the ice earlier that day.
“Fuck off.” Ilya mutters, and then his teammates come into the hallway too. Ilya quickly gets up and rushes into the stairwell. But before the doors close he hears his teammates telling Hunter about his reaction to Hollander’s accident.
Ilya sprints through the lobby and into the streets. It’s warm outside, but Ilya is trembling like he is standing in the snow. He looks around, finds a bench at a bus stop across from the hotel and sits down, looking at his phone again. Still nothing.
Shortly after someone sits down next to him. Scott Hunter.
“You don’t have to worry.” Scott says.
“I do not worry. I’m Russian”. Ilya says without looking away from his phone. He ignores the clear worry in his own voice as he tried to claim not to be bothered.
“About your teammates, I mean. Not Shane. I think we are all worried about that.“
“I am not.” Ilya lies and hits refresh on the sports news again, but Scott just continues as if Ilya hasn’t said anything.
“I think I convinced them that the only reason you were upset is because you had been looking forward to beating him. And that your arrogant ass won’t enjoy beating that team as much if your archrival isn’t there.”
“Is true.” Ilya says flatly. “That is reason.”
“Sure.” Scott answers and Ilya can hear how unconvinced he is. “Anyway,” he gets up from the bench “just wanted to let you know.” Then he leaves.
Fucking Scott hunter
*****
“Get you head in the game, Rozanov!” The coach yells at him. He missed a goal. Again. He hits his helmet with the heel of his hand, trying to knock his brain back into gear. “Or I’m pulling you out!”
“You will not!” Ilya shouts agitated.
“Then fucking show your worth!”
“So much for beating Montréal, huh?” The rookie teases as he skates by him, and Ilya sees red. Normally he can handle getting teased or provoked, but not tonight. Not tonight when Hollanders absence Is so fucking clear to him, and he still doesn’t know anything about his injury. Ilya roars, then pushes the rookie into the boards. Shouting and screaming profanities in Russian. His teammates are quick to pull him off the rookie and he gets sent to the penalty box.
Ilya is seething. He takes off his helmet and spits out the mouthguard. No one in the penalty box dare speak to him right now. He feels like a caged lion, pacing back and forth. He needs to punch something. To break something.
And when the game is over, he does. He snaps his stick in half, screaming like a maniac, then hurling it through the locker-room.
“Fucking pathetic!” he shouts, then leaves. He knows everyone thinks he is talking about his teammates, but he isn’t. He is talking about himself.
Not long after, he finds himself at the hospital with a ballcap low over his eyes.
“Shane Hollander.” He asks at the reception, and it isn’t until he lets her know who he is, that she tells him the room number. There has probably been a lot of crazy fans trying to find him.
Outside the room, he just stares at the closed door. Not being able to go inside. Just as he decides to leave, the door opens and a woman steps out.
Ilya recognizes her. Its Shane’s mother.
“Oh.” The woman says surprised and Ilya quickly turns away. “Rozanov?” She asks and Ilya slowly looks back at her. “Ilya Rozanov.” She sounds strange. But Ilya can’t figure out what it is he can hear in her voice.
“Yes.” He tries to steal a look inside the room, but she closes the door behind her. “Is he…?” He hates how wounded he sounds. The woman looks back at the door then at Ilya again.
“You are worried about Shane?” She asks.
“No.” Ilya lies. “Not worried. Just…” She raises one of her eyebrows and he huffs out a defeated breath. “Yes. Worried.” He admits. “Is he alright?”
For a while she just stared at him. Clearly debating if she should tell him to go fuck himself. And Ilya fully expects that to be the result. Instead, her eyes soften and she answers him.
“His brain is swollen. They’ve put him in a medically induced coma to give it time to get back to normal.
“Oh…” Ilya swallows thickly. “Will he….” His mind is spiraling and it’s hard to grasp the English words. “Get better..?” He opts for when he can’t remember the right word.
“The doctors are optimistic he will recover fully.”
Recover. That’s the word.
“Good.” Ilya lingers. He should leave. He got what he came for. He knows Shane’s condition. He should definitely leave.
“Do you want to see him?” The woman asks eventually.
“Yes.” the response comes quickly. Too quickly and Ilya cringes at himself. She opens the door and lets Ilya in. When he sees Shane lying in the hospital bed with wires attached, his sight gets blurry. “Hollander...” he whispers and reaches out to touch him, then remembers Shane’s mother is there and lets his hand fall back down to his side.
“Ilya…” she mumbles, “lily.” Ilya freezes instantly.
“What?”
“Lily.” She repeats.
“Don’t know any lily.” Ilya says without looking away from Shane. “Sorry.” He looks so peaceful. It’s almost terrifying Ilya. His mother looked peaceful when he found her. But there was no peace. Only death. Then his phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket. His heart stops beating. The caller-id says Jane. He looks over at the woman in terror. She’s holding Shane’s phone.
”You’re lily.” She says and Ilya intakes a sharp breath.
“Yes. We are friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yes. Rivalry is for show. Good publicity.” Ilya steps closer to Shane. “Is for cover.”
“Cover for what?” Ilya knows he fucked up and screws his eyes shot. But there’s no going back. “You are more than friends, aren’t you?”
“Da.” He reaches out and brushes Shane’s chin. “We fuck.”
“No.“ The woman says. “You are in love.”
