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Shane fucking hated him. But Rozanov was really good at sucking cock, and he was, for whatever reason, willing.
“I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.” “Fuck off.” “Such a mouth on you.” “Don’t say it.” “I preferred it when it was on me.” “Dammit, Rozanov.” Shane pushed the other man back against the shower wall and kissed him aggressively.
For the rest of his life, Shane Hollander would have to live with the fact that he had ended his NHL draft day by getting himself off to thoughts of Ilya Rozanov.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Shane said weakly. “What?” Rozanov said, tucking a knuckle under Shane’s chin and tilting it up. “This?” He brought his mouth down on Shane’s, and Shane flooded with panic.
“Do you feel pressure to outperform Shane Hollander this first season?” the interviewer asked. “Who?” Fuck. You. Rozanov. Rozanov looked directly at the camera, and Shane froze. He can’t see you, dummy. He watched Rozanov wink at the camera and Shane’s eyes narrowed.
Rozanov vaulted over the boards and headed for the face-off circle. He was on the ice with Hollander for the first time in an NHL game. “Shane Hollander,” he said casually when he reached his opponent. “Rozanov.”
And Shane Hollander was a bad fucking idea. The worst idea. Wrong in every way imaginable. Two men. Two NHL players, poised to be the two biggest stars in the league soon enough. Two bitter rivals on opposing teams that had hated each other for almost a hundred years.
so instead he threw his head back against the wall like the eager slut he apparently was.
“Is okay,” Ilya said soothingly. He tapped the head of his cock against Hollander’s lips. “You can. Take it.” “I hate you.” “Yes. I know. Show me.” “Fuck,” Hollander whispered, seemingly to himself. Then he parted his lips, and licked the moisture off Ilya’s slit.
Shane had always hated his freckles. He had been surprised to learn, when he had become famous, that a lot of women seemed to find them very sexy. Or at least they found them adorable. He was even more surprised that Rozanov seemed to hold some sort of fascination with them.
“You like that?” he growled. “You gonna come for me, Rozanov?” “Fucking make me, Hollander.” Shane gasped, and his stroking became frantic and sloppy and he was so close... “Come on,” he gritted out. Then Rozanov went very still and said, “Oh god. Shane...” and he came in hot bursts, coating Shane’s hand and allowing Shane to use the slickness to bring himself off almost immediately, with the sound of his first name being spoken in a breathless
But Shane didn’t think his heart would ever stop racing. Shane. He called me Shane.
“I think I’m gay,” Shane blurted out. Ilya looked at him, startled, for a moment. Then he laughed. “Oh yeah? What gives you that idea?” Shane glared at him, which made Ilya laugh more.
“No,” Ilya said, serious again. “Not completely.” “Well... I think I might be. Completely.” Ilya studied him a moment, then said, “Okay. So you are gay. So what?” “Well, it’s sort of a big deal! To me, at least. Sorry if I’m boring you!”
“Tell me everything you want to say,” he said. “In Russian. I won’t understand but...maybe it will help?”
“Maybe you could teach me Russian someday.” “Only useful phrases,” Ilya said. Shane could practically hear his crooked smile. Then Ilya purred something in Russian. “What does that mean?” Shane asked. “Get on your knees.” “Oh.”
“and on top of everything, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“I am not alone,” Ilya said. “You are here now, yes?” Shane’s hand flew to his chest to make sure his heart was still beating; he could have sworn it had just melted into a gooey puddle.
“You are very beautiful,” Ilya said. Shane smiled without opening his eyes. “Come on.” “Is the truth. Your freckles.” Ilya grazed a fingertip over his own cheek. “I am nuts about them.” “I have no idea why. I hate them.” “Noooo...” Ilya moaned. “Hollander. They are stunning.” “Stunning?” “Yes. Am I not using that word right? Very beautiful. Um...take my breath?”
“The first time I met you. Those freckles...” “The first time? You mean at the World Juniors? In Saskatchewan?” “Yes.” Shane huffed out a surprised laugh. “You were such a dick to me.” “Mm. I did not like you. Just your freckles.”
“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”
Shane kissed the tips of two fingers and reached out and touched them to the screen. And Ilya’s heart fucking stopped.
Ilya couldn’t believe what he had been reduced to. He was...infatuated. It was disgusting.
“Mine.” Ilya’s breath tickled Shane’s skin when he spoke the single word. “Yours,” Shane said dreamily. “All of this. For two weeks. Is mine.” Forever, Shane wanted to say. Forever if you ask.
His tongue slipped into the crease of Shane’s ass as his big hands pulled his cheeks apart. Shane held his breath. He couldn’t believe Ilya was actually going to— “Oh, god. Ilya.” Shane felt the wet heat of Ilya’s tongue lapping at his hole and he had never experienced anything like it.
“I love you.” Shane froze. And then Ilya froze. “Holy shit,” Shane whispered. It wasn’t how he had meant to respond. “I...” Ilya’s eyes were so wide and so scared. “I love you too,” Shane said. Ilya gave a shaky smile and exhaled. “Thank Christ.”
“Is it okay if I tell you I love you again?” Ilya asked. His crooked smile was adorably shy. Shane smiled back. Hell, he probably beamed back. “It’s okay.” Instead of saying the words, Ilya kissed him.
“I have been with lots of women. That was not...fake. But...” He looked at Shane, and Shane held his breath. “I have only been in love with one person.”
“We are good here, yes?” he said. “Your family is here. And your boyfriend. And we are okay here.” Shane raised his head slightly. “Boyfriend?” Such a ridiculous word. Such a ridiculous, wonderful word. Ilya shrugged and grinned. “I think, yes?” “Yes.”
“And when I retire,” Ilya said, “after I have won twelve Stanley Cups and thirteen MVP awards—” “The hell you will.” “And you have been retired for, like, eight years already because you got very bad at hockey...” Shane laughed. “Okay.” “Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it...” “That sounds like a fire hazard.” “Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.” “Oh, is it a clear night?” “Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—” “Ilya—” “And I will say, ‘Shane
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“I mean it,” Shane said softly. “I want to have a life with you. I know it will be awkward, and will still involve a lot of sneaking around for a while, but I’m playing the long game here. So, yeah. Whatever it takes, I’m in.”
“I am serious. If we hide forever, or tell the world right now, I am with you. I will quit hockey, or fight to stay. Whatever you want.”
