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Shane had spent the past six months since the World Juniors being a little bit...obsessed...with Ilya Rozanov.
This fucking guy.
Rozanov had turned eighteen too. Just last week. Which Shane knew because he was obsessed with him.
He passed the water bottle back, and this time he could swear Rozanov let his fingers brush Shane’s wrist on purpose. It was a moment that seemed to last forever, but was probably less than a second. Shane wanted Rozanov to touch him again. Shane wanted to touch him back. Maybe Shane wanted to kiss him.
He had never... Jesus Christ, he had a girlfriend. He wasn’t... A girlfriend you are hoping will break up with you. She didn’t even come on this trip to see you get drafted. Well, that was true. But she had just started a new summer job... And you haven’t thought about her all day until right now. You haven’t even called her yet. Yeah, all right. Maybe it wasn’t really working out with her, but it wasn’t like she was the only girl he’d ever...done stuff with. You’re half hard right now. From sitting on the gym floor with another man. Okay, that one he couldn’t explain.
Ilya had probably fucked, in his rough estimate, dozens of women since then. He certainly had no reason to obsess over his fucking archrival. Or his archrival’s freckles. Or his dark eyes. Or the way his cheeks glowed red when he exerted himself.
He had mostly forgotten the way it had felt when Rozanov had brushed his fingers against his hand when he’d handed him the water bottle in that hotel gym six months ago. He had barely thought at all about his flushed skin, or the way the damp curls of his hair had fallen into his hazel eyes.
“There is not an ‘I’ in team, right?” “There’s an ‘I’ in ‘suck my dick.’”
And by the time Ilya had shaken the last Canadian hand in the lineup, he was smirking to himself. Because soon the real battle between himself and Shane Hollander would begin. And he couldn’t fucking wait.
“Very pretty,” Rozanov teased him. “Like a doll.” “You’re painted up too.” Rozanov leaned on the top of the boards and grinned. “Yes, but I’m not pretty.” Shane rolled his eyes. He had been called “pretty boy” a few times before, usually during games, and he hated it. He wished he hated it this time.
“What is your room number?” Rozanov asked. “Fourteen ten,” Shane said, far too quickly. Rozanov’s mouth twitched up. “If I knock on door of room 1410 tonight...maybe around nine?” Shane fought to keep his voice even. “I might open the door.” Rozanov smiled. “I might knock.”
He brushed his teeth, flossed, and rinsed with mouthwash. Because if he was going to be talking to Rozanov, it would be rude to have bad breath.
Fuck. This was really gay.
“Did you like sucking my dick?” “Oh, those English words you know?”
“Would you like me to lie on the bed and let you do it some more?” “Let me?” Rozanov chuckled against Shane’s neck. “I’m a nice guy.”
“You’ve already seen me. In the shower.” “I want a better look.”
“You think I’m an asshole,” Rozanov said. “You are an asshole.”
Ilya actually loved playing against Hollander. He would never actually tell him, but Hollander
He loved slamming him into the boards. He loved skating around him. He loved shit-talking him because his eyes would get all squashed up in anger and his pink lips would curl into an adorable little attempt at a snarl. Like an angry kitten. Okay. It wasn’t entirely easy to focus on the game.
“Have fun last night?” “Last night?” “With your teammates. Dinner somewhere? Get drunk?” Shane looked down at the ice. “Oh. Yeah. It was fun. Um...how about you guys?” “Lots of fun. No fucking Canadians or Americans. Was perfect.”
“You don’t play with your ass? It makes you gay?”
“You know what makes you gayer?” “Rozanov...shut the fuck—” “Sucking my dick. You were doing that a minute ago.”
“This is soft,” Rozanov murmured. “It’s cashmere,” Shane said stupidly. “Yes. Take it off.”
“Good boy.” “Fuck you.” “Yes.”
“I’ve got, um, lube. I ordered it online. It’s supposed to be the best for...this.” “Ass fucking?” Shane rolled his eyes. “You sweet talk all your sex partners like this?” “I’m very charming.” He took the bottle from Shane and inspected it.
I love you so much. Don’t leave me.
And, oh god, Ilya didn’t deserve him, but he didn’t care. He was selfish like that.
I want you in my life. All of it.”
“I could maybe extend my stay.” Shane plunked the vodka bottle on the kitchen counter. “You can?” “A little. Yes. If you will have me.” “I do have some other hot Russians coming to stay with me in a couple of weeks...” Ilya gasped. “Shane Hollander! You have not ever told me that I am hot before.” Shane frowned. “I haven’t?” “No. I would remember.” “Well, I mean...obviously you’re hot. Like, I-can’t-believe-I-get-to-kiss-you hot.”
Don’t leave without saying goodbye. Ilya wrote back right away. Never.
Fuck. Ilya should have grabbed the vodka. He refilled
“No. Fuck, maybe,” Shane panted. “What does that one mean?” “My horny animal,” Ilya lied.