“Not love.” Ilya says but his mind doesn’t seem to agree with him. There’s something in the back of his head that’s screaming for attention. Something he has been burying for very long. “Just fuck.”
“You wouldn’t have risked coming here if you didn’t love him.” And finally, everything makes sense. He lets out the emotion he has kept tugged away, leans down and kisses Shane.
“Then yes.” He says and looks back at the woman. “Is love.”
*****
Yuna: Rozanov.
Ilya: What?
When Ilya left the hospital a few days ago, Yuna had insisted on getting his number. To give him updates on Shane. And Ilya was pleased by the idea. Even a little moved. Ever since that day. Yuna texts him at least twice a day with updates. Even if there aren’t any changes. It makes Ilya feel closer to Shane.
Other times, she texts him about hockey. About his games. Other games. And he is impressed by her hockey knowledge.
And sometimes she texts him to scold him. Like a mother.
Yuna: Don’t act innocent.
You know what.
That was a fucking stupid thing to get yourself into.
Ilya: What?
Yuna: The fight, Rozanov!
The goddamn fight with a player twice your size.
Ilya: Is no problem.
Only few bruises.
Yuna: It’s a big problem if you get injured!
I need you to be more careful.
Ilya: Why?
Yuna: Because you can’t help me break the news
about me knowing your relationship if you are dead.
Ilya: That’s okay with me.
Yuna: Forget that. You are not getting killed
just to avoid that conversation.
Ilya: why not?
I die anyway.
He’ll murder me.
Yuna: Of course he won’t.
Ilya: he will.
Better to be in hospital.
Not dead. Just injured
He won’t murder me if I’m hurt.
Yuna: Now you are being ridiculous
Ilya: I can share room with Shane.
In hospital.
You can take care of both.
Yuna: That’s not going to happen.
You need to stay safe so you can help
me take care of Shane when he wakes up.
Ilya’s heart skips a beat. Take care of Shane? Help him recover. Suddenly there is nothing more important to Ilya now than to be careful on the ice.
Ilya: okay.
*****
Yuna: Ilya, text me when you see this
Ilya: Now what? Was careful.
No fights. No injuries.
Clean game.
Yuna: He’ awake. Shane is awake.
Ilya: I’ll be there
“Sorry.” Ilya say as he quickly changes out of his uniform. “can’t come to celebrate.”
“What? Come on, Rozanov. We’re going clubbing. You love that shit.” One of his teammates says. “We just won this shit.”
“Am busy. I need to go.” He grabs his things and turns to face his disappointed team. “I am sorry. I’ll see you at next game.” Then he rushes out and heads straight to the airport while trying to come up with a believable lie for his coach. He is pretty sure he will be there for the next game but just in case he won’t, he needs an excuse.
As soon as he arrives at the hospital, he is almost running to the room he knows Shane is in. His heart beating fast. He can’t wait to see Shane again. It felt like that flight took forever, and he was so scared that something could have gone wrong before he could get there. Like Shane going back into a coma, or maybe Yuna changing her mind about letting Ilya come and see Shane.
The adrenaline in him causes him to burst through the door like a maniac, startling not only Shane but also his parents.
“Ilya.” Shane says without the panic in his voice that Ilya had fully expected. Ilya glances towards Yuna who just shrugs. Clearly, she had already told Shane everything. Which is fine. Better than fine. Now he might not be murdered.
“You came.” Shane says and Ilya nods.
“Of course.” He wants to kiss him so bad. To hold him. To cry and tell him how scared he was, but he doesn’t move. He just stays in the doorway with his bag on his shoulder.
“We’ll give you some space.“ Yuna says and pulls her husband with her. “I’m glad to see you. And congratulations on the game”. She then kisses Ilya’s cheek. Like a mother. Yuna is starting to always feel like a mother to Ilya.
His eyes light up.
“Thank you.” As soon as they have left the room, Ilya is by Shane’s bedside in two strides, bending down to kiss him. Touch him.
“Ilya…” Shane says breathlessly.
“You’re okay.” He chokes out. “Feel fine?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Ilya kisses him again. “You told my mom. “Shane says when they break the kiss.
“No. She guessed.”
“And you said we were in love.”
“No.” Ilya sits down on the edge of the bed, holding Shane’s hand.
“Yuna said that.” He brings Shane’s hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. “I just confirmed.” He looks into Shane’s glistening eyes. “Felt right. Felt… true.” He says and Shane nods.
“True. Yes. Me too”
“Good. Because I will help Yuna nurse you back to full health.”
“You will?” Shane’s eyes search Ilya’s. “But… the season isn’t over. And… and you can’t be seen with me like this.”
“Season is almost over. They can win without me.”
“Ilya…” Shane’s voice is soft.
“And Yuna says cottage is good for nursing health back.” Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head. “Private and quiet.”
“It is…” Shane agrees. “But you shouldn’t miss out on playing the last games.”
“Don’t care about games.” Ilya says and is a bit shocked at how true that is. He then puts a finger under Shane’s chin, tilting his head. “Care about you.” He kisses him with all the emotions he has been hiding for far too long. “I love you, Hollander.”
“Fuck…” Shane mumbles, his eyes glistening. “I love you too.”
“Thank Christ.” Ilya breathes out. For a second he was terrified of having gone too far. “So, you will let me help you recover?”
“Yes,” Shane nods. “I’ll let you help me recover.”